Chapter 8
E verything felt different.
Food tasted better. Colors seemed brighter. The world felt more alive.
I had a Daddy Dom, and tonight, we were going to make it official.
My skin buzzed, alive with anticipation, every nerve ending lit up by the knowledge of what today meant. Today was the day. The DDlg contract.
I hadn’t slept much. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, my mind returned to him: the way his voice dropped into that low, commanding tone that made me shiver, the steady warmth of his touch when he cupped my face after our last kiss.
The way he’d called me Baby Girl.
The smile he’d given me when I called him Daddy.
But alongside those hazy half-dreams were the practical concerns. We were about to put everything on paper—every rule, every boundary, every promise—and there was no room for pretending this wasn’t serious. It wasn’t just playful anymore; it was real.
"Be honest," I whispered to myself, staring at the ceiling. "No holding back. This won’t work if you hold anything back."
My nerves knotted and unknotted as I got ready, but I clung to that thought like a lifeline. Luca deserved my honesty, even if my stomach flipped every time I imagined sitting across from him while he went over every clause, every expectation, with those sharp, lawyerly eyes of his.
By the time I reached his front door, I must have repeated the line about honesty at least a billion times in my head.
The door opened, and there he was. Luca filled the doorway, tall and composed, his tie slightly loosened like he’d just finished his work for the day. He was outrageously sexy.
When I’d told Lucy that he was my dream Dom, I hadn’t been exaggerating. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, the world tilted. That glint in his eye, both warm and knowing, told me he saw right through me—straight past my nerves, straight to the girl who wanted so badly to trust him with everything.
His greeting took me by surprise. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice rich and steady.
I blushed, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “Thank you. You look . . . nice too.”
Nice was code for: so damn sexy my pussy is practically screaming at me to let you in.
“Welcome,” he said, unaware of my filthy thoughts. He stepped aside, and I walked into the familiar space, comforted by the faint but distinct scent of leather and wood polish. It reminded me of him—structured, meticulous—but it was more than that. It was safe.
He shut the door behind me and offered me a small smile, one corner of his mouth tugging upward in that half-smirk that always made my heart stumble. "Nervous?" he asked.
"Maybe a little," I admitted, trying not to fidget under his gaze.
"Good," he said lightly, his tone teasing but firm enough to settle me. "It means you’re taking this seriously." Then, with a nod toward the hallway, he added, "Come on, let’s get started."
I followed him, my footsteps muffled against the polished hardwood floors. He led me to his study, and the room looked like it belonged in some old legal drama. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with spines that ranged from classic literature to dense law books. The centerpiece, though, was the mahogany desk, its surface gleaming and organized with almost surgical precision.
“How have you got your place so beautifully set up after only being here a month?”
He grinned. “Organization.”
“It’s that easy, huh?”
“Oh no, it’s tricky. Needs work—like everything worth doing.”
Two copies of the contract were placed side by side, perfectly aligned, with a pen resting atop each stack. My throat tightened as I approached the desk, the enormity of what we were about to do settling heavily in my chest. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore—it was real, tangible, staring me in the face in black and white.
"Have a seat," Luca said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs opposite his own. I sat down slowly, my fingers curling around the armrests as I tried to keep my breathing even. He took the chair across from me, leaning forward slightly, his movements deliberate but calm.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice softer now, careful.
"As I’ll ever be," I answered, forcing a small smile.
“Good. We’ll start with foundational principles," Luca said, his voice steady and calm as he reached for the contract. The paper made a delicate sound as he flipped to the first page, but all I could focus on was the faint crease between his brows—the only sign that this wasn’t just another legal document to him. This mattered.
"Rights and responsibilities," he began, glancing up at me briefly before reading aloud. "Each partner deserves respect, honesty, and unconditional support." His tone softened slightly, almost reverent, as if those words carried more weight than they appeared to on the surface.
I shifted in my seat, the leather cool beneath my palms. My chest tightened—not unpleasantly, but with a mix of emotions I couldn’t fully untangle.
"How does that feel to you?" Luca asked, setting the paper down and leaning forward slightly, his gaze pinning me in place.
"Good," I managed after a moment, though my voice came out quieter than I intended.
"Communication. You need to feel safe voicing concerns—whether they’re about scheduling or how you’re feeling emotionally. That’s non-negotiable."
"Even if I think it’s silly?" I asked, half-joking but also not.
"Especially then," he said firmly, his eyes locking onto mine. "If it matters to you, it matters to me. Don’t ever hesitate to share what’s on your mind. Understood?"
