Page 24 of Daddy's Girl

"That mouth of yours is not helping you. I’d shut it if I were you."

The silence stretches between us, filled only by his measured breathing and the steady rhythm of the crunch, crunch, crunch of his boots on the path.

"Doing what you are told isn’t optional, little girl. When I tell you something that concerns your safety, you don’t ignore me."

My immediate instinct is to say something snarky, to remind him I'm an adult who makes her own decisions. But this is the second time he’s pulled me from that river, so I make the quick decision that right now, snarkiness is not the go to.

"I just wanted to get you a rock," I say quietly. "To say thank you."

I note the sigh that he exhales. "I appreciate that, baby. But not at the cost of your safety." He shifts me on his shoulder, giving my ass a quick tap, tap, tap. "I won’t ever apologize for protecting you, even from yourself. You disobeyed, there are consequences for that."

The word "consequences" sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with my wet clothes.

"What kind of consequences?" I ask, forcing volume into my voice, so I don’t sound like a scared little girl who just disappointed her father. Her hero.

Her daddy.

"You'll find out when I’m ready for you to find out."

My heart pounds against my ribs, fear and anticipation tangling into a knot beneath my sternum. Being carried like this, I feel simultaneously helpless and completely safe—a contradiction I'm still learning to navigate.

The cabin appears, sunlight glinting off its windows. Up the steps we go, tension forcing my teeth to grind together as Jack shoulders the door open, carrying me straight to the bathroom. He sets me on the counter with unexpected gentleness, turning immediately to twist the knobs on the chrome tub, more water rushing out of the tap, filling the vessel with warm soapy water.

"Strip," he orders without looking at me, grabbing a towel from the neat stack in the open closet. "We need to warm you up and check your knee."

I hesitate, fingers plucking at my sodden shirt. "Jack—"

"Now. Get naked. And drop the ‘Jack’. If we’re around other people,thenyou can call me Jack, but any other time, especially when my dick’s inside you, you’ll call me Daddy." His tone leaves no room for argument and my body betrays me with a rush of wet warmth between my legs.

I peel off my wet shirt, hop off the counter and tug off my jeans and panties, shivering as cool air hits damp skin.

“Come here.” He crooks his fingers and I step his way, hugging myself as he takes me by the hips and sits me on the edge of the tub.

He kneels, taking my leg in his massive hands, fingers probing the scraped skin with careful precision. Blood has mixed with creek water, making the injury look worse than it probably is. "Skinned pretty good. Might need antibiotic ointment." He helps me into the tub, the warm water sending needles of sensation across my chilled skin.

I sink deeper into the water, watching him through the rising steam. "Are you angry with me, Daddy?"

He stands, seeming taller than before. Impossible, but perception is everything. His jaw hardens, arms crossing before he answers. "Not angry. Disappointed." Somehow, that's worse. " The current is strong enough to pull a grown man downstream."

Guilt twists in my stomach. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are, baby," he says, fixing me with a stare that pins me in place more effectively than his hands ever could. "When you're finished in here, you'll dry off, come to the living room, and stand in the corner by the bookshelf. As much as I want to bend you over and fuck some sense into you, I’m thinking that’s more a reward. So I’m going to set aside what I want to do for your best interests."

My mouth goes dry. "Did you say stand in the corner?"

"Hands on your head,” he continues, ignoring my question. “You'll stay there, not turning around, not looking anywhere but at the corner where the two walls meet until I say otherwise, got it? You think you can follow my instructions this time?”

Heat floods my face, a mixture of embarrassment and something darker, more primal. "Jack—"

“Yes or no, baby girl. And you already broke another rule by calling me Jack again. Seems we have some work to do, don’t we?" His eyes are steel, unmoving, as I finally nod. Then he nods back, turns and leaves me in the tub, door clicking shut behind him.

I sink deeper into the warm water. This is the moment—the line between whatever we've been doing and something more defined, and am I ready? Willing? Able to do this with a man old enough to be my father that I’ve known for only a few days?

The memory of David's control flashes under my fleeting doubt about Jack—how he'd check my phone, dictate my friends, my clothes. But this feels different. Jack's rules aren't about possession, they're about protection.

Not controlling who I am, but keeping me safe.

When the water starts to cool, I step out carefully, the bubbles clinging to my skin as the water sloshes around my exiting legs. I dry off, pulse jumping in my throat. The logical part of me says to get dressed, to reject this bossy dynamic and assert my independence. But a deeper part—the part that melts when he gives me that look, that melts when he says "good girl"—already knows what I'll do.

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