Page 8 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Cole

Am I a true Night Ops Guard or not?

I need to crack this thing.

For Hunter, and for Richie too…

The safe house is cloaked in darkness, the only light spilling from my laptop screen, its cold blue glow slicing through the living area’s shadows.

“ Hmmm ,” I grumble as I pace up and down, flexing and curling my biceps as I walk. “There has to be an answer…”

The fire in the wood-burning stove has faded to a bed of glowing embers, casting faint warmth against the chill that seeps through the stone walls.

Outside, the forest is silent, the frost-laden pines standing sentinel under a starless sky.

I pace across the rug and back, my boots whispering against the fibers, my mind a storm of fragments—usernames, encrypted messages, dead-end leads.

I’ve been at this for hours, scouring the dark corners of the internet, trying to pin down who’s behind the threat to Hunter, my best friend, my brother in the Night Ops Guard.

Hunter may have left the Night Ops Guard, but the truth of the matter is that once you enter, there is no real exit. Not really. Hunter will be part of the brotherhood for the rest of his life. He knows it, and so do we all.

And that’s why it’s so important to me to make a breakthrough on this and help my oldest friend out of the situation he finds himself in.

Every forum, every contact, every scrap of intel I’ve got, I’m chasing, but it’s like grasping at smoke. Henry, one of the best Guards I’ve met, said he’d have something for me, but he’s late, and the waiting is carving a hollow in my gut.

Still, at least the boy is quiet…

Richie’s asleep in his pillow fort, a chaotic nest of cushions and blankets piled near the stove.

I glance at him, his small form curled under a quilt, one arm draped around that worn stuffy, Fizz.

Richie’s face is soft in sleep, his dark hair flopping over a cushion, and he looks so peaceful, so unguarded, it’s hard to believe he’s the same sneaky sass-machine who tried to sneak out this morning.

My chest tightens, a pull I shouldn’t feel, and I tear my eyes away, forcing my focus back to the laptop as I pace.

I can’t afford to linger on Richie, not like this. It’s not right.

Richie is Hunter’s son, my responsibility, my mission— nothing more.

But, also, I can’t deny how things are shifting.

This morning, when I put him in corner time, he fought it, all defiance and flashing eyes, but then he softened, like the structure was exactly what he needed.

I saw it—the way he relaxed, the way his shoulders eased, like a Little finding his place.

And that pillow fort? He built it with a joy that was pure, infectious, laughing as he stacked cushions, his voice bright as he whittered away to Fizz.

It stirred something in me, something I’ve kept locked away for years—a Daddy’s instinct, steady and fierce, wanting to protect him, guide him, make him feel safe. It’s more than just a role; it feels like who I am, like a part of me waking up after a long sleep.

“Fuck. Mind on the job, damn it,” I grumble quietly. “Stay focused.”

I clench my fists, pacing faster.

I can’t let this happen.

This is a job, a Night Ops Guard op, and Richie’s not just any Little—he’s Hunter’s youngest son. Getting emotionally attached would be a betrayal, not just of Hunter but of the code I’ve lived by for years.

We don’t blur lines.

We don’t let feelings cloud the mission.

We’re Night Ops Guards.

Hunter’s out there, maybe fighting for his life, and I’m here to keep his son safe, to find him, not to play Daddy in some cozy fantasy.

No matter what, I have to keep my distance.

Nothing can happen.

And nothing will happen.

Still, I can’t shake the weight of it—Richie responding to me, trusting me, even after his stunt.

He’s Hunter’s world, and I’m starting to see why.

But that’s exactly why I have to stay sharp, stay professional.

If I let myself care too much, I’ll lose focus, and I can’t afford that—not when Hunter’s counting on me.

The laptop chimes, sharp and sudden, cutting through the quiet. I’m at the table in an instant, heart pounding.

A voice message from Henry. I hit play, keeping the volume low, my eyes flicking to Richie’s fort to make sure he’s still out. Henry’s voice rumbles through, rough as gravel…

“Cole, I’ve got something. Not concrete, but it’s a lead—names, connections, maybe tied to Hunter’s last op. Sending a file now. Stay sharp, Night Ops Guard.”

The message cuts off, and I lean back, a surge of relief loosening the knot in my chest. If Henry’s intel pans out, we might finally have something solid, a thread to unravel this mess.

Henry’s good. In fact, he’s real good. When it comes to intel, I don’t think I’ve met a man with the kind of skill and instinct for weeding out crucial detail that Henry possesses.

Don’t get me wrong, Henry can fight and go to war like the best Night Ops Guard, but it’s his eye for detail that sets him apart.

And it’s why the promise of this damn file fills me with hope…

Suddenly, a rustle snaps my attention back.

Richie bursts from his pillow fort, blankets tumbling, his eyes wide and blazing in the laptop’s glow.

“What was that?” Richie demands, his voice sharp, alert, sleep nowhere in sight. “Who’s Henry? What’s in the file? Tell me, Cole, right now !”

