She nodded, her body slowly relaxing against mine. I stayed awake long after her breathing had evened out, my mind cycling through everything I'd learned.
Emily had stumbled onto something big—something that involved powerful people using the foster system to traffic children. And she'd been brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to try to expose it on her own.
Well, she wasn't on her own anymore. She had me now. And soon, she'd have my entire team behind her.
I looked down at her sleeping form, so small and vulnerable against me. In sleep, she'd tucked her thumb near her mouth, though not quite in it. The gesture was so innocent, so telling.
"I've got you, little one," I whispered, even though she couldn't hear me. "And I'm not letting go."
With that promise echoing in my mind, I finally allowed myself to drift off to sleep, my body curled protectively around Emily's.
Chapter Four
Emily
I woke slowly, warm and comfortable in a way I hadn't felt in... maybe ever. Strong arms held me securely, and my head rested on a solid chest that rose and fell with steady breaths. For a moment, I just lay there, savoring the feeling, before reality came crashing back.
The coffee shop. The parking lot. The men trying to take me.
Dion.
My eyes flew open, and I found myself staring at the bronzed skin stretched over the impressive muscles of his arm. Heat flooded my cheeks as I realized how I was sprawled across him,one of my legs thrown over his, my arm draped across his chest. Worse, my thumb was dangerously close to my mouth.
I felt a flush of shame wash over me. I'd spent my whole life keeping this secret, this hidden longing to be small and cared for. To have someone strong and dependable who would protect me, set boundaries, and make me feel safe enough to let go.
A Daddy.
I'd first discovered the lifestyle in college, stumbling across a forum late one night. The descriptions of Daddy Doms caring for their Littles had sent an electric shock of recognition through me. It was everything I'd secretly wanted but had never been able to articulate. Everything I'd trained myself not to need as I grew up.
Because people who needed things got hurt. I'd learned that lesson early from parents who saw my desire for affection as weakness, who pushed me away when I sought comfort. "Stand on your own two feet, Emily," my father would say. "No one respects a clingy child."
So, I'd locked that part of myself away, buried it so deep I could almost pretend it didn't exist. I'd become fiercely independent, taking care of myself and then, as a social worker, taking care of others. Never allowing myself to be vulnerable, never letting anyone see the little girl inside who just wanted someone to hold her when she cried and tell her everything would be okay.
And now here I was, wrapped around this man I barely knew, my body betraying my deepest secret. My thumb itched to slip into my mouth, to give me that small comfort I only allowed myself alone in my apartment with the doors locked and the curtains drawn.
I was so tired of being strong, but I’d never had any other choice. I tried to ease away without waking him, but his arms tightened around me.
"Morning, sweetheart," he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," I said automatically, then winced at how false it sounded. "I mean, I'm sorry about last night. The nightmare and making you stay with me."
Dion shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His blue eyes were soft with concern. "Emily, you don't need to apologize for having nightmares after what you've been through. Or for needing comfort."
I sat up, pulling the sheet around me even though I was fully clothed. My defenses were coming back online after last night’s vulnerability. "I'm not usually like this. I don't... I don't fall apart."
"Everyone falls apart sometimes," he said simply. "The trick is having someone there to help put you back together."
Something inside me ached at his words. I'd never had someone before. Even when I was small. I'd never forget my mom coming into my room after they had gotten my report card. All excellent grades, but my teacher had praised me because she'd said I was kind. One of the other girls was new and I'd spent recess with her.
Mom walked into my room while I was reading. I smiled because I was expecting her to be happy with my report card, but she scowled and threw it at me. "What is this?"
I remember being confused but she didn't give me a chance to ask, simply informed me that if I had so much time on my hands during the school day that I was doing what teachers were paid for, then she would give me extra work. And she did. From that point on I was expected to read during recess and not play with my friends.
Which explained why I didn't have any.
It wasn't the worst day I'd had growing up, though. The worst was coming home from school and finding Mom cleaning out my room. My room was spotless, but she'd taken all my stuffies and the few dolls I had and thrown them away. Informed me I had to grow up.
I was seven.
