Through the bond, I felt his recognition. His pleased satisfaction. The way his own body responded to mine.
"Finish the strawberry," he commanded gently.
I did, my hands trembling slightly as I pulled the stem from my mouth. Set it on the plate.
He picked up another piece of fruit—a slice of peach this time. "Open for Daddy."
I opened. The peach was soft, yielding, almost obscenely ripe. When I bit down, juice ran down my chin.
Zephyron's thumb came up, wiping the juice away. The touch sent electricity sparking across my skin. His thumb lingered at the corner of my mouth for a moment longer than necessary.
"Good," he murmured. "You're doing so well. Taking everything Daddy gives you."
Oh. Oh.
The heat was spreading. My breathing had gone shallow. My nipples were suddenly hard against the soft fabric of my shirt. Between my legs, I felt—wetness? Pressure? Something unfamiliar and intense that made me want to squirm in my seat.
What was happening to me?
"More," Zephyron said, picking up a piece of melon. "Open."
I opened. Took the melon. Chewed. Could barely taste it because I was too focused on my body's responses. On the way my skin felt too tight. On the pulse throbbing between my legs.
"Such a good Little girl," he praised. "Eating so well for Daddy."
I made a sound. Something between a whimper and a sigh. My thighs pressed together harder.
Through the bond, I felt his restraint. The effort it took him not to react to what I was broadcasting. Because I was broadcasting—the bond carried emotional states, and whatever this was, it was intense enough that he couldn't miss it.
Arousal.
The word floated up from somewhere in my brain. This was arousal. Sexual desire.
He fed me more—vegetables now, trying to move away from the fruit, to give me something less sensory. But it didn't matter. Every bite he placed in my mouth was intimate. Every "good girl" made me squirm. Every time he called himself Daddy, heat pooled lower.
By the time he set down the fork, I was trembling. My face was flushed. My breathing was uneven. Between my legs, I was wet in a way I'd never experienced, didn't have words for, didn't understand.
Zephyron sat back in his chair, studying me. Through the bond, I felt his satisfaction. His pleased recognition of what he'd awakened. His firm decision not to push further.
"Interesting," he said quietly.
"What—" My voice came out rough. "What was that?"
"Your body responding to praise. To caregiving. To submission." His eyes were steady on mine. "The bond knows what you need before your mind does. And apparently, what you need is Daddy taking care of you."
Daddy. The word made me clench around nothing.
"I don't understand," I whispered.
"You will." He stood, offering his hand. "Come. I want to show you something else."
I took his hand and nearly gasped. The electricity between us was stronger now. Charged with whatever had just happened. With my awakening desire and his restrained response.
I stood on shaking legs and followed him, my body still humming with sensations I didn't have names for but desperately wanted to understand.
Hisworkshopwaschaosgiven three-dimensional form. Not the nursery workshop with its neat tool arrangements and organized blueprints—this was where real work happened. Tables spilled over with half-assembled devices, their guts exposed in tangles of wire and crystal. Burned smell hung in the air, ozone mixed with heated metal. The walls were covered in equations scrawled directly onto the steel, white chalk against dark surface, calculations that climbed toward the ceiling like ivy.
I loved it immediately.
