“You did so well. I'm so proud of you.”
“I'm sorry, I broke the rule,” I say again.
“I know. And you're forgiven, this is over now.”
He shifts, laying us both back on the bed so I'm curled against his side. His hand rubs slow soothing circles on my back.
“Do you understand why I did that?” he asks softly.
“Because you care about me. Because my health matters more than content.”
“That's right. You're not a machine. You're a person who needs rest and care. And it's my job to make sure you get it.”
“Even when I fight you.”
“Especially then. I’m nothing if not consistent, baby.”
I breathe him in, letting the floaty, settled feeling wash over me. This is what the books call subspace, I realize. This weightless, safe, completely taken-care-of feeling.
“I love you,” I whisper. I haven't said it out loud yet, but it's true.
He goes still. Then he tilts my face up so he can see me.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
His kiss is gentle. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression.
“I didn't think I'd ever want this again,” he admits. “This kind of responsibility. But with you, it's not a burden at all. It's a privilege to be your Daddy.”
We lie there for a long time, just holding each other. Eventually, he pulls a blanket over us.
“Let’s stay here tonight,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”
“Okay.”
Later, as I sit at the counter coloring a picture while he makes dinner, I realize how content I am. I can do this forever. I text Holly.
Me: I get it now.
Holly: Get what?
Me: The obsession with having a Daddy… being in a DDlg relationship.
Holly: It’s delicious, right?
Me: So delicious.
Holly: I’m happy for you!
Me: I’m happy for me, too.
After he's made dinner and he’s forced me to eat five whole green beans, we’re curled up on the couch with a princess movie on, he pulls me into his lap.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Always.”
