Page 43 of Tame Me Daddy

She nodded, smiling. "Matthew. He's downstairs getting us drinks. He's the best." Her expression grew more serious. "Having someone who understands, who doesn't make you feel weird about it—that makes all the difference."

I glanced at Grant, finding his eyes already on me. Patient. Waiting. Not pushing.

"How did you . . . start?" I asked Lily, swallowing around the lump in my throat. "The first time you came here?"

"Oh, I just watched at first," she said with a shrug. "Sat in the corner and colored while everyone else did their thing. Daddy sat with me. No pressure." She smiled at the memory. "Then the next time, I felt brave enough to try the clay. Then the stuffies." She pointed to a well-loved teddy bear sitting in the rocking chair. "That's Mr. Buttons. He's mine, but I share him sometimes."

The matter-of-fact way she discussed it—as if it were the most natural thing in the world—helped something loosen in my chest. Her acceptance of this part of herself made my own desires seem less shameful, more like simply another facet of being human.

"Would it bother you if we stayed for a bit?" I asked her, surprised by my own question.

"Not at all!" She brightened visibly. "I was just going to color until Matthew comes back. You can color too if you want. Or just sit. Whatever feels okay."

Taking a steadying breath, I looked back at Grant. His expression held no expectation, no demand—just the same steady support he'd shown since bringing me here.

"I think . . ." I said slowly, testing each word as it came, "I'd like to stay. For a little while."

Grant's smile brimmed with warmth and understanding. "Whatever you want, Baby Girl. I'm right here."

The familiar endearment, spoken in this context, sent a shiver down my spine—not of fear this time, but of recognition. Here, in this carefully crafted space with clear boundaries and consent at the forefront, I could truly explore without shame. Here, I could integrate the fragments of myself that had been at war for so long.

I took another step into the room, drawn toward the craft table where Lily was already settling herself, pulling a coloring book from a nearby stack. The simple act felt monumental, like crossing a threshold I'd been afraid to approach for years.

Grant followed, his presence solid and reassuring behind me. Not rushing, not directing—just being there, creating a safe container for whatever might unfold.

"Is this okay?" I asked softly, gesturing at the empty chair beside Lily.

"Of course," she replied, pushing a container of markers toward me. "The sparkly ones are the best."

I sat down slowly, feeling strangely weightless, as if years of shame were beginning to lift from my shoulders. My hand reached for a marker—green with glitter suspended in the ink—and I felt the corner of my mouth lift in a small, genuine smile.

A simple outline of a flower waited to be filled with color. My hand trembled slightly, hesitating at this threshold betweenresistance and surrender. Grant stood behind me, a silent guardian, his presence somehow both unobtrusive and all-encompassing. I pressed the marker to the paper and watched as color bloomed from its tip, filling the empty spaces like water finding its level.

"Stay inside the lines," I murmured to myself, a habit from childhood when coloring had been one of my few reliable comforts.

"Or don't," Lily suggested with a light shrug. "Sometimes it's fun to color outside the lines. No rules here."

No rules. The concept hung in the air, tantalizing and slightly terrifying. I'd spent so long constraining myself, forcing jagged edges into acceptable shapes. The idea of simply existing without rigid boundaries felt foreign, dangerous even. Yet in this safe space, with Grant's steady presence behind me, I allowed my marker to drift slightly beyond the printed outline. A small rebellion, but it sent a thrill through me.

Gradually, under Lily's gentle, undemanding chatter about favorite colors and animals, I felt the tight coil of anxiety in my chest begin to unwind. My movements became less calculated, more natural. I reached for a purple marker without overthinking the choice, then a red one, then a sparkly pink that left a trail of glitter across the page.

"That's pretty," Lily commented, her own page a riot of mismatched colors that somehow worked together perfectly. "You're good at this."

Such a simple compliment, yet it warmed me from the inside. I felt Grant move, pulling out a chair beside me rather than hovering behind. His large frame looked almost comical at the craft table, but he settled in with the easy confidence he brought to everything.

"Mind if I join?" he asked, his deep voice pitched soft and low.

I shook my head, oddly pleased at the idea of him participating rather than just observing. Lily pushed a superhero coloring book toward him with a conspiratorial smile.

"The Batman one is the best," she stage-whispered. "Matthew always picks Superman, but Batman has cooler stuff to color."

Grant selected the Batman page with exaggerated seriousness that made something light and bubbly rise in my chest. When he reached for a black marker, I found myself shaking my head.

"No, that's boring," I said, surprising myself with the boldness of the statement. "Try this one." I handed him a metallic blue that gleamed under the lights.

"The maestro has spoken," Grant replied with that rare, warm smile that transformed his usually stern features. He accepted the marker, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. The brief contact sent a familiar spark through me—that same electricity I'd felt the first time he'd touched me, but tempered now with a growing comfort.

As we colored side by side, I found myself slipping more naturally into the mindset I'd fought against for so long. The constant vigilance that had become second nature—the monitoring of my speech, my posture, my desires—began to recede. In its place came something lighter, freer. I giggled at Lily's joke about purple bat wings. I hummed softly while filling in a particularly satisfying section of petals. Small expressions of joy that had been tightly controlled for years.

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