His eyes flash. His lips curve wickedly.
“Good boy,” he says, and I nearly come apart just from that.
My pulse is thundering so hard I feel it in my teeth. He hasn’t even touched me yet, not really, and I’m already trembling.
Keane strokes his thumb over my lip again, slow, deliberate. His eyes pin me in place as if I’m under oath.
“Such filthy words from such a pretty mouth,” he murmurs. “And yet, you say them so sweetly.”
I swallow, but it doesn’t help. My throat feels raw just from the thought of what I asked for.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?” His voice is even, but the look in his eyes isn’t. It’s hungry. Sharp. “To hear you beg me for it instead of hiding behind your journal?”
Shame burns bright in my chest, but it’s laced with this wild, electric relief.
“I wasn’t ready,” I whisper.
He nods once. “I know. That’s why I waited. But now—” His hand slides down my throat, not squeezing, just resting, heavy and claiming. “Now you’re ready to say it out loud. To ask Daddy for exactly what you need.”
My knees wobble, and I bite my lip so hard it hurts.
He shakes his head, catching my chin between his fingers to make me let go.
“No hiding. No biting back the words. You want to be silenced? Then prove you’re brave enough to tell me. Every dirty little detail.”
I can’t breathe. My chest heaves as though I’ve just run a mile. The words claw at my throat, desperate, humiliating.
“Say it,” he orders softly. “Beg me properly. Beg your Daddy to use you like the boy in your story.”
My face crumples. My whole body feels like it’s about to fly apart.
“Please,” I gasp. “Please, Daddy—shut me up. Use me. I need it.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, slow and dangerous. I’ve just handed him the keys to lock me up forever.
“Better,” he says. His thumb presses against my lips, easing them open. “Much better. But I think you can beg prettier than that.”
My voice is nothing but a thin raw thread, and still it won’t stay small. He wants words, and I keep giving them, even though every one feels like stepping closer to a cliff’s edge.
“Please,” I whisper, the single syllable cracking. “Please, Daddy. Please… don’t make me say it like a joke. Don’t make me hide it. I need you to… to do what I wrote.” My hands twist together in my lap, knuckles white. “I need you to stop my mouth. I need you to make me quiet because I can’t make myself be quiet. I—” I suck a breath in, panic and want tangling. “I’ll do anything. I’ll take whatever you decide. I just—please.”
Keane’s thumb strokes slow circles against my cheek like a metronome. He waits, patient and terrible and kind all at once, letting me spill the rest of myself out.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low. “Tell Daddy how you want it. Tell me why you need it.”
His eyes burn into mine, and I feel naked and protected at the same time.
Words tumble out in a rush, humiliating and honest.
“Because my head won’t stop. Because I talk to fill the holes, and it only makes them bigger. Because when you shut me up with… with what we talked about, I feel less afraid. I feel like I belong somewhere. I feel like I’m yours.” My cheeks are wet. I don’t bother to hide it. “Please, Daddy. Be the thing I can come home to. Be the thing that silences the noise and puts me in Little space.”
He lets out a soft, approving sound that makes something inside me unclench.
“Good,” he says. “Good, good, good.” His voice repeats the word like a benediction, slow and sure. “You asked for brave things, baby. You put them down on the page. You came back and read them. That’s courage.”
I beg again because I can’t not. Begging is the only honest currency I have here.
“Please don’t stop until I mean it for myself. Please don’t let me hide away again. Please… keep me.”
