Page 78 of Rules to Live

I opened my mouth to point out that I had quit growing years ago, and then it dawned on me what he was doing. And, damn, if my dick didn’t get on board with that. So did the rest of me. I sagged against Jack’s body as the tension in my muscles released.

“Yes, Daddy,” I agreed. I was the one who told him I wanted to explore regression a bit more, so, really, he was only giving me what I had asked for. “Anything else I should know?”

“Not yet. Would you mind setting the table? The plates are up there, and the silverware is right here,” he told me, pointing to the drawer at his hip.

I quickly moved to pull two plates out of the cupboard in the corner, then reached for the silverware. He shifted to the side, his fingers ghosting down my arm. I shivered at the casual touch.

As I allowed myself to relax, I became aware of a sensation I hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time. I was happy. Not the fake happy I showed the rest of the world, but truly content. And it was because I was here with Jack, and he had asked me to move in with him.

Stupid. Reckless. Perfect.

I silently watched him finish making breakfast for us. While he worked, I pulled out my phone and did a quick search, wanting to find out everything I could about being a Middle. I still didn’t want to jump into anything, but the more I thought about doing this, the more excited I became.

I stumbled over a forum and scrolled through the posts. It wasn’t ideal, because it was geared for Daddies and little girls, not boys, but it was better than nothing, and it was a hell of a lot easier to read about others’ real-life experiences, rather than work up the stones to ask Corey about it. My face flamed red as I realized why he’d offered for me to stop by and chat with him anytime if I had questions. Last night was starting to feel like an impromptu coming out of adult time party, with me as the guest of honor. I was horrified to think everyone who was there now knew about me.

I shook my head, preferring to focus on what I’d set out to do. As I read the questions and answers, something became clear to me: no one seemed able to put together a list of what makes a person a Middle, as opposed to a Little or even just Daddy’s boy (or girl). That made me feel a bit better, since some of these people had been living this way for years.

Then, I saw a girl talking about how her Daddy helped her reclaim a hobby she’d given up because of an ex. I got emotional while reading her post about how this jerk in her past had told her she’d never amount to anything. While I hadn’t suffered that, it sure as shit fit how I felt when my bandmates walked away.

I missed playing. Maybe my Daddy could help me get over my insecurity? It probably wouldn’t ever be a career at this point, but I could still play for me.

“Daddy?”

Jack stopped what he was doing and glanced up. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“I’m reading about Middles. I know we were going to wait until after breakfast to talk, and this probably sounds stupid, but I didn’t want to wait to ask you about it.”

Jack set down the spatula and took the stool next to mine. “Nothing you ask is stupid,” he reassured me. “What is it?”

“Okay, maybe this doesn’t even fall into what we’re talking about, but I figured I’d ask anyway.”

“Spit it out, already.”

“Do you think it would be okay for you to give me rules about practicing my guitar?” The way Jack’s face brightened it was obvious I had made a good decision. “And maybe we could set aside time for me to write, too. I know I said I couldn’t sit down and write, but if I don’t try, I’ll never know if I could have something decent inside of me.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, sweetheart. Do you need someone to make sure you don’t forget how important music is to you?”

I nodded, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Then that will definitely be one of your rules,” he promised me. “Anything else you’ve seen that interests you?”

“Not so far,” I responded. “I’m going to keep reading while you finish up breakfast. I might come up with something while we’re talking.”

“There’s no hurry, sweetheart.” He carried the pan of eggs to the table, scooping some onto each of our plates. Instead of sitting at one of the chairs, Jack crouched in front of me. “I’m proud of you for telling me what you want. As long as you promise you’ll keep doing that, the sky’s the limit.”

I didn’t believe in much, but as Jack rested his head on my knee, I thanked whatever higher power might be out there. This crazy, wonderful man had pulled me from the depths of rock bottom, and he’d offered me the world on a platter. I’d try every day to be worthy of his love.

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