Page 23 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Cole

The motel room is cloaked in the soft gray of early morning, the rain’s steady patter against the window a quiet echo the storms that Richie and I have lived through these last few days.

I wake slowly, my body warm and heavy. I’ve been with boys and had a fun time before, but last night was something else.

It was fun, sure. But it was intense, meaningful, and incredibly hot too.

And what’s even hotter to me is the fact that Richie enjoyed himself just as much as I did.

We like the same things, and I’m pretty sure that if we were to sit down and go through our kinks one by one, there would be plenty of crossover.

But that’s for another time.

Maybe .

First, we need to navigate right now.

The double bed’s faded floral bedspread is tangled around me, the lumpy pillows scattered, and the air holds a faint musk, blending with the motel’s musty scent of old carpet and stale air.

I can’t stop thinking about last night.

Richie’s trust, his surrender, the fire in his eyes as we moved together, it was perfect, a moment that burned away the weight of the mission, the danger, the guilt over Hunter.

For that magical moment together, Richie was mine, and I was his, and nothing else mattered.

I turn to Richie, expecting to see the boy sleeping, his face soft and unguarded, a reminder of the connection we forged, but my heart lurches, the warmth replaced by a cold jolt.

But my heartrate skips up a few notches as I see that Richie isn’t asleep. Far from it, in fact.

Richie is awake, sitting up on the bed, my backpack open beside him, a classified file in his trembling hands… documents I’d buried deep, detailing Hunter’s role in a dangerous arms deal that went south, a deal that inadvertently compromised his security.

“Richie…” I say, knowing full-well that I’m too late to shield him.

His dark eyes, usually bright with his Little side’s warmth, are sharp, blazing with betrayal as he flips through the pages, his fingers white-knuckled.

The file, one I’d kept hidden to shield him, lays bare Hunter’s misstep: a covert deal with a shady arms broker, meant to fund an op, that drew the wrath of a cartel now hunting him… and Richie.

Photos, timestamps, and intel reports paint a damning picture, and I curse myself for not securing it better.

I knew when Henry handed me the file at the diner, when Richie was in the bathroom, that I would need to keep it close.

But I probably hadn’t banked on a wild night of passion at a motel at that point.

Fuck.

I screwed up.

I let my guard down. And now I’m paying the price…

Richie’s gaze snaps to me, and the air crackles with his anger, the motel’s dim light casting harsh shadows across his face.

“Cole,” Richie says, his voice low, cutting like a blade, “What is this? My father… he did this? And you knew ?”

He holds up a page, a grainy photo of Hunter shaking hands with a known dealer, dates tying him to the deal that sparked this threat.

Richie’s face is a storm of hurt, disbelief, and fury, and my chest tightens, the Daddy in me aching to pull the boy close, to soothe him, while the Night Ops Guard knows I’ve failed to protect him from this truth.

I sit up, my jaw clenched, and meet his gaze, forcing calm despite the guilt churning inside.

“Darling boy, put the file down,” I say, my voice steady, though my pulse races.

“I didn’t want you to see that. Yes, I knew.

I’ve been protecting you from your father’s enemies…

and from his mistakes. That deal, it went bad, drew the wrong kind of attention.

It’s why you’re in danger, why we’re running, why the safe house was attacked. ”

I pause, searching his eyes, willing him to understand.

“I kept it from you to keep you safe, not because I wanted to lie,” I say, meaning every word of it from the bottom of my heart.

Richie’s eyes widen, then narrow, his voice rising, raw with pain.

“Safe? By hiding that my Pop messed up? That this is his fault?” Richie snaps.

He tosses the file onto the bed, papers scattering across the bedspread, and stands, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder, his hands clenched into fists.

“I trusted you, Cole. I called you Daddy, I gave you everything last night… my heart, my body—and you’re keeping secrets about my own father?

” Richie’s voice breaks, the memory of our intimacy—his soft gasps, his trust, the way he clung to me—twisting into a wound, a betrayal he feels as deeply as I do.

“Was that all a lie too? Was I just part of your mission?”

I shake my head in disbelief. I don’t know how he could even suggest that.

The accusation slices through me, and I stand, stepping toward him, my hands raised, open, desperate to bridge the gap.

“No, Richie, nothing about last night was a lie,” I say. “What we shared was real, more real than anything I’ve ever known. You’re not just a mission. You’re…” I hesitate, the word Little catching in my throat, too raw, too true.

“I’m what?” Richie demands, his cheeks red with anger and hurt.

“You’re everything to me,” I say. “But I’m a Night Ops Guard, and my job is to keep you alive, even if it means shielding you from truths that hurt. Hunter’s my brother, but he’s not perfect. That deal was a mistake, one he’s paying for, and I’m trying to fix it… for him, for you.”

“Right,” Richie says, unimpressed, his arms folded across his chest.

My voice softens, the Daddy in me pleading.

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect your heart,” I say. “Not because I don’t trust you.”

