Page 20 of Daddy Defender
Chapter 7
Bodie
“W-w-w-wasI sleeping?” I mumble, barely aware of where I am. “Oh, right. Yeah.”
The hum of Shred’s engine pulls me out of a fuzzy nap, the van’s vibrations seeping into my bones, soothing in a way I didn’t expect.
It’s different sitting in the passenger side rather than driving. This is my van, and I like to be the one behind the wheel. But after all the drama, not to mention the spanking, I guess I was always going to crash out at some point—and it’s probably best I wasn’t behind the wheel when that happened!
I’m curled in the passenger seat, Poot tucked against my chest, his worn tusks soft under my fingers.
The seat’s cracked vinyl is warm from my body, and the coastal road stretches dark outside, the ocean a distant murmur through the half-open window.
My butt’s still tender and I shift, wincing as the memory hits me full force…
Those firm swats, his voice counting, the way I kicked and yelped despite myself. I’m irritated—pissed, even—that he made me feel so small, so out of control.
But there’s something else, too, a secret I don’t want to admit: a surge of excitement, sharp and electric, that hummed through me with every sting.
It’s messed up, and I hate that part of me liked it, that my Little side craved Henry’s rules, his strength.
Argh.
Why me?
Why is any of this happening to me?
I glance at Henry, his profile sharp in the dashboard’s glow, eyes fixed on the road like he’s scanning for threats. His big hands grip the wheel, steady, and that calm authority from earlier—the kind that pinned me in place without a word—still lingers.
He’s a Daddy, no question about that, and it’s screwing with my head.
I’ve spent years running from control, most recently from guys like Vince who wanted to cage me, and here I am, stuck with another man who thinks he can tell me what to do.
Except Henry’s different.
He’s not mocking my Little side, not twisting it like Vince did. That doesn’t mean I trust him. No way. He might have spanked my ass, but he’s not my Daddy. And that means that nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned…
I’m getting out of this messmyself, just like always.
My mind drifts to the waves, to the life I had before Vince’s shadow swallowed it. Surfing was my escape, my freedom. I close my eyes, picturing a morning last summer, before things went to hell.
I was at a break in Santa Flossa, the sun barely up, the water glassy and cold. My board sliced through a six-footer, the spray sharp on my face, and for those few seconds, I wasuntouchable.
No rules, no fear, just me and the ocean, moving like we were one.
I’d paddle back out, laughing with other drifters, my Little side happy with Poot waiting in Shred, a juice box in my bag.
I sigh, but keep my face turned away from Henry.
That’s what I need now… to hit the waves, let the water wash away Vince’s threats, Henry’s rules, this whole damn night. But Shred’s low on gas, and I’m stuck with a guy who spanks first and asks questions later.
“You awake?” Henry’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and gravelly, pulling me back to the van. His eyes flick to me, then back to the road, but there’s a softness there, like he’s checking on more than just my consciousness. “Bodie?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, hugging Poot tighter, my thumb brushing his tusk. “It’s not like I can sleep forever.”
My tone’s sharp, a reflex, because I’m still mad about the spanking, about how he made me feel—in more ways than one. But my voice wobbles, betraying the calm I’m trying to fake.
Henry doesn’t react to my attitude, just nods, his jaw tight.
