Daddy Next Door (Yes, Daddy Book 1)

P R E V I E W

I’m on the run from danger, so why is it that Mr.
Dangerous Next Door has me feeling like I should
run into his arms for safety?

I’m so leery of why, or what’s attached to that. I’ve
almost given up thinking men are genuine, although
I do manage to keep a positive outlook on life.

Rule he says. Rules make things work better.

Something about that makes me uneasy, yet
comforts me at the same time.

My life has always been in chaos and it never got
me anywhere. I could actually use a little structure,
some firm guidelines to help me dig myself out of
the hole I currently find myself in.

And the man next door just might be the one to
help me.

D A NI E L

She. Is. Mine.

The new tenant in the unit next to mine.

And because we live in the two units occupying an
interior corner of the building I have a front row
seat right into her unit, her life.

Who needs Netflix when I know her schedule…
know to have the popcorn ready and to sit back far
enough from the blinds that she can’t see me.

Watching her. Every. Move.

Little did I know that every move I’d made in my
own life had prepared me for this encounter with
her.

Protector. Provider. Older man who suddenly

realized what had been missing his entire life…

A younger woman to take care of, make her mine
in all ways.

It’s what she needs whether she knows it or not.

Even though I haven’t heard her voice yet, and I
don’t know her name, I know she’s got a helluva
fight in her.

Give up the fight, baby girl. Let Daddy wash all
those worries away.

Hell, she doesn’t look a day over twenty and she’s
living in one of the poorest areas in the city, where
we’re packed in like sardines.

I have stacks of cash, but I live here too,
temporarily at least, for reasons of my own.

I  know  how  to  survive,  and  I  can  take  away  the
flight  or  flight  she  must  experience  every  single
night  walking  home  from  her  shift  at  the  diner  in
the dark.

It makes my blood boil just thinking she works her
fingers  to  the  bone  only  to  have  a  beyond  sketchy
walk  awaiting  her  after  she  finishes  her  twelve  to
sixteen  hour  shifts  at  a  diner  frequented  by  guys
whose  conversations  revolve  more  around  illicit
activities than Disney movies.

And Disney movies are her thing. I know. I see the
shirts she wears each and every day, each day a
colorful one with a different Disney character,
although likely purchased at the bootleg shop in our
neighborhood.

No way she can afford the real thing. Heck, I can’t
even spot a single piece of furniture in her
apartment.

Does she sleep on the floor? The same floor that
not ten feet over in my own apartment I found two
cockroaches last week?

She belongs here, with me, in my arms and in my
bed, and not just for sexual reasons either.

I need her close, to keep her safe and fulfill this
new, paternal need, that has made itself known
since her arrival exactly one week ago today.

My eyes narrow as I keep my distance, staying
back in the shadows as we navigate an unnamed
alley, winding our way to our apartments.

I feel like we’re together already, although she has
no idea I’m trailing her tonight, just like every
night…here in case she needs me.

A couple of men stumble out of a bar and bump
into me.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” they yell at me.
I’d deal with them, but I’ve got more important
things on my mind right now. The most important
thing. Her.

“That’s right. You don’t want nonna this,” one
slurs, his drunken voice echoing into the night.

Her  footsteps  pitter  patter  faster  as  she  picks  up
speed, obviously hearing the men but like someone
who’s familiar with this kind of lifestyle she wisely
doesn’t  look  back  over  her  shoulder,  just  keeping
her  head  and  eyes  forward  and  minding  her  own
business…just  as  I’ve  been  doing  for  six  months,
since  I  moved  into  this  part  of  the  city  that’s  long
been forgotten about.

She’s got street smarts. I like that, but I hate that
she’s lived a life that’s required her to build up this
kind of knowledge, this kind of tough outer shell,
even though I’m glad she finds a way to smile and
be happy, to look at the bright side each and every
day in that diner where she works.

I  know  because  I’ve  suddenly  developed  an
addiction  to  having  steak  and  eggs  with  a  coffee
black,  three  meals  a  day,  knowing  it  will  give  me
the opportunity to see my angel each day.

And that’s what she is, an angel. My angel. And
I’m going to help her spread her wings and fly to

heights she might not even know she was capable
of soaring to.

I  swear  it’s  like  divine  intervention,  or  some  other
nonsense  Hallmark  puts  on  cards  and  inspirational
posters. All of it’s garbage, or at least it was until I
finally understood what it all meant, and she is the
key  that  unlocked  those  feelings  within  me  for  the
first time in my thirty-seven years.

My  age,  three  followed  by  seven,  again…divine
intervention.  Three  and  seven  are  the  most
frequently  chosen  numbers  as  lucky  numbers,  and
it can’t be a coincidence that this happened to me,
that she happened to me, at this particular age.

God,  I  can’t  believe  I  even  make  connections
between  things  like  that  in  my  brain,  but
everything’s  just  so  much  clearer  now  except  for
the most important thing possible.

How  to  tell  her  she  belongs  to  me  without  scaring
her  off,  without  leading  her  to  call  the  cops  the
moment  she  looks  into  my  eyes  and  sees  the
possessiveness behind them.

She stops and I freeze in place, widening my stance
wondering why she’s suddenly not moving forward.
Her pace is always brisk, but not now. There’s no
reason for her to be acting this way.

My nostrils flare and I subconsciously take in more
oxygen, my body ready to fight to the death for her
if someone, anyone, is in her way. My stance
widens and my eyes scan the area, until they finally
lock onto the problem.

“The purse, bitch. Hand it over and nobody gets
hurt.”

The voice is attached to a douchebag coming out of
an  adjoining  alley,  the  light  from  the  moon
reflecting off the blade he’s holding in his hand. It’s
not  even  a  proper  knife,  more  like  a  homemade
shank,  letting  me  know  this  guy  is  desperate  and
won’t  stop  at  anything  to  get  his  hands  on  her
purse…and maybe more.

I snarl, my knuckles cracking as I squeeze my
hands into fists so hard they’re solid as concrete.

Rage shoots through me, every muscle in my body
firing as I calculate the distance knowing I can get
to her before he does, if I take off immediately.

No way in hell it’s even a decision.

I dart in his direction, throwing my body at him like
a caged animal, tackling him so hard I hear the
knife blade bounce off the cold alleyway beneath
us.

“Get off, —“

But  before  another  word  leaves  his  mouth,  I’m
filling  it  with  my  fists.  Over  and  over  and  over
again,  for  even  thinking  he  could  touch  what’s
mine.  He’ll  live  to  regret  this  day,  if  I  decide  to
allow him to live at all.

Out of nowhere I feel my spine crack, my body
buckling forward as I see a two by four hit the
floor.

“Run, Darryl!” the man yells the moment my neck
turns back and the narrowed slits of my now
bloodthirsty eyes lock on his.

I turn, looking at this Darryl clown, realizing he’s
more than down for the count.

I stand, gingerly, straighten my back and before the
other prick knows what’s going on I summon all my
strength and take off after him, grabbing him by the
back of the collar after the shortest chase in human
history.

I horse-collar tackle him to the ground, his knees
buckling as his body folds in half due to the angle
of the takedown.

The sound of bones snapping is quickly replaced
with the sound of sires, and to my surprise I know
the cops will be here soon.

But everyone knows what happens when the cops

come into neighborhoods like this one. Shoot first,
ask questions later, and I’m not going to get caught
in the crossfires, let alone allow my woman to feel
or witness any harm.

I  look  back  to  where  she  was  standing,  knowing  I
can’t  go  to  jail  anyway,  because  that  would  mean
I’m not out here in society, able to protect her. Not
to  mention  my  past  wouldn’t  bode  well  for  me  in
the court of public appeals. I’d be jailed for life as
soon as my rap sheet hit the district attorney’s desk,
let alone the local news on the Internet.

I blink three times, wondering if that blow to my
back is affecting my vision.

She’s gone.

I turn my attention back to the two would-be
robbers lying in a pile of their own broken bones,
clearly not going anywhere anytime soon.

“If either of you even think of so much as looking
at her, or any woman, let alone trying to rob them, I
swear I will track you down and break the rest of
your bones…one by one. And I won’t do it
quickly.”

But quickly is exactly how I get to my feet, taking
off in a dead sprint toward our apartments, needing
to make sure she made it home safe.

D I A NA

I slam the deadbolt shut and fumble for the knife
underneath my DVD of Beauty and the Beast that
sits on the small end table just next to my door.

Taking three steps back from the door I wait, trying
to get my breathing to slow as my heart continues
to slam against my ribcage.

My  training  says  I  need  to  leave  space  in  case  the
door  comes  flying  open.  Last  thing  any  would-be
victim  wants  is  their  attacker  knocking  them
unconscious before the victim even has a chance to
fight off a perpetrator.

The  thoughts  in  my  head,  my  choice  of  words,
make  it  sound  like  I’ve  been  reading  law  or  self-
defense  books  every  waking  minute  I’m  not  at
work.

And  that’s  pretty  much  true  these  days,  although
work  occupies  nearly  all  the  hours  in  the  day  I’m
able  to  keep  my  eyes  open,  not  that  I’m
complaining one bit. It’s better than the alternative,
better than what I used to know, how my life used
to be.

The new normal is tough, but it’s worlds easier than
the past.

A slight noise shoots through the air in the hallway
outside my door, and I give the handle of my knife
a death grip, but seconds later I hear the door next
to mine quietly fall into its door jam, accompanied
by the sound of a lock snapping into place and
everything goes still.

I knew it! It was him.

Him being the man from next door.

The very tall, very attractive man with the
complete lack of expression on his face at all times.
The same man who’s been coming into my diner
each and every day, three times a day, and ordering
the same thing.

And always sitting in the section that’s not mine,
yet seemingly always focused on my section.

I feel like I’ve stepped out of the frying pan and
into the fire. I was starting to think he was watching

me and it was time to high tail it outta town again,
ready to give my notice in the morning. A situation
which was only expedited by what happened in the
alley tonight…before he came to my rescue.

If this man was dangerous, or here for some
nefarious reason, why would he have risked his
own life to be my protector?

It makes no sense.

In a moment’s notice he’s gone from being the
stalker next door to the savior in unit 3B.

The man with the kind of muscles that could easily
snatch me up off the street, throw me over his
shoulder and carry me back to his place to cut me
up in pieces and stick me in the fridge.

But no. He used those same muscles, those same
thick shoulders and upper body that taper into a V-
shape to a very toned and powerful trunk, to throw
punches at the men who were about to attack me.
Men who had weapons my hero didn’t.

Why  would  he  risk  his  life  for  a  girl  he’s  never
spoken  to,  let  alone  made  eye  contact  with,  in  a
neighborhood  where  it’s  clear  that  you  keep  your
head  down  and  mind  your  own  business,  before
you get ‘the business’ yourself?

There are men in life who are gentlemen, who hold

the door open for you and tell you you look nice,
leave thoughtful tips at the diner…things like that.

Then  there  are  men  who  are  gentlemen  in  a
different  way.  Men  who  certainly  aren’t  the
definition of a gentleman by the way they dress, the
way  they  look  or  the  roughness  of  their  calloused
hands,  but  are  gentleman  in  a  way  that  the  other
type couldn’t even hope to be.

The latter of the two being real men. Throwbacks
to a different time, and maybe that’s what it is right
there. He’s older, more mature, and never seems to
care about impressing anyone.

His tips are the standard twenty percent, not more
and not less. His clothes are clean, fit well, and well
cared for. They don’t scream money nor are they
plastered with brand names or logos.

Everything about him is indistinguishable from
another man, except for his size and the actions he
displayed not ten minutes ago.

When my personal safety took a turn for the worst,
and  I  started  devouring  all  the  literature  I  could
about  protecting  myself,  I  recall  a  deep  dive  into
safe  houses,  as  they’re  called,  and  how  many  safe
houses  were  located  in  Tangier,  Morocco  back  in
the day.

Tangier, a city just across the Straight of Gibraltar
from Spain, is reachable in under an hour by
commercial ferry.

My mind, likely grasping for straws as it’s still filled
with dopamine from my flight or fight response, is
wondering how the man from the ‘safe house’ next
to mine, got to me in such a short time as well.

Is there more to him than meets the eye? Is he…
working for someone?

Nothing in this seedy neighborhood would surprise
me except for an actual good guy coming to my
defenses.

Well, make that two things.

The fact that this good guy, who looks a whole lot
more like a bad man, has caused the flames inside
me that I thought were extinguished to spark into a
near immediate inferno.

I’m on the run from danger, so why is it that Mr.
Dangerous Next Door has me feeling like I should
run into his arms for safety?

Like he’s the one who was put on this earth to
protect me, guide me in this cruel world, and keep
me safe?

And if that feeling isn’t the safest one for someone

D A NI E L

I sink into the couch I found on Craigslist and
bought with a burner phone and a fake name.

My chest feels like there’s a piston inside it firing at
full throttle, and it’s not from the fight. It’s from
her.

Fighting is second nature to me, protection and
survival at the root of everything I do.

But as an orphan it was always my own protection
and survival, not anyone else’s.

I lift myself from the couch and move into the
spare bedroom I’ve been working on since she
arrived. It sat empty this whole half a year, but this
week something inside me told me I needed it fixed
up so someone could play here.

Thoughts  of  mating  with  her,  making  a  life  of  our
own  were  on  my  mind,  but  I  know  this
neighborhood  isn’t  the  right  place  to  do  that.  So
why  the  interest  in  addressing  the  room  in  such  a
way?

As they say on the street or in the steel cage
fighting matches, ‘game recognizes game.’

And as someone who never had a childhood I
recognized the same in her. I want to shoot my fist
into the sky, grab the childhood she never had, and
bring it back down to earth for her. To hand deliver
it on a silver platter, or in her case a Disney themed
placemat.

