Chapter 7
Lucy
I could be in my house now. I could be alone, trying to process the news that Marcus definitely was a Daddy Dom, and that he knew I was a Little. The pipes in my house were fixed, the place was safe. And yet, I’d asked Marcus to stay with him again.
I couldn’t stay away.
I didn’t want to stay away.
In fact, I felt like I didn’t want to be apart from Marcus for even a second.
The gentle creak of the front door welcomed us back. I breathed in deeply, the now familiar scent washing over me like a warm embrace.
I shrugged off my jacket, muscles aching from a long day of tidying and painting. The living room glowed invitingly, flames dancing in the fireplace. As I sank onto the plush couch, I couldn't help but smile. Being here with Marcus, it just felt right somehow.
He sat down beside me with a contented sigh. Our eyes met and something flickered between us, an understanding that ran deeper than words.
"You're amazing, you know that?" he said softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my face. "The way you're handling everything with the house, with your dad . . . I'm in awe of your strength."
I leaned into his touch, soaking up the comfort and reassurance. But even as warmth blossomed in my chest, I felt a familiar tug, an ache for something more. The day's stresses weighed on me heavily and I longed to let go, to shed the burden of adulthood for a while.
Littlespace called to me, a whimsical refuge where I could just be, free of expectations and sorrow. I hadn't retreated there in so long. Part of me feared Marcus would think it childish. And yet, I sensed he'd understand. There was a gentleness to him, a nurturing side that made me feel safe and cherished.
As night fell outside the windows, I took a shaky breath. "Marcus . . . there's something I need. A way I find peace when things get overwhelming. It's called Littlespace . . ."
I explained it all, my voice trembling slightly. How embracing my inner child allowed me to process and heal. How I craved the innocent joy and carefree wonder of youth.
He listened intently, blue eyes soft with compassion. When I finished, he took my hand and squeezed it gently.
"Lucy, I'm honored you trust me enough to share this. I want you to feel free to be yourself fully with me, in every way. Your Littlespace is a beautiful part of who you are. Please, don't ever feel you need to hide it. In fact, I might be able to help you slip in. . ."
He disappeared into the depths of the house, returning with a box. "I... uh, I've never used these before. But I got them for... someone else. They might be a bit dusty, but the magic should still be there."
I peeked inside, and my jaw dropped. Blocks, colorful and inviting, books and stuffed animals spilled out.
"Marcus, were these for Emily?"
He nodded, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “They day I showed them to her was the day she told me she wasn’t a Little. So, I, uh, hope you don’t run off.”
“Of course I’m not going to run off. Thank you for sharing this with me. It must be hard.”
Was it weird that found his vulnerability so damn sexy? Here he was, sharing the most private part of himself with me, telling me, that he was nervous, and I found it so brave and masculine.
He blushed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I’m glad that you’re the person I’m showing this to. They were meant to be for someone else, but the important thing is, they're yours now. And I hope they bring you joy."
Heat crept into my cheeks, but I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face. "Thank you, Marcus. This means the world to me."
We cleared a space in front of the fireplace, and soon enough, I was lost in a world of make-believe, engulfed by the innocence and joy of Littlespace. The blocks clicked together with a satisfying sound, creating whimsical structures that defied the constraints of reality. Stuffed animals became animated companions, their button eyes twinkling with mischief as we embarked on fantastical adventures.
Marcus sat beside me, content to observe or join in when asked. There, in that cozy room, the weight of the day evaporated, leaving only the warmth of his company and the unspoken promise of tomorrow.
As I began to play, arranging the blocks into a wonky tower, I felt a shift inside. The weight of adulthood evaporated, replaced by a carefree lightness. I balanced on one foot, hula hooping around the room, giggling with abandon. The child in me had found her way home.
I sat cross-legged on the plush rug, arranging the blocks in front of me. As I stacked them carefully, I felt a shift inside - like sinking into a warm bath. The edges of the world softened, worries fading to background noise.
I hummed softly as I built, lost in the simple joy of creation. The blocks seemed to glow, vibrantly red and blue and yellow. When had colors last looked so alive?
A giggle bubbled up as I placed the final block atop my tower. I clapped my hands, delighted.
"Look!" I exclaimed, pointing. "I made a castle!"
