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My dick got hard against his thigh, but not rock hard like I wanted to fuck, just lazy hard like it was enjoying the heat and the sensation, and I was. It was humiliating, and it was a turn on, but mostly it just felt good, sent comforting jolts through my whole body, reliable and relaxing and safe.
It was a different kind of meltdown, one that just felt like melting, like tapping into some deep down part of me that knew how to breathe and just let things happen. He spanked me until I was nothing but a puddle slumped over his lap, too exhausted and wrung out to kick or squirm or lift up and beg for more. And then he finally stopped.
“Are you going to behave for Daddy?” he asked me, rubbing his hand across my ass, making me wiggle around when he tapped into the pain I’d thought was missing. It was definitely there, just needed a little coaxing to come out.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He pushed my shirt up and rubbed my back, and fuck I was so sore from just being alive that my moan turned into a sob, and I just crumbled and cried silently into my arms as he stroked up and down my spine and then drew circles in the small of my back while my ass pulsed fire.
“Fuck,” I finally managed to spit out, and he laughed.
“Wanna get on the bed a minute?”
I nodded, crawling up to flop on my stomach. He slid up next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, just lying close and quiet until I looked up at him.
“Feel better?” he asked me.
I was sweaty and sore and tired, andnoshould have been the right answer, but it wasn’t. I felt empty and clear-headed, something that was so unfamiliar to me I didn’t even know what to do with it. When he got ahold of me, even if he told me things I didn’t want to hear, I felt safe.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Listen to me,” he said, holding my face, tilting my head until I was looking at him just the way he wanted while I listened. “When you’re struggling, even if you can’t explain why, even if you don’twantto tell me why, I need you to just tell me you’re hurting. And we’ll figure it out together without you having to work yourself up and destroy things. I can hold you, or I can spank you, or I can fuck you so hard you can’t get out of bed, but I can make you feel better if you let me take care of you. You’ve done it alone for long enough. It’s time to let somebody else take over.”
Honestly, that seemed like a ridiculously simple solution to a problem that was probably never going to go away. And shit was never that simple for me. But I was so fucking tired and that was so fucking tempting that I nodded.
“You realize you sound like a crazy person,” I muttered. Because why just agree when you could see how much arguing you could get away with, I guess.
He shook his head, almost smiling, and it seemed like I could get away with at least that much. “I realize that you deflect like a motherfucker when I tell you shit you know is true. I get that you’re used to doing everything on your own and this is probably uncomfortable and it’s going to take some time for you to believe I mean it, but I’m going to take care of you. And eventually, you’re going to realize you’re not getting something ridiculous, you’re getting exactly what you should have had all along.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Everything was cleaned up,right back where it had been before my meltdown, except the fruit bowl was empty now. I felt really bad about the apples. And the chairs. I just liked his kitchen so much, I hated that I’d been so shitty to it.
There were pots and pans on the stove and things spread out across the counter like a prep kitchen, and I tried to get a look, but Caleb steered me over to the table instead, pulling out one of the chairs for me.
“What are you doing? What are you making? I can help. I can chop things. Just tell me what to do.” Was I overly eager to prove I was a helpful house guest and not a feral cat that belonged out in the alley somewhere pawing through the trash, yeah. But also I didn’t mind doing kitchen stuff, and I really just wanted to hang out and see what he was doing.
“Spaghetti,” he told me, and my stomachscreamed.I didn’t realize my gut was actually flatline-empty until he listed what was possibly my one and only favorite food.
“Spaghetti?”
“Unless you don’t like spaghetti. Then I can—”
“Ilovespaghetti.”
He looked surprised. Shocked, actually. “Really?”
I blushed, feeling greedy and selfish and spoiled just from telling him I liked something, embarrassed by the fascinated way he responded to it like it was secret, behind-a-paywall insider information. It kind of was. I didn’t go around saying I liked shit, since what did it matter, really. Definitely didn’t seem like this was the appropriate time for me to be getting spoiled yet again, but I wasn’t going to snub fucking pasta, especially when I knew he could cook for real.
“Yeah. It’s my favorite,” I admitted, and god, he looked so fucking happy about that it hurt.
“Great. Awesome. Next time you can help. This time I’ll make dinner and you sit down and finish up.”
I eyed the chair I’d kicked over earlier that looked a lot harder than it had when it was laying on its back. “Finish up what?”
He walked around behind me and gave me a swat and then pulled my sweats and my shorts down in the back and gave me a few more. Here I’d thought he saidchange into something comfortableto be nice, he just wanted easier access to my ass. Still not complaining. Yeah, that fucking stung, but as punishments went, I was on board. Not that I wasn’t on board with all of them, whatever.
“Sit,” he told me, pointing at the chair. “Right on your bare bottom. You’re gonna write some lines for me.”
