Page 34

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, voice barely there. “I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to help—I thought I could—”

Another swat, sharp and low.

“I know, baby,” he says, voice so calm it breaks me further. “But your safety comes first. Every time.”

The next few swats are slower. Heavier.

Not cruel.

Consecrating.

Like he’s putting the rule into my skin, my bones, my heart. The realization sends a tremor through me—sharp, then soft—like something deep inside has just shifted, finally allowed to rest.

“You’re mine to protect,” he says. “And I’ll be damned if I let you forget it.”

I sob again.

And this time, I go limp. Completely.

No more bracing. No more silence. No more pretending I can carry everything alone.

Just me.

Broken open.

Over his lap.

Held in the fire of his care.

I’m crying too hard to see. The tears are hot and endless, sliding down my cheeks and into the cushion beneath me. My throat aches. My chest heaves.

It’s not just the spanking.

It’s not just the sting or the shame or the ache blooming low and deep where his hand met skin.

It’s what came loose. It’s how it didn’t destroy me. Because part of me always believed that falling apart would be the end of me—that if I ever let go, I’d shatter beyond repair. But instead, I landed here. In him.

He touches my back. Soft. Reassuring. His hand lingers there, just a moment longer than necessary, warm and grounding.

He breathes in, slow and quiet, like he’s memorizing the shape of me in his arms. There’s a stillness to him, not hesitation, but reverence.

As if holding me like this is something sacred.

His hand trails low, pulling my clothes back up, slow and careful, his touch steady even as I shake.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t rush.

He just dresses me.

Like I’m something delicate. Worthy.

Like I’m his.

And then he gathers me. Lifts me from his lap in one fluid, certain motion. The shift makes something in me unfurl—a rush of safety flooding through my chest, a surrender so deep it feels like gravity pulling me home. My arms go around his neck instantly. My legs around his waist.

Instinct.

Need.

My face presses into his chest, wet with tears, breath hitching like I’m drowning in the middle of being saved.

And he holds me so close. So tight. One hand on my back, one under my thighs.

No space between us. No doubt.

Just heat, strength, home.

“I’ve got you, little one,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp, the low rumble of his voice settling deep into my bones like a lullaby only my body understands. “You’re alright now. It’s over. I’ve got you.”

And I believe him.

Even with my heart cracked open, even with my body aching…

I believe him.

Because I’m in his arms. And he’s not letting go.

I can’t stop shaking. Even wrapped around him like this—legs cinched at his waist, arms looped tight around his neck, face buried in the warmth of his chest—I still can’t catch my breath.

It comes in bursts. Shallow. Hitched.

“I’m s-sorry,” I whisper, broken and breathless.

It tumbles out of me between sobs. Barely a sound. Just shape and ache and guilt tangled into one. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I was trying—”

“Shh.”

His voice rumbles low, right against my ear.

“I know, baby. I know.”

I try again to breathe but it catches, messy and loud.

A hiccup stutters out of me.

It’s small.

Soft.

But it hits him like a blow.

I feel it—in the way his arms tighten around me, in the way his hand cups the back of my head like he could shield me from every awful thing that ever made me believe I had to be this strong.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

His lips press into my hair. Again and again.

“You’re here. You let me keep you safe. That’s all I ever wanted.”

The words reach somewhere deep, brushing against a place I didn’t know still ached.

My fingers clutch at his shirt.

Tighter.

I don’t have words anymore.

Just tears.

Just breath.

Just him.

And he rocks me.

Barely moving, just enough to remind me I’m being held. Just enough to tell my body it can start to let go.

“I’ve got you, little one,” he says again. “You’ve had enough of the world for one day.”

And this time, I believe it. He holds me like I’m something sacred. Tucked against his chest, still hiccupping into his shirt. He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t shift me off his lap. Just gathers the quilt around us and holds me tighter.

One arm loops firm around my waist. The other cups the back of my head. His lips press against my hair, lingering there like a promise.

Softly, like we’ve got all the time in the world:

“I know why you did it.”

I blink. Still hiccuping. Still sniffling.

But I listen.

He nudges his cheek against my temple, grounding me. The motion is slow, deliberate—like a silent promise, or maybe a reassurance that he’s not going anywhere. It’s gentle, but it sinks deep, and I feel the press of it echo low in my chest, like something steady finally anchoring me.

