A/N: warning for very mild public play

"I have a suggestion, and I swear it isn't perverted."

Christine felt the warmth in her cheeks as she paused in her step, gazing up at him. Sometimes, she still felt the overwhelming need to stare at him. Despite his insistence that his eyes were yellow, they were a warm amber and they were deep. Sometimes, when they were particularly intense, she thought that they might actually steal her breath.

He was only thoughtful now, but it didn't shake the warmth from her.

"I think that might be a lie," she said, the words almost a laugh.

He frowned at her, tugging her out of the center of the walkway by her hand. "It absolutely isn't," he insisted.

"That sounds like exactly the sort of thing a pervert would say," she murmured, staring up at him.

He laughed, just the slightest huff of air, as though it were only meant for her as his thumb traced the back of her hand. "I didn't deny that I am, sweetheart," he answered, the words soft. "Only that this particular thing isn't meant to be."

She felt strangely like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and it was hard to pin down what exactly had done it. If it was the soft, half-broken words he had spoken to her, or the way that he dressed himself down for her, or maybe his insistence that he wasn't going to tell her when his flight was.

Despite her huffing and argument, she had to admit that it helped. He would tell her the night before, he insisted, and not a minute sooner. Knowing that she was going to wake up next to him in the morning really did help to stave off the dread that came with knowing he was going to have to leave eventually.

"What is your not-perverted but maybe-perverted suggestion, Daddy?" she asked, the words soft and quiet, and certainly only meant for him.

She was sure that his heavy sigh was meant to be frustration, but the slight smile etched on his lips betrayed him. "I'm not even sure that I should tell you now," he teased.

"I want to hear it," she said, meaning it.

"It's going to sound stupid," he answered. "Have you considered taking up coloring?"

Christine wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead of answering at all, she stared at him.

"When I have been in a… bad place, I've found that keeping my hands busy helps," he explained, watching her face. "It's actually how I fell into my career."

"Coloring?"

"You're going to kill me." The deadpan way that he said it made her laugh. She couldn't help it. Something softened in his expression and he reached up, tucking the unruly curls that escaped the confines of her hair tie behind her ear. "I do love seeing you like this, sweetheart. Even if I fear that you may become something of a brat."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Not for someone that enjoys being spanked as thoroughly as you seem to."

Feeling the deep flush in her cheeks, she glanced over her shoulder. And then she frowned. "People are staring," she murmured.

With two fingers he turned her face back toward himself. "If it makes you feel any better, I can promise it isn't you that they're staring at."

She knew that. She had noticed it the very first time they met in person, before they even left the airport. It was the first time he had ever acknowledged it, and the flippant way he said it made her wonder if it even bothered him at all. It bothered her. Briefly, she wondered if it shouldn't. "I haven't ever considered it," she finally said. "But I understand the idea of it."

"Then you'd be willing to try?"

With a soft smile, she nodded and was rewarded with a warm, gentle kiss before he began tugging her along the walkway again.

People did stare. And then they stared some more. Christine shifted her grip on his hand and leaned a little more heavily against him as they walked. It had to bother him, she was sure of it. When she wore short sleeves, she got the same half-curious, half-disgusted stares. The difference was that the stares directed at him also held a hint of fear.

She couldn't say that she completely blamed anyone. If she didn't know him as intimately as she did, she would also be uncomfortable with a man lurking around in a mask. Understanding didn't mean that she had to like it.

"Over here, sweetheart," he said, turning her toward a clothing store.

She followed him easily, and he made no comment on the way that she leaned against him. Sometimes, she thought that it was almost dangerous. She didn't want to let go of him; when he was there, it seemed like wasted time to let a moment go by without touching him in some way, without memorizing the warmth of his skin or that distinctive rhythem of his thumb brushing against the back of her hand like a metronome. When she was touching him, she felt safe and warm. It left her with a slight hint of fear when she considered the crash she might have when he was gone.

The store was almost empty, only occupied by a teenager snapping their gum at the register. He didn't even look up when they entered, and Erik tugged her toward the women's clothing, coming to a stop in the 'intimate apparel' aisle.

Erik released her hand and she let him, fiddling with the end of her sleeve as he seemed to consider the offerings on the wall.

