4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Emily
I woke slowly, warm and comfortable in a way I hadn't felt in... maybe ever. Strong arms held me securely, and my head rested on a solid chest that rose and fell with steady breaths. For a moment, I just lay there, savoring the feeling, before reality came crashing back.
The coffee shop. The parking lot. The men trying to take me.
Dion.
My eyes flew open, and I found myself staring at the bronzed skin stretched over the impressive muscles of his arm. Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized how I was sprawled across him, one of my legs thrown over his, my arm draped across his chest. Worse, my thumb was dangerously close to my mouth.
I felt a flush of shame wash over me. I'd spent my whole life keeping this secret, this hidden longing to be small and cared for. To have someone strong and dependable who would protect me, set boundaries, and make me feel safe enough to let go.
A Daddy.
I'd first discovered the lifestyle in college, stumbling across a forum late one night.
The descriptions of Daddy Doms caring for their Littles had sent an electric shock of recognition through me.
It was everything I'd secretly wanted but had never been able to articulate.
Everything I'd trained myself not to need as I grew up.
Because people who needed things got hurt. I'd learned that lesson early from parents who saw my desire for affection as weakness, who pushed me away when I sought comfort. "Stand on your own two feet, Emily," my father would say. "No one respects a clingy child."
So, I'd locked that part of myself away, buried it so deep I could almost pretend it didn't exist. I'd become fiercely independent, taking care of myself and then, as a social worker, taking care of others.
Never allowing myself to be vulnerable, never letting anyone see the little girl inside who just wanted someone to hold her when she cried and tell her everything would be okay.
And now here I was, wrapped around this man I barely knew, my body betraying my deepest secret. My thumb itched to slip into my mouth, to give me that small comfort I only allowed myself alone in my apartment with the doors locked and the curtains drawn.
I was so tired of being strong, but I’d never had any other choice. I tried to ease away without waking him, but his arms tightened around me.
"Morning, sweetheart," he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," I said automatically, then winced at how false it sounded. "I mean, I'm sorry about last night. The nightmare and making you stay with me."
Dion shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His blue eyes were soft with concern. "Emily, you don't need to apologize for having nightmares after what you've been through. Or for needing comfort."
I sat up, pulling the sheet around me even though I was fully clothed. My defenses were coming back online after last night’s vulnerability. "I'm not usually like this. I don't... I don't fall apart."
"Everyone falls apart sometimes," he said simply. "The trick is having someone there to help put you back together."
Something inside me ached at his words. I'd never had someone before.
Even when I was small. I'd never forget my mom coming into my room after they had gotten my report card.
All excellent grades, but my teacher had praised me because she'd said I was kind.
One of the other girls was new and I'd spent recess with her.
Mom walked into my room while I was reading. I smiled because I was expecting her to be happy with my report card, but she scowled and threw it at me. "What is this?"
I remember being confused but she didn't give me a chance to ask, simply informed me that if I had so much time on my hands during the school day that I was doing what teachers were paid for, then she would give me extra work.
And she did. From that point on I was expected to read during recess and not play with my friends.
Which explained why I didn't have any.
It wasn't the worst day I'd had growing up, though. The worst was coming home from school and finding Mom cleaning out my room. My room was spotless, but she'd taken all my stuffies and the few dolls I had and thrown them away. Informed me I had to grow up.
I was seven.
The worst betrayal was Barnaby. He was gone. The bear I'd adored since I was a baby.
I realized I'd gone off in my head, but Dion hadn't interrupted me or seemed impatient. Which was dangerous. I was the only person I could rely on, and I'd had a bad dream, so what? "I can handle this myself," I insisted, even as my voice wavered.
His expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I know you can. That's not the question."
"Then what is?"
"Whether you should have to." His gaze was steady, unwavering. "There's no weakness in accepting help, Emily."
I looked away, uncomfortable with the understanding in his eyes. My stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension, and I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Dion chuckled. "Hungry?"
"A little," I admitted.
