Page 24 of Hero Daddy

Sarah. Another instructor. The offer made perfect sense—a way for me to continue the training I'd sought without the complications Chad's personal interest had introduced. A clean separation between the self-defense skills I needed and the DDLG dynamic I'd been researching all night. The logical part of my brain recognized it as a thoughtful, ethical solution.

"I was wrong to assume the DDLG aspects would resonate with you," Chad continued, reading my silence as continued discomfort. "Or at least wrong to introduce them so abruptly and without your explicit consent to explore them." He shook hishead slightly, a gesture of self-recrimination. "I've been doing this a long time, and usually my instincts about people are good. But I misread you, and that's entirely on me."

I bit my lower lip, chest tightening at his words. He thought he'd been wrong about me, when my research had revealed how right his intuition had been.

But I couldn't tell him that. Couldn't admit I'd spent the last seven hours learning everything I could about the dynamic he'd introduced me to, that I'd recognized pieces of myself in what I'd read. The admission felt too exposing, too vulnerable, especially when he was here to apologize for ever suggesting it in the first place.

"It's okay," I said finally, the words feeling inadequate. "You didn't . . . I mean, I overreacted. Running out like that."

Chad shook his head firmly. "No, Daliah. Your reaction was completely valid. I introduced something intimate and unexpected without proper groundwork. Anyone would have been shocked." His gaze was steady, unyielding on this point. "Never apologize for maintaining your boundaries."

There it was again—that careful respect for limits, for autonomy, that all my research had indicated was fundamental to a healthy Dom. Even as he apologized for misreading me, he was demonstrating the exact qualities that made the dynamic appealing. The irony wasn't lost on me.

"Sarah is available Tuesday evenings and Saturday mornings, the same schedule we discussed for your training," Chad continued. "I've already briefed her on what we've covered so far. She can pick up right where we left off with the technical aspects."

He reached into his pocket and produced a business card, different from the one he'd given me after the park incident. This one had Sarah's name and contact information. He placed it onthe coffee table between us, not handing it to me directly, giving me the choice whether to accept it.

"I'll leave you to think about it," Chad said, misinterpreting my silence again. He rose from the couch with that fluid grace I'd come to associate with him, his movements precise and controlled even in retreat. "I'm sorry I got it so badly wrong."

As his hand closed around the doorknob, I felt a decision crystallizing within me, equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The choice between safety and growth. Between hiding and being seen.

"Chad, wait." The words burst from me, stronger than I'd expected, like they'd been building pressure behind my ribs and finally found release. My heart hammered as he froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his broad shoulders tensing beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. The moment stretched between us, elastic with possibility. I was standing now, though I couldn't remember rising from my chair, my body acting on its own desperate need to keep him from walking out that door with a misunderstanding this profound between us.

Chad turned slowly, surprise flickering across his features as he took in my stance—no longer huddled defensively in my chair but standing firm, despite the trembling in my limbs. His eyes searched mine, caution warring with a tentative hope I could read even across the room.

"About . . . what you said," I began, my voice unsteady but determined. "About me. About. . . that room." I swallowed hard, gathering every shred of courage I possessed. "You're not wrong."

The words hung in the air between us, the simplest admission requiring the most bravery I'd ever shown. Chad remained perfectly still, only his eyes moving as they scanned my face, looking for any sign that I didn't mean what I'd just said.

A beat of silence, then I added, my voice softer but firm, locking my gaze with his, "You're not wrong . . . Daddy."

Chad froze, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as the meaning of my words—of that one specific, unmistakable word—sank in. The air between us seemed to crackle with sudden electric tension, the atmosphere in my small apartment shifting completely.

He took a step back toward me, then another, his earlier regret replaced by an intense, consuming focus. The distance between us, which had felt necessary when he first arrived, now seemed like an obstacle, an unwanted space I both feared and longed to close.

"Daliah?" he breathed, my name a question loaded with more meaning than its two syllables should hold. He searched my face, looking for certainty, for understanding of what I'd just initiated.

I nodded, a tear escaping and tracing a warm path down my cheek. "I was scared," I whispered, the confession breaking free after hours of internal struggle. "But . . . it felt . . . right."

His expression softened, comprehension dawning. "You've been researching."

It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "For every moment since I ran. I needed to understand. What you were showing me. What you saw in me." I gestured toward my laptop, the evidence of my deep dive into a world I hadn't known existed yesterday. "I found forums, articles, testimonials. People describing feelings I've had my whole life but never had names for."

Chad's gaze followed my gesture, taking in the scattered notes, the empty coffee mugs, the physical evidence of my sleepless journey of discovery. Understanding passed over his features, followed by something that might have been pride.

"It terrified me," I continued, needing him to understand the complexity of my reaction. "Parts of it still do. I don't want to wear diapers or . . . some of what I read doesn't feel like me at all."

He nodded, no judgment in his expression, just attentive understanding. "Everyone's dynamic is different, Daliah. Unique to the individuals involved." His voice had dropped to that deep, gentle rumble that seemed to resonate directly in my chest. "If we . . . explored this, it would be about finding what works for us. What you need, what I can provide."

"But other parts," I pressed on, needing to articulate the epiphany that had kept me awake through the night, "other parts made so much sense. The structure. The protection. The . . . the care." My voice cracked on the last word, exposing the raw need beneath it. "When you called me 'Little One,' when you told me I was being good . . . it felt like something clicking into place."

Chad closed the distance between us in two decisive strides, his movements controlled but carrying an urgency that made my breath catch. He stopped just before me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the clean scent of his skin, but not touching me yet.

"I thought I'd frightened you away," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of emotion I hadn't heard before. "Thought I'd ruined any chance of helping you by pushing too fast, seeing something that wasn't there."

"You didn't," I whispered, looking up at him, suddenly acutely aware of our height difference, of how solid and substantial he felt even without physical contact. "You saw something in me I didn't know was there. Something I'm just beginning to understand."

His hands came up slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted. When I didn't move, they cupped my face with agentleness that belied their strength, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn't realized were still falling.

---