If someone walked into my place right now they’d
think I was crazy, but I don’t care, and nobody
visits me anyway. Not ever, and it’s by my own
choosing.

But  that’s  going  to  change  soon.  It’s  time  for  a
visitor  all  right,  but  the  smartest  way  to  go  about
that  is  for  me  to  be  her  visitor,  and  not  the  other
way around.

Meet  her  in  a  place  she  feels  safe.  She’s  probably
terrified  at  the  moment  and  if  I  knocked  on  her
door  and  offered  her  a  place  to  spend  the  night  so
she’s not alone, it would only make things worse.

That  can’t  happen,  but  what  will  happen  is
tomorrow  I’ll  introduce  myself  like  I  should  have
when  I  first  laid  eyes  on  her,  despite  the  risk  to
everything I’ve been doing the last six months.

And until tomorrow I’ve got another plan.

I take a quick shower and change into all black
clothing, before sliding into the hallway in as stealth
a manner as possible.

I sit down the hall a bit at an angle where she can’t
see me, the light from underneath her door letting
me know she’s still awake.

Once it disappears I’ll reappear, right in front of her
door watching over her all night.

There are no cameras in this building, let alone the
hallways,  so  there’s  no  fear  of  a  strange  situation
with  the  landlord  in  the  morning.  The  only  thing
that’s to be feared is me, if any of those thugs were
intentionally  targeting  her  and  try  and  track  her
down and finish what they started.

Although I think it was a random act of intended
violence, if they were targeting her, and are stupid
enough to come this way, the things that were
started will get finished…as in me putting an end to
them for the exact same amount of time this girl is
going to be mine.

D I A NA

“Your buddy’s here,” Alice, my co-worker, teases.

“He’s not my buddy, he’s yours. He’s never sat in
my section, always in your area,” I shoot back,
knowing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Not today,” she counters, her eyebrows raising in
a devious kind of way.

Goosebumps  cover  my  skin  and  I  grab  my  order
pad and pencil and make my way over to his booth,
which,  now  that  I’m  up  close  to  him  for  the  first
time,  I  realize  he  takes  up  an  entire  side  of  all  by
himself.

I just drink him in, like the tallest glasses of milk we
sell in the morning, not trusting my voice at the
moment.

“I’ll  take  the  steak  and  eggs,  and  a  coffee  black,”
he  says,  and  I  almost  catch  my  lips  moving  in
rhythm to his order, knowing he was going to order
that  because  he  orders  that  from  Alice  each  and
every day.

I nod, and then hurry back behind the counter
where the employees grab our orders.

“Whaddya think?” Alice asks.

“He’s normal. Just likes to eat what he likes to eat,
at least for breakfast,” I say, realizing after the
words come out that he’s been eating it three meals
a day.

Alice jumps on me, reminding me of the fact and
asking if I find him hot.

“He’s…okay if you’re into that look.”

“That  look?  Every  woman  with  a  pulse  has  been
staring  at  him  since  he  walked  in  the  front  door.
Heck, I’m not gonna lie. My eyes locked on when I
saw  him  half  way  down  the  block.  His  long,
commanding stride is unmistakable.”

“Wait,” I say, bringing the tip of my pencil to my
temple as I slide his order to our cook, Ernie, who
quickly wisecracks, “Never would have guessed
it,” he says after seeing the order.

“Leave him alone. He likes your cooking, you
should take it as a compliment.”

Ernie holds up his hands in mock surrender and
throws a fresh steak on the grill, the sound of it
crackling on hot butter like music to my ears.

I  fell  asleep  late  last  night,  first  from  being  stirred
up  because  of  the  fight  and  then  with  thoughts  of
him.  I  slept  so  late  I  was  literally  jogging  to  work
this morning.

“Wait, what?” Alice asks. “You never finished your
sentence.”

I rack my brain, already forgetting what I was going
to say.

“And  why  are  you  so  protective  over  this  guy  if
you  don’t  find  him  attractive,  aren’t  interested  in
him,  and  basically  pretending  as  if  he’s  nothing
special, when it’s completely clear that he is?”

“First  of  all,  he’s  a  customer,  and  a  loyal  one.  I’m
protective  of  my  job,  and  we  need  people  in  here
like  him…coming  in,  spending  money,  tipping,
never causing a problem. Reliable people.”

“Uh huh,” Alice says, clearly not believing a word
of my attempt to rationalize my actions.

“And I said ‘wait’ because I was surprised he didn’t

drive here, but walked instead.”

“Maybe he lives close, like you, and just prefers to
walk in the morning.”

“Maybe,” I say, not about to give away that he’s
my next door neighbor.

I pour a cup of coffee from the pot, noticing my
hand shaking so bad I miss the mug with the first bit
of my pour.

“Focus,” I say, trying to calm myself as I turn and
carry the mug to his table.

His eyes track me like a hunter as I approach his
booth, and this time instead of looking down, I lock
right in on his, like a deer who sees the
camouflaged man in the tree pointing a gun right at
her.

But this man is far from disguised, standing out like
a  sore  thumb  due  to  his  massive  size  and  strength,
which  was  clearly  on  display  last  night,  and  the
only  thing  I  need  to  conceal  now  isn’t  the  coffee
dripping  from  the  bottom  of  his  mug  that  I  missed
when I wiped it clean, but the dripping that’s about
to start flowing from my panties if I’m not careful.

He nods as I sit the coffee down, but before I turn
to go, he leans back in his seat and offers, “You
shouldn’t be out after dark by yourself, Little

Peaches.”

I  freeze.  My  stomach  tightens  like  an  anchor  rope
keeping  a  cruise  ship  docked  to  the  shore  in  a
storm. My reaction to his words are immediate and
visceral, and half of me wants to rip him a new one
for talking to me that way, especially as it’s the first
words  he’s  ever  uttered  in  my  direction,  and  the
other half of me knows he’s right and wants to ask
him  if  he’s  the  one  who  wants  to  offer  to  be  the
solution to the problem his brain sees for me.

Being that this is a tough neighborhood, and I’m
not about to show any weakness, I go with the
former.

“Who do you think you are talking to me, anyone,
like that?”

“I’m a man, that’s who I am. And like any man I
know my responsibility is to make women feel
protected, treated with respect, and cared for.”

Cared for. That word hits me in the gut like a
lightning bolt, the knot I had releasing as I feel my
middle buckle like a balloon that’s been pricked.

Pulling myself together quickly, I straighten up my
back, and change my approach. “What makes you
think I need protecting in the first place? What
makes you think I couldn’t have handled those men

myself?” I shoot at him, trying to put up a tough
facade, but also admitting to him that I do know it’s
him that came to my defense last night.

“I’m  not  saying  you  couldn’t,”  he  answers
immediately.  “What  I’m  saying  is  that  you
shouldn’t have to even worry about something like
that  in  the  first  place,  but  unfortunately  in  this
neighborhood you do…if you walk home without a
man by your side.”

“And you think a man by my side is enough?” I
cross my arms over my chest.

“I don’t think a man by your side is nearly enough,
but I know the right man by your side is all you’ll
ever need.”

My body feels like a tsunami is forming inside and
if he keeps talking so self-assuredly, so matter of
factly, that tsunami is going to explode right out of
my middle and unleash a real life torrential
downpour from my panties right to the floor of this
diner.

“Men  these  days  don’t  walk  women  home.
Everyone’s  equal,  and  women  can  do  whatever  a
man  can  do,”  I  say,  still  trying  to  hold  my  ground
for some reason unbeknownst to me. I guess being
what most would call a survivor has led me to push
away  help,  or  even  the  whiff  of  an  attempt  of

someone offering their assistance. I’m so leery of
why, or what’s attached to it that I’ve almost given
up thinking men are genuine, although I do manage
to keep a positive outlook on life.

“Just  because  someone  passes  the  anatomy  test  of
being a male, doesn’t make them a man, and that’s
the problem these days. Yeah, we may all be equal
in  a  lot  of  ways,  but  no  one  is  going  to  ever
convince me, or any real man, to sit back and let a
girl  ‘figure  it  out  for  herself’  when  someone’s
threatening her, especially with bodily harm.”

I’m

quickly

warming

his

caveman

communication style, but if I’m not careful he
could very easily be the one clubbing me over the
head and dragging me back to his lair to make soup
out of me.

“Thanks for your advice, I’ll keep it in mind,” I say,
turning to go.

“Keep it in mind that when you hear footsteps
tonight, they belong to me. I’ll be following you
home as long as you work evening shifts here.”

I stop, turn on a heel and move back to his table
where I lean in close to his face ready to read him
the riot act for coming into my place of work and
acting like, like, like this.

But instead his dark orbs pull me in deeper, enough
to drown and instead I exhale hard and beat feet
back to the counter to get another customer’s order
which will allow me to get away from him for a
second.

But the order that’s ready is his.

“Fudge!” I curse under my breath.

I look around for Alice, hoping she can take it to
him only to realize she just went on break.

I fist the plate, marching back to his table and slap
it down on the hard top.

“If you bother me, I’ll call the cops.”

“Cops don’t come to this neighborhood, Little
Peaches,” he says, and from what I’ve seen I know
he’s right.

“And stop calling me, whatever that stupid name is
you’re calling me.”

“It suits you,” he smirks, taking a fork and cutting a
bite of his steak as if arguing is his preferred
conversation method while eating. Is this guy weird
or what?

“And why in the world would you think that?”

“I see you sneaking a little bite of peach cobbler

every now and then while you’re working.”

“Oh, now you’re going to tell me what I can eat
and what I shouldn’t eat. What the hell’s wrong
with you? I should throw—“

“Throw  on  a  few  more  pounds,”  he  says,  as  he
stabs another bite of his steak. “You’re working too
much and it’s stressing you out. Not  only  that,  but
now  you  have  people  trying  to  attack  you  in  the
night.”

“What do you care about me, about any of this?”

“Like I said, I’m a man. It’s my job.”

“You may be a man, but you’re not my man,” I
huff.

He takes another bite, chews it slowly as I keep my
eyes locked on his before he says as calmly as an
empty lake on a windless morning, “We’ll see
about that.”

D I A NA

“Hurry up in there,” a customer calls out as they
knock on the bathroom door at work.

I put the finishing touches on a Gmail message and
then  schedule  the  timer.  If  I  don’t  cancel  the
message  it  will  be  sent  to  the  police  station  and
three  major  online  news  outlets,  alerting  them  of
my  neighbor  and  his,  shall  we  say,  unusual,
behavior.

I’m not taking any chances on my walk home
tonight.

I exit the restroom and make my way out into the
street.

There, leaning against a light pole looking way too
sexy for his own good is my neighbor, whose name
I still don’t know.

“You again,” I bite.

“Yes, me again. You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“For me to walk you home.”

“I thought you were going to be in the shadows or
something, not my after school date.”

“I like where this is headed. I can hold your hand if
that makes you feel safer. Would you like that, little
one?”

Geez! These terms of endearment are starting to
really annoy me, because they’re so darn effective
at breaking down my walls.

He extends his hand and I look at it. “Slow down, I
don’t want to end up pregnant.”

“All  in  time,”  he  counters  as  if  it’s  a  foregone
conclusion,  which  is  pretty  bold  considering  I  may
not  even  wake  up  in  this  neighborhood  tomorrow.
At least if I was smart I’d slip out in the middle of
the night and never come back.

We walk a few minutes and finally I throw him a
bone. “Thank you for escorting me,” slips from my
lips with complete sincerity.

“Thank you for allowing me to.”

“I didn’t know I had a choice.”

“You didn’t. When I see what I want I go after it
until I get it, no matter the cost. The only difference
is this time it’s a woman.”

“You’re trying to tell me that I’m the first woman
you’ve ever pursued?” I question, looking him up
and down incredulously.

“If you knew my backstory you’d believe me.”

“I don’t want to know,” I say abruptly, which
probably telegraphs that I absolutely do.

“A man needs a woman to care for, to feel
complete. It’s something I’ve learned recently, very
recently. And for that reason there’s no reason to
thank me for anything.”

“I’m  not  sure  every  man  would  agree  with  that
suggestion. And  if  you  did  find  someone  who  did,
the  rub  would  be  that  he’s  not  taking  care  of  one
woman,  but  many  women…and  usually  only
‘taking care’ of them in the wee hours of the night,
if you know what I mean.”

“I defer to my earlier comments then. That’s not a
man.”

I tip my head to the side and roll my eyes. He’s
right, and agreeing with one of the reasons why I’m

not interested in meeting anyone now.

“How can you give your all to one person if you’re
giving a bit of yourself to everyone. You can’t, and
you lower your value and never get anywhere in
the process…never establishing a real bond, trust,
and an unbreakable relationship.”

“I suggest you tell other men that. The world would
be a better place.”

“It’s not a suggestion, it’s a rule.”

“A rule?”

“Rule. Rules make things work…better.”

I  extend  the  distance  between  us,  making  sure  to
keep my body on the far edge of the sidewalk so I
can’t  be  pulled  into  an  alley,  slammed  against  a
wall, or anything like that. A rule? Something about
it  makes  me  uneasy,  yet  comforts  me  at  the  same
time.

My life has always been in chaos and it never got
me anywhere. I could actually use a little structure,
some firm guidelines, to help me dig myself out of
the hole I currently find myself in.

That said, those rules should be mine and no one
else’s. Shouldn’t they?

Out of nowhere there’s commotion on the other

side of the street and my neighbor moves toward
me quickly.

This is it! I knew it was a trap.

I jam my shaking hand into my purse and fist my
can of pepper spray, bringing it to the ready as the
hottie next door steps in-between me and the other
side of the street, his arms extended back behind
him and his body a shield, protecting me.

Fortunately it’s only a couple of drunks tossing
their beer bottles into a dumpster, but the gesture
doesn’t go unrecognized.

“You have that last night?” he asks, motioning
toward my pepper spray as we continue walking,
my heart trying to come down from the quick shot
of adrenaline.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you use it?”