“You were brave,” he says. “You were smart.”

My chest tightens. Because I was. I know I was.

But I still broke the rule. Still got myself hurt.

Still made him afraid.

“You’re my smart girl,” he murmurs. “My brave girl.”

His hand rubs slow over my back, steady and sure. Like he’s grounding both of us in the moment, in the quiet aftermath. Emmy feels the warmth of it echo down her spine, a silent reminder of his presence, of how deliberately he chooses to stay.

“But baby… You can’t risk yourself like that again.”

The words don’t come with heat. They come with ache.

Like the thought of losing me still lives just under his skin.

“You can’t,” he says again. “Not for me. Not for anyone.”

I nod. Barely.

But he feels it. And he keeps holding me like that.

Wrapped in his arms. In his strength. In his love, even if we haven’t named it yet.

“I’ve only just got you, little one,” he breathes.

And that’s when the last of the fight in me slips away. Because I feel it now.

Not the punishment.

The keeping.

The fire’s burned low.

Just embers now, casting soft orange across the floorboards. Cal’s arms are still around me, his chest rising and falling slow and steady beneath my cheek.

I feel him everywhere.

In the quiet.

In the safety.

In the steadiness I’ve never had before.

And maybe it’s the silence that gives me the courage. Maybe it’s how held I feel, even after everything.

But the words stir up from somewhere deep.

“Cal?”

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is low. Rough with tenderness.

I hesitate. My fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ve read… books.”

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just waits. Present. Patient. Safe.

“I mean, about this,” I murmur. “Not exactly like this, but… close.”

He shifts slightly, just enough to press his cheek to the crown of my head. He’s listening.

“The rules. The structure. The kind of care that doesn’t just stop… when it’s hard.”

His hand stills, heavy and warm at the base of my spine. Like those words lit something inside him, something old and fierce and certain. His fingers flex slightly, like he’s holding more than just me. Like he’s holding the truth of what I need. And maybe what he needs, too.

I breathe in.

Out.

Then, even quieter—

“About Daddies.”

Saying it out loud feels like stepping off a ledge. Like offering the most fragile part of myself and hoping it won’t be dropped. A tremor rises through me, my breath thinning to a hush as everything in me braces.

It almost feels silly, saying it like that.

Too exposed. Too much.

But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t shift away.

His hand smooths over my back, anchoring me right there in his arms.

“Yeah?” he says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I nod, my voice a whisper.

“I always thought… it was just a fantasy. Just something for other people. Not something I could ever actually have. Is that… what this is?”

He breathes out.

Long and quiet.

Then tilts my chin just enough for me to see him.

His eyes are all stormlight and steel—steady, reverent.

“Emmy,” he says, low. “That’s exactly what I want to be for you.”

His words land low, like a vow that roots itself inside me.

That’s exactly what I want to be for you.

They echo somewhere inside me I didn’t know was hollow.

Like light filling a room that’s only ever known shadows.

He is so certain, but it’s more than that—it’s claiming.

Not sharp. Not loud. Just a quiet possession, like a vow he intends to live by.

His thumb brushes my cheek, and the weight of his gaze holds me there, soft and unshakable.

“You let me in, little one,” he murmurs. “Now you don’t have to go it alone again. Not ever.”

His voice deepens slightly, the edge of it rough with something older, steadier. “It’s what I’ve always wanted, sweetheart. To give this. To be this. For someone who needed it like you do.”

His eyes don’t waver. One hand lifts, brushing the side of my face, his thumb sweeping beneath my eye like he could ease every ache he’s never seen. There’s something fierce in his stillness, something claiming in the way he doesn’t look away.

I blink, slow and heavy. Tears still cling to my lashes, but they don’t fall.

Not this time. Not from pain.

I shift just enough to rest my head back against his chest. Let myself melt into him, every inch of me wrapped in arms that don’t let go.

His hand finds the curve of my spine again.

Rubs slow and warm—rhythmic and sure, like he’s soothing a storm only he knows how to calm.

Like he’s reminding me I’m safe. That I’m his.

That he’s not going anywhere. His breathing slows, his palm flattening with care, reverence threading through every movement. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He just holds me tighter.

Like I’ve always belonged right here.

And I think… I think I have.

Because I don’t feel like I have to shrink to be safe anymore.

I just feel kept.