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Chapter seven

Novo

I woke to find Matty curled against my side, his head tucked under my chin, one arm flung across my chest. His breath came in soft, even puffs against my neck, his body warm and pliant with sleep.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep holding him like this, but somewhere in the night, we'd shifted together.

Carefully, I tried to extricate myself without waking him, but as soon as I moved, he made a small, disgruntled noise and pressed closer. I froze, not wanting to disturb him. The kid needed rest after yesterday's fuck-up.

In sleep, he looked younger, more vulnerable.

The worry lines that had creased his forehead yesterday were smoothed away, his long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

I found myself studying his face, noticing details I'd missed before—the slight upturn of his nose, the small freckle near his right ear, the way his lips parted slightly as he breathed.

As I shifted again, the sleeve of his borrowed t-shirt rode up, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Dark bruises circled his upper arm—bruises that matched my fingers where I'd grabbed him yesterday, pulling him away from the car. I hadn't realized I'd gripped him so hard.

"Mmm," Matty murmured, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked slowly, confusion evident as he took in our position. "Novo?"

"Morning," I said quietly, watching as awareness dawned in his eyes.

He jerked upright, then immediately clutched his head with a groan. "Oh God," he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Why does everything hurt?"

"That would be the shots you did with the old ladies," I said, sitting up beside him. "How bad is it?"

"My head is trying to escape my body," he whispered, still clutching his temples. "And someone wallpapered my tongue."

Despite myself, I chuckled. "Hangover 101. Let me get you some more water and painkillers."

Matty just groaned again, falling back against the pillows and pulling the covers over his head. "Just let me die in peace."

I slipped out of bed and grabbed a bottle of water and some ibuprofen from my bag. When I returned to the bed, Matty was still hidden under the blankets, only a tuft of brown hair visible.

"Come on," I said, tugging gently at the covers. "Medicine time."

"Nooo," came the muffled protest. "Everything hurts. The light hurts. Your voice hurts."

"My voice hurts?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn't see it.

"It's too deep," Matty complained from beneath the blanket. "It's vibrating my brain."

I bit back another laugh. "If you take these pills and drink this water, you'll feel better."

"But you made me drink water last night," Matty muttered, but slowly emerged from his cocoon, blinking painfully at the dim light filtering through the blinds. His hair stuck up in all directions, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. He accepted the pills and water with trembling hands.

"Small sips," I advised, watching as he swallowed the painkillers. He clearly wasn't joking when he said he didn't drink. I'd made him hydrate last night but he still looked miserable this morning. And this barely eating nonsense was going to stop.

He grimaced after each swallow, but dutifully drank half the bottle before handing it back. "I'm never drinking again," he declared solemnly.

"Everyone says that during their first hangover," I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You'll feel better after a shower and some food."

The mention of food made Matty turn slightly green. "No food. Ever again."

"Toast," I insisted. "And maybe some eggs if you're feeling adventurous."

Matty just groaned, pulling the covers back over his head. "Five more minutes," came his muffled voice, sounding younger than I'd heard before.

Something about his tone, the childish plea in it, tugged at something inside me.

This was what Ricky had meant when he'd said Matty needed a Daddy, not just a Dom.

The realization settled over me with unexpected clarity.

I'd skirted on the edge of the scene for years once I'd been discharged.

Jono and Daisy attended the local kink club regularly, and while I enjoyed the times I'd been, being a good Dom took years of dedication and between the club and overseeing the two local bars including one strip joint we owned, I never had the time.

"Five minutes," I agreed, my voice gentler than intended. "Then shower. I'll find you something clean to wear."

A mumbled "Thank you" emerged from the blanket nest, and I found myself smiling despite the seriousness of our situation. Hungover Matty was... almost cute.

When I returned with fresh clothes borrowed from Cruise—who was smaller than me and closer to Matty's size—I found Matty sitting on the edge of the bed, looking miserable. He'd pushed the covers back and was staring at his arm with a confused expression.

Guilt twisted in my gut. "That was me," I admitted. "When I pulled you away from the car. I didn't realize I'd grabbed you so hard."

Matty blinked up at me, his expression unreadable. "You saved my life," he said simply.

