Page 57 of Break Me, Daddy

But they were keeping things platonic for a reason. Good reasons, ones he’d do well to remember, especially when faced with the temptation that was his little siren. “Not today.”

Horror flashed over her features. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I wasn’t thinking. God, I’m such an asshole.”

“You’re not. And what have I said about talking shit about yourself?”

“It’s not talking shit if it’s true.”

He shouldn’t punish her when he was on edge, cranky, borderline out of control. But he’d had more than enough of how she talked about the woman he loved. And, as he’d proven before, he didn’t have to lay a hand on her to make a point.

Lifting a hand, he pointed to the far end of the room. “Nose in the corner and leave it there until I come back downstairs.”

“Daddy, no!”

The protest came out as a whine, and despite himself, he nearly chuckled at her sounding exactly like a bratty teenager.

“That’s not fair!”

“You can spend time in the corner down here, or you can come upstairs with me and get your mouth washed out before I put you in the corner. Your choice, Francesca.”

“Ugh!” Huffing out an annoyed breath, she hopped up from the couch and stomped over to the empty corner, crossing her arms over her chest. “Happy?”

“Hands behind your back.” He waited for her to shift positions. “Good girl. Do not move from that position until I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Reluctance made the syllables drag a bit, but he was satisfied she’d stay where he’d put her. Or at the very least she’d do a decent job of pretending she had.

With that handled, at least for now, he headed upstairs for a quick shower. The steaming hot water helped wash some of the exhaustion of the day away, and if he took a little more time than usual to enjoy the pounding spray of the shower jets he’d had installed for exactly that reason, well, who could blame him?

Chuckling at the thought of what his little siren would have to say about it if she found out he’d deliberately left her in the corner longer than usual, he dressed for dinner and made his way back downstairs, keeping his footsteps as light as possible on the stairs. Between his military training and his security business, he was pretty damn sneaky for a man his size.

And so, when he stepped into the living room and found his babygirl still standing where he’d left her, arms folded neatly behind her back as she shifted restlessly from foot to foot, pride welled in his chest.

“Come here, Francesca.”

She might have been able to sneak away from the corner and then back again if she’d listened close enough. But he was fairly certain the way she jumped at the sound of his voice was entirely genuine, which led him to believe she actually had stayed put for her punishment.

Head down, she turned away from the corner and crossed the room to stand in front of him. Gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently nudged her head up until he could see the pout on her lips and the wariness in her deep brown eyes.

“Do you understand why you were punished, Francesca?”

At the word ‘punished’, her pupils dilated, ever so slight and her breath caught. “Um. Not really. I was an asshole and?—”

Tightening his grip on her chin, he forced her head back a bit further. “Stop. You said something without thinking, just like we all do. It doesn’t make you an asshole.”

“I hurt you.”

There was so much pain in that whispered phrase it nearly drove him to his knees. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? Saying it hadn’t hurt to be so violently reminded of everything he couldn’t have would be a lie, but he didn’t want to hurtherwith the truth.

“We all make mistakes, little siren. That doesn’t make you an asshole, it just makes you human. You acknowledge them, you learn from them, and you move on. Beating yourself up over them doesn't help anyone, least of all the person you hurt. Does that make sense?”

“Not really. I’m… I’m not really used to just being allowed to make a mistake.”

Her fucking parents. If he had just five minutes alone with them…

Breathing deeply, he reigned his temper back in best he could. “Whose job is it to decide if you need to be punished for something?”

“Yours, Daddy.”

“From this point forward, you can consider it a rule that you are not allowed to punish yourself for anything. That is my role and my role alone. If I catch you calling yourself names or putting yourself down or otherwise punishing yourself for a simple mistake, you will answer to me. Am I making myself clear, Francesca?”

---