Page 20 of Daddy!

Suddenly, I moved away from him, surprising him into letting me. I sniffled and snuffled, looking up at him and feeling suddenly shy, even though I knew what I wanted to say to him. What I had to say to him, even though he'd just blistered my behind. Because he'd just blistered my behind.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy! I love you!" I cried, flinging myself at him and hugging him with all of my might. Some might find it a conflict to so completely embrace the person who had just—quite deliberately—caused me such discomfort, but I could truly only see the love that prompted his actions.

He seemed stunned, at first, hesitating in putting his arms around me for a long second, then squeezing me so tight, I was gasping for air and he had to ease off, doing so enough that he could look into my eyes. The ear-to-ear smile he was wearing was more than worth any shyness I'd had to overcome to say it to him.

"Darling girl, you just made your Daddy's day—my weekend—hell, my decade!" Then he tipped my face up and kissed me once, somehow calling forth a potent blend of my big and my little by being excruciatingly tender and unmistakably possessive at the same time. There was much hugging and squeezing and laughter and kisses, and him, asking me to call him that every five seconds and to tell him that I loved him, too, which I was only too glad to do for him.

"You're gonna get sicka hearin' that soon, I bet!" I challenged as he positioned me so that he could get me dressed, kindly folding the pink blanket from the baby kit beneath my ravaged cheeks for extra padding as I lay on it.

"Like hell, sweet pea." Then he frowned down at me.

My heart clenched. "What is it, Daddy?"

He booped my nose, recognizing my concerned tone. "Nothing for little girls to worry about. I was just thinking that I don't have a lot of little type clothes to put you into." Mane rummaged through the two drawers of his bureau that I occupied, coming up with a t-shirt that just said "No!" on it that he had gotten me for Christmas last year as a joke, and then he put me into a new pull up and just put the shorts I had been wearing back on me. He took a step back and surveyed his handiwork. "Cute as a button, as always. And the 'no' shirt works perfectly for you at any age, since you're entirely too fond of that word for someone who is both a submissive and a little," he warned teasingly.

Then he lifted me up, onto my feet, holding my hand until he was sure I was steady. "What would you like to have for breakfast?" he asked, already knowing what I was going to say."

"Waffles, waffles, and more waffles!"

"Good choice! Bacon or sausage?"

"Depends. Is either of them real?"

He was always trying to slip in turkey "bacon" or turkey "sausage", claiming he couldn't tell the difference.

But he didn't have a little's discerning—fussy—palate.

That got him chuckling. "No, they're both real. Those I did pick up on the way home from work, yesterday afternoon."

"Then, both?" I asked hopefully, but with not much real hope of a "yes".

"Nope," he vetoed cheerfully. "Pick one."

"Bacon, please."

"Excellent—that's what I wanted, too!"

I stood near the kitchen, but not in it, heeding his rule about me not being old enough to be in there. What he'd just said puzzling me a bit.

Some men might have missed my confused, pondering look, but not my Daddy. "What is it, angel? What's got you thinking so hard on a lovely Saturday morning?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Mane came over to me, squatting down in front of me and looking up at me. "You can tell me anything, at any time, you know? I want to know everything you think about, always. Okay? You're safe with me."

I bit my lip, wanting to ask, but still not sure.

He winked. "Even if you think you're not, you still are, pumpkin."

I decided to be brave and drew a breath. "You—you wanned bacon."

"Yes."

"And you're the Daddy."

He was gorgeous when he smiled. "Yes."

"So, why didn't you jus' say 'we're havin' bacon'?"

---