Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 10

The room was steeped in silence, the soft glow of moonlight casting shadows across the walls. Sydney stirred, her lashes fluttering open, and for a brief, blissful moment, she forgot where she was—forgot the pain, the fear, the terror that had clawed at her so recently. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the familiar comfort of Alan's warmth was noticeably absent.

Her heart dropped.

The space beside her was empty, the blanket rumpled where he had lain. Panic surged like a tidal wave, drowning her thoughts and logic. Her mind raced with awful possibilities. Had something happened to him? Had her captor returned?

She sat up abruptly, the sudden movement making her head spin. Her breaths came shallow and quick, the room seeming to close in around her. The oppressive weight of her trauma reared its head, dragging her into the same suffocating panic she'd felt during her abduction.

"Alan?" she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. She wrapped the blanket around her like armor, her hands clutching it tightly as she stared at the door, expecting the worst.

And then it creaked open.

She froze, her body taut with tension. But as the door swung wider, the figure that emerged wasn't a threat. It was Alan.

Her breath hitched.

He stood there in the dim light, his shirt slightly wrinkled and his hair tousled as though he had run his hands through it one too many times. In his hands was a tray, the clink of the glass and plate breaking the fragile quiet of the room.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice low and soothing. His eyes immediately found hers, and whatever storm had been brewing inside her began to settle. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She stared at him, her chest heaving, her voice caught in her throat. He took a cautious step forward, concern etching deeper lines into his face.

"I promised I wouldn't leave," he said gently, as though he could read the unspoken accusation in her wide eyes. "I just... I thought you might be hungry."

Sydney's gaze flickered to the tray in his hands—a simple bowl of soup, bread, and a glass of water. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut: he hadn't eaten. Not since—

"Alan," she murmured, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes.

He shook his head, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "I'm fine. You're the one who needs this."

She watched as he placed the tray on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate. When he turned back to her, his expression softened, his gaze searching hers.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I shouldn't have left. I thought you'd sleep through the night."

For a moment, she couldn't respond, her emotions warring between gratitude and the lingering fear that still clung to her like a shadow. "You should've eaten," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His smile widened, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll eat," he said. "But I wanted to take care of you first."

Her lip trembled as the tears spilled over, silent streaks running down her cheeks. Alan moved instinctively, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. He reached out, brushing a tear from her face with the back of his knuckle, his touch as light as a feather.

"You don't have to cry," he said softly, his forehead creasing. "I'm here."

But that was the thing. It wasn't just that he was here—it was that he always put her first, even when she didn't know how to ask. The weight of that realization pressed against her chest, both comforting and terrifying in its intensity.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words raw and unsteady.

Alan didn't say anything at first. He just held her gaze, his eyes filled with something unspoken—something fierce and unrelenting. Finally, he nodded and picked up the tray.

"Eat," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the look he gave her silenced any objections. Alan was stubborn in a way that made her heart ache, but in that moment, she realized she didn't have the strength—or the will—to argue.

As she took the first tentative spoonful of soup, Alan sat beside her, the silence between them not uncomfortable but heavy with the weight of everything they weren't saying. When she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she saw the exhaustion etched into his features—the slight droop of his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes.

"You should rest too," she said.

"I'm fine... now, eat."

The warm soup settled in her stomach, chasing away the lingering chill that had plagued her all night. Alan had eaten a few bites himself after much prodding, but his attention remained steadfastly on her, as though her well-being was the only thing that mattered.

Once the tray was set aside, Alan stood and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, his touch firm yet tender. "Try to get some rest," he murmured, his voice low.

She hesitated for a moment before lying down, her body still tense from the earlier panic. Alan made to stand, but her hand darted out, catching his wrist.

"Will you stay?" she whispered, her voice soft but resolute.

He paused, his eyes searching hers for a brief moment before he nodded. "Okay."

He climbed into bed beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance, but Sydney wasn't having it. Without thinking too much about it, she shifted closer, her arms hesitantly wrapping around his torso as she buried her face against his chest.

The contact was immediate and electric, a strange mix of comfort and something that set her skin alight. His body was warm, and solid, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. It was grounding, yet it left her nerves tingling in a way she couldn't quite name.

Alan stiffened slightly, his breath catching, but he quickly recovered, his arms folding around her protectively. "Alright," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice strained but gentle. "I'm here."

Sydney tried to relax, but the proximity made her hyper-aware of everything—of his scent, clean and woodsy, of the rise and fall of his chest, of the way his hand lightly traced circles on her back in a soothing rhythm. It was intimate in a way that made her heart pound.

Still, exhaustion eventually won out, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She drifted off into a fitful sleep, only to wake again an hour later.

The room was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. She shifted slightly and opened her eyes, realizing she had turned in her sleep and was now facing Alan. His head was tilted back against the pillow, his eyes closed, his breathing steady but not quite deep enough to be fully asleep.

Her gaze lingered on him, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the faint shadow of stubble on his chin. There was something achingly beautiful about him in the moonlight, his usual intensity softened by the quiet vulnerability of the moment.

