Page 12 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector

“You’re too big,” I whine. “Too deep.”

He stalls, his eyes connecting with mine. “Baby, I know you can handle me. Breathe,” he whispers on repeat. “Just breathe, baby.”

I grip onto him as I try to relax. The intrusion is too much, but I close my eyes and do as he says. I breathe.

He rocks his body gently in tune with mine, and after a few moments it no longer feels weird and starts to feel good.

“Yes,” I moan as he starts to move a little faster.

“You’re doing such a good job, little girl.” He pumps his hips faster, rocking his dick further inside me.

I squeeze my legs around him, moving in speed with him. Soon my body is once again building to that pleasure point. “Ah, yes,” I moan again, his body pressing mine down into the earth.

I like the feeling of him on top of me. Protecting me. Keeping me safe. Daddy’s little girl.

“I’m so close to coming deep inside you.” He keeps pushing, fucking me senseless.

“Please do it.” I want him to fill me up. I want his DNA mixed with mine. I want it so badly. “Please,” I whine.

“I’ll do anything you ever want me to do.” He keeps pushing his thickness inside me, and my body comes alive.

“Yes, Gus, Daddy, yes…” my words are incoherent, and Gus smiles down at me.

“I’m loving you, baby.” He grips onto me tighter as my body releases once more, my orgasm crashing down around me.

“Yes, Daddy.” My body’s spent, and I drop my arms to the ground as Gus braces himself above me.

“I’m so close.” He pumps a few more time and then grunts through his own orgasm. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Take all of me.”

Our breathing is labored as he moves off of me. We clean ourselves up as our bodies calm. He kisses me as we pack our things, and I feel like this is the start of something amazing.

Something forever.

The gravel roadtwists and climbs through a cathedral of towering pines before spilling us out onto a small plateau ringed by mountains. Morning has stretched into late afternoon, and the sun hangs low—an amber coin caught between the blue-green peaks. My breath catches when Gus steers the truck around one final bend and the cabin appears, sturdy and timeless, like it grew from the earth instead of being built.

Massive cedar logs interlock at the corners, their warm, honey-brown grain glowing in the slanting light. A stone chimney rises along one side, thick as an ancient oak trunk, and thin wisps of smoke curl lazily from the flue where Gus must have left the flue open the last time he was here. A wide porch wraps three sides, its railing carved with simple mountain motifs—bear prints, pinecones, crescent moons. Flower boxes overflow with late-summer petunias in reckless shades of fuchsia and violet, and the faint scent of sap and moss hangs in the crisp air. It is achingly beautiful… and blessedly remote.

“This is it,” Gus says, voice a rough murmur as he kills the engine. “Home base until the situation with Tyler is handled.”

Home. The word settles over me like a quilt, heavy with promise and safety. I press my palm to the dashboard for a moment, grounding myself. For the first time since I fled Florida, I truly believe I might be out of Tyler’s reach.

Gus hops from the cab and circles to my door before I can grab the handle. He opens it, offering a hand. I take it, heart flippingat the easy strength of his grip. His thumb brushes my knuckles—a tiny touch, yet it makes my pulse dance.

“Welcome to Saddleback,” he says, gesturing toward the expanse of woods behind the cabin. “Nearest neighbor is eight miles down the mountain. Cell signal’s spotty and there’s only one road in.”

“Perfect,” I breathe, drinking in the hush of rustling branches and distant birdsong. “It’s beautiful, Gus.”

He gives a soft, almost shy smile that melts the last of my nerves. “Wait till you see inside.”

But first, unloading. We spend twenty minutes ferrying supplies from the truck: duffels of clothes, a cooler stuffed with groceries, a battered crate full of Gus’s tools and spare parts, and a small, locked case I’ve learned not to ask about. Every so often Gus scans the tree line, eyes narrowed, warrior-sharp, before returning to the task at hand. The tension in his shoulders reminds me we didn’t come here for vacation.

When the truck bed is finally empty, I wipe sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist. “Do you think Tyler could find us way out here?”

Gus sets the crate on the porch with a dull thud. “Highly unlikely,” he says, voice low. “Mason and Decker are tracking him in Florida. They’ll keep me updated. But I’m not taking chances.” He nods toward the case at his feet; I recognize the matte-black finish of a gun safe. “I’ll do a perimeter sweep after we’re settled. Motion sensors, fresh batteries in the trail cams. If anyone so much as sneezes inside three hundred yards, we’ll know.”

A shiver skates down my spine—half fear, half awe. “You really thought of everything.”

“It’s my job to think of everything,” he answers, but when our eyes meet the hardness slips, replaced by warmth. “And my job to keep you safe.”

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