Page 29 of Daddy's Girl

A laugh escapes me—rough, unpracticed. "Can't help it. Don't like people looking at what's mine."

Her cheeks pink at the word "mine," but she doesn't correct me. Doesn't pull away. Just squeezes my hand tighter. Progress.

We reach the truck, parked at the far end of the street where fewer eyes can linger. I open the passenger door, lifting her easily—Christ, she can't weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet—by the waist to set her on the seat. Her legs dangle, too short to reach the ground from my truck's height. The sight punches me in the gut, makes my cock twitch. She looks like a little doll I could break with one hand.

"Thank you for this," she says, suddenly serious, her hand on my chest stopping me from closing the door. "For coming to town. For the clothes. For everything."

I cover her hand with mine, feel her pulse jumping beneath my fingers. My palm swallows her hand completely. I could circle her wrist with my thumb and pinky, could span her entire waist with my hands. "You're my thing," I tell her, the words coming out like gravel. "Everything else adjusts around that."

The smile she gives me then—Christ. Bright enough to blind a man. That smile is my fucking church. Nothing has made me more at peace than seeing her light up. Not even my mountain.

As I round the truck to the driver's side, I catch Bill Carson still watching, only he’s licking his lips now and barely hiding the lust in his eyes. A red curtain drops over my vision. My hands curl into fists, tendons popping. I imagine the wet crunch his skull would make under my boot, the satisfying crack of his jaw when it splits. I stare him down until he looks away, pale and sweating. Message fucking received.

Mine. Eighteen and tight and wet and all fucking mine.

My phone buzzes as I pull away from the curb. Beau's name flashes on the screen. I almost ignore it, but Delaney reaches over, answering before I can stop her.

"It's for you," she says, handing me the phone with a smile that makes my chest ache.

"Yeah?" I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear, one hand on the wheel, the other finding her knee.

"She's still there?" Beau's voice crackles through the speaker, loud enough for Delaney to hear. I see her body stiffen slightly beside me.

"Yeah, she's still here," I murmur, giving her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“That’s a big fucking promise to keep, man. Don’t think your man Hart meant you’d be moving her in.”

"Of course I'm keeping my promise. That’s my duty to her father. Now, don’t be more of a dick, what do you want?”

I glance over as Beau rambles on about Sunday and celebrating mom’s birthday, but I catch the way her face pales at my words, the way her body pulls away from my touch like she's been burned. Fuck.

That’s my duty to her father.

Wrong thing to say. Wrong fucking way to say it.

I cut Beau off, palming the wheel along the winding mountain road. Her eyes are fixed on the scenery outside, body turned away from me now. I can read her body, not just when I’ve got my dick inside her or my mouth at the altar of her pussy.

Pine trees blur past, shadows dappling the road as afternoon sun filters through the branches. The tension between us is a living thing, breathing in the small space of the cab.

A bright flash of red cuts across the windshield—a cardinal darting across the road. I swerve instinctively, the truck lurching, gravel crunching beneath the tires as I correct. Delaney gasps, her hand flying to the door handle.

"Shit," I mutter, steadying the wheel. "Bird."

She nods but doesn't speak. A single tear tracks down her cheek—one she tries to brush away before I can see it.

"Talk to me," I bark, harsher than intended and not angry at her but at my own asshole self. "What's going on in that head?"

“Nothing.” She presses this barely-there smile on her lips, staring out the passenger window at the endless green and brown going by.

Enough of this bullshit.

I pull the truck off onto one of the many little trail roads that wind up the mountain. In a skid of gravel, I stop, killing the engine. The silence that follows is absolute—no cars, no people, just mountain sounds and her shallow breathing.

"Rule number three," I remind her, shifting to face her. "You tell me what's in your head. Always. No exceptions. Especially when I ask."

She laughs, the sound hollow and tense. "Even when it makes me sound pathetic?"

"Especially then." I reach for her, but she flinches away. The rejection hits like a physical blow. "Delaney.Look at me. I’m not fucking around. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s going on, and listen, I’m a fucking man, I’m an idiot, okay? But I’myouridiot and I want to know everything, so don’t make me turn that ass red just to get you to talk. I’m your home, your safest place. Daddy. Say it however you want to say it."

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