Protect Me Daddy

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I t took me an embarrassing amount of time to get ready, then we had some lunch at a nearby diner. After that, I panic bought some extra stuff from a bodega, and we finally made our way to Dwight’s place. He lived across the city from me, in a very expensive part of town. As we pulled up to his address, and I felt an intense wave of imposter syndrome.

“All okay?” Dwight asked, sensing my discomfort.

“Yep. Just . . . not my usual scene.”

“Don’t let it bother you. It’s your scene now, was as long as you need it to be.”

We got into the elevator in the huge apartment block, and rode it all the way up to the top.

I stepped into Dwight's penthouse, my breath catching. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering cityscape, the kind of view that must cost a lot of money.

“I was in the property business before I joined the force,” he explained. “The money was good, but, uh, job satisfaction was basically zero.”

It wasn’t just the view that was impressive. The the interior captivated me. Gleaming hardwood stretched in every direction, anchoring carefully curated art pieces that spoke of refined tastes.

My gaze was drawn to the kitchen, a chef's paradise with gleaming appliances and copper-bottomed pots hanging in perfect alignment. Everything screamed discipline and attention to detail, from the alphabetized bookshelf to the precisely arranged throw pillows. It was worlds away from my cramped apartment with its peeling wallpaper and scuffed floors.

"Make yourself at home," Dwight's deep voice rumbled behind me. "I'll get food started."

I perched hesitantly on a barstool, watching as he moved confidently around the kitchen. His hands were sure and steady as he chopped vegetables and seared meat for coq au vin.

"Cooking helps me decompress," he explained, glancing up at me. "There's something soothing about the precision of it."

I nodded, mesmerized by his fluid movements. "It smells amazing."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Wait until you taste it."

“I don’t find it so soothing," I explained. "Mainly because it’s not super precise when I do it. For me, cooking is basically microwave dinners and, sometimes, for a treat, frozen pizza,” I said, laughing nervously.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well, young lady, we’re going to be improving your nutrition from now on.”

As he worked, I noticed how he unconsciously cared for me - testing the temperature of a spoonful of sauce before offering it to me, making sure my water glass stayed full. When we finally sat down to eat, he even tucked a napkin into my lap with a gentle touch that made me shiver.

"So. The day that Earl accosted you. Could you tell me about that day?" he said, his piercing gaze focused intently on me.

I fidgeted with my fork. "Oh, you know. It was just the usual craziness at O'Malley's."

"Tilly." His tone was gently chiding. "I want to hear the details. It could help."

Something in me softened at his genuine interest. As I recounted my shift, peppered with colorful regulars and rowdy out-of-towners, I found myself relaxing. Dwight listened attentively, asking questions that showed he was truly engaged.

When I finished, he nodded approvingly. "You handled that difficult customer well. I'm proud of you."

A warm glow spread through my chest at his praise. It was so different from the gruff indifference I was used to. Part of me wanted to bask in it, while another part whispered warnings about letting my guard down.

"So, anything helpful?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so. But I enjoyed listening to what happened in your day.”

“I’m glad," I murmured, taking a sip of wine to hide my conflicted emotions. I was nervous in case I’d forgotten something that could be useful, but felt proud that he liked listening to me.

Before too long, the meal was ready.

The aroma of the coq au vin filled the penthouse, a rich and tantalizing scent that promised a culinary delight. Dwight plated the dish with meticulous care, the deep burgundy sauce glistening under the soft glow of the pendant lights that dangled elegantly above the dining table. The tender chicken, marinated in red wine and herbs, nestled among pearl onions and bacon, exuded warmth and comfort.

As he set the plate in front of me, I couldn't help but marvel at how each element was placed thoughtfully, creating a work of art that beckoned to be savored. The steam rose delicately from the dish, carrying with it hints of thyme and garlic that danced in the air, teasing my senses and stirring a hunger I hadn't realized I had.

Dwight's eyes held a spark of anticipation as he watched me take my first bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue, a symphony of tastes that spoke of careful preparation and culinary expertise. It was rich, and deep, and so intense. Weirdly, I was overcome by memories that weren't even mine—an imagined childhood in which I ate food as good as this. It made me feel a little sad and overwhelmed.

"Oh my god!” I sputtered. “This is, honestly, the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Dwight's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'm glad you're enjoying it, little one."

The term of endearment sent a shiver down my spine. It felt dangerous and comforting all at once, like standing at the edge of a cliff while knowing strong arms would catch me if I fell.

As we continued to eat and talk, I found myself torn between the urge to relax into this caring dynamic and the instinct to protect myself that had served me well for so long. But with each gentle touch and attentive gesture from Dwight, my walls crumbled just a little bit more.

I couldn't help but notice how Dwight's posture changed as we settled onto his plush leather couch. His shoulders relaxed, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made my breath catch.

"Tilly," he began, his voice low and serious, "I want to share something important with you. A story that changed my life."

