Chapter 7 #2
I’d spent years building walls so no one could get that close again. My life was order, control, and clean edges. I didn’t do promises. I didn’t do forever. I’d failed spectacularly at both before, and I wasn’t about to drag someone kind, gentle, already wounded into my chaos.
When he’d said the word Daddy, something inside me had tightened. Not fear. Recognition. Like a puzzle piece had slid into place where I’d been pretending there wasn’t a gap.
But I couldn’t keep it. Couldn’t keep him.
Not for good.
He looked up at me, eyes bright, and smiled like I was the best thing he’d seen all day. No hesitation. No doubt.
I’d never deserved that.
So I did what I do best—I compromised.
“Clayton,” I said quietly.
He turned, cautious. “Did I say something wrong?”
God. That instinct—the one that flinched before love—it broke something in me every time.
“No.” I reached over, brushed a stray curl off his forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He relaxed a little, waiting. Always waiting.
“What you said about wanting a Daddy.”
Color bloomed high on his cheeks, but he didn’t look away. “I shouldn’t have said it like that,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” I interrupted gently. “You meant it exactly how it sounded.”
Silence. Just the faint hum of the diners around us. This wasn’t the place for this, even though the booth was secluded, but I had to get his agreement before anything else. Either I took him to the bungalow and left him there, or I took him home.
“I want to give you that,” I admitted. The words came out rougher than I intended. “The care, the structure…the safety. I want that for you. But I need you to understand something.”
His eyes searched mine. “What?”
“This,” I said, forcing each word past the tightness in my chest, “can’t be forever. I don’t do promises I can’t keep.”
I waited for disappointment—for him to fold in on himself like before. Instead, he just nodded, quiet and calm.
I exhaled slowly. Relief and regret tangled in my throat.
“Then we’ll make it for now,” I said. “Just through the holidays. I’ll take care of you. it’ll give you the chance to make some decisions about the house.”
His eyes softened—hope flickering there like the tree lights in the window behind him.
“For the holidays,” he repeated, a small, awed smile curving his mouth.
I touched his jaw, thumb tracing the edge of his cheekbone. “For the holidays,” I promised.
It should have felt like control again, a boundary. Instead, it felt like surrender.
He took a breath. “I feel like I’m going to screw it up.”
I snorted. “You couldn’t. Even if you tried.” Then, quieter, “I wouldn’t let you.”
He shivered. I saw it ripple through him, visible even under the thick coat.
There was no noise. Nothing but the city lights outside and the prickle of want between us.
I let my hand linger on his wrist, thumb moving slowly, back and forth.
He leaned into it after a second, like he’d never had anyone do this before. Maybe he hadn’t.
The dessert came. He blinked at the plate, then at me. For a minute, he just stared. Like maybe the bread pudding was a test.
I almost laughed. “Go ahead.” My voice was softer than I’d meant it. “You’ve earned it.”
He smiled, slow and shy, and dug right in. The first bite made his eyes flutter shut. He actually moaned, low, desperate, like he hadn’t had sugar in a year. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Good?” I leaned back, watching him.
He nodded, cheeks pink. “So good, sir.”
I liked hearing that. I liked him like this—my coat around his shoulders, the flush in his cheeks, the way every tiny movement said he needed me to keep making decisions.
To just take over and let him float. I sipped my own wine, barely tasting it.
I couldn’t stop looking at his hands. The way he used the spoon.
Slow, careful, like he was savoring every bite because he didn’t know when he’d get more.
Jesus. It was like he’d been starved for everything, not just food.
He finished the dessert, then set the spoon down with a little clink. I caught his wrist before he could pull his hands into his lap and gave it a squeeze.
“Well done,” I told him. “You were perfect.” The words hit him hard. He went soft all over, like he wanted to melt right into the booth.
“I… Thank you, sir.” His voice was barely there, but the hope in it nearly undid me. “This was really nice.”
I kept my hand on his wrist. “You did exactly what you were told. That’s what I want.”
He shuddered, just a little. I could see how close he was to giving in completely. I liked that. I liked the way it made my pulse pick up.
We sat there a while, just breathing. The city moved outside, people rushing past, and in here it was just…quiet.
Eventually, I paid the bill, ignoring the way he tried to look at the number. I didn’t let him argue. He followed me out, keeping that half-step behind, letting me steer, until I tucked him closer to me. I liked that more than I should have.
It was colder now. The wind cut sideways, bit at his ears. He clutched the coat tighter, hunching down inside it, and I slowed my pace a little so he could keep up.
“I want you to come home with me,” I said, voice low.
He hesitated. That was answer enough. He didn’t want to go back to the empty house. Didn’t want the cold and the dark.
I steered him toward the car. He didn’t argue. The relief was so obvious it almost made me ache for him. In the car, he curled into the seat, eyes wide and hopeful. I didn’t talk. I didn’t need to. Sometimes a sub needed silence more than anything.
At the condo, I got him upstairs and inside, hand steady on his shoulder.
He dropped the duffel bag by the door, then stood there, awkward, like he didn’t know where to go.
I caught his shoulder, gentle. “Kitchen. You need water.” He followed, of course he did, eyes wide.
Like he was waiting to be told what to do next.
God, I loved that.
I filled a glass and handed it over. He drank slowly, careful, like he was afraid of spilling. I watched him. Didn’t bother hiding it. “Sit,” I said, and he did, right on the barstool, clutching the glass so tight I thought it might shatter.
He didn’t speak. Just watched every move I made. I got myself a drink and leaned against the island, close enough to crowd him if I wanted. He stared at the counter, then up at me, then down again. I let it hang.
I took a long sip of my own water, never taking my eyes off him. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re not broken. You’re not a joke.”
He swallowed hard, throat working. His hands shook. “It just…feels like I’m still not enough. I lost my job. I lost Jason. The house is falling apart. All I could get was mall elf, and then Santa, and it’s just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hunching. I wanted to reach over and pull him in. Wrap those doubts up and toss them out the window.
Instead, I said, “You don’t have to be anything but what you are. If you want more, you say so. If you want less, you say so. But you’re not a child. You get to choose.”
He nodded. Blinked twice. “Thank you, sir.”
The “sir” was softer. A hope, not a habit.
I moved around the counter, slowly, letting him see every step. He didn’t shy away. Not even when I set a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, firm but gentle. His eyes closed. He leaned into it, just a fraction, but I felt it all the way through him.
“You want rules? Structure?” I kept my hand where it was, thumb rubbing small circles. “You want help figuring things out, not just play scenes?”
He shivered. “Sir, but…” Barely more than a breath. I waited for the question. I had a good idea. “You’re not a Daddy.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I managed to stop myself.
“No,” I answered truthfully. “It’s not something I’ve ever thought about, but I’m a Dom, and you are definitely submissive.
I’m not promising anything,” I rushed out, even though it sounded all kinds of wrong.
“But maybe we can figure it out together?”
He shivered. “Yes, sir.” Barely more than a breath.
“Then you have it. It won’t be forever. I can make a contract, but if you want me in charge, you tell me now.”
His hands shook harder. He stared at the glass, then up at me. He was so damn open, nothing hidden. He’d have gotten eaten alive by a lesser man.
But I wasn’t lesser.
“I want that. Please, sir.” And there it was. The please. I could have kissed him for it.
“Good. That’s settled.”