Angel and the Assassin 3: Sins of the Father

the same time feeling a touch of affection for the
    man, Kael held him for a moment before easing him away. “Go home.”
    In bed, as his boy lay with his back pressed against Kael’s belly, he saw the faded
    old blankie sticking out from under Angel’s pillow. He decided not to comment on it
    since he knew the boy was trying to give it up. He must be feeling insecure to have
    taken his blanket out of the wardrobe again. Kael threw his arm over his boy’s smooth,
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    slender body and kissed the back of his head. “I only want the best for you,
    sweetheart.”
    “I know, Daddy,” Angel said sleepily. “I won’t make a fuss about going to uni
    again.”
    “Good boy. We’ll start the applications this week.”
    Kael remained awake for a long time listening to Angel’s soft, even breath,
    planning his boy’s life. You’re going to be successful. You’re going to be the best at everything
    you do, just like me . Go big or go home, was a saying he’d heard recently on some game
    show Angel was wasting time watching one night. A group of idiots had been running
    an Alice in Wonderland-like obstacle course where they kept getting knocked into
    foamy water by giant fists while leaping across impossibly wide gaps on moving
    machinery. Angel had been in hysterics, clapping his hands like a kid every time
    someone fell into the water. Kael had never thought crap like that was funny.
    But one of the idiots had kept saying, “Go big or go home,” and in the end, the bloke
    won because he wasn’t afraid to take risks.
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    Chapter Seven
    “What are you going to do to me, Sir?” Angel watched Daddy lock the dungeon
    door and place the key out of reach on top of the door frame.
    “Take your clothes off, boy.”
    Obeying at once and leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, Angel shivered as
    adrenaline whooshed through his muscles. Sometimes Daddy told him what was
    coming and sometimes he didn’t, which always added to the excitement.
    “Do you want to leave the dungeon, Angel?” Daddy smiled. He already knew the
    answer.
    “No, Sir.” With hurried steps, Angel crossed the polished hardwood floor and
    dropped to his knees. For a long moment, he rested his cheek against Daddy’s feet, the
    coolness and strength of Daddy seeping into him. He could do anything when he was
    with his daddy, achieve anything, be anything.
    “Sit up.”
    Angel sat on his heels with his hands behind his back, clasped at the tailbone, his
    back very straight, and his chin tucked down respectfully but not pathetically.
    “Perfect,” Daddy said.
    For a moment, Angel tried to keep the smile off his face. A big self-satisfied grin
    was not the response a mature slave made when his master praised him, but he
    couldn’t help it. Nothing made his heart soar like Daddy’s praise, and after the stunt
    he’d pulled a few days ago in that bar, he really wanted Daddy to see him as worthy
    again.
    Unable any longer to keep his eyes lowered like a good slave, he looked up to see
    Daddy removing his clothes, which he left on the floor by the door. Then, wearing
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    nothing but his socks, he put his hands on his hips and looked at Angel. A giggle
    started deep in Angel’s belly and bubbled up, erupting into a full-blown laugh.
    “Are you making fun of your daddy, slave boy?” he said in a deep, totally fake,
    stern voice.
    Still giggling, Angel kissed Daddy’s feet again.
    “Remove my socks.”
    “Yes, Sir.” Angel reached out, only to be told sternly, “No hands.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    Balancing perfectly on his right foot, Daddy raised his left.
    Placing his hands at his tailbone again, Angel leaned forward and took the top
    hem of the black sock in his teeth. Daddy did nothing to assist him but remained
    perfectly still.
    Twisting his head to maneuver the sock off the foot, Angel experienced a rush of
    triumph when he achieved his goal. He dropped the sock at Daddy’s feet and looked up
    at him, waiting for him to raise his other foot. When the procedure was repeated
    perfectly, Angel picked up both socks in his mouth and scampered like a puppy to the
    pile of clothes on the floor by the door. He dropped the socks, then sat up, waiting for
    further instructions.
    “In the shower, boy.”
    They usually stripped and showered in the bathroom first since the shower in the
    dungeon was only a small, narrow cubicle, but