Page 28 of Puck Me Daddy

He pulled back, his breath ragged. "I'm proud of you, Tilly," he said, his voice husky.

I smiled, my heart swelling. "Thank you, Daddy," I whispered.

His eyes flashed with desire, his hand tightening in my hair. "Now," he growled, "let's get you fed." He led me to the kitchen.

I slid onto a stool at the kitchen island, watching as he moved around the kitchen. He filled a pot with water, set it to boil, then turned to me. "So, how does it feel?"

I tilted my head, a soft smile playing on my lips. "How does what feel?"

"Being true to yourself," he said, leaning against the counter. His eyes were intense, seeing right through me.

I took a deep breath, letting the question sink in. "It feels . . . right," I said finally. "Like I've been wearing someone else's clothes my whole life, and I finally found my own. They fit perfectly."

He smiled, a slow, sexy curve of his lips that made my heart flutter. "I'm proud of you, Tilly."

I ducked my head, a blush heating my cheeks. "Thank you, Daddy," I whispered.

He turned back to the stove, dropping pasta into the boiling water. I watched him, my heart swelling with emotion. This man, this strong, caring, incredible man, was mine. And I was his.

We ate dinner, our knees touching under the table, his hand resting on my thigh. Each touch was a promise, each glance a secret whisper of what was to come. The food was simple, just pasta with butter and garlic, but it tasted like the best meal I'd ever had.

Demian raised his glass of sparkling water, his eyes meeting mine. "To you, baby girl," he said, his voice low. "To your courage, your honesty, your heart."

I clinked my glass against his, my eyes filling with tears. I took a sip, the bubbles dancing on my tongue. I set the glass down, my heart pounding. I needed him, needed his touch, his strength, his love.

I stood, moving to him. He pushed his chair back, his eyes darkening as I straddled him. His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh. I could feel his hardness pressing against me, sending a wave of heat through my body.

"Demian," I whispered, my voice hoarse with need.

"What do you need, baby girl?" he murmured, his lips brushing my ear.

"You," I gasped. "I need you."

His lips captured mine, his kiss fierce, possessive. I moaned, my body melting against his. This was my celebration. This was my reward. This was my love.

The laptop screen flickered,reflecting in my wide eyes as I stared at the notification count. Comments were pouring in like a sudden rainstorm, each one a tiny thrill zinging through me. I clicked refresh again, watching the numbers climb. Fifty, sixty, seventy . . . My heart pounded in my chest, a rhythm of exhilaration and disbelief.

This is real, I thought. People are reading. They're understanding.

I scrolled through the comments, my fingers trembling slightly on the trackpad.

Anonymous345: Thank you for this. I always thought I was alone.

LittleLostOne: Your words are like a warm hug. I needed this today.

CuriousKitty: I'm new to this. Where do I start?

Each message was a tiny window into another person's soul, a whisper of connection. I could feel their relief, their curiosity, their longing. It was intoxicating.

"Baby girl, you're smiling like you just won the lottery," Demian said, leaning over the back of the couch. His voice was a low rumble, sending a shiver down my spine.

I tilted my head back to look at him, grinning like an idiot. "It's just . . . people are reading, Demian. They're getting it."

He brushed a thumb over my cheek, his eyes soft. "Of course they are. You've got a way with words, Tilly."

I turned back to the screen, eager to respond. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I thought about my reply. I wanted to be informative, gentle, encouraging.

I wrote out replies full of empathy and understanding, talking about communication and trust. And the importance of finding the right partner.

---