Chapter 6
six
. . .
Amanda
I've never felt safe enough to tell anyone the whole story.
Not my friends. Not my family. Certainly not the cops who took the initial report but couldn't do much else.
But lying here in Ryker's massive bed, his body curled protectively around mine like a living fortress, I finally feel ready.
The words have been building in my chest for hours, days, years maybe.
He deserves to know. Deserves to understand why I flinch at sudden movements sometimes.
Why I check the locks three times. Why I lived like a ghost until he saw me—really saw me—last night at the bar.
It's only been twenty-four hours since Ryker stepped between me and Danny, but everything has changed.
My body is no longer my own—it's ours, marked and claimed in ways I never imagined possible.
My virginity given freely to this scarred warrior who calls me "princess" and "little girl" in that rough voice that makes me melt.
I trace the tattoo wrapping around his bicep—some tribal pattern interwoven with what looks like stylized fighting gloves—and gather my courage.
"I want to tell you about Danny," I say quietly. "The whole story."
Ryker's arm tightens around me, but he remains silent. Waiting. His eyes—those storm-gray eyes that miss nothing—watch me carefully.
"We met in high school. Senior year. He was…charming, at first." I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "We only dated for two weeks. He came on strong—flowers, gifts, wanting to meet my parents right away. It felt…overwhelming. But I thought maybe that's how relationships were supposed to be."
Ryker's jaw tightens, but he lets me continue.
"Then he started getting possessive. Angry if I talked to other guys. Checking my phone. Following me between classes." I swallow hard. "The kiss happened after school one day. I was at my locker, and he just…appeared. Pushed me against it. Forced his tongue in my mouth. I pushed him away and ran."
Ryker's breathing changes, becomes deliberately measured, like he's controlling something violent inside.
"The next day, I broke up with him. Told him it was moving too fast, that I wasn't ready." I laugh bitterly. "That's when it started. The texts. The calls. Showing up at my work, my house. Following me."
"How long?" Ryker asks, his voice dangerously soft.
"Three years." I shiver despite the warmth of his body.
"It comes in waves. He'll disappear for months, then suddenly be everywhere.
I moved twice. Changed my number four times.
The restraining order expired last year, and I...
" My voice breaks. "I was too scared to renew it. Going to court meant facing him again."
Ryker shifts, pulling me on top of him so I'm straddling his lap, facing him. His massive hands cup my face with impossible gentleness.
"Look at me," he commands softly. When I meet his eyes, he continues. "He will never touch you again. Never come near you. I promise you that."
The certainty in his voice makes my eyes sting with tears. "I've been so scared for so long," I whisper. "Living small. Hiding. Looking over my shoulder."
"Not anymore." His thumbs brush away the tears that have escaped. "You're mine now. Under my protection. Forever, if you want."
Forever. The word should terrify me. Instead, it feels like a homecoming.
"I want," I admit, pressing my forehead to his. "I barely know you, but I want that.”
He kisses me then, surprisingly gentle for such a violent man. When he pulls back, he shifts us both from the bed.
"Come on," he says, leading me toward the bathroom. "Let's get cleaned up."
His bathroom is surprisingly nice for a bachelor pad—large shower stall with glass doors, double sinks, fluffy towels.
He turns on the water, adjusts the temperature, then turns to me.
Slowly, reverently, he peels my borrowed t-shirt (his) over my head, followed by my panties (also his—boxers that hang comically large on me).
Once the water is warm, he guides me under the spray, following me in. The shower is big enough for his frame, but just barely. He takes up all the space, all the air, becoming my entire world.
"Let me," he murmurs, picking up a bottle of body wash. He squeezes some into his palm, then begins to wash me with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
His rough hands move gently over my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach. Every touch is careful, like he's handling something invaluable. When he turns me to wash my back, I feel his lips press against my shoulder.
"So beautiful," he murmurs. "My perfect little girl."
The endearment makes me shiver despite the warm water. His hands slide lower, washing between my legs with clinical precision at first, then lingering as I gasp.