“You were so fast.” And speaking of fast, just like
that we’ve quickly reached our building.

He holds the door open for me but I insist he enter
first, keeping him in front of me as we ascend the
stairs.

Catching myself yawning as we approach our front
doors, I wait for him to enter his unit first before I

compromise myself by putting my keys in the door
and opening it, giving him an easy entry if he wants
to throw me inside and have his way with me.

“Good night,” he simply says, sliding his key in the
lock without trying to kiss me as he maneuvers
inside.

“Wait,” I call out. “I…I owe you an apology. I was
wrong about you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, and you should keep
your guard up. You don’t know me yet. Don’t relax
now, that’s how they get you.”

“Who’s they?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen some of the faces in this
neighborhood.”

I nod. “Well, thank you for walking me home.”

“I know somewhere else we can walk to
tomorrow.”

I want to lie and tell him I’m working tomorrow,
but obviously he’ll know, plus I’m not one to lie. I
keep my lips sealed, letting him continue.

“There’s a good little coffee shop up the way. They
have desserts that I know you’ll like.”

“How do you know what I’ll like, or if I even like

sweets?” I fold my arms across my chest.

“I’ve seen you sneaking bites of peach cobbler
during your shift.”

I want to yell at him for watching me so closely, but
before I can a smile creases my lips. “Yeah, it’s
pretty good. The diner has a good one.”

“I know a better one.”

“Since when do you eat sweets?”

“I don’t, but you do, so I did some checking.”

“Seems you do a lot of checking.”

“You can see for yourself tomorrow. I’ll get the
check, you just have to show up.”

I pause, knowing I should get out a bit but also that
I’m dead tired from working sixteen hours every
day so far at the diner.

“Let’s see what time I wake up and how I feel
about it then.”

“You know where to find me.”

“Yeah, I know where to find you.”

And with that he slides inside his apartment and I
hear the lock fasten, letting me know I can remove
my keys and do the same, which I do.

I plop down on the futon, which doubles as my bed,
and  think  about  how  hardened  I’ve  become.
Something  about  being  in  the  diner  makes  me  feel
good,  bubbly  and  happy,  even  though  I’m  an
introvert. Maybe it’s because I spend the rest of my
time alone with my Kindle in my lap.

I  pay  ten  bucks  a  month  for  a  Kindle  Unlimited
service  that  allows  me  to  read  about  all  the
possessive  heroes  from  some  of  my  favorite
authors,  like  Lena  Little,  but  here  I  won’t  actually
go  on  a  real  date  with  a  real  possessive  hunk.  If
that’s not irony I don’t know what is.

But I can decide tomorrow, although there’s one
more decision for tonight that’s already been made
for me.

I take out my phone and cancel the timer on the
email so it won’t send at all.

He’s  right,  I  need  to  keep  my  guard  up,  but  so  far
so  good.  I’m  alive,  and  being  with  him  makes  me
feel exactly that more than anything I can imagine
in  recent  memory,  despite  my  somewhat  bratty
behavior.

I’m a brat and he’s already used the word rules.

I’m not sure what’s going on, and I didn’t even
remember to get his name, but tomorrow I’ll know

D A NI E L

I  hear  a  light  rapping  of  knuckles  on  wood  and
shoot  out  of  my  seat  like  a  cannon,  racing  to  the
door. I  was  showered  and  ready  for  the  at  six  this
morning and have just been doing light exercise, to
avoid  sweating,  interspersed  with  pacing  my
apartment.

Until now.

“Hey, Little Peaches,” I say, pulling the door open
wide to get a good look at my woman.

She buries her hands in her front and angles her
knees to the side, a Shirley Temple like move if I’ve
ever seen one. And it’s the first time I’ve seen a
young woman sporting pigtails in…forever.

Her short pink skirt shows off her athletic legs, and
her white T-shirt with sparkles and a galloping pony

on it say it all.

“Hi there,” she says, her tone playful and
absolutely completing this little girl that I see in
front of me. My heart does a backflip and I feel my
pulse in my neck.

“You look adorable,” I say, using the word
‘adorable’ for the first time in my life. Ever. It’s not
even a word that would even cross my mind, yet it
flows out so naturally, like water down a stream.

“Thank you.” She pauses. “Where are we going?”

“That’s none of your business,” I say completely
serious, but with a playful look in my eye.

“Oh,” she says, her eyebrows shooting up.

“When you’re with me there’s no need to think.
I’ve got everything covered, always.” I pause. “Not
to mention thinking isn’t something that little girls
should be worried about.”

“We’re  walking  though,  right?”  she  asks,  a  bit  of
fear  in  her  eye  and  this  new  vibe  that’s  shooting
through  me  stutters,  and  I’m  flashed  back  into
reality. “I’m afraid of driving.”

And just like that…it’s back.

It was like she was snapping out of this different
version of herself and back into the hardened girl

I’ve been trying to make progress with.

“No driving. Only walking, but I’ll take the side
closest to the street to keep you safe…”

“Diana,” she says, the sound of her name light and
musical, and her eyes dance in merriment as she
finally reveals her identity. “And you?”

“Da…niel,” I say, my name getting stuck on the tip
of  my  tongue  for  reasons  I  can’t  explain.  It’s  like
there  was  another  word  that  wanted  to  come  out,
one  I’ve  never  spoken  to  another  person  before,
but it was right there yet for some reason I couldn’t
quite say it.

“Is it far?”

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll make sure everything is
okay.”

“But  my  shoes?”  she  says,  her  lower  lip  rolling
upward  and  out  as  I  look  down  in  time  to  see  her
toes  also  pointing  up  toward  the  sky  in  some  open
toed  shoes,  her  toenails  carefully  painted  with
hearts  and  unicorns.  How  is  that  even  possible  on
such a small area?

“Do you have tennis shoes?”

She nods, a big smile covering her face. “Let me
change real quick.”

She darts back over into her apartment and I can’t
resist the urge to follow her, to get a glimpse inside
her world, her private space, her life.

As she’s turned away, pulling socks out of a duffel
bag, my eyes scan her room quickly, trying to avoid
getting caught.

I can’t help but lock onto the fact that the room is
barren, she’s sleeping on a futon and my fists
clench. She doesn’t deserve this, not to ever spend
another night like this in her life, and I’m going to
fix this. Today.

But my eyes narrow as I notice something sitting on
the futon now…a row of stuffed animals, all lined
up almost like they’re playing with one another.

“Ready,” she says, taking a big step toward me and
sticking the landing with two feet, like Mary Lou
Retton at the 1984 Olympics.

“We’re off,” I say, imagining what she’d look like
when that tight little top of hers comes off, her pert
nipples sharp as class cutters making me wonder
how they haven’t cut through the fabric yet.

And she’s not the only one.

I’ve never been this hard in my entire life. Ever.

Sure, I’m a warm-blooded male, but I’ve never had

time  for  dating,  which  is  one  thing,  but  this  is
something  more  than  that.  Something  I  can’t  quite
put  my  finger  on.  It’s  something  about  what  she
does to me, the way she makes me feel.

It’s slightly confusing yet entirely illuminating at
the same moment, as if I’ve been living in the dark
my entire life up until her.

We walk and talk on the way to the coffee shop
and in what seems like one minute flat, but in
reality has to be at least twenty, we arrive.

We grab a corner table, as I insist on privacy. In one
move she hops onto her seat, swings her feet
forward hard and the chair slides up to the table
where she bellies up.

I  pull  my  head  back  in  disbelief,  and  then  look
around  the  side  of  the  table  realizing  that  her  feet
don’t  even  touch  the  floor.  That’s  how  she  got  so
much  leverage  to  slide  the  chair  like  that…while
she was in it.

“Can I get you two anything?” the waitress asks,
coming around very quickly.

“I’ll take—“

I  raise  a  finger,  stopping  her.  “She’ll  have  one
chocolate  fudge  muffin  with  vanilla  icing  and
rainbow  sprinkles,”  I  say,  and  then  pause  realizing

there’s nothing in this place for me.

“And you, dad?” the waitress asks.

She’s  a  young  woman  and  she  means  well,  so  I
don’t  take  offense  to  her  thinking  this  is  my
daughter. She  is  a  little  girl  after  all  and  I’m  like  a
giant  seated  next  to  her.  If  she  stood  I’d  still  be
taller sitting down. Not to mention the waitress isn’t
challenging me, so I let it slide.

“I’ll have a glass of water.”

“Coming right up,” she says.

“Oh, and a freshly squeezed orange juice, for my
little girl,” I say, but I don’t mean it in the way the
waitress thinks…it just slipped out and makes sense
to me.

And I think to Diana too.

Diana giggles and then attempts to rub it in with,
“She thinks you’re my dad.”

Little does she know she’s pouring gas on the fire.

“Should I call you dad too?” she laughs, slapping
her hands together as she laughs at her own joke.

I lean back in my seat, my eyes narrowing as a
smirk tugs at one corner of my mouth. “No
sweetheart. I much prefer…Daddy.”

Her entire body freezes and an audible swallow can
be heard as far as two tables over, before she starts
coughing.

I grab a napkin and hand it to her and she quickly
gets  her  coughing  under  control.  And  it’s  not  the
kind  of  humorous  coughing  where  someone  is
caught  off  guard.  It’s  the  kind  of  realization
coughing where someone is stopped in their tracks,
their entire paradigm shifting in real time.

Nothing else is said as my eyes focus on hers, but
they quickly find the floor. I reach across the table,
taking her tiny chin in my hand and lift it up. “You
should look me in the eye when we’re together
having a conversation. Do you understand?”

She nods into my index finger and thumb.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I understand.”

“The correct answer is…I understand, Daddy.”

“I understand…Daddy.”

My  whole  world  flips  and  I  have  to  drag  myself
away  quickly  from  her  and  tuck  my  hands  under
the  table,  rock-crushing  fists  forming  as  my  eyes
close and I inhale deep, as if I can catch that single
word, that title, still floating in the air and absorb it

through all of my senses. Always.

I want to take that word and bottle it up like a
lightning bug in a Mason jar on a sweltering Fourth
of July night. That’s exactly what it is, what she is
to me, lighting in a bottle.

“Here ya go,” the waitress says, sitting our things
down. “Enjoy,” she adds before making herself
disappear.

Diana looks at me as she takes a proper sized fork,
the size you’d use for a meal and uses it to cut off a
bite of her muffin, hot white fudge pouring out and
I can’t help but picture another white, hot, sticky
explosion that would occur if a certain part of me
was touched right now.

She leans to one side and then the other, her legs
crossing so that she’s so small you could practically
put her entire body in a FedEx overnight box. How
in the world can she do that?

Taking the sticky sweetness in her mouth, she
manages to get some on her cheek, and a little bit
hangs around on her lip.

I reach across the table with my thumb, wiping it
clean after she finishes chewing and then just leave
the rough tip of my thumb there on her lower lip,
knowing she wants the same thing I do, until…she

leans forward and sucks the goo off my finger.

My  balls  pull  up  tight  and  my  dick  jerks  in  my
pants,  but  thankfully  I  don’t  spill.  I  can  only
imagine how much precome has leaked from the tip
of  my  rod  at  this  point  and  the  only  thing  on  my
mind  is  not  making  a  mess  here,  in  public,
embarrassing me and my little one.

As I pull my hand back across the table she reaches
for the fork, dropping it into her lap which elicits a
shrug.

“Miss,” I call, motioning for our waitress to come
with four finger of one hand. “We need a dessert
fork.”

“Sure,” she replies and rushes off to grab one as
Diana squeezes her orange juice mug with the heels
of her hands and brings the cup to her mouth.
Obviously the waitress, or barista, thought the drink
was for me.

The fork arrives and I take it from the waitress,
cutting off a bite and carefully bringing it to Diana’s
mouth, keeping my other hand cupped underneath
the fork.

My little princess takes it into her mouth, slowly
pulling her head back and my chest swells with
pride as she closes her eyes as she chews, obviously

overjoyed by my selection.

“Aren’t you afraid of spoiling me?” she inquires,
her head cocked to the side.

“Not when you’re a good little girl, and not to
mention I’m sure I’m quite capable of handling a
spoiled little girl.”

She takes my comment in stride, as if it’s the most
natural answer ever, and for us, it is.

If  you  would  have  given  me  one  hundred  to  one
odds  that  I’d  be  in  this  position  with  her  now,
saying  these  things,  I  wouldn’t  have  made  the  bet.
Bet a dollar to win a hundred? I’m  not  a  gambling
man, but I would have called you crazy.

And now the crazy one is me, because I’m head
over heels for this little spunky angel.

Once I’m about three quarters of the way through
feeding her she stops, pulling her head back from a
bite I’m holding.

“You need to eat all your dessert,” my voice is firm
but fair.

“I’ve got a tummy ache. The chocolate is too rich.”

“We don’t throw food away, Little Peaches. We eat
every bite. Many are not as fortunate as we are
today.”

Her face squishes up and she pouts like a kid, but I
stand my ground, holding the fork out in my
extended arms.

“You have three seconds to take this in your mouth
and start chewing or daddy’s going to punish you.
One…,” I begin, not wasting any time, not letting
her get the upper hand. “Two.”

She lurches forward and takes the bite and chews
immediately.

“You’re a very good girl and I’m proud of you.” I
pause, clear my throat and lean in a bit closer. “You
will always do what Daddy asks of you. Do you
understand?”

Her eyes glaze for just a nanosecond as I register a
flicker of confusion in her eyes, and she nods.

“Remember, we answer with words not with our
body.”

“Yes…Daddy.”

“Very  good.  You  should  know  there  will  be  other
things  Daddy  will  require  from  you,  but  we  will
discover those things when the time calls for it. Just
know  that  anything  I  demand  of  you  is  always  in
your  best  interests.  Understand  that  I  will  always
take  care  of  you,  and  make  sure  your  pleasure
comes  first.  You  are  my  angel  and  your  happiness

means everything to me. Understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she replies without hesitation.

