Page 77 of Thor

"That's the plan," I confirmed. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."

A slow smile spread across her face. "No, I'd like that. Very much."

I reached for a soft washcloth and a bar of handmade soap with bits of lavender embedded in it. Dipping both in the warm water, I worked up a gentle lather and began with her shoulders, drawing the cloth across her skin in slow, deliberate motions.

She sighed, tension visibly draining from her muscles. "That feels amazing."

"Good." I continued my ministrations, washing her back, her arms, her chest with careful attention. There was nothing sexual in my touch now, though admiration remained. This was about care, about tending to her needs after the intensity of our connection.

When I reached for a bottle of shampoo, she tilted her head back without prompting, eyes closed in trust. I wet her hair carefully, then massaged the fragrant shampoo into her scalp with firm, circular motions. A small moan of pleasure escaped her lips.

"Your hands are magic," she murmured.

I smiled, though she couldn't see it with her eyes closed. "So I've been told."

"Cocky," she replied, but there was no heat in it. Just contentment.

I rinsed her hair thoroughly, shielding her eyes with one hand to keep soap from running into them. Then I applied conditioner, working it through the long strands with my fingers. Throughout it all, she remained relaxed and pliant, occasionally making small sounds of appreciation.

When she was clean and relaxed, I helped her stand and step out of the tub, then wrapped her in the largest, softest towel I owned. I dried her with the same care I'd used washing her, patting rather than rubbing, mindful of her sensitive skin.

"You're good at this," she observed as I gently toweled her hair.

"I’m glad you think so. Because I want to do thisa lot.”

She smiled. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“It’s not what you did. It’s who you are.”

The smile on her face was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

When she was dry, I wrapped the towel around her and secured it. "Wait here. Got something for you."

I moved back into the main room, heading for the cedar chest at the foot of the small daybed in the corner. Opening it released the scent of cedar and lavender—the sachets I'd placed inside to keep the contents fresh. I removed the item I sought: a soft, pink onesie made of premium fleece, still with its tags attached.

I returned to the bathroom, holding it up for her to see. Her eyes widened, then filled with tears.

"You have a onesie?" she whispered, reaching out to touch the fabric with reverent fingers.

"Bought it six months ago," I admitted. "Saw it online. Couldn't not buy it." I didn't add that I'd spent nearly an hour staring at the screen before hitting the purchase button, or that I'd tracked the package obsessively until it arrived, then hidden it immediately in the cedar chest.

She let the towel drop, standing naked and vulnerable before me. But something had shifted in her demeanor—a subtle change in her posture, her expression. She looked younger somehow, more open. I recognized it immediately: she was slipping into her Little space.

"Is it for me?" she asked, her voice higher, softer than her normal speaking tone.

"It is now," I told her, unzipping the front. "Arms up."

She obeyed without hesitation, raising her arms over her head. I guided the soft material over her body with care, helping her arms through the sleeves, pulling it up over her shoulders. The pink fleece enveloped her like a hug, the fabric draping softly over her curves. I zipped it up the front, securing her in its warmth.

The change in her was immediate and profound. Her entire body seemed to relax, her face softening into an expression of pure contentment. She looked down at herself, hands stroking the soft material covering her arms, then back up at me with a smile that hit me square in the chest.

"It's so soft, Daddy," she said, her voice definitely in Little space now.

"Only the best for my princess," I replied, finding my own voice had gentled to match hers.

I took her hand and led her back to the main room. Guiding her to the plush reading chair in the corner, I settled into it first, then drew her onto my lap. She came willingly, curling against my chest like she belonged there. I reached for the quilt and wrapped it around both of us, cocooning us in warmth.

"Comfortable?" I asked, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

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