Page 20 of Daddy Enforcer
“You’ve got a little…” I gesture at his face, and he swipes at his cheek, spreading the flour instead of wiping it off.
I laugh, a low rumble, and he glares, but it’s playful, his eyes sparkling with that same awe I saw outside when he watched me chop wood.
“You’re doing great, Billie. Just keep at it,” I say, my voice warm.
Billie rolls his eyes but gets back to chopping, muttering under his breath about “stupid vegetables” and “no kombucha in sight.”
His complaints are half-hearted, and I can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself, even if he won’t admit it.
Watching him, I’m seeing more than the bratty pop star who stormed into my room with that file, demanding answers. I’m seeing a boy who’s tough but fragile, who’s used to being in control but maybe doesn’t want to be, not all the time.
That spanking—it wasn’t just about discipline.
The way he took it, the way he called me “sir” and melted into the pain, it was like he was craving the structure, the care. Just like a Little would. But does he know that? Does he even understand what being a Little means?
I’m not sure, and it’s eating at me.
I want to be his Daddy, not just his guard.
I want to set rules, guide him, make him feel safe in this messed-up world.
But that’s a big step, and I can’t just assume he’s ready for it. The spanking was one thing—he handled it like a champ, his body responding in ways that had me fighting my own arousal—but being a Little is more than that.
It’s trust, vulnerability, letting go.
I need to talk to him, really talk, about what this could mean. Not now, though. Now we’ve got a meal to prep, and I need to keep him distracted from that file, from the danger I’m still piecing together. The info in his file, plus the updates I havereceived from Mr. G… Trent’s involved, I’d bet my life on it, but I don’t have enough to go on yet. Until I do, I’m keeping him focused on the here and now.
“Hey,” I say, switching to a lighter tone as I grab the bread to go with the stew. “If you behave through dinner, I’ve got a treat for you after.”
His head snaps up, his eyes narrowing.
“A treat? What, like a cookie or something? I’m not a kid, Max.”
But there’s a spark in his voice, a curiosity that makes my chest tighten. He’s playing along, and it’s doing things to me I can’t afford to feel.
“Maybe,” I say, smirking. “But you’ll only find out if you’re good. No tantrums, no sneaking into my stuff. Deal?”
He huffs, tossing a chopped carrot into the bowl with a little more force than necessary.
“Fine, whatever,” Billie says, a giggle at the end. “But it better be good. Like, chocolate truffle good, not some flavorless granola bar nonsense.”
He’s got flour on his nose now, and I’m fighting the urge to wipe it off, to pull him close and tell him he’s more than he thinks he is. Instead, I just nod, focusing on the potatoes I’m chopping.
“Deal,” I say, my voice rougher than I wanted. “But you gotta earn it, Little One.”
The nickname slips out, and I see him freeze, his knife pausing mid-chop. He’s heard it before, but it’s clearly still doing something to him.
His cheeks flush again, and I know he heard it, felt it. I shouldn’t have said it, not yet, but it felt right, like it fits him. I need to talk to him about this, about what it means to be a Little, what it could mean for us.
But for now, I let it hang, watching the boy chop with renewed focus, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile.
I’ve been working the Night Ops for coming up on fifteen years and not once have I been in this position before. I’ve guarded some of the most beautiful guys in the world, but nothing has got me questioning my motives like Billie has.
I see the potential in Billie.
When it comes to his career, I can’t teach him a thing. He’s incredibly successful, and deservedly so. But there’s a part of him that craves something else, I just know there is. And I want to be the man to give him what he needs. I want to be his Daddy—and if it takes this entire mission to prove to him that I’m the man for the job, then that’s fine by me…
Chapter 9
