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Chapter thirteen

Matty

Seeing Daddy defend me like no one ever had in my life did something to me. I was aware of everything that had happened, but instead of being scared, I was suddenly brave. And I wanted Daddy—Novo—with a desperation that astonished me.

When we stepped inside the cabin, Daddy locked the door behind us and turned to face me, his expression guarded.

"Matty," he began carefully, "we should talk about—"

I silenced him with another kiss, pressing my body against his solid warmth.

For a moment he remained still, then with a groan that vibrated through my chest, his arms wrapped around me, lifting me easily.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom, his mouth never leaving mine.

He set me down beside the bed, breaking the kiss to search my face. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint. "You've been through a lot."

"I've never been more sure of anything," I said, my fingers working at the buttons of his flannel shirt. "I want this. I'm not... I don't know how to explain it. I feel safe with you. Protected. But I also want..."

"What do you want, Matty?" Daddy asked, his thumbs tracing circles on my wrists.

"I want to feel something good," I whispered. "I'm tired of being afraid. Please, Daddy . Make me feel something else."

Something in his expression softened, and he released my hands to cup my face. "If we do this, we do it my way," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Slow. Careful. And if at any point you want to stop, you tell me."

I nodded, leaning into his touch. "I trust you."

His eyes darkened at my words, and he leaned down to kiss me again, this time with deliberate slowness. His beard tickled my skin as his mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, then down my neck. I shivered, my hands fisting in his shirt.

"Too many clothes," I murmured, tugging at the fabric.

Daddy chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Patience, little one."

The term of endearment sent a confusing mix of comfort and arousal through me. I wasn't in my Little space now, but the words still warmed me, making me feel cherished, and I still wanted to call him Daddy.

He helped me remove my flour-dusted t-shirt, his eyes darkening as they took in my bare chest. His fingers traced the lingering bruises on my arm where he'd grabbed me during the car incident, his expression clouding.

"I'm sorry for these," he said softly.

"Don't be," I whispered, covering his hand with mine. "They remind me that you saved my life."

His eyes met mine, intense and searching. I held his gaze, wanting him to see that I meant it. After a moment, he nodded and lowered his head to press a gentle kiss to each bruise, his beard tickling my sensitive skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured against my shoulder, his large hands spanning my waist.

I flushed under his praise, suddenly self-conscious of my slender frame compared to his muscular build.

As if sensing my thoughts, he straightened and shrugged off his flannel shirt, revealing a tight black t-shirt beneath.

When he pulled that off too, I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped me.

Daddy's chest and arms were covered in intricate tattoos—swirling patterns that accentuated his powerful muscles. Scars marked his skin here and there, telling stories of a life I knew nothing about. I reached out hesitantly, tracing a particularly prominent scar that ran across his left pectoral.

"Afghanistan," he said quietly. "Shrapnel."

I nodded, continuing my exploration of his body, and receiving the occasional verbal explanations. He stood perfectly still, allowing me to touch him, to learn him. When my fingers reached the waistband of his jeans, his abdominal muscles tightened visibly.

"Matty," he said, his voice deeper than I'd ever heard it. "We can stop anytime."

"I don't want to stop," I replied, looking up at him through my lashes. "I want you, Daddy. All of you."

He growled—there was no other word for it—and suddenly I was being lifted and deposited gently on the bed. He followed me down, his larger body covering mine without crushing me. The weight of him felt incredible, grounding me in the moment.

His mouth found mine again, the kiss deeper and more insistent now. I arched against him, desperate for more contact. He shifted, sliding one powerful thigh between my legs, giving me something to press against. I moaned into his mouth, my hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

"Tell me what you need," Daddy murmured against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

"Everything," I gasped, my head falling back to give him better access. "Anything. Just... don't stop touching me."

His lips curved into a smile against my skin. "I can do that."

With deliberate slowness, his hands moved to the button of my jeans.

