11. Bodie
Bodie
“It’s no luxury hotel, I’ll say that,” Henry says, hands on his hips. “But it’ll do the job…”
The new safehouse is a total downgrade from the last one, but I’m not complaining. It’s a rickety beachside shack, all salt-stained wood and creaky floors, sitting so close to the ocean I can taste the spray.
Shred’s parked under a tarp, my surfboard still strapped to the roof, taunting me—begging me to whip it off and run with it down to the waves.
I lean against the shack’s wobbly railing, Poot tucked under my arm, and let the waves’ rhythm calm my nerves.
After the diner, the drive, and Vince’s dark shadow creeping closer, this sea air feels like a hug from an old friend. My fingers twitch, itching to grab my board and paddle out, to let the water wash away the fear knotting my gut.
Just ask Henry if it’s cool.
There’s no reason why not.
One little surf will be fine, right?
Henry’s already in full-on guard dog mode, pacing the sandy path around the shack, his eyes scanning the dunes like he’s expecting Vince’s goons to pop up any second.
He’s all muscle and focus, that black tee clinging to his chest in a way that makes my knees feel weak, the scar above his eyebrow catching the sunlight.
Ugh , why does he have to look so good?
It’s messing with my head, especially after the way we flirted at the diner made my Little side all warm and fuzzy. I shake it off, hugging Poot tighter. There’s no way I’m falling for another guy, no matter how Daddy he acts.
“Hey, Henry,” I call, keeping my voice light, like I’m not freaking out inside. “This place is kinda cool. The ocean’s right there. Like, literally right there. So… can I surf? Just a quick sesh? Waves look primo.”
My surfer boy side is buzzing, craving the freedom of the water, the one place Vince can’t touch me.
Surfing has always been a real release for me, the one time in my life that I’m ever truly free.
I guess Little Space is like that too, but there’s something extra special about riding the waves, hard and fast but also in a total flow state like nothing or no one can get in my way.
I really, truly, super-crazy want to get in the water right now. I know it’s exactly what I need. But does Henry?
Henry stops dead, his dark eyes snapping to mine, all serious and unamused.
“Surf?” Henry says, like I just asked to moon a cartel boss. “Bodie, we’re not on vacation. Vince’s people are out there, and you’d be a big neon sign on that water. Listen… I’ll think about it, maybe later. But right now, my job’s keeping you breathing, not chasing waves.”
My pout cranks up to eleven, and I stomp my foot, sand flying.
“Chasing waves?” I spit, my face reddening with anger. “Surfing’s my life , Henry! I’m not some kid you can lock in a box. I’ve been shot at, dragged around, and I’m done sitting still!”
My voice cracks, all my frustration spilling out.
I get that Henry’s protecting me, but the ocean’s right there , and being told no feels like Vince’s still winning.
Henry steps closer, towering over me, his calm Daddy vibe making my stomach do stupid flips.
“You’re not locked in, Little One,” Henry says, that nickname hitting me hard again, all warm and melty. “But you don’t call the shots. You keep pushing, you make this harder. Chill, or we’re gonna have a talk you won’t like.”
I glare, fists balled, my Little side torn between wanting to obey and wanting to scream.
“Talk? You’re the one making this suck! I’m not your prisoner!” I rage. But even as I snap, that secret part of me—the one that sparked during the spanking—likes Henry’s calm but firm control, and it pisses me off.
I spin away, stomping toward the outdoor shower by the shack, muttering about bossy Daddies.
If he won’t let me surf, I’ll show him I’m not some good little boy who follows orders…
“So I can’t go in the ocean, huh ?” I say, my temper bubbling up and my eyes wild. “I guess I’ll just surf right here!”
I don’t know what possesses me, but I turn the outdoor shower on full blast and stand underneath it fully clothed, and pretend to surf.
“Bodie!” Henry roars. “You don’t have a change of clothes!”
“Who cares! You said no ocean, you didn’t say I couldn’t land surf!” I laugh, bending my knees and pretending that I’m riding a super-gnarly tube as the outdoor shower water soaks through my clothes. “Screw you, square! This is how surfer boys do it!”
