9. Bodie
Bodie
Hmmm.
Am I… dreaming?
Wait, what’s happening?
I open my sleepy eyes and see that I’m being carried by Henry from the van and into what must be the safehouse. And there’s something about the way that he’s holding me with such ease as he walks that hits me like a freight train.
I might just have woken from my slumber, but all of a sudden I feel my special place tingle and come alive.
Henry’s big, powerful arms are wrapped carefully around my legs and shoulders as he walks, and even though it’s dark I subtly arch my head and catch a glimpse of his left bicep, hard as a rock and twice as big.
Okay, stay cool.
He doesn’t know you’re awake.
Keep it that way.
Henry might be strong, but quite clearly his powers of observation aren’t all that. Without him realizing that I am in fact now fully awake, he carries me inside the safehouse, through the small open plan living area and kitchen, and places me down on the bed.
This is wild.
Despite Henry being one of the bossiest, most irritating men I’ve met, he’s actually taking the time to give me a proper tuck-in, carefully draping a heavy blanket over me as I lie on the bed, my eyes shut but my heart thumping.
Any doubts I had about whether Henry might be a Daddy are fading, and fading fast too…
“Night-night, trouble,” Henry whispers, blissfully unaware that I’m listening and my entire body is reacting to this moment, my cock throbbing and desperate for attention.
I make sure to keep my eyes shut extra tight and wait for the sound of the bedroom door to shut behind Henry.
Three.
Two.
One… open.
I allow my eyes to open, slowly at first—just in case. Good. Henry is nowhere to be seen. It’s super-late, deep into the early hours, and I really should get back to sleep. But being carried into bed by Henry has done something to me… and there’s only one way to work through it.
I shoot a final look over toward the door and see that it’s fully shut.
With that, I reach down to my jeans, unbutton them and wriggle them down toward my ankles. Adrenalin is pumping all over my body as I lick my palm, and slide my hand down inside my briefs.
As soon as I make contact with my rock-hard cock, I feel just how aroused I am.
Henry might be a giant pain in the ass, but he’s got me all hot and bothered tonight, that’s for sure.
“Our little secret,” I say to Poot, who Henry very carefully placed on the pillow next to me just before he left the room. “No ratting me out to Mr. Bossy, okay?”
I let out a little giggle and then moan in delight as my wet fingers grip onto my shaft and begin to tug, pleasuring myself slowly at first but soon working up speed as my thoughts and desires overtake any urge to take things slow.
“Oh… crap,” I gasp, caught unaware as my climax comes up on me at an alarmingly fast rate. “I wanted… mmmmph … longer.”
Before I know it, my hips are bucking up and down, the cover is off the bed, and I’m doing everything I can not to moan and groan so loud that Henry thinks I’ve actually been shot this time.
I bite my lip and shut my eyes tight as my cock shoots what feels like wave after wave of cum up in the air and onto my stomach as I wank myself hard and fast, totally lost in the moment.
All I can see is Henry’s arms, shoulders, and powerful chest…
I’m imagining him shirtless, his cock only covered by a pair of tight, black trunks.
I want to see what’s inside those trunks, I want to put my hands on it, my mouth too—and I want to feel it inside me more than anything else in the world right now.
“I’m done… I’m done…” I pant, doing everything I can to calm myself just a little bit as the final waves of my orgasm wash over me and leave me lying on the bed, my chest heaving, and my darling stuffy staring at me like he’s just witnessed his best friend do something absolutely crazy. “Hey, don’t judge me!”
I reach for some tissues on the side of the bed and quickly clean my tummy up, my thick ropes of cum wiping away as my heart rate slowly returns to something approaching normal.
I giggle and pull Poot in close.
I allow my eyes to close for a second. I won’t fall asleep, not just yet. I need to let my body cool down and my heart rate get back to something close to normal again.
No, I definitely won’t fall asleep like thi….
“Poot?” I mutter, reaching out to feel the soft reassurance that my most cherished stuffy gives me each morning when I wake up. “Is it morning?”
The morning sun sneaks through the safehouse’s dusty blinds, slicing across my face and yanking me out of sleep.
Yup, it’s definitely morning time.
I blink, groggy, my body heavy like I’ve been surfing all night instead of… well, whatever the heck I was doing.
My eyes snap open wide as I realize my jeans and briefs are still bunched around my ankles, the blanket a crumpled heap on the floor along with my clean-up tissues.
Oh, crap.
Please tell me Henry didn’t come in to check up on me…
The memory of last night—Henry carrying me, my sneaky little moment with Poot as my witness—hits like a rogue wave.
My cheeks burn hotter than a Santa Flossa summer, and I swing up fast, heart pounding, yanking my clothes back into place. I’ve got to be decent, just in case Mr. Bossy decides to barge in with his big Daddy energy…
I shove Poot under the pillow, giving him a quick pat.
“No telling, buddy,” I whisper, half-laughing, half-panicked.
The room’s quiet, the door still shut, and I let out a shaky breath.
Safe, for now.
But my stomach growls, loud and angry, like it’s personally offended by the lack of food. I’m starving, and when I’m hungry… I’m grouchy as hell.
No coffee, no pancakes, no nothing? Not okay.
I need breakfast, and I need it now .
I smooth my messy bun and tug my oversized tee down, hoping I don’t look like I just had a wild night with my own imagination.
The safehouse is small, just a bedroom, a bathroom, and an open-plan living area with a kitchenette, all of it screaming “functional” with zero charm.
I stomp out of the room, my sneakers scuffing the worn floorboards, and spot Henry in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was catching up on the hokey scores rather than trying to protect me—but maybe that’s my empty tummy talking.
