Page 19 of Daddy Enforcer
A true Little, or damn close to one.
But I’m not sureheknows it yet, and that’s got me treading carefully.
For now, I need to bring him back to earth, keep him grounded, and distract him from the danger I know is out there, lurking in the shadows.
But as much as my mind is on the mission, I can’t help but think back to the sight, sound, and feel of his delectable butt cheeks as I spanked, wobbled, and reddened them with my hand. I’ve dished out plenty of discipline in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever dipped a butt in the snow before for aftercare!
It might be unprofessional, but I know what I’ll be thinking of as I fall asleep tonight…
“Alright, Billie,” I say, keeping my voice firm but warm, nodding toward the kitchen counter. “Time to prep dinner. You’re helping.”
Billie looks up, his big eyes blinking like I’ve just asked him to climb a mountain. “Me? Cook?” Billie asks, his tone half-sassy, half-incredulous. “I’m Billie B, Max. I don’t chop vegetables. I havepeoplefor that.”
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms.
“Not here, you don’t, Little One,” I say. “Get over here, or we’ll have another talk about consequences.”
I let a hint of that Daddy tone slip into my voice, the one that made him shiver during the spanking, and I see it hit him—his lips part, his cheeks flush deeper, and he hops off the couch, his boots scuffing the floor as he shuffles over.
“Fine,” Billie huffs, tossing his hair back. “But don’t expect me to be good at it. I’m a pop star, not a chef, remember.”
There’s that sass again, but it’s softer now, playful, like he’s testing me but not really fighting. It makes me smile, despite myself. Billie is not just a job anymore, not just some spoiled celebrity I’m babysitting. He’s… something else. Somethingthat’s getting under my skin, making me want to be more than his Guard.
I want to be his Daddy, to guide him, protect him, make him feel safe in a way I’m starting to think he’s never felt. But that’s a dangerous thought, and I push it down, focusing on the task at hand.
I set a cutting board on the counter, pulling out a bag of carrots, potatoes, and onions from the pantry. Supplies are still low, but we’ve got enough for a decent stew.
“We’re making something simple,” I say, handing him a knife. “Chop these. Small pieces, even sizes. Think you can handle that?”
Billie takes the knife, holding it like it’s a foreign object, and gives me a look that’s all attitude.
“This is so not my vibe,” Billie says, but he starts peeling a carrot, his movements clumsy but determined. “I mean, where’s the glamour? Where’s theflair? I should be sipping champagne, not playing a pioneer boy.”
I chuckle, grabbing a potato and starting to chop, my knife moving with practiced ease.
“Glamour’s overrated,” I say. “Nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty.”
I glance at him, and he’s got this little pout, his tongue poking out as he focuses on the carrot.
It’s cute, damn it, and I’m fighting to keep my face neutral.
The darn boy is making a mess—carrot shavings all over the counter—but he’s trying, and it’s doing something to me, seeinghim like this, all soft and real, not the polished pop star from the stage.
Then, he fumbles the knife, and a piece of carrot flies off the board, landing on the floor.
“Ugh, this is impossible!” he whines, throwing his hands up. “Why can’t we just order takeout? Or, like, hire a chef?”
His voice is playful, but there’s an edge of frustration, and I can see him winding up again, like he did at lunch. I can’t let that happen. I made progress with the spanking, and I’m not about to let that fizzle out.
“Keep going,” I say, my tone firm but gentle. “You’re doing fine. Just slow down.”
I step closer, reaching over to adjust his grip on the knife.
My hand brushes his, and I feel a jolt, like static, but hotter. He freezes, his breath hitching, and when I look down, his cheeks are dusted with flour from the bread we had earlier, making him look like a kid who got into the baking supplies.
I can’t help it—I smile, a real one, and it feels dangerous, like I’m letting my guard down.
“What’s so funny?” Billie demands, but his lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile too. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”