He reached out, running the cup of a red bra between his thumb and forefinger before turning his attention to a purple one instead, pulling it off pf the little hook. "What do you think of this one, princess?" he asked, his voice low as he held it out toward her.

"I think the clasp isn't bent," she half-joked.

He held it just a little closer to her. "I think that you should touch it," he said, his voice low. "And tell me if the material is comfortable. That's what I'm asking."

With slight warmth in her cheeks, she reached out and took it from him, rubbing the material between her thumb and forefinger. "It seems soft," she said after a moment.

He hummed, leaning to the side and grabbing another from the rack, this one red, trimmed with black lace. He held it toward her and she took it, feeling the steady creep of heat up her neck.

"I think that you should try them on, sweetheart," he murmured to her, his voice low and near to her ear.

She nodded weakly as his hand found the small of her back, leading her toward the dressing rooms all the way at the back of the store. They were hidden from the front by a curtain, and he led her to the furthest one in the back, ushering her into it. "I would like to find you some actual clothing as well. You're going to wear right through that sweatshirt if you keep tugging on the seams like that."

"Sorry, I just..."

"Get nervous in public," he finished for her, reaching around her to open the door of the dressing room. "Which I find very curious, if I'm entirely honest. Are you embarassed to be seen with me?"

She felt her crimson blush deepen, but this time it wasn't embarassment that did it. "Why would you say that?" she huffed. "Why would you even think that?"

One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug and the smile that turned up the corners of his mouth didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe because you clam up any time someone might be looking our way."

"I'm not embarassed," she insisted, her words halfway harsh. "I'm happy. I'm proud to be on your arm. I'm not embarassed by you. Not even a little bit. Look at you... how could I ever be embarassed?"

"Yes," he said softly. "Look at me."

Christine frowned, tugging up her sleeve and presenting the mottled scars on her wrist to him. "And look at me," she answered, frowning back at him. "I don't know how you aren't embarassed either, but I believe you when you say you aren't. I'm shy... I'm just shy, and I get nervous in public. And I get flustered easily, and I'm not embarassed by you, not even the littlest, tiniest-"

He caught her in a surprisingly gentle kiss, and when he pulled away he nudged her toward the open doorway behind her. "Go try them on, sweetheart," he said gently. "I'd like to see."

Christine paused a moment, worrying her lip as she looked around him and toward the front of the store. Not only was the only employee in the store not paying the slightest attention to anything, he had headphones on and his face buried in his phone.

With only a moment of hesitation, Christine grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dressing room behind her.

While he seemed surprised, he didn't offer the slightest argument. Instead he simply reached behind himself, pushing the door closed and clicking the lock into place.

"Well then, you have me," he said, seeming to study her as she set her purse on the little bench and moved to pull her sweatshirt off. "Now what exactly do you plan to do with me, princess?"

She stared at him, grasping the bottom of her shirt and pulling it over her head. "I think I need help," she said, dropping her shirt to the ground and turning her back to him. She lifted her hair, staring at her reflection in the floor-length mirror as he approached her.

His fingers started a bit too low to be helpful, ghosting their way up her back, and she shivered. "Is that what it is?" he asked, grasping the clasp of her bra and frowning at it as he attempted to unhook it. "Perhaps I retract my suspicion," he murmured on his third attempt. "I think I might need help."

"Scissors," she joked, watching their reflection in the mirror.

He hummed, deep in his chest, as the clasp finally gave way. "I think we should burn it."

She actually laughed and his hands shifted to hold her hair for her as she slipped the straps down her arm. "Maybe it isn't broken at all. Maybe it's just possessed."

"Maybe," he said, reaching around her and pulling the purple bra off of the hook. "Try this one first, princess. I think it'll be more comfortable."

She took it from his fingers, bending slightly to pull it up her arms. As she did, his large hand grabbed her waist, pulling her bottom against him. She shivered, reaching behind herself to close the clasp as she straightened her back. "It fits," she said, her voice low as she looked at their reflection in the mirror.

His hand slid around her waist, slipping up her stomach, until he could cup his hand around one of her breasts, kneading it slowly as he, too, stared directly at their reflection. "How does it feel? Comfortable?" his voice was low and warm.

