“What do you think about ordering a pizza for dinner?”
“Really? I love pizza. I haven’t had it in years.”
My fingers hover over the keyboard of my laptop as I glance up at her in stunned silence. What kind of prison was she living in? I was going to try to ease into this conversation over the weekend, but I need answers. And I need them now.
“Babygirl, I need you to be honest with me and tell me all the shit your father did to you.”
She immediately pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs so she’s practically rolled into a ball. I’ve noticed it’s something she does when she’s scared.
“I’m sorry to dredge it up, but I need you to tell me just this one time, and then we never have to talk about it again if you don’t want to.” I close my laptop and slowly rise from the dining table so I can go sit by her on the couch. I don’t move in too close, though. She needs space for this. But the second she’s ready for me, I’ll have her in my arms to comfort her.
“Why do you want to know?” she asks quietly, her gaze roaming over my face.
“Because I’m going to make him pay for everything. He’s going to experience every bit of pain he caused you and more. You deserved to be treated like a goddamn princess, and instead, he treated you horrendously.”
I sit quietly, giving her time to decide what she wants to tell me—ifshe wants to tell me—anything. I won’t force her, but my hope is that she trusts me enough to tell me something.
“My mom died giving birth to me. He’s always blamed me for that. And on top of that, he says I look just like her, which is why he hates me so much.”
“Your mother’s death isn’t your fault.”
She gives me a watery smile and runs her fingers over the hem of the throw blanket she always uses when we watch movies. I wonder if I should get her a stuffed toy. Something that would be comforting for her. A friend.
“I know. But according to him, it is.”
“Did he hit you often?” I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
“He travels a lot for work or whatever it is he’s doing, so I didn’t have to see him very often. When he was home, I did whatever I could to stay out of his way, but sometimes, he would come into my room or call me down to his office. Usually, whatever he wanted to yell at me about ended up with him hitting me.”
Flexing both my fists, I silently count to ten. If I blow up, it will scare her, and that’s the last thing I want to do. “That’s why you’re so quiet. The less you speak, the less chance of angering someone.”
She nods, and I have half a mind to drive straight to his shitty mansion right now and blow a hole in his head.
“Baby, you’re safe to speak here. I will never abuse you. I want to protect you. Take care of you.”
“Do you want to be my Daddy?” she asks quietly.
That was the last thing I’d expected to come out of her mouth. I wonder if she asked the girls questions today while I was in my meeting. All five of them bombarded her, but when I returned to my office, Ana was giggling right along with them. It gave me hope.
“Yes, Ana. I do. Let’s back up a few steps, though. How do you know I’m a Daddy, and what do you know about that type of relationship?”
Lowering her gaze to the couch space between us, she fiddles with her hands. “Some of the books the girls downloaded for me have Daddy Doms in them. And then Paisley called Kieran ‘Daddy’ yesterday and he swatted her bottom a few times. So I was going to ask them some questions once I started getting comfortable today, but they beat me to it. They said that you’re a Daddy Dom, along with all their men. They also told me you’re the most honorable, loyal, protective, and loving man they’ve ever known.”
Wow. Those girls are getting the biggest fucking pink limo I can find for them.
“I am a Daddy, Ana. More specifically, I want to be your Daddy. I’ve only spent two weeks with you, but you’re so damn special. So sweet and innocent. You chose to trust me even when you were scared. You’re a brave woman, and I find myself going to bed each night wishing you were snuggled up in my arms with me instead of being at the other end of the house.”
I’m putting myself out there, and it’s possible she’ll stomp all over my heart. I am her captor, after all.
“The books I read, the women were Littles. Some played at a young age, and some older. What if I don’t know what age I want to be? Or what if I don’t know how to be Little?”
Smiling at her, I pat the couch beside me. “Come here, babygirl.”
She eyes it for a second before she crawls over and settles in with my arm over her shoulder.
“You don’t have to define yourself as anything specific. It’s meant to be something that relaxes you. So whatever you’re comfortable with is what you should be. Quite frankly, I’d say you’ve been in a Little headspace all week when you’ve hung out with the girls. You did art, played with makeup, played with a puppy, had a girls’ coffee party.”
“What if I don’t like having a Daddy?”
