Chapter 13 #2
“Maybe she will now. Maybe she won’t. What matters is that you’re a brick wall.
You don’t react. You don’t lash out at her.
You just block her from any aspect of your life, or Emmy’s life, or Olivia’s life.
You stand. No matter what she throws at you.
” Brenna sighs. “I know that sounds melodramatic. You’ll be surprised at what crazy people come up with and Miranda is certifiably crazy.
But all you have to do is stand tall and let her break herself throwing herself at the brick wall. ”
“You’ve seen this before?” I ask, turning to look at her, because she’s speaking with the ring of experience.
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Guess I never told you how I got the scars on my back? I went into foster care when I was a kid. Bounced around a couple of homes. I’ll admit, I wasn’t an easy kid.
I had some serious fucking anger issues.
One of the group homes was run by a lady called Mother Kay.
Other than Emmy, she’s the best person I’ve ever met.
She got me under control really fast. But after I’d been with her for a couple of months, my social worker took me out of the group home and placed me with a couple who said they were looking to adopt.
The lady of the house was a ticking time-bomb.
Crazier than Miranda.” She shivers and wraps her arms around herself.
“She caught me sneaking out. She had this clothesline she’d knotted up.
She beat me with it until I passed out. She tried to hide what she’d done, telling my social worker I was sick.
The social worker yanked me out of there and put me back with Mother Kay.
Mother Kay never let me be moved again. My social worker tried a dozen times to put me in single foster placements. Mother Kay was my brick wall.”
I push myself away from the door and hold my arms out. “I know you don’t need a hug but I do.”
She smiles wryly before letting me pull her close. “Having Mother Kay be my brick wall made it okay. Having you be their brick wall will make this okay for Emmy and Livvy. Just stand firm, Daddy Lo.”
I pat her back before letting her go. “I’ll do my best. If you see any chinks in my wall, tell me so I can break out the mortar and trowel.”
“I will. I meant what I said about kicking her ass. Just so you know. Emmy’s gotten over what happened the last time Miranda was here, I think but the Mir-bitch doesn’t get another shot at her. Not while I’m here.”
“I’m not arguing with you. If you catch her sniffing around Emily, kick her ass.”
Brenna chuckles. “You got it.”
Emmy’s not waiting right on the other side of the door, as I’d anticipated.
She’s all the way across the great room, standing by the back doors, looking out into the night.
Livvy’s bassinette is at her feet. Emmy’s got her cat in her arms and has her face pressed to the top of Sable’s head, kissing him between his ears.
Sable’s pretty cuddly but he’s not crazy about being picked up and held off the ground, so I’d expect him to be squirming.
He’s not. He’s curled against Emily and purring like a motorboat.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her. I rest my chin on the top of her head. “She doesn’t come in the house. You don’t have to talk to her. You don’t have to look at her. You don’t even have to think about her.”
“It’s hard not to think about her a little, Daddy,” Emmy says, her words muffled in kitty fur.
I kiss the top of her head. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She sighs. “I’ve promised to always tell you the truth. But this isn’t a truth you’re going to want to hear.” She heaves a deeper sigh. “I think we’re being cruel, not letting her nurse her baby.”
I let her words sink into me. Roll around in my heart. I always take my baby doll’s feelings into account.
But I don’t always let them rule my decisions. Sometimes, I have to make the hard call. That’s what being a Daddy is.
“I understand why you would feel that way, my little wonder. I value your feelings and I appreciate you telling me. I always want you to tell me the truth.”
“You’re not going to let her nurse Livvy, are you?” Emily shifts in my arms so she can look up into my face.
“No, sweetheart. I’m not.”
She nods and sinks back against me. Although the thought of being cruel to Miranda is probably bothering her a little, she’s also much more relaxed than she was when I first hugged her. Keeping Miranda away is the right call, even if it seems cruel.
Mac returns in record time. He probably ran back. Emily puts Sable down and moves to help Mac label and store the packets of milk. They have a system I don’t pretend to understand. I just know to use the packets at the front of my beer fridge first.
When she’s finished, she comes back to me with her arms wrapped around herself. I know my baby doll. That’s please hold me, Daddy.
So I do. I wrap her in my arms and carry her over to the couch.
I keep her on my lap, cuddled up against me, while I watch the end of the match.
Then I take her upstairs and give her a bath.
Livvy wakes while Emmy’s playing with the bath crayons, so I bring Livvy into our bath.
She probably doesn’t get very clean but we don’t either.
Bath time is about play. It’s about relaxing and being together, slippery skin to slippery skin.
It’s about Daddy showing his girls how much he loves them.
Livvy’s fussing, yawning, and rubbing her eyes by the time we get her ready for her last feed and the “big sleep.” Emily rocks her in the rocking chair for barely five minutes before she’s out, her rosebud mouth open, lower lip puffing in and out with each breath.
I watch Emily as she rises from the rocking chair and carries the baby over to the crib.
