"Say: I'm Daddy's toy."
"No." The refusal came instantly, instinctively. "I'm not—that's not—"
"Shh." His fingers combed through my hair, gentle and terrible. "Think about it. What's a toy?"
"Something to be played with."
"What else?"
"Something owned. Used. Put away when you're done."
"Is that what you think I do? Put you away?"
"You left me for seven days!"
"To make a point. To show you what absence felt like." His hand tightened in my hair, not quite pulling. "Did it feel like being put away? Or did it feel like missing something essential?"
Tears pricked my eyes. "Both."
"Say it, and I'll make you feel good. Fight it, and you'll kneel there aching." His free hand traced my collar. "Your choice. Always your choice."
"It's not a choice when—"
"When what? When your body already knows what it wants?" He moved around behind me, both hands in my hair now, styling it into something I couldn't see. "When you're already wet just from kneeling? From saying please and repeating truths we both know?"
"Stop knowing things about me."
"Never." He finished whatever he was doing to my hair—pigtails, from the feel of it. Of course. Complete the little girl look. "Say it, baby. Three words. Show me how good you can be."
The remote appeared in his hand, and I tensed. But instead of a vibrator, soft music began playing. Something classical, strings and piano, beautiful and melancholy.
"Music helps with difficult admissions," he explained. "Gives your mind something to hold onto besides the words."
"That's manipulation."
"Everything here is manipulation. The question is whether it serves you." He moved back in front of me, crouching to my eye level. "Look at me."
I did, finding those storm-grey eyes full of somethingcomplex. Want and restraint and that terrible patience that would wait forever for my surrender.
"Say it," he whispered. "Not because I'm making you. Because you need to. Because carrying all that autonomy is exhausting and you want to put it down, just for a while."
"I..." The words tangled with tears and need and the music that made everything feel like a movie instead of my life.
"I'm Daddy's toy." He said it for me, showing me the shape of the words. "Just sounds. Just air. But they'll set you free."
"From what?"
"From having to be Lilah. From having to be strong. From having to be anything but mine."
The music swelled, and my resistance crumbled.
"I'm—" My voice cracked. "I'm Daddy's toy."
"Barely a whisper. Try again."
"I'm Daddy's toy." Louder this time, though tears streamed down my face.
"Once more. Like you mean it."
