Chapter Nine
Istop at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain and fill up my tank before driving home with a smile on my face, windows down despite the cold, Christmas music on the radio. When I get to my apartment, I shower, change, and actually put effort into my appearance.
This is different from the lodge. This is his space. His home. Another piece of him I'm about to see.
At six-forty-five, I text him.
Me: On my way.
His response is immediate.
Justin: Drive safe. Text when you're here.
The address he sent leads me to a neighborhood I've passed but never explored, upscale but not ostentatious, houses set back from the road with mountain views. His driveway is plowed, lined with subtle landscape lighting.
The house itself is beautiful. Modern mountain architecture, all wood and glass.
I text him from the driveway.
Me: I'm here.
The front door opens before I can knock. Justin fills the doorway, jeans and a soft sweater, bare feet, hair slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it.
"Hi," I breathe.
"Hi." He steps aside, lets me in. "How was work?"
"Good. Busy. Glittery."
"Did you eat lunch?"
"Monica brought sandwiches." Crap. I forgot about the sandwich. I’d intended to eat it. Well, my answer isn’t a lie. She did.
"Did you eat them?"
“It’s cold out here, are you going to let me in?
” He raises one eyebrow like he knows I’m avoiding his question but doesn’t push.
Instead, he moves to the side, and I step into his space, taking it in.
Everything is clean, organized, but not cold.
There are books on the shelves, photos on the walls, a guitar in the corner that surprises me.
"You play?" I ask.
"Used to. Haven't picked it up in years."
"You should. I’d love to hear you sometime."
"Maybe." He closes the door, turns to face me properly. "Come here."
I do, moving into his arms. He holds me tight, face buried in my hair, and I feel the tension drain from his shoulders.
"Long day?" I murmur.
"Better now." He pulls back, cups my face. "I missed you."
"It's been two hours since you’ve seen me, silly."
"Still, missed you." He kisses me, slow and thorough. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm. "Dinner's almost ready. Pour yourself wine if you want. Or there's cocoa."
"You made cocoa?"
"I made cocoa."
My chest tightens with something that feels dangerously close to love. "You're perfect."
"I'm not. But, I'm trying to be perfect for you." He heads toward the kitchen. "Make yourself at home."
I wander through his space while he cooks.
The living room has a massive stone fireplace, comfortable furniture, a view of the mountains through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The photos on the walls are mostly family.
I pick up a framed photo and examine it.
A younger Justin, about my age now. I think he’s more handsome now than in his early twenties.
I put it down and glance at the others. Justin with his siblings, with his grandfather at the park, and a large group of his family at a wedding.
"That's Emma's wedding," Justin calls from the kitchen. "Three years ago."
"She looks happy."
"She is happily married for more than fifteen years."
I move to the kitchen doorway, watch him work. He's making pasta, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air.
“Need help?” I volunteer.
“No, I’m almost done. Just have to pull the garlic bread out of the oven.”
"You really do enjoy cooking for me, don’t you?" I observe.
"I’m good at cooking,” he shrugs. “I took several classes a few years back.”
"It's more than being good at it. You like it."
He glances over. "It’s one way I can take care of you, and I like taking care of you."
"Why?"
"Because you light up when I do, you genuinely appreciate it. Because you're so used to being the one who gives that you forget to receive." He sets down his spoon, moves toward me. "Because making you happy makes me happy."
I reach up, touch his face. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"You got a flat tire in a snowstorm." His mouth curves. "Best bad luck ever."
We eat at his dining table, talking about work, the park, his expansion plans. He asks about my day, really listens when I tell him about Emma and her puppy dreams, about Monica's visit, about the families at the ornament station.
"You're good at it," he says. "Making people feel seen."
"You are too. I watched you with the employee at the barn today. You listened intently and didn’t dismiss him. It’s validating when you actively listen to people."
"That's different."
"No it's not. You care about people."
He's quiet for a moment. "My grandfather used to say that caring is the hardest job there is. Because you can't do it halfway. You either care or you don’t.”
"He sounds wise."
"He was." Justin stands, starts clearing plates. "He would have liked you."
"Really?"
"Really. You remind me of him, actually. The way you see magic in everything."
