Page 50 of Bratva Bride
Anya had curled into her corner—knees to chest, Peanut pressed against her sternum like armor made of gray velvet. I sat at the opposite end, far enough to give her space, close enough that she knew I wasn't abandoning her to this conversation. The afternoon light had shifted, painting golden stripes across the floor that made everything feel less clinical than it should.
"We should talk about physical intimacy," I said, watching her arms tighten around her knees. The defensive curl of someone expecting to be hurt. "Not because anything needs to happen. But because I want you to know what's possible, what boundaries exist, what you can want without shame."
She was looking at Peanut instead of me, fingers tracing the elephant's worn ear in endless loops. The silence stretched—not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with twenty-six years of her father's voice saying her body wasn't hers to want things with.
"In DDlg dynamics," I continued when she didn't speak, "physical intimacy can be separate from little time, or it can be part of it, or it can not exist at all. All of those are valid."
"How does that work?" Her voice was muffled by Peanut. "The separation?"
"Clear boundaries. Big Anya decides what she's comfortable with when she's little. Maybe that's just cuddling. Maybe it's kisses. Maybe it's nothing at all. Little space isn't inherently sexual—for most people, it's the opposite. It's about safety and innocence and healing."
She lifted her head slightly. "But some people...?"
"Some people incorporate elements. But that's advanced. That's after months or years of building trust, establishing boundaries, knowing exactly where little space ends and adult desire begins." I shifted slightly, needing her to understand this."For us, starting out? Physical intimacy only happens when you're big Anya. Only with explicit consent. Only with safe words active."
"I don't know what I want," she whispered, and the honesty of it made my chest tight. "I know I'm attracted to you. But I don't know if that's real or just—gratitude that you're not him. That you gave me choices. That you see me as human."
"All of those can be real," I said carefully. "Attraction doesn't have to be pure to be valid. You can want me because I'm safe and because you think I'm attractive. They're not mutually exclusive."
She finally looked at me directly, those dark eyes holding mine with an intensity that made my pulse accelerate.
"When I kissed you, I wanted to kiss you back for hours," I admitted, giving her the truth she deserved. "I'm attracted to you, Anya."
Her breath caught audibly. "You wanted—"
"I wanted. Want. Present tense." I kept my voice steady despite the way my blood heated just from talking about it. "But that's separate from being your Daddy. I can be both if you want both. Or I can just be Daddy. Your choice. Always."
She uncurled slightly, legs extending so her feet were near my thigh. Not touching, but closer. "How can you be both? Aren't they—opposite?"
"Different facets of the same care." I was choosing words carefully, needing her to understand the separation. "Daddy Ivan makes you breakfast and enforces bedtime and reads you stories. Lover Ivan—if you want him—worships your body and makes you feel desired and shows you pleasure you get to actually choose."
"And they don't . . . overlap?"
"Not without explicit permission. If we're playing—if you're little—nothing sexual happens. Period. But if you're big Anyaand you want me, then you get all of me. The hunger I feel when you bite your lip. The way my hands itch to touch you. The fantasies I've had about making you make those soft sounds you do when something feels good."
Color flooded her cheeks, but she didn't retreat. If anything, she shifted closer, her foot now actually touching my thigh through my jeans. The contact was electric, sending heat directly to parts of my anatomy that didn't care about careful conversations.
"What if I want both but I'm scared?" she asked, echoing her question from earlier but with more weight now.
"Then we go slow." My hand moved without permission, covering her foot with gentle pressure. "We talk about everything before it happens. We use safewords. Green, yellow, red apply to all intimacy."
"Everything?" Her voice was breathy. "You'd talk through... everything?"
"Would you like me to tell you exactly what I'd do? How I'd kiss you for so long you forget everything except my mouth? How I'd learn every place that makes you gasp?"
Her foot pressed harder against my thigh, and I could see her pulse hammering in her throat.
"How I'd take my time undressing you," I continued, voice dropping lower. "Worship every inch of skin revealed. Make you feel like the most desired woman in existence, because you are."
"Ivan—"
"But only when you're ready. Only when you ask. Only when big Anya wants lover Ivan and not just Daddy Ivan." I squeezed her foot gently, then released it. "No rush. No pressure. We could spend months just kissing if that's what you need. Or we could never do anything physical and just build the dynamic. Both are good. Both are valid."
She was breathing faster now, and I recognized arousal mixing with anxiety in her expression. Want and fear tangled together.
"Can we—" She stopped. Bit her lip in that way that tested my control. "Can we have rules about it? Physical things?"
"Of course."
