Page 18 of Daddy Christmas

"I’d like to introduce discipline," he continued, his green eyes locking onto mine, "as a way to help you overcome some of the negative feelings you have about yourself. And about Christmas." His words were calm, measured, but they hit me like a soft, unexpected gust of wind. My cheeks burned instantly.

"Discipline?" I repeated, the word foreign and strange in my mouth. It felt heavy, but not unwelcome. I shifted where I stood, suddenly hyper aware of how close he was.

"Yes." He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. "When you speak poorly of yourself or engage in self-destructivethoughts, I’d like to address it constructively. To help guide you away from that pattern. That is, if you're open to it."

I blinked, trying to process. The idea made something twist deep inside me—half fear, half . . . hope? No one had ever cared enough to notice those moments before, let alone wanted to step in. "You mean like . . . consequences?" I asked hesitantly, biting my lip.

"Exactly," he said. "But always with purpose and care. Never without your consent." His tone softened even further, his gaze steady but full of something tender. "This isn't about punishment for punishment's sake, Gemma. This is about helping you let go of things that weigh you down. Things you don’t deserve to carry."

The careful way he framed it made me pause. My first instinct was to brush it off, laugh nervously, change the subject. But I didn’t. Instead, I looked at him, really looked, and saw nothing but sincerity. He meant it. All of it.

"How would it work?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

"That depends on you," he said simply. "It could be as small as a firm reminder not to spiral, or something more structured if that’s what you need." His head tilted, studying me. "What matters most is that it’s constructive. And it’s something we agree on together."

I considered his words carefully. The truth was, I could already hear the sharp, critical voice in my head protesting:You’re too much. This is ridiculous.But then there was another voice, softer, less familiar, whispering:Maybe this could actually help.

"I think . . ." I started, then stopped, taking a deep breath. His patience didn’t waver, giving me space to find the words. "I think I’d like that," I finished softly, the admission making my chest feel both lighter and heavier at the same time.

"Good," Nicholas said, his smile small but genuine. The warmth of it settled something inside me. "And remember," hesaid firmly, his eyes holding mine with quiet intensity, "this is all with your consent. At any point, if you're uncomfortable, you can tell me. We’ll stop, no questions asked."

"Understood," I said, nodding quickly. The weight in his gaze steadied me, grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. There was something comforting about how certain he was, like he’d thought this through a hundred times before bringing it up.

"Good girl," he murmured, almost absently, and the praise hit me like a jolt of electricity. My face went hot again, and I ducked my head, trying to hide the way my lips twitched into a shy smile.

"So I know what will happen if I’m bad. But what about if I’m good?" I asked, barely meaning to say it out loud. The words slipped past my lips before I could think better of it.

Nicholas chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, like velvet. "Then you’ll be rewarded," he said, his tone lighter now, teasing. "Perhaps with treats, or experiences that bring you joy. Something special, just for you."

"Like cookies?" I joked, though my voice betrayed the nervous flutter in my chest.

"Sure," he said, his smile widening as he leaned in just a fraction. "Cookies. Or maybe something even sweeter."

The playful glint in his eye made my pulse jump. My breath caught for half a second before I managed to look away, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. This man was going to unravel me, piece by careful piece, and I wasn’t sure if I was terrified or thrilled.

"Is there anything else I should know?" I asked, trying—and failing—to keep my voice steady.

"Plenty," he said with a hint of mischief. "But we’ll take it one step at a time. No rush, Gemma. We’ve got all the time we need."

Nicholas slid the contract toward me, his silver pen balanced delicately between two fingers. My hand hovered, just for a second, before I grabbed the pen. The weight of it felt heavierthan it should have—like it carried more than ink. With a deep breath, I signed my name in careful strokes.

"Done." My voice came out quieter than I expected. I set the pen down, my fingers brushing against his as he picked up the paper.

"Good," he said, folding it neatly and placing it to the side like it was something precious. He turned back to me, his green eyes locking onto mine. "I'm excited to see where this goes."

"Me too," I admitted, and I meant it. Even though my heart was racing, even though part of me still wondered what I'd gotten myself into, there was a spark of something else—a strange kind of hope. "I really am."

"Gemma." His tone softened, like he was letting my name settle between us. Then he reached for my hands, his larger ones engulfing mine. Warm palms, steady grip—strong but not overpowering. My throat tightened at the way he looked at me, like I was something fragile and important all at once.

"Thank you for trusting me," he said, his voice low and warm. His lips brushed the backs of my hands, the faintest touch, and my pulse jumped.

"Of course." I tried to sound confident, but it barely came out above a whisper.

The air felt thicker suddenly, like the space between us wasn’t enough. His hands lingered on mine for a moment longer before pulling away, leaving a strange ache in their absence.

“Now, are you ready to begin?”

Chapter 5

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