Chapter 5
The weekend arrives faster than I expect.
I’ve spoken to Ty on the phone every day, sometimes multiple times a day, but I haven’t seen him again in person.
It feels like we’ve known each other forever.
Two nights ago, we spent four hours talking on the phone.
Four hours. Longer than most dates I’ve been on.
I’ve learned a lot about him during our conversations.
His family, his upbringing, his career. Ty works to find trafficked, kidnapped children and bring them home to their families while putting monsters who hurt children behind bars.
He’s part of a Crimes Against Children multi-government task force.
He takes his job very seriously. He’s a protector, through and through.
He speaks multiple languages, loves good food, and adores his nieces and nephews. It’s official, I have fallen for him.
Saturday morning, I wake to a text.
Ty: Pack an overnight bag. I'll pick you up at noon.
My stomach flips even as I'm reaching for my phone to respond.
Me: Where are we going?
Ty: Somewhere we can talk without interruption.
Me: That sounds ominous.
Ty: That sounds necessary. Trust me.
There's that word again. Trust. And the wild thing is, I do. Completely. In a way that should probably scare me but doesn't.
I pack carefully. I’m visiting town and only brought a couple of suitcases of items with me anyway.
I pull the small one from the closet and pack it with comfortable clothes, toiletries, the lavender sleep shirt I know he likes from our video chat, and my favorite tennis shoes.
I have absolutely no idea what I'm walking into.
My hands shake slightly as I zip the bag closed.
At eleven fifty-eight, my phone buzzes.
Ty: I'm outside.
I grab my bag and lock up, trying to ignore the way my pulse is racing.
His truck is idling at the curb. Of course he drives one that’s dark, nondescript, with just enough modifications to make it clear this isn't a vehicle you buy off a lot.
It reminds me of the vehicles you see following the presidential motorcade around.
When I climb in, he reaches over immediately to take my bag, stowing it in the back with practiced efficiency. Then his hand finds my knee, squeezing once.
“You're ready on time,” he observes, and there's warmth in his voice.
“You said noon.”
His mouth curves into that almost-smile that makes my heart stutter. “Good girl.”
Heat floods through me at those two words. Every single time, they land like a physical touch, settling warm and heavy in my chest. Massaging over me, making my shoulders relax and my jaw loosen. There’s magic in that phrase.
I buckle my seatbelt, and we pull away from the curb. The city streets give way to mountain roads, pine trees pressing in on both sides, the landscape getting wilder and more remote with each mile.
“Where are we going?” I ask again, watching his profile.
“A private secure cabin about an hour outside town. It has everything we need and then some.”
“Sounds isolated.”
“It is.” His hand returns to my knee, warm through my jeans. “Is that a problem?”
I think about it, really think about it. Being alone with him, completely cut off from the rest of the world. A month ago, the idea of being alone with a man I’ve barely known for two weeks would've been terrifying. Now?
“No. Not a problem.”
He glances at me, something searching in his expression. “You can ask me to turn around at any point. This only works if you feel safe.”
“I do feel safe. That's what's so wild about all of this. I feel safe with you.”
“Good, then I’m doing my job.”
The drive is comfortable, the silence punctuated by occasional observations about the landscape, a deer darting across the road, the way the light filters through the pines.
Nothing heavy. Nothing that requires more than I'm ready to give. He lets me lead the conversation and I recognize it for what it is. No prying or steering me into uncomfortable territory. I know how much control he’s given me and how patient he is being.
But the tension builds anyway, humming beneath everything like a live wire.
When we finally arrive, the cabin is exactly what I expected and somehow more: remote, beautiful, nestled in a clearing surrounded by towering pines.
Smoke curls from the chimney, Ty must have started a fire remotely or come up earlier to prepare.
The attention to detail makes me smile. Men who don’t care won’t go out of their way to make sure the cabin is comfortable for their woman.
He unlocks the door and gestures for me to go in first. Inside, it's warm and surprisingly cozy.
A stone fireplace crackling with actual flames, leather furniture that looks well-loved, a kitchen that's clearly been used for more than reheating takeout.
