When he pulls back, there's heat in his eyes. “You're still wearing my shirt.”
“I am.”
“And nothing else.”
“Also true.”
His hands slide down to my hips. “Do you need a quick distraction or a reminder?”
“What did you have in mind?”
He lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion, stepping between my thighs.
“I'm thinking,” he says, voice dropping to that tone that makes me melt, “that you need a reminder of who's taking care of you. Who's got you. Who you belong to.”
My breath catches. “I think I might need that.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. Daddy always knows exactly what you need.”
And then his mouth is on mine, and I stop thinking about followers and algorithms and external threats.
Because right here, right now, I'm safe.
I'm his.
And nothing else matters.
CHAPTER 9
The week that follows is definitely a test of our relationship and whether I truly want a power exchange relationship like I thought. The books and fantasy are one thing, but having to live it, really live it, and give up control when all you want is to hold onto it? That’s something else altogether. I keep reminding myself that I asked for this. I asked for him.
It’s not hard because of the danger, though that's simmering in the background, a constant low-level threat that Ty monitors with quiet intensity. But because we're learning how to navigate this crisis together, and it turns out we both have control issues.
Mine manifest as passive-aggressive compliance. His manifest as micromanagement disguised as protection.
By Thursday, we're both exhausted. He wouldn’t let me take a step without knowing where I was going or who I was going to be with. It was a level of control I’ve never let anyone have over me and if I were to be honest, more than I would willingly give. It crossed the line from protective to toxically controlling. I’m at my apartment, I insisted I spend a few nights in my own space, and he only agreed if he could put a man on watch. We’ve textedfor the last two days, but we haven’t spoken. I needed space and he had to go to the office. I’m surprised when my phone rings.
“We need to talk,” he says without preamble.
My stomach knots. Is this it? Is this when I’ve become too much and he walks away? “Okay.”
“In person. Can I come over?”
“Yeah. I'm home.”
He arrives twenty minutes later, still in work clothes but with his tie loosened and exhaustion etched around his eyes. It’s only been two days since I’ve seen him and I realize how much I’ve missed him in that time.
“Hey,” I say softly.
“Hey.” He steps inside, and there's this moment where we just look at each other. “I fucked up.”
I blink. “What?”
“This week. The way I've been handling things. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. I've been treating you like an asset to protect instead of a partner to work with. I realized it when I was at work yesterday and we were going over a case file. I defaulted to treating you like a witness and not like my girlfriend.”
“I... yeah. A little.”
“Not a little.” He crosses to me, stopping just short of touching. “A lot. I've been controlling and overbearing and I justified it by telling myself it was for your safety. But the truth is, it was about my fear.”
