Tamed By DomDaddy

My phone screen glowed in the pitch-black bedroom, casting a pale blue light across my face. My thumb hovered over the keyboard, trembling so badly I could barely keep the device steady.

Send me one more picture, handsome. Let me see what you’re wearing.

The message sat on the screen, heavy and demanding. I stared at the dark words, my chest tight. I was nineteen years old. I was straight. At least, that was what I told everyone. I was the guy who laughed off jokes about sexuality, the guy who made a point to sound completely uninterested whenever the topic of men came up. I had a reputation to keep, a life that made sense, and a simple view of who I was supposed to be.

Yet here I was, curled under my blanket at midnight, sweating over a text from an anonymous man I had never seen.

I scrolled up through the chat log, His profile had no face picture, just a single shot of his upper body, broad shoulders, a thick, muscular chest covered in dark hair, and a pose that radiated complete, effortless authority.

His display name was DomDaddy.

I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry, and forced my fingers to type out a response.

Why do you want to see?

The reply popped up instantly, because you like pleasing me and I like taking care of what’s mine.

My breath hitched, it was total madness, three weeks ago, I had downloaded this men’s dating app on a weird, late-night impulse. I was supposed to delete it after five minutes. I was supposed to prove to myself that I felt nothing. Instead, I had gotten completely hooked on this one profile.

He didn't talk to me like a stranger, he talked to me like he owned me, and for reasons I couldn't explain to anyone, that control was the only thing making my pulse race like this.

I sat up in the dark, my hands shaking as I pulled my t-shirt over my head. I angled the phone camera down toward my chest, catching the outline of my ribs and the waistband of my shorts. I didn't let myself think, i snapped the photo and hit send before my brain could stop me.

The app immediately updated his location underneath his profile name: 47 kilometers away.

I let out a long breath, falling back against my pillow. Forty-seven kilometers, that was the only thing keeping me sane, he was far away in another town, completely detached from my real life, he was a secret, a fantasy I could control, a place where I could hide without ever having to face what any of this meant for my real world.

The green light at the top of the app flashed as his next message loaded.

Good boy. Tomorrow, I'm going to teach you how to ask for what you really want.

Before I could process the words, tires crunched loudly on the gravel driveway right outside my window. Car doors slammed shut in the quiet night. Heavy boots sounded on the front porch steps, followed by the loud jingle of keys.

My dad was back and he wasn't alone.

"Get down here, son!" my dad’s voice boomed through the lower floor, echoing right up the stairwell. "I brought an old buddy from the unit! He’s staying in the guest room for a few days!"

Panic surged through me, i threw my shirt back on, shoved the phone under my pillow, and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. I forced my breathing to slow down, trying to wipe any trace of guilt off my face before stepping out onto the hallway landing.

I looked down over the banister into the brightly lit foyer.

My father was standing by the front door, unzipping his heavy coat, right beside him stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early forties. The visitor pulled off his leather jacket, revealing massive arms, a thick neck, and the dark hair of his chest visible at the open collar of his shirt.

He turned toward the stairs, his dark, sharp eyes locking straight onto mine.

"You must be the son," the man said.

His voice was a deep, low rumble. It wasn't just loud; it vibrated right through the floorboards and rattled straight through my chest.

A sudden, terrifying chill hit me, i froze on the top step, my fingers gripping the wooden rail so hard my knuckles turned white, that voice, the heavy shape of his shoulders, even the small, jagged white scar resting right near his collarbone where his shirt parted, it was all terrifyingly, impossibly familiar, i had seen that exact frame, i had stared at that exact scar on a glowing screen for hours.

"Show him up to the attic guest room," my dad said, slapping the man hard on the shoulder. "I'm heading to the kitchen to grab a beer."

I couldn't move, i stood like a statue as the older man grabbed his canvas duffel bag and started walking up the stairs toward me, every step he took sent a fresh pulse of panic straight to my heart, he stopped right in front of me on the landing, his tall frame casting a long shadow that completely swallowed me up.

"Thanks for having me, kid," he said smoothly, stepping past me and heading toward the narrow stairs leading to the attic room.

My hand moved on pure instinct, i reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and unlocked the screen, the dating app was still open.

The GPS distance indicator at the top of the chat window refreshed.

Yesterday, DomDaddy was 47 kilometers away.

Now, the red text read: Less than 1 kilometer away.

Directly above my head, the heavy wooden floorboards of the attic creaked as the man unpacked his bag.

My phone vibrated in my hand, a single new notification popped up on the black screen.

You’re awfully quiet today, handsome.