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Something in my chest constricted at his words. I cupped his face gently between my palms, making him look at me. "You don't need to be perfect, Matty. Not for me. Not for anyone."
His eyes searched mine, uncertainty clear in their depths. Then as he stared at me, he licked his lips, and I all but groaned. My cock pushed against the zipper constraining it.
Before I could respond verbally, he surged forward, capturing my lips with his in a kiss that was anything but childlike. His hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me closer as his mouth moved against mine with surprising intensity. After a moment of shock, I responded, one hand sliding to the small of his back while the other cradled the nape of his neck.
The kitchen around us fell silent as the kiss deepened. Matty pressed himself against me, his body warm and solid, nothing like the behavior of moments before. When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes were clear and determined, though a flush had spread across his cheeks.
“How about you take me home, Daddy?” he said breathlessly.
Chapter thirteen
Matty
Seeing Daddy defend melike no one ever had in my life did something to me. I was aware of everything that had happened, but instead of being scared, I was suddenly brave. And I wanted Daddy—Novo—with a desperation that astonished me.
When we stepped inside the cabin, Daddy locked the door behind us and turned to face me, his expression guarded.
"Matty," he began carefully, "we should talk about—"
I silenced him with another kiss, pressing my body against his solid warmth. For a moment he remained still, then with agroan that vibrated through my chest, his arms wrapped around me, lifting me easily. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine.
He set me down beside the bed, breaking the kiss to search my face. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint. "You've been through a lot."
"I've never been more sure of anything," I said, my fingers working at the buttons of his flannel shirt. "I want this. I'm not... I don't know how to explain it. I feel safe with you. Protected. But I also want..."
"What do you want, Matty?" Daddy asked, his thumbs tracing circles on my wrists.
"I want to feel something good," I whispered. "I'm tired of being afraid. Please,Daddy. Make me feel something else."
Something in his expression softened, and he released my hands to cup my face. "If we do this, we do it my way," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Slow. Careful. And if at any point you want to stop, you tell me."
I nodded, leaning into his touch. "I trust you."
His eyes darkened at my words, and he leaned down to kiss me again, this time with deliberate slowness. His beard tickled my skin as his mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, then down my neck. I shivered, my hands fisting in his shirt.
"Too many clothes," I murmured, tugging at the fabric.
Daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Patience, little one."
The term of endearment sent a confusing mix of comfort and arousal through me. I wasn't in my Little space now, but the words still warmed me, making me feel cherished, and I still wanted to call him Daddy.
He helped me remove my flour-dusted t-shirt, his eyes darkening as they took in my bare chest. His fingers traced thelingering bruises on my arm where he'd grabbed me during the car incident, his expression clouding.
"I'm sorry for these," he said softly.
"Don't be," I whispered, covering his hand with mine. "They remind me that you saved my life."
His eyes met mine, intense and searching. I held his gaze, wanting him to see that I meant it. After a moment, he nodded and lowered his head to press a gentle kiss to each bruise, his beard tickling my sensitive skin.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my shoulder, his large hands spanning my waist.
I flushed under his praise, suddenly self-conscious of my slender frame compared to his muscular build. As if sensing my thoughts, he straightened and shrugged off his flannel shirt, revealing a tight black t-shirt beneath. When he pulled that off too, I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped me.
Daddy's chest and arms were covered in intricate tattoos—swirling patterns that accentuated his powerful muscles. Scars marked his skin here and there, telling stories of a life I knew nothing about. I reached out hesitantly, tracing a particularly prominent scar that ran across his left pectoral.
"Afghanistan," he said quietly. "Shrapnel."
I nodded, continuing my exploration of his body, and receiving the occasional verbal explanations. He stood perfectly still, allowing me to touch him, to learn him. When my fingers reached the waistband of his jeans, his abdominal muscles tightened visibly.