Page 9 of Daddy's Rules

But it’s a base attraction, a physical one I’m able to control with professional detachment. Sometimes women come in here to be disciplined and there’s hardly an attraction at all. Others are seared into my brain and fantasies, and I have to work my ass off at the gym or on the track to get my head back into a professional space. But never do I long for them to be more than that.

My skills are highly sought-after, and the requests I get are so numerous, I have to curate my clients now. And still, I only discipline women, I don’t touch the married ones unless their husbands are with them, and all clients are adults. And I definitely, definitely do not discipline my friend’s daughter.

Even if I want to. And God, I’ve wanted to as long as I’ve known her.

When she was nineteen, I watched as she made reckless, foolish decisions and he bailed her out every time. I told John not to spoil her, but he wouldn’t listen. Inside, I saw the little girl who yearned for boundaries and protection, who flailed when her father gave her anything she wanted except his attention. Inside was a good girl who just needed a little guidance. But it wasn’t my place.

It wasn’t until she was twenty that I really wanted to take her across my knee. Her father was on set in New Zealand and though she was technically an adult, she didn’t always act like one, so I was watching out for her. When she called me in the middle of the night to bail her out at a friend’s house, my palm itched to spank some sense into her beautiful little backside. She’d had way too much to drink, had been hanging out with some sketchy guys. Luckily, her friends didn’t let her go off with any of the guys so she didn’t get hurt or in any real trouble. But damn, I wanted her ass to burn so she’d think twice next time she was drinking.

I didn’t touch her though. I couldn’t. While she was a fully grown adult woman, she was way too young for me and still my friend and client’s daughter. She wasn’t mine to discipline.

So I disciplined myself into schooling my thoughts and features, into being the good friend she needed. It was hard fucking work, but I did it, and I was damn glad I did.

But now... now she stands in front of me with the classic ‘deer in the headlights’ look that kills me. She’s wearing a navy skirt that’s a little rumpled, and a pale blue top that looks like maybe it shrank in the wash as it fits by the shoulders but is a little short. She hates dressing up and it’s cute she put in a little effort. She toes the floor nervously and bites her lip, then looks over her shoulder and turns as if she’s about to run.

“Don’t even think about it.” I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do with her, but letting her run from me is definitely not an option.

She whips her head back around to me and her eyes widen.

“I can’t do this,” she whispers. “I had no idea... you... you were Mr. Smith...”

I jerk my head toward the office, resisting the urge to grab her arm and haul her bodily behind closed doors. “In the office. Now.”

She stumbles toward me, nearly falling, but I stop her fall and right her. “Office,” I bark, even though she’s already on her way. I need her behind that damn door before someone sees her here. Before they know why she’s here.

Before they know what I’m about to do.

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