BOOK ONE in the Chronicles of Mischief saga


When Sylvester Morgan had signed the contract, agreeing to become Jackson Palmer's baby boy, it had been unclear what to expect.

Bottles, diapers and stuffed animals had never been the kind of things that had appealed to Sly. 

Yet, when Twenty thousand is offered to act like a baby for a month, as odd as it sounded to him, he found himself willing to try it.

He just didn't expect to enjoy it.

Baby Of The Month

Now? He felt shitty. Now, he felt as though they were pointless, empty gifts.

/"Can I talk to you for a moment please, Sylvester?/"

/"Yes, Daddy./" Another demonstration of the change between them. There was no hesitancy in the boy's movements the way there once had been. No uncertainty. It was as though he had gift-wrapped his trust, topped it off with a pretty bow, and placed it into Jackson's hands. His every request was met with compliance and respect.

It had a lump forming in his throat.

Parking his ass on the Chesterfield, patting the spot next to him, Sly and Vader shuffled over until they were seated beside him.

Jackson wished he knew how the conversation would end, but he didn't. He didn't know how Sylvester would react to the predicament he would soon find himself in, and as a result, he found himself drinking in the details of his face, branding them to memory.

Chapter39