“No, you aren’t wrong. Not exactly. I think I’ve known you were a Daddy but wanted to know what you would be like as my Daddy.” Phew. That took a lot of courage.
“If you will consent, I can show you exactly what today would have looked like if you’d been my little girl.”
We spend the next few minutes talking about consent and safe words. And wow, do I feel safe with him.
“Now that we’ve taken care of safety, let’s chat. I want you to tell me something you'll do differently in the future to prevent these issues from occurring again."
Not: Are you sorry? Not: Don't do it again. But, tell me something you'll do differently. He's asking me to think through it, not just agree.
"Read the whole sign," I say. "Before I act on what I think I know. Slow down the moment between seeing something and doing it."
"That's it." He says it quietly, the same way he said good girl at the ranch. "That's all I'm asking for."
"I'm sorry," I say. "About the cider. I genuinely…"
"I know." He reaches over and takes my hand. "I'm not angry, Maya. I want you to understand that. This isn't about anger. And it’s not the cider or the impulsive acting that bothers me. What upset me was the lie, even if you found it to be a small one, and the obvious testing you’ve been doing since I handed you the water bottle."
“I’m sorry. I wish I could say I’ll never test you again or I won’t be a brat, but…” I try to find the words to explain it. “I think my little likes to challenge sometimes.”
He's quiet for a moment after I finish. The fire pops inside the fireplace. Outside the library windows the resort has gone quiet and dark.
"Stand up," he says.
Two words that instantly register. I'm standing before I've actually decided with my brain to obey. Okay, it’s clear my body is going to do what my body wants.
He moves from the chair to the longer sofa, directly in front of the fire and sits. He looks at me for a long moment as if he’s making a decision, and something in my chest is doing something I don't have language for yet, something that is equal parts nervous and equal parts certain in a way those two things don’t usually align.
"Do you know what I'm going to do?" he asks.
I know. I've read the books. I've been part of the group chats when the girls have confessed and shared intimate details about their relationships for years. But understanding somethingabstractly and standing in a warm firelit room with Anthony Rossi looking at you like that are two different things entirely.
"Yes," I say.
"Tell me."
"You're going to spank me." I’m not sure I’ve ever spoken the word out loud. It sounds like a foreign language.
Something settles in his expression. "That's right." He pauses. "Do you want to tell me no?"
I check. I actually check, not performing the check but doing it, seeking deep down and looking for the no, giving it a fair chance to be there.
It isn't there.
"No," I say.
"No, you don't want to say no, or no as in your answer."
"Both."
He nods. "Come here, then."
Come here.
I go.
He guides me over his lap with the same matter-of-fact steadiness he brings to everything I’ve seen him do this week. There’s no fumbling, no performance, just a calm certainty and I'm across his knees with my hands braced on the cushion and the fire warm on my face and my heart doing something it has never done in this specific way before. It’s beating fast and hard and I can hear each thud of it in my ears.
I thought I would feel more complicated about this. I thought there would be more negotiating with myself. I thought I’d have to talk myself into doing this or have some sort of mental struggle. I feel none of that.
