Page 75 of Off-Limits Daddy
There was no response for a minute.
Daddy: Bring a towel big enough to wrap you in and you might survive the day.
Forty minutes later, Daddy’s truck rumbled up the street just as I stepped off the porch, cooler bag slung over one shoulder.
He pulled up to the curb, engine idling. The window rolled down, and there he was—cap backwards, jawline shaded with stubble, one hand on the wheel. His aviators gave nothing away, but I couldfeelthe once-over behind the lenses.
I grinned. “Evenin’, Daddy.”
He smiled back, already reaching to open the truck door. “Got the snacks covered. What’s in your cooler?”
“Drinks,” I said, slinging the bag over one shoulder. “Gotta keep you hydrated.”
I stepped off the curb, popped open the passenger door, and leaned in to slide the cooler behind the seat. I climbed in, tugged the door shut behind me.
The cab smelled like him—clean skin, coffee, something faintly citrus. My gaze dipped, totally not on purpose, to where his board shorts clung to his thighs. Unfair. Criminal.
For a second, my hand hovered above the console. The urge to reach across and kiss him pulsed behind my ribs. Just one kiss. Quick. But small towns bred big mouths. Somebody was always looking.
Daddy shifted into gear without looking at me, but his mouth twitched. “Seatbelt, boy.”
I clicked it into place. “Yes, Daddy.”
We parked where the dunes dipped low and a few sea grape trees lined the edge of the lot, casting broken shadows across the sand. Kids shrieked downshore, volleyball smacks echoing in bursts. Someone’s Bluetooth speaker played rock music a little too loud, but it blended in with the buzz of conversation and the breeze.
Daddy got out first, grabbed the cooler and the snacks. He tipped his head toward the back seat. “You wanna grab the blanket, boy?”
I reached for the blanket, then followed him down the worn path between sunbathers and umbrellas. We didn’t touch, not once, but I felt him—close enough that his presence hummed through my skin.
He stopped near a clump of sea grape trees farther from the crowd, where the sand flattened and the view opened up. He set the cooler down, dropped the bag beside it, and helped me shake the blanket out over the sand.
"You gonna put sunscreen on me or let me sizzle like bacon?"
He crouched to unzip the side pouch of the bag with the snacks and pulled out the bottle. Gave it a shake. “You just want an excuse to get rubbed down.”
I shrugged, already toeing off my slides. “Can you blame me?”
He popped the cap, the scent of coconut drifting up. “Sit. Shirt off.”
I dropped down and peeled my tee over my head, back to him.
Hands met shoulders.
Slow.
Warm.
Every drag of his palms down my spine lit a fuse. He didn’t talk, just rubbed the lotion in with quiet focus. His fingers skimmed the edge of my swim trunks, then slid back up to my shoulder blades.
His gaze kept flicking to the people nearby.
"Relax," I murmured. "I’m not gonna moan or anything."
He huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh.
"Your turn," I said, and held my hand out for the bottle.
He didn’t argue. Just turned his back. The man had the shoulders of a demigod. I dragged my palms over them slowly, soaking up the way his muscles shifted under my touch.
