C/W: light bondage, sensory deprivation, name calling
"Count."
Christine drew her knees nervously to her chest, blinking behind the itchy blindfold. Everything he did made her stomach do somersaults and this was certainly no exception. "Is this a sex thing?"
His laugh was warm and she shivered at the sound of it. "It's a surprise thing," he answered patiently. "I want you to count, princess."
"You're sure that it isn't a sex thing?"
The mattress dipped with his weight at the edge of it. "You sound like you might want it to be," he pointed out.
"I just wondered is all," she mumbled, feeling heat creeping up her chest.
"You just wondered," he echoed, warm fingers tracing up the outside of her bare leg. "Do you want it to be or don't you, princess?"
She shivered. "A little bit."
"I suppose your present can wait." He pulled at the hem of her oversized t-shirt with two fingers. "What did I say about being in my bed?" he asked, his voice low.
"No clothes."
"No clothes," he agreed, tugging at it again. "What is this, princess?"
"A t-shirt," she said softly.
He hummed. "I should spank you for that," he teased.
Only, on second thought, she wasn't so sure that he was actually teasing at all. She blinked behind the itchy blindfold again. "You told me to sit down."
"I did?"
"You did."
His kiss against her cheek was no more than a peck. "Silly me," he conceded. "Lift your arms for me, princess."
She did, and the problem was remedied quickly. The blindfold didn't make her any more nervous; if anything, it calmed her. When she couldn't see him, it was easy not to wonder if he was seeking out her flaws, or whether he was staring a bit too hard at her scars.
His thumb brushed against her nipple lightly. "Do you trust me, princess?"
"Of course I do, Daddy," she said softly.
When he nudged her chin with his fingertips, she followed his prodding easily. "I would like to tie your pretty little wrists up," he said, his voice low.
It was a question. She recognized that it was, and her slow nod was her only answer.
The kiss that he answered her with was warm.
She felt oddly peaceful as he pulled at her wrists, telling her to keep them just there. She had felt oddly peaceful overall after the night before. The truth was, she did trust him. If he wanted to tie more than her wrists, she would have happily agreed. There was no telling how exactly he did it, but he did chip at her anxiety.
Every morning, when she turned her head and saw him there next to her, she felt like it was just a little easier to breathe.
"There," he said, tugging her wrists toward himself with a thumb against the knot he had tied. "Pull for me, princess."
She did, pulling against the rope.
"Does it hurt at all?"
"No," she answered softly.
"Good," he answered, pulling her arms by the rope as he leaned into her.
She fell back against the soft mattress without protest, holding her breath as he pushed her hands into the pillow over her head.
"What are you thinking about, princess?" he murmured.
"You, Daddy," she answered honestly.
"Me," he said, his free hand slipping between her legs. "What about me, princess?"
"Daddy," she breathed as he circled her clit with the pad of one finger. "I can't think when you do that."
"What a shame," he teased, rubbing gentle circles. "I want you to tell me, princess. What are you thinking about?"
"I think that I love you," she whispered, the words wavering. Almost as soon as they left her mouth she regretted them; she wasn't sure what it was that made them escape. Perhaps it was the blindfold making her brave, or the shivering mess that he turned her into.
He paused his movement. "You do?" he asked softly.
He heard her, and there was no going back from it. "I do," she said, thinking that any moment would have probably been better than that exact one for her confession.
His kiss was warm and gentle, and his fingers picked their movement back up as though nothing had happened at all. "I'm glad, princess," he said, his voice low. "Because I'm pretty sure that I love you, too."
She wondered if it would have meant more outside of a sexual situation, if maybe it would mean more if they were more than four days into meeting in person.
She wasn't sure if it actually could mean more than it did. She was pretty sure the warmth straight to her fingertips didn't have much to do with the lazy movement of his fingers between her legs.
Christine had said it before, to someone else, but it had never felt anything like it did just then.
"I want you to open up your legs for me, princess," he said, his voice low.
So she did, and his touch vanished from her. The room was cold and she shivered, trying to keep her wrists pressed to the pillow over her head even though his grip wasn't there anymore.