Knowing we’re on the same wavelength only
reaffirms what I already knew. She was meant for
me. Me and only me.

I’m consumed by thoughts of her, the need to care
for her every need on this planet. To give her
anything and everything she could ever want. No
one has ever made me feel this way and the craziest
part is she did it so quickly.

I finish feeding her her muffin, expecting she’s
going to have a pretty severe stomach ache later
and will need a nap. She might even get ornery.

I motion for her to finish her juice and she does,
although it takes her three times tipping it back to
polish it off.

“Thank you for this, Daniel. I feel like I can finally
be myself,” she confesses.

“I feel like I can finally be the person I was meant
to be too, little one. Thanks to you.”

I motion for the check.

“Oh…and don’t forget, you can call me Daddy.”

D I A NA

We arrive back at our building at sunset. What was
scheduled  to  be  a  coffee  ‘date’  turned  into  an  all
day  affair.  After  coffee  we  walked  around  nicer
parts  of  the  city  and  even  found  a  park,  where
Daniel pushed me on a swing.

The wind in my hair as I felt so carefree, swinging
up  so  high  that  he  could  give  me  an  ‘Underdog’,
where  he  pushed  through  and  continued  moving
forward underneath me until he was in front of me.
It  was  everything  I  didn’t  get  to  experience  in  my
childhood and all the fun I wanted as an adult.

And the crazy thing is I knew it was going to be like
that  today.  Something  happened  last  night  after  he
left  me  to  go  inside  my  apartment.  I  changed  into
the  person  I  always  knew  I  was,  but  wasn’t  ready
to  come  out  of  my  cocoon  and  spread  my  wings

yet.

He allowed that. He facilitated that. Not only that,
he played a figurative trumpet behind me, letting
me be the star of my own special day.

One  thing,  though,  stuck  in  my  mind.  He  kept
calling me ‘good girl’, amongst other things. There
was only one incident where I was naughty and that
was  at  the  coffee  shop,  and  I  wasn’t  really  that
naughty  at  all,  correcting  my  behavior  before  he
really  got  close  to  dishing  out  any  sort  of
punishment.

And punishment, and what it might be, was what
interested me most as this day was winding down.
Seeing that it wasn’t a day I wanted to end anytime
soon I figured it was time to kill two birds with one
stone.

I take off up the stairs of our apartment building in
a rush. “Slow down, young lady. You might hurt
yourself.”

I hear him, but I don’t listen.

“Slow.  Down!”  his  deep  baritone  echoes  through
the  stairway,  commanding  me  to  freeze  in  my
tracks,  but  I  don’t.  Instead  I  just  continue  right  up
to  my  apartment,  open  it  and  dash  inside…leaving
the door open.

My heart pounds in my chest as the sound of each
footstep of this gigantic man coming up the stairs
echoes from the hallway and into my room.

He starts whistling, calmly and totally as if
nothing’s wrong. But when he reaches what should
be his front door he doesn’t stop, continuing to my
door.

His shoulder fill the entire door frame, his hands on
his hips and his stance wide, the look he gives me
fills my entire stomach, with both dread and
butterflies at the same time.

“I  told  you  to  go  slowly  up  the  stairs…and  you
didn’t,”  he  recounts,  his  eyes  narrowing  a  little
more  with  each  word.  “Now  you’re  going  to  find
out  what  happens  when  you  jeopardize  what’s
mine.”

Oh snap!

I  cower  back  on  the  futon,  pulling  Bugsy  and
Benny in front of me, holding the stuffed rabbits in
front  of  me  as  if  stuffed  polyester  is  some  sort  of
shield  against  well  over  two  hundred  pounds  of
sheer muscle, two hundred and fifty pounds if I was
venturing a guess.

“Come here,” he says, pointing to the threshold of
the door at the tips of his feet.

I shake my head no, frowning and sticking out my
lower lip.

“Little Peaches, did your father ever spank you as
a child?”

Oh. My. God. He really just went there.

“I never knew my daddy.”

“You mean you never knew your father.” I cock an
eyebrow curiously at his semantics. “See a father is
someone  who  carpools  to  work,  sits  at  a  desk  all
day  until  his  muscles  atrophy  beyond  the  point  of
repair.  Then  he  marches  his  miserable  ass  to  the
chiropractor  twice  a  week  and  complains  to  your
mother how much it hurts to sit through your school
plays.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, what you’re about to learn is what a daddy
is. See a daddy is none of those things. A daddy
keeps you in line, and when you get out of line he
spanks you, pulls your hair, and fucks you so hard
the legs of the bed break. Then he takes you out for
ice cream and buys you a new stuffie.” He pauses.
“Big difference, and I haven’t even mentioned the
most important difference.”

“What’s that, Daddy?”

“That you enjoy every…single…second of it. And
so does Daddy.”

I swallow hard and he snaps his fingers, pointing to
the floor again as if the threshold of my door is an
invisible force field that he’s not permitted to cross.
I actually appreciate that he doesn’t just come in
my apartment uninvited, even though he seems to
be saying, and doing, whatever else he wants right
now.

My apartment is almost functioning as a safe world,
a safe place, but the problem is despite a dangerous
past  I’m  drawn  to  it.  Freud  or  Jung  or  whoever
would probably have a field day with me, or maybe
even  more  likely  Friedrich  Nietzsche  who  once
said, “The  true  man  wants  two  things:  danger  and
play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most
dangerous plaything.”

Mr. Nietzsche may have been a bit off about men
wanting danger and play…because women want it
too.

“You can’t make me come.”

“That’s right, little one,” he says not missing a beat.
“But the thing is you want to come. Curiosity killed
the cat, and that won’t happen here, but I can
promise you the little kitten in front of me wants to
test the theory about having nine lives. And I can

promise you Daddy will make you feel more alive
than you ever have.”

“That’s a big claim, Daddy.”

“That’s not the only thing of Daddy’s that’s big,”
he says, and my eyes rake over his body seeing his
throbbing need pressing against his pants nearly
half way down his leg.

“Now,  naughty  girl.  Are  you  going  to  come  to
daddy  and  face  the  consequences  like  a  little  rule
breaker  should,  or  are  you  going  to  make  daddy
come  get  his  innocent  little  lamb  and  drag  her,
kicking and screaming, to the slaughter himself?”

“You’re mean, Daddy, but I don’t think you’ll come
get me. You won’t, you won’t, you won’t.”

“Oh yes I will,” he says, stepping across the
threshold like the invisible wall protecting me never
existed and I take off running, but my apartment is
so small there’s nowhere to go.

He  scoops  me  up  easily  and  I  kick  and  scream,
pounding  my  fists  into  his  back  and  it  does
absolutely  nothing.  He  puts  me  down  on  my  back
and pins me, leaning in close and whispering in my
ear,  “It’s  time  Daddy  spanked  you,  to  teach  you
what it means to mind.”

His warm breath slides across my neck, causing

goosebumps, as his words turn my panties into a
sopping wet mess.

In one swift maneuver he slides onto the futon and
flips me over so I’m face down across his lap.

“Now I’m going to teach you what happens when
you don’t listen to Daddy.”

“No Daddy.”

“Oh yes…oh fucking hell yes.”

And just as the last word leaves his mouth his first
spank finds my ass and I lurch forward, the stinging
feeling oh so good.

“I’m a bad girl, Daddy. Teach me to mind.”

“Oh, I’m going to teach you all right,” he says,
raising his hand again and bringing it down hard on
my cheek but this time leaving his hand there, his
strong, thick fingers kneading my butt like dough.

His thumb is dangerously close to my slit and I
know he can feel my wetness, through my skirt and
panties.

“This pleated skirt is providing too much padding.
It’s as if you knew you were going to get spanked
today, Little Peaches.”

I feel a cool breeze as he yanks my skirt up and his

hand comes down on my razor thin cotton panties
and I yelp.

“That’s more like it.”

“Is everything okay in here?” a voice says from the
door. “Oh shit!”

“Go the fuck away!” Daddy growls and the man
takes off running in the other direction.

And just like that the spanking stops.

“Daddy made a mistake. He should have shut the
door first, but at least the man couldn’t see
anything, not even your face, because of the angle
of the futon.”

He pulls me onto his lap and brings my head into
his chest, his hand on the back of my head gently
stroking my hair.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Apology accepted. Just don’t do it again unless
you want to find out what it’s really like to get
punished by Daddy.”

A wide smile crosses my lips but he can’t see.
“Ok,” I say, the sting of my ass cheeks feeling oh so
good. I can’t wait to check them out in the mirror
and see if I can make out his big handprint.

D A NI E L

The next morning

I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth and watch as
my woman sashays across the floor, serving up
breakfast with a bigger smile than usual. Knowing I
have something to do with that puts a huge smile on
my face, although I suppress it in public. No need
to attract attention, like…

“Nobody move!” a man with a sky mask calls out,
pointing  a  gun  at  one  of  Diana’s  coworkers.  The
sound of a coffee pot falling and breaking ricochets
throughout  the  diner  and  the  man  turns  rapidly
toward  the  sound  of  it,  pointing  the  gun  right  at
Diana’s chest.

“Don’t move, bitch!”

The table starts to rattle, as my arms shake with

anger as I slyly reach for the steak knife, tucking it
in my hand so that it’s concealed by the front of my
hand and arm. It’s awkward, but it gets the job
done.

The  man  wisely  moves  the  gun  away  from  Diana,
pointing  it  to  the  cash  register.  It’s  the  smartest
thing he’s done all day, but I’m still going to make
him pay. The thought of anything happening to my
woman  absolutely  shatters  me,  and  that’s  exactly
what I’m going to do to him.

Breathing in deep, I focus. Those with training for
situations like these know that you don’t rise to the
situation, you fall back to your level of training.
And my record speaks for itself, which is a blessing
and a curse.

“Everybody on the floor!” a second man yells,
while the first slams his hand into the register
repeatedly until it springs open.

As he pulls out the cash and stuffs it into a bag in
his jacket it’s then I get a good look at his gun.

Fake.

My eyes dart to the other guy.

Also fake.

These fools are knocking off a diner with two

replica Smith & Wessons. I can spot a real and a
fake a mile away, but what I can’t quite make out is
how I recognize these guys. It’s not from the other
night, but they’re definitely familiar.

And  although  they  might  not  have  real  guns,  they
could  have  real  knives  or  other  weapons,  and
judging  from  the  jitteriness  of  both  of  them  they
could  easily  be  on  some  sort  of  speed  or
amphetamine too.

Don’t play hero. Wait for the opportunity, but only
if it comes.

“On the floor, asshole,” the man not emptying out
the cash register says and it’s then I realize I’m the
one taking the most time out of all the people who
were enjoying their breakfasts fifteen seconds ago.

As I go to kneel down I cock my head and survey
the parking lot. No getaway car waiting.

Yep, this is an amateur job if I’ve ever seen one.
But where have I seen this knucklehead before?

“I got the money. Let’s go!” the other man says,
and I don’t go down all the way.

“I’m coming,” the other man says, his fake gun still
on me. “I should shoot your ass for not following
orders.”

He turns to go, taking his eye off me for a split
second and it’s all I need.

I lunge, grabbing him by ankle closest to me and
flip him toward the ceiling.

He flips hard and the crack of his skull on the hard
tiles has the other hostages ‘oohing’ in near unison.

“Let’s g—“

The other man says turning back to see where his
fellow soon to be felon is. He has one hand on the
horizontal bar to exit the diner and the other
holding the money, having stuffed his ‘gun’ back in
his pocket now that the robbery is complete.

Almost.

I dive at him with everything I’ve got, slamming his
body into the glass, shattering it into a million
pieces as the door comes off its hinges and we fall
onto the concrete in front, his body breaking my
fall.

“How dare you point a gun at an innocent, and a
woman!” I snarl, oblivious to the glass lodged in my
hands as I pound his face to a pulp.

After three hits his entire body goes limp and I stop,
brace myself with one hand on one knee and stand.

I’m covered in blood and I don’t know which is

mine and which is his, but I do know I need to get
the hell outta here. Pronto.

“Dixon?” the other man on the floor says, his face
badly swollen as he tries to identify me through one
eye, which I quickly put my boot in the second I
hear police sirens in the distance.

“Give me your apron!” I say to Diana’s co-worker,
not wanting to talk to Diana right now as it might
reveal that we have a familiarity outside of the
restaurant.

“What?” she asks, clearly not with it, probably in a
low-grade shock.

I grab it from her body and quickly tie the hands of
the man on the floor, before turning to the chef.

“You got security footage?”

“None. Boss been meaning to put it in, but never
did.”

I nod. “Just tell the police the truth then.”

I avoid eye contact with Diana, knowing she’s safe,
and beat feet into the parking lot, making sure
there’s not a getaway car, or motorcycle I missed.

Nothing.

I dart down an alley, stripping my shirt and tossing

D I A NA

I climb onto my futon for bed, my head still
spinning from the events of the morning.

First, I’m in complete bliss from the day before, just
working away, whistling, life is great.

Then there’s a robbery, which is expertly thwarted
by Daniel with skills so precise and fast it’s like he
knew what to do. Like he was trained for this.

Then the police came, took statements, and shut us
down for the day, but not before word got out the
guns were fake.

What the heck?

And just when things couldn’t get any stranger,
there’s a knock…on my window.

I jump up, and rush to my purse for the pepper
spray before I hear, “Don’t pepper spray me, Little
Peaches.”

“Don’t Little Peaches me,” I say, taking the pepper
spray in hand anyway. It’s clear Daniel is well
equipped in the art of fighting, having proven it not
once but twice, and I’m not about to be his lucky
third victim.

“Let me in.”

