Page 15 of Daddy's Rules

God.

We drive in silence toward my place. I give her knee an affectionate squeeze this time. “I won’t do that again,” I promise.

“Do what?” she whispers, looking alarmed again.

“Tell you to go to someone else,” I say, but the look on her face makes something abundantly clear to me. She doesn’t want me to take my discipline away. It’s like offering an addict a hit for me, though. I’m addicted to control and power. If I give in to my desire to correct and care for her on this level, I’ll dive in head first and never be able to resurface. And I need her to understand that. But first, I have to make things right between us.

“Come on,” I tell her, nodding my head toward my building. “We’ll get something to eat and talk this out. Okay?”

She nods, her eyes growing hopeful. Her lashes are still damp with tears, her cheeks flushed, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I reach out and cup her face with my hand.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” I say.

She closes her eyes and basks in my praise. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I was afraid you’d never notice.”

That makes me laugh. I pull her into me, giving her an affectionate hug as the driver reaches my apartment. I pay him, including a generous tip and exit the taxi. Reaching for Jordan’s hand, I help her out. As we head upstairs something in me warns that this isn’t right; if I take her upstairs now, can I trust myself not to take this to a place I can’t go with her? To a place we’ll never return from.

“I’ve dreamed of coming to your place for a long time,” she says quietly, almost shyly, but I don’t respond because I’m shocked. She’s dreamed of coming to my place?

“You have?” I ask.

She nods as I open the door and then looks at her feet. I hesitate, my breath caught in my lungs, sensing something intense is coming. “Since I’ve become a woman, one who’s sexually aware of my needs and desires, I’ve had lots of dreams... I’ve known for a long time I’ve need a dominant man in my life.” She looks down a second before continuing. “A daddy dom in particular.” She looks up through her lashes at me then and I swallow hard. My brain is screaming, no clawing for me to stop my train of thought, but my cock lengthens and twitches and my muscles ache to grab her.

Jordan calling me Daddy. Fuck!

This is so Goddamned wrong and yet I want nothing more than to give her what she needs. Being a daddy dom has fucking nothing to do with fatherhood and everything to do with a deeper level of trust, control, and care. It’s the ultimate gift of submission from someone who wants to be completely vulnerable and innocent. Someone who gives definitive trust to another, knowing their daddy will always put their best interests and needs first, all the while allowing them to be exactly who they are.

Jordan may have acted out and been frivolous as long as I’ve known her but it was never done out of innocence. She was constantly testing people to see where she stood. And she never should have had to. And with me she won’t need to.

I take her hand. “Let’s go,” I say. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, but sometimes talking and walking works better than anything. We’ll go pick up some of that pizza you like. I’ll even get that godawful Hawaiian one. Though why anyone would want to ruin a perfectly good pizza with ham and pineapple is beyond me,” I mutter.

“Okay,” she says. “Owen?” I look at her with one quirked brow as an answer. “Have you ever tried it?”

I like hearing her say my name, but now more than anything I want to hear her call me Daddy. I’m grateful when we go outside and a brisk wind kicks up.

“I don’t need to try it to know it’s a horrible combination, but I’ll get one I can eat, too.” I’m not sure if she was talking about the pizza or the daddy thing but I decide pizza is a safer topic.

“Know what’s really gross?” she asks. The wind whistles and I instinctively shield her from it.

“Of course I do. Hawaiian pizza!” I say with a smirk.

“No,” she says, but she’s giggling. “Peanut butter and banana sandwiches.” I narrow my eyes at her. She knows they’re my favorite.

“Jordan, you had better take that back.” I grab her and pin her against a post, tickling her until she gives in and tells me what I want to hear. And for the next half an hour as we walk and talk easily about unimportant things I almost forget what’s hanging between us. This feels right, and natural.

When we get back to my place, we’re laughing so hard we’re breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair’s adorably askew. I rake my fingers through it to get it out of her eyes and tuck it behind her ear when we step into the lobby.

She actually manages to cajole me into trying a piece of her pizza as we ride the elevator to the top floor.

“You don’t know until you try it,” she says.

“I know what to expect,” I tell her with a grimace. “Call it an educated guess.”

“True,” she says, dangling the slice of pizza in front of me tauntingly as soon as we are in my apartment. Her voice lowers when she eyes me. “But do you want to know something? Sometimes you have preconceived notions about what to expect. Sometimes you decide an outcome before you even give it a shot.” And suddenly, we’re not talking about pizza anymore. “Sometimes, Owen, you gotta try.”

Not breaking her gaze, I take the slice of pizza from her hand and take a bite. I blink. Okay, so it’s surprisingly delicious. The ham is crispy and salty, the cheese decadently rich and gooey, the crust crisp, and the little caramelized bits of pineapple burst with flavor.

“Wow,” I tell her once we’ve both eaten our slices. “This is really good.”

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