Page 26 of Puck Me Daddy

I nodded. “I understand. I’ll get out of your hair. I have some work I should catch up on later, anyway.” I was already drafting an email to my boss, scrapping the initial story idea about Demian's scandalous secrets. Instead, I planned to focus on his true character—a gentleman and a talented athlete.

He shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. You live here now, remember? We’ll go by your place later if you like. Grab your stuff?”

I grinned. “Okay.”

“But before that, we have a few hours to spare. Unless you need to work right away?”

I shook my head. “Nah. I have time to hang.”

Demian looked pleased. “Great. Remember you mentioned wanting to go to the beach yesterday? How about a day trip?"

A squeal escaped my lips before I could contain it. The excitement was too much. Then reality hit me. "Oh no, I don't have a swimsuit with me."

He dismissed my concern with a simple wave. "We'll stop by a store on the way. Pick whatever you like."

I thanked him, trying to suppress the giddiness building inside me. "How can I ever repay you?" I teased, batting my eyelashes.

His playful grin sent a shiver down my spine. "I'm sure we'll think of something," he said, suggestively.

Before I knew it, I found myself on my knees, a spark of mischief in my eyes. I licked my sugar-coated lips and Demian growled, pulling me closer.

“This is one way to do it,” he said, his voice tight with desire.

My hand reached for his zipper, as the scene faded around us, leaving us on the precipice of another passionate moment. The thrill of anticipation washed over me, making my heart race and my skin tingle. I knew this was just the beginning of our adventure together.

Chapter 8

Iwoke to thesoft hum of the city outside, light filtering through the tall windows of Demian's bedroom. My bedroom now too. The sheets rustled as I stretched, my hand reaching for the familiar softness of Captain Frosty. I pulled the stuffed bear close, his fuzzy fur tickling my cheek. This had become my morning ritual, a comforting start to days that were anything but ordinary.

Demian's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. He was an early riser, always up before the sun to train or handle business. I listened for him, hearing the faint clink of silverware against porcelain from the kitchen. My stomach fluttered, a smile tugging at my lips. This was home now, a place filled with warmth and routine and . . . discipline.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool wood floor grounding me. I knew I was cutting it close on time. On weekdays, Demian expected me to be at the breakfast table by seven sharp. He liked us to spend a full hour together as Daddy and Little before I went to work. Helped me to de-stress.

I glanced at the clock: six fifty-five. Five minutes to brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and pull on some clothes. I could make it if I hurried. But I didn't hurry. Instead, I found myself tracing patterns on the floor with my toes, a secret smile playing on my lips.

Demian's voice echoed down the hall, firm and steady. "Tilly, it's seven."

"Coming," I called back, my voice light, breezy. I knew I was playing with fire. He hated tardiness, saw it as a sign of disrespect. But I also knew the thrill that followed his stern looks, the firm grip of his hands. I craved it, the push and pull, the dance of power.

I strolled into the kitchen, the clock ticking loudly behind me. Demian sat at the table, his gray eyes steady, watching me. His jaw was set, a sure sign of his mood. He'd already eaten, his plate pushed aside, a glass of water sitting in front of him. My plate was still full—scrambled eggs, toast, fruit. My stomach growled, but I knew better than to reach for the food just yet.

"You're late," he said, his voice low, controlled. “And you’re not even dressed yet.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Just a few minutes, Daddy."

His eyebrow twitched, a tiny movement that sent a shiver down my spine. "A few minutes is still late, baby girl."

I bit my lip, looking down at the floor. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of anticipation and nervousness. This was the dance, the give and take. I craved his discipline, the firmness of his rules. It made me feel seen, cared for. Grounded.

Demian pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. He patted his lap, his eyes never leaving mine. "You know what to do."

I did. I walked over, my steps slow, deliberate. I lowered myself over his knees, my breath hitching as his hand rested onthe small of my back. He lifted my nightshirt, exposing my bare bottom. His hand was warm, calloused from years of hockey. It felt rough against my soft skin.

The first spank was sharp, a sting that radiated through me. I gasped, my body tensing. He rubbed the spot gently, soothing the sting before delivering another smack. Each strike sent a jolt through me, a mix of pain and pleasure that left me craving more.

"Why are you being punished, Tilly?" he asked, his voice steady.

"Because I was late," I breathed, the words coming out in a rush.

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