She heard the soft shift of clothing, and her new shiver wasn't entirely from the cold. "You are such a good, patient girl," he murmured from somewhere to the left of her. "I wonder how long you would wait for me."
"Forever, Daddy," she said softly, turning her face toward the sound of his voice.
His hum was warm. "Forever is a long time."
"I still would," she whispered.
"You would," he said softly. His hand on her ankle made her jump, but he only pressed it against his soft sheets. "And what if I tied your pretty little ankles, too?" he asked, his voice low. His other warm hand found her other ankle and she felt the dip of his knees against the mattress. "Just like this."
"I would stay very still, Daddy," she breathed, feeling the familiar flutter of butterflies.
The kiss that he pressed just above her belly button was slow. "You would stay here, all patient and warm and open waiting for me," he murmured against her skin. "You wouldn't even complain, would you, princess?"
"No," she answered softly.
"Are you very anxious?" he asked gently.
Christine frowned at the question. "Not at all, Daddy."
"You're certainly fidgeting with that rope like you are," he murmured. "You can use your colors, sweetheart."
And the truth was, Christine hadn't even noticed the way she hooked her thumb in it. "Green," she answered with all of the confidence that she could muster.
One hand slid up the inside of her leg, making her shiver, and he hummed. "Perhaps it isn't anxiety," he murmured, teasing her with two fingers. "You really did want this to be a sex thing, didn't you, princess?"
"I can't think when you do that, Daddy," she reminded him breathily.
"That's the point, sweetheart," he murmured, one finger slipping gently inside of her. He hummed with the breathless sound that she made, and his kiss was off-center, pressed against the corner of her lips. "You are so pretty," he murmured against her cheek. "Did you know that you blush all the way down to your perfect little breasts for me, princess?"
"Daddy," she breathed as his finger curled inside of her.
"You do," he said as though she was questioning his statement. When she lifted her arms to reach for him, she felt him grab the rope, pressing them back against the pillow. "You did not ask to touch, princess," he teased.
"Please can I touch, Daddy?" she asked, the words shaky and weak.
"No," he answered gently, a second finger slipping inside of her. "I like seeing you all helpless and needy, sweetheart."
She shivered and, accepting that she lost use of her hands, she swung her leg around, settling for hooking her heel behind his knee.
"Is there something that you'd like to ask for, princess?" he asked warmly.
"Please, I want you Daddy," she forced out, arching her back in an attempt to force his fingers just a little deeper.
"Already so worked up for me," he tutted. "You've been anticipating it since I covered your pretty little eyes, haven't you, sweetheart?"
She squirmed, and his kiss on her cheek was soft.
"Look at you, squirming like a whore for me," he murmured against her ear, the words soft. "Do you want to be my little whore, princess?"
"Daddy, please," she breathed, and she wasn't sure if the blush that she could feel blooming from her chest was a reaction to the way his hand teased her or the way his words did.
"You're already fucking yourself on my fingers, dripping all over like a dirty slut," he murmured against her ear. "Tell me what you want, princess."
"I want to be your whore, Daddy," she breathed, the words seeming to bubble up on their own. "I want you to ma- ah!"
The sentence was gone, wiped away by the quick, hard stretch as he quickly replaced his fingers.
There was a kiss, and then there was nothing. Nothing but the full stretch and his panting breath against her throat. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing to see, and she closed her eyes being the blindfold, using her heels against his lower back to help her meet his quick, deep thrusts.
"Thank you, Daddy," she panted, and she was rewarded with an open-mouthed kiss, with his quick breath against her cheek.
One hand on the rope and the other one wrapped around her waist. He rolled with her, holding tight as he breathlessly rearranged their position.
Christine was already dizzy when he dropped the rope, allowing her to wrap her arms over his shoulders.
He gave a hard tug on her hips, and she made a breathless, pained sound as he slid just a little deeper than she was pretty sure he ever had. A tremor went straight up her back, and his hand opened on her waist.
"Did that hurt?" he asked, the words a pant.
"Green," she whispered.
He paused, his hand sliding up her sweat-damp back. "Then you do like a little pain," he mumbled. "I want you to cum, princess," he said softly. "And I want you to do whatever you need to do to get there."
"Hands, Daddy," she said breathlessly.
