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"I would never ask you to compromise your professionalism," he says, understanding immediately. "What we do in private stays private."

In private.

The implication that there will be private moments between us sends another wave of heat through me.

"And after the wedding?" I ask, voicing the practical concern. "You'll go back to chasing storms..."

"We'll figure that out when we get there." He stands, moving to sit beside me on the sofa. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. "Right now, I'm more interested in what happens today. Tonight."

My mouth goes dry. "What does happen?"

His eyes darken as they roam my face. "That depends on what you want. What you're ready for. You are ultimately in control. I only do what you consent to. Nothing more."

What do I want? The question seems simple but isn't.I wantto be professional. I alsowantMatt's hands on me, his mouth on mine, his voice in my ear telling me I'm a good girl.

"I don't know," I admit finally. "This is all..." I’m an educated woman and yet words keep failing me.

"Let me help clarify, then." His voice takes on that commanding edge that makes my spine tingle. "I want you, Jackie. Have since the moment I saw you. And not just physically, though that's certainly part of it. I want to know you, the real you, not the professional bridesmaid persona. I want to see what you look like when you let go of control. When you trust someone else to take care of you."

His words paint a picture so compelling, so aligned with my secret desires, that I can hardly breathe.

"And if I want that, too?" I whisper.

"Then we start slow." His hand moves to cover mine, the touch electric even through this simple contact. "We set boundaries. We communicate. And we see where it leads."

It sounds reasonable. Measured. Responsible, even.

So why does it feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, about to jump into the unknown depths below?

"The rehearsal," I say, clinging to the mundane reality of my obligations. "We should go."

"We should," he agrees, but makes no move to stand. "But first, I need to know: are you in, Jackie? Do you want to explore this?"

Do I? God help me, I do. Despite the complications, despite the professional risk, despite the almost certain heartache when he inevitably leaves to chase his next storm. I want this. Want him.

"Yes," I say, the word both terrifying and liberating. "I'm in."

The smile that spreads across his face is pure masculine satisfaction. "Good girl."

The simple praise sends a shiver down my spine, a pavlovian response to words I've only read in fiction until now.

"But," I add quickly, needing to establish some control, "I set the pace. If I say stop, we stop. No questions asked."

"Absolutely." His expression turns serious. "Your boundaries are non-negotiable. Your comfort and consent are always my priority.”

It's exactly what I needed to hear. Maybe I’m stupid for allowing a stranger to Daddy me. Maybe… but it feels right. My gut says he is safe. "Okay then."

He squeezes my hand once, then stands. "We should get to the rehearsal."

I nod, rising on legs that feel slightly unsteady. "Yes. Work first."

As we head toward the door, Matt's hand settles on the small of my back. It’s a touch that feels both protective and possessive. At the threshold, he stops me, turning me to face him.

"One more thing," he says, voice low. "Between now and tonight, I want you to think about what you want. What you need. Be honest with yourself."

I nod, swallowing hard. "And tonight?"

His thumb traces my lower lip, teasing me. "Tonight, you tell me. And I won’t tolerate dishonesty."