“No,” I say.

“Not so loud,” he replies.

“This is my apartment. I'll be as loud or as quiet as I
want,” I fire back.

“You need to learn obedience.”

“Take your obedience and shove it. I’m not in little
space anymore. This is real and I want real
answers. Who are you and what the hell’s going
on?”

“If you let me in I’ll tell you.”

“You’ll tell me while you...” I pause, getting closer
to the window and see that he’s standing on the
decorative ledge on our floor, the third floor,
clutching a downspout. “Are you kidding me?”

“You won’t let me in, but I can’t stay out here.”

“You’re not coming in.”

“Just tell me if anyone is out in front of my
apartment then.”

“What?”

“I’m coming in,” he says. I prepare the pepper
spray, stepping back and taking a wider stance
ready to let it loose.

Waiting.

Still waiting.

Suddenly there’s a knock on my door and I squeeze
the trigger of the canister, yelling, “Die!”

“Why are you so jumpy?” he asks. “Open the door
before someone sees me.”

“No.”

“Listen, we need to talk.”

“You can talk through the door.”

“If I’m seen by the wrong people I’m in trouble,
and I’m sorry but I don’t want you seen here with
me right now or else you might be in trouble too.”

“Great.”

“Listen. There’s a late night showing of a movie
every night at a theater a couple streets over called
Grand Cinema.”

“Original.”

“Yeah, and not very grand. I’ll  be  in  the  back  row
tonight. It’s a public place so there’s nothing I can
do  to  harm  you.  The  guy  running  the  projection
thing,  or  whatever  it’s  called  these  days,  will  be
right behind us, and there will be probably twenty-
five  people  or  so  sitting  in  there.  Bring  what’s  left
of your pepper spray and meet me there.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Ok, don’t meet me, but I’ll be there. If I don’t see
you then don’t expect to see me anytime soon…but
count on seeing me again as soon as I can.
Remember, you’re mine.”

I pause, taking it all in. “Daniel, wait,” I say, but
nothing comes back. I don’t want to open the door,
but I don’t not want to open it either.

Just this morning we were doing light age play like I
read about on my Kindle and now we’re switching
to spy play? This is a genre jump I’m not ready for,
and certainly not familiar with.

Nor am I familiar with the feelings I have for this
man.

Do  I  want  answers  or  do  I  want  the  alternative?
And  no  matter  what  he’s  not  going  to  let  me  go.
The man thinks he has a claim on me, and as much
as I hate to admit it at this point he’s the only one in
my  nineteen  years  who  has  ever  wanted  me  this
bad, or at all for that reason.

I look at my watch and realize the movie starts in
half an hour. He could be waiting outside the
building ready to grab me and throw me in a van.

I can’t help but shake my head. This is like one of
those movies where a single character volunteers to
go down in a dark basement, the lightbulb not
working of course, and then promptly gets killed
off…to the surprise of no one.

Those characters drive me crazy and are literally
too stupid to live.

At least that’s what I’ve always thought. Until the
movie became real and that character became…
me.

D A NI E L

I scoop out another handful of popcorn, trying to
look normal in the back row of a movie theater’s
late night showing.

I know she’s going to come. I just know it.

And right on cue I see a small girl slide in the side
door, head down as she quickly moves up the stairs
until she reaches the top row.

I don’t turn, instead holding my hand just above my
popcorn box and moving two fingers up and down
to  confirm  it’s  me,  as  if  it  would  be  anybody  else.
Luckily  my  estimate  was  wrong  and  there’s  ten
people  in  the  entire  theater,  max,  and  they're  all
here  for  the  same  reason…to  avoid  crowds,  with
generous spacing between each of us.

Until she sits down next to me.

“This better be good and you better not try
anything. I’ve got my pepper spray and other things
ready in case you do.”

I flatten my palm, moving it up and down slightly as
if I’m pressing down her volume button, letting her
know  we  need  to  keep  this  quiet.  Movie  theater
acoustics  are  good  for  sound  coming  from  the
movie,  fortunately,  and  nobody  seems  to  have
heard or have noticed.

“Have you seen this one?” I ask, my head
motioning toward the screen.

“Why are you wasting my time with this? Just say
what you need to say.”

“I’m trying, but you won’t let me.”

She huffs, turns her body so she’s square with the
screen and leans back in her seat a little, half of her
back still not touching though and I realize she
could dart out of here at any moment. And from the
look on her face, her body language, and her tone,
that moment could be any second.

“It’s called The Departed, and it’s actually a
remake of a Hong Kong film that preceded it by
four years called Infernal Affairs.”

“I’m not a film buff. I get my kicks from reading
books. Ask me why I care.”

“You care because Leonardo DiCaprio’s character
is…me.”

“You’re going to try and tell me DiCaprio’s playing
a role based on your life?” She shakes her head.

“No. What I’m telling you is that his character,
William ‘Billy Costigan Jr.’ has family ties, relatives
to be exact, who are in the Irish mafia…but Billy
goes through the police academy, wanting to do the
‘right thing’ with his life instead.”

She says nothing but I know she’s listening. Finally.

“Billy gets recruited to go undercover, including
false charges against him and jail time that make his
story seem more legit. He infiltrates the Irish mafia,
and in the process finds out that the mafia also has
a mole in the police force.”

“Ok. So?”

“So, I’m an orphan, Little Peaches…just like you. I
was a cop, went undercover and while undercover
found  out  there  were  some  mafia  types  who  had
infiltrated the police ranks in our town. It  took  me
three  years,  three  long  freaking  years,  but  I  found
out  who  they  were  and  reported  them.  The  whole
station turned against me, saying they were some of
our best guys and I was calling them out? Not only
that,  there  were  some  supposedly  clean  cops  who

were taking cuts from the mafia to turn a blind
eye.”

“You’re telling me that you uncovered both mafia
that had infiltrated your police station and also cops
from your police station that were in cahoots with
the mafia?”

“Bingo,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn before
holding the bucket in front of her. “Want some?”

“No,  no,  no,”  she  says,  pushing  it  out  of  her  way,
but more importantly her back finds the seat as she
settles  in.  I  can  see  her  eyes  look  off  to  the  side,
down  and  to  the  left  to  be  precise,  which,  as
someone  with  extensive  interrogation  experience
and the ability to read people, tells me she’s having
an  internal  dialog.  She’s  trying  to  put  the  puzzle
pieces together to see if what I’m saying adds up.

“So why are you living in your crummy apartment
then?”

“Well, little one. As you can imagine the cops hate
me and the mafia does too. I’ve got nowhere to
turn that’s safe.”

“Why don’t you just leave?”

“I did. This happened in another city but apparently
one of the would be robbers from the diner today
recognized me, said my last name out loud and

everything. I must have busted him a long time ago
and  he  saw  my  name  as  the  arresting  officer,  or
something like that. I’ve put away too many guys to
count,  and  definitely  too  many  to  remember  over
my  thirty-seven  years,  fifteen  of  those  as  a  cop.
Point being is that criminals talk, and although I’m
laying low in a crummy apartment building, buying
everything  with  cash,  and  leaving  no  traces  I  still
got ID'd.”

“I’m sorry you were in the diner when that went
down.”

“I’m  not,”  I  casually  shoot  back,  taking  another
handful  of  popcorn.  “I  became  a  cop  to  serve  and
protect,  and  I  don’t  need  a  badge  on  my  chest  for
me  to  do  that.  I’m  glad  I  was  there  to  protect  the
diner,  and  more  importantly  to  protect  what’s
mine.”

I turn to her and with my hand that’s not covered in
butter and salt I take her chin and tip it in my
direction, but I can’t wait any longer and my lips
crash down on hers.

Despite  the  flavors  already  on  my  lips  she  tastes
like  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world.  I  just  want  to
stay  like  this  forever,  but  I  summon  all  the
willpower I have and pull my lips from hers, angry
at the void I’ve created.

D I A NA

I swallow hard, still processing his rough kiss and
how much it made me feel. How much I enjoyed it.
How much it connected us even more.

When deciding whether or not to come here I really
expected to get fed a load of b.s. and quickly walk
out and report him to the cop who gave me his
business card today in case I thought of anything
else or ‘came across that guy who played hero.’

Oh, I’ve come across him all right, and I’m
confident he is my hero. Today, in the alley before,
and as much as it scares me…the future.

Exhaling a long breath, I begin. “Like you, I’m
staying in that crummy apartment to lay low for a
while. I’m originally from upstate, but had to leave
when things got too bad.”

“What things?”

“Don’t be so eager to interrupt me and maybe I’ll
tell you.”

Summoning  my  train  of  thought  I  pause  before
continuing.  “I’m  also  an  orphan  and  as  you  can
imagine there were people who saw me as a target,
thought  I  was  weak  and  had  no  idea  that  not  only
had I built up a tough shell around myself, but also
tried  my  best  to  learn  self-defense,  albeit  from
YouTube  videos,  and  how  to  gouge  out  a  man’s
eyes  and  knee  him  in  the  nuts  about  six  ways  to
Sunday.”

“Atta girl.”

I can’t help but smile a bit, but quickly regain my
composure.

“Anyway, there was this one off-duty cop at my
high school…”

Suddenly popcorn comes spilling out over the top
of the bowl and I look down to see Daniel’s no
longer scooping it into his mouth as he was when he
was telling his own story. Instead, he’s making a fist
so tight he looks like one of those martial arts guys
on YouTube that can punch through concrete.

“Are you sure you want to hear more?”

“Yeah, I wanna hear it so he can get all my rage
when I track him down and end him. Every last bit
of my anger to squeeze out every last bit of his
existence.”

I’m not sure if I actually want to tell him more now,
but I need to spill this information, to get it off my
chest. It’s a secret I’ve held no to for too long.

“It started out with him complimenting my clothes
on the days I wore more girly things, more cute
outfits…when I looked younger.”

He nods angrily.

“But  it  wasn’t  like  what  we,”  I  gulp,  “have.”
Pausing,  then  continuing,  “This  was  more  like  a
pedophile  vibe  and  it  made  my  skin  crawl.  He
couldn’t see me as an adult who maybe wanted to
have  my  little  space,  or  little  days,  from  time  to
time. He saw me as a target, knew I was an orphan
and even brought it up one day saying we could do
things and nobody would know. He talked down to
me and looked at me with these creepy eyes, full of
lust. I wasn’t even a person to him, and it was hard
because  I  was  just  starting  to  really  understand
what  I  was  feeling  myself.  I  was  reading  a  lot  of
DDLG  stories  on  my  Kindle  and  I  could  really
relate  with  the  littles.  But,  this  guy  was  definitely
not  a  daddy,  not  in  any  way  shape  or  form  to
anyone, ever.”

At this point I can see Daniel’s hand shaking and
hear his teeth gritting as a bead of sweat runs from
his temple, just below the bulging vein I’ve never
seen before, that streaks across his forehead like a
bolt of lightning.

“What’s. His. Name?”

“He goes by Uncle Andrew, but his real name is
Sergeant Andrew Epstein.”

“Uncle  Andrew?  What  a  sick  fu—…”,  he  doesn’t
finish  the  word,  refusing  to  curse  in  front  of  me,  a
lady, and I actually notice it and appreciate it. But
he doesn’t have to complete his sentence to let me
know  Andrew  Epstein’s  fate  is  completely  sealed,
and it’s not good for him.

“So you’re on the run, nowhere to go, and worried
this creep might be following you?”

“Exactly except I’m not worried that he’s following
me. He is following me.”

“How do you know?”

“This isn’t the first town I’ve fled too. I left my
original town as soon as I could, driving over an
hour away and in the first week I caught him across
the street at a coffee shop staring at me twice. Then
he finally came into the restaurant and asked where
I’d been. Told me that I was already nineteen and I

needed  to  come  back  and  graduate.  That  I  was
already  a  year  behind  because  of  everything  that
had happened during my childhood, or lack thereof,
but that he could ‘help me’. Said he was tight with
the teachers and he could make sure I graduated in
the  current  semester,  which  I  was  going  to  do
anyway. My  grades  were  perfect,  but  what  wasn’t
perfect was the learning environment.”

“Did you report him to anyone?”

“I  scheduled  a  sit  down  with  the  principal,  and  he
actually  agreed  to  see  me,  but  when  I  started  off
with  Sergeant  Andrew  Epstein’s  name,  he  quickly
said,  ‘You  mean  Uncle  Andrew?  Great  guy.’  That
lead  me  to  believe…or  think.  I  don’t  know.  I’m  a
girl  with  a  wild  imagination.  I  thought  maybe  they
were somehow in it together and I just froze up and
the principal started talking about how great he was
and I just sat there like I was having an out of body
experience.  Finally  he  stopped  talking  and  asked
me  what  I  wanted  to  say  about  him,  and  I  just
asked  if  there  was  any  information  about  how
students  could  become  cops,  and  luckily  he
referred  me  to  the  guidance  counselor,  not  picking
up on what I’d really come to him to say.”

“So it’s two of them?”

“I’m not sure, but he was so quick to stick up for
him. You know when a kid is guilty of something,

like  eating  cookies  before  dinner,  and  then  when
you  ask  about  it  they  simply  say  ‘no’  with
chocolate  smeared  all  over  their  face,  or  they
volunteer way too much information which lets you
know  they’re  just  as  guilty  as  the  kid  with  the
evidence visible right on their face?”

“That’s exactly right. You understand people very
well.”

“You have to to survive when you have no parents,
no family, no one to turn to and everyone sees you
as a target they can easily use and abuse and then
dump you like yesterday’s trash, knowing no one’s
going to believe a ‘troubled teen’, especially when
it’s her word against a well-loved and well-
respected off-duty cop.”

Daniel leans in closer. “The days of no one to turn
to are gone. I’m here now, and forever. You’ve got
me, your Daddy when you need to have little time,
and Daniel when you need to discuss real life
situations like these. You understand me?”