"It feels good," she whispered in return, leaning back against his sturdy chest.

"It does?"

"Mhm," she hummed as his other hand wrapped around her waist.

His hand slid down, popping open the button of her jeans, and she practically held her breath. He leaned just a little lower and she reached up, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck. "You have to be very quiet, princess," he whispered to her. "Can you do that?"

"I can be quiet," she whispered in return as he quietly pulled her zipper down.

He didn't undress her at all. Instead, his hand slid carefully into her underwear. She held her breath as his finger slid against her clit, the pressure exactly what she needed. He brushed his lips against her temple, his eyes on their reflection in the mirror as her fingers grasped needily at his hair. "You've gotten brave, princess," he said softly.

"Please," she breathed, reaching her other hand up to join her first, practically pulling his head down to her.

"Please what?"

"Inside, please Daddy," she whispered as softly as she could manage.

Without any verbal acknowledgement, he obeyed her plea. Two fingers slid carefully inside of her as his thumb took over the careful brush against her clit. Her nails dug against his skin but he made no complaint about it, brushing his lips against her throat instead. "I want you to watch yourself, princess."

She blinked, fixing her half-lidded eyes on her own reflection. She watched her own lips part in a silent cry as he pressed against the perfect spot inside of her. She watched the warm blush that rose from her pale chest, watched the way her messy curls grew slightly wilder as she shifted against him. Her nails dug just a little harder as his teeth tugged gently at her earlobe.

"This is for you, now, princess," he murmured against her ear. "But when we get home, it will be for me. What will you do for me?"

"Anything," she said breathlessly.

The cool planes of his mask pressed against her warm temple, and she felt a shiver go straight up her spine as he seemed to redouble his efforts, taking her apart one stroke at a time. "Anything," he echoed in a whisper. "Such a good girl."

Christine would never understand how exactly he managed to push her over the edge with iwords/i, but she would be the last one to complain about it. One of her hands moved from her grip on his neck to cover her own mouth and muffle her gasp as she shuddered.

In kindness, his fingers slowed as she throbbed around them, letting up on her clit entirely as she rode out the wave of her orgasm, leaning almost all of her weight on him.

It was only a few moments longer before he disentangled himself with her, slipping his fingers between his lips as he hummed. He pressed one more kiss to her temple and helped her steady herself on her feet.

"You should try the other one on, too, princess," he said, taking a step back toward the door. "Take however long you need to steady yourself. I'm going to browse."


"What about this one?"

Christine glanced around the corner at him to see him holding up, for display, one of the largest dildos she thought she had ever seen in person.

She felt heat all the way up to the tips of her ears, and she practically smacked the box to push it down between them.

She hadn't even wanted to come into the store, and this was exactly the reason she had argued against it. His arms were already laden with shopping bags, and she was already embarassed enough about being in the store without him dragging everyone's attention to them.

"It's too big," she huffed.

There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and she felt a twist in her gut as he made a show of reading the box. "I happen to know for a fact that you can handle it, sweetheart."

"Stop," she whispered, holding the box down between them. "Please."

"You do realize that everyone else in here is shopping for the same, don't you?" He searched her eyes for a moment and set the box back on the shelf carefully. "But maybe you're right. Something a bit more discrete would be a better start."

"I don't need anything," she mumbled, trying to will away what she was pretty sure was a permanent blush.

"Oh, you're quite mistaken if you think it's for you, princess," he said, the words low and spoken nearly in her ear. "This is entirely selfish. I do so love to see that quiver in your thighs. You may hold them, but these are my toys."

"I-"

He reached out, carefully tucking an errant curl behind her ear. She wasn't sure why he bothered - it would escape at will with a mind of its own. "Good girl that you are, you'll pull them out for me when I ask. You'll wonder how you got by without them. I promise it will be good, sweetheart."

She nodded and, to her great relief, he was much kinder about it when they resumed their browsing, lowering his voice to ask her opinion on this or that and to complain about the small offering the store had.

Christine wasn't really sure what that meant. She hadn't ever owned a sex toy, and she would've been too embarassed to ever walk into a store like that on her own so she really wasn't sure at all what all was out there.

