Page 18 of Daddy of the Mountain

My eyebrows knit together. “So . . . like pretending to be a kid?”

"Not exactly." His voice firmed, the words coming quicker now, like he wanted to make sure I understood. “It’s not about playin’ house or actin’ like a child. It’s about feelin’ safe enough to let go. To lean on someone. Doesn’t mean you’re weak or anything—it’s just . . . different.”

He paused, letting that sink in. I thought about it, fingers still twisting the fabric of the blanket. The idea felt strange. Foreign, yet oddly . . . familiar? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that his explanation hadn’t scared me off—not yet, anyway.

“Some people do tap into a child-like feeling. An innocence. Letting go of the adult world. Being free to be themselves.”

It sounded nice. Stress-free.

I shifted on the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around my lap. The lamplight flickered over Silas’s face, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw and the crease between his brows.

“And is it like . . . a sexual thing?” I asked softly, breaking the heavy quiet that hung between us.

“Not always. Sometimes, yeah. But not all the time.” He leaned back slightly, his fingers rubbing at the calloused skin of his palm. “It’s more about connection—emotional intimacy. Comfort. Trust. A physical relationship can grow out of that.”

I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. They didn’t scare me, not exactly. They felt . . . different. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

"So . . ." I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. "How does it work? What do people . . . do? To get into the child-like headspace?"

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but it faded before it fully appeared. “Littlespace, we call it. And it depends on the people,” he said simply. Then, after a pause: “For some, it’s routines. Coloring or playin’ with toys. Things that make ‘em feel safe, let their guard down. For others, it’s just havin’ someone to lean on, someone to guide ‘em. Structure, affection. That kinda thing.”

"Guidance," I murmured, testing the word on my tongue like I wasn’t sure how it fit. “And you like to provide that?”

"Yeah." His voice softened. “That’s the idea.”

“What do you get out of it?”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “I find it charming. And it gives me pleasure to be in control, to help someone find their way.”

“It’s easier to help someone else than it is to help yourself?”

He met my gaze.

“Helping someone else ishowI help myself.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “But . . . it’s not just helping? There’s discipline too, right? You mentioned that earlier.”

"Only if it’s wanted, and agreed upon," he said quickly, his tone firm but gentle. Like he was trying to reassure me without making it seem like he was pushing anything. “And never outta cruelty. It’s about care. Always care.”

I glanced down at my hands, twisting the edge of the blanket again. The ache in my ankle seemed far away now, drowned out by the weight of everything he was saying. It sounded strange—everything about this dynamic he was describing—but also . . .appealing. The thought of letting go, of handing over control to someone who cared enough to hold it for me, made something deep inside me stir.

"And you’ve done this before?" I asked quietly, lifting my gaze to meet his.

Sias’s shoulders tensed. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just sat there, staring at the worn planks beneath his boots.

"Yes," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"With someone else?" I pressed gently.

"Yeah. Not the sort of thing you do alone." He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair, leaving it messier than before. “A long time ago.”

The quiet stretched between us, thick and heavy like the air before a storm. I shifted on the bed, my ankle sending out a dull throb as I adjusted the pillow under it.

"Silas," I said softly, and his eyes jerked back to mine. "Can I ask you something?"

"’Course," he replied, voice low, guarded.

"How does…" I fumbled for the words, licking my lips. "How does this DDlg thing fit into BDSM? I mean, I know what BDSM is—" My cheeks flamed, but I pushed through. "I’ve read about it. A little."

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