Chapter 6
M y dreams, that night, were sweet. Rabbits danced through them. The smell of talcum powder and rose water.
It was the first time in five years that I hadn’t woken up from a nightmare. I could scarcely believe it.
I hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. But it was like something called to me, something told my little brain that it was time to let go, time to heal. So I slept. All the way through the damn night.
My fingers brushed against wood—smooth, carved—the doll Silas had given me last night. It was still there, nestled against my chest like some kind of secret. I held it tighter for a second before setting it aside.
My ankle felt much better. The pain was almost gone. Progress, I thought. The quilt bunched around me shifted as I sat up, wincing when the movement tugged at my injury.
Silas was already up. He crouched near the stove, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light from the small flame he was coaxing alive. His hands moved with quiet precision: feeding the fire, adjusting the kettle perched on top. He didn’t look at me right away, but he must’ve heard the creak of the bed.
"Morning, Daddy," I rasped, my voice scratchy with sleep.
He glanced over his shoulder, brown eyes locking on mine. There was something there—not quite soft, not quite hard. Something that made my chest feel tight. The kind of look that said he remembered everything about last night too. The story. The doll. The way we’d let our walls drop just enough to touch something real.
"How’s the ankle, sweetheart?" His voice was low, rough, like gravel under boots.
My heart pounded. He’d called me sweetheart . "Better," I said quickly, shifting to prop myself up more. "Not great, but better."
His frown deepened. He stood, unfolding to his full height, and crossed the room in three strides. The floor groaned under his weight.
"Don’t move it too much," he said, eyeing the offending foot like it might rebel if left unchecked. His hand hovered near my leg, not touching, just . . . there. Close enough to feel the heat of him.
"I won’t," I said, trying to sound casual. But his attention made my skin prickle. Not in a bad way.
"Good." He stepped back, arms crossing over his chest. The sternness in his tone softened, just a little. "So. We need to talk. Set some rules for today. If we’re going to try this DDlg thing."
"Rules?" My brows shot up.
"Yeah." He gave me that look again. Serious. Heavy. "To keep you safe. And relaxed."
“You’re always so serious, Daddy.”
Something flickered in his expression—protective, maybe even tender—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Not always.”
A plate of eggs and toast sat in front of me, steam curling up in the cool air of the cabin. I poked at it with my fork, more focused on the man across from me than the food. Silas leaned back in his chair, one big hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. His other hand rested on the table, fingers tapping out some muted rhythm against the wood.
"First rule," he said, voice steady, low. "You don’t put weight on that ankle. Not unless you absolutely have to."
I nodded, swallowing a bite of toast I could barely taste. “Got it.”
"Second." He shifted forward, setting the mug down with a soft clink. Those brown eyes of his pinned me like a hawk sighting prey. "No going outside alone. You hear me? Snow might be slowing, but you’re not steady enough to handle it."
"Okay," I murmured, but something in me bristled. My fingers gripped the edge of my plate. He wasn’t wrong, not really, but the idea of being confined, relying on him for everything—it made my skin itch.
"Don’t just ‘okay’ me, young lady. This isn’t negotiable." His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath the scruff of his beard. "If you need somethin’, you call for me. Don’t go tryin’ to get it yourself."
"Fine," I said a little sharper than I meant. His gaze flicked up, sharp as the edge of a blade, and I softened my tone. "Really. I understand. You’re right."
"Good." He leaned back again, arms crossing over his broad chest. The tension eased from his face, just a fraction. "Last one’s optional."
"Optional?" That caught my attention. My fork paused halfway to my mouth.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, looking almost... uncomfortable? "If you feel anxious or restless—or stressed—you let me know and we’ll try what worked last night. Littlespace."
Heat rushed to my cheeks, spreading fast and hot. I darted my eyes down to the doll sitting innocently beside my plate, its carved features simple but somehow comforting. "That’s . . . Thank you."
