7. Storm

SEVEN

STORM

S he fit against him so perfectly it was almost maddening. Every soft curve of Brook’s soft, lush body molded seamlessly to the hard lines of his muscular frame, as though she’d been made to rest there. Storm couldn’t ignore the quiet certainty settling deep in his chest—a primal understanding that she was his . But that fucked-up voice in his mind wouldn’t let him bask in the thought for long. It whispered continuous doubts, telling him he wasn’t the kind of man she’d want or need.

He’d seen the way she watched his friends with their Littles, her eyes lighting up with interest and longing. She liked how they cared for the girls—gentle, doting, patient. But Storm? He wasn’t any of those things. He was rough around the edges, gruff, and prone to long stretches of silence. A self-proclaimed hermit. He wasn’t built for soft words and nurturing touches. She deserved better than him—someone brighter and more open.

He knew it, but even so, he couldn’t make himself walk away from her.

“I need to feed you and get you home,” he said thickly, breaking the silence.

Brook tilted her head up, her green eyes locking onto his. “What about my car? Do you think it’s drivable? It wasn’t that hard of a hit.”

He set her carefully on her feet and rose, towering over her as he reached for her hand, his touch firm but warm. “It’s drivable, but I want to check it out in the shop tomorrow to make sure it’s safe,” he replied, leaving no room for argument.

As he led her from the apartment toward the community kitchen, she stayed quiet, her fingers curling around his as they walked. But the moment they stepped inside and she spotted Carlee, Brook’s demeanor shifted completely, her Little side bubbling to the surface like she couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re okay!” Carlee squealed, rushing toward her and throwing her arms around Brook in a dramatic hug. “Daddy said you were in a car accident.”

She nodded, but her gaze flicked upward, seeking Storm’s eyes. The look she gave him, soft and full of trust, warmed him from the inside out, a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words. He liked that. A lot. She was asking for his reassurance, leaning on him in a way that stirred something deep and protective within him.

“She needs to eat,” he grunted at the Littles, gently nudging Brook toward the table, steering her away from Carlee’s whirlwind of energy.

“Gabriel made chili and cornbread for dinner. It’s in the crockpot,” Atlas called out, glancing up from the sink where he was washing dishes.

“Thanks,” Storm replied, his voice curt but appreciative. He pulled out a chair for Brook, waiting patiently for her to sit before pushing her in with deliberate care. Leaning down, he brought his mouth close to her ear, speaking softly. “Do you want milk or water, sunshine?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, her teeth tugging at the soft flesh as uncertainty flickered across her face. He recognized her hesitation immediately and cursed himself silently. Making decisions wasn’t easy for her Little—it overwhelmed her.

“I’ll get you milk,” he said gently, straightening and brushing a hand lightly across her shoulder. “Stay right here, Little one.”

Her shoulders relaxed and the relief in her expression was subtle but unmistakable, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. She trusted him to take care of her, and for once, he didn’t second-guess his ability to do so. He glanced back toward the table, his gaze settling on her. Brook sat quietly, her hands resting on her lap, but her eyes never left him, filled with something that made his chest ache.

She didn’t just trust him—she wanted him. And that made all the difference.

Atlas followed Storm into the kitchen, moving with his usual easygoing confidence. He opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and held one up as an offer. Storm shook his head. One beer wouldn’t affect him, but he still needed to get Brook home. With her in his care, he wasn’t taking any chances. Her safety came first, always.

“You okay? You seem pretty tense,” Atlas said, tossing the bottle cap into the garbage with a practiced flick before leaning casually against the counter. His sharp eyes watched Storm fill two bowls with steaming chili. The rich, savory aroma filled the room, a reminder that Gabriel truly was the best damn cook in the clubhouse.

“I’m fine,” Storm replied gruffly, his tone clipped as he focused on his task.

Atlas smirked knowingly, taking a swig from his beer. “You don’t seem fine.”

Storm’s gaze snapped up, his dark eyes narrowing in a glare. “When did you become such a nosy fuck? I said I’m fine.”

For a moment, the two friends locked eyes, the tension between them thick. But then Storm exhaled heavily, his broad shoulders sagging as he rubbed at his temples. “She could have gotten really fucking hurt. And on top of that, the asshole who ran into her was in her face, screaming like a damn lunatic.”

Atlas was quiet for a beat, sipping his beer thoughtfully. “It scared you,” he said finally, his voice calm but laced with understanding.

