Page 32 of Daddy’s Muse (Bloody Desires #12)

Bodin

He begged me to make it stop, and gods help me, I would’ve ripped my own heart from my chest if it could’ve spared him that pain.

When he’d whispered Bryan’s name, everything inside me had gone haywire.

For a heartbeat, I wanted to lie, to paint a softer truth, but I could tell by the look in his eye that he already knew.

If I had lied, tried to convince him that nothing had happened, he would’ve accepted it, but it still would’ve eaten him alive eventually.

So I told him.

I gave him the truth that would break him, because I needed him to know I hadn’t failed him, that every choice I’d made had been for him, and that I wouldn’t hide the twisted parts of my soul from him any longer.

And when he asked me how I knew I wouldn’t be caught… when he looked up at me with those wide, wet eyes and asked how I could promise him that the police wouldn’t take me away—what else could I say but the truth again?

Because they never have.

I saw the terror that answer carved into him. I felt the way his whole body shook against me as though I’d become something monstrous in his arms.

And when he whispered, “ How do I know you won’t hurt me too?” it was as though he’d taken a blade and plunged it through my ribs.

I had to make him understand.

I’d never loved anyone, never wanted to keep anyone, never cared—not until him. That was the difference. That was why he was safe. He had to believe that, because it was the truest thing I’d ever spoken.

Without him, there was no me.

There was only darkness.

And as he wept into my chest, as his words broke against me like waves against stone, I rocked him, murmuring every reassurance I could think of. I told him what I needed him to hold onto, even if it came out more like a vow than a comfort.

But the look in his eyes lingered, raw and searching, like he wasn’t sure whether he was in the arms of his protector or his captor.

I couldn’t let that doubt grow. I couldn’t let it fester.

So I held him tighter, cradled him in my arms, and whispered again and again until the words sank into his skin.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours. Nothing will come between us. Pappa’s never letting you go.”

His breath hitched against my chest, damp warmth seeping through my shirt where his tears clung. I didn’t care; let him cry, let him scream. I’d take every drop of it if it meant he stayed pressed against me.

“Shh… Pappa’s got you. I’m right here.” My voice shook, and I forced it lower, calmer, a lullaby meant only for him. I buried my nose in his hair, breathed him in, and let his scent wash over me.

I couldn’t let him see me unravel, especially not when he was already slipping.

“You’re safe,” I whispered into his skin, slow and careful, like each word was another stitch holding him together. “You’re always safe with me. No one touches you. No one takes you. Pappa won’t let them.”

He flinched at that. It was tiny, but I felt it, like my words had cut instead of soothed. My arms tightened instinctively, protectively, possessively.

He had to believe me. He had to.

Please.

I tilted his chin up with my thumb and made him look up at me. His eyes—red, swollen, still shining with wetness—stared into me like he was begging for me to fix this, to rewind time.

“Listen to me,” I murmured, pressing my forehead against his. “Please, kanin. I’ll—I’ll try to stop… I’ll do better. Please just… I need you. I need you more than air.”

His lashes fluttered, another tear slipping free, and his lips parted like he wanted to answer but couldn’t.

So I kissed him. Just once. The barest brush, like setting a seal on the words I’d given him. He whimpered—a wounded sound, but he didn’t pull away. He melted instead, clutching at my shirt with trembling hands, burying himself deeper into me as if I really was the only safe harbor he had left.

And maybe that’s what I was. Maybe that’s what I’d made myself.

The world could tear itself apart outside these walls, and I wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t care. Because all that mattered was right here, shuddering in my arms, small and breakable and mine.

I continued to sway him gently back and forth, whispering nonsensical little endearments, anything to keep him floating. Anything to keep him from slipping back into the dark place where Bryan’s ghost might still linger.

If I had to hold him for the rest of the night, the rest of my life, so be it. I’d sooner weld my skin against his than lose him forever.

His weight was light in my lap, his body trembling against me like a leaf caught in the wind. I could almost feel him shrinking, retreating into that soft place inside himself where the world couldn’t reach.

Good. That was what he needed.

“That’s it, baby,” I murmured against his hair. “You don’t have to be big right now. Pappa’s got you. Pappa’s so fucking sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I swear, sweetheart.”

