“If you want to. Yes.”
I curl into him, breathing in his clean, masculine, utterly safe scent. “I want to.” I’ve wanted to since he walked out of the woods and ordered me to leave.
“Then we start tonight with our three simple rules and clear expectations, and we build from there.”
I nod against his chest.
“And, Madison?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” he says softly. “For trusting me with this. For being brave enough to ask for what you need.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you for not thinking I’m weird and accepting me for who I am.”
“Always, sweetheart.”
CHAPTER 6
I’ve already fallen in love with the area, so it was a no brainer to move up here. Being near two of my good friends from book club has really been fantastic. Then, there’s Ty. The first week together is an adjustment.
Not a bad adjustment, just different. Like learning a new language. Our chemistry is off the charts, there’s no denying that. But, learning to completely submit to a man when I’ve been independent for the last few years? A bit more challenging.
Ty texts me every morning without fail:Good morning, sweetheart. What time did you go to bed last night?And every evening:Time to start wrapping up. Let me know when you're settled for the night.Then he calls and we talk until he says it’s time for me to go to sleep.
At first, it feels invasive. Like someone's monitoring me, cataloging my choices, keeping track of whether I'm following the rules we established. But then I start to notice how I’m sleeping better. I eat more regularly. I take breaks instead of pushing through exhaustion.
Because someone's paying attention.
Because someone cares.
His three rules are deceptively simple and we’ve clarified some of them this week.
One: No real-time location tags. Everything gets delayed by at least an hour.
Two: In bed by midnight unless I have explicit permission otherwise.
Three: Check in before filming anywhere new or unfamiliar.
Four: Honesty. Always. About what I'm feeling, what I need, what's too much or not enough.
I break rule two on Wednesday.
It's not intentional. I get sucked into editing a video that's just not coming together, lose track of time chasing the perfect transition, and suddenly it's one-thirty in the morning and my phone is buzzing with an incoming call.
My stomach drops when I see Ty's name.
I answer, wincing. “Hi, Daddy.”
“You're still awake,” he says. It's not a question. “You haven’t answered my text, I thought maybe you’d fallen asleep early.”
“I... lost track of time. I was editing and?—"
“Madison.” His voice is calm but firm. “What's the rule?”
“In bed by midnight unless I have permission.”
“And did you ask for permission? Did you text me to let me know you were still working?”
