Chapter 27 Luke
Luke
THREE MONTHS LATER
The days turned into weeks, which turned into months… time has passed quickly since the warehouse, since Garcia’s blood stained the pavement and Connor’s arms held me tight, promising that we’d be together forever.
I’m curled up on the plush couch in our new apartment, the city’s skyline twinkling through bulletproof windows, a gift from Robert’s tech team to keep us safe alongside a whole other bunch of tech.
The place is a fortress—motion sensors, encrypted locks, cameras that see every angle—and it’s ours, a haven where my Little side can play and my journalist side can breathe, knowing the cartel’s grip is weakening badly.
Connor’s fresh off a Night Ops Guard job, his gear bag tossed by the door, and he’s sprawled beside me, wearing the most ridiculous red pajamas covered in puppies and kittens.
I seriously don’t know how I convinced Connor to wear them. I guess he must really love me!
I’m in a matching set, the soft cotton hugging my skin, Swift tucked under my arm, all cuddly as ever.
The sight of Connor—big, tough, all muscle and increasingly silver-streaked hair—in these silly pajamas makes me giggle, my Little side bubbling up, pure and free.
“You’re gonna have to stop laughing, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his voice a playful growl, his dark eyes sparkling as he tickles my side. “A Guard’s gotta have some secrets, and these pajamas are top level, need to know classified.”
I squeal, squirming under his fingers, Swift bouncing in my lap.
“Oh, please, Mr. Bossypants,” I say, my voice high and teasing, “You’re the toughest Night Ops Guard there is, and you’re wearing puppy pajamas? I’m telling Cole and Henry!”
My Daddy’s eyes narrow, a mock-serious frown crossing his face, but his lips twitch with a grin.
“You tell anyone about these, young man, and you’re getting a spanking,” Connor says, his Daddy tone sending a shiver through me, warm and familiar. “I mean it. I’ve got a reputation to protect. And I’ll have you hold the paddle between your cheeks for an hour afterward too!”
I giggle harder, hiding my face in Swift’s feathers, my heart light in a way it hasn’t been in months.
“My lips are sealed,” I say, crossing my heart with exaggerated seriousness, and he laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the room, making our apartment feel like home.
This—us, here, playing, teasing—is everything I didn’t dare dream of when we were running from the cartel, dodging bullets, decrypting that flash drive. But we made it, together, and now, with Haynes’s trial looming and the cartel’s power crumbling, I feel safe, loved, whole.
Connor shifts, reaching for the bottle of warm milk on the coffee table, his movements gentle but sure.
“Time for your bottle, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his voice soft, all Daddy warmth, and I snuggle into his side, my head resting on his chest, the puppies and kittens on his pajamas tickling my cheek.
My Daddy holds the bottle for me, his hand steady, and I take it, the warm milk soothing, pulling me deeper into Little Space.
Swift’s in my arms, Connor’s heartbeat steady under my ear, and for a moment, the world fades—Haynes, the cartel, the story—all of it gone, leaving just us.
As I sip, my journalist side stirs, never fully quiet, and I glance up at him, my voice soft but clear.
“Haynes’s trial date’s set,” I say, my words muffled around the bottle. “End of the year. He’s pleading not guilty, but it’s open and shut. The flash drive’s evidence—payoffs, murders, the DEA mole—it’s airtight. Robert’s DOJ contact says he’s looking at life, no parole.”
Connor nods, his hand stroking my hair, his touch grounding me.
“Good,” Connor says, his voice low, gruff. “That bastard’s going down, Luke. You did that. Your story, your fire—it’s ending him.”
I blush, my heart swelling with pride, but also something softer, something that’s all Connor.
“We did it,” I correct, my voice quiet but firm as I momentarily break away from the bottle. “You, me, Robert, Cole, Henry. I couldn’t have done it without you, Connor. You kept me alive.”
Connor’s eyes soften, and he leans down, kissing my forehead, his lips warm against my skin.
“You’re tougher than you think, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his Daddy tone mixing with Guard respect. “But yeah, we’re a team. Always will be. Now get back to your bottle, baby boy. And no more work talk. Got it?”
I smile, finishing the bottle and setting it aside, snuggling closer, my body tucked against his.
The apartment’s quiet, the city’s hum a distant backdrop, and I feel that bond between us, deeper now, unbreakable.
Three months ago, I was running for my life, the cartel’s hit list burning my name into their sights. Now, with Connor, with this home, with the story breaking wide open, I feel like I can finally breathe.
My Little side’s content, wrapped in his warmth, but my journalist side’s still buzzing, thinking about the trial, about the cartel’s lingering threat.
Garcia is dead, Haynes’s done, but Mallen’s still out there, a shadow I can’t quite shake. Yet.
“Speaking of teams,” Connor says, his voice pulling me back, a teasing lilt in it, “We’ve got that triple playdate tonight with Cole and Henry and their boys. You ready to show off your peli-corn drawings?”
I giggle, my Little side surging, and nod, my eyes bright.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, my voice high and excited despite being ready to doze off. “Me and Swift are gonna make the best drawings! It’s gonna be so fun, I feel like I’ve known them all forever! We’ve been messaging all week about what we’ll do…”
Connor laughs, his arm tightening around me, and I feel that warmth again, that safety.
“Sounds like trouble,” Connor says, his voice teasing but fond. “You three Littles are gonna run us Daddies ragged.”
I stick out my tongue, playful and bratty, and he chuckles, his hand ruffling my hair.
“Behave, young man,” he says, his Daddy tone sending another shiver through me, “Or we’ll have to revisit that spanking conversation.”
I blush, hiding my face in his chest, my giggles muffled by his pajamas.
The thought of the playdate makes my heart light, like I’m finally allowed to be a Little, to play, to love, without the weight of the cartel pressing down.
I yawn, the warm milk and Connor’s steady heartbeat pulling me toward sleep, and I know I need to say it, need to tell him one more time.
“Daddy,” I murmur, my voice soft, sleepy, my face pressed against his chest. “I love you.”
Connor’s hand stills in my hair, and he tilts my chin up, his eyes warm, raw, full of that Daddy love that makes my heart skip.
“I love you too, Little Scoop,” Connor says, his voice thick, real. “Forever.”
I smile, my eyes fluttering shut, and let myself drift, safe in his arms, Swift clutched tight.
The apartment’s soft lights blur as I slip deeper into Little Space, Connor’s warmth enveloping me like a blanket. The puppies and kittens on our matching pajamas are a silly reminder of how far we’ve come—from dodging bullets to building a life together.
The playdate tonight feels like a gift, a chance to let my Little side run free with my new friends, to laugh and draw and forget the weight of the story for a few hours.
I can picture it—glitter everywhere, stickers on Swift, Connor and Cole and Henry pretending to grumble while they sneak us extra cookies.
My heart swells at the plan for the evening, at the life we’re building, and I snuggle closer to Connor, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under my cheek.
“You still awake, young man?” Connor asks, his voice low, teasing, his hand stroking my back.
“Kinda,” I mumble, my voice thick with sleep, a smile tugging at my lips. “Thinking about glitter and cookies and all yummy things.”
My Daddy chuckles, the sound vibrating through me, and kisses my forehead again.
“You and your glitter,” Connor says, his Daddy tone warm, fond. “Just don’t get any on my pajamas. These are high fashion.”
I giggle, my eyes heavy, and let myself drift, the world fading to a soft hum.
I’m safe, loved, ready to face whatever comes, because Connor’s my Daddy, my shield, my home.
As sleep pulls me under, I know one thing for sure: with Connor by my side, anything’s possible, and I’m all in, forever.