Marcus chuckled warmly from his armchair. "It's wonderful, sweetheart."
The term of endearment sent a pleasant shiver through me. I hugged the stuffed rabbit to my chest, breathing in its comforting scent.
For the first time in years, I felt truly free - safe to be small and vulnerable and joyful. The grief and stress melted away, if only for a little while.
I looked up at Marcus, my eyes shining. "Will you color with me?"
He hesitated only a moment before joining me on the floor. As we bent our heads over the coloring books, crayons scratching softly, I felt a surge of affection so strong it nearly overwhelmed me.
In that moment, I knew I was falling for him—this kind, patient man who saw me and accepted all of me. And for once, I allowed myself to hope.
I giggled mischievously, eyeing my tower. With a dramatic flourish, I swept my arm through it, sending blocks scattering across the floor.
"Uh oh!" I squealed, clapping my hands. "It fell down!"
Marcus raised an eyebrow, but his eyes crinkled with amusement. I scooped up a soft plush bear, tossing it playfully in his direction. It bounced off his chest as I dissolved into peals of laughter.
"Gotcha!" I crowed, my inhibitions melting away in the warmth of his acceptance.
I scrambled to gather more toys, my movements becoming increasingly energetic. A plastic car zoomed dangerously close to the coffee table's edge.
"Careful, Lucy," Marcus cautioned, his tone gentle but firm. "We don't want to break anything."
His words wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. I nodded, slowing my movements.
"Sorry," I murmured, a hint of shyness creeping in.
"It's okay, sweetheart," he assured me. "Just be mindful, alright?"
I felt a rush of warmth at his guidance. It struck me how safe I felt, how seen. It was comfortable, cozy, but thrilling, too.
"Can we build another tower?" I asked, my voice small. "A bigger one this time?"
Marcus smiled, moving to sit beside me on the floor. "Of course. Let's see how high we can make it, shall we?"
As we stacked blocks together, I marveled at how natural it felt. This dance of playfulness and gentle boundaries, of letting go and feeling protected. For the first time in forever, I felt truly at home.
I paused, my hand hovering over a bright red block. My heart raced as I gathered my courage. "Marcus?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine. "Yes, Lucy?"
My cheeks burned. Was I really about to ask this? But before I could think too deeply, the words left my lips. "Have you . . . have you ever spanked anyone?"
Marcus's eyebrow shot up, surprise flickering across his face. He set down the block he was holding, giving me his full attention. "I can't say that I have," he replied, his voice steady. "But I'm open to talking about it. What's on your mind?"
I took a deep breath, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. "I've always wanted to try . . . a caring kind of discipline," I confessed. My words tumbled out in a rush. "I think it might help me deal with some stuff I've been carrying around. The guilt, the doubt . . . you know?"
I bit my lip, searching his face for any sign of judgment. There was none. Just patient understanding.
"It's hard to explain," I continued. "But sometimes I feel like I need . . . something to help me let go. To move forward." I swallowed hard. "Does that make any sense?"
Marcus nodded slowly. "I think I understand," he said softly. "You're looking for a way to process your emotions, to find release."
"Yeah," I breathed, relief washing over me. "Exactly that."
Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His expression was thoughtful, intense. "Lucy, discipline like that... it's not something to take lightly. It needs purpose, trust, consent. All of that."
I nodded, my heart racing. "I know."
"What exactly do you feel you need help with?" he asked, his voice gentle but probing. "I want to make sure whatever we do is actually supportive. Meaningful."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. This was it - the moment of truth. "It's . . . it's about my dad," I whispered. “My guilt.”
Marcus waited, silent and patient.
"I didn't visit him enough," I blurted out. "Before he died. I was always too busy, or making excuses. And now . . ." Tears welled up, hot and stinging. "Now it's too late."
"Lucy . . . " Marcus started, but I shook my head.
"I don't deserve to be happy," I choked out. "Not after that. I keep punishing myself, over and over. I can't stop."
The tears spilled over, running down my cheeks. I brushed them away angrily. "God, I'm such a mess," I muttered.
Marcus reached out, his hand hovering near mine. "You're not a mess," he said firmly. "You're human."
I laughed bitterly. "A pretty crappy one."
"No," Marcus insisted. "You're dealing with grief, with regret. That's normal."