But in the end he seemed satisfied enough, and another small bag was added to the collection that was already hanging from his arm.


He helped her to sort through the bags, hanging clothing piece-by-piece in her far too small closet, which then led to sorting through what was already hanging there.

"This one?" he asked her, holding up a worn jersey.

Christine wouldn't have been able to name the team, or even the sport. She worried her lip as she stared at it hanging from his hands. It was threadbare and stained. It was garbage. "I cant," she said softly.

He frowned at the jersey, but put it in the little 'keep' pile they had created.

To her credit, the toss pile was bigger.

Some of it was easy to part with, little things that she had been holding onto since high-school, things that she had shoved deep into the abyss of her closet and forgotten about.

It was only the things that belonged to her father that she found near impossible to part with. "I'm sorry, it's-"

"You don't have to apologize," he said quickly. "Or explain."

She fidgeted where she sat on her knees, tugging her own thumb with her other hand. "I know," she said softly. "But I want to."

He set aside the next shirt that he had pulled free from the grips of her over-burdened closet, turning his attention to her. She hesitated for a moment and, finally, she made a decision, crawling toward him on her knees. When he opened his arms to her, seeming to know exactly what she was doing, she settled half in his lap, reaching for the shirt that he had discarded to toy with in her fidgety fingers.

"When dad died I had to move really fast," she started, tugging on the shirt in her hands as she looked at the jersey on the top of the pile. "And downsize really fast. I couldn't afford a two bed. So I couldn't take a whole lot with me - some pots and pans and kitchen stuff, but all that was really, really his that I have left is some clothes."

"Like the jersey," he murmured, one hand smoothing her wild curls.

"Like the jersey," she answered softly.

His fingers traced a little lower, and then lower still, just enough that he could wrap his arms around her waist and pull her closer. He rested his chin on her shoulder, quiet and thoughtful for a moment. "You will always have memories," he said eventually. "I would never ask you to throw any of it out, Christine. You can even keep the toss pile if you want. I was only trying to assist your groaning closet."


She sat on the edge of her mattress, and he knelt between her knees, seeming to search her eyes.

His quick kiss was soft, and she found herself reaching for him when he pulled away, wanting nothing more than to pull him closer.

He moved just a bit faster, leaning out of her reach. "Do you remember what I told you earlier, princess?"

She nodded, and his answering smile was teasing.

"What did I say?"

"That later would be for you," she echoed.

"That's right," he murmured, leaning back on his heels. "And now it's later. So tell me, princess. Have you ever used toys?"

"Uhm," she said softly, feeling warmth in her cheeks. "Like…"

"Like any kind," he finished for her. "A vibrator, a dildo. Anything."

She felt strangely embarrassed under his gaze. "No," she admitted weakly.

"Never?"

"Just…" she lifted her hand and he pressed his palm to hers, curling his much larger fingers over hers.

"Just your hand," he said, his voice low. "By choice?"

"I, uh," she stammered. "I never would've gone in that store without you, Daddy."

"Because you wouldn't know what you were looking for?" he asked, his voice low. "Or because you're ashamed?"

Ashamed.

The word hit her somewhere deep in her chest. Not just embarrassed, but ashamed. Somehow, it felt a little deeper.

Somehow, it felt a little bit more true. "Both, I think," she admitted, somehow managing to shake that nervous wobble from her voice.

He was moving closer now, taking the hem of her shirt between his fingers. When he lifted it, she raised her arms without a thought. "I suspect that you've known something was missing for a long time. Long before we met," he said, the words nearly thoughtful. "You were ashamed to ask for what you needed. You still are sometimes, even though you know that I am happy to give you anything. Why is that, princess?"

This wasn't dirty talk or foreplay, she realized. This was honesty, and he was learning how to eke it out of her. That little bag on the floor next to his thigh hung as the promise of a reward.

He was patient. Sometimes too patient. He would be happy to sit there and stare at her for hours until she finally gave him an answer.

"Because I shouldn't need it," she said, the words quiet.

"You shouldn't need it," he repeated gently, reaching to pop open the button of her jeans. "Why is that?"