He looked up, silently asking permission, and I nodded frantically.

He undid the button and zipper, then eased the denim down my legs along with my underwear.

I fought the urge to cover myself as his gaze traveled over my now-naked body.

"Perfect," he whispered, and the reverence in his voice chased away any lingering insecurities.

His hands skimmed my sides, tracing every curve and plane of my body with an artist's attention to detail. When he finally wrapped his fingers around my length, I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily into his touch.

"Easy," he murmured, his free hand pressing gently on my hip to steady me. "We have all the time in the world."

But I didn't want to go slow. After days of fear and uncertainty, I craved intensity, something to drown out everything else. I reached for his belt buckle, fumbling in my eagerness.

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I need to feel you."

Something in my tone must have conveyed my desperation, because Daddy's pupils dilated. He stood, quickly removing his remaining clothes, and I couldn't help but stare at the magnificent sight of him—all muscle and tattoos and raw power.

When he returned to the bed, he positioned himself above me, supporting his weight on his forearms. "Tell me if anything doesn't feel good," he instructed, his eyes serious despite the flush on his cheeks.

I nodded, reaching up to trace the lines of his beard. "I will. But right now, everything feels amazing."

His smile was slow and devastating. "It's about to feel even better."

True to his word, Daddy took his time preparing me, his thick fingers gentle as they worked me open.

The initial discomfort gave way to pleasure so intense I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

By the time he finally positioned himself between my bent legs, and dragged a pillow under my ass, I was trembling with need.

He quickly smoothed on a condom. "Look at me," he commanded softly, and I obeyed, meeting his intense gaze as he pressed forward.

The stretch and burn of him entering me made me gasp, my fingers digging into his biceps. He paused, giving me time to adjust, his breathing ragged with the effort of restraint.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice strained.

"More than okay," I assured him, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper.

Daddy groaned, his control visibly slipping as he began to move. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through me, building a pressure that made my toes curl and my back arch. I clung to him, overwhelmed by the sensations and the sheer damn goodness of everything.

"So perfect," he murmured against my ear, one hand sliding beneath me to change the angle. "So good for me, baby."

The endearment sent a shock of warmth through me, different from but connected to the physical pleasure. I turned my head to capture his mouth in a desperate kiss, trying to convey everything I couldn't put into words.

When his hand wrapped around me, stroking in time with his thrusts, I knew I wouldn't last much longer. The dual sensations were too intense, too perfect.

"Daddy," I gasped, a warning and a plea.

"Let go for me, little one," he growled, his rhythm never faltering. "I've got you."

Those words broke something loose inside me.

With a cry that seemed torn from my soul, I came apart in his arms, my body shuddering with pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Through the haze of my release, I felt Daddy's movements grow erratic, his breathing harsh against my neck before he groaned deeply, his powerful body tensing above me.

For several moments, we remained locked together, both of us breathing heavily.

His weight pressed me into the mattress, but I welcomed it, wrapping my arms around his broad back to keep him close.

Eventually, he softened and slipped out.

He shifted to the side, careful not to crush me, but kept one arm draped possessively across my waist.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that I could feel vibrating through his chest.

I nodded, suddenly shy despite what we'd just shared. "More than okay."

His fingers traced idle patterns on my skin, sending pleasant shivers through my still-sensitive body. "That wasn't... I didn't plan for this to happen," he admitted.

"I know," I said, turning to face him. "I wanted it. I still do."

His blue eyes studied me carefully. "No regrets?"

"None," I whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "For the first time in days, I don't feel afraid."

Something complex flickered across his face—tenderness mixed with what might have been guilt. Before I could decipher it, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

"We should get cleaned up," he murmured. "And then talk."

My stomach tightened at those words. Talk. About what had just happened? About my behaving Little and calling him Daddy? About the fact that someone was still trying to kill me?

"Hey," Daddy said softly, tilting my chin up. "Stop overthinking. One step at a time."