"You like that?" he asks, his voice dropping to that register that turns my insides to liquid. "Like when Daddy touches you here?"
"Yes," I breathe, leaning back against his solid chest. "Please..."
He turns me again to face him, water sluicing down his muscled body. In the harsh bathroom light, I can see every scar—the one through his eyebrow, another along his jaw, countless smaller ones across his torso. Marks of battles won and lost. I reach up to trace the one on his face.
"Does it hurt? All the old injuries?"
He captures my hand, kisses the palm. "Worth it. Every one. They made me strong enough to protect what matters." His eyes burn into mine. "Strong enough to protect you."
Something inside me breaks open—a dam of fear and loneliness crumbling under the weight of his words. I press against him, needing to feel his skin on mine, needing his strength to hold me together as I come apart.
He must sense my desperation because suddenly I'm pinned against the tile wall, his body caging me in. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that steals my breath. One hand grips my thigh, lifting it to his hip.
"Need you," I gasp against his lips. "Please, daddy, make all the pain go away.”
He falls right into our roles. Shh," he soothes, his other hand sliding between us to find me already wet despite the shower. "I've got you. Daddy's got his little girl."
I whimper at the words, at his thick fingers circling my entrance.
"So good for me," he praises, working one finger inside me. "So perfect. So tight."
He adds another finger, stretching me gently, preparing me. All the while, his mouth trails kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, finally closing around one nipple. The dual sensation makes me cry out, my hands clutching at his broad shoulders for support.
"Please," I beg, beyond shame, beyond hesitation. "Need you inside me. Need to be yours."
With a growl, he lifts me completely, my back against the tile, legs wrapped around his waist. I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, seeking entrance.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed. His face is fierce with need, but his eyes…his eyes are reverent.
"You're safe with me," he promises as he pushes inside, filling me completely in one smooth thrust. "Always safe with me."
I gasp at the fullness, the slight burn as my body adjusts to his size. He holds still, letting me accommodate him, his forehead pressed to mine.
“No one is ever going to hurt Daddy’s little girl again,” he murmurs, starting to move with slow, deep strokes. “Will kill them if they try.”
The water cascades around us as he makes love to me against the wall. Each thrust pushes me higher, closer to that edge he's shown me multiple times now. His hands grip my ass, controlling our rhythm, holding me exactly where he wants me.
"You feel that?" he growls, grinding deeper. "How perfect we fit? You were made for me."
"Yes," I gasp, clinging to his shoulders. "Made for you."
His thrusts become more forceful, more deliberate. "Gonna fill this sweet body," he promises darkly. "Breed you full of my babies. Keep you safe. Keep you mine. You want that, baby? Want to make your daddy a daddy?”
The breeding talk that should shock me never does. Instead, it winds the coil tighter inside me, pushing me toward release.
"Yes," I moan, beyond coherent thought. "Yours, Daddy. Only yours."
"Come for me," he commands, his thumb finding my clit. "Come on Daddy's cock, little girl."
The orgasm crashes through me without warning, tearing a sob from my throat. I cling to him as my body convulses, as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me.
He follows immediately, burying his face in my neck as he pulses inside me, his release hot and claiming.
We stay like that for long moments—me pinned between his body and the wall, him still buried deep inside me, the water gradually cooling around us. When he finally pulls back to look at me, his expression is soft with wonder.
"You're a miracle," he says simply, lowering me gently to my feet but keeping me steady with his hands on my waist.
The words make me blush, unused to such naked adoration. "I'm just me," I whisper.
"That's the miracle," he replies, shutting off the water and grabbing a towel. He wraps me in it, drying me with the same care he used to wash me. "After everything you've been through, you're still so sweet. So trusting."
As he dries himself quickly then leads me back to the bedroom, I realize he's right. I do trust him. Completely. This man I've barely known for a day has somehow become my entire world, my safe harbor.
And for the first time in years, I don't feel afraid of what tomorrow might bring.