I found Emma and Mateo in bed together, both asleep, and both holding on to each other as if they couldn't bear having an inch between them. It was like a hug fest going on with Mateo hugging her against his chest while Emma had her arms on either side of his upper body, and it looked like she was gripping him as tightly as he was holding her. Her head was perfectly placed on his pec, using him as a pillow.
It shouldn't have made me feel jealous and possessive, but it did. I wanted to join them in bed, only so I could remove her from his arms and into my own.
Everything with Emma had turned uncertain. Sure, she was here with us now, but her touch, her attention, it wasn't guaranteed. We weren't in the same situation now as when we had an arrangement with her; the arrangement assured each of us would get some time alone with her, but this time, there was no assurance of it, and I found myself thirsting for every damn scrap of it, just like I knew Callan and Mateo did too. We would do all we could to gain her attention, even if it meant competing with each other—not because we didn't want the others to be with her, but because we wanted to secure our own time with her as well.
I'll admit though, even with the jealousy the sight of them together sparked, it also warmed something within me, like a sense of rightness, or peace. The feeling was alien, yet I'd noticed it had occurred once or twice back when we were in an arrangement with our girl. Truth be told, I wasn't all that keen on these new sugar-sweet feelings that tasted like cotton candy on my tongue; I didn't do well with change—yet...I couldn't say I regretted anything about Emma. She was my addiction, and now that we had her back within our grasp, I'd never let her go again; I'd accept the damn sugar rush I got whenever she was around, as long as I could have her stay.
Fucking hell, had anyone been able to listen in on the thoughts I had in Emma's presence, it would've made everyone second-guess my tough exterior.
In her sleep, Emma looked so innocent, like there was nothing tearing at her soul and no hate marring her thoughts. Though, the second I thought that, her mouth turned into a frown, and her innocence was replaced with something else...fear, perhaps? Unease, maybe?
Not liking the new look on Emma's face, I took the last few steps towards the bed and set out to do what I came here for. I wasn't the gentle guy who woke his girl up with a soft touch and a whispering 'wake up, sugarplumdrop' or whatever the hell these friends of mine probably said to her as they roused her from sleep.
Or, at the very least, I hadn't been that kind of guy.
With a clenched jaw, I stood over Emma awkwardly before reaching out and cupped her cheek. And like I'd done when I held her hand this morning, my thumb started stroking her skin with a reverent and soft touch that betrayed all the feelings I had for this girl—feelings I held close to my chest.
The second her eyes started fluttering, I withdrew my hand, but I was still bent over her when she blinked up at me, her eyes hazy and tired.
"Just a few more minutes, Daddy," she murmured as her eyes once again fell shut, and her breathing instantly evened out.
It didn't matter that she'd said it in her sleep, just that one fucking word, and I was hard as a damn rock. One word, and it brought back all the other instances where Emma had called me by my title as her dominant.
My role as a daddy was the ultimate dominant. In my opinion, it held an added touch that no other role could beat. Sir held a level of respect that few could compete with, their role was superior, and their title was meant to always remind their sub of it every time they had to address their dominant. But daddies... we were the protector, the provider. Not to mention, a baby needs guidance, and who better to give it to her than her daddy?
Not many understood this type of kink. Most would turn away with a grimace, or watch on in disgust, thinking we're sick, and hell, I didn't blame them—if I had no knowledge of this lifestyle, I'd be just as disgusted. But there was no sick intention behind the role-play, only an urge to be the best for their baby.
My parents might've fucked me off real good, and maybe that's why it appealed to me to be a protector and a provider for someone else, because I never had that myself. Though, I wasn't the caretaker kind of daddy—I was the stern kind who would always know what was best.
And now, the best thing for my baby was wake her up and get some food into her belly.
Again, I reached out to her, still a little too awkwardly. It didn't come natural to me, to open up, to take care of someone outside of aftercare, because I hadn't ever received it myself, but no matter how awkward I was, my instincts had always been to take care of those that mattered to me.
I wasn't affectionate, but I was on the sidelines, watching in case there was need of me; normally, it usually meant having a drink with my friends if they were having a shit day, be the silent guy who listened if they wanted to get some stuff off their chests, or drag them to the gym if they needed a fight to let out some steam. My brothers—because that's what they had become—wasn't the type who needed to be coddled, so I hadn't learned another way to take care of someone.
With Emma, I was trying to be gentler. Unlike the guys, her needs were more emotional; having someone there for her, giving her the loving kind of attention that she craved, and showing her that needing support and help didn't make her weak.
"What are you trying to do? Make her fall deeper into sleep, or wake her up?" Mateo's whisper made my eyes snap up to his, my hand once again withdrawing from Emma. I hadn't even noticed I'd been caressing her cheek again.
He was giving me an amused smirk, a laughter hiding behind his smile. The fuckhead thought it was funny how awkward I was with her.
"Wake her up, will you? I'll go find something for her to wear." Her clothes were strewn on the floor, and I'd be damned if she wore something that had been on the ground, no matter how clean the floor might be.
Mateo stroked her back tenderly, making her release a soft sigh. "She's tired," he warned quietly. "Shouldn't we just let her sleep?"
I shook my head. "She can get back to bed after she's eaten. She won't gain any energy by forgoing food."
"Right. You're right." He nodded. I left him to it, feeling slightly annoyed at myself for not being able to do something as simple as waking our girl up when I knew I was being watched. Holding her hand in front of them or offering her support while they were there was somehow different than this. Waking her up was...it was intimately domestic, and I didn't need eyes on me while my heart beat a little too quickly as her unguarded eyes settled on mine.