There are personal touches everywhere—books on the shelves, a worn blanket draped over the couch, framed photos that I want to examine more closely.
This isn't just a safe house. This is his place. It screams Ty everywhere I look.
“You live here?” I ask, setting my bag down.
“Sometimes. When I need space. When the job gets too loud. When the world starts to make me forget who I am. I come up here and tune it all out and refocus. I have a hot tub on the back porch, a good stack of firewood and strong internet. It’s the perfect hideaway.
” He closes the door behind us and turns to face me fully.
“I’ve never brought a woman here before. ”
The vulnerability in that admission steals my breath. We haven’t known each other long and yet he’s trusting me with his intimate space. I guess, we both see something trustworthy in each other.
Before I can respond, he continues. “I brought you up here because we need to talk about expectations. What this is between us and what it could be. What we both want it to become. I really want us to have an open and honest conversation so there are no unmet expectations on either side.”
My pulse kicks. “Okay.”
He gestures to the couch. “Sit and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to start a pot of coffee.”
I sink into the leather, watching as he moves around the kitchen.
I look around and see more of Ty than just what our conversations have exposed to me.
The writing desk in the corner holds sheets of paper and pens, envelopes and stamps.
He still takes the time to write someone a letter.
I wonder if it’s his grandmother in Mexico.
He’s told me a lot about her and his summer visits as a child.
There’s an open book on the coffee table, a James Patterson novel.
I’m not surprised by his reading habits.
He returns with two mugs, hands me one that smells of hazelnut, my favorite creamer, and sits across from me. Not beside me, where our knees would be touching, but giving me space to think, to breathe, to choose and speak my truth.
“I've been thinking about what you said,” he begins, cradling his own mug. “About wanting what those characters in your books have.”
My cheeks warm. “And?”
“And I need to know if you understand what that actually means. Beyond the fantasy and the romance novel version. Real life and fiction aren’t exactly the same thing.”
I take a sip of coffee, buying time. “Try me.”
His dark eyes hold mine as he answers the dare.
“To me, being a Daddy means structure. The rules exist for your benefit and mine. It means I make decisions about your safety and wellbeing that you might not always agree with in the moment. It means surrendering control to me and trusting I’ll take care of you. ”
I nod slowly, listening. So far, everything he’s said aligns with what I’ve read, what I’ve researched.
But even more so, what I experienced. I’ve been a little before, once in a relationship.
His fears aren’t unfounded, I ran away when the playtime collided with real life. I wasn’t ready then, I am now.
“It means consequences when those rules are broken. Not because I want to punish you, but because discipline is how you learn. Discipline should, if done right, make you feel cared for and help reassure you that I am paying attention.”
My breath catches slightly and I shift on the couch. Talking about discipline should not turn me on… but here we are.
“And it means trust,” he continues quietly. “Complete trust. You trust me to have your best interests at heart and know I will never harm you. I trust you to be honest about what you need, even when it's uncomfortable.”
“You are wanting me to know exactly what I’ll get if we enter a relationship,” I say, understanding what he is doing. He’s laying it all out because he thinks I’ll run, or he thinks I’m na?ve to how a Daddy Dom little girl relationship works.
He sets his mug down and leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“Yes, Madi. I’m laying out exactly what you’ll get if we move toward forever.
You will get a Daddy who sees you—really sees you—and takes responsibility for your wellbeing.
A Daddy who makes sure you eat, sleep, and don't burn yourself out trying to please everyone else and forgetting about your own needs. And most importantly? You’ll get a Daddy who gives you permission to let go of all control because he's holding it for you. You can be free to be who you are with no judgement, no holds barred.”
His voice drops lower.
“I’m a protective Daddy, I’ll guide you, yes, but with me you will also get an abundance of praise when you're good and consistent correction when you're not. You get a Daddy whose entire purpose is making sure you thrive, not just survive this life we live. I will always push you to be your best self and be here as a soft landing spot when you fall.”
My throat tightens with emotion.
“And you get a partner,” he finishes. “Not just a Daddy. Someone who will build a life with you, not just scene with you.”