Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
Amber
I’m trying so hard to hold on to my adult side. I’ve been that person for my entire life. Why is it so hard to be her today?
After breakfast, I help Isaac load the dishwasher.
Isaac…Daddy. Daddy. Daddy .
I keep looking at him, repeating that in my head. I’ve already called him Daddy a few times. It feels right. It also feels scary.
When the kitchen is clean, Isaac steps close to me and cups my face, careful not to touch my chin. “I intended for us to spend some time talking this morning, but I think it would be better if you went to your studio where you can focus on your meeting. Get in the right headspace.”
I nod. It’s hard to know how to respond to him. Does he expect me to submit to him all the time? The idea is overwhelming.
He says nothing about my nonverbal response. Instead, he smiles. “I’m going to do some things on my computer before we leave, okay?”
I nod again. I want to ask What things? but refrain from doing so. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer right now.
He slides his hand around to my neck and hauls me closer so he can kiss my forehead. “Everything is going to be okay, baby. I promise.”
When he releases me, I take a few steps back. There’s more oxygen in other parts of the apartment. I’m sure of it. Another nod, and I turn and leave the room.
“Amber,” he calls as I step into the hallway.
I turn back to look at him.
“Leave the studio door open.” He lifts a brow.
I swallow hard and nod for the millionth time before hurrying toward my studio. It feels strange to leave the door open. I’ve never left this door open. When I’m in my studio working, I’m off-limits unless there’s a fire, and Isaac knows that.
I’m confident this new rule isn’t really about me touching myself. I don’t masturbate in my studio. I don’t even do so in my room usually. But he doesn’t know how infrequently I’ve touched myself in the last several years. After catching me last night, he might suppose I do so twice a day. The idea of setting him straight is too daunting to ponder.
Keeping the doors open is bigger than that. It’s about exercising his dominance. It’s about erasing boundaries. It’s about making sure I don’t close myself off from him.
I know he meant for me to leave the door ajar, but I don’t close it at all. I’m not going to work this morning. I’m just going to pace and think.
I keep glancing down at my dress. I put it on for a reason—to help me get solidly into an adult headspace. I’ve barely succeeded at that so far this morning. It’s madness. Ever since I entered Cassandra’s room yesterday, I’ve had at least one foot in Little space. It’s like I’ve had a taste of it, and now I can’t stop.
It’s exactly what she described and what I already knew. It’s freeing. The only way for Little space to feel that way is if there is a trusted caregiver in the area. I don’t think I would be able to let myself go and ignore the world without knowing Isaac was holding down the fort, grounding me. If there were a fire, he would get me out. If I forget to eat, he will feed me. If someone comes to the door, he will answer it without disrupting me.
He’s always done those things, though, from day one. I’ve never had to worry about my surroundings because for two years I’ve known that Isaac would keep me safe, fed, and protected.
I pace toward the window and stare out at the city below. It’s still early. People are rushing around on the sidewalks. Cars are inching down the streets of Seattle on their way to work, school, the gym, or shopping.
I’m rarely one of the people in that rat race because I often stay at home. Today, I will leave this building to meet with Monette. That makes three days in a row I’m leaving the apartment. I’ll probably need at least a day or two without unlocking the door to recuperate. Or maybe I’m just telling myself that lie when what I really need is a few days not to worry about Jacob.
He's not coming after me. I know he’s not. But I can’t help but look around all the time to see if he’s lurking nearby. It’s not my fault he was caught, arrested, and convicted of kidnapping and extortion. He didn’t have to go along with his brother and his friends when they decided to commit a felony. I don’t think he blames me for his actions.
There’s always the possibility I’m wrong, and clearly, my brain is having trouble processing that, especially when I’m sleeping. I slept well last night after Isaac joined me. I wonder if it was because he was holding me or if it was a coincidence.
In either case, I liked having Isaac in my bed. A lot. I wonder if I can get him to do so again tonight and all the rest of the nights of my life. I’m not being fair to him, though. I haven’t made a single sexual advance toward him, and I know he’s too much of a gentleman to be the instigator. He keeps assuring me that he will wait until I’m ready. What if that’s years?
