Page 14 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

I know I shouldn’t feel this, shouldn’t let my heart cross that line, but it’s there, a truth I can’t deny, deeper than attraction, stronger than duty.

I start to sing, a lullaby my mother used to hum, my voice low and rough, the notes uneven but steady.

“Hush now, my darling, the stars are bright in the sky tonight…” I sing, my voice even in decent tune, well for my standards anyhow.

Richie’s breathing slows, his head heavy on my chest, Fizz still clutched in his arms.

I watch him drift, his face peaceful, fully in Little Space, his truest self shining through, vulnerable and safe in my care. He falls asleep, his warmth a quiet anchor, and I keep singing, the words fading as my own eyelids droop.

I stare into the fire’s flames, their dance mirroring the storm in my heart.

Being Richie’s Daddy—guiding him, protecting him—feels like who I’m meant to be, and despite every rule, every warning about Hunter’s trust, I know this bond is real.

Richie’s my Little, and I’m his Daddy, here and now.

The storm rages outside, but in this moment, with my sleeping boy in my arms, I let myself believe it could last.

My eyes close, the fire’s warmth pulling me under, and I drift off, holding the young man close, the world fading to the rhythm of his breath….

The storm’s fury has dulled to a steady patter of rain against the safe house windows, the wind reduced to a low moan weaving through the forest outside.

I stir awake in the middle of the night, the living area bathed in the fire’s low, warm glow, its embers casting soft flickers across the stone walls and worn rug.

The air is thick with the scent of cedar and lingering smoke, a comforting weight that holds the chill at bay.

Typical Little.

They love to sleep.

But do they have to look so cute doing it?

I smile and watch as Richie stays sleeping beside me on the couch, curled under the wool blanket, his head resting on my chest, his breath slow and even.

Fizz is tucked under his arm, a silent stuffy guardian of his dreams. Richie’s face, so often fierce with defiance, is soft, peaceful, like he’s found a haven in his sleep.

This is something else.

Something I didn’t think I’d find.

I have to do what’s right.

My mind wanders, tracing the threads that tie us together, connections I hadn’t seen so clearly until now…

Richie grew up under a shadow of fear, his childhood haunted by the constant dread that his father might vanish on a Night Ops Guard mission and never return.

Every late-night phone call, every unexplained absence, must have carved a wound, a fear of loss that never fully healed.

And then there was his mother, gone too, a loss he’s only hinted at but carries in the way he clings to Fizz, in the way he fights so hard to hold on to those he loves.

His acting out, his defiance, his attempts to run—it’s not just rebellion. It’s a cry for something solid, something safe, a connection he can trust not to slip away.

I see myself in that need, though my scars are different.

My whole adult life has been a solitary march, defined by the Night Ops Guard’s code, by missions that demanded everything and gave little back.

Outside those ops, I’ve been an island, my days filled with training, planning, moving from one safe house to another, no roots to hold me.

The only times I felt truly connected were on those missions, shoulder to shoulder with my band of brothers—Hunter, Henry, Lin, others—where trust was forged in gunfire and shared silences.

But those moments were fleeting, swallowed by the next job, the next fight.

I’ve craved something lasting, a bond that doesn’t dissolve when the mission ends, a safe harbor where I can be more than a soldier.

I’ve never said it aloud, never even admitted it to myself, but it’s there, a quiet ache I’ve carried for years.

With Richie, I feel it—a connection that’s solid, reliable, safe.

He’s not just Hunter’s son, not just a mission.

He’s my Little, and I’m his Daddy, and this bond, forged in the storm’s chaos, feels like the answer to that ache.

The fire burns low, its warmth mirroring the steady glow in my chest as I look at him, his face serene, trusting me even in sleep.

I’ve never felt closer to anyone, not even Hunter, and it’s more than Richie’s cherubic beauty, more than the spark of attraction that’s been testing my resolve. It’s the way he calls me Daddy, the way he leans into my care, the way we fit, like two pieces of a puzzle finally locking together.

My resolve hardens, a vow etched in my bones.

I’ll protect him, no matter what—against the storm, the threat, the world itself. Hunter’s out there, fighting, and I’ll bring him home, but Richie’s my heart now, my responsibility, my Little.

I stroke his hair, gentle so as not to wake him, and the fire’s flames dance in my vision, a quiet promise of warmth, of safety.

I know I shouldn’t feel this, shouldn’t let my heart claim him, but I do, and I’m done fighting it.

As the rain drums softly, I hold Richie closer, my eyes heavy, and drift back to sleep, determined to be his shield, his Daddy, for as long as he needs me.

Trouble is around the corner. Another storm. I can just feel it.

But this storm won’t be one of nature’s, it’ll be something much, much worse…