"Understood," I echoed, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. He really meant it—every word. I could see it in the way he held himself, the way his tone didn’t waver for even a second.
"All right," he said, leaning back slightly and folding his hands in front of him. "Next, let’s talk about your daily routine."
"Routine?" I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic.
"Yes," he said, retrieving another sheet from the stack. "Structure is important to me. Here’s what I had in mind." He slid the paper across the desk toward me, and I leaned forward, scanning the neatly typed bullet points.
"Wake-up time at seven a.m.," he began, his voice measured. "Bedtime at ten p.m. Not a minute later. Blocks of time for work, meals, exercise, and personal creativity. Everything is flexible, of course, but having a framework helps provide stability."
"Exercise?" I lifted my gaze, raising an eyebrow. "You’re telling me I have to jump on a treadmill now?"
The corners of Luca’s mouth twitched, the hint of a grin pulling at the otherwise serious line of his expression. "Not necessarily a treadmill," he said, his tone light but still firm. "But physical activity is important—for physical and mental health. It’s not a punishment, Rebekah. Think of it as taking care of yourself. Almost like medicine."
"Easy for you to say," I muttered, but there was no real bite in my words. In truth, I knew he wasn’t wrong. Some part of me even liked the idea of someone else keeping track of these things for me—things I always told myself I’d prioritize but never actually did.
“This one is important to me,” he said. “I understand that exercise can be a hard habit to form, but I’d like to support you to form it. I think you’ll find that it quickly starts to help.”
“How am I going to have time for all this.”
"You’d be surprised. Adding structure," he continued, confidently, "can free up your mental energy for the things that matter most. Your Little side, for example."
I opened my mouth to reply but stopped short, his words sinking in deeper than I expected. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To have someone guide me through the mundane parts of life so I didn’t have to carry that weight alone. I glanced at the paper again, my initial resistance softening.
"Fine," I said with a mock-dramatic sigh. "But don’t expect me to start running marathons or anything."
"Noted," he said, and this time, his smile broke through entirely. “We’ll do half-marathons only.”
“Half mara—” I started, scandalized.
“Just kidding, Little One. Now, let’s move on to some more fun stuff.”
Luca tapped the tip of his fountain pen against the clause, the soft click-click breaking the silence between us. My eyes followed the motion of his hand, catching on the bold lettering he had highlighted: "The Little is entitled to a minimum of thirty (30) minutes of Little Space daily. "
"Every day?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to explain the mix of awe and disbelief surging through me. No one had ever carved out time for me like this before—let alone protected it in writing.
"Every day," Luca confirmed, his voice steady but kind. "Your Little side isn’t just something you indulge in when there’s time left over, Rebekah. It’s part of who you are. And it’s important that we make space for it. I have a feeling you’ve been neglecting it recently. That stops, now."
I felt my cheeks flush as his words landed, warm and grounding. The idea of someone not only accepting that part of me but also prioritizing it was wonderful.
"How . . ." I swallowed and tried again. "How does that work? Like, what if I don’t feel . . . you know, Little that day?"
"Then we adjust," he said simply, leaning back in his chair with an ease that somehow made the room feel less heavy. "Little Space doesn’t have to look the same every time. You could color, watch cartoons, cuddle your stuffed animals—whatever feels right in the moment. Have some time with a pacifier or in diapers if you want. And if you’re not up for it some days, that’s okay too. But I’ll remind you when it’s overdue." His lips quirked into a faint smile, teasing but firm. "That’s in the contract, after all."
My blush deepened, and I ducked my head, fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. "You’d really keep track of it? Like, make sure I don’t skip?"
"Of course," he replied, and there was no hesitation in his tone. "That’s my job, princess. To take care of you—even the parts of yourself you sometimes neglect."
A nervous laugh bubbled out of me, unbidden. "It’s just...no one’s ever done that before. For me. It feels..." I hesitated, searching for the right word. Vulnerable? Strange? Wonderful? "Nice," I finished softly.
"Good," he said, tapping the pen once more before setting it down with deliberate care. "That’s exactly how it should feel."
His gaze held mine for a beat longer than was strictly necessary, and I felt a new warmth bloom low in my stomach. I cleared my throat, trying to break the spell. "Okay, so . . . what’s next?"
"Next," Luca said, reaching for the next section of the contract, "we talk about wardrobe."
"Wardrobe?" My brows furrowed, the word unfamiliar in this context. "What do you mean?"
"Here." He slid the paper toward me, gesturing to another highlighted clause. As I skimmed the text, my heart started to race. "On designated occasions, the Daddy Dom may select the Little's attire, including accessories."
