13. Chapter Thirteen #2
I looked at Clare for an explanation. “Margaret works for the guys. She used to run the kitchen at Salvation, but she’s the housekeeper for them now, and she stays with Abby when Gideon can’t be there.
She organizes the cleaning and the meals.
She’s the only person allowed in here, but she's at home with their dogs at the moment.” Clare blushed.
“She’s fabulous. She’s actually been giving me some cooking lessons. ”
“Green veggies are yuck, but Margaret knows that,” Abby announced, wrinkling her nose. I paused, because weren't most veggies green?
“We have a playroom here. We bring our own stuffies but it’s got books and coloring and all the videos.
” Abby stood up and extended her hand. I let her lead me into a very similar version of the playroom Dion had, but without the bed that I adored.
"Sometimes the guys are here late or away, and we needed a space. "
I ran my fingers along a shelf of children's books, recognizing several titles I'd loved as a child before they got thrown away. "It's beautiful."
"You're welcome to use it anytime," Abby said, flopping down on a beanbag chair and hugging a plush unicorn to her chest. “It’s our family’s.”
"It can make waiting easier," Clare said.
"I'm not very good at waiting," I admitted.
Abby grinned. "None of us are. That's why we have distractions." She pointed to a cabinet. "Coloring stuff in there. Movies over there. And I'm always ready for a tea party."
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "I haven't had a tea party since I was about seven."
Something in my tone must have given me away because Clare's expression softened. "Bad memory?"
I shrugged, trying to appear casual. "My mother threw away all my toys and stuffed animals and told me I was too old for childish things. Tea parties definitely fell into that category."
Abby gasped. "That's horrible! Daddy Gideon says people are never too old for the things that bring them joy."
"Your Daddy sounds very wise," I said, warmed by the normalcy as they described just what I'd secretly loved to do.
"They all are," Clare said. "In different ways. Maddox understands trauma better than anyone I've ever met. Gideon has this almost uncanny ability to see the whole picture. And Dion..."
"Dion's the protector," Abby finished. "The one who makes everyone feel safe, no matter what."
I thought about how he'd held me through my nightmares, how he'd seemed to know exactly what I needed before I did. "Yes," I agreed softly. "He does."
Clare studied me with knowing eyes. "It's scary, isn't it? Letting someone see that part of you."
I nodded, unable to find words.
"I was terrified," she admitted. "I'd spent so long hiding, pretending to be what everyone expected. When Maddox first recognized my Little side, I nearly ran away."
"What stopped you?" I asked.
"He did." Clare smiled at the memory. "He told me I could run if I needed to, but he'd just bring me back.”
Abby’s eyes turned huge. “And did he spank you?”
Clare blushed. “Maybe…”
Abby’s jaw dropped.
I glanced at her, a little puzzled. Abby giggled, covering her mouth.
"I got a spanking the first time I lied to Daddy. He did it to remind me he’s not a mind reader, and because I went to do the laundry when I’d promised to stay in my apartment.
" She sighed dreamily. "But then I showed him my Daddy list, and he told me he loved me and was keeping me forever. "
I felt my cheeks heating. These women were so open about their dynamics, while I was still struggling to even acknowledge mine, or work out exactly what it was. Although last night had been special.
And I'd felt better after Daddy had told me I could be both, then I smiled because I'd called him Daddy.
"It's okay to be curious," Clare said. "And it's okay to be scared."
"I'm not scared," I protested automatically, then caught myself. "Okay, maybe I am a little. It's just... I've spent my whole life being strong, being in control. The idea of letting someone else take over, even temporarily..."
"Is terrifying," Clare finished. "But also liberating."
Clare nodded at Abby. “Abby was surprised I’d been spanked, well… I trusted someone I shouldn’t have and was kept in an actual cage for months after.”
I gaped, then reached out and took Clare’s hand. “I kind of understand, even though mine wasn’t as long.”
Clare tilted her head. “You too?”
Warmth spread through me when I realized all the guys had kept my secrets, and I briefly explained.
"How do you do it?" I asked, genuinely curious after they'd listened. "Balance being an adult in the world with... this other side?"