"Good. I make a mean breakfast." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his arms above his head. I couldn't help but stare at the play of muscles under his tee, the tattoos that snaked up his arms telling stories I couldn't yet read.
When he turned back to me, I quickly averted my gaze. "Bathroom's all yours. There's a new toothbrush in the drawer under the sink. Take your time—I'll get breakfast started."
He padded out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. And they were dangerous thoughts indeed. I shouldn't be noticing how attractive he was. Shouldn't be feeling this pull toward him. Not when my life was in shambles, not when I had put him in danger just by being here.
In the bathroom, I found the toothbrush where he said it would be, still in its packaging. There was something oddly intimate about using his bathroom, his toiletries. I brushed my teeth and splashed water on my face, trying to gather my composure, then looked up.
The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—hair tousled, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. I was drowning in Dion's t-shirt, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, the hem hitting mid-thigh. I looked... small.
Little.
"Stop it," I whispered to my reflection. "You don't get to have that here. You don't get to need that."
But for the first time in years, the voice that usually shouted down my desires was quieter, less convincing. Because for a few hours in Dion's arms, I'd felt safe. Protected. Like maybe, just maybe, it would be okay to let someone else be strong for a while.
And that terrified me more than any nightmare.
I couldn't afford to indulge in fantasies, not with people trying to kidnap me, not with children's lives at stake.
I needed to be the strong, capable Emily who had survived on her own all these years.
I was about to leave when I spotted a hairbrush on the counter.
Next to it was a collection of hair ties, including several fancy ones—a tiny bow, a plastic flower, and a glittery pom-pom.
My fingers hovered over them, something inside me desperate to reach out, to use one of the pretty ties instead of the plain elastic ones currently holding my hair. I snatched my hand back as if burned. What was wrong with me? Those clearly weren't meant for me. Dion probably had them for...
Well, I didn't want to think about why he might have them.
When I emerged from the bathroom, the smell of coffee and bacon guided me to the kitchen. Dion stood at the stove, still in the same t-shirt, but now wearing jeans that hung low on his hips. The dogs sat nearby, watching his every move with hopeful eyes.
"Perfect timing," he said without turning. "Coffee's ready and breakfast is almost done."
I hovered awkwardly in the doorway, unsure what to do with myself. "Can I help with anything?"
"Just sit and relax," he replied, flipping what looked like French toast in the pan. "You're my guest."
I slid onto one of the bar stools, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized t-shirt. "About that... I appreciate everything you've done, but I need to get to work today."
Dion's shoulders tensed, but his voice remained casual. "Work? After what happened last night?"
"I can't just disappear again. I have cases, responsibilities." I wrapped my hands around the mug of coffee he'd placed in front of me, drawing comfort from its warmth. "People are counting on me, and it's already a long weekend, as we're off on Monday."
I didn't add that my boss would use any excuse to fire me.
He turned then, spatula in hand, his expression carefully neutral. "Emily, someone tried to kidnap you a second time. Going back to your normal routine isn't safe."
"So, what am I supposed to do? Hide forever?" I took a sip of coffee to steady myself. "I have kids who need me, Dion. Foster children who don't have anyone else looking out for them."
"The same foster system that could be turning a blind eye to trafficking children?" He raised an eyebrow, turning back to the stove to remove the French toast before it burned.
I closed my eyes briefly. I hadn't even admitted that to myself yet, even if deep down I knew he was right. "That's exactly why I need to go back," I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "If I disappear, who's going to protect them?"
Dion made a plate up in front of me—French toast dusted with powdered sugar, fresh berries on the side, bacon, and then to my astonishment he got a knife and fork and cut it all into bite-size pieces before pushing the plate toward me.
Any other time, I would have been delighted by such a thoughtful breakfast, but now I just stared at it, my appetite vanishing.
"My team and I will protect those you think are at risk," he said firmly. "But we need information, Emily. Names, dates, patterns—everything you've discovered. We can't fight an enemy we can't identify."