Page 40 of Tame Me Daddy

"What happened?" I asked, then added quickly, "If you don't mind talking about it."

"She couldn't handle ranch life. The isolation, the demands, the rhythms of it. She'd grown up in Dallas, had a marketing career she loved." He shook his head. "She wanted me to sell my share to my cousin and move to the city. But the ranch isn't just what I do—it's who I am."

I nodded, understanding completely. The ranch demanded total commitment, like a jealous lover who wouldn't tolerate divided attentions.

"And after her?" I ventured, curious about when and how he'd discovered the part of himself that matched so perfectly with what I needed.

"A few relationships, nothing lasting." His eyes met mine directly across the table. "I discovered the DDlg dynamic about six years ago with a partner who introduced me to it."

Something in my chest tightened—jealousy, curiosity, or both. "And it . . . spoke to you?"

"It fit something I'd always felt but never had words for—the desire to protect, guide, and nurture." The intensity in his eyes made me shiver. "To take care of someone completely, to be trusted with their vulnerability. But she wasn’t right for me, and I wasn’t right for her. Still, we’re on good terms, which I’m proud of."

When dessert arrived—a shared slice of bourbon pecan pie that tasted like actual sin—Grant surprised me by asking about my hopes for the future. The question caught me off guard; I'd been so focused on escaping my past and finding basic security that I hadn't thought much beyond that.

"I think I'd like to develop specialized skills with the animals," I said, surprising myself with the clarity of this previously unexamined desire. "Maybe learn more about training or breeding. Build something that's mine, that I can be proud of."

Grant nodded approvingly, a genuine smile warming his features. "You have a natural touch with the more nervous animals. I've noticed how that mare that everyone struggles with responds to you. I could see you developing that."

His belief in this newly articulated dream felt like a gift—weightless yet substantial. As we finished our meal, he glanced at his watch.

"It's about time for that special place I mentioned." His eyes searched mine. "Are you up for it? We don't have to if you're tired."

My curiosity far outweighed any fatigue I might have felt. "I'm definitely up for it."

He paid the bill—waving away my halfhearted attempt to contribute—and guided me back to the truck with that same gentle hand at the small of my back. The gesture wasn't possessive so much as protective, as if he couldn't help wanting to keep me safe.

As we pulled away from the restaurant, my mind raced with possibilities of where this "special place" might be and what it might mean for us. Whatever it was, I trusted Grant enough to follow him there without fear.

*

We drove about fifteen minutes beyond the restaurant, the truck's headlights cutting through increasing darkness as we left the small town behind. The houses grew farther apart until we turned onto a road marked only by a discreet sign reading "Private Property." My hands fidgeted in my lap, curiosity gnawing at me. Grant drove with the same steady confidence he showed on the ranch, but I noticed a subtle anticipation in the set of his shoulders.

The gravel road curved through a stand of oak trees before opening onto a clearing. A large farmhouse stood before us, its structure clearly historical but renovated with care. Warm light spilled from windows framed by tasteful landscaping—flowering bushes and well-maintained garden beds that softened the building's edges. A simple wooden sign hung above the entrance, illuminated by subtle spotlights: "The Sanctuary."

The parking lot held about a dozen vehicles ranging from practical sedans to high-end luxury cars. Enough activity to suggest a gathering, but not crowded enough to feel overwhelming. Grant pulled into an empty space and cut the engine.

"What is this place?" I asked as he came around to help me from the truck.

"A private club," he explained, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something I couldn't quite name. Anticipation, perhaps. Or concern for my reaction. "Membership only. It's a safe space for people with... specific interests."

My mind worked through his careful phrasing, connecting dots until understanding dawned. "You mean kink? DDlg?"

Grant nodded, his eyes never leaving my face as if gauging my response. "And other dynamics. A place where people can be themselves without judgment."

The realization should have frightened me—this concrete evidence that what we'd been exploring in private was something real enough to have its own club. Instead, I felt a strange relief. We weren't alone. There were others who understood these desires, who had built a community around them.

"Too much?" Grant asked softly, his hand resting lightly on my lower back.

"No," I said, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. "I'm curious."

Grant's smile was subtle but genuine. "We don't have to stay long. And nothing happens here without explicit consent. This is just . . . a place to be comfortable with these parts of ourselves."

We approached the entrance together, my heart hammering against my ribs but my steps sure. The double doors were solid wood with iron fittings that gave them an old-world feel despite their modern security features.

Inside, a small reception area greeted us with warm lighting and tasteful décor that could have belonged in any upscale establishment. A woman in her forties sat behind a desk, dressed in ordinary slacks and a blouse—not the fetish wear I'd half-expected. She looked up and smiled with genuine warmth when she saw Grant.

"Mr. Warwick, good evening," she greeted him, then turned her welcoming smile to me. "And a new guest?"

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