Abby shrugged. "I don't really have to balance much as I stay at home, and Daddy takes care of most things. But I wasn't always like this."
"Abby used to work in a private nursery," Clare explained. "She ran herself into the ground trying to be perfect all the time."
"I was miserable," Abby confirmed. "Always anxious, never sleeping. Then I met Daddy, and he showed me I could be myself—all of myself—with him."
I thought about Dion, about how he seemed to see right through my carefully constructed walls to the vulnerable parts I kept hidden. "But what about your friends? Family? Don't they think it's weird?"
"Some do," Clare admitted. "But my brother’s just relieved I’m happy, and I’ve even started taking some art classes again." She rolled her eyes. "The people who matter accept me for who I am. The rest can mind their own business."
"What if I can't let go?" I whispered, voicing my deepest fear. "What if I'm too broken to ever really trust someone that much?"
Clare moved to sit beside me, taking my hand. "Broken isn't the word I'd use. Cautious, maybe. Protective of yourself. But that's not the same thing."
"I've spent so long fighting," I admitted. "Fighting to be taken seriously, fighting for my clients, fighting against my own needs."
"And now you're exhausted," Abby said softly, moving to sit on my other side.
I nodded, throat tight with unexpected emotion. "I don't know how to stop."
"You don't have to stop all at once," Clare advised. "It's not an all-or-nothing proposition. You can start small."
"Like what?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Like letting Dion feed you," Abby suggested. "Or wearing cute pajamas. Or asking for a hug when you need one instead of pretending you're fine." Which was true, and I thought back to what we'd shared yesterday.
Clare nodded. "For me, it was letting Maddox brush my hair at night. Such a simple thing, but it helped me learn to trust his touch, to accept care."
I thought about Dion braiding my hair earlier, how natural it had felt. "He likes feeding me," I admitted shyly. "And he braided my hair."
Both women smiled, no judgment in their expressions.
"Those are perfect first steps," Clare assured me. "The rest will come in time, if it's right for you, and if that's what you want. Kink is sometimes like going to the store."
"What?"
Abby giggled.
"I mean that you might want to try a few things on until you find the perfect fit. Often, I'm a Middle," Clare said.
"What's a Middle?" I tried to remember the videos I'd watched but didn't recall anything like that.
"So, you've heard of a Little?" she asked, seeming delighted I'd asked her. I nodded.
"Well—understanding that everyone can be different and this is a huge generalization—a Middle is more of a teen, I guess. Remember being full of hormones? Makeup, clothes? Dancing to silly pop songs?"
I blinked back the sudden sting of tears that accompanied such a huge rush of longing it seemed to steal the oxygen from my lungs. But Clare must have noticed because she clasped my hand tightly and I held on. "I never had that," I admitted.
"The main thing," Clare continued, "is that you can feel however you want. Any time you want."
I chewed my lip. "But what if Dion wants me to be very little and I'm not?" Because that was my biggest worry. I'd seen the changing table, and I didn't want that. I loved it when Daddy washed my hands and brushed my hair, but those were special moments when I was feeling especially raw.
"But a real Daddy likes figuring everything out. Neither of our Daddies would ever want us to be something we weren't in that moment."
"Cindy suddenly likes Fridays," Abby said.
Clare grinned then translated. "There's a sub called Cindy who thinks she's all that.
There's a new manager at Kingdom called Xavier, and he's been doing some training at Salvation.
" Clare leaned forward like she was sharing a secret.
"Xavier is this super-hot Marine like the rest of them, and he's been coming into the Little room downstairs to check it out.
Then all of a sudden Cindy's wearing pigtails and turning up on a Friday when she doesn't have an ounce of Little in her. "
I grinned. "Is the Little room open every night?"
"No," Abby said, "but it is tonight."
She hopped about excitedly, and Claire groaned. "We were told to stay here."
Abby pouted. "But we're helping Emily. She needs to have her mind taken off what the guys are doing, and you and I both know we'll be safe."
Clare pursed her lips, but her eyes were sparkling. "Abby makes a good point. And it isn't as if we're leaving the building."
I glanced from one to another and a thrill of nervous excitement shot through me.
