I had resources now, but I had to go slowly. I knew deep down that any BDSM relationship was built on trust and consent. Lottie had to consent to me making decisions for her, and to trust me to make the right ones. Right now, I needed to focus on Lottie's immediate needs—stabilizing her health, ensuring her safety, and helping her find more sustainable solutions without making her feel controlled or diminished. It was such a fine line. I found myself thinking about Gideon and Abby, how their Daddy-Little relationship worked. On the surface, it looked simple—Gideon made the rules, set boundaries, and took care of everything from Abby's medical appointments to her bedtime. He was unquestionably in charge.
But watching them together revealed a more complex dynamic. Yes, Gideon provided structure and security, but he also gave Abby space to be herself within those boundaries. He didn't dictate her every move or thought. Instead, he created a safe framework where she could flourish.
And God, did he spoil her. Custom-built playroom with every art supply known to mankind. Designer clothes that suited her Little aesthetic. Weekly "adventures" carefully planned to expand her horizons while keeping her comfortable. When she'd been scared of the dentist, he'd brought the damn practice to her to ensure she got gentle care on his terms.
The most telling thing, though, was how they interacted. Gideon—hardened former special forces commander who could make grown men tremble with a look—was completely soft around Abby. She had him wrapped around her little finger, and everyone knew it. He'd move mountains for her smile.
That's what made it work. The power dynamic wasn't about control for control's sake. It was about creating a relationship where both people got what they needed. Gideon neededsomeone to protect and nurture; Abby needed someone to help her navigate a world that had hurt her badly.
Could Lottie and I have something like that? The question hit me with unexpected force. I'd never considered myself Daddy material. My dominance had always expressed itself through more traditional D/s dynamics—control, pain management, sexual authority.
But with Lottie...the urges I felt were different. I wanted to hold her hand while she did her insulin. Hell no, I wanted to actually give her the damn insulin. Buy her teddy bears to keep Mr. Snuggles company. Make sure she ate regular meals and got enough sleep. Create a space where she felt completely safe, where she could be as small as she needed without shame.
But not just that. I wanted her to look at me the same way Abby did with Gideon.
We needed to talk about her needs once she felt safe. I didn’t want to put any pressure on her, and the last thing I wanted was her thinking her safety depended on her agreeing to being in a relationship with me. She’d come to the club looking for a Daddy but she hadn’t had the chance to talk or meet with anyone in the lifestyle.
So that was going to be the first thing. Take her to the club. Introduce her to Abby. Help her make friends, and then I could talk to her about what I wanted once she knew more and her consent felt like the real thing, not because she didn’t have any other choices. It was Thursday, the Little room would be open tonight.
I checked the time. Fiona had been here for nearly an hour. I should check on them, make sure Lottie wasn't feeling overwhelmed.
When I returned to the kitchen, I found the two women laughing, heads bent over what looked like a smartphone app. Lottie's cheeks had more color than I'd seen since finding her inthat alley, and she seemed genuinely engaged in whatever Fiona was showing her.
"This one sends you reminders for everything," Fiona was saying, swiping across her screen. "Medications, appointments, when to check your levels. You can customize all the alerts."
"And it's free?" Lottie asked, sounding skeptical.
"Totally free. The pharmaceutical companies fund it as part of their patient support programs. I can't believe the clinic didn't sort this out immediately," Fiona frowned, then glanced up noticing me hovering in the doorway. "Hey, Walker. I was just showing Lottie some of the apps I use to keep track of everything."
"Finding them helpful?" I asked Lottie directly, careful to keep my tone casual.
She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fiona's been explaining a lot of things the nurse never told me about."
"Like the fact that she qualifies for at least three different assistance programs," Fiona said, giving me a pointed look. "And that there's a community clinic downtown that specializes in diabetes management and offers sliding scale payments."
Relief washed through me. Fiona had accomplished more in an hour than I could have in a day of trying to convince Lottie to accept help.
"That's great," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "Any other revelations I should know about?"
Fiona grinned, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear. "I've been telling Lottie about the support group I go to on the first Tuesday of every month. It's mostly service industry folks who work weird hours and have health challenges. She should come."
Lottie fiddled with the hem of her borrowed shirt, looking uncertain. "Maybe. If I can figure out the bus schedule."
"I can drive you," I offered immediately.
Fiona shot me an approving look. "I should get going," she said, gathering her things. "My shift starts at four, but my apartment looks like a bomb hit it. I've put my number in Lottie's phone, and we're going to text about those applications."
After showing Fiona out, I returned to find Lottie still sitting at the island, staring at her phone with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Everything okay?" I asked, sliding onto the stool beside her.
"Fiona's really nice," she said, not looking up from her phone. "She explained so much that the nurse never did. Or maybe they tried, but I wasn't ready to hear it."
Which seemed odd because helping vulnerable people should be their jam. I studied her profile, noting the color that had returned to her cheeks. "Seems like you two hit it off."
"She doesn't make me feel stupid for not knowing things." Lottie's voice was quiet. "Or like I'm a burden for needing help."
My chest tightened. "You're not a burden, Lottie."