My jaw tightens.

He wasn’t asleep—he was listening. Damn it. I keep my expression neutral, folding my arms.

“Nothing’s changed, Richie,” I say, my voice low and firm. “My work is private. You’re not involved in this. Remember, your father put you under my command. And right now, I’m saying no . Go back to bed.”

Richie’s face flushes, and he stomps his foot, the sound sharp against the floorboards.

“Not involved? This is about my Pop!” Richie stomps again, fists balled, his frustration boiling over. “You can’t keep me out, Cole! I’m not some kid you can just boss around! Screw you! Gimme that laptop!”

Richie makes a wild dash and grab for the laptop. He doesn’t get close. And that only prompts him to try again. And again.

“Calm down, boy,” I say, keeping calm but making sure that Richie knows he’s pushing me close.

“I won’t! Gimme that stupid laptop or I’ll smash it!” Richie says, swiping for the laptop and instead knocking a glass of water off the table and onto the floor.

“Enough,” I bark, taking Richie by the hand and marching him over toward the couch. “I’ve had just about enough of your bratty behavior. You had corner time, and I thought that might be enough. Evidently not. Give me your safeword, right this second. You’re going to get a spanked bottom.”

“Tomato, my safeword is tomato ,” Richie says, a look of shock on his face as I sit on the couch and draw him across my lap with a minimum of fuss. “Jerk!”

“You’re getting six on each cheek,” I say, unceremoniously pulling down his trousers and his white cotton briefs too. “And when I’m done, you’re going right back in that corner to think about what you’ve done.”

Richie blows a sass-filled raspberry at me and kicks his legs in frustration.

His round, white, and perfectly exposed butt is going to get a spanking alright – and he absolutely deserves one too. And now that we have a safeword logged, there’s nothing to prevent me from giving Richie the full treatment…

“Hold still, boy,” I growl, my Dom instincts kicking in with a vengeance. “One!”

Richie hollers out as the first spank immediately reddens his left cheek, and he does the same as the first spank lands on his right cheek too.

“ Owww ! You big jerky-jerk!” Richie spits, still kicking his feet.

“I’d suggest taking your punishment with a little more grace,” I say, knowing that I need to put my foot down right here and now. “Any more of that talk and I’ll reset the counter at zero.”

This seems to do the trick.

The next few spanks are met with plenty of cries of pain, but no more bratty sass. And that’s good. In fact, as I continue to redden Richie’s ass, his cries become quieter and his legs stop kicking entirely.

The spanking is working.

As I draw my hand down for the final spank on Richie’s now glowing butt, I’m met with a quiet whimper and a nod of acknowledgement as he takes himself off my lap and begins to walk to the corner without being prompted by me.

“Good boy,” I say, standing and making sure to quickly adjust my trousers so that any signs of my arousal are well hidden. “I’ll fetch some cooling cream and we can apply it while you take your ten minute time out in the corner.”

“T-t-t-thank you, Cole,” Richie says, his voice quiet and full of heartfelt remorse.

I can tell that Richie isn’t trying to play me right now.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think I’ve got a long way to go in order to get Richie fully obedient and ready to accept my commands. But in this moment, with his peachy butt glowing like the hot sun, I know that Richie is as submissive as a boy can be – and probably grateful for it too.

I make a quick visit to my refrigerator to pick out the cooling cream and when I return I see Richie perfectly in position, his hands by his side and his toasted butt cheeks on display.

“Now while I’m doing this, feel free to speak openly,” I say, tenderly applying the cooling cream to Richie’s hot bottom.

“If there was anything you didn’t like or felt unsure about.

You can tell me. It’s okay. I might be a gruff Daddy when it comes to discipline, but I can listen too.

You don’t get to be a Night Ops Guard unless you’re listening skills are on point. I pride myself on it.”

I wait and see whether Richie has anything to say.

He might be a little shy or even scared to speak up, so I don’t try and rush him.

Instead, I simply continue to apply the cream.

And while I’m doing it, I’m also trying my best not to allow my mind to wander onto other things…

namely how much I’d relish the chance to spank his butt again or reach around and take a big squeeze on that Little dick as it bobs and sways as I massage his butt.

“No, it was good,” Richie speaks, gasping a little as the cream hits the last spot, just at the curve of his butt. “I think… I think… I probably needed that.”

I grunt my approval and finish off with the cooling cream.

Inside, my heart thumps hard at Richie’s approval and gratitude for the spanking. But I can’t show him that. That’s not a good idea in the slightest.

“Okay. Ten minutes. Think about how you’re going to behave for me from now onward,” I say, my voice firm and uncompromising. “I’ve got a file to devour.”

With that, I turn and walk back to my laptop.

Henry’s file will be there, ready and waiting for me.

But with Richie’s soft, perfectly red butt staring back at me, it’s going to take everything I’ve got to focus my mind like a Night Ops Guard should…