"It’s just another way to help you relax. If you need it." His words were clipped, but there was no mistaking the care woven into them.
"Okay." My voice came out softer this time. Quiet. I set my fork down, folding my hands in my lap. "I’ll try to stick to the rules."
“You will stick to the rules.” His voice had a warning edge, but his eyes softened when they locked on mine. “I have some more. Theses are a little more fun.”
He handed me a sheet of paper and I read, my heart pitter-pattering excitedly in my chest. He’d outlined a bedtime routine (tooth brushing, washing, story) had said I needed to ask him (Daddy) for permission to use the bathroom or get food. There were rules for manners and self care, and a requirement for honesty and no judgement. And there was one rule that made me squirm.
“You get to choose my panties?”
“Damn straight. If you’re okay with it?”
I felt the heat in my cheeks. “I think it could work.”
“Good. I appreciate you’re already dressed today. So we’ll start that tomorrow.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
"Good girl." The words slipped out low, almost under his breath, but they hit their mark. My cheeks burned hotter, my pulse skittering like a startled rabbit. He reached for his mug again like nothing had happened, taking a slow sip of coffee. "There's just one more important rule."
"What is it?"
"When you're better and the snow is safe, you head back down the mountain, and you go back to your old life."
My heart pounded. "But what if—"
"No ifs, no buts. This is no life for someone like you. Think of this as a vacation, alright? From real life. But you have to go back."
"Okay, Daddy."
I picked up the doll, turning it over in my hands to avoid meeting his gaze. The rough wood felt grounding, solid beneath my fingertips.
"Now eat your breakfast," he said, tone lighter now, almost teasing. "Can’t have you breakin’ another rule before we even start the day."
*
After breakfast, I read. Silas though, was busy.
“I’m heading out on a hunt,” he said. He stood by the door, rifle slung over one broad shoulder. He was already bundled in his coat and boots, his dark hair brushing against the fur-lined hood. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, voice low but firm. The kind that didn’t invite argument.
“Do you have to go alone?” I asked before I could stop myself. My fingers gripped the edge of the quilt draped over my lap. “What if something happens?”
“Don’t do anything naughty while I’m gone.” His tone was teasing, but there was steel underneath it. He waited for my reply, standing half in and half out of the doorway.
“I won’t,” I said quickly, trying to sound like I meant it.
He didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he gave a small grunt, more to himself than to me, and stepped outside. The door shut softly behind him. And then he was gone.
The quiet settled in fast. Too fast. I shifted on the bed, adjusting the quilt around me. For a while, it wasn’t so bad. I poured myself a mug of tea from the kettle Silas had left near the stove, the steam curling up and warming my face. I took slow sips, letting the heat spread through me. The carved doll sat on the table nearby, watching silently as I picked up the old book again.
The story was simple, comforting in its way. I traced the faded illustrations with my fingertips, imagining how many hands had done the same before mine. It should’ve been enough to keep me calm, to pass the time until Silas came back. But it wasn’t.
Restlessness crept in like an itch I couldn’t scratch. My eyes kept drifting to the window, where the snow lay thick and untouched. Somewhere out there, Silas was trudging through it, hunting. Providing. Doing something. Meanwhile, I was stuck here, useless.
I closed the book and set it down harder than I meant to, the thud breaking the cabin’s stillness. My tea had gone lukewarm, forgotten beside me. I stared at the fire instead, watching the flames dance. Every crackle, every shift of the logs seemed louder now, like the cabin itself was mocking me.
"Useless," I muttered under my breath. The word tasted bitter.
I stared at the door. My fingers drummed against the armrest of the chair, restless and impatient. The rules were clear. Stay inside. Rest. Don’t put weight on my ankle. I’d nodded, agreed—hell, I’d even promised. But now, with Silas out there, doing everything while I sat here like a useless doll? It gnawed at me.
