"Tired?" he asks.
"Good tired."
"There's a difference?"
"Huge difference. Good tired means you actually lived instead of just existing. Good tired means you enjoyed your day and bad tired means the day was long and exhausting."
He settles beside me, pulls my feet into his lap, starts unlacing my boots. The gesture is casual, intimate, like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
"You don't have to—" I start, but he quickly interrupts me.
"I know, I don’t have to." He doesn't stop. "But I want to take care of you."
I watch him work, amazed at his gentleness. The way he eased off my boots and then my socks. When my feet are bare, he starts massaging them. I moan from the firm pressure against my arches that ache from hours of walking.
His eyes darken. "Feel good?"
"So good."
"Then relax. Let me do this."
“Isn’t that backwards? Shouldn’t I be the one serving you? Isn’t that what submissives do? Serve their Daddies?”
“No. Your job is to listen to me. To obey me when I give you a direct command, and to let me take care of you. Now, I was pretty clear in my instruction. Listen to Daddy and relax.”
I do, sinking into the couch, letting him work the tension from my feet, my ankles, my calves. It's not sexual, although I can’t deny the tension between us, the massage is pure care and thoughtful attention. The kind that says I see you're tired and I'm going to fix it.
"This is what you meant, isn't it?" I murmur. "About the dynamic."
"What about it?"
"This. You taking care of me because you want to, not because I asked.
Anticipating what I need."
"Yes." His hands move higher, kneading the tight muscles in my calves. "That's exactly what I meant."
"It feels..." I search for the word. "Safe." We’ve spoken about safety a few times now but there just isn’t another word in my vocab that comes to mind to better describe how I’m feeling in this moment. Safe. Secure. Wanted.
"It should. That's the foundation I hope to build between us. You knowing you're safe with me. Always."
"Even when you're strict? Even when you are disciplining me?"
"Especially then." He looks up, meeting my eyes. "The rules aren't punishment, Holly. They're protection. They're me making sure you don't burn yourself out trying to be everything for everyone. Think of them as a safety net on a trampoline. You are free inside to jump, bounce and tumble around but the rules keep you from falling off and hitting the ground."
"I'm not used to this."
"I know. That's why I'm teaching you."
The confidence in his voice sends shivers through me. It’s not arrogance. It’s not cocky. It’s the tone that comes from a man who knows exactly what he's capable of.
I pull my feet back, shift until I'm straddling his lap. His hands immediately settle on my waist, steady and sure.
"What if I don't want to relax right now?" I ask.
"Then tell me what you do want."
"You."