In the background, I could hear Mateo's tries to wake her up, and I scoffed at how softly he spoke to her, ignoring the fact that I would've probably done the same.
In a world of Emma, we were simply simpering fools for her.
Like in all of our houses, we had a closet full of clothes set up just for her. It was the dominant in us that wanted to make sure our submissive never went without anything, and it still applied now, even if she might not have been our submissive anymore.
With how tired Emma was, I walked right past the denim jeans and straight to the section filled with comfortable clothing.
There was a sense of contentment as I searched for something she could wear. This part, taking care of her needs in a way that didn't involve aftercare, was something I'd missed. It wasn't just about laying out clothes, so she didn't need to waste energy getting them herself, but feeding her to boost her energy, running her a bath if she grew cold, buying her chocolate for her period cravings...it was all of the things that could be done in the background that I enjoyed. My actions weren't meant to bring attention to them but be a silent sort of support that was without ulterior motives—only as a way to make her feel comfortable.
Finding and selecting clothes for her to wear outside of a scene normally fell into the master/slave dynamic. In a way, in a relationship between a master and a slave, one could say they were always in a scene because the slave was constantly under their master's control, as opposed to a dominant and a submissive who left the scene behind once it was done, which meant the master always had to meet his or her slave's needs so they could be properly taken care of. Of course, choosing what their slaves wear wasn't just about taking care of them, but it was also about control; masters craved control in all things, even control in what their slave wore.
Having noticed how much she'd shivered today, I chose a pair of fleece-lined sweatpants, along with a sweater and fluffy socks. In case she felt the need to shower or change her underwear before dinner, I also picked up a pair of boy shorts, but skipped the bra, knowing some women find it uncomfortable and something they can't wait to get off as soon as they get home. Fuck knows how I'd picked up that tidbit without having had a sister or girlfriends.
When I returned to the bedroom, Emma had woken up, but were still in the same position as she was clearly still trying to awake.
She gave me a strained smile when she saw me that betrayed how beat she was.
"Slept well?" I asked, placing the clothing on a chair close to the bed.
"Yes. I could've probably slept until tomorrow if Mateo hadn't woken me up. I don't know what's happening to me. I've never been this tired before."
"It's natural. You've been through quite an ordeal," Mateo said beneath her. He was still stroking her back, seemingly not in a hurry to get up, not that I could blame him.
"Did you even get a full night's sleep these past weeks?" I asked, unfamiliar worry gnawed at me as I took in the bags underneath her eyes. I didn't like seeing something I couldn't fix instantly, but damn if I wouldn't keep trying until she looked refreshed and glowing again.
"Weirdly...Friday night, after you and Callan left, I slept the entire night. But other than that, no, I can't remember if I have."
I took that as a no. One night, out of too many, was hardly enough.
"We'll make sure you get plenty of rest," I promised. "But first, you need to eat."
Emma tried to suppress her grimace, but I could see right through her smile. "I'm not really that hungry—Hey!" she called out, shocked when I dragged the blankets off of them. She was only in a pair of panties and the white t-shirt she'd had on earlier today. Goosebumps peppered her skin, but it wouldn't for long.
"Come here," I ordered her, patting the edge of the bed.
It looked like Emma wanted to object, but one look from me, and she shut her mouth. With slow movements, she made it over to me.
Grabbing the sweater, I made a move to put it on her.
"Eh..." she started awkwardly. "I can dress myself. I'm tired, but not that tired."
"I don't mind," I said honestly. In fact, a part of me found more satisfaction at helping her dress herself than undressing her would've. It was the meaning behind it; one you did for selfish reasons, while the other was only for her. "Raise your arms."
Like a pretty little doll, she held her hands up, making it easier for me to pull the sweater on. It was a blue one, and I almost fell into her gaze as the color brought out the blue in her eyes.
Beautiful wasn't enough to describe how she looked.
"Do you need to change your panties?" I asked and got just a tiny bit amused when she blushed.
"N-no," she stammered. "They're clean."
Nodding, I grabbed the sweatpants. As I was dragging the fabric up her legs, I could feel Emma's gaze on me, prodding, searching, like she was looking for reasons for my actions. The only reason I had was to tend to our girl.
When I got to her upper thigh, she rose enough to let me slide it all the way up.
Mateo was forgotten, and with how quiet he was, I was sure he was meaning to be a fly on the wall, unintruding on our moment.
Lastly were her socks, and I took my time as I took her cold feet in my hands and began massaging first one, and then the other, returning some of the blood circulation.
A near silent moan broke out of Emma, and I could sense some of the tension she was carrying slowly dissipate.
There was something growing between us in that moment, though I couldn't quite put a name to it. It wasn't sexual, but something...more.
My eyes slipped from hers, down to her lips. I took in the fullness of them and remembered how soft they were against my demanding ones, like even the shape of her lips were made to submit to mine.
I didn't know why I suddenly wanted that kiss, as if I'd starve to death if I didn't get it. It wasn't because I wanted to get my dick into her, or to take control over her. It was almost like a...craving. Like the physical proof of that something more that were presently tying us together.
My brows knotted at the realization of what this 'more' was but fuck if I was ready to utter that word—that feeling.
Mentally shaking my head, I finished dressing her. "There. Now, let's go eat." My voice was harsh. A reminder to both Emma and me that whatever was between us, it was never going to be like what she had with the other guys; I could never be a soft man for her.
All the softness I might have once had in me had been hacked and filed down until all that remained were razor-sharp edges and cutting corners.