Page 10 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Richie

The morning air bites at my skin as I step onto the small lawn behind the safe house, the frost-dusted grass crunching under my sneakers. I don’t think it rained last night, but judging by the clouds over in the distance, there might be some bad weather on the way again.

That’s the last thing I need. Being couped up in the safehouse isn’t ideal, even if it does have some upsides.

But I’m a boy who likes to get out, see things, make things happen.

Whenever I feel like I’m stuck somewhere, that’s when I tend to let out my bratty side – and I’m pretty certain that Cole had this in mind when he suggested that we go outside this morning.

“Not bad,” I say, surveying the small garden area.

The lawn is a modest patch, barely twenty feet across, hemmed in by the cabin’s sturdy stone walls and the dense forest that encircles us like a living fortress.

The trees—towering pines and ancient oaks—stand shoulder to shoulder, their dark needles and gnarled branches weaving a canopy that blocks most of the sunlight at certain times of the day.

Shadows pool beneath them, thick and unyielding, and the air carries the sharp tang of pine sap, damp earth, and decaying leaves.

A faint mist clings to the undergrowth, curling around ferns and mossy rocks, giving the forest an almost otherworldly feel, like it could swallow us whole if we stray too far.

Somewhere deep in the thicket, a bird lets out a sharp, lonely call, answered only by the rustle of wind through the branches. It’s beautiful, wild, but it feels like a trap, too, isolating us from the world—and the danger that’s hunting us.

In the distance, I catch the low, intermittent hum of cars, a faint drone that drifts through the trees. It’s barely audible, but it’s there, a reminder that civilization isn’t as far off as this secluded haven suggests.

A highway must snake through the hills, maybe a few miles away, its travelers oblivious to the safe house tucked in this wooded hollow. The sound is both grounding and unnerving, a tether to the real world that also whispers vulnerability…

If someone finds us—if the threat chasing Pop tracks our location—this lawn, this cabin, will be no sanctuary. We’re hidden, but not invisible, and that thought sends a shiver down my spine, colder than the morning air.

I wrap my arms around myself, my hoodie soft but too thin against the chill, and my mind drifts to Pop.

He was gone so much, lost to Night Ops Guard missions, but when he was home, he taught me things most kids never learn.

Surveillance was his favorite lesson. “ It’s about seeing what others miss ,” he’d say, his voice steady as we sat on our porch, him pointing out a car that lingered too long at a stop sign or a stranger who glanced at our house one too many times.

“ Trust your gut, Richie. Notice everything .” He’d quiz me—how many people passed the park bench in ten minutes, what color was the delivery van’s logo—and I’d beam when I got it right.

Those lessons feel like a shield now, even with Cole watching over me.

I’m not helpless. I might be a Little, but I’m tough and smart too.

I’m Hunter Selleck’s son, and I can keep my eyes sharp, my instincts honed, even in this forest cage.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Cole says, his voice approaching me from behind.

Cole steps out from the cabin, the door closing with a soft thud that echoes in the quiet. He’s in a black long-sleeve shirt and cargo pants, his movements fluid yet deliberate, like a predator who owns this territory.

Cole’s dark eyes scan the lawn, then settle on me, and I feel that familiar flutter in my chest, the one I’ve been wrestling since our coloring session yesterday.

It’s not just his looks—though his strong jaw and broad, boulder-like shoulders don’t help—it’s the way he carries himself, all steady authority and quiet care.

“We’re doing a self-defense session,” Cole says, his voice firm but not harsh, cutting through the forest’s quiet hush. “It’s good for discipline, and it could be practical for you. Hopefully, you’ll never need it… but who knows. A Night Ops Guard is always prepared.”

A Night Ops Guard? Me.

No, that can’t be what he means…

Or could it?

My pulse quickens, not just from the prospect of training but from the way he says it, like he’s investing in me, not just guarding me.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound confident, though my voice wavers slightly. “Let’s do it.”

Cole gestures to the center of the lawn, and I follow, the grass cool and slick under my feet. The forest looms closer, its shadows shifting as a breeze stirs the branches, and the distant car hum weaves in and out, a faint warning of the world beyond our hideout.

Cole stands near me, his height and warmth a stark contrast to the chilly air, his presence both grounding and electrifying.

“We’ll start with basic blocks,” he says, slipping into instructor mode, his tone clipped but patient. “If someone grabs you, you need to break their hold and create distance. Got it? Show me your stance.”

I plant my feet, channeling Pop’s lessons—knees bent, hands up, weight balanced.

Cole circles me, his eyes sharp, assessing.

“Good, boy,” Cole says. “Now, I’m going to grab your wrist. Break free.”

He moves fast, his hand closing around my wrist, firm but controlled, his touch electric.

My breath catches as he pulls me slightly off-balance, and for a split second, I’m not thinking about technique but the heat of his fingers, the strength in his grip.

I twist my arm, like Pop taught me, and slip free, stepping back with a grin to cover the flush creeping up my neck.

“Not bad, right?” I holler, very pleased with myself.

Cole’s lips twitch, almost a smile, but his focus doesn’t waver.

“Not bad, but not great either,” Cole says, evidently not as impressed as I am. “ Again .”

We repeat the drill, his hands guiding my movements—adjusting my elbow, nudging my stance wider, his fingers brushing my arm or shoulder.

Each touch lingers a fraction too long, and the air between us thickens, charged with something unspoken but very real.