I nodded, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. "I'm listening," I said softly.

Dwight took a deep breath. "Five years ago, I was working a case involving domestic violence. That's when I met Sarah." His jaw tightened as he continued, "She was naturally submissive, and her abuser had twisted that beautiful part of her nature into something ugly."

My heart ached at the thought. I'd seen similar situations at the bar, women trapped in cycles they couldn't escape.

"What happened to her?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I got her out," Dwight said, a fierce pride in his eyes. "But her recovery . . . that's when everything changed for me."

As he spoke about Sarah's healing journey, I found myself leaning closer, drawn in by the raw emotion in his voice. He described how she introduced him to the DD/lg community, a world I'd only vaguely heard of before.

"It awakened something in me, Tilly," Dwight admitted, his gaze meeting mine. "A need to protect, to nurture. I threw myself into research, connected with mentors. I realized this was my calling."

I felt a flutter in my stomach, a mix of excitement and apprehension. "And Sarah?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Dwight's face softened. "She's safe now. Married to a wonderful Daddy Dom who helped her recover fully." He paused, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "But she taught me who I really am."

The tenderness in his touch sent shivers through me. I found myself wanting to lean into it, to let him take care of me the way he described. But years of self-reliance made me hesitate.

"It sounds . . . intense," I said, trying to process everything he'd shared.

Dwight nodded. "It can be. But it's also incredibly fulfilling. For both parties." His eyes searched mine, and I felt like he could see right through me. "Have you ever felt drawn to something like that, little one?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with possibility. I thought about my stuffed animals at home, the fairy tales I still loved to read. How sometimes I longed for someone to just take care of everything for a while.

"I . . . I'm not sure," I admitted, my voice small. "It's a lot to take in."

Dwight's hand found mine, his touch reassuring. "We can take it slow, Tilly. There's no rush. I just wanted you to understand this part of me."

I nodded, grateful for his patience. As we sat there, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my palm, I felt a sense of safety I hadn't experienced in years. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"Thank you for trusting me with this," I said finally, meeting his gaze.

Dwight smiled, and the warmth in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. "Thank you for listening, little one. Now, how about some dessert?"

I took a deep breath, my fingers tracing the soft fur of Red Rabbit as I found the courage to open up.

"I've always had to be the responsible one," I confessed softly, eyes downcast. "My folks are kind of . . . not really in my life. I tried to work my way through nursing school, taking care of everyone else. Had to work a job to pay the fees. I never let myself be . . . vulnerable. Didn’t have the time. Then, it got too much. I flunked out. Only thing left is my debts and the job at O’Malleys."

Dwight's hand found mine, his touch grounding me. "That must have been a heavy burden to carry," he murmured.

A lump formed in my throat. "It was. I always knew the bar was a rough place, but I felt weirdly safe there. But then, Earl . . ." I swallowed hard. "His attack shattered everything. My control, my safety. But you . .." I finally met Dwight's gaze. "You've shown me another way."

His eyes were warm, understanding. "Sometimes we need to let go to truly find ourselves."

I nodded, hugging Red Rabbit closer. “Maybe I’m just a childish, weak, baby. That’s who I need to let go of?”

Dwight's lips quirked in a gentle smile.

"You know, your attachment to Red Rabbit isn't childish," he said. "It's a part of who you are—just like your love of fairy tales."

Heat rose to my cheeks. "You don’t think it’s lame?"

"Most certainly not. It’s the same with how you look to me for guidance." His voice was kind, not mocking. "These aren't weaknesses, Tilly. They're beautiful aspects of your personality."

I blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his acceptance. "I've always felt so different. Like I didn't fit anywhere."

Dwight's hand cupped my cheek. "You fit here, little one. Just as you are."

My heart swelled with emotion as I leaned into his touch.

Dwight reached for a thick manila folder on the coffee table. My heart fluttered with anticipation and a touch of nervousness.

"I've prepared something," he said, his voice a soothing rumble. "A care agreement. It's comprehensive—twelve pages."

My eyes widened as he opened the folder, revealing neatly typed pages. "Twelve?" I echoed, both impressed and slightly overwhelmed.

Dwight's lips curved into a reassuring smile. "I believe in being thorough, especially when it comes to wellbeing." He began pointing out different sections. "Safety protocols, communication requirements, boundaries and limits . . . "

I leaned closer, fascinated by the level of detail. My fingers traced over the headers: Discipline Methods, Aftercare Needs, Emergency Procedures. A warmth spread through my chest at his thoughtfulness.

"You've even included a section on maintaining my independence," I murmured, touched by his consideration.

Dwight nodded, his eyes serious. "Your autonomy is crucial, Tilly. This isn't about controlling you, it's about creating a framework for mutual care and trust."

