Wild Daddy – Read Daddies Boone Brothers Read Online Dani Wyatt

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Erotic, Insta-Love, Novella Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
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The pressure is there now. The pressure of being cut off from everything she's used to define herself. Alone with a man who's already proven he can make her forget every rule she's ever lived by.

She’s standing on the edge of something wild, and all I can do is give her the space to jump.

Because once she does—there’s no going back.

Five

Marley

The silence in the cabin is different from any quiet I've ever experienced. No hum of electricity, no distant traffic, no neighbors in adjacent apartments. Just the crackle of the fire and the sound of Cade moving around the small space with the kind of easy confidence that comes from knowing exactly where everything belongs.

I sit on the edge of his bed—the only place to sit that isn't the floor—and watch him prepare lunch. Everything he does is methodical, purposeful. No wasted movements, no hesitation. It's like watching someone perform a dance they've done a thousand times.

"You're staring," he says without turning around.

Heat floods my cheeks. "I'm observing. For research purposes."

"Uh-huh." He glances over his shoulder with that slight smile I'm beginning to recognize. "What exactly are you researching?"

"The way you move. It's very...efficient." I tuck my legs up under me, trying to get comfortable on the narrow mattress. "From an anthropological perspective, it suggests complete familiarity with your environment, which indicates—"

"Marley."

"What?"

"You're doing that thing again where you turn everything into data instead of just experiencing it. Like how good my ass looks in these jeans."

I open my mouth to argue, then close it. He's right. Even here, in this tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere, I'm defaulting to academic analysis instead of just...being present. Instead of admitting that I've been staring at his ass and wondering what it would feel like under my hands. How it would feel to touch him everywhere.

"I don't know how to not analyze things," I admit, squirming on the bed as my body starts that familiar ache that means I'm in trouble. "It's kind of my default setting."

"I’ve noticed." He turns back to whatever he's cooking, he’s chopping and throwing things in a sizzling pan and I catch the scent of something that makes my stomach growl despite my nervousness. And despite the fact that I'm getting wet just watching him move around his space like he owns everything in it. Which he does. Possibly including me. "We'll work on that."

Twenty minutes later, he sets two bowls on the small wooden table near the window and gestures for me to join him on the simple bench he's pulled in from outside. The stew smells amazing, but I find myself staring at it instead of eating.

"Something wrong with the food?" he asks.

"No, it smells really good." I stir the stew with my spoon, buying time. "I'm just not that hungry."

"When's the last time you ate?"

I think about it. "A granola bar this morning?"

"That’s not a meal." He shifts on the bench to face me, close enough that our thighs are touching. "Eat."

"I'm really not—"

"Marley." His voice has gone firmer. "Eat the food."

Something in his tone makes my stomach clench, but not with hunger. With a weird combination of anxiety and discomfort.

"I don't usually eat in front of people," I say quietly.

"Why not?"

The question is simple, but the answer is complicated. "My parents were very...particular about food when I was growing up. About portions, about what I ate, even making sure my food didn't touch. They would never have served stew either. Too many ingredients mixed up. No way to know your macros. They lived by the 'what can be measured can be improved' philosophy."

“Mixing macros sounds fun,” Cade says with a smirk, then his eyes darken when I don’t muster a smile. “Baby, it’s just food. It’s not a judgment about who you are. If your parents made you feel this way, even if it was from a misguided place of love, well, let’s just say I’m going to have a little heart-to-heart with them soon enough. But right now, stop thinking so fucking much and follow your gut.”

Right on que my stomach twists with a groan as I shrug. Programming from as far back as I can remember tightens around my windpipe as I stir the stew again, watching the chunks of meat and vegetables swirl around. "They wanted to make sure I stayed focused on academics instead of getting distracted by typical teenage concerns like body image and boys.”

"So they controlled what you ate."

It isn't a question, and something in his voice makes me look up. His expression is carefully neutral, but there's a hardness around his eyes that hasn't been there before.

"They were just trying to help me stay on track," I say, the familiar defense rising automatically. "It worked. I graduated early, got into a good graduate program—"

"And now you're nineteen years old and afraid to eat in front of people."


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