One Cup of Daddy and a Dash of Love - Victoria Sue Page 0,71

Daddy shepherded the littles to the corner, Ellie and every single other Daddy flanked both their sides.

“I don’t even know what you’re doing here,” Dash said in bewilderment, his words seeming loud even though they were whispered.

“Because I was invited,” he spat out in disgust. “Invited by a proper dominant, not some disgusting—”

“Stop right there,” Jensen thundered out as two more dominants wearing yellow vests rushed into the room.

“Sir, this room is off-limits unless you have a little with you.”

“You sicken me,” Steven continued, ignoring them and still screeching at Dash. “I always knew you were a weak-minded pathetic excuse for a man, but what is this? Playing with baby toys?” He glanced at the changing stations, and his face seemed to get redder if that was even possible. “Diapers?” he screeched. “Diapers? What are you?”

But Jensen didn’t have to use his fist to shut the abhorrent excuse for a human up—even sorely tempted—because a much larger man stepped in the room behind him and grabbed Steven by his jacket, pulling him back.

“I suggest you leave,” Jensen said, banking his temper and taking a step in front of Dash to shield him.

“Oh, I bet you do,” Steven scoffed. “You don’t want anyone seeing what a bunch of perverted fuck—”

“That will do.”

Jensen looked behind him as the stern voice rang out with utmost authority, as Daddy Sean took a step forward and brought out his wallet from his back pocket. He held an ID up to Steven, and Steven gaped.

“As you can see, I am Captain Sean Chiltern of the Matthews Police Department. Perhaps you would like to come with me to the police station to discuss the exact nature of your complaint?” Steven opened his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. The abject horror on his face would have been funny under any other circumstances. “No?” Sean pressed. “Are you sure?”

When he still didn’t get an answer, he nodded to the two men with the yellow vests, and they both put a hand on each of Steven’s arms.

“Stop!”

Everybody halted at Dash’s cry. Jensen turned in surprise.

“I know why you came here,” Dash said, his voice as strong and courageous as Jensen had ever heard it. “We both know the excuse of an invitation is a lie, because the only reason you would have forced your way into this room was if you knew I was in here.”

Steven opened his mouth, but Dash cut him off again. “I don’t know if it was your intention to stop me, hurt me, or humiliate me by coming here, or possibly all three. But you know what?” Dash lifted his chin in defiance, and Jensen knew at that second, he’d never been as proud of anyone in his entire life.

“It didn’t work. Nothing, absolutely nothing you could ever say to me would make any difference now. You spent nearly eight years trying to beat me down, but you don’t have any power over me anymore. You can’t win. You can’t hurt me. You can’t humiliate me because I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m in love, and I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dash took a step into Jensen’s side. He was shaking, but he was defiant. Jensen put his arm around Dash as Dash leaned into him. The two monitors in yellow vests shot an apologetic look at everybody before the doors were slammed shut as they dragged Steven out. Jensen took another step toward the door, but Dash tightened his fingers on his arm.

“Daddy?”

Jensen turned—ready to rush after Steven and make sure he was…what? Banned from the club, arrested, thrown out? “Sweetheart,” he choked out as Dash threw himself into his arms. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure he’s gone.”

But Dash squeezed him harder. “But he can’t hurt me, Daddy. He can’t hurt me ever again.”

Dash lifted his pale face to Jensen’s, and while he could hear the soft snuffles of an upset little behind him, Dash had no tears in his eyes. “He can’t hurt me because I’m not ashamed. What we have—what we all have—is beautiful.” Dash smiled as Jensen tightened his arms. “I know this is quick and maybe you’re not ready, but I love you, Daddy. I love you with all my heart. And I’m not confusing this with gratitude or sympathy. Pity might make you give me a roof over my head, but it doesn’t make you cut up apples or open the door for me. It doesn’t make you put your hand