Page 36 of Seducing Daddy

I’d walked through fire and survived, and fear no longer had me in its stronghold.

His arms encircled me, and gently, he rocked me back and forth.

I locked myself in his embrace, and the words left my lips before I could stop them. “I’m in love with you, Daddy.” With a pulse-pounding certainty, I knew. “Loving you feels like everything I’ve ever lost came back to me.”

I returned his kiss with reckless abandon until my home slice interrupted us. “All right, love birds, enough already. This calls for a celebration at The Saloon. Blue Hawaiians on me!” announced Nonna, and I followed the sound of her voice to see her tottering on wobbly ankles down the sidewalk towards the bar, assault weapon in hand, in the shape of her oversized handbag.

Chapter 19

Rex

Trinidad Bay, California

The long stretch of sand crooked its arm around the shoulders of the turquoise waters, and I gave thanks. Weather was never predictable on this stretch of the coast, but my prayers were answered this weekend. Jolene sat next to me in front of the bay-view window. Fall was typically when we had the best weather, and this September was no exception. I made a habit of counting my blessings and knew I was a fortunate man. Since meeting Jolene, mercy, peace, and love were multiplied in me.

Ever since the winter of last year, she’d been my baby girl. Which wasn’t to say it was all sunshine and roses. We went through a rough patch when her dirtbag ex was released from jail only a year after he showed up at the post office with a gun, and Jolene’s panic attacks came back with a vengeance. She lived in fear of her abuser returning for revenge. After all, he hadn’t paid heed to the restraining order the first time around; why should he do so the second? While I liked to believe myself her big, strong defender, in the end, it was Nonna’s friendship that neutralized his threat.

It was no secret to long-time Briarville residents that the Drago family got their start in organized crime. They were still connected enough to take out the trash when it counted. I didn’t know the particulars other than Nonna’s relatives called in a favor with the local cartel, who paid that douchebag a personal visit and put the fear of God into him. You know that saying, “May God have mercy on my enemies because I won’t.” I suppose the only mercy shown on that day was that the lowlife was allowed to live. Other than that key piece of information, along with assurances he’d never dare show his face in this town again, I didn’t want to know.

The waitress set down our cutlery, and it was warm against my hand, fresh out of the dishwasher, helping to calm my stomach, which churned with nerves.

As Jolene’s Daddy, I’d taken on the role of her caregiver. When necessary, I ruled with a stern hand, enforcing strict discipline. I preferred to nurture and be a constant in her life, offering a listening ear when she needed it. I was her protector and the authoritative half of our Daddy Dom-little girl (DDlg) connection. But whether strict or lenient with my baby girl, I always wanted what was best for her. The difference between our Daddy Dom-little girl dynamic and BDSM was fewer whips and chains and more rewards and spankings when necessary.

The DDlg dynamic satisfied my soul. Not to blaspheme, but it soothed my spirit and brought me peace, just as my relationship with the Lord did. One didn’t detract from the other.

Love was like a flame. The more fuel we fed it, the brighter it glowed and spread like wildfire.

“So, what should I order for you?” I solicited Jolene, wrapping my hand around her inner thigh. It was one of our things.

She’d been so independent.

Self-sufficient for so long.

She enjoyed me ordering for her every time we ate out together.

I cared for her by giving her a temporary escape from day-to-day adult responsibilities, stress, and boredom whenever I could. Jolene sketched out a new crochet pattern while I placed her order with our server. I didn’t want her to have to sweat the small stuff since she’d spent years at the mercy of a man who blamed her for his abusive behavior. I wanted to help her heal and be happy in any way I could, performing minor acts like bringing her coffee every morning, doing the grocery shopping while she ran her business, and, of course, establishing a set of rules for her to follow, which kept her safe.

Jolene filled me in on her appetite, “I’m thinking of fish and chips because I want french fries, but the clam chowder sounds fantastic.”

Such a cutie. “It’s excellent,” I confirmed about the soup. “Get both, along with a side salad. You need your veggies,” I advocated.

Fruits and veggies definitely weren’t her favorite, but I’d come up with creative ways to get them in her belly. Her slight weight gain since we met pleased me. A satisfied smile made its way across my lips. It made me proud to keep her well-fed. She was none the wiser when I handed her a chocolate-banana smoothie supplemented with powdered greens for breakfast or cooked her lasagna with cups of grated zucchini melted between layers of pasta and cheese.

“All right, Daddy. If you say so.” She settled into me, enjoying the feel of my arm around her.

There were still moments when she drifted away from me—going to a place I couldn’t travel to with her, and certainly didn’t understand. She never talked about exactly what that scumbag did to her, and I learned shame was common for survivors of abuse.

There was an excellent therapist recommended to me by one of my parishioners, and Jolene had been going to see her every week. It wasn’t easy sometimes when she came back from a session distant and depleted. But I’d learned that the road to recovery from domestic abuse wasn’t an upward trajectory. Many times, it was two steps forward and one step back. It was amazing to watch her progress, witnessing her reveal more of her inner child to me every day. I wanted to make her feel so safe that the kid inside always felt free to come out.

Jolene was the one woman that made me risk everything for a future worth having, and I planned to tell her as much after lunch.

Walking along Trinidad Beach, I released Jolene’s hand to rub my palm down my pant leg and wished for a bottle of water. I felt as wobbly as the shivering foam left in the wake of the retreating tide on the shore.

Jolene skipped ahead, taking advantage of the temporary opening between wave and rock, heading to the beach on the other side of a large boulder usually hemmed in by the surf.

“How did you know this was here?” she sang over her shoulder.

“It’s one benefit of growing up in a place. You have time to discover all its treasures,” I told her, thanking the Lord above that there were no other occupants on the sand.

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