Page 8 of Yes, Coach

She nods, wide eyes shining as she gazes up at me.

"Use your words, Taryn."

"Yes, Coach." The breathless way she says it makes my cock twitch.

"Good girl." I watch her eyes flutter at the praise. "Now, are you going to be a good girl for me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

She swallows hard, and I watch the movement of her throat. "Yes, Coach."

"Better." I push back slightly, giving her room to breathe but not escape. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to sitin that chair like I told you to. And you're going to keep your hands in your lap and your mouth shut unless I ask you a direct question. Can you do that for me?"

She nods again, then catches herself. "Yes, Coach."

"Prove it."

She moves to the chair on unsteady legs, and I can see how affected she is. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing shallow, her fingertips are shaking. She sits down carefully, smoothing her skirt, then places her hands in her lap like I instructed.

"Good girl." I lean against the front of my desk, arms crossed, studying her. "Now, let's talk about what you think you want."

"I know what I want."

"Do you?" I tilt my head. "Because what I think you want is for someone to take care of you. Someone to make the hard decisions so you don't have to. Someone to tell you you're a good girl when you do what you're told. Someone to put your needs first and tell you no when it’s hard but it’s what’s best for you. Someone that will put up with your bullshit and know it’s just a front for the things you are afraid of and don’t want anyone to know."

Her breath hitches, and I know I've hit the mark.

"But here's the thing, sweetheart." I push off from the desk and move closer, watching her try not to squirm. "You think you know what you're asking for, but you don't. Not really. You want someone to take care of you? That's adorable. But taking care of you means I own your choices. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Period. No negotiations, no second-guessing, notaking it back when you realize you're in over your pretty little head."

"I'm not scared."

"No?" I reach out and trace one finger along her jaw, feeling her shiver. "Your pulse says otherwise."

"I'm not scaredof you."

"You should be." My thumb finds the hollow of her throat, pressing lightly against her racing pulse. "Because once we cross this line, there's no going back. Once you're mine, you're mine. Do you understand what that means?"

"Tell me."

"It means I decide when you eat, when you sleep, when you come." Her eyes go wide at that last one, and I smile darkly. "It means your pleasure belongs to me. Your body belongs to me. Your trust belongs to me. Your hopes and your dreams and your problems. Mine. All fucking mine."

"And what do I get in return?"

"Everything." The word comes out rougher than I intended. "You get to stop being strong all the time. You get to let someone else worry about taking care of you. You get to be my good girl, and I promise you, baby, I will take such good fucking care of you."

She's breathing hard now, her hands clutching the arms of the chair. "Coach..."

"That's not what you’re going to call me when we're alone if this is what you want."

She blinks up at me, confused.

"Think about it." I lean down until my mouth is next to her ear. "What do good girls call the man who takes care of them? The man that wants the best for them in life, no matter what?"

I hear the exact moment she understands, the sharp intake of breath.

"Daddy." The word is barely a whisper, but it hits me like a physical blow.

---