She told herself to look away, but she couldn't. Her eyes drank him in, her thoughts swirling with confusion and something dangerously close to longing.

Alan's breathing hitched, almost imperceptibly, and his lashes fluttered for a fraction of a second. He wasn't asleep.

She froze, her body stiffening as their gazes suddenly locked. His eyes, half-lidded and darkened by something she couldn't quite name, held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"Sydney," he said, her name a low rasp that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I thought you were asleep," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I felt your eyes on me," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as though he was fighting some inner battle.

The air between them grew heavy, charged with something unspoken but undeniable. His hand, which had been resting near her waist, twitched slightly, his fingers brushing against her side. It was the barest of touches, but it sent a jolt through her like lightning.

"Alan..." she began, her voice trailing off as his gaze dropped briefly to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.

"I shouldn't..." he muttered, more to himself than to her, his jaw clenching as though he was physically restraining himself. "You've been through too much. You need rest."

"I don't feel like resting," she admitted, her voice barely audible, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his mouth.

His fingers tightened slightly where they rested against her side, his breathing growing uneven. "You don't know what you're doing to me," he said, his voice strained, almost tortured. "I'm trying—trying so hard to be the good guy here."

Her hand moved of its own accord, brushing against his chest, and she felt the sharp intake of his breath beneath her touch. The moment stretched between them, teetering on the edge of something neither of them dared to name.

"Alan..." she whispered again, her voice cracking.

He groaned softly, the sound vibrating through her as his forehead dropped to rest against hers. His eyes closed tightly, his breaths shallow and ragged. "If I don't stop now, I won't be able to."

She didn't move, her body frozen as heat and confusion swirled within her. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her—thought she might let him.

But then, with a sharp exhale, he pulled back, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her face. "You need to sleep," he said, his voice hoarse but resolute.

The tenderness in his tone melted something inside her, even as the intensity of the moment left her breathless. She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.

Alan pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her skin, before pulling her back into his arms. He held her tightly, his hand smoothing down her back in steady, calming strokes.

"Go to sleep, Sydney," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

And this time, despite the chaos swirling in her mind, she did.

As the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, Sydney stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she forgot where she was, but then the familiar weight of an arm across her waist brought her back to reality.

Her breath caught, and her heart quickened as she glanced over her shoulder. He was still beside her, his body relaxed, his face soft in sleep. She should have pulled away, should have put space between them, but somehow, the warmth of his presence kept her there. It felt safe, and comforting in a way that made her uneasy. She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, but the closeness felt so wrong, yet so... necessary.

She tried to ignore the way her body reacted to him, the way her chest fluttered with something she couldn't name. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to feel this way, not after everything. She wasn't supposed to feel this pull toward someone who, as far as she knew, would never be able to truly understand the depths of what she had been through.

Alan stirred, his arm tightening a little around her waist as if sensing the shift in her movements. His eyes cracked open, and for a moment, they just stared at each other—silent, uncertain. The tension between them felt thick, almost tangible.

"Morning," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," she replied, her voice quieter than she intended, a little too soft.

He shifted, pulling his arm back slightly, but the space between them still felt too small, too intimate. Sydney let out a breath, feeling the awkwardness settle like a weight in her chest. She should move. She should say something, anything to break this strange stillness between them.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asked, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it that suggested he was still grappling with his own thoughts.

"I did," she answered, though it was only half true. "I'm... fine."

Alan didn't seem convinced, but he didn't press. Instead, his gaze lingered on her for a beat too long, as though trying to read something in her expression.

She shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip as she looked down at the bedspread. The soft cotton crinkled beneath her fingers, a small distraction. She hadn't expected it to be like this—quiet, uncertain as if they both knew something was hanging in the air, but neither of them was ready to acknowledge it.

His hand moved to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light, almost hesitant. "I'll better get going," he said quietly, his gaze not quite meeting hers. "Just wanna make sure you're okay."

"I know, thanks a lot," she replied, the words coming out before she could stop them. The truth was, she wasn't sure what "okay" even meant anymore. The walls she had built up, the ones that had always kept her safe, were crumbling. And she didn't know if she was ready for it.

Alan looked at her, his eyes darkening, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between them, something that lingered in the air like a heavy fog. Then, he cleared his throat, shifting away slightly, but not enough to create any real distance. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers curling tightly into a fist.

"I'm leaving now... to give you privacy, I'll see you around," he said softly, his voice tight.

Sydney nodded, unsure of what to say next. She could feel the weight of his words, the truth they carried—how many times had she heard that from others, but never in a way that felt so real? So raw?

Sydney's heart skipped a beat at the simplicity of his words, but she held herself back from replying, unsure of how to even begin to unravel the mess of emotions inside her. Instead, she just nodded, the weight of everything between them pressing down on her shoulders like a silent agreement that neither of them was ready to break.

The silence stretched on, but this time, it felt different—not uncomfortable, but fragile, as though something might shatter if they dared to speak any louder than the soft murmur of their breath. And for now, that was enough.

"See you," she murmured.