When his grip on my shirt loosened, I eased him up just enough to carry him.

His head nestled against my shoulder. I pressed a kiss to his temple and took him into our bedroom, laying him down gently on the mattress.

His stuffed animals were there already, waiting where he’d left them on his pillow.

I tucked the raccoon into his left arm and the bunny into his right before going to fetch what I needed.

I paced around the kitchen, stopping when I finally found what I’d been looking for.

Colby and I hadn’t used a bottle yet; we had only used sippy cups and big kid cups so far. But if there were ever a time when a nice warm bottle of milk was needed, it would’ve been now.

When I came back to our bedroom, bottle in hand, his eyes fluttered open, glassy and tired, confusion fogging them. “Pappa?”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” I sat down beside him, my body dipping into the mattress, and gathered him into my lap again, tilting the bottle towards him so he could see it. “Look what Pappa’s got for you. Something warm and sweet.”

He blinked at it, hesitant at first, but the moment I brushed the rubber nipple against his lips, instinct took over.

He latched on with a soft, needy sound, sucking slowly at first, then taking deeper, longer pulls.

My heart ached at the sight of it—he was so trusting, so small, every ounce of his weight resting in my arms.

It would kill me to lose him.

I’d made him dependent on me, sure, but in turn, I’d become just as reliant on him.

I held the bottle steady with one hand and stroked his hair with the other, smoothing the damp strands back from his face. His auburn lashes brushed against his cheeks, the tension in him easing sip by sip.

“That’s my boy,” I praised softly. “My precious, perfect boy. Good job. Drink it all down. There you go.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, a faint hum vibrating in his chest like it soothed him. I let the silence stretch for a few minutes, the only sound his soft sucking, before I began to speak.

“Do you want to hear a story?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t unlatch, but he gave me a faint nod as his eyes flicked up to mine, trusting me to understand what he left unspoken.

“Once upon a time, there was a little bunny,” I began, keeping my voice quiet and even, a rhythm he could drift inside of.

“He wandered through the dark forest all alone, day after day, just trying to find a warm home for the winter. He was small, smaller than all the other creatures, with speckled fur that no other animal in the forest had ever seen before.”

His eyelids dipped lower, the story pulling him further down, the bottle slipping lower as he finished the last of it.

“The other creatures were jealous of his many little spots, but instead of admitting that, they were mean to the little bunny. No one would share their den with him. And so the little bunny journeyed far, stopping at each cave or hole or crevice he found, only to be chased away by its occupants.”

I massaged his ears with my fingers before carding them through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

“The temperatures dropped, and snow began to fall. The little bunny was shivering from the cold, his feet exhausted and hurting, but he refused to give up. He kept trudging forward, determined to find somewhere safe and warm to rest, when at last, he came upon a very cozy-looking burrow. Although he was sure he would be chased out yet again, the little bunny hopped in. Once he was inside, he could tell that this den would be a wonderful place to stay. But as he wandered a little further in, he jumped in fright. A huge white wolf lay curled up on the ground, its head resting comfortably on its front paws, watching the bunny explore its burrow. The little bunny froze, heart pounding. He braced himself to be swallowed up by sharp teeth. He shut his eyes tight as the big wolf crawled towards him. But instead of being eaten, the bunny was shocked as the wolf lay beside him, sharing his warmth and his home.”

By the time I pulled the empty bottle away, his breathing was slow and steady, his lips parted in a soft sigh.

I settled deeper into the mattress with him curled against me, and continued stroking his hair, pleased when sleep claimed him completely.

His cheek lay against my chest, still hot with the remnants of his earlier tears.

I eased the bottle onto the nightstand and shifted just enough to tuck the blanket over us both. His stuffed raccoon had fallen from his arm, so I guided it back into place, letting his fingers curl around it again.

The smallest things—his quiet sighs, the twitches of his nose, the soft rise and fall of his chest—burned into me with a weight I couldn’t explain. Every inch of him was fragile, precious, and mine.

I bent to press a kiss into his hair. “Good boy,” I whispered, softer than breath itself.

He stirred faintly, a sleepy noise catching in his throat, but didn’t wake. His body stayed pliant, trusting, tucked against me like he belonged there—which he did.