Richie shakes his head, tears brimming, his voice trembling with anger and hurt.

“Protect me? By lying? I’m not a kid, Cole,” Richie shouts. “I deserve to know about my Pop, about why we’re in this mess. You don’t get to decide what I can handle!”

His fists ball tighter, and I see his Little side warring with the young man he is, betrayed by the one he trusted most, the Daddy who held him through storms and read to him in bookstores. His pain mirrors my own guilt, the weight of failing his trust, of letting my feelings cloud my duty.

I take a deep breath, forcing calm, though my heart aches.

“You’re right,” I say, my voice steady but heavy.

“You deserve the truth, and I should’ve shared more.

I was wrong to keep this from you, and I’m sorry.

But right now, we’re in danger, and I need to focus on keeping you safe.

I’m going to call Henry, get an update on the threat, figure out our next move.

You need to stay in this room, calm down, and let me handle this.

I promise, when I get back, I’ll explain everything…

Hunter, the deal, all of it. No more secrets. ”

I hold Richie’s gaze, willing him to see my sincerity, the Daddy and the Guard both vowing to make this right.

Richie’s eyes flash, anger flaring, but exhaustion creeps into his posture, his shoulders slumping as he turns to the window, the rain streaking the glass like a mirror to his tears.

“Fine,” Richie mutters, his voice bitter, laced with hurt, and the distance between us feels like a chasm.

I grab my phone and jacket, my heart heavy with the weight of his pain, of my own failure.

Last night, Richie was my Little, his trust a gift, his passion a fire that lit up my world. Now, that trust is frayed, strained by my silence, by Hunter’s shadow, by the truth I couldn’t shield him from.

The Night Ops Guard mantra— never get emotionally connected —taunts me, a rule I’ve shattered with every moment I’ve let him into my heart.

Hunter’s my mentor, my brother, the man who saved my life, and Richie’s my mission, my Little, and I’m torn between them, my loyalty and love at war.

I step toward the door, glancing back at the boy, his silhouette small against the window, his anger a wall I don’t know how to breach.

I vow to make this right, to rebuild his trust, but first, I need answers. Henry’s waiting, the threat’s closing, and I move, leaving him in the room, hoping and praying that I can make this right…

The motel corridor is a dim, narrow stretch of badly paved stone and flickering fluorescent lights, the air stale with cigarette smoke and damp clothes.

I stand at the payphone, its receiver cold against my ear, the dial tone a low hum as I wait for Henry to answer.

I need to get this back on track.

I don’t have any other choice.

No matter what, I’m bringing Richie home safely…

Last night was everything, a collision of passion that left me reeling.

Richie might be a Little, but when it comes to desire, he’s got a wild side that matches his fire.

The way he moved with me, his eyes locked on mine, his body responding with a hunger that was both tender and fierce—it was more than I’d ever imagined.

Every touch, every whispered word, felt like a claim, a bond that went beyond the motel’s peeling walls, beyond the danger chasing us.

He was my Little, yes, but also a young man, bold and unapologetic, his passion a mirror to my own.

I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Richie, and last night proved it, sealing him into my heart in a way I can’t undo.

He’s everything… my light in the dark, my reason to fight, my Little who’s become so much more.

Richie’s reaction to the file, though, it’s shifted something in me.

I underestimated the young man, thought I needed to shield him from Hunter’s mistakes, from the hard truths of his arms deal and the enemies it unleashed.

But Richie’s not just a Little who craves snuggles and warm milk—he’s formidable, sharp, with a grasp of his father’s world that I should’ve recognized sooner.

The way he confronted me, his voice steady despite his hurt, his questions cutting to the core, it showed me he’s not fragile.

He’s Hunter’s son, raised in the shadow of Night Ops Guard secrets, and he can handle more than I gave him credit for. His anger wasn’t just betrayal, it was strength, a demand to be seen as an equal, not a child.

I was wrong to hide the truth, and that realization stings, but it also deepens my respect for him, my love for the fine young man who’s both my Little and a force in his own right.

The line clicks, and Henry’s voice comes through, gruff and alert.

“C?” Henry whispers. “Is that you?”

I don’t wait for pleasantries, my voice low, edged with the urgency of the night’s events—the safe house attack, the file, Richie’s shaken trust.

“Tell me everything you know,” I say, my words sharp, cutting through the static. “Things just got very fucking real.”

The motel corridor feels smaller, the fluorescent light buzzes louder, the rain’s rhythm a countdown to whatever’s coming.

Richie’s in the room, hurt but safe for now, and I need answers… about the threat, Hunter’s whereabouts, the cartel hunting us.

Henry’s intel is my lifeline, and I lean against the wall, the payphone’s cord taut, ready to piece together the next move, to protect my Little, to honor Hunter, to face the storm head-on, no matter how real it’s gotten.

“Okay, here goes,” Henry says. “Take a deep breath, you’re going to need it…”