3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
C ole left her bedroom door cracked, so he’d hear if she needed anything. He cleaned up the bathroom, emptied her hospital bags, read up on the medications the hospital had sent home with her, then gave her painkiller schedule its own alarm setting on his cellphone, so he’d be sure never to forget or be late in administering one.
Adjusting the thermostat, he shut off the lights, then walked in to lie down on her bed beside her. Only then, with the faint light of the streetlamp outside shining its dim glow through the cracks in her window curtains, did he let himself think about how close he’d come to losing her. He studied every curve of her face in the semi-darkness, seeing the dark line of her seatbelt bruise instead. His fingers ached to touch her—her hair, her skin, any part of her really—but he didn’t dare for fear it might wake her.
I love you, babygirl.
He couldn’t say that out loud, yet. Kelly was the definition of someone with whom one could move too fast, and he wasn’t about to do anything that might risk scaring her into leaving—not even a declaration of love, only six months into the relationship. Six years might still be too soon. He’d test those waters when they reached that anniversary. In the meantime, he was content to be friend, lover, Dom and Daddy, whenever, wherever she needed it. Especially in moments like now, when she refused to admit how much she did, in fact, need him.
This had happened four days ago, and he’d been late to the party because she didn’t want to disturb his business trip. They would have to talk about that tomorrow. Morning would come soon enough, and the fit that would surely follow when he put his foot down and issued a new rule—nightly phone calls from here on out, especially when he was out of town and most especially if she got hurt. He didn’t care if it was a paper cut. By God, nothing like this was ever going to happen again.
How long he laid there, thinking that over and over again, he didn’t know. One minute, he was watching her sleep and, in the next, her six o’clock pill alarm started beeping.
He was not a morning person; Kelly was even less so. He barely got his eyes open the entire walk to the kitchen to get her pill.
“What the hell…” she groaned when he shook her shoulder and refused to stop until she woke up. He stuck the pill in her mouth and made her chase it down with several swallows of water.
“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
“Fuck you.” Flopping onto her back, she pawed at the blankets blindly with one cast until he pulled them all the way up over her head. “Sadist,” she grumbled.
Some couples simply had no business talking to one another before their first pot of coffee. He was fine with them being one such couple.
Crawling back into bed beside her, he fell asleep again.
He was much more ready to be awake at eight when the beeps of a reversing trash truck woke him. He rolled onto his back, yawning, stretching, and rubbing his eyes before the much softer rustle of crinkling plastic caught his ear. The stretch of bed beside him was empty. He didn’t know when Kelly got up, but he found her in the kitchen, dressed in an inside-out nightgown and swearing softly under her breath as she struggled to separate out a single coffee filter so she could get the coffee started.
“Need help?” he offered.
She jumped, then stomped her foot. She whipped around and, in what could only be described as a fit of frustration, threw the entire package of filters at him. He didn’t try to catch them, but he did grab her arm before she could storm out past him.
He felt for her. He really did. He’d broken his right arm as a kid and couldn’t imagine breaking both at the same time, but he wasn’t going to do this for the next six weeks.
“Where's your coloring pens?” he asked.
She turned on him, the flash of tears and anger in her eyes almost as heart-wrenching as the swollen fingers she threw up in his face and waggled. “Like I could color with these things!” Sniffling, she hugged her free arm to her chest, sulking. “Ow.”
He frowned, quelling her misplaced show of temper. “Show me where you keep them.”
She scowled, but dropping her head, took him to the little writing desk in the corner of her bedroom. When she pointed, he opened the bottom drawer where she had dumped half the world. It was an untidy clutter of miscellaneous papers, notebooks, paperclips, a Magic 8-Ball, a white stuffed kitten with big glitter-blue eyes, and at the very bottom, several boxes of coloring medium—crayons, gel pens, and markers.
Sitting down at her desk, he selected a red one and held out his hand. “Arm.”
Reluctantly, she held out her left arm. Turning it over, in his neatest penmanship, he wrote, “ It will get better” , between the plastic mesh that cris-crossed her skin, each word in its own little compartment. He even dotted the ‘I’ with a little heart. Capping the marker, he sat back and waited while she studied it.
Her shoulders slumped, and she sniffled. “I know.”
“Okay,” he said simply. “So, knock off the crap. This isn’t fun for me either, you know. You can be as hateful as you want, but I’m here, and I’m not leaving until I know you’ll be okay. Got it?”
A guilty wince tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Got it.”
“Ten minutes in the corner. I won’t make you pull your panties down this one time, but consider it a warning.”
She snorted. “Shows what you know, Daddy. I couldn’t figure out how to put my underwear on, so I’m not wearing any.”