Damn right, it scared him. The admission churned in Storm’s gut, unsettling him. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—so out of control, so raw. Caring about someone wasn’t second nature to him. It was terrifying. But the need to protect Brook, to shield her from anything and everything, burned inside him like a relentless fire. He wanted to be her protector, her safe place. Like a Daddy should be.

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn about admitting you like her?” Atlas’s question blunt but not unkind.

Storm’s hands stilled as he poured milk into a sippy cup, his jaw tightening. Twisting the lid on firmly, he answered without looking up. “Because she deserves someone way better than me.”

Atlas scoffed, setting his beer down with a thunk . “Who would be better than you?” he challenged, his voice cutting through Storm’s self-doubt. “The Storm I know is loyal, protective, and caring—in your own fucked-up way. Do you really think anyone would Daddy her better than you?”

Storm opened his mouth to respond, but Atlas didn’t wait for an answer. With a parting glance, he pushed off the counter and strolled out of the kitchen, leaving Storm alone to stew in his thoughts.

The truth hit hard. Storm couldn’t stand the idea of any other man touching Brook. The thought of someone else’s hands on her soft, curvy body filled him with a possessive rage he couldn’t ignore. But would she want that? Could she handle who he was—the rough edges, the gruff demeanor, the absolute need to protect her in every way possible? He wasn’t going to change; he’d tried that before, bending and twisting himself into someone he wasn’t for his ex. And she’d cheated on him anyway, leaving him bitter and wary.

Unease prickled at the back of his neck as he picked up the bowls of chili and carried them to the table where Brook sat waiting. She looked up at him with those emerald-green eyes, trusting and innocent, and his chest tightened. This wasn’t something he needed to figure out tonight. But even as he sat across from her, the urge to claim her as his, to make sure everyone knew she belonged to him, gnawed at him relentlessly.

For now, he pushed those thoughts aside. He didn’t need all the answers tonight—but he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t letting Brook go.

“It’s hot, Little one. Don’t eat it yet,” Storm cautioned, his deep voice firm yet gentle as he rose from his chair and headed back to the kitchen. His broad shoulders seemed to block out the room as he moved, grabbing a plate of cornbread and her sippy cup of milk.

When he returned, he settled into the chair beside her. She turned slightly toward him, her soft green eyes lifting to meet his. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice laced with warmth.

“You’re welcome.” His lips twitched into a faint smile before he asked, “Do you want me to feed you?”

The question hung in the air, and Storm tried to keep his expression neutral, though the thought of pulling her onto his lap and spoon-feeding her sent a flicker of heat through his body. He wasn’t sure if she’d be comfortable with it, and the last thing he wanted was to push her too far, too fast. So, he gave her the choice, even though his instincts screamed to take over.

“Um,” she murmured, glancing around the room where a handful of club members lingered. Her cheeks flushed faintly. “I can do it.”

He nodded, keeping his disappointment at bay, and tested the temperature of his chili before handing her a thick-handled plastic spoon. They ate in silence, the quiet between them feeling more intimate than awkward. Every so often, Brook took a drink from the sippy cup he’d set in front of her, the action both innocent and endearing. Carlee and Atlas had disappeared, and the other Littles were nowhere to be seen, leaving the two of them in a comfortable bubble of solitude.

By the time they finished their dinner, Brook looked utterly spent. Her eyelids drooped, and her posture relaxed into a quiet lethargy. When she let out a yawn, Storm’s protective instincts kicked in, his mind racing with the desire to bring her to his apartment and tuck her into his bed. She’d been in a car accident, minor or not, and the thought of her out of his sight made his jaw tighten.

But if he put her in his bed… he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to let her leave. The idea of her small, warm body curled up in his sheets was almost too much to bear. His cock ached, and every time she walked in front of him, his gaze trailed to her ass—round, plump, and perfect . He couldn’t fathom how she didn’t already have a Daddy. The thought of another man with her made his fists clench—thank fuck she was unattached. If she weren’t, Storm wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t resort to something drastic to claim her.

After they climbed into his truck and headed toward her apartment, he tried to focus on making conversation, something he’d never been particularly good at. “How did you meet Carlee?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road but sneaking a glance at her from the corner of his eye.

“At the library,” she replied softly, her voice as soothing as the night itself.

