Page 16 of Daddy Christmas

"Just thought we could use a little privacy tonight," he said, his tone easy but deliberate. His eyes sparkled, though his expression stayed calm, measured. "You deserve something special."

Special. The word clung to me, warm and heavy. Something about the way he said it made my pulse quicken.

I stood there for a beat too long, my fingers tangling in the hem of my dress. The scent of pine and something faintly spicy—him—wrapped around me. He was close enough now that I could see the fine stitching on his vest, the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline.

"Walk with me," he said, his voice low but steady.

"Okay." My throat felt dry as I followed him further into the grotto. The lanterns cast warm pools of light on the stone floor,their flickering making the shadows dance like they were alive. My heels clicked softly, the sound swallowed up by the space. As we walked, I couldn’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He moved with an easy confidence, shoulders relaxed, hands still tucked casually in his pockets. Like he wasn’t about to say something that would turn my world upside down.

He stopped near a cluster of candles set atop a low table. Turning to face me, he tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was trying to figure out where to start. "There are things I'd like to discuss with you."

"Things?" I repeated, though it came out more like a squeak. My gaze darted to the candles, then back to his face. His expression gave nothing away, but there was a weight to his words that made my stomach twist. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay," he said, smiling gently. Then his smile softened further, and so did his eyes. "I wanted to talk about last night—about you being a Little."

The air seemed to shift between us, heavy and electric all at once. My heart thudded hard against my ribs. "Oh." It barely came out louder than a whisper. I dropped my gaze to the floor, heat crawling up my neck and spreading across my cheeks. "I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable."

He stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. His hand lifted, fingertips brushing under my chin. Gently, he tilted my face up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Not at all," he said. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between us. His hand lifted, fingertips brushing under my chin. Gently, he tilted my face up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "In fact, I had a feeling."

"A feeling?" My voice wavered, and I searched his face for any hint of judgment or hesitation. There was none. Just kindness.And something else—something deeper—that made my pulse race.

"There's a certain innocence and wonder about you that's truly special." His words settled over me like a blanket, soft and impossibly warm. His green eyes held mine, unwavering, as his thumb brushed over my cheek. "I want you to feel safe exploring that side of yourself with me."

Safe. That word hit something deep inside me, something raw and aching. I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my chest. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me—it wasn’t just comforting. It made me feel seen. Like he understood parts of myself I hadn’t even figured out yet.

"You . . . you do?" I heard myself stammer, my voice trembling like the rest of me. My hands were balled into fists at my sides, half to keep them from shaking and half because I didn’t know what else to do with them.

He nodded, his expression softening just a touch. "I'm a Daddy Dom," he said, his voice low but firm. Like it wasn’t just a confession—it was a declaration. "I would take great pleasure in caring for and guiding someone special to me. Someone like you."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. For a moment, I could only blink at him, trying to process what he’d just said. A thrill shot through me, sharp and unfamiliar, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it. Calm. Sure. Like this was normal. LikeIwas normal.

"Someone like me," I repeated, barely above a whisper. My pulse drummed against my ribs. "I’ve never . . ." My throat felt tight. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I mean, I’ve thought about it. A lot. But I’ve never had anyone to share this with before."

He smiled then, small but real, and something in me unclenched. "That’s okay," he said gently. "We can take things atyour pace. But I’d like to try something, if you’re willing. A way for us to establish trust and understanding."

"Okay," I said quickly, maybe too quickly. My heart was racing now, pounding loud enough that I wondered if he could hear it. I bit my lip, trying to slow myself down. "What did you have in mind?"

Nicholas shifted slightly, gesturing toward a small table tucked off to the side. I hadn’t noticed it before—too caught up in the way he looked at me, the electricity humming between us—but now it was impossible to miss. On the table sat a single piece of paper, folded neatly beside an elegant silver pen. The kind of pen that made you feel like whatever you wrote with it would matter.

"A contract," he explained, his tone even. Matter-of-fact. "Nothing complicated—just an agreement between us outlining boundaries and expectations."

A contract. My stomach flipped, a mix of nerves and curiosity tangling together. I glanced at the table, then back at him. His expression hadn’t changed—still calm, still warm—but there was something else now. Anticipation. Maybe even hope.

"Boundaries and expectations," I echoed, tasting the words. They felt strange but not unpleasant. Like trying on a new sweater that fit better than you expected.

"Exactly," he said. "This is about building trust, Gemma. Making sure we’re both on the same page about what we want—and what we don’t want." His eyes searched mine, waiting. Patient. Always patient.

I hesitated, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip again. The idea of a contract felt . . . big. Official. But it also felt safe. Secure. Like I wouldn’t have to guess or worry or overthink. Like I could actually let go, just a little.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice steadier now. "Show me."

He passed me the paper, my fingers brushing over its smooth surface. The weight of it surprised me—heavier than I expected, solid somehow, like it carried more than just words. My eyes skimmed the first line, then slowed as the details began to sink in.

"Communication," it read at the top, bold and clear. Below that, a list—simple but precise. Listening, honesty, asking questions. It was all laid out, straightforward and unassuming, yet it made my chest tighten in the best way. Like someone had finally seen what I needed before I even knew how to ask for it.

"Wow," I said softly, the word slipping out before I could stop it. "This is . . . really thorough."

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