“And there goes your warning,” he drawled, standing. Clamping a hand onto the back of her neck, he steered her out of the bedroom into the living room, where he promptly planted her nose in the only corner he could see from the kitchen. Gathering the hem of her nightgown, he pulled the excess cloth up, tucking it under her arms around her ribs. “Hold it here.”
The faintest tinge of a blush coloring the part of her face that he could see, she clamped it between her elbows and her ribs.
“I’m going to make us breakfast, then we’re going to make your naughty board.”
“I’m not three,” she muttered mutinously into the corner. “I don’t need a naughty board.”
“You’re not thirty at the moment, either,” he retorted as he headed into the kitchen. “And until you decide to stop acting like a brat, the naughty board is exactly what you’re getting.”
She snapped around. “I’m not thirty! I’m twenty-eight!”
Pausing in the kitchen doorway, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the corner.
“Right now, young lady, and don’t turn around again unless you want to sample one of Daddy’s non-spanking punishments.”
Scowling, she turned her glare back on the corner. He watched long enough to satisfy himself that she would stay there, then went to the kitchen to see about breakfast. He checked in all her cupboards, then her fridge. Her behavior definitely didn’t warrant it, but anyone with two casts deserved a little attitude leeway.
“Do you want cereal, eggs and toast, or pancakes?” he called into the living room.
She didn’t move and didn’t answer for almost a full minute. He had just begun to wonder if he ought to rethink how much leeway to give her when she softly said, “Pancakes, please.”
Pancakes for the win.
Cole pulled out the ingredients, tucked a dishtowel into the waist of his jeans, and got down to culinary business. He loved to cook. Cooking for one kind of sucked, but it was his favorite go-to when it came to dates or babysitting, which he did a fair amount of for his brother’s two daughters. He didn’t know if being an uncle helped to improve his Daddy game or vice versa. He’d learned how to make Mickey Mouse pancakes for his Littles and learned how to flip them in the air for his nieces, so the truth likely lay somewhere in the middle.
As he whipped together cinnamon-flavored batter, he kept one eye on Kelly, making sure she didn’t move. Judging by her body language, she wasn’t finding the experience to be much of a punishment—not even with her nightgown held up in the back, baring her naughty bottom to the room and his occasional glance. He could even hear her grumbling to herself now and then, though she knew there was no talking during corner-time. He suspected if he was close enough to hear her complaints, his name would be there, accompanied by some less than flattering adjectives. This was such a far departure from her usual behavior that he was inclined to chalk it up to the pills and the pain, and just forgive it without mention, but his Daddy-senses were tingling.
Kelly was a spanking fiend. She loved them, whether they were for pleasure or punishment, and especially craved them during stressful times. He wouldn’t be in the least surprised if half her problem right now was how desperately she wanted the reaffirming contact of a stern paddling to help ground and comfort her, and alleviate her rampant anxiety. There was just no way he could give her one, not while her injuries were so fresh and the slightest pressure on her fingers caused her pain he couldn’t control.
Checking the heat on the stove, then the time, he dropped a little butter in the pan. “You can come out now if you’re ready to behave.”
She hung her head, letting her nightgown drop down into place, but otherwise didn’t move. Dropping three splotches of batter into the pan in the first Mickey Mouse shape, he eyed her. Okay, this was going to have to be addressed.
Wiping his hands on his impromptu apron, he left the stove. Coming to stand behind her, he barely resisted the urge to put his arms around her. He was dead sure a hug was exactly what she needed, but he wasn’t about to force one on her before she was ready to receive it. Instead, he braced his hands on the walls on either side of her, pinning her loosely in place with his own body.
“Are you not coming out of the corner because you’re not done being a naughty little girl?” he asked. “Or is it because you feel you haven’t been punished enough?”
He could hear the tiny hitches in her breathing as she looked everywhere but at him. After several long seconds, she lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“Is that how we talk to Daddy?” he warned.
She sniffled and shrugged again.
“Turn around.” He let his tone dip into notes of stern disapproval. “Look at me.”
He loved her eyes. They were big, a lovely shade of pale gray. Sometimes, he thought he could see flecks of blue or green, but right now, they were only a beautiful, sad hue of silver-gray. “What can I do, babygirl? Except go away. I’m not going to do that.”
“Yet,” she said darkly.
He arched his eyebrows. “Exactly what, little girl, does that mean?”
She looked at the wall again. “Nothing.”
His palm was itching so hard to deliver a sound swat to her thinly-covered bottom.