I nod.

“Good. Now let’s get outta here,” he says, his eyes
drawing a circle around the entire movie theater.
“So we can plan how we’re going to get outta here,
this city, this life, for good.”

D A NI E L

I hold the door open to our hotel room, Diana still a
bit surprised they bought my story about not having
any  ID  on  me  and  paying  with  cash.  Technically
both were true, but what most don’t know about a
5-star  hotel  is  that  they  assume,  by  the  price  of
admission, you’re a well-to-do person and don’t ask
many  questions.  When  it  comes  to  life  I  gravitate
toward  the  high  and  low  in  everything,  always
avoiding the middle.

But tonight, the middle, her middle, is exactly what
I’m focused on claiming and making mine.

“Oh my God, and actual bed,” she says, throwing
herself onto it, back first as if she’s falling into a
swimming pool on a hot summer day.

“Looks like it’s big enough for the two of us, but I

have to know you want this.”

She swallows hard. “I do, but I have to know you
want me.”

“What do you mean?” I move closer taking her
face in my hands as she sits up on the edge of the
bed.

“I…I’m not experienced in…these kinds of
things.”

“Mine,” I groan. “And only mine.”

She looks at me curiously.

“Just another reason why I want you. Your body is
untouched and I’ll be the only man to ever know
what it feels like to run my skin along the small of
your back, bury my nose in-between your shoulder
blades and inhale your scent so deeply it becomes a
part of me. And bury my cock so far inside you it’s
impossible to tell where one of us begins and the
other ends. Connected as one, always.”

“I want that,” she says softly.

“You have to want everything, Little Peaches. You
have to want the rules I have for you, knowing
they’re always there in your best interests.”

“You know I do. I have since our date at the coffee
shop.”

I pause. “Then why did you talk back to Daddy
when he was hanging outside your window, and
again in the movie theater?” I release her face and
lean back, my hands finding my hips.

“I…I wasn’t sure what was going on.”

“But  you  know  Daddy  is  always  here  for  you.
Daddy has all the answers just like he answered all
your  questions  a  few  minutes  ago,  like  he  had  the
answer of where we should go tonight, and how he
knew  this  hotel  would  check  us  in  with  cash,  and
without showing ID.”

“You’re right, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You didn’t just make a
mistake, you talked back to Daddy, snapped at
him…more than once. And you almost sprayed him
with pepper spray.”

“You’re right. I…I did all those things.”

“Daddy needs to teach you to watch your mouth,
young lady.”

She nods.

“And the best way he knows to get you to close
your mouth is to fill it…with his cock.”

“Daddy!” she says, her eyes drifting down to my
zipper, the metal straining to keep my cock caged,

the fucker demanding to be freed only so he can be
caged again, but this time where he belongs. Inside
her.

“Show Daddy you know how to keep your mouth
shut,” I say, yanking my zipper down in one stroke,
the cotton of my boxer briefs pressing out in the
hole I’ve created in my jeans.

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, leaning forward and
grabbing my belt.

If  the  sound  of  her  voice  is  the  sweetest  sound  in
the world, and it is, the sound of her unbuckling my
belt  is  a  close  second.  Soon  after  there’s  the
whoosh  of  her  pulling  my  belt  through  the  loops
before letting it hit the ground.

She claws at my button fly, managing to get it open
despite the pressure from my absolutely vertical
cock. My eyes start to roll back in my head but I
force them open, as her hands grab the back of my
trousers and she yanks them down to the bottom of
my ass, my cock still in my underwear, the upward
pressure keeping it from her.

But she wastes no time jerking down the front too,
my dick springing free like a diving board but
quickly stabilizing when her tiny hands wrap
around my shaft…or as close as they can.

The feeling of her little mitts on my thickness,
knowing she can’t even properly wrap her hands all
the way around my girth, makes me wonder just
how tight her cherry is going to be.

Fuck, I can hardly wait. But first…a lesson in
discipline.

She stares at the enraged crown of my rod, unsure
of what to do. “Time to own up to your punishment
young lady.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she says, spitting right on my tip and
then taking it in her warm little mouth.

Nothing in my life up to this point has ever felt so
good and I’m already close, damn close.

My hand finds the back of her head and I gently
bring her head forward, my rod sliding into her
mouth but only about a third of the way before she
gags.

“Fuck,” I moan, my hand fisting her hair as I try
not to pop, as she pulls her head back and then
takes me in again, even deeper the second time.

My fists are about to go white-knuckle in her hair
and I’m about to paint the back of her throat with a
sticky white cream too.

She groans and my blood feels like it’s on fire.

“Enough princess. You’ve pleased Daddy. You’ve
shown him you learned your lesson.”

“But I was just getting started, Daddy,” she says,
wiping the spit and precome off her mouth with the
back of her hand.

“Me too, angel. That’s why it’s time for me to
punish you another way before you drink down
Daddy’s yogurt.”

“I like yogurt,” she says. “Is it vanilla flavored?”

Everything inside me freezes. “It’s more like kefir,
creamy and salty, but you don’t get to taste my
yogurt first. That’s a dessert, gagging was your
punishment.”

“Why are you keeping your yogurt from me
Daddy?”

“Because the first time I introduce yogurt into your
body it needs to be in the right spot.”

“Where?” she bats her eyelashes.

“In your princess part.”

“My…” she blushes, pointing to her pussy.

“That’s right princess, now lay back and slide out
of those clothes because Daddy’s ready to make
you his queen…forever.”

D I A NA

I  wiggle  out  of  my  clothes,  like  a  butterfly  coming
out of a cocoon, ready for my transition from girl to
woman,  knowing  that  although  we’ve  only  known
each  other  a  very  brief  amount  of  time,  this  is  the
man for me. My man.

“You’re not going to spank me?” I pout, extending
my lower lip out.

“Oh, I’m going to spank you,” he says, slipping out
of his own clothes. “But not with my hand, with my
hips.”

My eyes glide over the rough, angular edges of his
body,  starting  with  his  wide  shoulders  and  then
across  his  chest,  two  tectonic  plates  lightly  dusted
with  hair  that  continues  down  over  eight  clearly
defined  abdominals,  right  past  those  cuts  that

separate his torso on his legs on each side, and to
his gigantic cock. The same cock I could barely fit
a third of in my mouth.

And now he’s saying he’s going to fit it all inside
me?

“Assume the position. All fours. Now, naughty
girl.”

His commanding baritone leaves no room for
question and I do as I’m told.

“Daddy, is my princess part my…pee hole or my
poo hole?”

“Your  backdoor  will  be  later,  little  one,”  he  says,
and  I  feel  his  big  mitts  grip  my  globes,  spreading
them  open  as  he  stares  down…everything.  “But
first  I’m  going  to  claim  that  tight  cherry  you’ve
been  saving  for  me  all  these  years.  I  have  to  warn
you though. I’m already close to exploding, so this
might  not  last  long,  but  don’t  worry,  baby.  We’ve
got all night.

I look back over my shoulder just in time to watch
him fist his cock and stroke it a few times before
running his index finger up my slit.

“Oh, that tight little pussy is ripe and ready for me,
wet and willing.”

I feel the head of his dick press against my opening
and he fists my hair, pulling my head back further
so I can see.

“Fill me, Daddy. Fuck my wet pussy. Make me
your princess, forever.”

He grunts hard, exhaling so fully I feel his hot
breath on my back and in one fluid motion he
buries all his inches inside me.

My entire body stills at the foreign object that has
invaded me.

“You ok, doll?”

I am but say nothing.

“Sweetheart, please don’t tell Daddy he hurt you.”

“No, it’s good. It’s just that you're so…big.”

“That’s because of you. You caused that and we
both win. You’re a good girl for that.”

“I’m a good girl?”

“A very, very good girl. Maybe you don’t need to
be spanked because you’re such a good girl.”

“No, Daddy!” I protest. “I want you to spank me so
I’ll mind my manners.”

“Good girl,” he says, slowly easing out of me,

leaving a void, a vacuum where he once was. I
need him to fill me again.

“Spank me, Daddy!” I cry out, sending his cock
back inside me slowly, then out, then in again until
seconds later he’s thrusting into me from behind,
his hips slamming against my ass and I’m not even
sure if I’m going to survive the night, the force he’s
generating attempting to snap me in half.

And I love every second of it.

“Harder, Daddy.”

“I’m close,” he moans. “But I need you to finish
first, darling,” slides out from in-between claiming
grunts. “Can you do that for me, angel?”

“Yes.  Yes,”  I  answer,  but  my  answer  quickly
becomes  a  cry  of  the  impending  tsunami  forming
inside my stomach, washing through me like a wave
and I unleash on his cock, coating it with my cream
as  my  pussy  snaps  shut  on  his  dick,  locking  it  in
place as I milk him for all his seed.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” he belts out, and suddenly hot
jets of come fill me fully, completely, and with a
force that threatens to blow me forward right off
his dick, breaking our connection.

But no. My hands grip the sheets tight as I contract
my midsection, pushing my ass into his hips as he

grinds into me, more hot loads filling me one right
after another as his hands grip my hips like he
never in a million years plans to let me go.

His body jerks some more and then finally he falls
forward, my knees and elbows buckling as he lands
right  on  top  of  me,  his  heartbeat  hammering  into
my  back  as  we  both  struggle  to  catch  your  breath,
until finally after seconds turn to minutes, he slides
to  the  side,  his  rod  pulling  out  of  my  hole  with  a
loud popping sound and he lies on his back staring
up at the ceiling.

I quickly cuddle up next to him. “Was I a good girl,
Daddy?”

“The best and the only girl for me. Ever. Mine,” he
exhales, before turning to me and wrapping me up
in a big hug. “Mine all mine,” he adds as he kisses
me on the forehead. “Forever.”

D I A NA

The next morning

My arms wrap around Daniel even tighter as he
whips the motorcycle he bought this morning
through a winding mountain pass.

Looking

left,

looking

right…it’s

amazingly

beautiful.

But the most beautiful thing is right in front of me,
my man and his heart a mere inches from mine, my
body pressed against the back of his.

I’d called in to the diner sick the night before. That
way they had plenty of time to find a replacement,
girls were always looking to pick up shifts, plus it
didn’t tip anyone off that I was actually quitting.

After waking up this morning, Daniel confided in

me that in just a matter of days he would be
receiving cash awards for both turning in bad cops,
and finding the mole within his own unit. He didn’t
tell me the exact amount, but he did say each
award ‘scraped low seven figures’, plus he’d saved
just about all his money for fifteen years so we’d be
set for life.

It was the ultimate Cinderella story, at least in my
eyes, and I couldn’t have written a retelling of the
classic better myself, even if you’d have given me a
lifetime to try.

And a lifetime is exactly what we were about to
have…together.

We pull up to a small house near the top of the
mountain and he parks the motorcycle, helping me
off the back.

“Where are we?”

“Old safe house that I bought years ago in case the
stuff ever hit the fan.”

“But if it’s in your name then. People will come
looking for you here?”

“Nope. It’s wrapped up in an LLC which is owned
by  another  LLC.  Complete  anonymity,  and  the
owner,  and  the  registering  agents  of  the  LLC’s,  all
accepted  Bitcoin.  To  be  fair,  Bitcoin’s  not  exactly

anonymous, but I’ve never put my coins online so
they’ve never been attached to my name.”

“You had that much in Bitcoin?”

“I got in early, so I saw the big gains. To  be  fair,  I
didn’t  have  that  many,  but  it  didn’t  take  many  to
get  this  place.  It  was  pretty  run  down  when  I
bought it and I put a lot of time into making it what
it is today. Plus the owner was really hot on selling
it, so it worked out quickly and perfectly. Just  like
us.”

“You don’t need time to make decisions when you
know, right?”

“Exactly, Precious,” he says, wrapping his arms
around me.

“We can lay low here until the money hits my
account, just to make sure, then we’re outta here.”

“Where to?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise.”

“Dadddddy!”

“Just wait little girl. Daddy’s got it all taken care of
and you’re never going to have to lift another finger
again, wait another table, except for the one you fill
with the food you make for our family.”

“Are you going to cook too?”

He laughs for the first time and his smile takes my
breath away. “Well, I’ve learned the basics over my
life as a bachelor, but I’m guessing someone who
works in a diner might be better versed in culinary
techniques than I am.”

“I can’t wait to cook meals for you, for our family,
for us,” I say.

“Speaking  of  family,  I’m  older,  old-fashioned  and
more  traditional.  And  something  about  last  night
knows,  just  knows  without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt,
that you’re pregnant with my first born.”

“You think I got pregnant on the night I gave you
my virginity?”

“I don’t think so. I know so.”

There’s a sudden pause and our bodies separate
slightly, but just enough to give him room to…

“Little Peaches,” he begins, kneeling on the gravel
in front of this picturesque paradise while he opens
a  small  black,  velvet  box  with  an  absolutely
beautiful diamond ring inside. “We’ve  only  known
each other a short time but we’ve come a long way.
And  I  know  that  time  is  precious,  and  the  way
ahead is with you. It’s time to take a second to form
a  bond  that  will  last  a  lifetime.  You  make  me  feel

things  I’ve  never  felt  before,  even  learning  about
myself  as  I  learn  about  you.  And  I  can’t  wait  to
uncover  a  new  little  fact,  unravel  a  new  mystery
about your personality, each and every day forever.
I’m  already  the  luckiest  man  to  ever  walk  on  the
face  of  the  earth,  which  is  why  I’m  down  on  one
knee for you, my princess. Make me your king and
become my queen.”

He’s absolutely right, time is precious and the way
ahead lies with him. Him and only him. His words
hit me like a freight train and I can’t stop the tears
from flowing like the rivers that line these
mountains.