"Oh," I breathed, my fingers tightening instinctively around the edge of the document. I couldn’t meet his eyes, suddenly hyper-aware of the way my pulse thrummed in my ears. The idea of letting someone else pick my clothes—a grown woman’s clothes, no less—felt too intimate to say aloud. What if he thought it was ridiculous? Silly?
"Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?"
"I just . . ." I fidgeted with the edge of the page, biting my lip. "It sounds . . . silly. Doesn’t it? Letting you pick my outfits? I mean, who even does that?"
"I think," he said slowly, tilting his head as he studied me, "it sounds like trust. And submission. Two things you seem very good at when you let yourself be. It’s not silly, Rebekah. Not to me. But it has to feel right for you. So tell me—do you want this? If not, we drop it."
The weight of his question settled over me, but instead of feeling pressured, I felt safe. Like I could say yes or no, and it wouldn’t change his opinion of me. That realization gave me the courage to nod, even as my voice shook slightly. "On special occasions," I murmured, "I think I’d like it. Having you decide, I mean."
"Good girl," Luca said softly, the praise slipping out so naturally it made my breath hitch. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression unreadable but intent. "We’ll start slow. Daily wear is entirely up to you. But for those special days—or nights—I’ll choose. Agreed?"
"Agreed," I whispered, the words barely audible. A delicious little shiver ran down my spine, and I realized with a start that I was actually looking forward to it.
Luca’s pen hovered over the next section of the contract, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. His expression was steady, calm, but there was an unmistakable weight in his tone when he said, “Discipline.”
My stomach tightened at just hearing the word aloud. “You think I need discipline, Daddy?” I said, sarcastically.
“I think you want discipline.”
“My little butt would sting for days if you spanked me with those big hands of yours.”
“Weeks,” he said, giving me a look.
My throat was suddenly dry.
“Let me be clear, Rebekah. Discipline in this dynamic is never about humiliation or cruelty. It’s meant to guide you, protect you, and help you grow. And it will always come from a place of care.”
His tone wasn’t stern, exactly, but there was a firm edge to it that pulled my focus. No more jokes, he seemed to say. I was ready for it.
"You’d have a safeword," he continued, his eyes locked onto mine as if daring me to look away. "If any moment feels like too much, you say it, and everything stops. No questions asked."
"I like that.” I exhaled slowly, letting the tension in my shoulders ease just a fraction. “I guess it’s not as scary when you say it like that.”
"Good," Luca said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. "Because this contract isn’t here to trap you, Rebekah. It’s here to give you structure—a safety net, if you will. Boundaries don’t confine you; they free you.” He paused, letting the words settle before adding, “And I think you know that.”
"Okay," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. The corner of his mouth twitched, approval flashing briefly in his eyes.
"Good girl," he murmured again, and the quiet pride in his tone sent a ripple of warmth through me. “There will be discipline for rule breaking, and also at my discretion. But I will always be reasonable, and I’ll listen to your perspective.”
I nodded.
We moved on. “Now, sexual limits," he announced, his voice still businesslike, though there was a subtle undercurrent of intensity that made my pulse quicken.
"Right," I said, fidgeting slightly. “If it’s okay, I don’t want to be spanked with . . . anything other than your hand. No paddles, belts, or whatever else people use. Just you.”
"Understood." There wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation as he wrote it down. No judgment, no raised eyebrows—just simple, steady acceptance.
"Your turn," I said lightly, trying to mask my nerves with humor. "What’s your big no-go?"
"Sharing," Luca stated flatly, without so much as glancing up from the paper. “No open relationships. No adding anyone else into this dynamic. It’s strictly between you and me.”
I blinked, startled by the bluntness of his response. He was making himself vulnerable here. He wanted just me. It made my heart tingle. And the thought of him with someone else—even hypothetically—made my chest squeeze uncomfortably. I nodded quickly, more relieved than I cared to admit. “Agreed.”
"Good," he said simply, sparing me another one of those fleeting, approving looks before continuing. "Choking?"
"Hard pass," I said immediately, wrinkling my nose.
"Same."
"Humiliation?"
"Not my style," Luca replied casually, jotting something down in the margins. “This dynamic is about respect, not tearing each other down.”
"Agreed," I said again, feeling the tension in my chest ease a bit more with each boundary we set. Even discussing these topics—things that had once seemed too taboo to even think about—felt strangely freeing.
"Anything else?" he prompted, his voice low and even, though there was a glimmer of mischief in his eye that made me wary.
