Page 22 of Daddy's Rules

I chuckle, pulling myself out of my head. “And we’re gonna keep it that way,” I remind her with a little squeeze to her hand.

“Yes, Daddy.” She sits quietly by me, but wordlessly shifts a little closer to me in her seat. “You know, I love calling you daddy.”

“Do you?”

“Very much so.”

“Good girl,” I approve. “Then we’ll keep it that way.”

“The police walked me through my place and even though it was torn apart, all of my valuables were still there. As far as I can tell nothing was taken.”

“What do you think they wanted then?” I keep the concern hidden from my voice.

“To scare me.” Again her voice shakes.

“Why would anyone want to scare you, baby?”

“Because they want me out of there.” She tells me about the envelope and seeing that nasty reporter talking to the head of the condo board. She’s clearly upset but the story doesn’t ease my mind. An enemy we know is one we can handle, but the true enemy in this case isn’t some reporter who is trying to make her life miserable.

“Listen, I’ll take you to the police station to file a restraining order against the reporter.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it and she gives me a small smile. “And I’ll deal with the condo board, but I don’t want you living there. Not after this. This is serious, Jordan.”

“I never understood why she hates me.” A little tear runs down her cheek and she swipes it away quickly. “Let’s change the subject.”

After that, we chat easily about what she likes about my neighborhood, her volunteer work, and what she likes to eat for breakfast. I instruct her to pull up the grocery app on my phone and order whatever groceries she’d like to be delivered tomorrow. I put thoughts of the investigation out of my mind as well. She’ll be safe with me.

“And be sure to put in some whole grains and fruit, too,” I tell her, giving her a wink.

“Of course, Daddy,” she says with a smirk. “But I can order chocolate milk and ice cream, right?” I give her a side glance.

“As long as most of what you order is healthy. I’m not an ogre. I like ice cream as much as the next guy, baby.”

We pull into my parking garage and I grab her bag, leading her upstairs.

“I feel so silly for taking off the way I did the other day,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be having a talk about that.”

Her pregnant pause makes me hide a smile. “What sort of talk?” she stammers.

She wants to know if ‘talk’ is code for punishment. “With words, honey. Not a paddle. Yet.”

She snorts, but her cheeks flush a little. I open the door to my place and let her in. “I just don’t want you running away anymore. It’s time we have some ground rules, and if you’re afraid at any point, you tell me. You don’t run. No hiding. We work things out until we’re both satisfied, and then we move on. Understood?”

She nods, then stifles a yawn.

“Alright, off to bed with you,” I tell her. “You’ll sleep in my bed and I’ll take the couch for now.” I’ll figure out another solution for tomorrow, but it works for tonight.

“Owen,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not taking your bed. That’s ridiculous. If you just—”

I spin her around and give her a firm smack on the ass. “Off you go,” I say. “And not another word unless it’s ‘yes, Daddy.’”

Squealing, she trots off to my room, holding her bag of toiletries in one hand and her right cheek with the other. When she’s done in the bathroom, I hand her my t-shirt.

“Here,” I tell her. “Wear this for now. No need to dig through your bags. You’ve had a rough night. Tomorrow we’ll pick up some more of your things.” I don’t know what she’s got in the bag she brought with her, but it’s late and we’re both tired. With a faint smile and a pretty, fetching pink color to her cheeks, she takes the t-shirt.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she says, looking up at me through her lashes. The pink on her cheeks deepens. It happens every time she calls me Daddy and I love it. I think I fall a little deeper for her each time. I give her a smile and keep my hands in my pockets. They’re fisted so tight they’re cramping. I want to touch her so badly. When her tongue darts out to wet her lips I can’t handle it and grab some clothes from my drawer and head to the bathroom. Jesus!

Pretending she’s not sliding the clothes off her beautiful, curvaceous body and that I don’t want to climb into my bed with her, I grab my toothbrush. I brush my teeth harder than I need to and slam it back in its holder. I change into my boxers. In my haste and frustration, I knock my clothes into the sink, so grab them and toss them into the laundry basket. It’s then that I realize I only grabbed boxers. I look down at my tented undergarment and curse. The last thing she needs is to see me come out with a hard-on poking out of my shorts. Maybe she’ll be distracted on her phone or something. Uh huh. “We’ll be platonic,” I whisper. “No more sexy times,” I mumble, adjusting myself with no luck. “But let’s just parade around bare-chested in tented boxers and pretend this is all just totally fine.”

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