I have no idea how we got here, or why all the pain
and  hardships  have  suddenly  been  replaced  with
happiness nor am I going to ask. All  I  know  is  the
most  incredible  man  in  the  world,  in  such  a
beautiful  place,  just  asked  me  to  be  his.  Forever.
And like Cinderella, time is of the essence, and no
way in the world am I going to let the clock strike
midnight before my luck runs out.

“Yes! A million times and forever yes!”

He slides the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit, and I
jump in his arms, also a perfect fit, as our lips
collide.

We come from two different worlds, but we’re

alike in so many ways. This crazy little thing called
life is a journey, and ours have intersected, collided,
and now we’re taking the road together.

And that’s exactly how it’s going to be. Forever.

“Ladies and gentleman, she said yes,” Daniel says,
making me laugh as there’s no one around for
miles.

“Was I a good girl, Daddy?”

“The best, Princess. And now you’re mine all
mine.”

“Princess? I prefer you address me as Queen,” I
kid, taking a page out of his book.

“Your wish is my command…my Queen,” he self-
corrects.

And with that, he’s made every wish I could have
ever hoped for come true.

“I love you, Little Peaches.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

D A NI E L

A three days later, at three thirty in the morning, we
slid our keys in our locks, laughing.

The money’s hit my account and we’re just back
here for a quick pit stop to gather our most
important things and then we’re gone…for good.

I can’t believe I was hanging off her balcony just a
few days ago, and before that I’d rushed out to buy
an engagement ring, which was in my pocket even
then.  Imagine  if  I  fell,  it  would  have  been  the
ultimate  Romeo  and  Juliet  moment,  the  ring  in  my
pocket  as  I  came  for  my  women,  yet  she’d  have
never known.

But  that’s  why  I  knew  that  morning  in  the  diner,
she  was  my  everything  and  I  had  to  show  her  my
commitment  was  real.  Even  though  she  told  me  it

was too much, too big, I convinced her to keep it. I
never  buy  myself  anything  so  I  had  plenty  of
money saved up, plus the money I need to show up
at the bank and confirm this morning, which is kind
of  strange  considering  it’s  a  government  payment.
I’m  almost  wondering  if  some  cops  are  gonna  be
there to give me grief on the way out.

Who cares?

I’ve  got  my  woman  and  she’s  got  my  ring  on  her
finger.  And  we’re  going  straight  to  the  airport  to
disappear  forever.  We  don’t  owe  anyone
anything…other than each other of course to whom
we owe everything.

Diana  steps  into  her  apartment  and  I  do  the  same,
thoughts  of  swimming  naked  in  the  creek,  eating
wild  berries,  sleeping  under  the  stars  and  just
generally being in love flood my mind.

Even the view from the top of the mountain, where
we rode up to each day to get reception to see if the
deposits hit, was breathtaking. As soon as the
money was confirmed it was time to leave this
vacation to start a new life. Together.

I start packing up some things and realize I’m super
hungry  for  some  reason.  I  move  over  to  her
apartment,  watching  her  stuff  her  duffel  bag  with
what  little  she  has.  The  lack  of  a  deadbolt  on  her

door, and the fact that I see her stuffing pepper
spray and a knife in her duffel bag make my
stomach churn. No one should have to live like this,
and my woman never will another day in her life.

“Whatcha doing, baby girl?”

She  turns  back  to  me,  her  thousand  watt  smile
lighting up an otherwise dark room. “About to pack
up  my  most  treasured  possessions,  my  Kindle  and
my  copy  of  Cinderella.  Both  are  pathways  to  my
crazy imagination.”

“It’s what makes you, you, and for that I love it,” I
say wrapping my arms around her and suddenly her
stomach growls. “So I’m not the only one who’s
hungry at an odd hour.”

“I guess skipping dinner to enjoy some physical
activity, horizontal style, is catching up with me.”

I laugh. “You’re right. I was just thinking of making
a run for the border myself.”

“We’re going to Mexico?” she asks, her head
jerking back. “That’s the plan?”

She looks stunned, and I can’t tell if it’s in a good
way or a bad way but either way that’s not it. “No,
silly little girl…Taco Bell for the ‘fourth meal’
they’re always advertising.”

“Oh…that does sound good. Can you grab me two
chalupas?”

“Only two? I was thinking you’re going to need a
lot of energy.”

“And why’s that,” she purrs, rubbing her hand
against my chest.

“Bank doesn’t open until nine so after we eat
we’ve got some time before I have to go down and
show my ID and everything to claim that big hunk
o’ money.”

“You’re a big hunk, you know that?”

“I’m your big hunk, baby doll.”

She comes up on her tiptoes for a kiss. “Ready to
go?”

“I think I’m gonna catch a few minutes of shut eye
if you don’t mind.”

“It’s  better  if  you  stay  with  me.  You  know  I  get
anxious  when  you’re  not  by  my  side,  especially
after  everything  you’ve  already  been  through  in
this little section of the concrete jungle we occupy.”

“True, but both of those incidents were outside my
apartment, not in. And nobody knows where I live,
except a couple people at the diner, so I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” I ask, cupping her face.

“Positive, and I really need about thirty minutes of
sleep right now.”

“Ok. Well, let me grab a table from my room so
you can push it up against the door until I get
back.”

“Ok. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always. You know I’m always going to protect
what’s mine.”

“Which is exactly what I am.”

I give her a kiss and grab the table from my room,
then show her how to prop it against the door. “Be
right back, with a six pack of chalupas, Mexican
pizza, and horchata if they sell it.”

“What’s horchata?”

“Heaven in a glass.”

“You’re heaven in a glass, my tall drink of milk,”
she paws at the air like a cat and I know when I get
back and after we eat we’re not going to be getting
any additional sleep. No problem, we can catch
some on the flight.

I head outside, getting on my motorcycle and my
fists tighten around the handlebars more than they

should  as  my  mind  flashes  back  to  her  packing
those  self-defense  items.  I  want  to  find  that  guy
who put fear into her and pummel my fists into his
face,  and  I  will.  But  first  I  need  to  keep  my  cool
and get us both to safety. Then I can use my skills
from  my  police  days  to  take  care  of  that  guy.
Shouldn’t be hard once she tells me the name of the
school where he works.

Still, it needs to be done quickly. With Diana out of
his sights he’s almost surely focusing on other girls
at this point. The thought of him stalking anyone,
especially my woman, makes me question some
people’s humanity.

But I’ll never question my own thoughts, my own
rage. I know once we’re face to face I will end him.
I’m not putting him in jail to the tune of eight-five
to one hundred and twenty-five thousand in
taxpayer money each year. Screw that.

I’ll  save  the  taxpayers  money,  and  save  more
families  grief  in  the  process.  There’s  a  reason
pedophiles  face  swift  retribution  on  the  inside,  but
he’s not even going to make it that far.

I breath out hard, realizing I’m stewing over this. I
need to get to Taco Bell and get back. My woman is
up  there  by  herself  and  I  don’t  like  it.  I’m  tired,
hungry,  and  I  need  something  in  my  belly  before
my  mind  goes  to  an  angry  place.  This  day  is  all

about  happiness.  We’re  getting  enough  money  to
set  us  up  for  life  and  we’re  getting  out  of  here,
leaving  all  our  worries,  and  this  dump  of  an
apartment complex, behind.

I  hit  the  gas  and  take  off  for  the  food.  I  shake  my
head  laughing.  It’s  crazy  how  angry  being  away
from her makes me. Thankfully thoughts of her fill
my head and everything is ok again. I  just  need  to
get to the drive-thru and get back to my baby girl,
and then everything will be alright.

D I A NA

“Who is it?” I tease, after three knocks on the door.

“Chalupa delivery,” he says, and I slide the table
back and look through the peephole where I see a
chalupa wrapper.

I clap my hands together a few times, and quickly
open the door, but before I can even get it halfway
open it slams into my arms and sends me flying
backward, my butt landing squarely on the floor.

“Hey there, lover girl. You have a nice holiday in
the mountains?”

Sergeant Epstein.

Goosebumps cover my body as I try and make
sense of what’s happening. He’s pointing a gun at
me with his right hand and holding a Google image

of a Chalupa wrapper on his phone in the other…
the one he held up to the peephole.

“You  know,  for  an  ex-cop  you’d  think  your  little
boyfriend  would  be  a  little  less  predictable.  Only
thing  that  would  have  been  more  obvious  would
have been if he went to the diner to get coffee and
donuts, but I already beat him to it.”

“I can scream and you won’t make it out of the
building.”

“You  can  scream  and  you  can  die,  and  you  know
the  cops  aren’t  going  to  show  up  in  this
neighborhood. Hell,  I  doubt  a  gunshot  would  even
wake  anyone,  especially  considering  the  silencer
I’ve got attached to this little peacemaker. And not
only  that,  I’m  a  cop.”  He  tips  his  head  back  and
literally  laughs  like  a  villain  in  every  movie  ever.
And  I  thought  that  was  just  an  effect  Hollywood
used.  “You  think  anyone’s  going  to  believe  your
story  over  mine.  An  orphan  versus  a  well-loved
cop?”

“Daniel will be back soon.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that. See, once I get what I
want from you then I get what a bunch of other
cops want from him…to finish off that little snitch.
Two birds with one stone.”

He quietly shuts the door behind him, locking it,
before slowly moving over to my duffel bag…his
grimy hands rifling through my things.

“Oooooh.  I  like  this,”  he  says,  holding  up  one  of
my  Disney  T-shirts,  before  sticking  his  hand  back
inside my bag, having me wishing he was the one in
a  bag…a  body  bag  once  and  for  all.  “Now  we’re
talking,”  he  continues,  holding  up  a  pink  skirt.  “It
should  pair  perfectly  with  this…little  girl.”  He
pauses,  and  his  smile  turns  into  a  frown  as  he
throws the garments at me. “Put these on.”

“I’m not putting on anything for you, you sick
freak!” I spit.

“Oh,  but  I  already  know  you  like  to  play  and  you
will  play.  See,  your  daddy  is  here.  You’re  real
daddy  this  time,  not  some  imposter  who’s  just
figuring things out.”

“You’re sick! That’s consensual role-playing
between two adults, not pedophilia or whatever
else is in your mind.”

“Oh, a feisty one. I like a little brat that doesn’t
want to submit. It will make the rape fantasy that
much more fun.”

I crawl backwards on my hands and feet and he
waves the gun at me. “Now put it on, bitch,” his

voice turning ice cold. “And if you’re lucky I’ll put
a bullet in your brain while you’re not looking, and
while my dick is buried to the hilt inside you. I’m
gonna come in you so hard the coroner will have to
put it on the report front and center so everyone
can see what kind of a whore you are.”

“You idiot. You can’t have sex with me and leave
your DNA at the scene.”

“Even feistier than I expected, little girl. Or is it…
Little Peaches? I forget.”

“How did you find me?” I ask, trying to buy time.

“Just a little social engineering. See, when you went
up into the mountains without phone reception you
made it so easy for me. All I had to do was show up
at the diner pretending to be your worried brother. I
couldn’t get a hold of you, and neither could the
diner. They bought my story hook, line, and sinker
and it took less than a few minutes, and only a few
tears, and one of the waitresses you spoke to
coughed your location right up.”

“But how did you find me here?”

“You’ve  never  heard  of  GPS?  People  still  don’t
understand  how  easy  it  truly  is  to  be  tracked  via
their  leashes,  a.k.a.  their  cell  phones.”  He  pauses,
and  then  goes  ice  cold  again.  “Now  quit  stalling,

whore and get dressed up. I got a fat dick and
nowhere to put it and it’s pissing me the fuck off.”

I slowly take the top in my hands, opening it up and
holding it in front of me.

“Don’t inspect it! Put the damn thing the fuck on!”
he yells. “Before I blast a whole in your head.”

I sit the top down across my knees and reach for
the shirt I have on.

“That’s right. Slowly, take it off slowly,” he says,
the gun lowering slightly as he jams his hand down
his pants and starts stroking.

I was so close to freedom, so close to my fairytale
ending and now it’s going to end like this?

He fumbles with his hand down his pants and pulls
it  out,  trying  to  unhook  his  belt  but  he  can’t  get  it
with  one  hand.  He  reaches  his  gun  hand  down  to
his  buckle  keeping  his  eyes  glued  to  me  so  I  don’t
try something.

“Ready to see what you’ve been missing?” he says,
as he unclaps the belt buckle.

Suddenly there’s a noise off to my shoulder
followed by a loud ‘bang.’

I fall to the floor, the sound ricocheting through the
room disorienting me, but not enough to not

recognize the voice coming in from out of the
window.

“Nobody’s going to be missing you, asshole,”
Daniel says, pulling himself over the window ledge
and into my apartment. “Because now you’re in the
depths of hell never to be found again.”

I turn back to get a better look at Daniel, a gun of
his own in hand.

“Oh my God. What just happened?”

“What just happened was justice was served.”

“But, Daniel,” I plead. “We can’t leave now. He’s
dead. The police are going to have questions and
you’re going to be detained and…”

He brings a finger to my lips, silencing me.

“There are two things I know. One, a fed who will
come down and clean this up. Our names won’t
appear anywhere. And two, a guy like this, when he
goes after a girl, it’s almost never the first time. He
usually gets away with it multiple times before he’s
caught. Once we put his name out there, especially
after the Me Too movement, and all the other social
justice movements, other people will come forward.
If anything we’ll be heroes, but in reality, we just
want to be ghosts.”

D A NI E L

“Are  you  sure,  Daddy?”  she  asks,  and  it’s  not  her
reverting to little. She’s in shock, so I scoop her up
and carry her into my apartment, drawing a bath for
her,  finally  glad  I  don’t  have  a  proper  shower,  but
instead a bathtub with a hose. Once she’s soaking, I
comb  her  hair,  and  read  her  a  few  passages  from
some story in her Kindle by an author appropriately
named  Lena  Little,  based  on  the  content  of  her
work.

