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“Do you?”

“You protect me. You’re the one I get to surrender to. The one who keeps me safe when I can’t fight anymore.” Her voice cracks. “I’m so tired of fighting.”

I close my eyes. Open them. Take her face in both hands, as gently as I can, with the swelling, and tilt her chin up.

“Then you’re mine to protect when you can’t fight anymore.”

“Yours.”

“All of you. I want the fighter, the girl behind those walls who walked into my gym with bruises on her wrists. I see her. I’ve seen her since the day you walked in.” I drag my thumb along her cheekbone. “I don’t want this because I think you need rescuing. You don’t. I’m doing it because I want you. I want them. I’m done pretending.”

She makes that sound again, and my office door is closer than the locker room.

I take her hand. Lead her across the floor. Lock the door behind us and pull the blinds.

She’s already reaching for the hem of her shorts when I catch her wrists.

“Slow.”

“Eli—”

“Daddy,” I demand.

Her breath stutters.

“Try again, princess.”

“Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

The flush that climbs her throat could light up a city. I sit down in my chair and pull her to stand between my knees. She winces when I press my palm flat against her ribs. aI lift her shirt carefully to examine the bruise that has bloomed a dark purple across her ribcage.

“This is going to hurt tomorrow.”

“It hurts now.”

“Tell me if anything’s too much.”

“Okay.”

I check her over slowly. Hands on her hips, her waist, the swell of her ribs. The clean bra. The taped knuckles I unwrap myself, kissing each finger when it comes free. She watches every move I make as I survey each injury methodically.

“You don’t have to be strong right now, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you.”

She breaks. Just a little. Just enough for me to see it, the way her shoulders drop, the way her breath shudders out. I sit onto my chair and pull her down to straddle me, being careful of her ribs, my hands wide on her thighs.

“Easy.”

“I want?—”

“I know what you want.”

I get her shorts off one-handed, slow, holding her up when she has to lift. The bra goes next. She’s bruised and beautiful and shaking, and when I drag my mouth down her throat she makes a sound that’s almost a sob.

“Look at me.”

She does.