Page 7 of Her Bossy Daddy

Oh, hell, he sounded angry for me. I’d misunderstood his tone before. “Can you elaborate?” I tipped the bottle and took the last swallow. I eyed the fridge, then got to my feet and crossed to the kitchen.

“I can’t, actually. The best I can say is that it shouldn’t be an issue any longer. Tomorrow is mandated sensitivity training for everyone.”

“Sounds like a blast,” I scoffed, then traipsed back into the living room. My view tilted. Shit. I didn’t eat enough to soak up the alcohol. I managed to get back into the kitchen and scoured it for food. “So, we’ve talked about the fantastic-ness of today. Are you going to pick apart my attitude now?” A half of a bagel was all I could find so I tore off small chunks of it and ate.

“I’m not some bloke down the road. You’ve already been extremely disrespectful more than once.” He cleared his throat. “Mind yourself, love.”

“As I said, love,” I mocked, irritated at myself more than him, “add it to my ever-growing list of shit I’ve done this week.”

“Right. Well, I’d say you’ve done about enough for today. Go to bed. I want a picture on my phone in ten. Show me a clean face and be in your pajamas. Get me?”

His tone turned husky and he used his most dominant voice. It always turned my insides to mush, but today I wasn’t feeling it. “And if I don’t?”

“Hang on a minute.” He cursed under his breath. “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I want to.”

“Do what I said or tomorrow you and I are going to have an up close and personal sort of meeting outside of work. Trust me when I say it won’t be to your liking.”

“Yes, Daddy.” His command pushed me into my little side for at least the moment. Using the title felt more intense this time. My belly flip-flopped at his words. He knew deep down I wanted to follow his orders and be a good girl. Why can’t I just open up? Was it because of the intense emotions coupled with his very real presence?

“Good. You’ve got only nine minutes now. Get to it.”

“But I hate going to bed by myself.” I sniffled, desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. “It’s scary at night, and then the scary nightmares keep me up.”

“You’re getting too much in your head. Given time I can help with all that, but tonight? Tonight you need to be under the sheets in less than eight minutes, right?”

“Yes,” I agreed. When Liam said right at the end of a sentence it wasn’t a question, just a prompt for the other person—me—to agree to an order. “Eight minutes.”

“We can talk about everything later. It’s bedtime,” he reminded as he blew a kiss through the phone. “I love you. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” I blew several kisses back at him. “I love you.”

We hung up the phone, and I rushed off to do as he said. Except my stomach didn’t like the idea. I drank way too much too fast. It would take a miracle to be in bed by then.

* * *

I glanced at my phone. The time limit Liam had given me came and went several minutes ago. Shit. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over my head. I pouted and snapped a selfie then texted it to Liam. I hurried to the bathroom as fast as my body allowed, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. My phone chirped at me and I saw his text.

Get your arse in bed. Pic by the headboard.

I knew better. I took my bedtime photos near the intricate rug beater he bought and shipped to me from Ireland. It was gorgeous and hung over my headboard for a few reasons. It served as a reminder who I belonged to, and who equally belonged to me. It also reminded me of what Liam would do to my ass if I didn’t listen. I couldn’t swing the damn thing myself, but he could. It also proved I was actually in bed. I finished with my bathroom rituals, then shuffled up the hall and turned into my bedroom. I knelt on my pillow and snapped an actual photo, then I snuggled down into the covers. A minute later the phone dinged and I picked it up.

Better. Good thing you found your way to bed.

Sorry. Drank too much, ate too little. Not feeling well.I added a frowning face at the end. His reply came through a minute later.

Rest well. Feel better, love.

Tears pricked behind my eyes and fell down my cheeks. I hadn’t been listening very well at all.

Goodnight, I replied and added two hearts and kisses, then the letters ‘x’ and ‘o.’ The way I usually end my texts to him. I snuggled deeper and imagined how his arms would feel around me all night. Safe and protected. Liam held multiple places in my heart. Yes, he was my dominant but he had taken on other roles. We participated in ageplay where I regressed mentally to a younger mindset where his role was Daddy, in all the ways it could be implied. My little brain was around eight, maybe nine. Sometimes the age fluctuated, but my favorite dream was being held in his lap, snuggled under a blanket in front of a fire while watching movies about princesses and ponies. Nothing stressful. Nothing scary.

We never did anything sexual when I was little, or if Liam even suspected I was. Sometimes the lines blurred, mostly due to the two of us. It took a lot of freaking patience to be a daddy, and sometimes he wavered too. I was never punished when he lost his focus, but sometimes he’d have me stand in the corner or write lines in a notebook like, “I will not poke Daddy’s buttons.” Writing lines was one of my most hated tasks. It sounded easy but when he set the number at three hundred my hand felt like it would fall off and I wanted to push his buttons harder!

His punishments while I’d been in a younger headspace never included spankings; at least until he moved here, they didn’t. But I’ve realized that bratting in this particular dynamic might actually earn me a round over his knee. Ugh. As much as I tried to avoid trouble in my day to day, I was enamored with it when I was in my little mindset.

Liam was also my boyfriend but the label made me cringe except when other men hit on me. Then I’d happily tell them about my sexy Irish boyfriend. It occurred to me that I’d never thought about being out in public with Liam. Unless our company had an actual fraternization clause it wouldn’t be an issue but I’d have to check. Maybe it would be better to find another job. I stared up at the ceiling, chewing on my lip. That’s a stupid thought! I’d been at my job for a freaking decade, and I loved it there.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn’t brush them away. My brain played an awful game of the worst-case scenario while I tried to relax. I punched my pillow and turned over. Liam and I had been together for two years, which wasn’t a long time in the span of forever, but we’d work out all the bumps somehow.

Shut up, brain! I chided, sounding like a cartoon mouse I used to watch on television. Just let me sleep.

---