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I step into the boxers and he has the dress on me as quickly as he tore off the last one. We’re already in the elevator when I finally find my tongue. “The conference is about me and the people who want to kill me?”
His jaw works as he guides me out of the elevator. “Yes. What do you want for breakfast? I can reheat you a piroshki—”
“Daddy, go make your call. I can make us breakfast and coffee and bring it in to you,” I urge him.
Before last night I might have stepped back, afraid of the frown on his face, but it doesn’t scare me—it makes me giggle. “You don’t take care of me. I take care of you. It’s not funny.”
I run my hand over his cheek. “Yes, it is. It’s my turn to make coffee. I can do it.”
The hand in my hair is rough and I only wish it were around my throat. “I am aware you can do it. It isn’t about what you can do. It is about I don’t want you to. I want to take care of you. The same way you want to kneel to me, I want to make you smile with what I’ve given you. Your value to me isn’t what you can do for me, it’s the way you make me feel. Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
How can anyone argue with that?
Ten minutes later he’s guiding me into a room with dark wood on the walls. Books are along one wall, the main focus is a large desk with two leather chairs in front of it. There’s a sitting area in a corner of the room with a long leather sofa and two matching leather chairs across from it. “We’re going to be speaking Russian, baby. I’m sorry but if they knew you were here, I’d hear bitching. Women are not supposed to be involved in business, unless they are necessary.”
“Knowing what’s going on is involved?” I mutter as he pulls me into his lap.
“Yes.” He nods as he dials into a phone on the desk. It’s larger than a regular phone with a bunch of buttons, including one that’s clearly for recording.
“Are you going to not tell me what’s going on?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
An eyebrow goes up. “If you need to know.”
A dark voice comes through from the speaker, speaking Russian as he warned me. Sighing, I curl into Daddy’s lap as he mutters something to himself. He wakes up a computer I didn’t realize was even there. What the hell? The keyboard is…what in the fucking—the keyboard is an image on the black blotter that responds to him typing? He flips a switch on the side of the desk and a screen comes up from the back of the desk. Holy fucking shit. Am I awake right now?
I’m in the way. He’s trying to type around me but isn’t able to well. I try and get off his lap, he frowns. He presses a button on the phone. “What’s the matter?”
“I have to pee,” I lie.
Another frown. I’m a bad liar. “Down the hall to the second door on the right.”
I keep my eyes down as I go down the hall. I’m trying to decide if I dare. Needing to make my words true, I find the door Daddy told me would be the restroom. Holy crap. I don’t like it here. This toilet is something out of a vintage magazine. Everything is so delicate and gleams so brightly. Stress sends my hand to my tummy.
Great, now that I’m in here I need to pee. Very carefully, I sit down and pray I don’t break it or something. Done, I wash my hands. I’m almost positive the mirror is solid gold, not gilt.
Daddy’s words come back to me. If I didn’t like it here, this wouldn’t be our home. Because Daddy wanted me happy. He wanted to take care of me. It wasn’t like Ray, annoyed when I asked for cereal and milk. How I wouldn’t eat the peanut butter or tell him why I wouldn’t.
I blink fast, what the hell was that? This was different. I was Ray’s niece. A niece he didn’t see often…stop it. Stop it. Ray isn’t the issue. This is about Daddy, and if it was better for Daddy and made me feel good, then Daddy would be happy. And if I didn’t like this house, once the threat was over we wouldn’t live here.
Tension flows out of me. Happy now, I nearly run back to Daddy. I find his eyes trained on the door. The frown on his face disappears when he sees me. His smile is so loving I’m across the room in seconds to get to him. In expectation he pushes back from the desk for me to get back on his lap. I don’t, though. I go down on my knees beside him and lay my head on his strong thigh.
I wish I could understand why it feels so good. All I know is the moment I lay my head on his thigh, I almost sag with relief. When his hand strokes my hair, everything in me is at peace. Daddy is my port, my safety, and I trust in him to keep me safe. I wrap my arm around his leg and breathe deep as his rich voice rumbles around me.
I’m not sure how much time passes. Somehow I’m floating in those waves of pleasure…I don’t understand when I don’t have the usual heat and hectic feeling throughout me, before it lapped at me and pulled me out into the ocean. Suddenly, Daddy stands. I watch, wondering where he’s going since two men are still talking through the speakerphone.
He's back with a pretty silk white pillow. He grasps my hand to pull me up before placing the pillow on the floor then nodding at me to kneel on it. Then he’s sitting down, again, patting his thigh. Happy, I’m back on my knees with his help.
A tinge of unease hits me, as I realize the call has ended. Daddy is tapping, obviously still working. He stops and strokes my hair again. The unease is gone again. If I weren’t so happy, I’m almost positive I would be freaking out over me on my knees without a thought in the world, and so content I don’t want to move.
Idly I remember the kink summary of a pet: they didn’t think, they were primal in a way they didn’t want to communicate. Their partner read their needs by their actions. I thought it was weird. Who the hell didn’t want to speak or think?
I had no idea I did. Now I understand what Daddy meant that my thoughts or desires could change. I also get why so many of the things like pet and little were under submissive. At the heart of it, we just wanted someone else to do the heavy lifting—to give ourselves up to their will.
I thought it was a little selfish—to give someone the responsibility for their sub’s happiness was a big ask. Except it’s what Daddy did with happiness because it made him feel good. A smile tugs at me. His words of him not needing this to come might be true, but it also added to his pleasure more than I think even he realized.
His cell phone rings, yanking me from my sweet haze. “Show them to the house. Thank you.” I sigh as Daddy strokes my hair. “Baby, they will be here soon. Come along while I collect refreshments.”
He helps me stand. “Who is they?” I ask, as I cling to his hand.
