Page 20 of Obsessed Daddy
“Home?”
“Wherever you’re with me is home, little girl. Right now, that’s the lake house. When that’s finished, we’ll find something that works for us both.”
“Like a little house in the woods? One with big trees and acreage to start a garden?”
“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll get. Your dreams are my dreams.” My fucking eye burns again, and I try to ignore it, but my hand instinctively rises to scrub at the pain.
“I want to take care of you too. Are you sure that eye is okay?”
I appreciate the concern, but I really don’t want to get into a depressing story about this eye tonight, so I change the subject again. “Tell me all about what you’re going to paint. You used to like landscapes. I remember you sitting on the beach, capturing the mountains and the lake.”
She narrows her brows like she wants to press but ultimately allows me some privacy with a grin I’m more than thankful for. “Do you remember what else was in that painting?”
“The Deepling! How could I forget? All fourteen feet of that weird, slithering flamingo. Maybe we should go out on the water tonight,” I tease, “see if we can find him. I hear he prefers the night swimmers.”
She laughs and glances out the side window where a field of wildflowers grow in the silvery moonlight. “Maybe we could pick some flowers first. I used to paint these pictures with mashed up wild yarrow. It’s a little sticky, and the color stains your fingertips pale yellow, but I love how the art ends up smelling like sunbaked fields. We could do it together.”
God, has there ever been a more perfect girl?
“Yes, of course.” I hop from the truck and round to her side, helping her across the road and toward the field of moonlit blooms. “How do you paint with them?”
“Some of them,” she says, her head on a swivel, looking for the right flowers, “I crush up to make paint, then dip my brush in like normal. Others, I make prints. The daisies are especially fun to print. So are the sunflowers. Their heads are so defined.” She walks a few steps ahead, fingertips brushing petals like she’s greeting each one as the wind moves through the field, goosebumps rising on her forearms.
I slip my flannel over her shoulders, and she leans back into me for a second, her breath slow and relaxed before she spots the tiny yellow plant she’s looking for.
“That’s yarrow!” She jumps excitedly and moves toward the bloom, holding it up like a prize, her smile bright and peaceful.
This moment is so simple. Flowers, moonlight, the two of us.
There’s no expensive wine, fancy gifts, or elegant dinner. It’s just us and the mountain, yet something settles in my chest in a way I’ve never felt before.
“That’s the one you paint with?” I say, taking the bloom from her hand so she can gather more.
She nods with enthusiasm as she leans down to pick a big, white daisy. “This one I can use for prints. I pin it to the canvas and use the watercolor around it.” She handles each flower like they’re equally sacred, talking of the pigments as she inhales their scent.
I love her.
I know it now without a shadow of a doubt.
I love this woman. My baby. My little girl. My sweet, innocent angel.
All I want to do is care for her, protect her, and give her everything she’s ever wanted. My life’s mission going forward is to see her smile every day for the rest of eternity.
The field quiets as the tall grass sways in slow waves, Bella looking up at me with a smile that I’ll never forget. It’s simply stunning.
I bend down and pick a purple flower, brushing it against her cheek before tucking the thin stem behind her ear. It sounds cliché, but the world is still, like even the wind is waiting for whatever comes next.
Hell, maybe it is. I’m not a fate guy, but right now, I know every second of my life has been leading up to this moment, right here, in this field of wildflowers with this sweet angel.
I lift her chin gently and lean forward, my lips on hers in the moonlight as I breathe her in.
“I love you,” I whisper against her lips. “I’m not letting you go.”
She pulls back enough that her gaze can lift to mine. “I love you too, Daddy.”
My cock thumps at my zipper, and the need to take her claws at me again, aching and desperate.
I want to give in, lay her down in this field of moonlit beauty, and take her tight, little pussy hard and fast, but I resist the urge in favor of this quiet memory. This sweet night. This innocent moment.
