Page 77 of The Idol

Jace’s eyes flicked downward, almost flinching—just barely, but enough that I noticed. He let out a slow breath, then met my gaze again. “I—Well, a lot of people have kinks—”

“Kinks?” I parroted, my head tilted.

“Kinks are hard to explain,” he laughed. “They’re like things people like or even need during sex, or well, in their relationships in general. For me, I need to be the dominant one in a relationship. It makes me feel good if I’m someone my partner is dependent on. That they look to me to make decisions, and they trust me to keep them safe and cared for. Although that last part is only for you—I haven’t felt that before.”

“Are a lot of men Daddies?”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s a relatively common kink. There can be Mommies, too.”

My brows raised as I let him lead me out of the shower. “Wow, really? It’s not just for guys?”

“Nope.”

He draped the towel around my shoulders first, letting the fabric fall down my back before patting gently along the uninjured areas. The care in his touch made my throat tighten. I shouldn’t have wanted it. I shouldn’t have found comfort in it. But I did.

He wrapped another towel around my waist, then guided me back toward the bedroom, one hand steady at my elbow.

“Sit,” he said softly, nodding toward my desk chair.

I did, lowering myself carefully. My eyes flicked over to the bed. The sheets were rumpled and dirty from earlier, and I felt heat flood my face at the sight. Jace noticed but didn’t comment. He only knelt to pick up my nightshirt from the floor, shaking it loose.

“Arms up?” he asked.

I obeyed, and he eased the shirt over my head. When the fabric brushed my back, I hissed, but Jace immediately adjusted it, making sure nothing pressed against the wounded skin.

“There,” he murmured. “Better?”

“Uh-huh.” I watched as he found my shorts and brought them over, helping me put my feet through the holes.

“Such a good boy,” he told me, helping me stand and pull the shorts up the rest of the way. “Mygood boy. Right?” He raised his brow expectantly.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Yes, what, baby?”

My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt. “Yes, D-Daddy,” I whispered, face burning.

* * *

I lowered myself onto the Seat of Light as carefully as I could. Still, a jolt ran through my back, enough that I had to breathethrough my teeth. The fabric of my robe dragged across half-healed cuts, and for a moment the room swam.

Jace had been furious earlier, after we’d gone into the kitchen and found my breakfast, along with an antibacterial ointment and a note. It was from Dahlia, instructing me to put the medicine on my wounds before morning service.

My heart had swelled from her kindness, but beside me, Jace had cursed under his breath while reading the last few words. He was angry, not at Dahlia, of course, but at Father for expecting me to come to the service like everything was normal.

I had told Jace that it would be okay, but now, sitting here, I wasn’t sure.

As the congregation filed in and took their seats in the pews, a few glanced up at me, then snapped their attention away again as if burned.

Father hadn’t said anything as he’d watched me wince in pain getting up on the big chair. He didn’t ask how I was feeling or even acknowledge my suffering at all.

Did he not care?

He began the morning rites as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t whipped me until I passed out just last night.

I found Silas in the crowd, who flinched when our eyes met. He didn’t look away, though. He held my gaze. He looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept at all. His face was puffy and red like he’d been crying for hours.

I tried to tell him with my eyes that it was okay, but I wasn’t sure if he understood.