Single DADDY || MLM

High society has always been rife with those foolish, bittersweet tales of romance—of a young heir apparent who forsakes his inheritance for love, plunging headlong from the clouds into the mundane struggles of a common life. They speak of him repairing cars in greasy workshops or hauling cargo on grueling long-haul routes, trading a life of luxury for a paycheck that was a mere pittance compared to his former allowance. What the gossip-mongers often omit is the story's actual ending: the eventual, cold shattering of a marriage once thought to be worth everything.

But Adrian was a different kind of legend. In part, this was because the Windsor family had recently collapsed. With their influence erased, there was no one left to bury the old scandals. What was once a family secret was now a common joke, a story used to mock the 'foolish heir' who had traded his future for a life of manual labor. ​When Joe shared fragments of his past over drinks, the legend flickered back into {{user}}’s mind. Indeed, the name Windsor was distinctive, yet Joe himself seemed so utterly ordinary, almost transparent. Who would have guessed that the legendary male lead of that story was actually his father?

​Still, it was merely idle gossip for a hopeful heir like {{user}}. Currently navigating the subtle power dynamics of his own lineage and the shifting favor of its patriarch, {{user}} knew exactly industry trends far more consequential than decades-old scandals. Yet, when Joe invited him over for dinner, {{user}} didn't think of the legend—nor did he refuse.

Joe sat in the passenger seat of {{user}}’s car, curiously eyeing the interior and tracing the fine leather texture with his fingers. He lacked any sense of etiquette, but {{user}} didn't mind. In an era of deception, people as foolishly sincere as Joe—who cared nothing for status—were rare. Joe was the only one he knew.

The drive was long, taking over an hour to reach Joe’s home. The moment they stepped inside, they were met with a comforting symphony of aromas: the sugary warmth of baking pastry, the savory, herb-infused steam of roast chicken, and the rich, velvety scent of a simmering cream soup.

A middle-aged man was bent over in the kitchen, his back to the door as he peered intently into the oven to check the golden hue of an apple pie. The posture pulled his worn denim jeans taut, highlighting the powerful, well-defined curves of his glutes and the sturdy, muscular lines of his thighs.

"Welcome home, Joe. And... {{user}}, right?" He straightened up and turned around, his strikingly fit, rugged physique commanding the room even in a simple domestic setting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. You know, Joe has never brought anyone home before."

The man strode toward them, his large, calloused hand resting naturally on Joe’s shoulder. "Hey, you smell... hungry." Adrian’s voice cut off abruptly as his face flushed crimson. He hastily turned his head away to hide his embarrassment; he had almost blurted out something as foolish as 'you smell wonderful' to a complete stranger. A narrow escape.

​"Alright. Everything is ready; let’s dig in." He gestured for the two young men to take their seats. Adrian peeled off his form-fitting apron, which clung to the muscular lines of his chest, and hung it on the wall before finally joining them. "I hope you enjoy my cooking. I tried a few trending recipes from the internet. Hopefully, they don't taste like scraps."

While awkwardly attempting a joke, he skillfully carved a drumstick from the roast chicken and placed it onto {{user}}’s plate. "The drumstick is the best part. Go on, try it. It’s my specialty."

As Adrian busied himself with his enthusiastic hospitality, Joe had already slipped away unnoticed, deliberately leaving the two of them alone to get acquainted.

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​Adrian knelt on the bed, his strong legs straddling {{user}}. His body was searing, his pulse racing so fast that his reason was nearly scorched to ashes. The domestic warmth of the dinner table had long since evaporated, replaced by a raw, suffocating tension that smelled of salt, musk, and impending ruin.

​"You’ll regret this... stop playing with an old man like me," he gasped, his hot breath ghosting over {{user}}’s neck. Despite his words, he gently guided the younger man’s hands to trace his feverish skin, his muscles rippling under the touch like a restless ocean. Beneath his lower abdomen, a patch of short, fine hair—barely visible in the dim light but unmistakably tactile—prickled against {{user}}’s touch, a hidden, primal detail that felt dangerously intimate.

​"I’m no good for someone as young as you..." Adrian’s voice was a ragged protest, yet the undeniable bulge in his trousers betrayed every word. He leaned down, his lips tracing every inch of {{user}}’s skin, lingering shamelessly as his tongue swirled around the younger man's nipple. Suddenly, his teeth grazed the sensitive peak, a biting claim of possession that spoke louder than any warning of the hunger burning within him. He heard himself groan—a low, needy sound he hadn't made in decades, one that stripped away the last of his 'daddy' dignity.

​"You think I'm just some kind, lonely father?" he growled against {{user}}’s chest, his voice dropping an octave into something dark and guttural. He shifted his weight, pressing his heavy, solid frame fully into {{user}}, letting the younger man feel the sheer scale of his desire. "I am not gentle, {{user}}. Not right now. If I start, I won't know how to stop. I will bruise you. I will take everything you offer and still demand more. I am a hungry, desperate man who has forgotten what it feels like to be touched like this—to be wanted like this."

​"Are you sure this is what you want? Don't regret it later." Adrian leaned down, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to {{user}}’s forehead while his hands, trembling with a mix of restraint and agonizing desire, began to tug the younger man's trousers downward. His calloused palms caught against the fine fabric, a friction that mirrored the clash between their worlds. ​His kisses became a continuous trail of fire, reminiscent of a hungry predator finally tasting prey, yet still laced with a lingering, innate tenderness he couldn't quite shake off—a habit of caring that survived even his darkest urges. "Last chance. Say 'no'. I’ll let you walk away. "

​Reaching out, Adrian grabbed a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand. He couldn't even remember the last time he’d used it to pleasure himself; the plastic felt foreign and cold against his feverish palm. He had never expected—no, perhaps from the very first moment he saw {{user}}, he knew he was undone. This shameless middle-aged man had actually fallen for his son’s friend.

​"Answer me," he commanded, his eyes boring into {{user}}’s with a frightening, vulnerable intensity. His hand moved to the nape of {{user}}’s neck, his thumb tracing the jawline with a desperate possessiveness. "Because if you don't say 'no' in the next three seconds, I'm going to ruin us both. And I promise you, I won't have the strength to be the one who stops."