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His eyebrow rises and I grin.
“I praised you.”
“I noticed.”
“How did it feel?”
“Don’t push your luck, little girl.”
I laugh and the tension breaks. Then Christopher stands. I look up.
“What?” I ask.
“Come here.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve spent an hour talking and you told me how much touch you need, and you’re sitting ten feet away.”
Good point. I stand and walk toward him. The closer I get, the quieter I feel. I’m not scared, I’m aware. He stops me when I’m directly in front of him. His hands settle lightly on my hips. I place mine on his chest; his heartbeat is steady beneath my palm.
“Still comfortable?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Want me to kiss you?”
“Yes.”
He does. Slow. Deliberate. My hand slides up into his hair, and this time, when I press closer, he lets me feel exactly how much he wants to close the rest of the distance and doesn’t. His tongue slips into my mouth, and he explores, in an almost frantic way. There is a leashed heat right at the edge of his control, and it lights something up under my skin that has nothing to do with being little at all.
When it ends, I keep my forehead against his chest. His hand moves up my back, slow, soothing.
“Christopher?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I try something?”
“What?”
“Can I call you Daddy? Just once. To see how it feels.”
His body goes completely still. He tips my chin up, eyes searching mine. “You’re asking because you want to?”
“Yes.”
“Not because you think I expect it?”
“No.”
“You can change your mind after.”
“Yes.”
I take a breath. “Daddy?”
The word comes out soft. My stomach flips, my chest tightens, and something inside me settles into place, a click, quiet and complete, like the last piece of a puzzle making it all come together.
