Daddy in Cowboy Boots (Montana Daddies #9) - Laylah Roberts Page 0,62
erection.”
By now her face was flaming red, but he was listening attentively.
“Anyway, when she was done with the book, I decided to read it. She didn’t care. It had a lot of sex in it. Elements of power exchange. And spanking.” She looked down at the table. “I’ve kind of had an obsession with alpha heroes and spankings and punishments since.”
Marisol snuck a glimpse at him to see how he was taking this. But he didn’t say anything. His face didn’t change. “Then a few years ago, I found age play books. It finally clicked with me. I loved the more nurturing side of the power exchange. And I also identified with the submissive. The Little.”
She ate another mouthful. “I didn’t have much of a childhood. There were no stable, long-term influences in my life. I can’t remember my mom. My dad left before I was born. There are times when I feel like I have always been an adult.”
She pinched the top of her nose.
“Headache?” he asked.
“A little bit.”
“You need rehydrating.” Placing the fork down, he reached across the table and grabbed her glass of water. But instead of handing it to her, he held the glass to her lips.
It was the sort of thing that she thought she shouldn’t like, but did. Him taking care of her in small ways. After she’d drunk her full, he drew the glass away and set it down.
“We need to watch that you’re drinking enough,” he muttered almost to himself. “Do you need some painkillers?”
“No. I think I’m just a bit tense.” She glanced away, thinking. “I don’t remember a time where I didn’t have something to worry about. Where I could be carefree. Where I could give over decisions and worries, even if just for a short time, to someone else. The idea of watching cartoons while eating cookies and crafting, it seems bizarre to some, I’m sure. To me it sounds like heaven. Having someone that I could actually rely on, who I could trust. Who would care about me, my best interests. I’ve never had that. Not for any length of time, since Harry.”
“What about giving someone else control? Having rules to follow? Consequences if you don’t? Do you want that as well?” he asked.
“I think so,” she whispered. “It’s not just that I’ve never been in an age play relationship. I’ve never been in any sort of relationship. I’m not good with people. I’ll probably mess it up.”
“Nobody said that,” he told her sternly. “Did your aunt have rules for you?”
“I’m to work for her. I’m to keep the house tidy. And I’m not supposed to take the car without permission. As a child, I just had to stay quiet and out of her way. Not complain.”
He fed her until she couldn’t eat any more. Then he started eating his own food. “What happened if you broke the rules?”
“When I was younger, she’d usually lock me in my room. Often without food. This was before I was diagnosed with diabetes. Although once, after I was diagnosed, she forgot and locked me up. My blood sugar got so low I nearly went into a diabetic coma. I nearly died.”
“How old were you?” he asked in an oddly calm voice.
“Fourteen. After that, she punished me in other ways.”
“Like what?”
She chewed at her bottom lip, worriedly. “I don’t know if I should tell you.”
While he sounded and looked calm, she could see a tic going by his right eye. He wasn’t as calm as he was attempting to pretend to be.
“Oh, that means you should very much tell me.”
“She’d get mad. Stop giving me money for my books.”
“That’s not all of it, though, is it?”
“No,” she said quietly.
“What did she do when she was upset with you, Mari-girl?”
“She’d yell. Call me names.”
“That all?”
She shook her head. She really didn’t think she should tell him.
“What else, teeny?” he pressed.
“She’d slap me sometimes,” she whispered.
He went still. She’d kind of expected for him to get angry. Lose his temper. But he’d almost turned to stone under her lap.
Finally, he let out a breath, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips together.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Okay?” he repeated. “No, pretty sure I’m not okay. You were given into your aunt’s care. By what you’ve said, she’s been neglectful as well as emotionally and physically abusive.”
“She’s never really hit me,” she protested.
He opened his eyes and stared at her incredulously. “What do you call slapping you?”