"No hands, princess," he said softly, finding her hip again. "Just like this."
His hand guided her, gently, until he managed to find that angle that made her breath catch.
"There," he murmured. "Just like that, princess. You don't need hands."
She hooked her arms tightly around his shoulders to anchor herself as she chased after that angle that he found for her.
"Who do you belong to, Christine?"
"You, Daddy," she answered breathlessly.
The way that he kissed her open mouth told her that it was the right answer. He pressed the uncovered half of his face against her throat, taking slow, controlled breaths as he wrapped his arm loosely behind her back.
It didn't take her as long as she expected it to. She felt it start as a tremble in her thighs, a break in her rhythm, and just as she crossed that line his arm tightened around her waist and yanked her down.
She wasn't sure if the couple of deep thrusts that he gave were to get himself over the edge or whether he was already there; there was always a split second just after where nothing made sense.
"Good girl," he offered, the praise breathless as he pressed kisses to her temple. "You're such a good girl, sweetheart."
Christine would have liked to stay there forever, locked with him just like that, but it was only a minute or two before an ache settled in on her thighs. Another before she pulled her hand and felt the slightly unpleasant bite of the rope. "Daddy, my wrists hurt a little bit," she mumbled begrudgingly.
"Of course," he said softly. "You have room to the right, sweetheart."
There was a slight ache as she disentagled herself, slipping out of his lap and onto the bed beside him.
She rolled easily into his heaving chest, having difficulty ignoring the way that his usually so steady hands trembled as he struggled against his own knot. "There we go," he said, the words slightly uneven as the knot finally gave way, the rope immediately loosening around her wrists. "Is that better?"
The truth was, it wasn't. Christine almost missed the slight bite of it against her wrists. Without it, she really wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with her hands. "Yeah," she answered anyway.
He lifted one of her wrists, pressing his lips gently to a tender spot as his other hand lazily slipped the blindfold from her eyes.
She squinted and, after a moment, she buried her face against his chest wondering if it had really been so bright the whole time.
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling one of her curls between his thumb and forefinger gently. "Do you want me to get the shades?"
"No," she mumbled, daring to peek out with one eye. "I want you to stay here, please."
"I should've closed them earlier," he said slowly, twisting the curl he toyed with nervously around his finger. "I didn't mean for you to wear it for so long."
"S'okay," she mumbled, snuggling against him. It wasn't so difficult. Her arm wrapped around him, helping her pull herself closer to him, and she thought that maybe she didn't need to rope to keep her hands busy after all.
"It's okay if you didn't mean it, Christine," he said, the words quiet. "Sometimes, in the heat of things - I meant it, anyway. I just…"
Christine lifted herself up, squinting at him through the bright sunlight. He was staring up at the ceiling and she frowned. "I meant it," she said, sounding just a bit more confident than she had ever felt. "I know it - it's probably too fast, I guess maybe. I don't know. I don't know how any of this is supposed to go, I just - I felt it, so I said it."
Finally, he looked at her. He reached up, tucking her curls gently behind her ear. "It isn't too fast," he said after a moment. "Do you know when I felt it?"
"When?" she asked softly.
His smile was halfway sad as he looked at her. "That very first night you sat there singing for me on camera. I even remember the song. Do you?"
Christine felt her cheeks flush. "That was a long time ago," she mumbled.
"It was that dumb Tove Lo song," he reminded her gently. "Habits."
"It played all the time at work," she defended herself weakly. "It must've been stuck in my head."
"It was. You were complaining about it before you started singing it," he laughed. "My point is that it isn't too fast… I just didn't know how real it was for me until I saw you in the airport."
"I used to want to be a singer," she confessed, feeling her cheeks go red.
"You have a very pretty voice," he answered.
She let herself relax back against him, closing her eyes at the passive brush of his fingers against her back. "Then I remembered my dad was a violinist," she said softly. "It's really hard to make money."
"So you decided to be a teacher."
Her laugh was a huff of air. "At least it's an actual paycheck."
"And a noble career," he said slowly. "I think it suits you."
"If I don't flunk out myself," she mumbled.