"Because it's messed up," she admitted, lifting her hips to assist him as he pulled her jeans down. "Because I'm messed up. Because it should be loving, not…"

"Because you should simply take what's given and convince yourself to be satisfied with it, is that it?" he asked, tossing her jeans aside. "How very nineteenth century of you, princess. I can promise you that no man would ever walk away unsatisfied. Why should you?"

"Isn't this all a little nineteenth century?" she nearly snapped in defense of herself.

To her relief, he chuckled. "You misunderstand the dynamics at play here, sweetheart," he murmured. "Though sometimes I suspect it's on purpose. Do you know what I think?"

"What?" she breathed, lifting her hips to aid him as he worked her jeans down.

"I think that you like playing helpless," he accused, his voice low. "I think that the idea of being at the mercy of my will turns you on. You don't like to ask, do you?" He paused, watching the shiver that took her. "You just want to be taken," he said, the words low. "Used."

"By you," she admitted softly, knowing that there was no point in denying it.

"By me," he echoed warmly, lifting her shirt over her head and tossing it toward her jeans. "You belong to me, don't you Christine?"

He rarely used her given name. When she thought on it, she wasn't sure that he ever actually had in the bedroom. Those rare instances when she did hear him speak it almost always made her breath catch.

This was no exception.

"I do," she said softly.

He reached for her, his thumb pressing just under her bottom lip to tilt her face down slightly as he studied her. "And I adore every shy bit of you," he murmured.

She blinked at him as he crept a little closer, bracing his knee against the mattress beside her as he reached for the scissors he had used to painstakingly cut the tags off of the new clothing that crowded her closet.

It was only supposed to be a few bras.

She wasn't honestly sure how it got so out of hand.

"I hope that this isn't sentimental, princess," he murmured, reaching behind her back and slipping one finger under the band of her bra. "Because I think I'm going to find this a little too satisfying."

"It isn't, Daddy," she encouraged, almost breathless with the fact that he actually meant to do it.

The scissors slid gently against her skin, the metal cold. She nearly shivered. He snipped once, twice.

And then he chuckled.

And Christine couldn't help but to laugh as well.

"It's cursed," he murmured.

It seemed a strangely apt metaphor for her life, when she thought on it. The clasp was bent, and the scissors were dull.

"Keep very still, princess," he instructed, the words nearly a laugh despite the artificial annoyance he attempted to paint them with. "I won't be bested by the damn thing."

He pulled a bit harder, and she heard a tear as the fabric gave way a bit.

"Ha," he offered, the sound nearly triumphant as he gave another tug and she heard another rip.

It was still fitting, she thought. The clasp was bent, the scissors were dull, but with a bit of determination it could still be made to work. "Still satisfying?" she teased.

"Immensely," he answered as the strap finally gave way fully. "Effectively built if you're looking for a chastity device."

"I'm definitely not, Daddy," she halfway laughed.

He hummed, working the straps down her arms, and the truly broken bra fell between them into her lap.

She couldn't help but to stare at him; at the new, unfamiliar softness of his features and the nearly playful look in his eyes. Every time she looked at him, she felt like she fell a little further. It wasn't like drowning; nothing quite so terrifying. It was more like he was leading her down a broken ladder that she was afraid she'd never be able to climb up again.

"What are you thinking about, princess?" he asked softly.

"That I really love you," she said, the words soft as she stared at him and had the sudden realization that it was true.

She thought that she had loved Raoul. And maybe she had, in some ways. She cared about him. She had wanted things to work out for them. She had been relatively happy, when she thought back on it.

But it was nothing like this. It was nothing like Erik, who had stepped into her life and turned everything that she thought she knew, everything that she thought she wanted, directly upside down. It was possessive, and consuming, and somehow, freeing in a way that she'd never imagined before.

The kiss that he answered with was slow and warm. His lips caressed her gently, lovingly, and then they were gone.

She wanted to reach for him. She wanted to beg him to kiss her again, but his breath was warm against the shell of her ear and his hand was sturdy against the small of her back and she knew that if she said anything at all, her voice was going to crack.

"I really love you too, sweetheart," he said, his voice low. "And that's why I'm going to hurt you. Because loving only means giving you what you need, and one day you'll realize that. There's not a thing wrong with you, princess."