I help him clean up, our movements synchronized like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
When the kitchen is spotless, he takes my hand, leads me to the couch.
He pulls me onto his lap so I am straddling him, and I can feel the hard ridge of his arousal beneath me.
Normally, that would make me squirm with anticipation, but the way his hands settle on my hips, sends a different kind of shiver through me.
“We need to talk,” he says, his voice low and serious.
My stomach drops. Talk never means anything good. “Okay.”
“Our rules are pretty clear cut, right?”
I swallow, my fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Yes…”
“Yes, Daddy,” he corrects, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Yes, Daddy,” I parrot, my voice small.
“Did you take care of yourself today?”
I shift uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”
His grip tightens just enough to make me still. “Before our meeting today, I asked you if you’d had breakfast. What did you tell me?”
“I was running late,” I mumble, my cheeks heating.
“And that you’d grab a bite soon. Did you?”
“No, but—"
“I’m not asking for excuses, sweetheart.” His voice is stern, but not unkind. “Did you eat lunch today?”
I bite my lip. “Well, Monica brought sandwiches, but after a bite I was distracted by a glitter explosion. I intended to finish it at break, but forgot.”
“The answer you are looking for is, ‘No, Daddy, I did not eat lunch.’” His thumb traces circles on my hip, but his expression doesn’t soften.
“And you mentioned how you stopped for gas after work because your gas light came on. What if you hadn’t had enough gas to get down the mountain to the nearest station?
You could have been stranded in the cold for God knows how long until someone got to you. ”
I squirm, the worry in his tone causing guilt to gnaw at me. “I… It didn’t come on until I was halfway to work this morning. I knew I had enough to make it to work and back down to the station. I’d just procrastinated.”
“Would you say not eating all day, and I haven’t even touched on the fact that you forgot your water bottle which makes me think you likely also didn’t hydrate, and letting the car get to empty is taking care of yourself?”
I shake my head, my throat tight. “I guess not.”
“I guess not, too.” He exhales, his breath warm against my temple.
“Baby girl, these aren’t major infractions, but it’s important that I set up the expectations and consistency from the beginning of our relationship.
Now, here is what is going to happen next.
” His voice drops, sending a jolt of nerves and something darker, something needy, straight to my core.
“I’m going to pull down your pants and your underwear, lay you across my lap, and turn your beautiful white ass into a bright shade of red as a reminder to take care of yourself and follow Daddy’s rules. Do you understand?”
My breath hitches. “Yes, Daddy.” I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.
This is it.
This is the first adult spanking of my life.
Will it be like the scenes in the romance novels I read? Will it fulfill all my DDlg fantasies and connect us in the way I hope it will?
“What’s your safeword, Holly?”
“Mistletoe.”
“Good girl.” He gives my hip a gentle squeeze. “Stand up.”
I obey, my legs trembling as I rise. He guides me to stand between his knees, his hands warm as he unbuttons my jeans and slides them down, along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. The cool air of the room kisses my bare skin, and I shiver.
“Over my lap, baby.”
I hesitate for only a second before draping myself over his thighs, my hands clutching the arm of the couch. His palm rests on my lower back, grounding me, and then—
SMACK.
The first swat lands with a sharp sting, and I gasp, my fingers curling into the fabric.
It isn’t as hard as I feared, but it isn’t gentle either.
His hand comes down again, each spank landing with deliberate precision, the heat building with every strike.
It’s not long before my butt goes from cold to uncomfortably warm.
It feels like the beginning stages of a sunburn when he starts talking.
“You are mine, Holly,” he says, his voice rough but controlled. “And that means I take care of you, even when you forget to take care of yourself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy!” I whimper, the sting radiating through me, but so is something else, something warm and safe and right.
I don’t begin to understand it but my clit starts to throb, my nipples tighten under my shirt.
Oh god. My pussy is getting wet and I’m naked, thighs spread.
What if he sees? What if he sees my arousal?
Will it disappoint him? Will he think I’m not taking the punishment seriously?
He pauses, his hand rubbing soothing circles over the heated skin. “This isn’t just a punishment, baby. This is a reminder and a promise. I will always make sure you’re safe, even if that means your ass is sore for a while.”