Page 78 of Daddy's Muse
The first thing I felt as I woke was warmth. The second was weight—a heavy arm draped over my waist, a chest pressed firm against my back.
For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming, the kind of dream where everything is blurred at the edges. My head may have felt like it was full of cotton, but I knew that the slow rise and fall behind me was real.
I blinked against the morning light slipping in through the curtains. My body ached like I’d been stretched and wrung out, every muscle heavy, tender in ways that made heat creep across my face. The ache wasn’t just exhaustion. My lips parted on a shaky breath as memories, fractured and hazy, brushed against the edge of my mind.
Pappa’s mouth on mine.
The weight of his body on top of me.
The rhythm of him moving inside of me, rubbing so, so deep—
I flinched, grabbing at the thread of memory, but the harder I tried to pull it closer, the more it dissolved. My skull throbbed faintly, like pressing against a bruise. It appeared that all that was left of the night prior was sensation: the searing heat of his hands, the sound of his voice low in my ear, the way I had clung to him, begged him for more and more and more.
I shifted, feeling a bit uneasy at the fog in my brain, and Pappa stirred behind me, tightening his arm around my waist.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice still edged with sleep. He pressed a kiss against the back of my neck. “Stay still, little one. Rest some more.”
I swallowed hard, throat scratchy. “Pappa… last night… did we—”
He kissed my shoulder before I could finish, slow and deliberate, as if sealing the words back inside me. “We were together,” he said, “like we’re meant to be.”
Heat spread through me at his certainty, but so did confusion. My body believed it. My heart did, too. But my mind—my memories—refused to fall into place.
“I don’t remember all of it,” I admitted, voice small. “It’s like… when I try to think too hard, my head feels funny.”
His hand moved up my chest, calm and protective. “Don’t hurt yourself over details that don’t matter. You were safe. You are safe. That’s all you need to hold on to.”
The firmness in his tone soothed some of my thoughts, and part of me wanted to let it win completely—to stop questioning, to sink into the comfort of his arm around me, his breath steady against my neck.
But beneath that still lingered a shiver of unease, quiet and insistent.
I closed my eyes, letting the weight of his care ground me, trying to believe his words.
Safe.
With Pappa, I was safe.
I had to believe that.
I did believe that.
It just… I felt off, like I was forgetting something important.
For a while, we just stayed curled together, the world beyond our bed feeling distant.
When he finally coaxed me up, he was gentle as always—guiding me through showering, helping me get dressed, setting food in front of me at the table. He smoothed my hair back from my face when I leaned on the table, exhausted still, and whispered things about how proud he was of me, how beautiful I looked in the morning light.
I clung to those words—to him. They were something solid to hold onto when my thoughts kept slipping away.
But as the day stretched on, fragments slowly began to return to me. They weren’t clear memories, not at first—just more sensations.
The brush of animal fur beneath my bare skin.
A blindfold over my eyes.
Something too sweet on my tongue, the taste lingering at the back of my throat.
But each time I tried to push further, a sharp pressure bloomed in my temples, warning me back. Pappa noticed, of course. He always noticed. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles, told me to relax, and reminded me that he’d never let me be harmed.
