Page 36 of Daddy Knows Best

"You're asking if I understand that this ends our therapeutic relationship. Forever." I met his eyes, letting him see my certainty. "That you'll terminate treatment. That we can't go back to Thursday appointments and behavioral contracts after this."

"And you consent to that loss?"

"Nate." I reached for his face, palm against the beard that had gone damp with stress. "I consent to whatever gets your hands on me in the next thirty seconds."

A sound escaped him—half laugh, half groan. "You're impossible."

"I'm yours," I corrected, and watched those two words detonate behind his eyes.

His hand slid down my body with deliberate slowness, like he was memorizing the journey. Over the sleep shirt still bunched around my ribs, across my stomach that tightened at his touch, to the heat between my thighs that had been building since he'd walked through my door.

"Still so wet," he murmured, finding evidence of how the punishment had affected me. "Even after everything."

"Especially after everything." I arched into his touch, shame nowhere to be found. "Did you think strapping me wouldn't—"

His fingers slipped inside, cutting off my words with precision. Two at once, no buildup, like he'd run out of patience for pretense. I gasped at the fullness, at the way he curved them just right, finding that spot that made my vision spark.

"One release," he repeated, but his voice had gone dark with want. "To stabilize your system."

His free hand found mine, lacing our fingers together above my head. The position left me open, vulnerable, unable to hide from his studying gaze. He watched my face as he worked, cataloguing every flutter of my eyelids, every bitten-back sound.

"Breathe," he commanded when I started holding it. "In with my strokes, out with the retreat."

He set a rhythm designed to devastate—slow circles with his thumb while his fingers pressed deep, matching my inhales and exhales like he was playing my body. Each breath brought me higher, tighter, closer to an edge that felt bigger than climax.

"Good girl." The praise rumbled through me. "So responsive. So perfect when you let go."

I was climbing fast, too fast, my body recognizing his touch from fantasies I'd nursed all week. But when I tried to move my hips, to chase the pressure, his weight pinned me still.

"No." Simple command. "You take what I give. Nothing more."

The controlled denial made everything sharper. I could only receive, only accept the measured pleasure he dealt out like medicine. My free hand clutched at his shirt, wrinkling the white cotton that had stayed so pristine through my chaos.

"Please." The word broke from me without thought. "Please, I need—"

"I know what you need."

His thumb found the perfect pressure, the exact speed that made thoughts dissolve. I could feel myself clenching around his fingers, pulling him deeper, body begging for what my words couldn't form. The tension wound tighter and tighter until I felt like I might snap in half.

"Look at me," he ordered when my eyes started to close. "Stay with me when you fall."

Our eyes locked, and I saw myself reflected in his blown pupils—wrecked, desperate, completely his. The intimacy of that shared gaze while his fingers worked inside me, while my body climbed toward release, was almost too much.

"Nate," I gasped. "Daddy, please—"

"Let go." The command vibrated through me. "Now, Emily. Let go for Daddy."

I shattered with a sob, my whole body convulsing around his fingers. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, each one dragging sounds from my throat I'd never made before. Through it all, he watched me, held me, whispered praise I only half heard through the roaring in my ears.

"That's it," he murmured as I shook apart. "So good. So perfect. I've got you."

He worked me through it, drawing out aftershocks until I was limp and gasping. Only then did he withdraw his fingers, bringing them to his lips without breaking eye contact. The sight of him tasting me, clinical distance completely abandoned, sent one last pulse through my oversensitive body.

"Fuck," I whispered, eloquent as always.

"Mmm." He pulled me against his chest, arranging us so I was wrapped in his arms without pressure on my still-tender backside.

The lines hadn't just blurred. They'd been obliterated.

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