“Uh-huh. Daddy Isaac said I haz to feel good after I feel bad.”
“Bumble baby, do I not give you enough orgasms?”
“No, you giz me loads and loads of orgasms.”
“Then you never need to earn a punishment in order to get pleasure, okay? You never need to seek bad attention. I’ll give you all the attention in the world, Cynnie. I love playing with you. I love spending time with you. Those three days we were together, I’ve never been happier.”
“Then I ruined it,” she says, tears welling along her lash line.
I slide my hand out from under my head to wipe them away. “We both messed it up. But now we can fix it.”
“We can?”
“Of course, we can. Did you think it was ruined? Is that what you were thinking today in the park?”
She scoots up on my chest and tucks her face into my neck. “Thought this might be goodbye.”
I hug her tightly. “It’s not. Not for me. If it is for you, tell me. But it’s not for me.”
“Not for me, neither.”
“Okay, then let’s fix it, bumble baby. What do you want from me?”
“Be my daddy? The way you been today? Growly and tickly and ‘gressive.”
“I can be those things. I know I was struggling last time. I’ve thought a lot about what I did wrong, and I think ... no, IknowI can do better.” I swallow hard. “If you give me a chance.”
“I giz you a million chances.”
I chuckle, feeling the tightness in my chest that’s built since the huge release of my orgasm ease. “I might need all of them.”
“You didn’t do bad, Maxie,” she says softly, snuggling. “I’z sorry I got so mad. I don’t know what I want half the time and other half I’m ‘fraid of saying and I get sofrustrated.”
I rock her in my arms. “I get frustrated, too. I’m confused and I’m afraid of scaring you off if I tell you what I want, but I didn’t tell you and you ran away anyhow. So, I’ll make you a promise. I’ll tell you when I’m confused. And I’ll tell you when I’m frustrated. I’ll try my best. And if you try your best, too, we’ll make it work.”
She lifts her head and kisses my cheek. “Promise?”
“I promise, bumble baby.”
She sighs. “I like being the bumble baby.”
“I like when you call me Maxie, but I was wondering ... if you wanted to, if you might call medaddy?”
I hold my breath. And feel like her weight on my chest has suddenly doubled when she shakes her head.
“Daddy was for Daddy Isaac and Daddy Tony. You’re not like them. I don’t want you to be like them. I like you growly and tickly and ‘gressive and playing games and chasing me. I don’twant to go back to being the kind of little girl I was with Daddy Isaac and Daddy Tony. I want to be different with you.”
I smooth my hand down her back. “Oh. Okay.”
“You really, really want me to call you daddy?”
“No, I—” I grit my teeth and force out my honest response, not the response I think she wants to hear. “That word does things to me. It makes me feel things. It’s why I went to playgroup. I don’t want to push you to call me something that feels wrong, though.”
Cynnie’s silent for a long moment, but she doesn’t pull back or stop cuddling, so I keep holding her, stroking her back.
“Could I call youoppa? That’s kind of the same but not the same.”
I know what the word means from my visits to Japan in the service. I know Asian women call both their biological fathers and their boyfriends by that name, although I don’t know if it’s used for Daddy Doms. It doesn’t matter. I feel the same tug, the same thrill, hearing it as I do the magic word.
