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He kept spanking her, his hand landing over and over until she was crying. “Maggie is not allowed to speak about herself negatively. Understand me?”
She lay over his lap, sobbing and repentant. Ian gradually slowed the spanking, and then he rubbed her bottom for a moment before pulling her up onto his lap. She sat straddling his legs, her face pressed to his bare chest.
“S-sorry, Daddy.”
“You don’t need to say sorry to me, Little girl,” he told her. “Say sorry to yourself. You need to be kinder to you.”
As her crying slowed, she slid her thumb into her mouth, feeling exhausted.
Jameson crouched in front of her, taking hold of her chin so he could clean her face with a tissue. He held the tissue to her nose.
“Blow.”
Eww.
He gave her a stern look. “Blow. Or the next time you’re in Little headspace, Papa will be doing everything for you.”
Her eyes widened. Everything?
Normally, Ian took care of her when she regressed very young. Although they hadn’t moved into the territory of diapers, there were training pants involved.
However, the look on Jameson’s face told her that he was serious.
Was it a threat or a promise, though?
Because there was a part of her that wanted that. She loved surrendering completely to Jameson.
She blew her nose into the tissue. “That’s not very nice, Papa.”
“I don’t know . . . I think you might like that idea.” His face grew concerned. “Would you like to revisit the idea of a therapist later?”
Would she?
Or did she know deep down that was what she really needed? “I think it might be a good idea. Although I think Ian should have to go as well.”
“Not a bad idea, I suppose,” Ian said, shocking her.
Maggie drew back, looking up at him. “Really? You know, it’s really brave to admit you have a problem, Daddy. And to do something about it. I’m proud of you.”
Ian narrowed his eyes at her. “And what sort of problem do I have?”
“A spanky hand one.” She held her hand up to the side of her mouth. “You know . . . where you think your hand has a brain.”
“My spanky hand is feeling worn out,” he said.
“Aww. Too bad.”
“But Jameson and Jack both have spanky hands. Should I get them to wear their hands out on your ass?”
“Daddy, no! So mean. Also . . . maybe they should go to a therapist as well.”
“Perhaps we should,” Jameson agreed. “I know I have some fears of your disappearing again. And then there’s all that stuff with Elizabeth.”
“Ick. Elizabeth.” She grimaced after saying that and snuck a look at Jameson to see if he was upset.
But he actually smiled.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Jack told her. “Now, of course, I don’t need a therapist. So I’ll just be the driver and hand-holder.”
