Page 21 of Daddy's Firm Hand

David inhaled sharply, clearly affected by my words, but he shook his head reluctantly. "Not yet, babygirl. You're too overwhelmed right now. I need to take care of you first."

Gently, he lifted me into his arms, cradling me against his broad chest. I wanted to protest, but exhaustion was rapidlyovertaking me. As he carried me to the couch, murmuring soothing praises, I realized dimly that he was right.

My mind felt hazy, my limbs heavy and uncoordinated. I melted into him as he sat down, arranging me comfortably in his lap. With tender hands, he stroked my hair, encouraging me to nuzzle into his neck.

Wrapped in his strong embrace, I slowly drifted back down from the endorphin high, my racing heart gradually steadying. David's calm, solid presence anchored me, making me feel cherished and protected as I floated in the peaceful aftermath.

Time seemed to slow, stretching out into a blissful eternity. I breathed in his clean, masculine scent, letting it fill my lungs and soothe me. His heartbeat thrummed a steady rhythm beneath my cheek, and I found myself instinctively matching my breaths to his, as if we were two halves of a whole.

I’d made it. He’d spanked me, and I’d survived.

David's hand traced gentle circles on my back, his touch both calming and electrifying. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" he asked softly, his deep voice rumbling through his chest.

"Good," I mumbled, my words muffled against his shirt. "Really good. A little fuzzy, but . . . happy." I pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, my eyes shining with wonder. "I never knew it could be like this."

His lips curved in a warm smile, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "You did beautifully, Candy. I'm so proud of you for trusting me, for being brave enough to explore this side of yourself."

I ducked my head, a pleased flush spreading across my cheeks at his praise. "Thank you for making me feel so safe, Daddy," I whispered. "For understanding what I needed, even when I couldn't put it into words."

David tipped my chin up, his expression tender yet serious. "Always, babygirl. Your well-being is my top priority. I'll never push you beyond what you're ready for."

Emotion swelled in my chest, overwhelming in its intensity. I surged forward, capturing his lips in a fervent kiss, pouring all my gratitude and affection into the contact. He reciprocated with equal ardor, his hand sliding up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair.

When we finally parted, breathless and flushed, David rested his forehead against mine. "As much as I'd love to continue this," he murmured ruefully, "I think a hot bath is in order. You need to decompress properly."

The mention of a bath sent a shiver of anticipation through me. The idea of David's strong hands massaging away the tension in my muscles, washing me with reverent care . . . it sounded like heaven.

"That sounds perfect," I agreed, my voice hushed with longing. "Will you join me?"

His eyes darkened, a hint of hunger flickering in their depths, but he reined it in with visible effort. "Not this time, sweetness. Tonight is all about you."

Before I could voice my disappointment, he rose smoothly to his feet, lifting me effortlessly in his arms. I looped my arms around his neck, relishing the feeling of being cherished and protected as he carried me to the bathroom.

The sight that greeted me stole my breath. Dozens of candles flickered on every surface, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The air was perfumed with the delicate scent of jasmine, the fragrance curling around us like an ethereal embrace.

David set me down gently, his hands skimming reverently over my curves as he divested me of my remaining clothing. I shivered under his touch, my skin prickling with heightenedsensitivity. He guided me to the oversized tub, the steaming water an inviting caress against my flesh as I stepped in.

As I sank into the silky depths, David knelt beside the tub, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He reached for a soft sponge, dipping it into the fragrant water before trailing it over my shoulders, my collarbones, my breasts. Each languid stroke was an act of worship, a silent declaration of his devotion.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he asked, his voice low and honeyed.

“I’m not.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you to talk down about yourself.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize. Why don’t you try praising yourself?”

“What should I say?”

“Say something that’s true about yourself. Something good.”

I thought for a moment, then said the only thing I could think of.

“I’m . . . brave.”

“You are,” he said, warmly.

---