We settled in, the hours slipping by as we pored over each point. Dwight's voice was patient as he explained, "Daily check-ins are non-negotiable. And unless we discuss it beforehand, I'd like you home by 10 PM."

I nodded, feeling a mix of comfort and excitement at the structure. "What about . . . safe words?" I asked hesitantly.

"Excellent question," Dwight praised. "We'll use the traffic light system – green, yellow, red. Green means you're comfortable, yellow means slow down or check in, and red is an immediate full stop."

His thoroughness both impressed and reassured me. As we discussed discipline methods, I felt a flutter in my stomach.

"Corner time, early bedtime, privilege removal," Dwight listed. "But never, ever physical punishment. And, if you’re into it, we can explore physical punishment. Spankings and the like."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Thank you," I whispered.

Dwight's hand found mine, squeezing gently. "Remember, Tilly, your consent can be withdrawn at any time. This only works if we both feel safe and respected."

Looking into his eyes, I saw nothing but sincerity and care. For the first time in a long while, I felt truly protected.

I woke to the scent of cinnamon and vanilla, my body cocooned in the softest cashmere I'd ever felt. I was sleeping in Dwight’s spare room, surrounded in outrageously cosy blankets. The guy really knew his fabric. Blinking sleepily, I padded into the kitchen, drawn by the sizzle and pop of something delicious.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Dwight's deep voice rumbled, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. He stood at the stove, expertly flipping a piece of French toast.

"Mornin'," I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. "Smells amazing."

He chuckled, plating the golden-brown slice. "Hungry?"

I nodded, settling onto a stool at the kitchen island. As I watched him move with practiced ease, a warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the steaming mug of cocoa he placed before me.

Days melted into a comforting rhythm. Evenings found us curled up on the couch, my head on Dwight's chest as he read aloud from "The Wind in the Willows." His voice, deep and soothing, lulled me into a peaceful headspace where worries seemed distant.

Worries about Earl, and my old life in general, melted into the past.

"...and Rat," Dwight continued, one hand absently stroking my hair, "he was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories..."

I snuggled closer, feeling small and safe in the best possible way.

One afternoon, I wandered into Dwight's home office, clutching Red Rabbit. He looked up from his desk, a smile softening his features.

"Everything okay, sweetheart?" he asked.

I nodded, suddenly shy. "Red Rabbit wanted to keep you safe while you work," I explained, my voice small.

Dwight's eyes crinkled with warmth. "That's very thoughtful. I'm sure she'll do an excellent job." He cleared a spot on his desk, patting it invitingly.

I carefully propped Red Rabbit against a stack of files, whispering, "Watch over Daddy, okay?"

As I turned to leave, Dwight caught my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles. "Thank you, baby girl," he murmured.

I blushed, ducking my head as I scurried out, my heart full to bursting.

The next morning, I jerked awake, a scream tearing from my throat. Earl's leering face lingered behind my eyelids, his grasping hands reaching for me even as I fought to shake off the nightmare's hold.

"Shh, baby girl. I'm here. You're safe." Dwight's arms encircled me, solid and warm.

I buried my face against his chest, inhaling his comforting scent as sobs wracked my body. "He . . . he was . . . "

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Dwight's hand stroked my back in soothing circles. "It wasn't real. You're here with me now."

As my breathing steadied, Dwight gently tilted my chin up. His eyes, dark with concern, searched mine. "Tilly, have you ever considered how Littlespace might help you process this trauma?"

I blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

He shifted, pulling me closer. "Remember Sarah, the woman I told you about? Her recovery truly began when she allowed herself to be small and vulnerable in safe hands."

The concept intrigued me, but fear niggled at the edges. "Isn't that . . . weird?"

Dwight's voice was gentle but firm. "No, sweetheart. Sometimes we need to revisit innocence to heal from darkness."

I chewed my lip, considering. "How does it work?"

"It's different for everyone," Dwight explained. "But the core is feeling safe enough to let go of adult worries and responsibilities. To be cared for, protected."

The idea was both terrifying and oddly appealing. "And you . . . you'd keep me safe?"

"Always," Dwight vowed, his arms tightening around me. "Being your Daddy . . . it gives me purpose, Tilly. It helps balance out the ugliness I see in my work."

I looked up, startled. "Really?"

He nodded, a shadow crossing his face. "The things I deal with in vice . . . they can be soul-crushing. But nurturing you, protecting you—it reminds me there's still good in the world."

My heart clenched. "Is that why you stepped in with Earl?"

Dwight's jaw tightened. "Partly. Seeing him target you triggered every protective instinct I have. But it also ignited my rage at traffickers, at anyone who preys on the vulnerable."

I nestled closer, overwhelmed by the depth of his care. "You make me feel so safe," I whispered.

"That's all I want, baby girl," Dwight murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "To keep you safe and help you heal."

As I drifted back to sleep in his arms, I felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, with Dwight's guidance, I could find a way to confront my fears and emerge stronger.