Henry’s in a fresh black tee, his muscles practically mocking the fabric, and that scar above his eyebrow catches the light, making him look like some action hero.
Ugh .
Why does he have to be so stupidly hot?
“Yo, Henry,” I say, crossing my arms and planting my feet like I’m ready to surf a ten-footer. “I’m hungry. Like, starving . Where’s breakfast? You got eggs? Bacon? Anything?”
My voice is sharp, all attitude—because hunger makes me bold—and I’m not in the mood for Henry’s rules and know-it-all attitude.
Henry looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine, calm but with that Daddy edge that makes my stomach flip—and not just from hunger.
He sets his phone down, slow and deliberate, like he’s sizing me up.
“Morning, princess,” Henry says, voice low and gravelly. “I’ll get some food, but you need to remember who’s in charge here. Tone down the demands, or we’re gonna have a problem. And we both know how those kinds of problems get handled, don’t we?”
I bristle, my pout kicking into high gear.
“Problem? I’m the one who’s gonna have a problem if I don’t eat soon,” I snap, stomping my foot for emphasis. “This is my van we’re riding in, my life, and I’m not your pet to boss around.”
But even as I say it, my Little side squirms, liking the way he takes control, even if I’d rather wipe out on a reef than admit it.
Henry’s about to reply, probably with some annoying Daddy lecture, when his phone buzzes, sharp and urgent.
“One second,” Henry says, his eyes focusing like lasers on his phone screen.
Henry’s jaw tightens, eyes scanning the screen.
I lean forward, trying to peek, but he angles it away, his face hardening.
“Shit,” Henry mutters under his breath, and my gut twists.
I’ve learned enough about Henry to know it means trouble.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice losing some of its edge, hunger forgotten for a second. “Henry, what’s wrong?”
Henry doesn’t answer right away, just types a quick reply, his fingers moving fast. When he looks up, his eyes are all business, the kind of focus that says we’re not playing anymore.
“Cole,” he says, voice clipped. “Safehouse is compromised. Vince’s people, or someone working with him, knows we’re here, or in the general area at the very least. We’re leaving. Now .”
My heart lurches, Vince’s name like a punch to the gut.
The news report from last night flashes in my mind—cartel ties, murders, Vince still out there, hunting me. I want to tell Henry about it, to spill everything, but fear clamps my mouth shut…
What if he thinks I’m too deep in this mess?
What if he ditches me?
Instead, I stomp my foot again, frustration bubbling over.
“No way! I need food, Henry!” I squeal. “You can’t just drag me out without breakfast!”
Henry steps closer, towering over me, but his voice softens, a warmth in it that catches me off guard.
“Little One,” Henry says, firm but friendly, his eyes holding mine.
“I know you’re hungry, I am too, but we gotta move.
I’ll find us a diner on the way to the next safehouse, somewhere we can grab pancakes, hot chocolate, coffee, whatever you want.
But right now, you need to trust me. This isn’t a game we want to lose. I can promise you that.”
Little One .
The words hit me like a warm wave, soothing my grouchy edges, making my Little side hum with an unexpected glow. I want to fight it, to keep my walls up, but that nickname, the way he says it—like he sees me, really sees me—makes my cheeks flush.
I’m still mad, still hungry, but the fight drains out of me, just a little.
“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms tighter, trying to hide how much his words affect me. “But it better be a good diner. With fluffy pancakes.”
Henry’s lips twitch, almost a smile, but he’s already moving, grabbing a safehouse duffel from the counter and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Deal,” Henry growls, evidently not keen on letting me think he’s going soft for my sass. “Grab Poot and anything you need from the bedroom. We’re out in two minutes.”
I huff, stomping back to the bedroom to snatch Poot and my sketch pad, shoving them into my bag.
My stomach growls again, and I glare at the empty kitchen as I pass it, like it’s personally betrayed me.
But Henry’s voice, that Little One , keeps echoing in my head, making me feel… safe, maybe?
It’s confusing as hell, and I don’t like it.
I’ve been burned before, and Henry’s Daddy vibes, no matter how warm, don’t mean he’s different from Vince… do they?
Back in the living area, Henry’s already at the door, scanning the street through a crack in the blinds. His body’s tense, and I realize how serious this is.
Vince’s people found us. I don’t know how, but they did.
My hands shake as I clutch my bag, Poot’s tusk poking out, and I swallow hard, trying to push down the fear.
“Ready?” Henry asks, not looking back, his voice all business.
“Yeah,” I say, quieter now, my grouchiness fading under the weight of reality. “Let’s go.”
Henry, my defender—whether I like it or not, opens the door, stepping out first, his hand hovering near his waist like he’s ready to draw a gun I haven’t seen.
I follow, sticking close, the morning air cool against my skin.
Shred’s parked out front, looking as beat-up but loyal as ever, and I climb into the passenger seat, Poot next to me in the backpack.
Henry slides into the driver’s side, starting the engine with a cough, and we peel out, the safehouse shrinking in the rearview.
The road stretches ahead, empty for now, but my heart’s still racing.
Vince’s out there, closer than I thought, and Henry’s the only thing standing between me and whatever’s coming.
I glance at him, his jaw set, eyes scanning the horizon, and that warmth from Little One lingers, mixing with my fear.
Henry promised a diner, pancakes, and I cling to that, my Little side craving something normal, something safe.
But as Shred rumbles toward the next safehouse or wherever the hell we’re headed, I can’t shake the feeling that normal is a long way off—and trusting Henry, even just a little, might be the scariest thing I’ve done yet…