Taron
“Hiccup!” I giggle, everything looking all wobbly and spinning for a second.
The Woody Hollow is a blur of laughter and clinking glasses by the time we call it a night. I’ve had one cider too many—maybe two, maybe three but who’s counting—and everything feels fuzzy and fun, like the world’s wrapped in cotton candy.
“Boy…” Kaleb says, a look of paternal disapproval on his face. “Someone needs to learn their limit when it comes to our cider…”
I simply smile goofily and try to stop myself from hiccupping again.
Robbie’s disappeared somewhere with Trask, probably causing more trouble, and Kaleb’s steady hand on my lower back is the only thing keeping me from weaving too much as we step out into the cool night air.
The door swings shut behind us, muffling the noise. Streetlamps glow soft, turning the quiet sidewalks into golden paths. I lean into Kaleb, giggling as I trip over nothing.
“Whoops,” I say, clutching his arm. “The ground moved.”
He chuckles—that low, rumbling sound I love. “Nah. That’s you, baby boy. Time to get you home.”
I pout up at Kaleb. “But I’m not tired. I could dance. Or… or play more darts!”
My Daddy simply arches a brow. “You threw your last one at the ceiling, baby boy.”
“Did not.” I say, knowing full well that I did. Another giggle bubbles up.
Kaleb shakes his head, amused. Then, without warning, he scoops me up—big hands under my thighs—and slings me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
“Weeeee!” I squeal, half-laughing, half-protesting, my world flipping upside down. His shoulder’s broad and solid under my stomach, his arm locked firm across my legs to hold me steady. “Kaleb! Put me down!”
“Nope.” He starts walking, easy strides like carrying a tipsy boy is just another Saturday night. “You’re done walking for the evening.”
I dangle there, hair falling in my face, giggling uncontrollably. I briefly get all horny and try humping and grinding on Kaleb’s chest as he carries me but my appetite for sexy times is outweighed by my drunkenness unfortunately and I kind of give up as queasiness takes over.
The town passes upside down—shop windows dark, fairy lights on the B&B porch twinkling in the distance. Kaleb’s hand pats my butt lightly—not spanking, just reassuring.
“Fine,” I huff through laughs. “But if I puke on your back, it’s your fault.”
“You won’t.”
The walk’s short, but by the time we reach the B&B steps, my giggles have slowed to hiccups. Kaleb eases me down gentle, sets me on my feet. I sway a little, grab his shirt for balance.
“Easy,” he murmurs, cupping my face. “You good?”
I nod, beaming up at him. “Best night.”
He smiles—soft, rare—and leads me inside. The lobby’s quiet, just the grandfather clock ticking. We climb the stairs hand in hand, my steps careful on the plush runner.
In my room, Kaleb closes the door behind us. The space feels smaller with him in it. I flop onto the bed, arms wide, staring at the ceiling as it spins just a little.
“Clothes off,” he says, voice firm but kind. “Can’t sleep in jeans.”
I prop up on my elbows. “Bossy Daddy!”
“Practical Daddy,” Kaleb counters.
He crosses to me, big hands gentle as he tugs off my boots, then my socks. I lift my hips when he unbuttons my jeans, lets him slide them down.
My sweater next. He eases it over my head, leaves me in just my briefs—pale blue, nothing fancy. My pajamas are all at the laundry down the street as I forgot to pick them up earlier. A mistake, but even in my drunken condition it’s hot to be so exposed like this in front of my Daddy.
Kaleb doesn’t stare. He doesn’t leer. He just looks at me with that steady warmth, like I’m precious. He pulls back the quilt, helps me slide under.