"Just the porch," I said under my breath, voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "That’s not breaking the rules." My gaze flicked to the small stack of kindling he’d piled behind the cabin yesterday. A few pieces. Nothing heavy. Just enough to show him I wasn’t some helpless burden.
Testing my ankle, I shifted forward in the chair. Almost no pain at all.
I pressed my palms into the chair’s arms and pushed myself upright. The first step sent a sharp twinge through my ankle, but I bit down on my lip and took another. Then another. "See," I muttered, testing the words against the pain, "not so bad."
The cold hit me the second I cracked the door open. Pine and frost swept in, biting at my face and bare hands. I hesitated, fingers tightening on the doorframe. The porch steps stretched out before me, dusted with snow that glistened faintly in the morning light. Slippery. Treacherous. But manageable.
"One step at a time," I murmured again, gritting my teeth. The first step creaked loudly under my weight, the sound magnified in the quiet. My boot slipped slightly, and I grabbed for the railing, heart lurching. For a second, I froze, breath caught in my chest. Then I moved again, slower this time, letting the railing take most of my weight as I hobbled down.
The woodpile loomed just around the corner of the cabin, half-hidden beneath an overhang. I limped toward it, each step dragging a little more than the last. My breath puffed out in short bursts, visible in the icy air. When I reached the pile, I leaned heavily against the wall, catching my breath.
"Just one piece," I whispered. "Maybe two." My fingers brushed over the icy surface of the logs, searching for ones that weren’t frozen solid. The cold stung my fingertips, but I ignored it, wrapping them around a smaller stick of wood. I tugged it free, ice cracking as it loosened.
As I bent to grab another, my foot slid. Panic shot through me. My hands scrabbled for the railing, but the slick wood offered no grip. Weight landed squarely on my bad ankle, and a sharp, searing pain shot up my leg. I gasped, the sound swallowed by the empty forest around me.
"Goddammit," I hissed, clutching the railing hard enough that my knuckles turned white. Tears pricked hot at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. Stupid. So stupid.
I hauled myself upright, biting back every curse and cry threatening to spill out. My ankle throbbed with every movement, but I forced myself back toward the cabin. Each step was agony, and by the time I reached the porch, my breaths came in uneven gasps.
Inside, the warmth hit me like a slap. I shut the door fast, leaning against it as my legs trembled beneath me. The wood fell from my hand onto the floor with a dull clatter. My hands shook as I pressed them to my thighs, trying to steady myself.
"Stupid," I whispered, the word thick with frustration. Tears blurred my vision despite my best effort. I sank down onto the nearest chair, cradling my ankle in both hands. Silas had been right. Of course, he had. And I’d gone and proved it in the dumbest way possible.
*
“You did what?”
Why had I decided to tell him? It was like I had a deathwish.
“I wanted to prove that I was getting better. So I went outside to get some kindling. And I fell.”
My ankle throbbed under the makeshift wrap I’d tied around it after my brilliant little adventure earlier.
"Alana." His voice was low, sharp.
I looked up, tried to seem calm, but his eyes went straight to my foot.
"Do you think I make those rules for fun?" His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried enough weight to press me back against the headboard. "Why, Alana? Why would you do something so . . . so reckless?"
"I just wanted to help," I managed, my voice cracking halfway through. "It wasn’t—it wasn’t a big deal. I stayed close to the cabin. I thought—"
“You know what, I’m grateful that you told me.”
“You are?”
“Of course. You might have broken the rules, but you didn’t try to keep it from me. That’s very good.”
“I-I couldn’t keep it from you.”
"But even though you’ve told me, I’m afraid there will need to be some discipline. Rules are there for a reason," he said finally, voice rougher now. "And when you break them, there are consequences."
"Consequences?" My stomach twisted, flipping over itself.
"Yeah," he said, his tone flat. "You’re going to learn that today."
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. My body betrayed me, trembling slightly despite the heat from the fire. But I nodded. I didn’t argue. Didn’t try to talk my way out of it.
