Chapter 4 #2
"I can. I have." His voice drops lower. "But I need to know your boundaries. What you want. What scares you."
I swallow hard. "I want... someone who sees when I'm struggling even when I'm smiling. Someone who'll tell me to slow down when I'm doing too much. Who'll—"
"Take care of you," he finishes.
"Yes."
"And what scares you?" he asks.
"That I'll be too much. That you'll get tired of dealing with me. I talk a lot. I am a lot."
His eyes darken. "Holly. Look at me."
I do. I see the intensity staring back at me.
"You could never be too much for me. Do you understand?"
The words land like a promise. I nod, throat tight. I don’t know if he understands how much I can actually be. I’ve been told I’m too much most of my life.
"Say it." His eyes narrow. “Say you understand.”
"I understand."
"Good girl."
The praise sends heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my belly. I feel the blush rise across my cheeks. He notices. Of course he does, and his mouth curves slightly.
"You like that," he observes. “You like being praised.”
"Yes."
"Why?"
I hesitate, then decide honesty is worth the vulnerability. "Because it means I did something right. That I made you happy."
"You make me happy by being yourself. Not by performing."
"I don't know how to do that. To relax and be myself. I worry I’m overdoing it. I’m talking too much…"
"Then we'll figure it out together." He lets his hand fall from my face, steps back. "You know I’ll have rules for you."
"Of course there are rules… in addition to the first three?"
His expression doesn't change, but there's warmth in his eyes now.
"Yes, rules for our relationship. Not the safety rules I gave you for the weekend. Rule one: you tell me when something's wrong. No hiding behind jokes, no lying and no making me guess. Honest and upfront. I can’t fix anything I don’t know about. "
"Okay."
"Rule two: you eat. You rest. You take care of yourself. Keeping you healthy is your newest priority."
"That's very Daddy of you."
"I'm aware." His tone is dry, but there's an edge to it, something that makes my skin prickle with awareness. "Rule three: when I ask you a question, you answer honestly. There will be no lies between us, ever. We will always have open communication. It’s the only way this works."
"Even if it's embarrassing?"
"Especially then."
I take a shaky breath. "What if I mess up and break a rule?"
"Then we talk about it. And if necessary..." He pauses, letting the implication hang. "There are consequences."
My stomach flips. "What kind of consequences?" I think about all the punishment scenes I’ve read in my novels. The ones that make me pull out my vibrator…
"The kind that remind you someone cares enough to correct you. Nothing you don't want. Nothing we haven't discussed first."
"Have you disciplined someone before?"
"Yes." His gaze is steady. "But every dynamic is different. What worked with someone else might not work with you. That's why we communicate."
I nod, processing. "And what if I want to stop? If it's too much?"
"Then you use your safeword and everything stops immediately. No questions, no judgment."
"What's my safeword?"
"What do you want it to be?"
I think for a moment. "Mistletoe."
His mouth twitches. "Appropriate.”
We stand in the quiet chapel, colored light shifting across our faces as clouds move overhead. Outside, snow begins to fall again, but gentle this time, just a dusting.
"Can I ask you something?" I say quietly.
"Always."
"What do you get out of this? The dynamic? I know what I get out of it, or at least, what I think I’ll get out of it. But, what do Daddies get out of it?"
He considers the question carefully. "Purpose. Knowing that someone trusts me enough to be vulnerable. And..." he hesitates, "Permission to care and dominate without apology."
"You don't let yourself care often, do you?"
"No. It's easier to keep a distance."
"But not with me."
"No," he agrees. "Not with you."
I move closer, until I can feel the heat of him. "What changed?"
"You're persistent. And honest in ways most people aren't." His hand comes up again, fingers threading through my hair. "And when you look at me, you see past the spreadsheets and the rules."
"I see someone who's tired of holding everything together alone."
"Yes."
I rise on my toes, bring my mouth close to his. "Then let me help carry it."
He closes the distance, kissing me slow and deep.
It's not rushed or frantic. The kiss is deliberate, thorough, like he's memorizing the taste of me. His hand tightens in my hair, just enough pressure to make me gasp against his mouth. It’s such a dominating move and my nipples tighten under my bra.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
"We should go," he says, voice rough.
"Should we?"
"Yes. Because if we stay here, I'm going to want more than you're ready to give."
