Page 29 of Puck Me Daddy

I hit send, my heart fluttering. Demian's hands squeezed my shoulders, his touch firm and grounding. I leaned into it, letting his strength fuel my confidence.

More comments popped up, questions about dynamics, about safety, about love. I answered each one, my thoughts flowing like a river, steady and sure. This was what I was meant to do. This was my purpose.

Hours passed like minutes. The sun dipped below the skyline, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Demian's penthouse was quiet, the only sound the soft tapping of my keys and the distant hum of the city below.

Demian's hand wrapped around mine, pulling me from my trance. "Time for a break, baby girl," he murmured. "You've been at it for hours."

I blinked, looking up at him. His eyes were tender, proud. I nodded, saving my work and closing the laptop.

"You know," I said, as Demian led me into the bedroom, "I used to think that keeping everything separate was the key to staying strong. Never let them see you sweat, right?"

Demian's lips curved into a small smile. "And now?"

I paused, considering. "Now, I think strength is being able to sweat in front of everyone and still keep going."

He nodded, his eyes soft. "You're doing more than just keeping going, baby girl. You're thriving."

I felt a warmth spread through me at his words. He was right. I was thriving. And it was all because I'd embraced my vulnerability, allowed it to become a bridge connecting me to others—to my readers, to Demian.

I took a deep breath. "I think I'm ready," I said, the words tumbling out before I could catch them.

"Ready for what?" Demian asked, setting his book aside.

I took a deep breath, my heart pounding. "To let go of the newspaper. To fully embrace this. To be . . . me. No morereporting on other people’s secrets. I only want to talk about my own. Anonymously, of course, but still . . . authentically."

Demian's expression shifted, pride and love gleaming in his eyes. "You're sure?"

I nodded, a sense of resolve washing over me. "I've never been more sure of anything."

The next morning, Iwalked into the bustling newsroom, the noise and chatter a familiar symphony. I clutched the envelope in my hand, my resignation letter tucked safely inside. My editor looked up as I approached, his eyebrows raising as I placed the envelope on his desk.

"Jameson," he barked, leaning back in his chair. "What's this?"

I straightened, my voice steady. "My resignation, sir."

His face reddened, a predictable rant bubbling up. "You're making a mistake, Jameson. You have a bright future here—"

But his words faded into the background, a dull hum against the pounding of my heart. I felt a profound sense of relief, a weight lifting from my shoulders. I was no longer bound by the constraints of traditional journalism, no longer hiding behind a professional persona.

I turned, walking out of the office with my head held high. The city sprawled out before me, the possibilities endless. I couldn't wait to share this news with Demian, to celebrate this leap of faith together.

As I stepped onto the crowded sidewalk, the sun warmed my face, a gentle breeze ruffling my hair. I felt alive, exhilarated. This was my strength. This was my vulnerability. This was my love. And I was ready to embrace it all.

The cold nipped atmy nose as Demian led me, blindfolded, through the crisp night air. The crunch of gravel beneath our feet echoed in the quiet, the scent of pine and winter crispness filling my lungs. His hand, warm and firm, gripped mine, guiding me with a confidence that made my heart flutter. I trusted him implicitly, but the not knowing sent a thrill of anticipation and nervousness zipping up my spine.

"Demian, where are we going?" I asked, my breath misting in the chill.

"Patience, baby girl," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "We're almost there."

We came to a halt, and I heard the creak of a door opening. A warm gust of air brushed against my skin as Demian led me inside. The sound of blades cutting through ice and soft laughter echoed around us.

Demian removed the blindfold, and I blinked, adjusting to the light. We were standing in the age play rink, the ice glistening under the soft glow of twinkling lights strung up around the rink. We hadn’t been here since our first date.

Demian smiled, those gray eyes sparkling. "Today is a special day, Tilly. You took a huge step, and I want to celebrate that bravery with you."

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whispered.

As we stepped onto the ice, I wobbled, my ankles threatening to give way. Demian's strong arm wrapped around my waist, steadying me.

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