Silas’s voice was low but firm. “Come here.”
My legs felt like jelly, but I obeyed. Slowly, I shuffled to where he stood by the chair near the hearth. The fire was little more than embers now, faint warmth licking at the edges of the room. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out everything else.
“Over my knee.”
I swallowed hard and did as he asked. I felt his thick thighs against my stomach. He was like a wall—solid, unyielding. My breath hitched when his hand settled lightly on the small of my back, not rough, but grounding. A pause lingered in the air, thick with tension.
"Hands underneath," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Heat bloomed across my face, shame curling tight in my chest. I laced my fingers together under his knees. I felt entirely at his mercy.
"Alana," Silas said softly, almost a whisper. "I want you to know that when this is over, you are forgiven. Totally. I don’t hold a grudge. Okay?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. If you relax into it, it won’t hurt as much. And remember, if it’s too intense, I want you to use your safeword. Red.”
“Okay.”
Before I could think of anything else to say, his hand came down. Once. Firm, sharp. Not unbearable, but enough to make me inhale sharply through my teeth.
"That’s one," he said calmly. No anger in his voice. Just disappointment. That stung worse than anything.
"Silas—" I started, but he cut me off with another swat. Tears welled up in my eyes, part from the sting, part from the weight of his words earlier.
"Two," he announced after the second spank landed on my upturned bottom with equal firmness as the first one had. "We're going slowly here." I heard it then—there was no anger but concern lacing through his stern tone; this was meant as correction rather than punishment alone.
And for me, it wasn’t just punishment. It was something else entirely. And with the third strike, it started to feel . . . delicious.
I was so in the moment I hadn’t realised that I was breathing heavily. Very heavily. My pussy throbbed. My legs shook.
Each spank was a jolt of electricity coursing through me, making my nipples harden and my core quiver. His hand felt like a brand against my heated skin, each swat more powerful than the last, but not painful—more like a feverish sensation that spread across my entire body. I whimpered as he continued to spank me, each sound escaping in little moans punctuated by silence.
"Are you okay?" Silas' voice was deep and soothing, breaking through the haze in my mind. "You can use your safe word at any time."
I shook my head, unable to form words past the moans escaping from me. This wasn't punishment; it was sensation. It was feeling alive in a way I hadn't felt for years. I needed this release, needed him to take control of me in the way he had promised. Every strike ignited another fire within me until I felt like I might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.
His hand continued its rhythmic pattern, each spank finding my bottom with sharp accuracy. My body arched to meet his hand, each swat sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain coursing through me. I moaned louder now, unable to hold back the sounds that escaped me as each twitch of sensation sent me higher and higher.
It hurt. It never stopped hurting. But it was intensely pleasurable, too.
And it was only when we finished that I realised I’d felt more present during the spanking than at any other time in my life.
By the time he stopped, my shoulders were shaking. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears slipping free despite myself. I expected him to step back, maybe deliver some stern lecture about safety and responsibility. But then I heard it—a ragged, broken sound. Barely audible, like he was trying to hold it in.
"Silas?" My voice cracked as I turned.
His shoulders were trembling. I looked up at him, and saw that his brown eyes were glistening, and a tear tracked its way down his weathered cheek.
"Goddammit," he muttered under his breath, swiping at his face like he could erase the evidence. "I can’t ... I can’t do this again."
"Hey," I said softly, stepping closer despite the ache in my ankle. He tried to turn away, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. "Don’t."
"Alana, let go," he rasped, voice barely above a whisper.
"No," I shot back, surprising even myself. My fingers tightened their grip. "You don’t get to bottle this up. Not with me."
His resistance crumbled all at once. For a man who always seemed larger than life, indestructible, seeing him like this—raw, vulnerable—stirred something fierce inside me. I knelt in front of him, ignoring the pull of my leg, and wrapped my arms around his broad frame.
"Shh," I whispered, pressing my cheek against his chest. "It’s okay, Silas. I’m okay."
