In the bathroom, I adjusted the water temperature before guiding Emily under the spray. She sighed as the warm water cascaded over her, and I took a moment to simply appreciate her—the graceful curve of her neck, the delicate line of her spine, the soft swell of her hips.
"You're staring," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder at me.
"Can you blame me?" I stepped into the shower behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. "You're beautiful."
She blushed, the pink spreading down her neck to her chest. "I'm fat." She yelped because my hand had shot out so quickly and smacked her ass.
"Don't you ever say that again," I growled, my voice low but firm. "You're perfect."
She rubbed her bottom, eyes wide. "Did you just spank me?"
"I did," I confirmed, turning her to face me. "And I'll do it again if I hear you talking about yourself like that. Your body is beautiful, Emily. Every inch of it."
The surprise in her eyes slowly gave way to something else—a mixture of indignation and arousal that made my blood heat. "You can't just... discipline me whenever you want."
"Actually," I said, reaching for the shampoo, "that's exactly what a Daddy does." I poured some into my palm and began working it through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp. "He corrects behavior that's harmful—like saying negative things about your gorgeous body."
She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch despite her protest. "We haven't... I mean, I never agreed to..."
"You called me Daddy, and you have a safeword," I reminded her gently, continuing to massage her scalp.
Her cheeks flushed deeper. "That was... in the moment."
"Was it?" I tilted her head back slightly to rinse the shampoo, careful to keep the suds from her eyes. "Or was it what felt natural to you?"
She didn't answer, but the way she melted into my touch told me everything I needed to know. I continued washing her—conditioner in her hair, soap over her shoulders, down her back, across her stomach. My hands were firm but gentle, caring for her in a way that went beyond sexual, even if my dick disagreed.
"This feels nice," she admitted softly as I rinsed the conditioner from her hair.
"Being taken care of usually does," I replied, reaching for a washcloth to clean her more intimate areas. "Especially when you've been taking care of everyone else for so long."
She tensed slightly as the cloth brushed between her thighs, still sensitive from our lovemaking. "You don't have to do that. I can wash myself."
"I know you can," I said, continuing my gentle ministrations. "But I want to. Let me take care of you, Emily."
She hesitated, then nodded, relaxing into my touch once more. When I finished washing her, I handed her the cloth. "Your turn."
She took it with a shy smile and began washing me, her touch exploratory and tender. When she reached my back, her movements slowed, fingers tracing the raised scars with gentle reverence.
"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly.
"Not anymore," I answered honestly. "They're just a part of me now."
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to one of the larger scars. The tenderness of the gesture caught me off guard, making my throat tighten.
"Thank you," I murmured.
For what?"
"For seeing them and not being disgusted."
Emily's voice rose. "Disgusted? Why would I be disgusted?"
"Some people are," I admitted, remembering past lovers who'd recoiled or pitied me. "They either can't handle it, or they treat me like I'm broken."
"You're not broken," she said fiercely, her hands sliding around to my chest. "You're strong. Incredibly strong."
I turned in her embrace, capturing her lips in a kiss that conveyed everything I couldn't put into words. When we finally broke apart, the water was starting to cool.
