Page 4 of Daddy!

I could hear him saying my name inside my head in that warning tone of his, and the butthole knew it, too.

Sorry. Bathroom. I lied outright. He knew my personal rule about using my phone in the bathroom—I would die first. Get sucked down the toilet, slip on soap—I'd just scream for help. But my phone would remain either in my purse or my pocket.

Oh. Okay. I would have bet that you were just bellyaching to Bette about the fact that you didn't want to come over.

Fuck. The man knew me entirely too well, which was reason enough to get out of this relationship. On top of my sexual faux pas, I should really be giving him the "it's not you, it's me" speech about now. Although not over text. I am not an animal. And I definitely didn't want to do that, anyway. I had fallen for the man—hard. I was pretty much in love with him—had been since I'd met him at one of Bette and Evan's shindigs, last summer.

I just didn't want to talk to him about this. He hadn't yelled at me, he hadn't kicked me out or acted as if it was icky to him, but then, he's not the type to do any of those things, anyway, and I was too busy throwing myself out. And the unadulterated truth was that I wasn't sure I could handle it if he did.

A Daddy was the Holy Grail, as far as I was concerned. I'd had Doms before. The last one—prior to Mane coming into my life—was absolutely perfect for me, I had thought, and we had even made plans to marry. But he just couldn't handle that aspect of me when I revealed it to him.

Tom was wonderful about it, but I could tell immediately the night I had told him that the confession was going to be the end of us. And, when I finally began to recover from the loss of him, I realized that he was right to simply break it off, no matter how hard it was for me.

But I still wore his collar. It was a comfort thing now—there was nothing between us. He'd gotten married and had a beautiful baby girl, and he deserved to be happy. I couldn't quite get myself to take off the necklace he'd given me, though. It represented safety and security to me, and I found myself unable—or unwilling—to part with it.

Surprisingly, Mane—as wonderfully possessive as he was about me—had never asked me to remove it.

I shook my head to clear myself of the daydreaming I'd been doing. I knew he wouldn't wait forever for me to respond, especially since he'd already prompted me once, when he didn't usually do that.

When? I sent quickly.

Such enthusiasm! he joked. Why do I get the feeling you're about as happy to come see me as you would be to face a firing squad?

Oh, gee, I wonder why!

I know you, so I know you won't believe me, but you're worried about nothing. How about I'll cook dinner for you? I'll swing by and pick you up when I'm done with work? About five or so?

That would leave me carless when I was pretty sure I was going to end up bolting out of his place again—for the second time in two days. Nope. That didn't work for me at all. How about I drive over to your place about five thirty? I suggested instead.

There was a pause before he responded, as if he was in front of me, a slight frown on his face as he looked down at me, which, in either case, meant that I was not going to get my way.

How about you be ready for me to pick you up at five, Tahlia.

No question mark, because it wasn't a question. It probably wasn't a question before, either, but I preferred to ignore that possibility. That was another way he'd earned points with me from the start. He—like me—texted in full sentences, complete with correct spelling, grammar and punctuation.

Maybe I was getting old—getting? I chided myself. I was looking at middle age in the rearview mirror! But, as much as I would have loved to have banged a younger man—just for the fun of it—I don't think I would have been able to tolerate all of the abbreviations. And I fucking hate emojis. Such are the pitfalls of being an English teacher, I suppose. My cross to bear. The young folks'll just have to pry my Oxford comma from my cold, stiff, and dead hands one day.

K.

Another pause I knew was deliberate on his part.

I'm sorry?

I sighed heavily, even though he couldn't hear me. The bastard probably knew that I was doing it, anyway. Yes, Sir.

Good girl. I can't wait to see you!

And I'd rather wear hornets' nests for shoes while a thousand cockroaches and spiders crawl all over my naked body than…oops. Damned autocorrect! Can't wait to see you, too!

He knew how much I hated any kind of insect—he ought to by this time, anyway. I'd made him my personal bug assassin since practically our first date. We ended up vacationing in Maine during black fly season last year—which overlaps viciously with mosquito season, especially if you're in the woods, which we were. And before we'd even opened the car door at our destination, we were surrounded by both types of insect, pounding on the windows trying to get in to make us their meal. There were literally hundreds of them buzzing around the car. He'd reached into the back seat and handed me a present, and it was the best present I have ever received in my life—one of those bug-net hats and a pair of gloves.

"That oughta at least get you inside the cabin, hmmm?"

I swear, there were tears in my eyes as I looked up at him and whispered devoutly, "I have never loved you more than at this moment, I swear to God."

He laughed at me then, and I knew he was laughing at me now, and his next text proved me right.

LOL. Then he sent, Take a deep breath, hon. Really. Take a deep, slow breath. Everything is all right, I promise you. I love you. See you soon. Out.

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