He shook his head, a small, jerky movement. His hands hovered uncertainly before they finally landed on my back, pulling me close. He clung to me like a drowning man grasping at driftwood, his breaths uneven and ragged. His body, usually so steady, trembled beneath my touch.
I stroked his back, murmuring soft nonsense until his breathing began to even out. It hurt, seeing him like this, but it also made me feel . . . needed. Like maybe I wasn’t as much of a burden as I’d thought.
"Why’d you have to scare me like that?" he muttered eventually, his voice muffled against my hair. There was no anger left, only exhaustion.
"I’m sorry," I said, meaning it. "I’ll do better. I promise."
"Better," he repeated bitterly, pulling back just enough to look at me. His eyes searched mine, raw and unguarded. "I can’t lose you, Alana. I don’t want you to hurt yourself."
His breaths hitched against my hair. I kept quiet, holding him steady, even as his body shook like a tree in the wind. The cabin felt too small suddenly, the air heavier than before. Finally, he pulled back just enough, his arms still loose around me, his face streaked with tears he wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
"She was . . . she was like you," he said, voice rough and low, almost lost in the crackle of the fire behind us. His gaze dropped to the floorboards, unable—or unwilling—to meet mine. "My wife."
I blinked, frozen, unsure if I should speak or stay quiet. My fingers grazed his arm, letting him know I was listening. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then continued.
"She loved this mountain. Loved me." His lips twisted, and for a second, I thought he might laugh, but it came out as a raw, broken sound instead. "But I couldn’t keep her safe."
"Silas—" I started, but he shook his head sharply, cutting me off.
"Storm came in faster than I could’ve guessed. She didn’t have a chance." His jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. "Tried everything. But . . ." He trailed off, his words fraying into silence, leaving the rest unsaid.
I didn’t need the details. The weight in his voice told me enough. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and I reached for him, brushing my thumb over his knuckles until his fingers loosened, uncurling slowly.
"That’s why you stayed here," I said softly, piecing it together. "Why you help people. Why you helped me."
"Didn’t do it for some noble reason," he muttered bitterly, brown eyes flicking up to mine at last. They were bloodshot, glossy with fresh tears, but still burning, fierce. "I did it ‘cause I’m a damn coward. Didn’t wanna leave her behind, so I let this place eat me alive instead. Figured if I kept folks from makin’ the same mistake, maybe… maybe it’d mean somethin’. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a failure."
"Stop." My voice startled both of us. It wasn’t loud, but it was firm, steadier than I felt. "You’re not a failure, Silas. You’re human."
He sighed. “I’m broken. That’s what I am.”
"Promise me," I said, voice trembling but sure. "If nothing else, promise me you’ll let me in."
"Only if you promise me somethin’ too," he murmured, his tone quieter now, more vulnerable. "No more scarin’ me like that. No more riskin’ yourself ‘cause you think you got somethin’ to prove. You come to me. Always."
I nodded, tears stinging my own eyes now. "I promise."
"Good girl," he said, so soft I barely caught it, but it sent warmth curling deep in my chest all the same. His calloused thumb brushed along my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
And before I could overthink it, before either of us could pull away, I closed the gap between us. Tentative, testing, my lips met his. His breath hitched, and for one agonizing heartbeat, he didn’t move. Then, with a groan that sounded half-relief, half-surrender, he kissed me back.
It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, careful, like we were figuring each other out piece by piece. His hand slipped to cradle the back of my neck, anchoring me as the world seemed to tilt sideways. For the first time since I’d stepped into this cabin, I felt grounded. Safe. Seen.
When we finally broke apart, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. His eyes stayed locked on mine, still full of sorrow, but now there was something else there too. Something softer. Hopeful.
"Guess we’re both a little broken," I said softly, a watery smile tugging at my lips.
"Yeah," he agreed, voice rough but warm. "But maybe that’s okay."