Niko
Good job, asshole. Way to smother her to death. I’m sure she’s thrilled by your arrival.
I’m glad this meal is finally coming to an end. I’ve overwhelmed the confused, sweet Little girl next to me to the point she’s practically in tears. I don’t even know why. I’m drawn to her like a magnet. I can’t stop myself.
Though of course, I can stop. I should have stopped. I should have stopped about a dozen times. I should have sat next to her and made polite conversation. I should not have served her, gotten her a drink, assumed she was on the same page as me.
I should not have Daddied her. And I certainly shouldn’t have reprimanded her, especially in front of other people. It was way out of line. I know better.
The kitten next to me gives off the strongest Little vibes I’ve ever felt. Her Little is oozing out of her pores. But she doesn’t realize it, and I’ve been an asshole.
When dinner is done, she jumps to her feet to help Amy serve the gorgeous carrot cake. I watch as she winces when Craig cuts into the cake as if he’s ruined a thing of art.
She’s not wrong. It is a shame that it’s going to get eaten. But I find myself leaning back and covering my mouth with my hand as I try not to smile when my sweet kitten cringes as if the cake has feelings.
I know a lot about this Little girl and I just met her. She’s sensitive. Shy. Tender-hearted. She’s adorable. I wasn’t wrong about her looking like a kitten. When Craig stabs that cake with the knife, her nose scrunches up exactly like a kitten’s. She’s also holding her breath. She looks exhausted as if she’s witnessed a crime before she manages to hold out a plate with shaky hands in order to start serving people.
By the time she comes back to sit in her spot, she’s calmer. I’ve waited for her, not taking a bite until she returns. She hesitates, glancing at my untouched plate and then up to meet my gaze. “Did you, uh, wait for me?” Her voice is incredulous.
“Of course.” I wave a hand toward her plate. “Ladies first.”
She blinks at me. Stunned. It hurts my soul. Has no one ever been kind to this sweet kitten?
I want more information. I want all the information. I want it now. That’s not how this is going to go down, of course. I have to take my time. Ease into her life. Have a care for her feelings. If I rush her, I will alienate her.
My heart squeezes tight as she moans around a bite of the cake. At least she’s eating again. I know I’m the one who caused her to stop eating her stew. She couldn’t recover from my blunder.
I’m still kicking myself for my words and my actions. I had no right to tell her what to do or how to eat. None. She’s not mine. She’s not anyone’s. She’s her own person. For now, anyway.
I’m here for a short time. I figure it will take me about a month to do the job Craig and Foster have proposed. After that, I’m returning to Seattle. It’s where I live. It’s where my philanthropy is located.
I run a women’s shelter. It’s my passion. After watching my father abuse my mother verbally and physically for the first ten years of my life, I’ve always wanted to make sure that never happens to another woman.
Obviously, it does. Every day of the week. But I have the funds to run the large non-profit, and if I can save even one person from a life of abuse, it’s worth it.
My mother eventually left with me, but it was hard for a few years. We had a difficult life. Luckily, I found football and took my frustration out on the field, running hard and honing my skills until I was good enough to play pro ball.
Foster knows my history. He also knows my heart and that I will bend over backward to help women in need. My chest is tight thinking about Brea’s history. I suspect her father abuses her mother, at least verbally. I also bet my last dollar Brea and all her siblings have been victims of that abuse either directly or indirectly.
Brea is safe here. This is a haven for her. I could also provide her that safety at my home in Seattle. I shake the idea from my head. It’s premature. Brea lives here. My home is there. My amazing custom home that I’ve put blood, sweat, and tears into.
I didn’t do all the construction myself. I don’t have nearly that many skills and it would have taken me forever. But I designed it and I did a lot of the finishing touches myself. I love that house.
Why am I arguing with myself? Good grief. I met Brea today. I’ve shared less than a paragraph of information with her. She’s shared even less with me. We ate dinner next to each other.
When I glance over to find her licking orange, cream-cheese frosting from the corner of her mouth, I know I’m in trouble. The truth slams into me hard. Brea is mine. It might take me a while to woo her and convince her, but she’s definitely mine.
And then what? She’s just stretching her wings. She lives here. She’s happy here. I don’t live here. I’m not moving to a cabin in the woods. I can visit for a while. Do this job. But permanently? No.
My next glance is toward Foster because I can feel his gaze on me from across the table. He’s smirking. He knew this would happen. He knew I would fall for her. It’s why he asked me to come.
Sure, he needs a few rooms finished. That’s obvious. But he had an ulterior motive that went far beyond the carpentry skills he pretended to hire me for. He knows I have a soft spot in my heart for tender Little girls who are broken.
I don’t know much about Brea, but she is indeed in need of mending. And she’s about to find out I don’t take no for an answer.
I’ll be gentle. I’ll be careful. But I will be by her side too. Often. Whatever it takes to get her to open up to me. To share her story. To let me help her heal.
There are no guarantees that in the end, she’ll see me as her permanent Daddy or even that she’ll want to be a Little. It’s possible she simply needs someone to guide her and help her find herself. I’m that man.
The thought of walking away and leaving her already hurts my soul. It seems inconceivable at the moment, but I’ll do what’s best for Brea even if it kills me.