"Um…" I hesitated, biting my lip as heat rushed to my cheeks. “Butt stuff? I kinda like it.”
"It’s a firm yes for me," he said smoothly, his lips twitching into a smirk as he wrote it down.
"Me too," I mumbled, unable to meet his gaze as I squirmed in my seat. The air between us felt charged, and I knew my face was probably beet-red, but Luca didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression softening as he regarded me carefully.
“Toys?” he asked.
“I'll try, for sure. Don’t have much experience.”
“Learning will be fun. Rebekah," he said quietly, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate. “You’re doing really well.”
"There's one more thing," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared at the edge of the polished mahogany desk. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress, twisting and untwisting the fabric as if it might somehow tether me to my courage.
"Go on," he prompted gently, his voice low but firm.
I swallowed hard, the words tangling in my throat before finally spilling out. "I’ve . . . I’ve always thought about—" I paused, heat rushing up my neck and into my cheeks. "About being disciplined in public. Not, like, obvious or anything," I added quickly, the words tumbling over each other in my haste to explain. "Just something subtle. Like . . . like a quick swat under the table, or you whispering something in my ear that only we understand."
The silence that followed stretched for a heartbeat too long, making my stomach twist in nervous anticipation. When I finally dared to glance up, Luca’s expression had shifted. That glint was back in his eye—the one that sent a shiver down my spine every time I saw it. Intrigue. Possession. Control.
"Subtle, hmm?" His lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk. The movement drew my attention to the way his hands flexed, strong and commanding even when they were still. "So, what you're saying is, you want reminders of your place. Quiet ones, just between us."
My breath hitched, and I nodded, unable to form coherent words under the weight of his scrutiny. My blush deepened, and I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat.
"Interesting." He picked up his pen, tapping it thoughtfully against his lower lip before jotting something down in the margin of the contract. "We can explore that, as long as we’re careful to stay within your comfort zone—and mine. Consent always comes first. Understood?"
"Yes, Daddy," I murmured automatically, the title slipping out before I could stop it. My eyes widened as I realized what I’d said, but instead of teasing me, Luca’s expression softened, a quiet pride flickering in his gaze that made my heart do an unsteady little somersault.
"Good girl," he said simply, and those two words sent a rush of warmth through me that I couldn’t quite articulate.
"Anything else on your mind?" he asked, shifting the conversation effortlessly. His tone was casual, but I could see the way he watched me closely, waiting for whatever I might say next.
"Um . . ." I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. This part felt even harder to admit than the last, but I knew I had to get it out. If I couldn’t be honest here, with him, then what was the point? "Roleplaying," I finally said, the word hanging awkwardly in the air between us. "I think I’d like to try it."
"Roleplaying," Luca echoed, his brow lifting in mild curiosity. He didn’t look surprised, though—if anything, he seemed… pleased. "What kind of scenarios are we talking about?"
"Well . . ." I toyed with the hem of my dress again, feeling the familiar burn of embarrassment creeping up my skin. "Sometimes I think about being naughty on purpose. Like a brat who pushes your buttons until you, you know, put me in my place."
"Ah." His smirk deepened, the edges of it sharp with anticipation. "Testing boundaries, then. Seeing how far you can go before Daddy steps in."
"Something like that," I mumbled, my voice barely audible. My face felt like it was on fire, but I forced myself to continue. "Or maybe a teacher-student dynamic? Or a Little who’s being rebellious and needs to learn her manners."
"Interesting," he said again, his pen moving across the paper as he scribbled notes in the margin. "You like the idea of consequences framed as part of a scene, rather than purely disciplinary moments."
"Exactly," I said, relieved that he seemed to understand without me having to spell it out. The way he articulated my thoughts so clearly made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t expected.
"Rebekah," he said after a moment, setting the pen down and leaning back in his chair. His gaze locked onto mine, and the intensity there made my pulse skip. "I’m very much a true Dom. That means control—real control—is something I take seriously. Both in and out of a scene."
"I understand," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. And I did know. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke—it all radiated authority in a way that made my knees weak and my chest ache with longing.
"Good." He smiled, and the warmth in it melted some of my lingering nerves. "We’ll take our time exploring this. One step at a time. You have a vivid imagination, Rebekah, and I intend to make sure you feel safe enough to let it run wild with me."
The promise in his words wrapped around me like a cocoon, and for the first time, I allowed myself to fully believe that this wasn’t just a fantasy anymore. It was real. Tangible. Ours.
The pen hovered in Luca’s hand, the tip poised just above the paper. He glanced at me, his eyes steady and warm, but with that unyielding authority simmering beneath. "Ready?" Luca asked, his voice calm but laced with that subtle edge of command that always made my stomach flip.