My skin tingles where he touches, and I’m super-aware of his closeness—the way his shirt clings to his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of soap on him.

I try to concentrate, to focus on the moves, but my mind keeps slipping, caught in the weight of his protective touch, the way it makes me feel safe and… wanted .

I know I shouldn’t be feeling like this, but my dick feels alert and tingly under my trousers and I’m hoping beyond hope that Cole can’t tell that I’m all hot and aroused.

Who am I kidding, it’s way beyond hoping.

I’m desperate that Cole can’t see or feel what’s going on inside my briefs.

My cock is throbbing with the friction of moving up close with Cole, feeling his power and control over my body.

I’m hard as a rock now, and if I didn’t already know what I was going to be dreaming of tonight as I lie in bed, then there’s absolutely no doubting that now.

“Let’s try a grapple,” Cole says, his voice a shade lower, rougher, like he’s feeling the shift too.

He steps behind me, his arms wrapping around my torso in a controlled hold, his chest pressing against my back. My heart races, heat pooling in my core as I feel the strength in his grip, the warmth of his body seeping through my hoodie.

I’m supposed to break free—elbow his ribs, twist away—but for a moment, I’m frozen, overwhelmed by our proximity.

His breath brushes my ear, warm and steady, and I swear I feel a subtle shift in him—a tightening in his hold, a quickened pulse that mirrors the arousal surging through me.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that I could feel Cole’s big Daddy dick pressing against me, insistent, hard, and wanting me as much as I want him.

It’s fleeting, but it’s there, undeniable, and it sends a shiver down my spine, my body responding with a rush of desire I can’t control.

“Richie,” Cole says, his voice rough, almost a growl, “God damn it, move .”

I snap out of it, driving my elbow into his side—not hard, just enough to simulate the move—and spin out of his hold, my cheeks burning, my breath shallow.

I face Cole, and our eyes lock, his darker now, intense, like he’s fighting a battle within himself.

The tension crackles, electric, and I know he felt it too—the spark, the pull, the heat that flared between us. I want to step closer, to see what happens if we let this moment stretch, but I hold back, my heart pounding with a mix of longing and fear.

The forest seems to press in, the distant car sounds sharper, a reminder of the danger we’re hiding from, but it’s not the threat that scares me—it’s this , the way Cole’s touch ignites something I can’t name, something I’m not sure I can resist.

“Good,” Cole says, clearing his throat, stepping back to put space between us. His voice is steady again, but there’s a strain in it, like he’s reining himself in. “That’s enough for now. You did well. Good job. Room for improvement, but good job.”

I nod, my voice stuck, my body still humming from his touch, from the weight of his hands and the fleeting moment when I felt his desire match mine.

I glance at the forest, its shadows deeper now, and think of Pop’s lessons— stay aware, trust your gut . My gut’s screaming that Cole’s more than a bodyguard, that this spark could burn us both.

But for now, I just stand there, the lawn cold under my feet, wondering how long we can keep pretending this is just training…

I stumble into my bedroom, the safe house door clicking shut behind me, and collapse onto the bed, my heart still racing from the self-defense session – and my special place still very much in a state of arousal.

I need to keep my cool.

I can’t simply give in to this.

Instead, I focus my attention on the bedroom.

The room is basic, almost stark—a single bed with a faded blue quilt, a wooden nightstand holding a chipped lamp, and a small desk shoved against the wall.

The walls are bare plaster, save for a single framed print of a forest stream, its colors muted by time.

A narrow window, framed by plain curtains, lets in slivers of light, the forest outside pressing close, its shadows dancing on the glass. The air smells faintly of dust and cedar, and the floorboards creak under my weight as I lie on the bed, grounding me in this small, safe space.

I’m flustered, my skin still tingling where Cole’s hands gripped me, his breath warm against my ear during that grapple…

“Cole,” I whisper. “Daddy…”

The memory of his body pressed to mine, the fleeting pulse of his cock, sends heat flooding through me, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it away.

No .

I can’t let myself fantasize about him, not now.

It’s too much, too dangerous with Pop out there and this threat looming. I’ll save those thoughts for bedtime, when I’m alone in the dark, where they can’t derail me. For now, I need to focus, to sort out the chaos in my head.

I spot a blank writing pad on the desk, a stubby pencil tucked beside it, and grab them, settling cross-legged on the bed.

The paper is crisp, untouched, and I press the pencil to it, letting my feelings spill out. I write about Pop—how I miss his steady voice, his lessons, how scared I am that he’s hurt, how I’d give anything to fight beside him.

I write about Cole, his strength, his care, the way he makes me feel safe and seen, like a Little with his Daddy, but also the way his touch sparks something wild, something I shouldn’t want.

I write about the future, how I don’t know what it holds—will Pop come back? Will we be safe? Could Cole and I ever be more, or is that just a foolish dream, tangled in the mess of him being Pop’s best friend?

The words flow, messy and raw, filling page after page until my hand cramps.

I shut the pad, the cover snapping closed, and flop back onto the bed, the quilt soft beneath me. My mind whirs, a whirlwind of fear, hope, and longing.

Pop’s out there, Cole’s somewhere in the safehouse, prowling around… and I’m here, caught between the man I am and the Daddy-seeking Little I want to be.

The forest hums beyond the window, and I clutch the pad to my chest, wondering what tomorrow will bring.

I’m going to try my best to be good, but when I already know what happens to me when I’m bad, that’s going to be way easier said than done…