Page 41 of Wings
She nodded, confused by the seeming non sequitur.
"Carried it for two years. Through basic, through deployment, through nights when I thought I might not make it to morning. Know why?"
"Because..." She worried her bottom lip. "Because it reminded you of home?"
"Because it reminded me that beautiful things exist. That somewhere in the world, you existed. Creating art and smiling that smile that made my chest tight." I touched her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. "You were my proof that life was worth fighting for. That there were still soft things worth protecting."
Her breath hitched.
"So when you don't eat, when you don't sleep, when you treat yourself as disposable—" My voice roughened. "You're hurting something I'd have died to protect. Something I came home to protect. Understand?"
"Gabe . . ." Tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks.
"My job is keeping you safe," I continued. "From external threats, yeah, but also from the voice in your head that says you don't matter. From the habits that hurt you. From the belief that you're not worth basic care."
She abandoned the snacks, crawling into my lap and wrapping herself around me like she could fuse us together. "I'm trying. I want to be good for you. Want to be worth—"
"You're already worth it." I crushed her against me, probably too tight but unable to help it. "You were worth it when youwere seventeen and drawing butterflies. Worth it when you were trying to save Alex. Worth it during all those years we were apart. Your worth isn't something you earn, baby girl. It just is."
She cried harder, but these were cleansing tears. The kind that washed away old poison, made room for something healthier. I held her through it, rocking slightly, whispering praise and promises into her hair.
When the storm passed, she lay limp against me, wrung out but peaceful. I could feel the change in her—something fundamental shifting, walls coming down that had stood for years.
"Better?" I asked softly.
She nodded against my neck. "Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby girl?"
"Will you . . ." She paused, gathering courage. "Will you show me? How much I matter? I need—I need to feel it."
The request hit me low in my gut. Not just desire but the need to claim, to demonstrate with touch what words couldn't fully convey. I pulled back enough to see her face, checking.
"Please." Her eyes had gone dark, pupils blown wide. "Need you."
I stood in one smooth motion, lifting her with me. She squeaked, arms tightening around my neck, but I had her secure. Would always have her secure.
"Bed," I said, voice dropping to that register that made her shiver. "Now."
I set her on the butterfly comforter, taking a moment just to look. Hair spread across the pillows like spilled copper. Cheeks flushed from crying and arousal. Eyes trusting and needy and fixed on me like I was her whole world.
"Stay still," I commanded softly. "Don't move unless I tell you."
Her breath caught, but she nodded. I saw the shift happen—that melting into submission that meant she was giving me control. Trusting me to take care of her in every way.
I undressed her slowly, revealing skin inch by inch. The yellow panties I'd chosen this morning were damp, evidence of how much our dynamic affected her. How much being held accountable, being cared for, turned her on.
"Look how wet you are," I murmured, tracing the lace edge. "My little girl likes her punishments, doesn't she? Likes when Daddy has to be firm?"
"Yes," she whimpered, hips trying to lift despite my command to stay still.
"Ah ah. What did I say?"
She froze immediately. "Stay still, Daddy."
"Good girl." I rewarded her with a kiss, deep and claiming. "This is what's going to happen. I'm going to touch you, taste you, make you feel exactly how precious you are. But you don't come until I say. Understand?"
Her eyes went wide. We hadn't played with orgasm control yet, but I could see the idea light her up from inside.
