Page 7 of Yes, Coach (Bratton Hollow #1)

"Do you?" His grip tightens slightly in my hair, not painful but possessive. "Because trusting me means doing exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. It means you belong to me tonight. Think you can handle that?"

The way he's looking at me, like he wants to devour me whole, makes my knees weak. "Yes, Daddy."

"We'll see." He releases my hair and steps back, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. "Come on. I’ll show you around. I want you comfortable, baby."

He gives me a tour of the house, and I try to pay attention, but all I can focus on is the way his hand rests on the small of my back as he guides me from room to room.

The kitchen is in warm gray and white, neat as a pin with gleaming appliances and a cool refrigerator with glass doors, so I see inside how everything is perfectly lined up.

Half-gallon of milk, label forward. A few Powerades standing in a line like good soldiers. A bowl of what looks like dark cherries and a few bottles of craft bear on a lower shelf.

The guest bathroom he shows me in the hall has fluffy white towels and expensive-looking liquid soap with some French name on the label. Then there’s an office with a huge dark wood desk and bookshelves filled with books, photos of his career, trophies and yes, plants.

"This is my room," he says, pushing open the last door at the end of the hallway. The air conditioning hums above, but it’s doing nothing to cool the fire racing over my skin.

It's clearly the primary bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed with a dark wood headboard. The comforter is deep blue, and there are actual adult touches like matching nightstands and a dresser that doesn't look like it came from a college dorm room.

"It's nice," I manage, though it comes out a little more envious than I intended.

"Taryn." He turns me to face him, the weight of his enormous hands settling on my shoulders, grounding me.

"Before we go any further, I need you to understand something.

What we're about to do... it's not just sex.

It's about trust and control and giving yourself to someone completely. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

"I've been ready for months."

"Have you?" His eyes search mine. "Because once I have you, really have you, I'm not going to want to let you go. You'll be mine in every way that matters. Do you understand what that means?"

"Tell me."

"It means I'm going to know your body better than you do.

Your mind as well, and eventually, your heart.

It means I'm going to take care of you in ways no one else ever has. It means when you come apart for me, whether it’s from my tongue, my hands, my dick, my voice or whatever other object I choose to use, it's going to be because I made you feel safe enough to let go completely. "

The words send heat spiraling through me and to my shock, my chin starts to quiver. "That's what I want, Daddy."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

He studies my face for a long moment, then nods. "Okay, baby girl. Then let's start slow." He guides me over the cream-colored rug, lowers himself onto the edge of the bed and pats his lap. "Come here."

I shift into his magnetic orbit, and he guides me to sit sideways across his thighs. One of his arms comes around my back to support me, and the other rests on my knee.

"How does this feel?"

"Good. Safe."

"Good." His hand on my knee starts to move, just slightly, his thumb tracing small circles on my exposed skin. "I want you to tell me if anything doesn't feel right, okay? This is about you feeling good, not about me taking what I want."

"What if what you want is what I want too?"

"Then we're going to get along just fine." He smiles, and for a moment he looks younger, less intense. "But first, I need to know some things about you. Have you ever been with anyone before?"

Heat floods my cheeks. "Not... not really. I mean, I've kissed people, but nothing serious."

"What about touching? Have you ever let anyone touch you the way I touched you yesterday?"

"No, Daddy."

His eyes darken at that. "What about yourself? Do you touch yourself when you think about me?"

The question makes me squirm in his lap, but something about the way he asks it, gentle but commanding, makes me want to answer honestly.

"Yes."

"Good girl. I want you to always be honest with me, even when it's embarrassing." His hand slides a little higher on my thigh. His palm is rough, fingertips adding a little squeeze as he finishes. "What do you think about when you touch yourself?"

"You. Always you." The confession tumbles out before I can stop it. "I think about your hands on me, your voice telling me what to do. I think about what it would feel like to have you inside me."

"Fuck, baby." His voice lowers like the words are dragging upward from somewhere deep inside him. "You have no idea what it does to hear you say that."

I can feel exactly what I do to him. He's hard beneath me, and the knowledge that I affect him this much is intoxicating.