"Yes." The word came out barely above a whisper, but I didn’t hesitate as I reached for the pen. My fingers shook slightly as I wrapped them around it, the enormity of what I was about to do pressing down on me. With one more glance at Luca—his patient, steady presence grounding me—I lowered the pen and signed my name.
Rebekah. Little.
The ink seemed to shimmer on the page, the finality of it sending a shiver through me. I set the pen down and sat back, my heart pounding so loudly I was certain he could hear it.
Luca didn’t speak right away. Instead, he picked up the pen himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he signed beneath his own title.
Luca. Daddy Dom .
When he finished, he set the pen aside and looked at me, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened with something almost tender. “You did well, princess,” he murmured, reaching across the desk to take my hand in his. His thumb brushed lightly over my knuckles, grounding me further.
I let out a shaky laugh, the tension breaking just enough for me to breathe again. “It feels real now,” I admitted, unable to meet his gaze for too long without blushing.
“It is real,” he said firmly, squeezing my hand. Then he stood, rounding the desk to stand beside me. Before I could process the shift, he bent down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. “And I’m proud of you for taking this step.”
The warmth of his lips lingered even after he pulled away, my cheeks flushing with heat.
"Would you like to begin right now, princess?" he asked, his voice warm honey laced with steel. The question wasn’t really a question—it was an invitation wrapped in command, leaving little room for doubt about what my answer should be.
My mouth went dry. I swallowed quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as every nerve ending in my body seemed to spark at once. “Y-Yes, please,” I managed, my voice trembling just enough to betray me. I bit my lip afterward, unsure if he’d notice—or care.
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His eyes softened for a brief moment, but there was something else simmering beneath them too—something darker, more possessive.
"Good girl," Luca murmured, his tone dipping into something almost too intimate. He stepped around the desk, closing the space between us. Every breath I took seemed louder in the quiet study, mingling with the faint creak of leather under his movements. His fingers brushed my jaw lightly, tilting my chin upward so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“You’re mine now,” he said softly, yet firmly. “To guide, to protect…” His thumb traced the line of my cheek, his touch reverent but undeniably claiming. “. . . and when needed, to discipline.”
I nodded, the motion stilted as my thoughts scattered under the weight of his words. My heart thundered wildly, every beat syncing to the shift building between us. “I understand,” I whispered, though the words felt woefully inadequate to capture the flood of emotion surging through me.
"Do you?" he asked, his brow lifting slightly as his thumb stilled. It wasn’t a challenge—not exactly—but a reminder. A deliberate shift to test how much of myself I was willing to give him in this moment.
"Yes Daddy." The title slipped out before I could second-guess myself, and the way his expression darkened with approval made a bolt of electricity race through me. My hands curled automatically in my lap, caught between wanting to cling to some semblance of control and letting go entirely.
"That’s my girl." His voice was thick with pride, and I melted under the sound of it, my shoulders relaxing even as my stomach flipped in anticipation. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin as his forehead briefly touched mine—a moment of grounding before everything shifted again.
Then his lips found mine.
The kiss was slow, deliberate, and absolutely devastating. There was no rush, no frantic need; only the steady press of his mouth against mine, coaxing me deeper with every passing second. His hand stayed cradling my jaw, holding me there as though daring me to pull away—not that I could have if I tried.
I sighed into him, the butterflies in my chest fluttering wildly until they dissolved into something heavier, sweeter. Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading outward like wildfire, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into him, seeking more.
His other hand slid down my back until it reached my ass, cupping me firmly against him. I could feel his erection through his trousers, and the knowledge that he wanted me just as much as I wanted him made my head spin.
"Are you ready, baby?" He murmured against my lips, his voice rough with desire. I nodded silently, unable to find words for the emotions coursing through me.
He pulled away slightly, looking into my eyes with a mix of hunger and tenderness that left me breathless. "Good," he said before capturing my lips again in a kiss that left no doubt about his intentions. His tongue sought entrance, and I opened for him eagerly, needing the connection as much as I needed air.
As we kissed, his hand moved restlessly over my ass, squeezing gently before gradually growing more insistent.
When he finally pulled back, I was breathless, my lips tingling and my mind spinning. His thumb brushed over my lower lip, slow and teasing, as though he were savoring the evidence of what he’d just done.
"Are you ready to take the next step, princess?" he asked, his voice dipping lower, quieter—but no less commanding.
"Yes," I breathed, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still left me trembling. “I’m ready.”