Page 37 of Daddy Defender
The town’s quiet, just a sleepy strip of shops hugging the coastal road, and this store—The General Stop, according to the faded sign outside—feels like it’s been here forever, a mishmash of everything you could need…
Shelves are stuffed with canned goods, sodas, dog-eared paperbacks, gossip magazines, and, to my Little side’s delight, a whole corner of toys and stuffed animals.
Henry’s behind me, his boots heavy on the floor, his presence like a warm shadow that’s equal parts annoying and…safe.
Ugh, I hate how much I’m starting to like him being around.
Henry’s all Daddy mode, eyes scanning the store like he’s expecting Vince’s goons to pop out from behind the cereal boxes. His black tee stretches over his shoulders, that scar above his eyebrow catching the light filtering through the dusty windows. I try not to stare, but damn, Henry makes it hard.
“Alright, sweet,” Henry says, his voice low and gravelly, that Daddy edge making my stomach do a little flip. “Grab what you want—food, drinks, whatever. Keep it quick. And stay where I can see you. Okay?”
I roll my eyes, hugging Poot closer to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks.
“Yes,sir,” I say, all sass, saluting Henry for emphasis. “What, you think I’m gonna stage a jailbreak in the candy aisle?”
Henry’s lips twitch, almost a smirk, but his eyes stay sharp, flicking to the door, the windows, the old guy behind the counter who’s too busy reading a newspaper to care.
“Don’t test me, Little One,” Henry says, the nickname hitting me like a warm wave, soothing me. “You know what happens when you push.”
My butt tingles at the memory of my spankings under Henry’s hand, my cheeks burning as I remember calling himDaddyunder the shower. I scowl to cover my blushes, stomping toward the food section, muttering, “Bossy jerk.”
But my Little side’s revving up, liking his rules way more than I want to admit.
I need to focus, grab some snacks, and not let Henry’s big, stupid, handsome face mess with my head.
The store’s a treasure trove, shelves packed with chips, candy bars, instant noodles, and a cooler full of sodas and juices.
It’s like going back in time, and I’m all there for it.
My stomach growls, still happy from the diner pancakes but ready for more. I snatch a bag of sour gummies and a grape soda—my favorite—and glance back at Henry. He’s by the counter now, talking low to the old guy, probably charming him with that gruff Daddy vibe.
I shake my head, trying to ignore how his arms look in that tight tee, and wander toward the toy corner, Poot still tucked under my arm.
The toy section is like a hug for my Little side.
There’s a bin of plastic dinosaurs, a stack of coloring books, and a whole shelf of stuffed animals—bears, bunnies, a tiger with a lopsided grin.
My heart does a little skip, and I can’t help but smile, my fingers brushing over a plush puppy’s ear.
I’ve always loved stuffies, ever since I was a kid clutching Poot to survive my parents’ fights or school bullies.
Stuffies are way more than toys—they’re my safe place, my safety blanket when the world gets too big, too scary. Poot’s been with me through every surf trip, every bad breakup, and now this whole Vince mess.
But seeing all these new stuffies, my Little side’s practically squealing, begging to add a friend to the crew…
“Ooh, you’re all so cute and adorable,” I whisper, my eyes scanning back and forth.
I glance over my shoulder, making sure Henry’s still distracted.
He’s grabbing a couple of energy drinks from the cooler, his back to me—and his strong, sculpted ass looking so good I could eat it too.
I let myself linger, picking up a fluffy duck with a pair of tiny sunglasses perched on its beak. It’s ridiculous and perfect, and I can’t stop the giggle that slips out.
“Look at you, Mr. Cool Guy,” I whisper to the duck, giving its sunglasses a gentle tap. “You’re totally a Billy.”
“Find something you like?” Henry’s voice cuts through my bubble, and I jump, nearly dropping the duck.
Mr. Protective is right behind me, one eyebrow raised, that half-smirk making my cheeks flame.
