Page 33 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

I return to Sean's at seven, having spent far too long deciding what to wear. I've settled on a simple outfit, jeans and a soft pink sweater that's cozy rather than sexy. My hair is down, freshly washed and dried, and I've kept my makeup minimal.

Sean greets me at the door with a warm smile that makes my heart flutter traitorously. "Right on time," he notes with approval.

"Don't get used to it," I tease, stepping inside. "I'm not making a habit of punctuality."

His chuckle follows me as I greet Lucky, who's beside himself with joy at seeing me twice in one day. “You will if you don’t want the consequences that come with being late to see your Daddy.” He says with a wink.

Dinner is comfortable, the conversation flowing easily as we carefully avoid the heavier topics that led to our argument. Sean tells me about a book he's reading; I share a funny story about Mrs. Pemberton's Pomeranian. It feels normal, domestic even, in a way that both comforts and terrifies me.

After dinner, we settle on the couch with glasses of wine, a respectable distance between us. Lucky curls up on his bed nearby, watching us with apparent satisfaction at having his humans together again.

"This is nice," I say, taking a sip of my wine. "I've missed this. Just... being together."

Sean's expression softens. "I have too."

"There's something I've been wanting to ask you," Sean says eventually, his tone careful.

"Hmm?" I turn to face him more fully.

"That group chat you're always on. The one that made you blush when I caught you looking at it during training." His eyes hold mine. "What is it, exactly?"

Heat rises to my cheeks immediately. "Oh. That."

"Yes, that." Amusement flickers in his eyes. "Given your reaction, I'm guessing it's not just casual friends chatting about the weather."

I take a large sip of wine, buying time. "It's... a book club."

"A book club," he repeats skeptically. "That makes you blush and hide your phone?"

"A specific kind of book club," I clarify, knowing my face is probably matching my hair by now.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Ah. The kind that discusses those books you were reluctant to tell me about. The ones you write."

"I don't write them! I write short stories sometimes based on them, but I definitely am not an author. I just... read them. With friends. And discuss them."

"What kind of books, princess?" His voice drops lower, taking on that commanding edge that makes my stomach flip. HisDaddyvoice.

I drain my wine glass. "Romance novels."

"What kind of romance novels?"

God, he's relentless. And he knows exactly what he's doing, pushing me like this. "The... adult kind."

"Be specific," he prompts, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Daddy Dom romance," I finally admit, the words rushing out.

Instead of the teasing I expect, his expression turns thoughtful. "So when you called me Daddy that first time..."

"It wasn't an accident," I confirm, wanting to sink through the floor. "I was... testing a theory."

"A theory that I might be like the men in your books," he concludes.

"Something like that."

A slow smile spreads across his face. "And what was your conclusion, Ms. Wright?"

My heart hammers against my ribs. "That you might be even better than fiction."

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