I linger in the kitchen, making small talk with the guests and Craig while Brea helps Amy load the dishwasher and put pots and pans away. I keep half an eye on her the entire time because I fully intend to walk her back to her cabin and engage her in conversation.
On top of everything else happening here, I’ve been assigned the cabin next to hers for my stay. Shocker. Foster is a sneaky guy.
As soon as the kitchen is spotless, Foster wraps an arm around Amy, lifts her off the floor, and kisses her. “Ready to head home?”
He glances at Brea and then me. “You coming with us?”
“Yep.” I fall into step behind Brea, realizing Foster normally walks her to her cabin at night. Not surprising. He’s a good guy. He would never take off with his Little and leave another woman behind.
It’s not exactly far. It will only take us a few minutes to get there. But it’s dark and there’s always the possibility of animals in the area.
Brea is fidgeting as we approach the row of cabins. I can’t blame her. I’m making her nervous.
Foster swings Amy up into his arms, waving over his shoulder as they continue down the path to their cabin.
Groveling time. I turn to Brea. “I’d like to apologize for the way I treated you during dinner.”
Her eyes pop wide, making me grateful there’s adequate lighting in front of the cabins and along the path.
I smile. “You look surprised. Has no one ever apologized to you before? I was wrong. I want you to know I’m sorry.”
She wrings her hands together in front of her. “I uh… I assumed you were waiting for me to apologize. I know I’m awkward, and I’m working on it.”
I wince. “You’re not awkward, Brea. Not at all. I had no business Daddying you at dinner. You didn’t ask me to be your caregiver. I had no right to assume that role. It just came naturally, and I embarrassed you and ruined your meal.”
She lowers her gaze.
Sometimes I like submissives to lower their gazes when they’re with me as a sign of deference. But not with Brea. I don’t want her to feel like she needs to cower to me. Not ever. “Look at me, kitten,” I whisper.
When she meets my gaze, she blinks.
Maybe I should let her go inside her own cabin and leave her alone, but it’s early, and I can’t stand the idea of parting from her. I want to get to know her better. “I’m not going to lie, Brea. I feel an overwhelming protective instinct when it comes to you. I want to get to know you better. Maybe I’ve pressured you too much already this evening, but would you please come inside with me for a while so we can talk?”
She glances at my cabin and then back at me. “Inside your cabin?” She takes a step back.
Yeah, this isn’t going well at all. She doesn’t trust me. Maybe she doesn’t trust men. It makes my chest tighten. “Or yours if you’d prefer.”
She looks even more nervous now. This isn’t going to happen. I refuse to add to her distress. That’s the last thing I want. I’ll have to alter my plan. “Never mind. I’m being presumptuous again. Forgive me. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow sometime when you’re on a break?”
She blows out a relieved breath. “Okay.”
“Go on inside, kitten. Lock the door behind you so I’ll know you’re safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She scurries to her door. It takes her several tries to open it. Her fingers are shaking. I did that to her, and I want to kick myself for making her so damn nervous.
My instinct is to ease the key out of her hand and open the door myself to see her inside. My instinct would’ve been to take the key from her in the first place and open the door like a gentleman.
Who am I kidding? My instinct is to take her home with me and never let her out of my sight. The thought of her sleeping alone in the cabin next to me is making it hard to breathe. But I have to. She needs space. She needs to know she can always tell me no. No matter what.
Finally, she gets the door open and slips inside without looking back. I wait to hear the snick of the lock and then continue to stare for several seconds before aiming for my own front door a few yards away.
The moment I shut the door, I already miss her presence. It’s been a long time since anyone has captured my attention quite like Brea has. She’s so skittish, and I’ve blundered things terribly. I could kick myself for how things have started between us.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way to the kitchen where I grab a bottle of water and then drop onto the sofa. I take a long drink before I tip my head back and close my eyes.
A running reel of the evening goes through my head. I can’t make sense out of much of anything. Brea is a mystery. She has a story. A past that makes me almost hate to hear the details. But I want to know. I want to help.
Like Foster knew before he asked me to come here—I’m a sucker for broken Little girls. I don’t know enough about Brea to make any judgments. I doubt she’s told anyone at Blossom Ridge much about her past.
It doesn’t matter what anyone else knows though. I want Brea to tell me everything herself. I won’t go behind her back and ask Leah or Craig or Foster or Amy for details. She deserves to have her privacy respected.
Perhaps it’s for the best that she went inside without giving me anything tonight. I need to set my sense of urgency on the back burner and give her some space. Let her get to know me. Wait for her to trust me before I press her for more information.
I can do that. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Hell, if I need to, I’ll drag out the construction job so I can have more time with her.
This cabin is too quiet, and even crazier, I get the feeling my home in Seattle would be too quiet without Brea in it. Absurd. I just met her today.
Shoving to standing, I drag myself into my bedroom and through to the bathroom. It’s going to be a long time before I fall asleep, but I go through the motions of getting ready for bed and then slide under the covers and stare at the ceiling.
One thing is for certain. I need to find a way to convince Brea Hopson I’m worthy of being her Daddy. Though it might be prudent if I first take the time to point out to her that she would benefit from having a Daddy in her life in the first place.