He arched a brow and glanced at her for a moment before returning his attention to the road. “The library? People actually meet there? I thought it was all old books and forced silence.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that seemed almost indulgent, like she was humoring him. “Well, that’s part of the charm. Quiet corners, shelves full of stories, and no one really expects you to talk to them. Except Carlee. She was determined to be my friend once she found out we like to read the same books.”

Storm chuckled under his breath, which rumbled in the quiet of the truck. He didn’t say it, but he was grateful Carlee had been persistent. Because if she hadn’t, he might never have met Brook. And the thought of never knowing her, never having the chance to hold her, to care for her—it wasn’t a world he wanted to imagine.

He nodded, even though he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. “What do you guys read? Like, book club kind of stuff or…?”

She laughed lightly, and he was pretty sure if it wasn’t dark out he’d see a blush rising on her cheeks.

“Not exactly. We, uh, we read romance.”

He was pretty sure she wasn’t telling him the entire truth, but he didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, although he couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a book that wasn’t some kind of engine manual.

When Storm pulled into one of the visitor parking spots near Brook’s apartment, he cut the engine and let the low growl of the truck fade into silence. He glanced at her, his almost-black eyes searching her face. Fuck. What now?

“What time do you work in the morning?” he asked, his voice gruff but soft enough not to scare her off.

She turned those sparkling green eyes to him, nibbling on her bottom lip in a way that made his chest tighten. “Eight,” she said softly.

He nodded, already making plans in his head. “I’ll be here at seven-thirty to pick you up.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she shook her head quickly. “No, Storm. You’ve done enough already. I’ll take the bus.”

His nostrils flared as irritation spiked through him. He didn’t like hearing his name roll off her tongue like that. The only thing he wanted her to call him was Daddy. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and commanding. “You get on a bus, and you’ll be in trouble, sunshine. Got me?”

The tension between them crackled, an invisible current charging the air. She held his gaze, her lips parting slightly, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge. Would taking a chance with her really be so bad?

“You’re not my Daddy,” she whispered, trembling but defiant. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

That made him laugh, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab of the truck. When he stopped, he raised a brow, daring her to defy him further. She licked her lips nervously, the motion drawing his attention like a magnet.

“Sunshine,” his words were smooth and deliberate, “I may not be your Daddy, but I sure as hell can tell you what to do when it comes to your safety. And you’re going to be a good girl and obey me, aren’t you?”

Fuck. The way she pulled her plump bottom lip between her teeth made him lose the tenuous grip he had on his restraint. Without thinking, he reached over, his rough thumb tugging her delicate lip free. A small, breathy whimper escaped her, and that was it. He was so totally gone for her.

She wasn’t like Emmaline—she wasn’t manipulative or demanding. Brook was different. She was genuinely Little, sweet as sugar and so damn sincere it made his chest ache.

“Maybe I should be your Daddy,” he rasped. The atmosphere in the cab suddenly became thick with emotion. “I think you need one.”

Being vulnerable wasn’t easy for him, but he couldn’t fight the feelings surging inside him any longer. He wanted to be her Daddy. To care for her, protect her, make her laugh, and keep her safe. To make her happy.

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much,” she replied, lifting her chin in a stubborn challenge.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, his lips twitching. “Really, sunshine? What time did you go to bed last night? Or all week, for that matter? How about dinner? What did you eat other than nuggets and ranch?”

Her cheeks turned a fiery red, confirming everything he suspected. She shifted in her seat. “I didn’t say I was very good at it,” she admitted, her lips twitching with a reluctant smile.

Storm reached out, pinching her chin gently between his fingers. His dark gaze bore into hers as he spoke. “You’ve been doing just fine for a Little girl trying to do it all herself. But I can do it better, and I think you need that. Want that, even. I see how you watch the other Littles.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she swallowed thickly. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But I’m different from them.”

He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I know that, sunshine. It’s why I like you so much. I’m different, too. I’m grumpy, controlling, bossy, and I like to be alone more often than not. Except with you—I like being with you.”

A slow grin spread across her lips, lighting up her face in a way that made his heart stumble. “I like being with you, too.”

“Good,” he said, his voice softening. “So, what do you say, Little one? Would you like me to be your Daddy?”

When she hesitated, his heart felt like it had stopped in his chest. The silence stretched, each second an eternity, until finally, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s try it.”

Relief and a fierce sense of possessiveness surged through him, so strong it nearly left him breathless. Brook had no idea just how much she meant to him already, but he’d make sure she knew. And he’d make sure he was the best damn Daddy possible for her.