It has already been two years, in a sense. The man has stood by my side and given no indication that he wanted me as a woman for all that time. He may have Daddied me in ways I either didn’t recognize or chose to ignore, but he didn’t make any sexual advances either.
I close my eyes and reach up to touch my lips. He kissed me this morning. It was quick and relatively chaste, but it definitely happened. It was so damn sweet that I nearly cried.
I want more. His little taste only served to whet my appetite. I wish I had been bold enough to grab his shirt and deepen the kiss instead of letting him pull away, but I’d been too startled to act.
I think back on what happened in the night. I climbed Isaac like a monkey, wrapped my body around his, and held on. I was barely covered, and I was well aware of his erection. It was empowering in a way, and I didn’t want to move. I wanted to feel his cock against my pussy forever. At first, I was legitimately distraught, but then I couldn’t let go. I didn’t want to.
I jerk myself out of this line of thinking and wander toward my sketch pad, the one I keep on my design table. I prop myself on my stool and flip through the pages. The room is littered with sketch pads like this one. A dozen or more. They’re each color-coded in a way only I understand. I’ve never told anyone that the orange pad has fruit, vegetables, and other foods. The purple pad contains flowers and other nature sketches. The red pad is filled with mostly horror. I don’t use it as often, but when I’m in a dark phase, I tend to pull it out.
It’s the generic, nondescript black pad I’m flipping through now. Every page is a drawing of Isaac. Sometimes, I capture him with his brow furrowed when he’s focused on his computer. Some of them have him with sweat dripping down his face while he lifts weights or jogs on his treadmill. Some show the intensity of his focus when we’re out somewhere and he’s scanning the area for possible threats.
That look is one of my favorites. He’s so thorough and good at his job. He has no idea how fucking sexy he is when he’s actively protecting me. I have no business noticing, but it’s unavoidable.
I have a dozen sketches of him standing near me while I shop or meet with a gallery owner. He keeps an earpiece in the entire time, though I’ve never known who he might speak to through it. It reminds me of a comms unit someone would use to call backup. I don’t think Isaac has a backup plan.
“Amber?”
I jerk my head up when I hear him call my name. I close the sketch pad, probably a bit too hastily, even though Isaac can’t see it from where he’s standing. He hasn’t entered the room at all. His feet are firmly planted in the hallway. His hands are on the door frame.
“Are you okay, baby?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
“I just wanted to let you know we can leave whenever you’re ready. You wanted to go to a few other places before your meeting,” he reminds me.
I stand from my stool. “Yes. That’s right. We should go. I’m ready. I’ll just grab my purse.” I’m not much of a purse-carrying gal when I’m in jeans and tank tops. I tend to put what I need in my pockets, but when I’m in a more professional environment—basically when I’m wearing a dress—I usually grab a small clutch so I can add lipstick, breath mints, and a tiny mirror. I wouldn’t want to meet someone with lettuce between my teeth, bad breath, or pale lips.
It seems so frivolous and silly, but it’s what I do.
Isaac shifts to the side to let me out of the studio and waits in the hallway while I get my small black purse and drape the strap over my shoulder.
When I step back into the hallway, he says, “You should grab a sweater or something, baby. It might be chilly out.”
I inhale deeply and turn back to grab a black shawl to cover my shoulders. He’s right, and his suggestion isn’t odd. He nearly always reminds me to grab a jacket, sweater, or coat when it’s going to be cold out.
He guides me to the door with a hand on the small of my back. Has he ever touched me like that before? I don’t think so. It feels nice.
“Wait for me to make sure it’s clear, baby,” he says when we reach the door. He always tells me to wait so he can make sure the hallway is clear, but he never tacks on the word baby . Is that one word lulling me into Little space?
I bite my bottom lip while he steps into the hallway. When he turns back around, nods, and holds out a hand, my heart races. This is also not our norm. He’s going to hold my hand?
I can’t resist. I want the feel of his palm around mine. I raise my hand and let him take it. My breathing is erratic as we head down the hallway and into the elevator.
As soon as the doors close, he wraps his arms around me from behind, dips his mouth to my ear, and whispers, “Relax, Amber. I’ve got you in every way.”
I’m not certain what he means, but I trust him to navigate this strange new world we’re living in. I have to trust him. He’s my bodyguard.