Emily’s face is shining with tenderness, her eyes misty as she goes up on her tiptoes to lay Livvy down.
If I ever needed proof that motherhood isn’t only biological, it’s right in front of me. Emily’s already fallen for my daughter.
I hold out my hand and when Emily comes to me, I check her over carefully in the nursery’s dim light.
There are faint purple shadows under her eyes and she’s working her engagement ring on her finger, which is one of Emmy’s tells.
She’s tired. It’s been a long day. This is not a night for a milk and cookies date.
“Bedtime,” I tell her.
She gives me big eyes. “It’s only a little after ten.”
“And my little is tired.”
“I’m not that tired—” A yawn interrupts her protest.
“I’m not negotiating with you, baby. But I am in an indulgent mood. If you agree to go to sleep whenever we’re finished, I can see a good girl spanking while we listen to Storytime in your future.”
“And Wolfy Daddy after,” she says, immediately bargaining, the way she does, my imp.
“We’ll see if you stay awake,” I agree. “Also, De Leon’s asking something from Cappa this week while he’s gone. I’m not sure if it’s abstinence or orgasm denial or what yet but I think a day or two of edging and orgasm denial would help keep your mind off both your mother and Miranda.”
Her sweet face screws up ferociously. “Yuck.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s a yuck. I hate orgasm denial.”
“I know you do, my baby. Think hard about why Daddy would ask you to do something you hate at a stressful time.”
The face she makes is hilarious, adorable, and not at all contemplative. “Because Daddy likes yucky things.”
“Yes, that’s definitely the reason.”
“There are other ways to distract me,” she points out. “Lots of other ways. Like visiting the Rexes. Or the evil nubbly paddle. Or tying me up in a new way. Or drilling my teeth. All of those are substantially better than No O for a week.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t say a week. Can we agree to two days?”
“How about one?”
“How about two and a session with the new paddle at the end?”
“Thirty-six hours.”
“Forty-eight.”
Emily sighs and hangs her head. “Oookay.”
I kiss the top of those cute, droopy dark curls. “That’s my girl. I’ll give you a day’s warning before you become a No O Zone, so you can stock up.”
She giggles softly. “I want a dozen in the No O prep day.”
“Mmm, we’ll see if you earn them. Come on, my sweet baby. Let’s get you ready for bed and your spanking.”
She takes my hand and tucks herself into my side as I lead her down the hall to our bedroom.
Bravo has Storytime tonight and he’s reading from Shel Silverstein’s poems when we join, which Emmy loves.
She recites them while I brush her hair and dress her in a soft cotton nightgown.
I think this one is vintage. There are tiny pleats all across her chest and pink ribbons threaded around the neckline, sleeves, and hem.
When she’s dressed, I stand her at the edge of the bed and kneel in front of her.
“Daddy?” She looks down at me wonderingly.
I cup her ankles. “This is my baby,” I say softly.
“My darling girl.” I run my hands up her calves and tickle behind her knees until she giggles.
“My sweetheart.” I continue up the backs of her thighs, squeezing gently.
“The woman I adore.” I cup her round bottom, bare under the nightgown. “My little wife.”
“Daddy,” she breathes. “I love you too.”
“Every day, you delight me, Emmy. Every day, I love you more. You make even the hardest times easy.”
“Daddy.” A tear slips down her cheek. I push up to lick it away.
“You’re allowed to have rough days, baby girl. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re allowed to struggle with your feelings. But you’re not allowed to ever, for one minute, forget how much Daddy adores you.”
“I don’t,” she promises, her hands fluttering to my shoulders. “I won’t.”
“Good girl.” I draw her forward with my hands cupping her sweet, soft cheeks, and lift her as I stand, smiling at my ability to carry her again.
I climb up on the bed and lie down on my back with Emily plastered to my front.
She wraps her arms around my neck and rubs her cheek against my collar, settling onto me with a happy sigh.
I usually like to see my target, and the effects of my spanking but tonight I want to feel my baby doll over every inch of me.
I ruck up her nightdress, tugging the fabric so the ruffle tickles the backs of her legs. To her magical giggle, I bare her bottom and rub my palms over her warm skin.
“How’s this little bottom?” I ask. When I dressed her this morning, she had a few fading bruises that I treated with arnica cream but sustained impact play like we engage in can leave deeper bruising, so I always check.
“Happy to have your hands on it,” she purrs, nuzzling and cuddling.
“Really? Did your bottom tell you that?”
“It did,” she says. I can hear the huge grin in her voice. “Do you know what else my bottom tells me?”
“Bottom-wisdom? I have to hear this.”
“My bottom tells me it would like wolfy loving even though we’re sharing all the feels tonight.”
A laugh ripples up through me. My adorable little love. “I see. Bottom dictates, hmm?”
“Yep.”
“Well, let me see what I can do about that,” I say, before I give my baby girl everything she’s asked for.