"What if I'm ready?"
His eyes search mine. "Are you?"
I consider lying, deflecting with humor. But that's the old Holly. The one who hid behind glitter and jokes.
"I don't know," I admit. "But I want to find out."
“We have time, Holly. Lots of it. Let’s go back to the lodge.”
Back at the lodge, the fire is dying. Justin rebuilds it while I make hot chocolate, extra marshmallows in both mugs. We settle on the couch, close but not touching, watching flames lick at fresh wood.
"Tell me about your family," I say after a while.
"What do you want to know?"
"Why you stayed. Most people inherit a business and sell it. You expanded."
He's quiet for a long moment. "My grandfather built this place because he wanted to create magic. Real magic. The kind that makes people believe in something bigger than themselves. When he died, my dad wanted to sell. Said it was too much work for too little return. At that point we were barely breaking even. Definitely weren’t making a profit. "
"But you disagreed."
"I saw what it meant to people. The families who came every year, for generations. It was a family tradition for them. I remembered how many children’s faces lit up at the lights and when they saw Santa.
That mattered more than the profit." He takes a sip of cocoa.
"So, eventually I bought out my siblings, modernized operations, and turned it profitable.
Proved you could have magic and margins at the same time. "
"And lost yourself in the process?"
He glances at me sharply. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you talk about it like a victory, but you look like someone who won the war and lost the point. Like you modernized the park but lost some of the magic."
The observation lands hard. I see it in the way his jaw tightens, the muscle that jumps in his cheek.
"You're right," he says finally. "I forgot why I was fighting."
"And now?"
"Now, I'm remembering." He sets down his mug, turns to face me fully. "You make me remember. What matters. The joy. The love. The memories being built. More than a fifty-dollar sweatshirt. You’ve reminded me that I don’t have to be on all the time, I can enjoy the ride."
I set my own mug aside, shift closer. "Good. Because you make me feel like I don't have to be self-conscious every second. Insecure. Worried about being too much."
"You don't."
"I know. But knowing and believing—"
"Are two different things," he finishes. "So let me help you believe it."
"How?"
He reaches out, takes my hand. "By showing you what it looks like when someone actually takes care of you."
My breath hitches. "Now?"
"If you want."
I search his face. I see patience there, and heat, and something that looks like tenderness. "Yes."
"Then come here."
He guides me onto his lap, my knees bracketing his hips, and the position is intimate without being overtly sexual. I can feel the solid warmth of him, the strength in his thighs. His hands settle on my waist, steady and sure.
"Look at me," he says softly.
I do.
"You're safe with me. Always. Do you believe that?"
"I'm trying to."
"That's enough for now." His thumbs stroke small circles against my sides. "I'm going to ask you questions. You're going to answer honestly. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good girl." The praise makes me shiver. "When's the last time you ate a real meal? Not snacks. A meal outside of this weekend."
"I... don't remember. I grab things between shifts usually."
His expression doesn't change, but something darkens in his eyes. "That's not acceptable."
"I get busy—"
"I don't care." His grip tightens fractionally. "Your body needs fuel. You can't take care of anyone else if you're running on empty."
"I'm fine. I get enough—"
"Holly." The single word is firm enough to stop my protest. "What did I say about hiding behind deflection?"
I deflate slightly. "That I shouldn't."
"So, don't. Tell me the truth. Why don't you eat properly?"
The question cracks something open. "Because... it feels selfish? Like if I stop to take care of myself, I'm letting other people down because it’s taking time away from them."
"That's backwards."
"I know. But knowing and—"
"Believing." He repeats the phrase I said before and nods.
"Then we'll work on that. Starting now. From this moment forward, you eat three meals a day. Real food, not just cocoa and candy canes. You can meal plan in advance and text me. It doesn’t have to be hot or complicated. Just have some nutrition. "
"That's very controlling."
"It's care. There's a difference." He tips my chin up. "And you're going to let me, because that's what you asked for. Someone who notices when you're not taking care of yourself."
My eyes prick with unexpected tears. "It's hard."
"I know. But you're not alone anymore. You are allowed to set limits and use your safeword. If anything I want you to do is too much, you just let me know."
The words break something loose in my chest. I sag forward, forehead resting against his. "What if I mess this up?"