Her eyes widen. “You got a stuffie?”
“I might have. I need to start my collection somewhere, don’t I?”
She nods gravely. The building of a stuffie collection is serious business.
“Pillows, blankets, stuffies, what else?”
“A time out stool?” she says, with a little more confidence.
“Mmm-hmm. That would be good. What about a plastic-covered play space for getting messy with paints?”
Her dark eyes gleam. “That would be really good. I love to get messy with paints only I can’t even at playgroup because we can’t mess up the room too much.”
“Definitely a messy play area, then. What else?”
“A tree?” she asks, gripping my hands. “Not a real one like the ones in your loft. A fake one I could climb and play in and pounce on you from. That’s not too much, is it? It’s not practical, I know.”
“Mmm, I bet the decorator who did my loft could run a trunk up the stairs and create a platform that would be just like a treehouse.”
“Really?”
I nod. “It would be a very big reward, wouldn’t it?”
Cynnie drops her head, her hair sliding in a black silk cloud over her shoulders. “I don’t deserve a reward right now.”
“Something we can work towards,” I say, keeping my tone light. I told her we weren’t going to talk about punishment or anything heavy this afternoon and we’re not. It’s important that when I say we’re going to do something, we do it. I see now that failing to set boundaries and stick to them undermined my authority with her from the beginning. I made a lot of mistakes those first three days with Cynnie, but they weren’t what I thought they were. Pinning her down and fucking her wasn’t the mistake. Letting her maneuver me into doing it, after I’d told her no, was. “Maybe for something special, like your birthday. Do you have a birthday coming up?”
“Not until March.”
That’s a long way off. “Maybe for your half-birthday.”
She giggles. “What’s a half-birthday?”
“A special day half-way between your last birthday and your next one. That would be September. Better time for building treehouses than March, don’t you think?”
Her nod’s more enthusiastic than the last one.
Pleased at her responses, I pick up her fork and feed her a couple of bites of curried chicken salad before taking a few for myself. “You have lots a great ideas, baby. You shouldn’t ever be afraid to express them.”
Her eyes drift back down to her plate. “No one wants to listen to me.”
“Iwant to hear what you have to say, or I wouldn’t have asked. And I bet Logan and Emmy want to hear what you haveto say. Look, Logan’s even taking notes. Why don’t you mention the cage crib? I bet lots of littles would love that.”
Her eyes lift to me, so dark, so deep, with a swirl of sadness in them. “You think so?”
“Yes, baby, I think so.”
She clears her throat, once, twice, before she squeaks out, “I’d like a cage crib.”
I rub her back in silent support.
“Yeah?” Logan picks his head up from his phone and looks at Cynnie. “That’s a brilliant idea. Even the club subbies who don’t like age play would get use out of a cage crib.”
I lean in and kiss Cynnie’s temple. “See, baby?”
She nods and presses in against my chest.
“Who’s a little growler?” I ask as I pin Cynnie beneath me.
