Page 37 of Daddy's Naughty Bartender
I gasp, pressing my face against the cool granite as the next swat lands higher, catching the curve where my bottom meets my thighs. The thin fabric of my yoga pants offers little protection.
"Count them," he commands, his free hand settling warm and steady on my lower back.
"Two, Daddy," I whisper, my voice already breathless.
The spoon connects again, a sharp crack that echoes in the quiet kitchen. "Three."
He works methodically, each swat deliberate and measured. By the time we reach eight, tears are pricking at my eyes, notfrom the pain, which is manageable, but from the overwhelming sense of being cared for, of having someone who notices when I'm not taking care of myself.
"Last two, sweetheart," he murmurs, and these land lower, on the sensitive sit spots that will remind me of this lesson every time I sit down later.
"Ten, Daddy." My voice breaks slightly on the words.
The spoon clatters onto the counter as his hands immediately come to rub soothing circles over my warming bottom. "All done, baby girl. You did so well." He helps me stand, pulling me against his chest. "Now, you're going to sit at the table and eat your meal like a good girl, or we'll have more to talk about. Understood?"
"Yes, Daddy," I whisper, my voice barely a breath. I can feel how wet I am and groan.
"Good girl.” He makes me dinner. It’s nothing fancy, but filling. Makes me eat every bite while he tells me about his day, the calls he's made, the plans forming. I find myself relaxing.
"There's something else," he says as we clean up. "I've been thinking about the bar."
"What about it?"
"You need help. Real help, not just Susie covering when you're overwhelmed." He dries the last dish, hanging the towel precisely. "I have a proposition."
"I'm listening."
"Let me invest. Silent partner officially, but I can help with the books, ordering, scheduling. Free you up to actually manage instead of drowning in details."
"Jason, I can't ask you to do all that."
"You're not asking. I'm offering." He backs me against the counter. "Partners, remember? In all things. Let me help carry the load."
"People will talk more. Say I'm dependent on you financially now too."
"Let them talk." His hands grip the counter on either side of me, caging me in. "Or, they don’t have to know. We know the truth. That you're brilliant and capable and sometimes even brilliant, capable people need support. There's no shame in that."
"What if they say I’m only with you for the money? What if they say you are using me to get your hands on the bar?" A thousand thoughts run through my mind.
"No what-ifs. Yes or no, baby. Will you let me help?"
I think about my pride, my independence, my fear of being seen as weak. Then I think about Jason making calls all day to protect my son's future. About him choosing us over easier paths. About partnership meaning more than splitting everything fifty-fifty.
"Yes."
"Good girl." The praise washes over me like warm honey. "My brave, trusting girl."
"I'm trying."
"You're succeeding." He kisses me softly. "Every day, you're succeeding."
The front door bursts open, making us spring apart like guilty teenagers.
"Mom! Jason!" Josh rushes in, face flushed with excitement. "You'll never guess what happened!"
"What's wrong?" I immediately go into crisis mode.
"Nothing's wrong. Everything's amazing!" He bounces on his feet. "Remember that video of me fixing Mr. Patterson's classic Mustang? It went viral on TikTok. Like, actually viral. Three million views!"
