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"I barely know you," I point out.

"Which is why we start slow." His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing. "Tonight, we talk. We learn about each other. We establish boundaries."

Relief and disappointment war within me. Relief that he's not rushing this, not assuming I'm ready to jump straight into the deep end of dominance and submission. Disappointment because my body is humming with anticipation, with the need to be touched, claimed, possessed.

"Just talk?" I can't keep the hint of disappointment from my voice.

His smile is knowing. "For now. There are many ways to explore this dynamic that don't involve getting naked right away."

"Oh." My imagination provides several vivid possibilities that make my pulse quicken.

"First things first," he says, his thumb drawing circles on my palm. "Safe words. Even if we're just talking tonight, I want you to have them."

I nod, having read enough romance novels to understand the concept. "Green for keep going, yellow for slow down, red for stop?"

"Perfect." His approval sends a little thrill through me. "And you use them if anything, and I meananything, makes you uncomfortable. Clear?"

"Clear."

"Good girl." The simple praise makes my stomach flip in the most delicious way. "Now, tell me about Jackie Lawrence. The real one, not the professional bridesmaid."

The request catches me off guard. I'd expected... well, I don't know what I expected. Something more physical, certainly.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"Everything." His eyes hold mine. "Start with why you became a professional bridesmaid."

I hesitate, then realize there's no reason not to share this. "I was always good at events. Organized, detail-oriented. And I genuinely love weddings. There’s something about the joy, the tradition, the whole spectacle of it, that I just love."

"But?" he prompts, sensing there's more.

"But the event planning industry is cutthroat. Competitive. And I didn't want to be responsible for planning entire weddings, all the tiny details. It started by accident. A friend asked me to step in when her bridesmaid dropped out last minute. I was good at it. Word spread. Eventually, I realizedpeople would pay good money for someone who could handle the chaos without adding to it."

He listens with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions about my business model, my typical clients, and my most memorable weddings. It's... nice. To be heard like this. To have someone want to know the details of my life.

"And the book club?" he asks eventually, a slight curve to his lips. "How did that start?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "That also started with a friend. Valerie. She loaned me a book. A romance that was... spicier than what I usually read. I loved it. We started trading recommendations, then she introduced me to her favorite author who ran a book club for Daddy books."

"And you're the president."

"Unofficial title," I admit. "I just host most of the meetings and keep us on schedule."

"Organized even in your personal life," he observes. "Do you ever just... let go?"

The question cuts deeper than he probably intended. "Not often," I admit. "My mom was... chaotic. Emotional. Unpredictable. I learned early that someone had to keep things running, make sure bills were paid, food was on the table."

His expression softens. "You became the responsible one."

"Someone had to be." I shrug, uncomfortable with the childhood memories. "What about you? How does a Marine end up chasing hurricanes for a living?"

He accepts the change of subject, telling me about his military service, his deployment, his struggle to adjust to civilian life afterward. "The military gives you purpose, structure, clear mission objectives. Civilian life is... messy. Undefined. I’m a man who likes to be in charge."

"So you found a new mission," I say. "Predicting storms, saving lives."

He nods. "There's clarity in crisis. All the noise falls away, and you're left with what matters."

"Is that why you like the Daddy Dom dynamic?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Because it provides structure? Clear roles?"