I looked up at him, vision blurry. "But how do I stop feeling this way?" I asked, my voice small and broken.
Marcus leaned in, his blue eyes filled with a warmth that made my chest tighten.
"Lucy," he said softly, "everyone has regrets. But punishing yourself won't change the past."
I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "It feels like it should."
He shook his head. "Your dad wouldn't want that for you. He'd want you to be happy."
"How can you know that?" I challenged, even as a part of me desperately wanted to believe him.
"Because that's what parents want for their kids," Marcus said simply. "Your happiness was important to him. It should be important to you too."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd never thought about it that way before.
"I . . . " I started, then stopped, unsure what to say.
Marcus shifted closer, his knee barely brushing mine. "Listen, if you really feel like you need some kind of . . . release from this guilt, maybe we can find a way to do that."
My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
"Well," he said carefully, "we could use discipline as a tool. Not to punish you, but to help you let go. To forgive yourself."
I blinked, surprised. "You'd . . . you'd do that?"
He nodded. "If you think it would help. But Lucy," he added, his voice firm, "you're in control here. We stop the second you want to, okay?"
I swallowed hard, a mix of nervousness and something else—excitement? - coursing through me.
"Okay," I whispered. "I think... I think I'd like to try."
I took a deep breath, feeling my heart pounding against my ribs. The soft glow of the fireplace bathed the room in a warm, golden light, casting dancing shadows on the walls. I stood before Marcus, the air thick with unspoken emotions. My fingers trembled slightly as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I'm ready," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Marcus's blue eyes searched mine, deep pools of concern and tenderness. He reached out, his hand gently cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed lightly across my skin, sending a soft shiver down my spine. "Are you absolutely sure?" he asked softly, his gaze never leaving mine.
I leaned into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his palm. "Yes," I breathed, nodding slowly. "I trust you."
A faint smile curved his lips. "Alright," he said, his voice soothing. "We'll go slowly. If at any point you want to stop, just tell me."
"I will," I promised, my eyes locked with his.
He took my hand, his fingers entwining with mine, and led me to the plush sofa near the hearth. The flames crackled softly, filling the room with a gentle warmth. Marcus sat down, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He guided me to stand between his knees, our faces level due to his height even while seated.
"Come here," he murmured, with light authority, his hands resting lightly on my hips. The heat of his touch seeped through the fabric of my clothes, igniting a subtle warmth within me.
I swallowed hard, anticipation and a hint of nervousness fluttering in my stomach. He guided me gently across his lap, his movements careful and deliberate. I settled myself, the position both vulnerable and strangely comforting. The solid strength of his thighs beneath me was reassuring, a steady foundation amidst the swirling emotions.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
I nodded, my hair falling forward to curtain my face. "Yes," I replied softly.
He placed a hand on the small of my back, his touch firm yet gentle. "I want you to focus on letting go," he said. "Release the guilt and the doubt. Can you do that for me?"
"I'll try," I whispered.
His other hand rested lightly on my hip. "Good girl," he praised, the words sending a warm flush across my cheeks.
There was a moment of stillness, the only sounds the soft ticking of the clock and the gentle crackle of the fire. Then, I felt the first light tap—a gentle pat more than a spank. It surprised me, a tiny jolt that was more emotional than physical. Heat spread across my skin where his hand had connected, a tingling sensation that lingered.
"Say it with me," Marcus murmured. "I deserve happiness."
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "I . . . I deserve happiness," I repeated, my voice shaky.
"That's it," he encouraged.
Another gentle swat landed, a little firmer this time but still soft. The warmth of his hand pressed against me lingered, creating a soothing contrast to the slight sting.
"I forgive myself," he said.
"I forgive myself," I echoed, feeling a lump forming in my throat. The weight of those words settled deep within me.
He continued the pattern, each light spank followed by an affirmation. With each repetition, the rhythm became almost hypnotic. "I am worthy of love," he said, his voice steady.
"I am worthy of love," I whispered, emotion thick in my voice.
As we continued, I became acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment. The heat of his body against mine, the way his hand lingered a fraction longer after each touch. My senses heightened; I could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the aroma of burning wood. The fabric of my jeans seemed too thin, every nerve ending attuned to his slightest movement.