“We talked about this. I will leave when you are able to take care of yourself.” When she predictably wheeled around to confront him, he pointed a silencing finger in her face and quietly said, “Don’t push me, sweetpea. You are a strong, capable, independent woman most of the time, but at the moment, you have two broken arms.”
“Wrist and hand,” she snapped. “Don’t make it worse than what it is. Drama llama.”
“If getting your mouth washed out with soap is what you’re looking for, you are heading in the right direction.”
“You’re the one who won’t stop talking to me while I’m in the corner!”
“And you’re the one who won’t stop pushing for a spanking.”
“And you’re the one who won’t give me one!” she shouted, stomping her foot. “So, why don’t you save us both the headache and just walk away now? We both know it’s going to happen! Everybody walks away eventually, and you know it.”
That accusation hit him like a punch to the gut. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” she said hoarsely and would have walked away from both him and the corner if he hadn’t caught her elbow.
“Now, hold it right there.”
“No. I want coffee. I’m fine.” Her tone was all Little girl; her words, laced with petulance and defiance, a poor disguise for deeper hurts he was just now catching glimpses of.
“Knock it off,” he cut in, harsher than he intended, but he didn’t soften. “You’re not fine, so stop saying that.”
“I can if I want to!” She clenched her fists and anger abruptly gave way to pain, and still she railed, “It doesn’t do any good, no matter what I’m feeling, so why not just let me be fine?”
“Because you’re doing this. This isn’t what fine looks or sounds like!”
She stomped her foot again, and he immediately raised a staying finger, struggling to keep his own temper in check. “Now, you hold on right there, little girl.”
“No!” She jumped, stomping both feet. “I don’t wanna hold on! This sucks and you suck and it’s not fair and I don’t wanna do it !”
She burst into noisy tears, startling them both with the suddenness of her emotional storm. He felt the corresponding snap that broke through her because it echoed all the way through him, too.
“Corner,” he said abruptly, pointing to it. Catching the back of her neck when she only cried louder, he turned her forcibly around and pushed her back into it before he marched out of the house to his truck.
The distance he put between them was exactly what he needed. Not to cool down, his temper wasn’t really spiking, but he was thrown. He’d never seen Kelly so upset, but even if it was manifesting as anger, he recognized the fear and insecurity at its core. She’d always been very independent and hated having that taken from her. He could understand her frustration, but it wasn’t him doing the taking, and if she’d just stop getting in her own way, she’d heal enough to take her temporarily lost independence back again. So why was she this determined not to understand that? She was smart enough to know that people needed rest after surgery and that wiggling her fingers around at this stage would only slow her recovery, at the very least. At worst, she could do permanent damage to herself and lose some of the use of her hands for the rest of her life. And somehow, her refusal to acknowledge that was still less maddening than her suddenly lumping him in with all the ghosts from her turbulent past who had failed her.
She really thought he was going to walk away?
Was he supposed to do that before or after he spanked her?
Or maybe this idea was cementing itself in her head because he wasn’t spanking her?
He’d happily bust her butt every day and twice on Sundays if that would prove he was in this relationship for the long haul, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her worse than she already was. Her arms… her fingers… all those bruises. How in the hell was he supposed to proceed without accidentally hurting her more?
He had to talk to her.
But good luck doing that while she was in full-blown-frustrated Little space.
Bracing his hands on the hood of his truck, he stared at his feet. When he was sure he wasn’t about to march back in there, bend her over his hip, and set her ass on fire, he went back inside.
The storm of her tears had reduced to sniffles. Leaning into the wall with her casts flat against the drywall and her forehead pressed to her casts, she didn’t turn around, not even when he came to stand right beside her.
“I don’t care who did what in your past,” he tried. “I am not any of those guys, and I’m not walking away.”
“I can’t think straight,” she quavered. “I need to get this under control, but I can’t think. I’m so stressed… I’m sorry…”
“How can I help?” In his gut, he already knew that answer.
God, he didn’t want to hurt her.
He checked the time—two hours before she took her next pill.
He checked himself—calm, cool, absolutely in control.
She wanted spanking, but being a responsible Daddy Dom involved more than just giving her what she wanted. It was his job to provide what she needed , and right now, that wasn't physical correction. What Kelly needed, whether she knew it or not, was submission. She needed to lose control. She needed to lean on her Daddy, to feel safe and protected and cherished, no matter what. Spanking wasn't the only way he knew how to do that.
It was time she knew that too.
Cole held out his hand to Kelly, his voice low and soothing as he said, "Come with me, babygirl."
Kelly hesitated for only a moment before placing her casted hand in his. The rough texture against his palm was a stark reminder of her vulnerability. Cole's fingers closed gently around hers as he led her away from the corner and down the hall to her bedroom.
