“If you’re not sure, you say so. If you need to slow down, you say so. That doesn’t make you a bad sub. It makes you a smart one.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up. “You’re very intense, you know. So, tonight, what does being yours look like while I’m out there?”
I tipped my head back enough to really take her in—the dress, the hair, the faint bruising at her throat where I’d marked my territory. “You remember I’m there, even when I’m not in the room. You answer when I check in. You tell me what you eat. You call when you’re home. If at any point the pain or the pressure gets too much, you use the word we agreed on, and I come get you. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the first speech. You pull that trigger and I’m moving.”
“That wasn’t supposed to be literal,” she said, half horrified, half something else.
“With me, it is.” My fingers tightened on her thighs. “You don’t have to use it. You just have to know you can.”
Her eyes closed for a second. When they opened, something steadier sat behind them. Trust. I felt it like a weight I wanted to carry.
“Say it back for me,” I murmured. “So I know it’s settled in your head before you walk out of here.”
She took a breath, and then repeated it all back to me, perfectly. My chest eased properly then, like the last lock had clicked into place.
“And who am I to you?”
Her fingers slid up. “You’re my dom. The man I chose to trust with all of it.”
My hands tightened just enough on her thighs, a possessive squeeze I didn’t bother taming.
I wasn’t done.
“What else, baby?” My voice dropped, rougher, the memory of last night dragging through me. “What name did I earn last night and will keep earning every fucking day?”
Her lashes dipped, then lifted like she was forcing herself to meet my eyes. That’s my girl.
“You’re my daddy,” she breathed. “My dom. My… everything.”
Something fierce and ugly and fucking holy uncoiled in my chest. Daddy. Mine. It hit like a brand from the inside out. That word had never meant softness to me before her; it was a title men threw around, in scenes, without understanding the weight of it. Our dynamic wasn’t a scene. This wasn’t kink. In her mouth, it felt like a vow. Like she’d wrapped a leash around my throat and pulled—and I liked it.
Every Crow lesson I’d ever had about control, owning the board, never letting anyone be your weakness, went quiet for a beat. All I could think was: mine. My sub. My girl. My fucking responsibility. I wanted to drag her back into bed and keep her there for a week, fill her up and wear her out until dynasty couldn’t pry her away with a crowbar.
“Good girl.” My thumbs stroked the backs of her thighs, claiming every inch my hands could reach. “Don’t forget that when they start pulling at you from every direction. You’re his niece out there. You’re mine everywhere.”
My fingers pressed a little firmer into her skin, not letting her look away. I tipped my head, gave her that look that always made her pulse jump.
“Who are you calling tonight?”
Understanding flickered in her eyes, followed by that sweet, shy defiance I loved breaking down. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then climbed back up.
“Daddy.” Her voice was barely there, but it still went straight to my cock. “I’m calling Daddy tonight.”
There it was. Perfect. My girl correcting herself.
“Such a good fucking sub.” The praise came out rough, honest. “Baby, you make me so proud. Learning so fast.”
Proud didn’t even cover it. Caveman, dynasty heir, syndicate enforcer, all of it agreed on one thing: this woman was mine.
And later tonight, when the stupid event was over, she’d be right back where she belonged—on a call, answering to Daddy.
“Now I really have to go.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek, “And don’t—” another tiny wince as she straightened “—don’t watch the videos tonight, okay? Or the live stream. Or the pictures. The Veil drones always catch my worst side.”
I froze for half a moment.
The event was on Veil.
Of course it was. Dynasty loved nothing more than broadcasting their own pageantry and calling it history. Cameras in the chandeliers, floating drones over the dance floor, commentary in real time from people who had no idea what it cost her to smile.