That seems to put her at ease, and allows me to
ease out of the room for a minute to grab her some
juice from the fridge…and call my friend who
simply goes by ‘The Fed Fixer.’

Thirty  minutes  later  he’s  at  my  door  and  I  explain
to  him  how  I  knew  something  was  wrong  when  I
arrived  at  the  apartment.  The  telltale  I’d  slid  into

the  door  had  fallen,  letting  me  know  someone  had
entered or exited at the time, and a quick check of
the  tiny  security  camera  I  just  had  installed,  with
live view hooked up to my phone, only confirmed it
when  I  saw  a  body  slide  into  the  building  beyond
suspiciously.

I  didn’t  even  bother  going  in  the  front,  knowing
he’d  had  the  door  shut  and  possibly  a  hostage
situation.  Luckily  the  other  night  I’d  already
climbed  up  to  her  window  so  I  knew  it  could  be
done,  quickly,  quietly,  and  stealthily.  And  the  best
part  is  there  was  a  nearby  window  that  would
provide a reflection so I’d be able to see everything
that was transpiring inside her apartment.

The Fixer shakes his head. “Clear cut self-defense,
or at least it could be swung that way pretty easily
in court. But here’s the easiest part about it…I ran
his name and that school you said he worked at on
the way over. He’s not an off-duty cop. As a matter
of  fact  he’s  not  qualified  for  any  type  of  security
profession.  He  shouldn’t  even  be  allowed  to
guard…”  his  eyes  look  around  the  room,  “one  of
these  stuffed  animals  he’s  so  incompetent.”  He
pauses. “His name is obviously an alias, the Epstein
choice  beyond  a  bad  joke,  and  how  he  pulled  off
the  off-duty  cop  thing  we’ll  have  to  look  into,  but
we have federal offenses here most certainly so my
being here is justified. The question is how do you

want to play this?”

“We can have an anonymous person call it in later
in the day, you happen to be in the area and show
up, putting together all the pieces based on his fake
IDs.” I pause. “Or we just play it like it is and I’m
stuck  here  in  town  probably  a  month  or  two,  and
my  location  is  revealed  since  I’m  attached  to  the
crime. That  only  gives  both  the  good  guys  and  the
bad a chance to track me and my woman down.”

The usually stoic Fixer jerks his head back. “Did
you say…my woman?”

I smirk. “Yeah, I’m surprised as you are that I met
the one.”

“You never even dated.”

“Not gonna waste my time with that stuff. I was
never available, but what I realize now is I was
available, but only for her. I was waiting on her to
find me, or vice versa, whether I knew it or not.”

“Case closed then. Since there’s a woman involved
that means it’s called in later in the day. I’ll look for
a diner to sit in for a while until then. You know a
place?” He smirks back, clearly having put the
pieces together by now and figured out I was
involved in the thwarted robbery attempt at Diana’s
old place of employment within the last week.

“I know a place, but clearly you do too.”

“And I know you’re going to land on your feet, you
always do,” he reinforces, putting his hand on my
shoulder.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Once all this blows over and you feel like chasing
bad guys again you give me a call and you can
come play on the winning team, with the big boys.”

“The  only  ‘big  boys’  I  want  in  my  future  are
watching  my  sons  grow  up,  and  the  only  chasing
will be my kids around some beach in the sun. And
the  only  blowing  will  be  a  nice  afternoon  breeze
while I spend the rest of my days focused on what
matters most. Family.”

“I’m  glad  you  solved  the  puzzle  that  most  of  us
never  do.  Most  are  destined  for  backaches  and
dodging  bullets  until  our  bodies  are  too  broken
down  to  move,  only  to  shovel  ourselves  onto
oversized red city-tour buses to ‘explore’ European
cities.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me.”

“Something tells me I might see you there.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you’re not.”

“Good luck, amigo.”

“Thanks, man.”

I quickly pack up all of Diana’s things and give the
keys of her apartment to The Fixer, feeling like I’m
in a James Bond movie…which is a huge relief.

Not  an  hour  ago  I  thought  the  story  that  was  my
and  Diana’s  life  was  about  to  have  a  different
ending,  one  where  the  good  guy  doesn’t  win.  But
then again, that’s not really a possibility.

I’m her Daddy and that means I make the rules for
her own good, my number one responsibility is to
keep her safe and happy. And although that nearly
got compromised, there’s no way we’ll ever come
that close again. I’m taking my baby girl and we’re
outta here. She comes first, always.

And we’re gonna be the first two at the bank when
it opens, and the first ones to board our plane to…

D A NI E L

Two months later

I give my wife a quick swat across her butt as she
walks  past  me  in  the  kitchen.  Her  head  spins
around  to  catch  a  glimpse  at  me  as  she  bites  her
bottom lip but doesn’t say anything else. Then  she
skips  off  in  the  other  direction,  shaking  her  ass  to
entice  me  even  more  than  I  already  am…and  I’m
constantly at my limit when it comes to her.

“Is that all you got,” she hollers back as she turns
the corner out into the shop.

“Watch  yourself  there,  neighbor!”  I  joke.  It’s  a
running  joke  we’ve  had  since  moving  to  Portugal
that  we’re  still  neighbors.  She  serves  customers  in
our  little  cafe  and  I  prepare  the  pastel  de  nata,
Portugal’s  most  famous  dessert,  and  orange  juice

that go like wildfire throughout the day.

Thanks  to  our  investment  in  property  and  a
business  here  in  Lisbon  we  were  able  to  get
residence visas…with the Portuguese change to our
last  names  to  Desilva,  which  went  nicely  with,
ironically, our very Portuguese first names. I  guess
we  were  meant  for  this  place,  and  there  is  no
guessing  if  you  ask  me  if  we  were  meant  for  each
other.

An  alert  pops  up  on  my  phone  and  I  take  a  quick
break  after  our  morning  rush,  taking  a  look  at  the
Google Alert I set up. More women have come out
against the man I killed that night in the window. I
don’t feel bad about it, as if I need the justification
to  have  done  what  I  did.  Just  the  fact  that  he
impersonated a police officer and harassed my own
wife  was  enough.  And  about  a  week  after  the
event,  when  she  was  able  to  recount  things  more
clearly,  she  recalled  he  said  something  about  how
he  was  going  to  kill  me  too.  When  you  add  in
premeditated  attempt  to  commit  murder,  well  that
was all the icing on the cake I needed.

“We need one with whipped cream,” Diana says,
sticking her head back in the area where I’m
cooking.

“Coming right up,” I say, scooping a generous
helping of vanilla bean onto a pastel de nata and

handing it to her, but before she goes I pull her in
for a kiss.

“Hey, I’m gonna spill it.”

“We’ll make them another one. We came here for
us anyway, not anybody else.”

“Well, us is about to take on a new meaning.”

The ice cream tub slips from my hands before I can
slide it back in the freezer.

“What does that mean?”

She swallows hard, her eyes opening big as the
saucers we serve our pastries on. “Remember this
morning how I had to go out and get some supplies
for the day?”

“Yeaaaah?”

“Well, I got all our normal supplies, but I picked up
a…pregnancy test too. I was feeling like something
was off.”

“I knew it!” I yell out, jumping up and down. “That
first time was a charm. The way our bodies fit
together so perfectly. I knew we conceived, knew
we bred like the filthy animals we are in the sack.”

“Daniel!” she says, but it’s no use. “The customers
are gonna here.”

“I’ll give them something to listen to, to talk
about.”

I scoop my wife up in my arms and carry her out
into the area where our customers sit.

“Senhoras e senhores,” I begin, my Portuguese
language skills still very much lacking. “Everything
is on the house. We’re expecting!”

“O que?” an older fellow says, and I remember that
although Portugal has a very high rate of English
speakers, not everyone understands my mother
tongue.

“Bebê,” I say, taking my hand and placing it below
Diana’s chest and extending it outward in a half
circle until I reach her belt.

“Bebê? Excelente!” the man says, and the old
codger comes and gives me a high-five, American
style!

“He  learned  that  watching  your  American
football,”  his  lovely  wife  says.  The  pair  must  be
pushing  eighty  years  old  each,  and  still  look
incredible. I  guess  that’s  what  a  life  by  the  ocean,
good  friends  and  good  family,  and  a  whole  lotta
days of sunshine will do for you. “But  I  still  don’t
understand  why  they  call  it  football,  when  they
almost never use their feet?” she ponders.

“Me too, ma’am. One of life’s great mysteries, right
up there with the chicken and the egg.”

We all laugh and I carry my wife back into the prep
room, grabbing a new whipped cream bucket from
the fridge and putting a dollop on everyone’s
dessert.

“We did it,” I say, giving her a big kiss to the cheers
of the crowd. “We left the old behind and we made
a life together, starting anew as one.”

“And we love it here just as much as these people
love us.”

“Hardly any crime, none to speak of really…a city
where we can push a baby in a stroller at midnight
down just about any street if we want, so we can
smell the fresh ocean breeze, and…”

“You!” we say simultaneously.

I see someone take our picture and Diana’s phone
chirps, letting us know we’ve just been tagged on
Instagram.

I’m not worried. It’s just a profile shot anyway, and
we’re safe here, together. Nobody is looking for
Daniel and Diana Dixon, let alone Mr. and Mrs.
Desilva.

There are no deadbolts on our doors, no wires

hanging out where electrical sockets should be, and
nobody and nothing in the way of what’s most
important…us, together, side-by-side. Forever.

“I love you my Little Pastel de nata.”

“I love you my Papai.”

We kiss and it sure feels like home, because that’s
exactly what home is. It’s not a place on a map, it’s
wherever she is, and that’s where you’ll find me.
Forever.

D I A NA

Ten years later

“Let me fasten ya up, buddy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I turn and give Daniel a knowing look at the words
our nine-year-old son, Declan, just uttered. We both
smile, but keep our cool.

I fasten our five-year-old Delilah’s life jacket and
then do the same with David, our seven-year-old.

After a few years abroad in Portugal we decided it
was time to come back. We chose the Carolinas
and haven’t regretted our decision yet. The people
are wonderful, the boating scene is spectacular, and
the weather is really nice. Southern hospitality and
charm really go a long way, especially in the world

we live in today.

Daniel fires up the boat and we’re off!

After a solid five or six hours of swimming, fishing,
and lunch, the kids are caput, in the sleeping cabin
catching some well deserved zzz’s.

“So,  Daddy,”  I  play,  pulling  Daniel’s  rock  hard
body  closer  to  mine.  “The  kids  are  asleep  and  all
this  Vitamin  D  I  absorbed  has  made  me  think  it
might  be  time  for  the  two  of  us  to  enjoy  a  little
catch and release if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know what you mean, Little Coconut Cake,”
he jokes, seemingly always naming me after a
dessert I get addicted to depending on where we’re
located.

He turns in my arms and eyes me up and down the
same way I eye a piece of dessert up and down
after finishing off a meal.

“You don’t think I’ve…gained too much weight
over the last decade?”

One  of  his  eyebrows  shoots  skyward.  “Little  girl,
you  watch  your  mouth  or  you’re  going  to  get
punished.  You  know  one  of  our  rules  is  no  self-
deprecation.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, rolling my bottom lip out.

“But I will answer your question with a question.
How would Daddy be able to let loose on you like
he’s been able to these last few years without some
extra padding. Girl, I’d break you if you weighed
what you did when we first met.”

“I was just a girl back then.”

“Back then? You’ll always be my little girl.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the
back of the boat, underneath the tarp we have to
block the sun.

I grab a hold of a pole as he spins me around,
taking a firm grip of my hips with his hands as he
yanks my swimsuit outta the way.

“I didn’t eat all my lunch, Daddy. I dragged sand
into the boat, Daddy. I forgot to wear my life jacket
in deep water, Daddy.”

“Sounds like Daddy needs to punish you real good
then, doesn’t it?”

“Uh  huh,”  I  say,  keeping  my  face  forward  so  he
can’t  see  the  big  smile  that’s  now  plastered  across
it.  I  just  went  on  a  confession  spree  right  there,
making sure I got my own little version of fun in the
sun today too.

The kids had theirs and now I want my little time,
and I know Daddy wants to be, well…Daddy.

It may not be a dynamic that works for everyone,
but does it ever set off fireworks in our relationship.
Every. Single. Day.

“Uhhh,” I grunt, as his open hand finds my cheek
just before he slides his thickness into my wet folds.

“It’s been five years and you’ve been a bad girl,
not giving Daddy anymore babies.”

I nod.

“Are you gonna give me a baby this time?”

“Yes,  Daddy!”  I  cry  out  so  loud  I  bet  the  other
boats  a  mile  away  can  hear,  but  I  know  when  our
kids  pass  out  after  having  a  big  day  on  the  water
they  couldn’t  hear  elephants  stomping  five  feet
from them, so I’m not concerned.

“Good  girl,”  he  says,  filling  me  deep  and  I  know
the  moment  is  already  close.  I  feel  it  myself  and
know  he  won’t  finish  until  I  do  first…because
that’s  what  daddies  do.  They  put  their  little  first,
and  after  we  finish  I’m  going  to  be  the  first  to  tell
him I’m already pregnant…with another child.

Because I might play the little girl role sometimes,
but the real joy in life is having little girls, and little

boys of our own.

It’s a completely different dynamic of course, but
what’s universal in all this is the one thing that’s the
super glue to a bond that’s unbreakable.

Our love for one another.

He fists my hair, pulling my head back. “I love you,
Little Peaches,” he says, taking me back to when
we first met.

“I  love  you,  Daddy.”  Because  whether  ten  years
ago,  ten  minutes  ago,  or  ten…heck  one  hundred
years  from  now…he’ll  always  be  that  exactly.  My
Daddy  Next  Door  that  became  the  daddy  who
shares my same address, and I share his last name.

Forever.

THE END

~~~

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