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Chapter 17
What they were doing felt like age play. Scratch that, it was definitely age play, Emily corrected herself as she sat on Daddy's lap in her onesie, letting him feed her bites of cereal while holding her stuffed bear in her lap. One eye kept drifting toward the Disney movie that was playing on the television. Her pacifier, which she had earned by arguing about bedtime the night before, was clipped to the front of her onesie with a bright pink clip and a ribbon. Once she was done eating, Daddy would make her put it back in her mouth again and she’d be forced to suck on it.
Forced.
Honestly, she didn't mind. Sucking on it was mildly comforting, and it gave her something to focus on other than the swirling of her unpredictable thoughts. They were running rampant on this whole age play thing. It was on her soft limit list, something she never would have dreamed that she’d enjoy or be interested in. And yet here she was, perfectly content to call him Daddy, dragging a stuffy everywhere and even sucking on a pacifier. Sometimes even happily, when she thought he wasn’t looking.
It was surreal. She liked the way he talked when he was in Daddy mode, and she loved the way he took care of her. Did that make her a Little?
It still didn’t feel like a solid fit. She was still opposed to the remaining two items that sat on the table, taunting her, reminding her of what would happen if she didn't obey. Maybe at heart she was an older Little, like Sadie and some of the girls that ran around the ranch carefree, occasionally causing chaos and finding new ways to get in trouble.
Emily sighed. That didn't feel like it fit her entirely either.
Daddy scooped the last bite of cereal into her mouth, wiped her chin with a napkin. She must have been too loud with that sigh, because he shot her a questioning look. "What's wrong, little one?"
She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head simultaneously. She wasn't sure how to put into words everything she was thinking. "I feel better," she finally settled on. "I don't need you to take care of me anymore."
She saw the disappointment in his eyes, but he quickly recovered, tossing the dirty napkin in the empty bowl and setting it on the table. "Stand up and turn around," he ordered sternly.
"I… what? Am I in trouble?"
"You will be if you don't obey. Stand up and turn around. If you are feeling better, then we have things to discuss, which means certain points will need to be addressed. Before we can do that, I need to check and make sure your bottom is recovered enough to have those conversations."
"Oh." Her hands flew back to her exposed bottom. She gently pressed the skin there with the tips of her fingers as she did as she was told. It did feel a lot better, but she wasn't sure she was ready to have the conversations that needed to be had.
"Move your hands please." She obeyed, and her fingers were replaced by his as he gently prodded her bottom, searching out those lingering tender spots. "It's looking a lot better. After five days, that's to be expected. The skin is still a little yellowish in some places, but I think we are good to go."
With that assessment, he spun her around and regarded her sternly with his hands on her shoulders.
"Well, little one, I guess it's time I get answers to the burning question at hand: Why did you smack me?"
Emily shrunk into herself. Answering that question meant admitting she knew about his secret identity and coming to terms with the reality that no matter her feelings, or the decision she made about finding a forever Dom, the two of them were not meant to be. She knew it was a conversation that was going to have to happen, but she dreaded having him out of her life. She needed to tell him that she knew he was Arabella Cole, but she just couldn't find the words.
"I don't want to talk about that."
His sharp gaze cut her to the quick. "Are you safewording that conversation?"
She gulped. "No. I just… it's hard. I'm not ready."
"Not ready like you need another day? Or not ready like you need some coaxing?"
He had his Dom face on. By coaxing, he meant motivation in the form of spanking. She couldn't pretend it wouldn't help. It was probably the only way she’d be able to get the words out, but she wasn't ready to admit that either. She shrugged.
Taking her cue, he moved quickly. Grabbing her arm and pushing gently on her back, he upended her over his knee.
"Oof!" she cried, just before the spanking began.
His hand was hard, and his lecture grated. "I've waited three days for the answer to that question, and I'm not waiting any longer. You have things to answer for, little girl, so if you're not ready to talk, then you can listen.”
She was listening, but he didn't say anything else as he smacked away on her bottom, leaving no inch of exposed skin untouched. Her bare flesh tingled, and she could feel a little bit of residual soreness where the bruising had been at its worst, but it didn't hurt enough for her to talk. Right now, she was content to settle in and enjoy the pain of what she knew would be the last spanking he ever gave her.
Just as she got comfortable, he abruptly stopped spanking and jerked her to her feet. His hands came to a rest at the collar of her onesie, and without warning, he spread them wide, and ripped it off her, sending buttons flying across the room.
She stared at him in shock, waiting for an explanation but none came.
"Take it off," he commanded. "You are too comfortable and enjoying this too much. I need better access and I need something other than my hand."
She watched speechless, as he worked the buckle on his belt and quickly freed it from the loops, doubling it over in his hand.
