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Summary
Buckley teaches that small nepo baby a thing or two about good sportsmanship. In the privacy of his hotel room. At three in the morning.
What happens in Nashville, stays in Nashville.
— Snippet —
The boy doesn’t squirm, but buries himself in my neck, sucking the skin there. His lips make light work of the ordeal, moving up my chin then down toward my chest, to my hard nipples.
A laugh escapes my dry lips as I push him away from my warmth. The suckling babe whines but relents. I hold him at arms length, taking him in. The television light squirms in his blue eyes like turbulent spirit fires. His mouth hangs open, his lips puckered.
“Buck,” he says, “I thought maybe I had the wrong room.”
“No,” I say, my eyes dropping to the boy’s crotch. “Just wanted to make you squirm a bit.”