"Doesn't mean I needed to hurt you in the process," I countered, setting the clothes beside him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Matty said, his voice suddenly stronger. "I'd rather have bruises than be dead."

I couldn't argue with that logic. "Shower's through there," I said, nodding toward the small bathroom attached to the room. "Towels are under the sink. Use whatever you need."

Matty nodded, then winced at the movement. "Thanks," he mumbled, gathering the clothes and shuffling toward the bathroom.

I heard the water start, and only then did I let out a long breath.

The protective instinct I'd felt yesterday hadn't diminished, and should I be letting him go in the shower alone?

What if he slipped or got dizzy? Decision made, I went back into the bathroom and sighed.

Matty was sitting down in the shower, the jets pounding on his bent head.

I tugged off my shirt and shucked down my jeans.

This was what I'd signed up for, I told myself. I stepped into the shower stall and knelt beside him. “Hey, little one,” I murmured softly, letting the warm water seep through my boxers.

“Let me help you.” Gently, I guided him to his feet, one reassuring hand holding him steady. Matty kept his head down, his neediness clear as the water cascaded over him. I reached for the shampoo and squeezed a bit into my palm.

“Tilt your head back just a little, sweetheart,” I instructed, my voice gentle yet firm. To my delight, he complied without hesitation, his head tilting obediently back. I worked the shampoo into his hair, my fingers massaging his scalp while he let out a tiny, contented sigh.

“That feels good,” he murmured, his eyes still closed in trusting surrender.

I rinsed his hair carefully, shielding his eyes with one hand before reaching for the soap and washcloth.

As I worked up a light lather, I hesitated for a moment, mindful not to overstep—but I was here as his Daddy, here to care for every Little part of him.

I tenderly washed his back, avoiding the bruises, then his arms and chest. His skin felt delicate and soft under my hands. I quietly skipped over his midsection and legs and placed the cloth in his trembling hands.

“You finish up, little one,” I said softly. “D—I'll be right here if you need me.”

Crap, I'd nearly called myself Daddy then. It was one thing thinking it in my head, but another giving it a name.

Maybe I should talk to Bolt? Bolt was one of our original brothers, but I'd seen him with his old lady and she called him Daddy and spent most of her time on his lap.

He also was strict when it came to eating, drinking and what she did or didn't do.

I couldn't say I'd ever seen her behave particularly childishly, but then I'd never really looked.

I knew Daisy was very protective of her.

He accepted the cloth with shaky hands and finished washing himself while I hovered nearby, ready to catch him if he wavered. When he was done, I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his small shoulders.

“Better now?” I asked, gently helping him stand.

“A little,” he admitted, clutching the towel as if it were a lifeline. “My head still feels like it’s going to spin out of control.”

“Food will help, sweetheart,” I assured him, guiding him out of the shower. “Go get dressed, and I’ll get us some breakfast.”

I stepped out to give him a moment of privacy while I quickly changed my wet boxers. When Matty emerged from the bathroom, he looked a bit better—his damp hair combed neatly, and he was dressed in Cruise’s borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants that hung a little too large on his fragile frame.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, avoiding my gaze. “For…helping me.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby,” I replied, the sincerity in my voice catching me by surprise. “Do you think you can handle going downstairs for food, or would you prefer that I bring something up to you?”

Matty paused, then squared his small shoulders. “Downstairs,” he decided softly. “I should probably say sorry to the ladies for last night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, boy,” I insisted gently. “They really enjoyed spending time with you. And if anything, they should apologize for getting you drunk,” I added.

A faint blush colored his cheeks. “I’m not usually such a big drinker,” he murmured.

“I know,” I said, placing a hand on his lower back and guiding him toward the door. “Just take it slow, sweetheart—you’re doing just fine.”

The clubhouse kitchen area was busier than I expected at this hour. Daisy stood at the stove flipping pancakes while Ellie sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Tex and Cruise were there too, talking quietly in the corner.

"Well, look who's alive," Cruise called out when he spotted us. His eyes flickered with amusement as he took in Matty's disheveled appearance.

"Barely," Matty mumbled, wincing at Cruise's volume.