Page 17 of Daddy of the Mountain

His face was carved with something I didn’t have a name for—uncertainty, maybe? Shame? Longing? All of it swirled together in his dark eyes, and it hit me harder than I expected. "I’m a Daddy Dom," he said, voice low but firm, like he needed to force the words out before they locked up inside him forever.

I blinked. "What?"

"It’s . . ." He trailed off, looking down at his hands, like they might explain better than words could. Then he tried again. "It means I care deeply. Protect fiercely. And yeah, sometimes discipline if it’s needed." His throat worked, swallowing hard. "Not because I’m cruel, Alana. Because I . . . because I love that way. I trust that way."

"Discipline?" My voice cracked on the word, but he didn’t flinch. He just nodded, his jaw tightening like he was bracing for a blow.

"Not in a bad way," he said quickly, his tone quieter now, almost defensive. "It’s about guidance. Nurturing. It’s not about age or . . ." He shook his head, running his hand over his face. "It’s not about whatever you’re thinking. It’s about connection. Trust."

I stared, trying to piece it together. Words swirled in my head, but none of them quite fit. He looked away, his hands dropping to his sides, shoulders slumping like he was carrying a weightthat had finally crushed him. "I can’t just be . . . regular," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "This is who I am."

I stared at him, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. The room suddenly felt smaller. His words hung in the air like frost, delicate and sharp-edged. Daddy Dom. It sounded foreign, almost absurd, like something out of a conversation I was never meant to overhear.

He stood there, shoulders stiff, arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. He didn’t look at me now—his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, like he couldn’t bear to see whatever reaction might be on my face. I could feel the tension radiating off him, thick as the woodsmoke curling in the corners of the cabin.

"Okay," I said finally, though it wasn’t okay, not yet. My voice cracked a little. "So . . . what does that mean? Exactly?"

He shifted his weight, one boot scuffing against the floorboards. "It means I take care of someone. Protect them. Guide them, when they need it. And yeah . . ." His jaw worked, like he hated spitting out the next part. "Sometimes that involves setting boundaries. But it’s . . . mutual. Always consensual. Never without trust. Fuck I’m bad at explaining this."

"Boundaries," I repeated, tasting the word. My head spun with half-formed questions, but his tone—it didn’t feel threatening. Just...steady. Firm. God, how had I missed this side of him? Or maybe I hadn’t. Maybe I’d been feeling it all along, in the way he carried himself, the way he’d taken charge since the moment I twisted my ankle and landed here.

"Alana," he said, low and careful, like he thought I might bolt. "I don’t even know why I’m sharing this with you. You don’t want to know."

“I do,” I said, without thinking.

That got his attention. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine for real this time. Dark, searching, waiting for me to flinchor laugh or storm out. My heartbeat thudded loudly in my ears, and I wondered if he could hear it too.

"Look," I started again, softer this time, because I saw how tightly wound he was. "I’m not pretending to understand everything you just said. Honestly, I’m still trying to catch up. But . . ." I hesitated, then shrugged, as much for myself as for him. "You’ve been taking care of me since day one. Isn’t that . . . part of it?"

His whole body stilled. Like really stilled, the way a deer freezes when it hears a twig snap. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. I watched the smallest shift in his face—the tight line of his brow easing, the set of his jaw relaxing just enough to notice. Relief. He wouldn’t say it, but I could see it in the way his shoulders dropped, in the faint softening of his expression.

"I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of," I added, because someone needed to say it, and clearly he wasn’t going to. "You acted like it was some dirty secret, but—" I looked him straight in the eye, daring him to disagree. "You kept me safe, Silas. That’s not wrong. That’s just who you are."

For a moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackle of the fire, the occasional groan of the logs shifting under their own weight. Outside, the wind had quieted, but the snow still whispered against the windows, faint and steady.

This was uncharted territory, and I wasn’t sure where the map ended. "Tell me," I said finally, breaking the silence. "Not all at once, but . . . tell me what it means. For you."

His gaze lifted to meet mine, and this time, he didn’t hide. Didn’t look away. "Only if you’re sure," he said, the words slow and deliberate.

"Silas," I replied, matching his tone, "I’m sure."

Chapter 5

"Alright," he said, voice rough. "Guess we need to talk."

"Yeah," I replied quietly. My fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, twisting it just enough to keep my hands busy. I didn’t trust them not to fidget otherwise. “We do.”

The air between us felt heavier than before, charged with something I couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was the way he didn’t look at me right away, or how his jaw tightened every few seconds, like the words were fighting him. I waited, giving him space, though my pulse thudded faster with each passing moment. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it would matter.

He cleared his throat once, then again. His gaze finally lifted to meet mine, and something raw glinted there—sharp, unpolished, and strangely vulnerable. “So, this Daddy Dom thing, it’s about roles, alright? Dynamics.”

"Roles?" I echoed, tilting my head.

"Yeah." He let the word hang for a second, then barreled forward. “One person—me, in this case—takes on a role that’s sorta . . . guiding. Protective. Like a caregiver. That’s where the‘Daddy’ part comes in. But it ain’t literal. I’m nobody’s father. It’s just . . . a state of mind.”

I blinked, trying to process.

“The other side,” he continued, his tone deliberate now, “is someone who takes on a more carefree role. They lean into trust, vulnerability—lettin’ go of responsibilities for a bit. We call that ‘being little.’ Sometimes people shorten it to DDlg. Stands for Daddy Dom Little Girl. Although everyone involved is an adult, of course.”

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