Christine swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. "And what do you need?" she asked, the words quiet.

"You," he answered simply as he pulled back to look at her. "All of you. Even those tiny bits that you've somehow convinced yourself are so ugly. Close your eyes, princess. If you peek, I'll blindfold you."

Nearly on instinct alone she found herself obeying, squeezing her eyes closed.

"Good girl," he murmured, and his touch was careful and purposeful as he trailed his fingers along her skin; from the small of her back, along her side, her stomach until, finally, he hooked his thumb under the band of her underwear. "I will go easy on you this first time, princess. But no peeking."

She lifted her hips as he tugged, and then he was absent entirely from her. She heard the rustle of that little plain bag, and she shifted slightly on the edge of the mattress.

The first time he blindfolded her, she thought that she would be anxious about it. It seemed to have the opposite effect; not having his eyes to stare at quieted her mind. She didn't worry about what part of her he was looking at or if he was seeking out flaws in her skin. It gave her a moment to exist, to simply breathe.

His hand was warm on her knee as he pushed it aside slightly. "It can be a bit much," he murmured, his voice low.

She would have asked him what he meant if it wasn't for the loud buzzing that followed the words. While she wasn't looking at him, she could feel him moving closer. The sudden pressure of his hand wrapping around her throat was almost reassuring.

"Relax," he said, his voice low and soothing as he squeezed gently.

It wasn't until he said it that she felt the tension in her shoulders. "I'm trying, Daddy," she said softly.

The first touch he gave was against the hollow of her throat, the quick vibration of the little device that fit around the tip of his finger almost tickling. "It's not going to hurt, princess," he murmured, trailing that slight tickle a little lower. "I promise."

She nodded, pressing her throat a little harder against his palm.

Almost on cue, he squeezed just a little tighter, pulling her closer until she could feel his breath against her lips. Slowly, with purpose, he circled her nipple with the small vibrator. "Is that okay?" he murmured.

"It's okay," she breathed in answer. The truth was, she thought she might like his hand more; she definitely preferred the way his thumb and forefinger would circle the little nub, the way that they would pinch it and roll, just on the very edge of pain.

He trailed the vibrator a little lower; across her ribs, past her bellybutton.

She took a slow breath, letting her legs fall open a little more at the first tentative touch against her lips.

"Good girl," he said again, softly, the words a breath against her lips. "And this?"

"It's okay," she said, the words slightly shaky. It was a bit more than okay; he gave a long, careful stroke along the crease of her thigh. It wasn't quite overwhelming but it warmed her. It was a muted, pleasant feeling unlike any she'd really felt before.

His hand slid around her neck, his grip strangely possessive as he kissed her parted lips. And that, finally, was the kiss that she craved. Warm, possessive, dominating as his thumb and forefinger dug against the sensitive skin of her neck.

At the first touch of the vibrator to her clit, she jolted, catching his biceps in shaky hands.

He didn't give a bit, even at the slightly distressed sound of her whimper under his kiss as he slowly circled it.

It was a lot. Too much, almost, against the already overly-sensitive bit of her. She dug her nails against his arm and, blunt as they were, she was sure that he felt some bite against his skin.

When he released her lips, she took in a gasp of air, shifting her hips forward just a little more. His touch was teasing, just enough to simultaneously over and underwhelm. The cool planes of his mask pressed against her forehead as his fingers shifted on the back of her neck.

"Look at me," he said, the words low.

So she did. She opened her eyes to meet his, and was rewarded with the firm press of the vibrator. "Oh," she breathed, unable to stop the sound as she struggled to stare back at him.

"Oh," he echoed, the corners of his mouth lifting into an amused smile. "So pretty, princess. You're already all flushed for me."

There was already a tremble in her thighs, the little device far more intense than his fingers or even his mouth. She caught fistfuls of his sleeves to anchor herself as he circled his finger slowly, staring at her face.

"Green," she breathed.

His smile relaxed slightly as his finger slipped a little lower, the sensation dulling slightly but no less torturous.

It was a sudden realization. He wasn't really staring at her. He was studying her, searching for a sign of distress so that he could ask her.

It wasn't a judgment at all. It was worry and care wrapped up in one.

