Page 130 of The Daddy’s Girl

“Some promise?”

“Never mind,” she mutters, turning her back and walking away down the hilly cobblestone streets.

Rushing after her, I capture her arm carefully and urge her to stop. “Amelia, wait.”

She stops with reluctance, and when she looks up at me, she seems uncomfortable and regretful.

“What promise do you want, mon trésor? I am yours. Have I not forsaken every other relationship in my life for you? Just being with you breaks every rule I’ve ever been given. Would you like me to get on my knee right here? Because I will.”

Her eyes widen and she grips my arms tightly. “No, God, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Letting out a huff, she braces herself. “I mean…that I think I would like to see you with others because you’re mine. Because I know other people can have a taste, but I get to keep you.”

Finally, a smile stretches across my face. “You do get to keep me.”

“Am I a weirdo?” she asks, and it makes me laugh.

“Amelia,” I say delicately. “I was always the man couples used in this scenario. No, I don’t think you’re weird. Not at all.”

She screws up her mouth, looking nervous, and I try to see things from her perspective, realizing what immense trust she must have in me to even ask for what she is asking for.

“Listen, Trouble,” I say as I place my hands warmly on her arms. “I see that in your mind, you want this control, and being a voyeur gives you that control. And while I don’t crave anyone else’s touch more than yours, I am not so naive and narrow-minded that I am not open to playing with others for the sake of sexuality.”

Her lips press together as she fights a smile.

“Really?”

“Oui, mon amour. But we will need some rules in place.”

“Of course,” she replies eagerly.

“You and I will choose together who it is who can touch me.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“And the only things that will touch my dick are hands and mouths, nothing else. I want only you for everything past that, understand?”

A soft look of adoration fills her eyes as she leans into me. “Matis…” she whispers.

“Yes, Trouble?”

“You are perfect, you know that?”

A laugh spills from my throat. “I am far from perfect.”

“You are letting me explore something without making me feel wrong or stupid for it. While somehow making it very romantic. So yes…you are perfect.”

“One more thing, mon trésor,” I mumble, pressing my lips to her nose.

“What is it?”

“I understand why it is you like to stand aside and watch. I know it comes from more than just desire but also need. But…do not hide behind this need—this voyeurism. You are capable of coming out from behind that wall, my love. There is nothing wrong with watching…and there is nothing wrong with joining.”

As she watches me, I see the realization dawn in her eyes. Silently, she nods.

Instead of holding my hand, she links her arm through mine, and we continue on our aimless stroll through Montmartre.