Prologue

one year ago

The roar of the sea crashing onto land startles me awake, and I watch as the blue-green comforts surrounding me turn foamy white. Finally, I've arrived. Where, I'm not sure.

From my vantage point in the sea, where the waves continue to tumble and pummel me back and forth, it looks just like any other moonlit beach. No different from the beaches I've washed up on countless times before. That is, until I see her.

Humans often come to the beach to clear their minds, to lose themselves in the sea's vastness and the endless sky above. They always notice the shells, compliment the waves, marvel at the wildlife. Rarely do they pay attention to sand like me. Which is exactly how I like it, because I'm fascinated by watching them.

As the water finally pushes me to the point where it won't sweep me away again, I look around my new home sweet home. That's when I notice her figure in the distance, a solitary silhouette against the shimmering backdrop of moonlit waves. She walks along the shoreline like a goddess crowned in fury. Every few steps she picks up a shell and chucks it with force into the ocean. Curiosity piqued, I strain to make out details in the dim light. Her posture is both regal and forlorn, as if she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She moves with a fluid grace, each step deliberate, her long hair flowing behind her like a dark waterfall. The moonlight highlights the delicate contours of her face, and her eyes glisten silver with unshed tears. I continue to stare as she comes closer, amazed by the almost ritualistic way she releases some deep-seated anger with each shell pitched into the vast waters.

The closer she gets, the clearer I can see the tension in her body, the way her hands clench around each shell before she hurls it into the waves. For a moment, I simply stare at her, the silence stretching between us. Then she lets out a soft, bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"You just couldn't keep it in your pants, could you?" She poses the question to the ocean as though the waves can be trusted with her secrets. But I know the tide is a slippery motherfucker who can't keep from spilling other people's shit everywhere.

She yells at the surrounding emptiness, her voice tinged with a bitterness that makes my heart ache.

Another shell disturbs the calm waves. "You just had to get drunk and fuck everything up. We had a good thing going, Daddy. Why couldn't you just come home and celebrate with me?"

Hm, she's been hurt by her Daddy Dom, though I can't imagine who would want to wound a beautiful creature like her. What happened? How? I immediately hate the fucker for whatever he did to this stunning siren. Anger towards the man courses through me. I'm overwhelmed with the need to console her, to show her how good it can be when you have a strong Daddy to take care of you, but I'm resigned to sit quietly on this beach and watch as another shell flies from her hand.

Her shoulders tremble, her voice barely above a whisper. "We had something special. Last night was supposed to be our night. And you pissed it all away. Literally, you pissed on everything that we've built together over the years."

She doesn't think there's anyone around to hear her, but still she talks as though to an audience. Punctuating her distress, she waves her hand with the grace of a queen to indicate the collection of sandcastles and sculptures lining the beach. Fascinating.

It's clear this woman is as passionate as a storm and has a heart as deep as the ocean. She deserves a Daddy who will truly take care of her, treasure her.

I watch this siren as she sinks down onto the sand like a wave breaking.

"Are all men this unreliable?"

She proclaims her doubt in men like a letter in a bottle tossed into the uncaring sea, never to receive a response. But I'm not like the ocean. I hold on to things, bury them deep, hide treasures to keep them safe. I'll be the answer to her question. I'll show her how a man should treat a woman.

"Come on, Isla, snap out of it. It's just a stupid sandcastle competition." A rough swipe of her hand across her cheeks wipes away the tears, and I want to stop her. It's the salty emotion streaming down her face that's so lovely. So raw. I want to grab her wrist and pin her down so that she can't hold herself back. Her wild passion isn't meant to be brushed away, it's meant to be free.

Each tear is a testament to her pain, but I envision a future where those tears will be born of ecstasy instead of agony.

A surge of protectiveness washes over me. "I know it hurts right now," I vow softly, "But I promise you, it doesn't have to stay this way. I will break down all this pain and rebuild you, stronger than before."

Her distress, her strength, her potential, I bear witness to it all knowing that, together, we can turn those tears into something beautiful.

The wind picks up and rolls me further away from the waters. But I still keep my gaze trained on her. I'll be the Daddy she needs. I just need to bide my time.