"We can't help the guys, but maybe we can help you," Clare said.
"Okay," I agreed, surprising myself with how readily I was going along with this. "What exactly are we doing?"
Abby clapped her hands. "You get to see the Little room! It's downstairs at Salvation. It's way better than the one here. It's got a treehouse, a train, and a ball pit and dress-up clothes and—"
"And it's a safe space," Clare added more calmly. "Where people like us can just... be."
My heart fluttered. "People will see me."
"Only other Littles or Middles and their Daddies or Mommies," Abby assured me. "And everyone there understands. It's like... a sanctuary."
I hesitated. "But Dion said to stay here."
Clare's expression turned thoughtful. "Technically, he said to stay with us. And we'll be with you the whole time."
"That's some creative interpretation," I said, but couldn't help smiling.
"It's called a loophole," Abby said proudly. "Daddy says I'm very good at finding them."
Clare laughed. "Too good sometimes." She turned to me. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable. We can just play or watch a movie. But it might help take your mind off things."
I thought about Zoe, about the team working to keep her safe. About my own swirling emotions and confusion. Maybe a distraction would help.
"Okay," I said eagerly. "Let's go."
Abby squealed with delight. "You need to change first! You can't go in those clothes."
I looked down at my plain t-shirt and jeans. "What's wrong with these?"
"Nothing if we stay here," Clare explained. "But the club has a dress code. For the Little room, it's either Little clothes or regular club attire."
"I don't have either," I pointed out.
Abby was already running to another room. "I have extras! We're about the same size."
I doubted that, but I waited.
Clare gave me a reassuring smile. "You don't have to wear anything you're not comfortable with. Just something that fits the space."
Abby returned with an armful of clothing. "I brought options!"
Twenty minutes later, I found myself in the elevator wearing a soft pink sweater dress with white leggings and sparkly ballet flats. My hair was tied in low pigtails with ribbon.
"You look adorable," Abby declared, dressed in a frilly blue pinafore over a white blouse herself.
Clare wore a more subdued outfit—jeans and a t-shirt with cartoon characters, but she’d plaited her hair, her age space clearly older than Abby's.
"Remember," Clare said as the elevator descended, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You can just observe."
I nodded, suddenly nervous. The elevator doors opened to reveal a sleek, modern hallway.
I stepped out of the elevator, my ballet flats silent on the polished floor. The hallway was dimly lit with warm, welcoming lighting that made me feel like I was entering somewhere special rather than intimidating.
"This way," Clare said softly, leading us down a corridor lined with what looked like children's artwork in elegant frames. "The Little room is through here."
As we approached a set of double doors painted in soft pastels, I could hear muffled sounds from within—laughter, music, the gentle hum of conversation. My stomach fluttered with nerves and anticipation.
Clare pushed open the doors, and my breath caught in my throat.
The room was like something out of a fairy tale—or a very expensive children's playroom.
Soft lighting cast everything in a warm glow, and the space was divided into different areas: a reading nook with oversized cushions, an art station with adult-sized tables and chairs, and yes, an actual treehouse built into one corner.
"It's beautiful," I whispered.
"And see?" Abby pointed to various groups of people scattered throughout the room. "Everyone's just being themselves."
She was right. I saw adults coloring at small tables, others curled up reading picture books, a group playing with blocks near the train set.
Some were dressed similarly to us, others in more casual clothes.
What struck me most was how relaxed everyone looked—no pretense, no masks, just people being themselves.
"Come on," Abby said, tugging on my hand. "I want to show you the art corner first."
We made our way over to a section filled with tables covered in art supplies. Crayons, markers, colored pencils, and stickers were organized in cheerful containers. Several people were already seated, working on various projects.
"Pick any table," Clare said. "What sounds fun to you?"
I looked around, feeling overwhelmed, and I looked over at a group of people building what looked like a zoo complete with plastic animals, cages, and pens, and then suddenly everything was just too damned much, and it was like I couldn't breathe.
I tried to take a deep breath and I couldn't. I turned and bolted for the door, except in my rush I ran right smack into it.
Except it wasn’t a door.
It was a Daddy.
My Daddy.
And he looked really angry.