“Do you feel like we’re moving too fast? Are you scared of the honeymoon phase being over and then this not working?”
He's quiet for a moment, considering. “The day you called me sir and didn't even realize you'd done it, I knew you were mine. The way you responded to structure without even knowingyou needed it, confirmed it. And the way you trusted me when you had no reason to, no experience with me, recognizing safety in my arms? It cemented it. Besides being cute as hell and the undeniable sexual chemistry between us, it feels like I found my person, my best friend. I just know. I can’t explain it, and perhaps that makes me a bit nervous, because I like to explain things, but I’m going with it. I have no doubts about this relationship. Absolutely no hesitation. I’ve never said I love you to a woman within a month of knowing her, but I love you, Madi. So, no. No, I don’t think we’ve moved too fast. I’m not scared of a honeymoon phase. I’m excited about our future together. I hope we live in a perpetual honeymoon.”
I laugh despite myself. “I wouldn’t mind that. Maybe, we can go on honeymoon trips, too. It would make for great content.”
His arms tighten around me. “Maybe we can. I want to build a life with you, Madison. Not just this dynamic, but everything. A real partnership that we look back on in twenty years and say, nah, we didn’t move too fast.”
“I want that too.”
“Good. Because you're stuck with me now, little girl.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
CHAPTER 7
Three weeks into our dynamic, there’s a big shift.
It's subtle at first, like the way Ty's touches linger a little longer, the way his eyes track me with heat instead of just care. The way I find myself leaning into him more, wanting more, needing more than just structure and rules and gentle correction. His kisses last longer, sometimes are so fierce my lips tingle and swell.
We're at the cabin again on a Saturday night. It's become our ritual, we spend weekends here, while the weekdays are spent navigating our separate lives but always connected by text, by check-ins, by hour long conversations and occasional dinner dates. His work schedule is intense and there have been a day or two when I don’t hear from him. I’ve learned that as soon as he is able, he will send a text or a quick call to let me know he is okay.
But the weekends? They belong to us, or at least, so far they have. I’ve embraced my little side with him in the cabin and discovered I love, and I mean love, arts and crafts. Last weekend, he surprised me. He put a second desk next to his and fully supplied it with a stack of coloring books, markers, crayons, paint and even glitter. I happily make picture after picture that he hangs on his fridge.
We’ve wrestled around, and yes, I’ve even had a spanking or two. Not like the first one, these are on the spot correction as he calls it. A quick fury of swats applied to my poor behind. After each one, my clit is throbbing and my underwear is soaked. If he’s noticed how my body responds, he hasn’t mentioned it. I think he’s going slow sexually with me because I brought up how fast we were moving a few times. If women blue balls were a thing? I’d have them. I’m determined to break through to him this weekend.
I'm curled up on the couch with my laptop, supposedly editing photos for next week's content schedule. But really, I'm just watching him move around the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, sexy forearms bared, completely at ease in his space.
Our space,I correct myself. Because, as he told me, it is now.Mine too.
“You're staring,” he says without looking up from the vegetables he's chopping.
“I'm admiring the view.”
His mouth curves. “Uh huh.”
I close my laptop and set it aside. “Can I help?”
“No, little girls don’t mess with knives. You can sit there and look pretty.”
“I already do that for a living.”
He glances at me then, and there's heat in his eyes. “Not like that, you don't.”
My breath catches. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he says, setting down the knife and crossing to me, “when you look at a camera, you're performing. When you look at me like that, you're real. It means your audience doesn’t get to see this side of you, your little side. Only Daddy is lucky enough to explore that. And it means, no one else, and I mean absolutely no one else, better see you in nothing but a long tunic shirt and underwear. I’m the only one who gets to stare at thecurve of your ass when you bend over. I see the way you are looking at me.”
He sits beside me, close enough that our thighs press together, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Like what?” I ask, even though I know. Even though the answer is written all over my face.
“Like you want something.”
“Maybe I do.”
His hand slides to my knee, fingers splaying wide. “Then tell me what it is. What does my baby girl want?”