The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the rumpled bedsheets and Kelly's collection of stuffed animals arranged on the dresser. Cole guided Kelly to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. He knelt before her, looking up into her tear-stained face.
"I'm going to take care of you now, baby girl," he told her. "Will you let Daddy do that?"
Kelly gave a small nod, her nose red, her eyes wide and trusting despite her earlier outburst.
A slow blush turned her face a bright pink as she realized what he was doing. Her lips parted as her breathing quickened. He could all but see the thoughts lighting up her eyes, wondering just how far he was about to go with her.
All the way, baby. All the way.
Cole's hands moved to the hem of her nightgown, grasping the soft fabric. "Let's get you out of these clothes, sweetheart," he said. With utmost care, he began to lift the nightgown up her body. Kelly raised her arms as best she could with the casts, allowing Cole to slip the garment over her head.
The nightgown fell away, revealing Kelly's bruised and battered body. They were healing now, which ironically made them look even worse than they had at the hospital. Brown and yellow blotches mixed with dark purple, and God, the deeply bruised diagonal line across her chest, bisecting her gorgeous little breasts where her seatbelt had protected her from flying out the front window on impact. His poor babygirl.
Leaning forward, Cole kissed the side of her hip where the bruise ended. His hands slid up her casted arms until he touched bare skin.
His lips traced a gentle path along Kelly's bruised skin, each kiss a whisper of comfort against her battered body. He paid special attention to the angry diagonal line across her chest, pressing feather-light kisses along its length. Kelly shivered under his tender ministrations, her breath catching as his lips brushed the soft swell of her breast.
"My brave girl," Cole murmured against her flesh. His hands caressed her sides, careful to avoid pressing too firmly on any tender spots. Kelly's eyes fluttered closed as she surrendered to his gentle touch.
Cole continued his reverent exploration of her injuries, kissing each bruise and scrape as if he could heal them through sheer force of will. When he reached her collarbone, he nuzzled the sensitive skin there before placing a final kiss on the tip of her nose.
"There now," he said softly, loving how already she was melting under his soft caresses. He cupped her face tenderly between his palms. "My brave, beautiful girl," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
Kelly's eyes fluttered closed at the gentle contact. A small shiver ran through her body, whether from the cool air on her bare skin or from Cole's touch, he wasn't sure.
"Let's get you dressed in something cozy," Cole said. He stood and went to her dresser, opening drawers until he found what he was looking for: a soft cherry red onesie. It was adult-sized but designed to make the wearer feel small and cherished.
"First, let's get you properly protected, sweetheart," he said gently, laying the onsie on the bed by her hip. He reached into the bedside drawer next and pulled out a thick adult diaper.
Kelly's eyes widened slightly, a mix of vulnerability and need flickering across her face. She squirmed a bit but didn't protest as Cole carefully guided her to roll onto her tummy.
"That's my good girl," he praised softly. "Let Daddy take care of you completely."
With utmost tenderness, Cole bent her over the foot of the mattress, propping her tensing bottom up on two pillows for no other reason than so he could watch her sink into a state of deeper submission.
Cole gently rubbed Kelly's lower back, soothing her as she lay tense beneath his touch. "Relax for me, babygirl. Daddy's going to check your temperature to make sure you're not getting sick."
He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out a digital thermometer and a small tube of lubricant. Kelly tensed all over again when the cap pop open.
"Shh, it's alright," Cole murmured. "This will only take a moment. Can you be my brave girl?"
Kelly gave a small nod, her face half-buried in the comforter.
He spread her cheeks gently with one hand, exposing her tight pink pucker. With careful precision, he applied a small amount of cool lubricant to her opening and the tip of the thermometer.
"Deep breath for me, baby," he instructed.
As Kelly inhaled, Cole carefully inserted the thermometer. She let out a tiny squeak at the intrusion, her muscles clenching reflexively around the thin probe. He rubbed her back, sliding the thermometer deep enough to do its job and holding the end so it wouldn’t fall out.
It beeped twice, letting him know it was done, and he checked the results. His eyebrows arched. She actually was running a slight fever. It wasn’t high enough to be a true concern yet, but he would have to keep an eye on it.
Relief swept him. Seeing that slight evidence of fever made him feel better about what he was doing. Not feeling good on top of all she’d suffered was enough to explain her bad mood. She needed Daddy time.
No, he promptly amended. She needed Little time, to give up control to someone ready, willing, and fully able to give her what she needed, whether she knew she needed it or not.
“Okay,” he said, firm in his decision. “Roll over. Let’s get this diaper on.”
