One
The man was always at least mildly patronizing. Danny always hated that but for some reason with him it was almost comforting. That part of Danny's mind.. the part that always got into trouble... wanted to scream and jump up and punch him in the face or kick him in the nuts or even pull that short wicked knife from the hidden boot sheath and do some serious damage to that infuriatingly smug look on his face.
But conversely each time he said "Dear" or "Child" or even the much-despised "Girl" another part of her mind wanted desperately to crawl up into his warm inviting lap like an infant and lose herself in his arms forever. Recognizing those thoughts shook Danny to her core. Never once in all of her nineteen years had she ever felt so completely comforted by another human being. Especially a man. It was as if Danny had finally found her father and he turned out to be all of those things the television shows said fathers should be. The stupid namby-pamby feel-good television shows they always showed around Christmas time each year, anyway. The ones she never watched all the way through because they weren't real and they were just fucking stupid.
This man wasn't her father and she knew that full well. Her real father.. the man the caseworkers referred to as her "biological father" had been killed in an explosion while trying to manufacture his own methamphetamine. Once Danny had grown up enough to discover the internet and how to search it hadn't taken her long at all to figure that one out. It was the same with her mother. The caseworkers and therapists from Child Protective Services never wanted to tell her anything at all about her parents. It frustrated her as a child that they would withhold such things. They were her parents! She should be allowed to know!
Of course once she read the news article about her eighteen year old mother being found dead of an overdose just twenty four hours after being released from the local jail she kind of understood their reticence. When Danny was asking those questions she wasn't mature enough to assimilate the answers. She was only eighteen months old when he mother died and that had been almost twenty years ago.
Today, those answers were just part of her life. Part of her.
So what was it with this guy? What was it about him that made her feel so warm? So comforted? So... at home? Once again that part of her mind that always made her want to lash out and keep people at a distance rose to the surface.
"I'm not a pushover or a doormat, you know." He chuckled and shook his head.
"Of course not, child." A frown appeared between her eyebrows.
"I'm not your fucking punching bag, either. If you hit me once, I'm out the fucking door." He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing in the relative quiet of the room.
"Language, girl." That deep voice was suddenly devoid of emotion. Flat and hard. She reeled back as if he had slapped her. Despite herself, she lowered both her eyes and her voice.
"I... I'm sorry, sir."
"It's all right, dear. This is a learning process. You will learn about me and I about you." That warmth returned to his eyes and his voice. "I do not hit, Danny. Never once will I strike you in anger. That is not my way." One finger raised where his hand lay atop his thigh. "I do however, punish. If you decide to stay it will become a part of your life. All of our lives are about pain, dear. Either it's presence or it's absence. It is one of the best ways in which we learn. I will teach you in the best and most efficient way I know. That will involve punishment and pain, as well as pleasure and contentment." The hand turned over and his fingers cupped the air.
"Here in my home you will be upbraided, but not abased. Disconcerted but not abused. Esteemed and not at all ashamed." She didn't quite understand what he just said, making mental notes to look up some of those words.
"If things go as I hope, you will want to stay here for a very long time, child. Make this your home. Maybe one day move on to something better after I am gone." Danny had only met him two hours ago but the thought of him being gone left a void in the pit of her stomach. The "Mean Danny" in the back of her mind was yelling "What the fuck!?"
"Why do you want me anyway? I'm a lesbian." His chuckle was loud and supremely amused.
"Oh, no you aren't, dear. Not even a little. If you really were, you wouldn't be here. You would never have answered my ad, never come with me to my home. You are at best, bisexual."
"I think my girlfriends would disagree." He shook his head slowly, that smug arrogant smirk curling one corner of his lips so irritatingly.
"Four girlfriends in a year, Danny. Average time of each relationship: two months. One month of seduction, one month of sex and then you are gone. Angry and dissatisfied and moving on." His hand waved at the bag she had stowed in the corner when she arrived. "All those girls you claim you loved and not one memento. Not a single picture, love note or piece of jewelry. Nothing."
"You... you searched my bag?" Even though she was angry at the invasion of her privacy that was overwhelmed by the fact he had done it without her noticing. His hands came up, palms out.
"I took nothing, dear child. Your things are safe here. Well..." He reached inside his shirt. "I did take this." In his hand was the six inch knife she usually kept in her boot. Stunned, she reached down to discover the blade really was gone. Oh... he was good. How in the fuck...?
"Give me that back!" He raised his eyebrow again. The little blade in its sheath turned around and around in his hands then he stopped and raised two fingers.
"Of course, dear. It is yours, after all. Two conditions. One: That you put it away and never ever carry it inside my home. You may carry it outside. After all, people do need to be able to protect themselves. And you may keep it close when you sleep, if you like. But never carry it in the house. That's one. Agreed?" Danny nodded.
"What's the other condition?"
"That you ask me politely, girl."
Six words. That's all it took.
Six words from his lips left her feeling as if she'd been spanked and stood in the corner. She felt a blush rising on her cheeks and she never blushed.
How did he do that?
"I... I'm sorry, Sir. May... may I please have my knife back?"
Wordlessly, he extended his hand. It was large enough it made her knife look like a fingernail clipper in comparison as it lay in his palm. She tried to take it without touching his skin, but her fingers trailed over his palm of their own accord.
Sir's hand...
That phrase echoed back and forth in her mind, much to her confusion. He'd told her his name when they first met. She was sure he had. But what was it again? She couldn't remember... Somewhere in between their meeting and here he'd become "Sir" in her mind.
Sir's hand was large and tanned and warm and rough. Danny's own pale soft hands looked like a dolls in contrast. She could see scars and marks on his skin and suddenly she wanted to take the time and hear the story of each and every one of them. She wanted to curl up in those big warm rough hands and sleep. Safe and comforted. Maybe for the first time in her life.
Touching him made her feel... feminine. Again, maybe for the first time in her life.
For the first time in a very very long time a single tear traced slowly down her cheek. Before she even realized it, he had reached out with his other hand, cupping her chin as his thumb wiped away the track of the tear. Danny blinked and another one welled up in her eye.