His thumb dragged gently down her spine. "You won't," he answered. "You're very smart, sweetheart. You just get overwhelmed."
"Yeah," she said, frowning. "I wish I knew how to turn that off."
"You'll get there," he said gently.
"Daddy?" she asked softly.
"Hm?"
"What was the present?"
His laugh was soft. "Now you're interested?"
"I was interested earlier, too," she mumbled.
"Sit up and I'll show you, princess."
She did, and he rose, making his way across the room to the dresser. The box that he emerged with was plain cardboard.
"This was supposed to be a bit more formal, but," his smile was wry as he made his way back to where she sat. "It doesn't matter anyway. Lift your hair for me, sweetheart."
She did, and the chain was cold against her skin. There was a clicking sound as he did the clasp, and he touched the pendant with two fingers.
"There," he said, resting one knee on the edge of the bed as he considered it. "It's very pretty on you."
She reached up, toying with the little silver heart-shaped pendant. "What is it?" she asked.
"A collar," he answered, a frown pulling at his lips. "You don't have to accept it, I just. Well, I meant to offer it to you before you left. I think it could help."
"Help what?"
"Help you," he answered gently.
She toyed with the pendant nervously. "This isn't what I thought when I saw collar," she admitted.
"Well, it isn't a play collar," he answered, watching her pull at the pendant. "Though I'm not against it, if it was something you wanted to try… this one is just for you, princess. Something that you can feel when you get nervous and need that little reminder that you're mine."
She nodded slowly and his smile was gentle.
"It's silver," he pointed out. "So it should be safe in water and it shouldn't irritate your skin."
She pulled at the pendant nervously. "What's a contract?" she asked, the words quiet.
He raised his visible eyebrow. "Who's been talking to you about contracts?"
"No one," she answered with half a shrug. "I just saw it a lot on profiles that listed these and… I just wondered is all."
"Some people prefer things a bit more formal," he answered slowly. "It's just a place where you list out all of the expectations and all of your limits… I don't find it very helpful when you don't seem to know yours yet. And I wouldn't want you to feel the extra pressure to tolerate something you don't like just because you thought you might at the time. I find them more limiting than anything. For both parties."
"You don't like them?" she asked, running her thumb along the rounded edge of the heart-shaped pendant.
"They have their uses," he admitted, considering her closely. "I've used them on occasion… mostly for flings. Things that weren't meant to last with people that were confident in what they liked. It can be something like a cheat sheet for someone that you don't intend to actually know."
"Did you have an awful lot of those?"
"No," he said with a slight laugh. "I learned very quickly that it wasn't for me."
"Why?" she asked softly.
His smile was halfway sad as he considered her. "Because I am far too possessive," he admitted gently. "And I struggle with letting go."
She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping one arm around them as she stared back at him. "I think I might, too," she admitted, frowning.
"Then it's good that I am not asking you to," he teased gently. He brushed her tangled hair behind her ear with two fingers. "Quite the opposite, actually."
"I just-" she paused, taking a slow breath, and he waited patiently for her to continue. "Sometimes I worry that I'll be too much," she said shakily. "Or maybe - maybe not enough. And it doesn't have anything to do with you. I feel like it all the time- with Meg, and school and. And I think it's what happened with my last relationship I just - I wanted so badly to be exactly what he needed and I ruined it all trying so hard."
"That was very honest," he said softly.
She felt the heat in her cheeks and she sniffed, looking down at her toes to avoid his eyes.
"Sometimes I worry that I will be too much, too," he said gently. "That I will push too hard or expect too much far too quickly… perfection is boring, sweetheart. People are messy. They make mistakes and they say the wrong thing sometimes. I want to know all of the mess you have in there," he murmured, fingers brushing against her temple. "I don't want you to be anything that you aren't."
Christine swallowed hard, eyes fixed on her toes. "I didn't even know I was," she admitted quietly. "By the time I even noticed it was - I was too deep into it. Everyone was surprised because it. It seemed perfect. To him, too, and I- I don't think I know how to be me."
His thumb pressed against her chin and she let him lift it, blinking at him. "You aren't too much, Christine," he said gently. "I promise that you are exactly enough. And one day, when I say it, you'll actually know that it's true."