Page 17 of Daddy Christmas

"Thorough’s important," Nicholas said, his voice warm but steady. "I want you to feel safe, Gemma. To know that your well-being comes first. Always."

I turned halfway to look at him, my hand still resting on the paper. His expression was calm, open, but there was something else there too. A quiet intensity. Like he meant every syllable of what he’d just said. And maybe more.

"Well, you’ve definitely covered everything," I said, trying for lightness but unable to keep the edge of awe out of my voice. My gaze dropped back to the contract, scanning further. Consent. Limits. Respect. Each section was written with such care—clear but not clinical, firm but never cold.

"Is this . . ." I hesitated, my throat suddenly dry. "Is this normal? I mean, do people usually put all this in writing?"

"Not everyone," he admitted. He leaned a little closer, his voice soft, almost conspiratorial. "But I find it helps. No guessing games. No misunderstandings. Just us, working together to make something good."

"Something good," I echoed under my breath. The words wrapped around me, warm and steady, and for a moment, I let myself believe them.

"Shall we go over it together?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, gesturing to the first section with a slight tilt of his head. "Let’s start here. Communication. What does that mean to you?"

"Um . . ." I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. "I guess . . . being honest? Saying what I’m feeling, even if it’s hard?"

"Good." He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And if I ask you something directly, would you be comfortable answering honestly? Even if you're nervous?"

"That depends," I said, surprising myself by teasing. "Are you planning on asking anything scary?"

"Only if 'favorite Christmas cookie' counts as scary," he shot back, his green eyes gleaming.

We both laughed—a quick burst of shared relief that broke through the heaviness of the moment. But then he tapped the paper gently, drawing us back.

"Seriously," he said, his tone easy but firm. "If something’s ever too much, I need you to tell me. Promise?"

"Promise," I said, meeting his gaze head-on. Something about the way he looked at me—steady, unshaken—made it easier to say the word. Easier to believe it.

"Good girl," he murmured, almost absently, and my stomach flipped. Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I didn’t look away.

"Next up," he said smoothly, moving on like nothing had happened. "Consent. This one’s non-negotiable. You set the pace, always. If there’s anything you’re not comfortable with, anything at all, we stop. Understood?"

"Understood," I echoed, nodding quickly. My heart was racing now, though I couldn’t say if it was from nerves or... something else.

"Limits," he continued, pointing to the next section. "This is where we get specific. Hard nos, soft nos, things you’re curiousabout but not sure yet. We’ll adjust as we go, but I need you to be honest with yourself—and with me."

"Okay," I said, my voice quieter this time. The idea of laying it all out like that felt daunting, but also... freeing. Like I wouldn’t have to keep everything bottled up anymore.

"Take your time with that part," he said gently, sensing my hesitation. "We don’t have to figure it all out tonight."

"Thanks," I said, glancing up at him. "For . . . this. For making it so clear. I’ve always wanted . . ." I faltered, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"Someone who understands?" he offered, his voice soft but certain.

"Yeah," I whispered, my throat tightening. "Exactly."

"Then we’re off to a good start," he said, smiling down at me. His hand brushed mine lightly, just for a second, but it was enough to send another shiver through me.

"Ready to keep going?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said again, my voice steadier now. "Let’s do this."

"There's one more thing," Nicholas said, his voice low and steady.

I swallowed hard. "Okay," I said, unsure if my heart was racing from curiosity or nerves.

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