Page 9 of Daddy Protector (Night Ops Daddies #1)

Richie

Morning sunlight pours through the safe house curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the wooden floorboards in warm, dappled pools.

The living room hums with the comforting scent of oats, cinnamon, and brown sugar, the porridge in my bowl steaming as I sit at the kitchen table.

The fire in the wood-burning stove crackles, its heat wrapping the room in a cozy cocoon, chasing away the faint chill that lingers from last night’s darkness.

Cole’s across from me, his flannel shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a sliver of tanned skin peeking through.

His dark eyes are calm but piercing, watching me between bites of his own porridge, and I feel that now-familiar flutter in my chest, a mix of nerves and something deeper I’m not ready to name.

A brief thought crosses my mind. I could take a spoonful of porridge and flick it in Cole’s direction. He’d be mad. Very mad. He might even pull my pajama bottoms down and spank me at the breakfast table. In fact, he almost certainly would. And he might even use the wooden porridge spoon on my ass!

Calm down, Richie.

It’s way too early to be thinking like this.

“Yummy,” I say, momentarily feeling a sense of embarrassment as I maybe shown a little bit too much enthusiasm for Cole’s porridge. “I mean, it’s good. Good porridge. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Cole replies, not giving me any sign that he cares either way if I’m over exuberant or not in my praise for his rich, creamy porridge.

Yesterday’s events—especially the spanking and corner time—are still playing in my mind, not as a weight but as a strange kind of clarity.

But I wish I knew whether Cole went to sleep thinking about the spanking. I mean, it was hard not to notice but when I was over his lap I could feel his thing , all hard and big. I might be a Little, but I know a hard Daddy dick when I feel one.

Was it simply a biological reaction and nothing else?

Or does Cole maybe, even just a little bit, actually… like me?

Pffft . I can’t spend too much time thinking about it. Not right now. I need to be brave and talk…

I stir my porridge, the spoon clinking softly, and gather my courage. I’ve never been good at opening up, but after Cole’s firm hand, the way he guided me through my mistake, I feel like I can be honest, at least a little.

“Cole,” I say, my voice quieter than I intend, “About yesterday… the spanking, the corner time. It really helped me. I know I deserved it for trying to swipe the laptop It was reckless, and it… the spanking made me feel grounded, like I could think clearly again.”

Cole pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth, and meets my gaze. There’s no trace of judgment, just a steady warmth that makes my cheeks flush and my heart skip.

“I’m glad it helped, Richie,” Cole says, his voice low and sincere, like he’s speaking straight to the scared, stubborn part of me. “You needed a reset, a moment to find your balance. It’s okay to need that, to let someone guide you.”

I nod, swallowing hard, my fingers tightening around the spoon.

Cole’s words settle over me like a soft blanket, but there’s more I need to get out, something heavier.

“I’m still so worried about my Pop,” I admit, my voice trembling.

“He’s out there, facing who-knows-what, and I don’t even know if he’s okay.

It’s like this knot in my chest, and I feel so helpless just sitting here, waiting.

I’m not trying to trick you or make you show me things that you can’t.

But… I just love my Pop so much. And he does pay me to run his online security. So…”

I look down, stirring my porridge faster, the cinnamon swirling in dizzying patterns as my eyes sting with unshed tears. I think of Pop’s laugh, his steady hugs, the way he’d show up just when I needed him, and the thought of him in danger twists my heart.

Cole sets his spoon down, leaning forward, his presence solid and reassuring, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“I know it’s tearing you up,” he says, his tone gentle but firm, grounding me.

“Hunter’s one of the toughest men I know, and he’s smart—smarter than most. He’s fighting to get back to you, Richie.

But worrying yourself sick won’t help him.

It’ll only wear you down. How about we do something to ease that weight?

Another Little playtime, like the pillow fort, but with more structure? Something to keep you centered.”

My heart leaps, a rush of warmth flooding through me, like the fire’s glow spreading to every corner of my body. The idea of slipping back into that safe, carefree space, with Cole’s steady guidance, makes me feel all fuzzy and light, like I’m wrapped in his care.

Don’t act too keen.

Try to play it cool.

Awww, hell. Just tell him what you want…

I bite my lip, trying to hide the grin tugging at my mouth, and nod eagerly.

“Can we do coloring?” I ask, my voice brightening, a spark of excitement bubbling up. “Like, with paper and pens, maybe some glitter? I used to spend hours coloring, making whole worlds—castles, forests, stars. It was my favorite thing. And I still do it now, with my Little friends.”

Cole’s lips curve into a small, warm smile, and my stomach does a little flip.

