Page 165 of Stabby Little

One month later

I settle into Little Land's playroom in my new black onesie. A fuzzy toy knife sticks out of my pocket and my noir heart and dragon stuffy sit in front of me. Across the room, Christian and his friends play with Sparrow and Finn.

I already hung out with them for five hours today. I don't want to anymore. Not now.

My stuffies and I are creating a master plan to kill the remaining three Diavolos.

After the shit they put me through, I refuse to let them get away.

The sound of an ice cream sundae being set down next to me captures my attention.

"Kitty." The firm voice sends a tremor of warmth surging through me. "What did I tell you about playing alone?"

I spin around to face the man. My heart skips a beat when I see him.

Of course… it'sGrant.My perfect, forever protector. In his flannel PJs, he looks every bit like the Daddy of my dreams. His belly pokes out of his shirt, emphasizing his Dad bod that never ceases to turn me on. His bedhead sticks up in every direction, which is a service Little Land now offers to make Daddies and Littles look like they just rolled out of bed. His expensive watch glistens in the playroom lights, a testament to his foreign investment accounts that pay him tens of thousands of dollars like clockwork every month.

“I’m not alone, Daddy."

"Your friends are in the hot tub." Grant points to Littles splashing in the bubbles. "Join them. It's not healthy to spend so much time by yourself."

Grabbing my heart, toy knives, and dragon stuffy, I hold them up for Grant to see. "I said I'm not alone. Who needs people when you have stuffies?"

Grant swoops me into his arms. He unzips my onesie and carries me to the hot tub.

"In ya go." He plants me next to Sparrow and slides me a rubber duck. "There will be plenty of time to play with your stuffies after we figure out what to do with Linda and Miles. Your friends won't be at Little Land forever, sweet boy. Take this time to bond with them."

I pout. "Not fair." I ignore thinking about what we're going to do to Grant's ex-wife and backstabbing son who are currently locked in Grant's basement. I don't want to get too excited. "You got me all wet. I look like I pushed Michael into a hurricane."

Grant scoops up a handful of water and drops it on my back. "It's okay, baby boy. Let Daddy give you a backrub. He'll work out your stress knots and leave you feeling brand-new."

"I want to play with my stuffies," I whine.

Gosh, I told myself I wasn't going to be a brat around Daddy anymore, but I guess I lied. Embracing my inner Little draws it out of me.

Grant shakes his head. "Backrubs first. Playtime with Mr. Firey later."

Mr. Firey is my dragon stuffy's name. Grant finally convinced me to name him—I was holding off until he helped me. We did it over pancakes and orange juice yesterday morning.

Grant brings his firm, calloused fingers to my back. As he massages me, I can't help but think about the wonderful month we've spent together.

My entire…life has changed.Three months ago, I was an anxious, scared fighter who didn't trust anyone. I was a tomcat who'd only known his psychopathic masters who cut him with switchblades all day.

Now, I have a man who protects me, fights for me, and defends me no matter what. He supports me in my mission to track down the Diavolos to put a bullet in their skulls.

Grant's shown me what true unconditional love is—he doesn't curb my tendency toward violence or try to change me. No, he understands this is who I am, and hunting my abusers is something I need to do to restore equilibrium to my soul. It doesn't hurt that Grant's a fucking hitman, too. He gets my impulses because he shares them. Sometimes, we drive to gun ranges and military reenactments at the live-action role play history museum in the theater district, and even read tomes on serial killers.

(We always follow this up with animated movie marathons, though. Extra light and fluffy. The cuter, the better.)

And fluffy buttermilk pancakes and Daddy's signature Belgian hot chocolate have never tasted so good as when he brings me breakfast in bed. He holds me tight, planting growly kisses on my neck, before brushing my hair and positioning my bum on his lap. He brings my mouth to his nipple and allows me to suckle him.

To say I fly when I suckle Daddy is a colossal understatement. Isoarwhen I use Daddy as a pacifier. I did this with my friends in the warehouse, but I dreamt of the day when I had a Daddy of my own to suckle. I'm truly myself when I suckle Grant—it's like the past seven years never happened.

I'm still the same boy I always was. The one who knew nothing about the evils of the world and only cared about heading to my friend's house to watch movies. The one who loved decorating Christmas trees andRudolph. When Daddy tilts my chin up to let me know to stop, I can't resist the urge to mingle our breaths. My tongue snakes into his mouth, and my hands wrap around his perfect Dad bod, squeezing him tight as I fall asleep.

In the afternoons, Grant checks his investment accounts and then takes me to the zoo. Or the aquarium. Or the Alien Museum with Arlo, Rusty, Callum, or whoever else wants to join. This museum is great—Arlo loves showing me the best spaceships.

Or sometimes, Daddy brings me to the botanical gardens where we look at colorful flowers and clap when butterflies swirl past our heads. Once, Daddy surprised me by buckling me into an adult-sized car seat in his BMW and driving to a wildflower field. I tore through the field, running as fast as my legs could carry me, my breath flying out of my lungs.

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