“This is ridiculous,” Henry seethes, his jaw clenching as he stands and watches me taunt him. “What if we have to leave in a hurry and you don’t have any dry clothes to hand?”
“What if, what if, what if… what if you’re a big bossy dork?” I laugh, all of my frustration spilling out as I continue to ride my imaginary wave.
“Enough is enough,” Henry says, and I can see from the way he is striding over toward me that he’s not kidding around.
But I hold my ground, continuing to act out my fantasy surf—that is, until Henry takes my hand, spins me around and pulls my jeans down…
“We’ll keep these briefs on just to remind you how silly it was to get yourself all wet like this,” Henry growls, his voice low and full of serious intent. “But we’ll hike them all the way up between your cheeks to make sure that you feel the full force of the spanking.”
“Daddy, please!” I say, my cheeks bright red as I realize I just called Henry Daddy. “I was just being silly!”
“That’s right, you were,” Henry says, spreading my legs and fixing me in position. “Silly, rude, irresponsible. All of which means that I need to take my hand to you.”
I arch my head around and watch as Henry removes his t-shirt and flings it to the ground, far enough away from the shower to avoid it getting wet.
Not only that, but Henry removes his trousers too so that he’s standing next to me in nothing but a pair of blank boxer-briefs that make his legs look nothing short of… magnificent.
“Face forward!” Henry snaps, landing an opening spank on my exposed left cheek. “This time you will thank me for each spank.”
“Never!” I shout. “Never! Never! Never!”
“Never is a long time,” Henry says, a hint of wicked menace in his voice. “The road to ten spanks won’t begin until you start the count.”
Henry lands another spank on my wet, wobbly ass cheeks and I do my best to not cry out in pain.
I know I need to start counting—and I need to start soon.
But there’s something inside me that doesn’t want to give Henry the satisfaction.
I’ve already called him Daddy, I don’t want him to think that this is it, that he can control me from here on out.
“And another!” Henry bellows, landing a double spank on my right cheek.
“Thank you, Daddy!” I call out, involuntarily. “Thank you!”
And just like that, my defenses crumble. Part of me hates myself for giving in and being the obedient Little to Henry… but I can’t deny that an even bigger part of me is loving every second of it.
“Now let’s get this spanking done properly,” Henry says, placing his fingers inside the waist of my briefs and hiking them up even further to ensure that my entire butt cheeks are exposed to the water and his big, powerful hand.
I cast a quick look back at Henry and the sight of his semi-naked body, wet, strong, muscular is enough to make me gasp—but not as much as the spanks that are landing down on my hot ass…
“Thank you, Daddy!” I call out again, my cock throbbing, and my mind totally locked into the spanking that this stern, impossibly handsome man is delivering…
My butt’s on fire, my cheeks flaming with shame and arousal, as I stand by the side of the shower, the last of the water dripping off me as I towel myself dry.
Henry’s wiping his hands on his jeans, his eyes softer now, like he’s wrestling with himself. I reach into my backpack and clutch Poot, my briefs removed from the depth of my ass cheeks and my jeans back up… but my pride in pieces.
With some cooling gel fighting to calm my red-hot butt cheeks and my mind equally fighting a battle of its own, I’m beyond confused. The fact that I called Henry Daddy is only adding to the million thoughts that are spinning and whirring in my brain.
I simply don’t know what to do.
Do I want to bolt, to yell, to fall to my hands and knees and crawl to Henry? Any and all of these options seem just as likely to me right now.
“Bodie,” Henry says, low and steady, stepping closer, still shirtless.
“Your defiance drives me nuts. You push every damn button, and it makes keeping you safe harder. But you know what? Your fire, wanting to surf, to live your life despite all this? That’s brave as hell.
And I’m drawn to it, way more than I should be. ”
Henry’s eyes lock onto mine, raw and real, no smirk, and my breath catches. He’s not just a Daddy dishing out spankings—he sees me, and it’s scary as hell.
I swallow, my heart pounding.
“Drawn to me?” I mumble, my voice small, like I’m five instead of twenty-three. “You don’t even know me, Henry.”
