For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I failed. I feel held. And that? That might be the hottest, softest, strongest kind of love there is.
We eat on the couch, my legs tucked over his lap. He feeds me a strawberry from his fingers without thinking. I take it without flinching.
Something’s shifting in me.
I feel it like a door slowly opening, one I kept bolted shut for years. I’ve always been afraid of wanting too much. Of asking for more and being told I don’t deserve it.
But with Elijah… he wants me to ask. He needs me to speak.
I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist. The leather is warm from my skin, the silver dahlia charm catching the light. He gaveit to me weeks ago, said it was a symbol of our dynamic, of trust, of being cherished.
He called it “ours.”
“Daddy?” I say softly, testing the word in my mouth like it still might crack something inside me.
His eyes lift immediately, alert but calm. Present. “Yes, baby?”
“I think…” I swallow, heart racing. “I want to ask for something.”
His hand finds my thigh, warm and steady. “You can ask me anything.”
I shift a little, turning toward him, pulling the fuzzy blanket over my lap like armor.
“I don’t just want the soft parts,” I whisper. “I want the rules. The structure. I want to know you’ll tell me when to stop spiraling before I fall off the edge.”
He doesn’t speak, just watches me. Letting me find my own words.
“I want the discipline, the control, the rituals. I want to feel held, even when I’m too stubborn to say I need it.”
A slow breath escapes his chest. “Are you asking to go deeper into our dynamic?”
I nod.
Something shifts in his expression. It’s reverence. Not lust, not heat, reverence. Like I just gave him something sacred.
“You want rules?”
“Yes.”
“Bedtime?”
“Yes.”
“Approval for what you wear when we go out?”
I blush, but I nod. “Yes.”
He leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple.
“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” he murmurs. “My brave girl.”
I bury my face in his chest. I don’t cry. Not this time. I just breathe him in and let myself be held.
“I just want to be yours in every way,” I whisper.
He kisses the crown of my head. “You already are.”
A week later