"Good girl," he coaxed, the words just a little gruff. "I don't want you to fight it for me. Let yourself relax."

She parted her legs just a little more, taking a slow breath, and before she could even ask, his finger pushed inside of her.

She moaned, the sensations mixing to bring her higher and higher. Her fingers tightened in his sleeves, and then she shattered, diving over the edge entirely.

"Shh," he said gently. "Good girl."

Even her toes felt like they were trembling as he slipped a second finger inside of her, pumping them carefully and rhythmically against that pleasure point that he had been so intent on finding. She felt like he was pulling her on a string, holding her precariously over the edge of that cliff that she was so desperate to simply fall down. "Erik," she breathed.

He hummed, the sound one nearly of admiration. "I could keep you here forever, princess," he said, the words soft but sounding dangerously like a threat. "One day I might. I'd like to see just how tightly I can wind you before you actually snap. Look at me."

Christine blinked, halfway confused. She hadn't even realized that she closed her eyes to begin with. She took in a slow breath as she met his warm gaze.

He reached with his free hand, prying her fingers from his sleeve and guiding her trembling hand to the buttons of his shirt. "I won't let you go until I'm inside of you, princess."

Shakily, she began to work at the buttons, understanding his quiet demand. It took extra time, her coordination thrown off each time his eager fingers forced her just a little higher. It wasn't his demand that solidified the resolve of her trembling hands; it was the sudden and overwhelming desire to have exactly what he promised her.

"Good girl," he encouraged her softly as he worked at his own belt with one hand. "God, you're gorgeous. This way, sweetheart."

He tugged at her hip, shifting their position until she was straddling him on shaky legs, his fingers continuing their torture as he kicked off his pants.

There was no break. There was no moment to take a breath and try to clear her muddy head. As soon as his fingers slipped out of her, they were replaced by his cock.

The stretch as he guided her with two hands on her hips was just enough to finally toss her from the strange limbo he had forced her into. She moaned against his throat as she sank down a little further, taking him a little deeper. She felt boneless, weightless, the pleasant dizziness a tease to her suddenly empty head.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he said, the words slightly breathless as he finally seated himself inside of her completely. His touch was gentle, slipping along her legs, to the inside of her thighs where he pushed carefully, forcing them to part just a bit more than was comfortable. "You're absolutely drenched, princess."

She took a slow breath, pushing wordlessly at his shirt, and he surrendered to her silent plea, shrugging it off. After another moment of her quiet, he used his heel to free his ankles from his pants, holding her in place with one hand against the small of her back.

Sometimes he was incredibly patient. Sometimes he was relentless. He allowed her the stillness, the opportunity to come down from her strange high before finally, she dared to roll her hips.

His hand found the back of her neck again, his fingers digging against the delicate flesh there as she moved. "Up," he instructed, the word just a little gruff. "I want to see your eyes, princess."

She obeyed. She allowed herself to fall entirely under his coaxing. She allowed the squeeze and pull of his fingers to guide her as she moved breathlessly against him, staring into his strangely intense eyes as she did.

Slowly, he rolled his hips up to meet her, seeming to study the quiver of her slightly parted lips as he did.

"Daddy, please," she moaned, resting her hands against his chest to steady herself and her still-shaky legs.

"Please?" he echoed, the word low.

She swallowed, considering the strange danger lingering in his eyes. "Please," she said again breathlessly.

He grasped her hips, yanking her down hard just as he lifted himself up, and she couldn't stop the slightly breathless cry that she gave.

He groaned in pleasure, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, unable to do anything other than cling to him as he repeated the movement and shot another line of breathless pain straight up her back.

Typically, she enjoyed the pain. It was an edge that snapped her completely into the moment.

Typically, he soothed it away.

This was different. There was no pleasure to soothe it. Just one sharp surge after another as he relentlessly plunged against some part of her that certainly didn't feel like it was supposed to stretch the way he seemed determined to force it to.

"Oh, God," she said breathlessly as he did it again. "Yellow."

Almost immediately, the pressure lessened. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the kiss that he gave her was deep.

By the time she took her next breath, she realized that he had handed the control back to her without missing a beat.

His fingers toyed with the hair at the base of her head as he watched her face. "So gorgeous, princess," he said, his voice husky and rough.

