Page 41 of Tyson
"What about rewards?" he asked, voice lighter like he sensed I needed the shift.
"Stickers," I said immediately, then felt heat crawl up my neck. "I know it's silly—"
"It's not silly." No hesitation, no judgment. "What kind?"
"Shiny ones. Holographic. Stars and unicorns and rainbows." I picked at a cuticle, embarrassed by how much I wanted this. "I had a whole collection before, but Cruz threw them out."
“So stickers are for collecting, not . . . sticking?”
“What kind of a monsterusesa sticker!”
He laughed. "Okay, we'll get you new ones. Better ones." He made more notes. "What else?"
"New coloring books. Not the adult kind—though those are good too. But like, actual kids' ones sometimes? With Disney characters or animals?" My voice got smaller with each admission. "And stuffies. Soft ones I can hug when things get hard."
"All reasonable," he said, still writing. "Anything else?"
"Praise." The word came out barely above a whisper. "Being told I'm good. That I'm . . ." I couldn't finish, couldn't voice how desperately I craved those words.
"That you're my good girl," he said softly, pen setting aside. "Because you are, Lena. Already. Just by being brave enough to ask for what you need."
Good girl. His good girl.
"I . . ." My voice cracked. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?" He leaned back, studying me with those intent brown eyes. "It's true."
"Because I might cry," I admitted, blinking hard against the sting.
"Hey." He reached across the table, palm up in invitation. "C'mere."
I stared at his hand for a long moment before taking it. He tugged gently, and I found myself moving around the table, letting him pull me into his lap. His arms came around me, solid and safe, and I tucked my face into his neck.
"Listen," he murmured against my hair. "Being good isn't about being perfect. It's not about never making mistakes or always following rules. You're good because you're trying. Because you're honest about what you need. Because you're trusting me with parts of yourself that someone else hurt."
I shuddered against him, breathing in his scent.
"That takes courage," he continued, one hand rubbing slow circles on my back. "So yeah, you're my good girl. My brave girl. And I'll tell you that as often as you need to hear it."
"Promise?" The word came out muffled against his shirt.
"Promise." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Though fair warning—I might get creative with delivery. Can't have you getting bored."
I laughed wetly, pulling back to look at him. "Creative how?"
"Stick around and find out." His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn't realized had fallen. "Now, we should probably get back to negotiations before we get distracted again."
"Right. Professional contract stuff." But I didn't move from his lap, and he didn't seem inclined to make me. "Very serious business."
"The most serious," he agreed solemnly, then ruined it by smiling. "Though maybe we continue with you right here? For efficiency."
"Efficiency," I repeated, grinning despite myself. "That's definitely why."
"Now, where were we?"
I snuggled closer, feeling safer than I had in years. "About to make this the weirdest and best contract ever written."
"That's my girl," he murmured, and I felt the words all the way to my toes. "So, uh, we need to be clear about intimate activities."
