Page 20 of Daddy's Naughty Orchardist
"Because you ran yourself down and picked stubbornness over safety," he corrects.
"Yes!"
Swat.
"Because you refused help."
"Yes, damn it!"
The lesson builds with each exchange, each swat driving home the truth I've been avoiding. This isn't punishment for its own sake, it’s a form of education, delivered in the most effective way possible for someone as stubborn as me.
The spanking continues, steady and relentless, until my resistance crumbles. My head drops against his thigh, tears pricking my eyes, not from pain, but from the release of finally, finally letting go.
This is what surrender feels like. It’s not the defeat I always feared, but the profound relief of trusting someone else to take control when I can't. Of admitting that I don't have to carry everything alone, that it's okay to need help, that accepting care doesn't make me weak.
When he stops, his hand rests warm against the curve of my hip. His voice is softer now, threaded with care. "There. Lesson learned?"
I nod, breath hitching. "Yes."
"Say it."
"Yes, Daddy." The words slip out unbidden, shocking us both.
There’s no conscious thought to it. The words come out feeling as natural as breathing. This is who I am with him, who I really am. Not the stubborn, independent woman who refuses help, but someone who can accept guidance, who can trust another person to know what she needs.
His breath catches, just for a moment. Then he strokes my back, gentle, grounding. "Good girl."
Something inside me shatters and heals all at once.
He eases me upright, cradling me against his chest. I don't fight it. For once, I let myself be held.
And in this moment, wrapped in his arms with the sting of his palm still warm on my skin, I finally understand what all those romance novels were trying to tell me. Submission isn't about losing myself, it's about finding a different version of myself, one who's strong enough to be vulnerable, brave enough to trust, secure enough to surrender.
And God help me, I've never felt safer.
CHAPTER 9
The barn feels different now.
The air is thick, charged with everything we didn’t say during that spanking. My skin still tingles, my backside still burns faintly, and Brett’s handprint might as well be branded into me. I should be furious. Mortified. Ready to throw him out of my orchard forever.
Instead, I’m trembling for more. I want more. More spanking. More holding. More of Brett.
He studies me, glasses slipping slightly down his nose, his expression a mix of control and hunger. “You’ve been holding yourself too tightly for too long,” he says, voice low. “I won’t apologize for forcing you to loosen your grip.”
My pride flickers, but it’s thin now, paper-thin. “You… you had no right?—”
“I had every right,” he interrupts softly. His finger tilts my chin up, making me meet his gaze. “You gave it to me. When you didn’t say stop. When you called meDaddy.”
Heat shoots straight through me. “That was?—”
“Honest,” he finishes for me. His thumb strokes my jaw. “For once, you let yourself stop performing. Stop fighting. You let yourselfbe. Do you know how beautiful that was?”
My throat tightens. No one’s ever looked at me like this. Like I’m not just capable and strong, but worth protecting. Worth cherishing.
“I don’t need?—”
“Yes,” he murmurs, brushing his lips across my ear, “you do. And I think you’re smart enough to admit it. At least to me.”