She nodded, trying to encourage him but he still paused for a moment, watching her eyes. "Yes, please," she said breathlessly. "Please, Daddy."

It seemed to be the encouragement he needed. He wove his fingers through her hair and gave one hard tug, causing her to gasp and arch her back. "Fuck," he said, his breath fanning the overheated skin of her chest. His lips quickly followed, brushing against skin that already felt like it was on fire.

When he gave her nipple a gentle tug with his teeth, she thought it could've nearly been enough to bring her over the edge. "Daddy," she moaned, the title a plea in itself.

"I want you to touch yourself, princess," he instructed, the words rough against her breast. "Show me how you use those fingers."

Without a single thought she obeyed, dropping her hand between them and circling her already over-sensitive clit with one gentle finger.

"Good girl," he murmured, giving her hair another careful tug. "Keep going."

For a moment, she swore that she could feel everything. His unsteady breath against her damp skin, the tremble in her thighs, the prickle of every individual strand of hair in her scalp as he gave another tug.

The tight jump of him inside of her as her muscles clenched.

"I want to feel you, princess," he said, breathless now. "Keep going."

"Daddy," she breathed.

"Good girl," he repeated roughly. "I want you to cum, princess. Keep going."

And with that, she let go and she was falling.

He murmured something, and she wouldn't have been able to say what it was. The words were gibberish through the blood rushing against her eardrums.

The only thing that she was distinctly aware of in that moment was his skin against hers, and the gentle tug he gave as she felt him pulse inside of her.

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he pulled her close, tight against his heaving chest. His thumb brushed, rhythmically, against the back of her neck as he held her there, still buried deep inside of her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped.

Part of her expected him to scold her for apologizing. Part of her expected him to get angry.

He did neither. The only answer he granted her was a kiss buried in her hair, his warm breath nearly too much against her already heated skin.

"Sorry," she whispered, trying again.

His thumb brushed along the back of her neck again, and she shivered. "Tell me why," he said after a moment. "What are you sorry for, princess?"

"Yellow," she said softly.

"Ah," he murmured, resting his chin on top of her head as he held her. "You're sorry for telling me the truth, then," he said, fingers brushing against her sweat-slick back. "You're sorry for recognizing your limits and communicating them. Is that it?"

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him and the serious expression on his face. "Well, no," she admitted.

"Then what are you sorry for, princess?"

Christine let herself take a breath. She relaxed against him, let herself be lulled into the stroke of his fingers. "Disappointing you," she whispered.

He pulled her a little tighter against himself, his breath finally seeming to even out. "When have I ever said you disappointed me, Christine?" At her silence, he sighed. "It makes me feel better, you know," he said softly. "If I can trust you to tell me, it helps me to know that we can try new things."

"Maybe I'm just afraid I will," she admitted weakly. "Maybe… maybe I'm just really good at being disappointing."

"You're good at a lot of things, princess," he said gently. "Disappointing me isn't one of them. Do you know what my favorite part is? What I really find joy in?"

"What?" she asked quietly.

"That moment when you finally let go," he murmured against her throat. "That split second when I see your inhibitions vanish… that's the moment that I live for. That's the only thing I want. Pushing yourself and not giving me that would be far more disappointing."

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her ear against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

Christine closed her eyes, breathing him in.

All of it was a little ridiculous, when she thought about it. Everything about them. The fact that they ever even happened to cross paths. The fact that he sat there, holding her, in the middle of her shitty apartment, half on the edge of her bed and half on the floor.

None of it made any sense.

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

Maybe it didn't need to.

"Tell me what's going through your busy head."

"I'm scared I'm going to wake up," she whispered.

His fingers trailed along the curve of her spine, and he gave a gentle pinch to the thin skin there.

"Ouch," she complained, pushing closer to him.

He hummed, brushing his thumb against the skin he had pinched. "It didn't work," he murmured. "I'm afraid you're already very much awake, princess."

She sighed against his warm chest. "Not tomorrow?"

His touch was gentle. Soothing. Every bit what it hadn't been minutes before. "No," he reassured her gently. "Not tomorrow."

"Good," she said softly, pressing as close to him as she could.