But my Little side’s humming, wanting to lean into him, to believe he’s not Vince. I shove it down, hugging Poot tighter.
“I know enough,” Henry says, then straightens, all business again.
“But we’ve got rules here. You stay inside unless I clear it.
No surfing, no wandering, no phone unless I check it.
You feel like acting out, you come to me, and we’ll sort it…
without a scene like that.” He nods toward the shower, and my face burns.
“Follow my lead, we stay alive. Got it?”
I bristle, my pout flaring.
“Got it,” I snap, but it’s half-hearted.
Henry’s rules are like a wetsuit two sizes too small, but there’s this weird safety in them, like he’s building a wall between me and Vince.
I hate how much I like it, how it makes me feel protected.
It’s screwing with my no-men-ever-again plan, and I’m not ready to let him in—not yet anyway.
Henry nods, then grabs his duffel from the shack’s porch, pulling out a small package wrapped in plain paper.
“For you,” Henry says, tossing it to me. I catch it, confused, and tear it open. It’s a sketchpad, fresh and crisp, with a pack of colored pencils inside. My jaw drops, my Little side squealing like it’s Christmas.
“Wow, cool,” I say, a little taken aback. “You got this at the diner?”
“ Yup . Your old one’s looking beat,” Henry says, shrugging like it’s nothing. “Figured you’d want to draw those waves, since surfing’s off the table for now.”
I stare at the sketchpad, my throat tight.
It’s such a Daddy move, seeing what I need before I even say it, and it cracks my walls just a little.
“Thanks,” I whisper, clutching the sketch pad along with Poot, my voice wobbly. “It’s… really cool.”
I look away, not wanting him to see how much it means, how it makes me want to trust him.
“Don’t get all mushy, boy,” Henry says, a teasing edge in his voice, but his eyes are warm. “Go settle in. I’m checking the perimeter.”
Henry heads out, and I shuffle into the shack, the sketchpad heavy in my hands.
The place is bare—sagging couch, tiny kitchen, a bed with a lumpy mattress—but the ocean’s hum through the cracked window soothes me.
I flop onto the couch, almost completely dry after towelling myself, Poot and the sketchpad in my lap, and my mind drifts to Vince…
The news report—cartel, murders, him still out there—burns in my brain.
Henry’s rules, this gift, they’re pushing me to spill, and the weight of what I’m holding back is crushing.
“Poot,” I whisper, tracing his tusk, “I gotta tell him something, don’t I?”
My Little side’s scared, but Henry’s not Vince. He’s not going to mock my romper or twist my Little side to use for his own advantage. I take a shaky breath, picturing Vince’s smirk. “Okay. Here goes…”
When Henry comes back, I’m still on the couch, fingers tight around the sketchpad. He leans against the doorframe, raising an eyebrow.
“You good, Little One?” Henry asks, a knowing look in his eyes.
I nod, then it all comes out…
“Vince… he used my surfing to launder money,” I say, my heart racing.
“Fake comps, sponsorships, all to move his cash. I didn’t know at first, but when I figured it out, I tried to leave, and he got…
scary.” My voice cracks, shame flooding me.
“There’s more, Henry. A lot I haven’t told you about him.
I’m scared, because… what if you think I’m too messed up?
Or that I was involved, like really involved? ”
Henry’s quiet, his eyes searching mine, and for a second, I’m terrified he’ll bail. But he crouches, eye-level, his voice soft but firm.
“Bodie, you’re not messed up,” Henry says. “You’re caught in his web, and I’m not leaving you to face it alone. Tell me the rest when you’re ready. For now, I’ve got you.”
Henry’s hand hovers, like he wants to touch me, but he pulls back, giving me space.
I nod, tears stinging, clutching the sketchpad.
“Okay,” I whisper, my Little side clinging to his promise, even as fear lingers.
Vince’s out there, and I’ve got secrets left to spill, but with Henry’s rules, his gift, and that steady look in his eyes, I feel safer than I have in forever.
Maybe, just maybe, I can trust him—a little, for now…