Page 67 of Redline Baby

That's it. No disappointment. No negotiation. No are you sure? Done means done. Something in me breaks wider. I start crying harder.

"There you are," Soren says softly. His palm moves once over my back. "Good boy." I make another wrecked little sound. "That's my little boy." His hands move. One arm slides carefully beneath my chest while the other supports me, and he helps me upright.

I end up sideways against him, my face pressed into the front of his shirt. His chest is warm. Solid. One arm wraps around my back. His hand cradles the base of my skull, fingers threading gently through my hair. He's shushing me. Just making that low, quiet sound while I keep crying. My hands come up and find the front of his shirt. Grip. My shoulders shake harder.

If anything, the crying gets worse now that nothing is being asked of me anymore. His chin rests against the top of my head. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear.

I don't remember the transition to the couch beside him very clearly. One moment I'm upright against Soren's chest with my fists full of his shirt. The next I'm tucked beside him, hip pressed against his, legs drawn up on the cushion, the dark throw blanket pulled over me from the waist down. Soren's arm is around me. His hand rests safely on my right upper arm, thumb moving in slow, even strokes. My eyes feel swollen. My face feels wrecked. I feel incredible. Not physically. Physically, I'm sore and very aware of what just happened.

But inside? Light. Almost bubbly. Like somebody opened a valve I hadn't realized was under pressure. I don't know how long we sit there. Time stops meaning much. Eventually I start coming back to myself, but when I speak, my voice still sounds rough and small.

"I want more than this."

Soren's thumb pauses. I rush to clarify.

"Not more tonight. I mean... this. You. The whole thing."

My face heats again, although apparently I've decided dignity is optional tonight.

"I've wanted it since the first time you took me out for sushi." A tiny pause. "Maybe before that." Then: "Please, Daddy."

I'm surprised by how easily I can call him that now. My right hand has ended up resting on his thigh. Soren covers it briefly with his own.

"Look at me." I lift my head. Our eyes meet. His are dark in the amber light, the lines at the corners deeper than I noticed before. There is no pity in them. "We're not deciding the rest of our dynamic tonight, baby boy." I listen. "You're wrung out. And we haven't had the full conversation yet. What we both want. Rules. Limits. What accountability actually means. What belongs inside the dynamic and what doesn't."

His thumb moves once over my hand.

"We need to build that while you're fully settled and able to argue with me properly." A laugh escapes me. Tiny. "But we will talk about it."

"Okay."

"And we're not doing anything more tonight."

I understand what he means. I don't feel disappointed. I'm still floating somewhere three inches above my own body, but I understand. I don't argue. "Yes, Daddy."

I let my forehead fall back against his chest. My hand turns over on his thigh. Palm up. An invitation. Soren's fingers slide between mine. I have to fight the urge to tell him I love him. Because that's what it feels like in this moment.

"You still with me, sweetheart?" His voice is low.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good." His thumb moves over mine. "Stay there." He eases his arm away slowly, giving my body time to notice the loss of contact, then stands. I stay exactly where he left me. My body sinks deeper into the cushion. Knees drawn up. Arms loose. I feel small. I'm too tired to be afraid of it.

Soren reaches for the remote. The streaming menu appears. Then My Neighbor Totoro starts playing. He doesn't ask what I want. He just decides for me, which I love.

My head lifts. "I'm making cocoa." I look at him. It feels like he just announced Christmas is coming early. And then, the look he gives me then—like I'm something precious, something worth protecting—makes me look away before I start crying again.

He goes into the kitchen. I hear him moving around. Cupboard. Ceramic. A spoon against the inside of a mug.

I don't move. He told me to stay. So I stay. When he comes back carrying two mugs, I'm still exactly where he left me. His eyes flick over me, warm and pleased.

"Good boy."

My entire body goes soft all over again. He sets one mug down in front of me. I pull my hands out from beneath the blanket and wrap them around the warm ceramic. The first sip is sweet and rich. My eyes close. When I open them again, the whole world feels softer around the edges.

"Good, baby boy?"

I nod.