“Coloring it is,” Cole says, standing with that quiet confidence that makes me feel so safe. “I’ll set it up right now. Finish your breakfast, boy, I’ve got this.”

I scoop up a bite of porridge, the sweetness barely registering as my excitement takes over.

I watch Cole move to the old chest of drawers in the corner, its dark wood creaking as he pulls open a drawer.

It’s like a treasure chest, revealing crisp sheets of plain paper, a box of coloring pens in every shade of the rainbow, and a small jar of silver glitter that sparkles in the sunlight like tiny diamonds.

I wonder who left this stuff here—another family hiding out, maybe, or some long-ago tenant—but it doesn’t matter. It’s perfect for me, for this moment.

Cole gathers the supplies with his usual precision, like he’s prepping for a Night Ops Guard mission, and carries them to the rug near the stove, where the fire’s heat rolls out in gentle, comforting waves.

I shove my empty bowl aside, grab Fizz, and practically bounce to the rug, settling cross-legged, the wool soft and warm under my jeans.

The paper is smooth and inviting under my fingers, the pens a vibrant array of possibilities spread out like a painter’s palette. I grab a blue one—my favorite—and start sketching a swirly sky, broad, flowing strokes that feel like letting go.

Fizz is beside me, propped against a stray cushion from yesterday’s fort, his button eyes gleaming in the firelight, my loyal companion. The world shrinks to this moment—the scratch of the pen, the stove’s gentle crackle, the faint cedar-and-smoke scent of the room.

My worries about Pop don’t disappear, but they soften, slipping to the back of my mind as I sink deeper into Little Space, where everything is simple and safe.

“Coloring is fun,” I say, feeling myself regress and find my perfect Little spot.

I glance up at Cole, who’s kneeling nearby, arranging the pens with that focused care of his. He’s watching me, his eyes soft but strong, and I see it—a caring, handsome Daddy looking back, his presence like a shield against all the chaos outside.

My heart flutters, a mix of joy and longing that catches my breath, and I hold out a red pen, my voice small but hopeful.

“Will you color with me, Cole? Please?” I ask, unable to stop myself from smiling.

Cole hesitates, his jaw tightening for a moment, like he’s weighing something heavy, but then he nods, easing onto the rug beside me.

“Sure, baby boy,” Cole says, taking the pen. His big hand dwarfs it, but he starts drawing—a blocky tree with bright green leaves and red apples, clumsy but so earnest it makes me smile.

I giggle, adding a golden sun above it, and we fall into a rhythm, our pens moving together, the paper blooming with our shared world—skies, trees, a glittery river I sprinkle with sparkles.

It’s pure, easy fun, like the best summer days with Pop, but different, because Cole’s here, solid and safe, his presence making every color brighter, every moment softer.

I don’t want it to end, don’t want to leave this bubble where I’m just a Little and he’s… something more than a bodyguard.

I add glitter to my river, watching it shimmer, and sneak another glance at Cole. He’s focused, adding a lopsided bird to his tree, and I feel so safe, so seen , it almost aches.

But after a while, Cole sets his pen down, his voice firm but friendly, like a gentle nudge back to reality.

“I’ve gotta get back to work, Richie,” he says, nodding toward his laptop on the table. “But I’ll join you later, I promise.”

I pout, just a little, my heart sinking, but I nod, trusting his word.

“Okay,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “But only because you pwomise .”

Cole stands, stroking my hair as he goes, a gentle touch that sends warmth sparking through me.

I watch him settle at the table, his focus shifting to his screen, and I turn back to my coloring, adding a glittery heart to our picture, its edges sparkling in the firelight.

As I draw, my mind wanders, and I let myself dream, just for a moment.

What if, when this is all over—when Pop’s safe, when the threat’s gone—there was a world where Cole and I could be more?

Not just bodyguard and client, but Daddy and Little… for real?

The thought makes my cheeks burn, my heart race with a mix of hope and fear. He’s Pop’s best friend, way older than me, a Night Ops Guard bound by rules I don’t fully grasp.

But the way he cares, the way he makes me feel like I’m enough, like I’m his —it feels like it could be possible, like we could build something as vibrant and lasting as this page of colors we’ve created.

I shake my head, focusing on my swirls, the blue deepening under my pen.

It’s a silly dream, maybe, but it’s mine, tucked away like a secret in my heart.

For now, in this cozy safe house, with Cole’s steady presence across the room and Fizz by my side, it’s enough to keep me going.

I add one last dash of glitter to my heart, smiling at Fizz, and whisper, “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Fizz’s button eyes don’t answer, but they shine with possibility, and that’s all I need…