"You're doing so well," he praised softly. His fingers brushed against my lower back in a gentle caress, sending a ripple of warmth through me.
A soft sigh escaped my lips. "Thank you," I murmured.
He delivered another light spank, this time his hand sliding ever so slightly after the impact. "Let go of the guilt," he said. "Embrace the peace you deserve."
"I will," I replied, closing my eyes. A single tear slipped down my cheek, not from pain but from the overwhelming mix of relief and vulnerability.
“This isn’t punishment. This is forgiveness.” His hand rested on me, the warmth radiating through my body. "How do you feel?" he asked gently.
"Better," I admitted. "Lighter."
He smiled, though I couldn't see it. I could hear it in his voice. "Good."
There was a pause, and then he said, "You're so strong, Lucy. Stronger than you realize."
I felt a surge of emotion and turned my head slightly to look back at him. Our eyes met, and the intensity in his gaze took my breath away. "I don't always feel that way," I confessed.
He reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering near my cheek. "It's okay to lean on someone," he said softly. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
My heart swelled at his words. "Thank you," I whispered.
He helped me sit up, his hands steadying me as I moved to face him. I remained on his lap, our proximity suddenly making me acutely aware of the rising intimacy between us. My hands rested on his shoulders, his strong frame solid beneath my touch.
"Marcus," I began, searching for the right words. "I . . . I can't tell you how much this means to me."
He lifted a hand to cup my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. "You don't have to thank me," he said. "I'm here for you. Always."
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment. The warmth of his palm against my skin was comforting, a safe harbor in the storm of my emotions.
When I opened my eyes, I found him gazing at me with a tenderness that made my heart skip a beat. Without thinking, I tilted my head slightly, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
He hesitated, his eyes flickering to my lips and back. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes," I breathed.
Slowly, he closed the distance between us. His lips brushed against mine, soft and tentative. A spark ignited within me, a gentle warmth that spread from my lips to the very core of my being. I returned the kiss, allowing myself to sink into the sensation.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as the kiss deepened ever so slightly. It wasn't hurried or forceful—just a tender connection that spoke volumes without words.
When we finally parted, both of us were slightly breathless. I rested my forehead against his, our noses nearly touching. "I didn't expect that," I admitted with a shy smile.
"Neither did I," he replied, his eyes shining with affection.
We sat there for a moment, wrapped up in each other. The outside world faded away, leaving just the two of us in the soft glow of the firelight.
"How do you feel now?" he asked gently, his thumb tracing small circles on my back.
I considered his question, taking stock of the myriad emotions swirling within me. "Hopeful," I said finally. "And . . . happy."
He smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. "You deserve to be happy, Lucy."
I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder. "It's been a long time since I've felt this way," I confessed.
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head. "I'm glad," he whispered.
We stayed like that for a while, the silence comfortable and full of unspoken understanding. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear was soothing, a rhythmic reminder that I wasn't alone.
Eventually, I pulled back slightly to look at him. "Thank you," I said again, my eyes meeting his.
He shook his head lightly. "You don't have to thank me," he repeated. "I'm just glad I could help."
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the fire. "Still, it means a lot."
He brushed a fingertip along my jawline. "You're an incredible woman, Lucy. Strong, compassionate, and brave."
I felt my cheeks heat at his praise. "You're going to make me blush," I teased softly.
He chuckled. "Maybe that's my intention."
I laughed lightly, the sound genuine and free. "Well, mission accomplished."
His eyes softened. "It's good to hear you laugh."
I gazed at him, marveling at how natural this felt. "I could say the same to you."
He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Are you implying I don't laugh enough?"
"Maybe just a little," I replied with a grin.
He shook his head in mock resignation. "I suppose I'll have to work on that."
I nestled back against him, sighing contentedly. "I like this," I admitted.
"So do I," he agreed, his arms wrapping around me securely.
We sat in comfortable silence once more, the only sounds the soft crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of our breaths. I felt at peace, the weight of my earlier guilt and sadness lifted.
"Marcus?" I murmured after a while.
"Hmm?"
"Can we stay like this a little longer?"
He tightened his embrace slightly. "As long as you'd like," he assured me.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to simply be—to exist in this moment without worrying about the past or the future. Wrapped in his arms, I felt safe, cherished, and, for the first time in a long while, truly happy.