Page 24 of Daddy Next Door

After another moment, he helped me stand, his movements careful and unhurried. I felt slightly unsteady, as though my perception had shifted in some fundamental way. Before I could regain my full equilibrium, Ethan pulled me against his chest, one arm wrapping around my shoulders while his other hand cradled the back of my head.

"I'm proud of you," he murmured against my hair. "You took that beautifully."

The praise washed over me like warm honey, seeping into places I hadn't realized were empty. I leaned into him, my arms slipping around his waist, face pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong.

In his arms, I felt small and protected. The dichotomy should have been jarring—how could I feel so safe with someone who had just caused me pain, however measured? But that was the revelation pulsing through me: discipline in his hands wasn't about pain, but about the security of boundaries and the safety of his care.

"Thank you," I whispered against his shirt, not entirely sure what I was thanking him for—the experience, the comfort afterward, or the profound sense of being held together by something stronger than my own will.

Ethan's hand moved in slow circles between my shoulder blades. "How do you feel?" he asked, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath my ear.

"Different," I said honestly. "Like something tight inside me just... released."

He nodded, as though my response confirmed something he already knew. "That's a common reaction. The physical sensation creates a pathway for emotional release."

All of a sudden, something burbled up in me. Guilt.

I’d seen him naked. I should tell Daddy. That way I could move forward.

“Daddy,” I said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

He frowned. “There is?”

“Mmhmm. It’s bad.”

“Well no matter how bad it is, we’ll get through it.”

I stayed in his embrace, reluctant to move away from this newfound sanctuary. His hand continued its gentle motion on my back, unhurried and patient.

“Well, the thing is . . .”

And as I told him, his eyes widened, and widened. And when I said the words, “big, thick, cock,” I swear he licked his lips.

Chapter 5

Well.

This escalated quickly.

My wrists tugged against the red velvet ropes, not to escape but to feel their gentle, unyielding pressure against my skin. The soft restraints wrapped around me—secure but never cruel—exactly as I'd asked him for. Exactly as I'd been fantasizing about since I saw him naked.

The ropes crossed my body in an intricate pattern, looping above and below my breasts, framing them in diamond shapes that made me feel both restrained and displayed. Ethan had taken his time with the bindings, checking each one against my skin, asking if they felt right, if they were too tight. The red velvet was expensive – he'd told me that – specially ordered from some artisan rope maker who crafted them for exactly this purpose. They didn't bite into my flesh like I imagined regular rope would. Instead, they hugged me, held me, made me feel both secure and exposed.

I was in my underwear, but I had a feeling he’d specially tied me so that he could remove it.

I tested my mobility again, finding almost none. My arms were tied above my head to the wooden posts of his headboard. My legs were spread and secured to the bottom corners of the frame. The position left me completely vulnerable, yet I'd never felt safer.

The bedroom glowed with the amber light of several candles placed strategically around the room. Their soft illumination cast dancing shadows across the walls and ceiling. The light was just bright enough to see by, but dim enough to feel intimate, private.

A vanilla scent from one of the candles mixed with the deeper, woodsier scent that I'd come to associate with him. The combination made my head swim a little, or maybe that was just the anticipation.

I'd been waiting for fifteen minutes. I knew because I kept glancing at the small clock on his nightstand. Fifteen minutes of being tied to his bed, fifteen minutes of my thoughts racing between nervousness and desperate arousal. Fifteen minutes that felt like hours.

My fingers trembled slightly above the ropes. I couldn't stop the reaction any more than I could stop my heart from pounding against my ribs. A warm flush had crept up my neck minutes ago and refused to retreat. I caught my lower lip between my teeth—that nervous habit I could never quite shake—and tried to steady my breathing.

I heard his footsteps in the hallway, steady and unhurried. My breath caught. The door opened slowly, deliberately, and there he stood. Fully dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, his voice even. He didn't sound sorry at all. He sounded as though making me wait had been entirely intentional.

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