“Please don’t make me hafta use it,” she whimpered even as she obeyed, carefully shifting onto her side before flopping over on the quilt.
"Shh, relax for Daddy," Cole soothed, content not to answer either way. She hated having to use her diaper, the mortification of him laying her down on the floor so he could clean up the mess she’d made. However, that same mortification could be a good teacher upon occasion, and she hated it just enough that he knew she would spend the rest of the day being very mindful of her behavior.
Lifting Kelly's hips, he slid the diaper underneath. The soft crinkle of the material seemed loud in the quiet room. Her blush deepened, and she covered her face with her casts as he sprinkled a light dusting of baby powder between her legs. The familiar scent wafted up, enveloping them both in its comforting aroma.
Cole's movements were slow and deliberate as he pulled the diaper up between Kelly's legs, securing the tapes snugly around her hips. The thick padding puffed out, making her look small and vulnerable. Kelly squirmed a bit, still hiding her face behind her casts.
"There we go, all nice and protected," Cole soothed. He gently pried her hands away from her face, kissing her flushed cheeks. "You're being such a good girl for Daddy."
She groaned.
With infinite patience, he guided Kelly's casted arms through the sleeves of her onsie, easing the soft, cherry-dotted fabric over her bruised body. He zipped up the back, encasing her in its cozy warmth.
"Now for one more thing to keep my little one safe," Cole said. From the closet, he pulled out a white canvas straitjacket. Kelly's eyes widened in recognition.
“No, no, no, Daddy!” she cried while her eyes glowed with anticipation and she raised herself up on her tiptoes in a very, very restrained version of a happy bounce.
This was why ‘no’ should never be used as a safeword, Cole mused. He hid his smile as he straightened straps and tightened buckles, binding her arms crisscross over her chest as he swaddled her upper body in restrictive canvas. Experience had long ago taught him that this was nothing more than a knee-jerk objection, not what she really wanted. She hated not being able to do things for herself, but sometimes the jacket was the perfect thing to reinforce in her stubborn brain that he was Daddy. It was his place to take care of her, not hers. And no matter how bullheaded she tried to be, eventually the confinement would lull her back into the deepest babygirl mindset, at least for as long as she was in it.
Gathering Kelly into his arms, he cradled her against his chest as he carried her to the living room. She squirmed and whimpered softly, but didn't struggle outright as he settled them both on the plush sofa. The straitjacket hugged her, a visual reminder of her submission.
"Shh, it's alright babygirl," Cole soothed, stroking her hair. "Daddy's got you."
Kelly buried her face against his neck, inhaling his comforting scent. Cole could feel the tension slowly ebbing from her body as she relaxed into his embrace. He held her close, savoring the warmth of her small form against him.
After a few minutes of gentle rocking, Cole shifted Kelly to sit beside him.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, dropping a kiss upon her nose. Switching on the TV, he took a moment to put on Disney’s Lady and the Tramp before disappearing into the kitchen to make her a bottle of chocolate milk. Plucking a couple of chocolate chip cookies from the cupboard, he took both out to the kitchen.
Kelly was humming along to the opening credits when he plopped back down beside her.
With a pillow under his arm to help brace it, he settled her in his lap, laying her back against his shoulder. She nestled into him, her body warm and pliant in the soft onesie and restrictive jacket. Puppy barks played softly in the background as Cole brought the bottle to Kelly's lips.
"Open up, sweetheart," he coaxed gently.
As she drank, Cole stroked her hair gently, reveling in the softness of her brown locks between his fingers. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over them both. He could feel the tension melting from Kelly's body as she sank deeper into her little headspace.
"That's my good girl," Cole murmured, wiping a small dribble of milk from her chin. "Daddy's got you."
The sweet chocolate milk flowed easily, and Kelly suckled contentedly, her eyes fixed on the animated dogs dancing and singing across the TV screen.
This was exactly what she’d been needing. What they’d both been needing, he realized with a start as she relaxed completely in his arms. A few days of this—nothing but onesies and diapers, bottles held by him and drunk from the comfort and safety of his lap, her highchair and her Naughty Chair already facing the wall in her Naughty Corner—and he had no doubt her heightened anxiety would finally calm back down.
Patience, gentle attention, and some mandatory Little time, that was what they both needed. And now that he’d found something that seemed to be helping, he had no doubt in his mind that the next six weeks would pass much easier.
Good job, Daddy , he thought to himself, smiling gently down at her while she watched the movie, her eyelids growing heavier with each suck and blink.
He caressed her bangs back from her eyes. God, he loved her. He loved that he could calm her like this too, in his arms and close to his heart.
Now he just had to keep her that way.