"Can I touch you?" I ask shyly.

"You can touch me anywhere you want, sweetheart. But first, I want to take care of you." His hand slides higher, and I part my legs instinctively. "Is this okay?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"You'll always tell me if something hurts, clear?"

I nod, then remember his rule. "I will, Daddy."

His fingers find the edge of my panties, and he pauses. "Open your legs wider for me.”

His voice rumbles down into my core and I shift, wiggling on his lap to part my thighs.

“Good girl.” He nods, eyes fixed on my face, fingertips sending a jolt through me as they brush the fabric between my legs. “These are soaked again."

"I can't help it. You make me so wet."

"Christ." He presses his forehead against mine. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

"Good," I whisper, feeling bold.

He laughs, low and rough. "Such a smart mouth. I'm going to have to do something about that."

"Like what?"

"Like this." And then he's kissing me again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into my mouth while his fingers slip beneath the elastic of my panties.

The first touch of his skin against me makes me gasp into his mouth. He's gentle but knowing. Not fumbling or tentative, like I’m his house and he’s still showing me around.

"So fucking soft, baby," he murmurs against my lips. "So perfect."

"Daddy, please." I’m already a whimpering mess, begging for that ache to be relieved.

"Please what, baby? What do you need?"

"More. I need more."

"I know you do." One finger slides to my opening, pushing inside, and I arch against him with a soft cry. "Is this the first time you’ve had a finger inside you except for yours?"

"Yes," I pant.

"I can tell. I’m barely able to get an inch in this little honey pot of yours. We're going to take this very slow." He starts to move his finger gently, pulsing, in and out, in and out, watching my face carefully. "How does that feel?"

"Amazing. Don't stop."

"Oh, baby, Daddy decides when things stop.

I tell you what to do, not the other way around, got it?

" He adds a second finger, and I can feel myself stretching around him as I stutter something that sounds like ‘yes’.

"Fuck, you're tight. Gonna have to stretch this sweet little pussy before I can fit inside you. "

The promise in those words makes me clench around his fingers.

"Well, feel that. You like that idea, don't you? The thought of Daddy’s dick inside you right here." He pushes in, his thumb sliding up through my folds until it’s on my clit, pushing, pushing. “Eyes on me, baby, don’t you look away when I’m talking to you.”

"Yes, Daddy." I manage, the room starting to darken in the periphery of my vision.

"Good girl." More pressure, more pushing, rolling, rubbing, and I nearly come off his lap. "There we go. Right there, isn't it?"

"Oh God, yes." I moan, struggling to keep my eyes open as his narrow, tongue on his lower lip.

"That's it, baby. Make all those sounds for me." He sets up a rhythm that has me writhing on his lap, legs opening, soft sounds spilling from my lips. "You're so beautiful like this. So responsive. Pleases me."

Something builds inside me. Down deep, it’s like a ball starting to roll, getting bigger, a pressure that's both wonderful and overwhelming. "Daddy, I think... I think I'm going to..."

"Of course you are.” He doubles down on my clit, that bundle of nerves ready to jump off whatever cliff is coming. “I know you already. Daddy's got you. Deep breath, let it go."

He drives his finger forward until his knuckles meet my open folds.

There’s a burning pain that’s just enough to let me know he’s taking me somewhere I’ve never gone before.

The orgasm hits me like a wave, the undertow pulling me down, down, stealing my breath and making my whole body shake.

He holds me through it, fingers moving, pulling more and more out of me.

“Thata girl. That’s so good. So pretty. You can give it all to Daddy, baby. I’m here.”

When the waves start to ebb, the room comes into focus and I'm boneless against his chest, and he's stroking my hair gently.

"How do you feel?" he asks softly.

"Like I never want to leave this room."

He chuckles. "We're just getting started, sweetheart." His fingers are still inside me, and he moves them slowly, making me gasp. "I think you can give me another one."

"I don't think I can."

"You can and you will." The words are stern, some of the softness leaving his eyes. "You’re going to give me what I want."

“Are we going to…” I shrug, swallowing, a low terror building inside me, wondering if I’m really ready for this. “Fuck?”

He seems to read me like I’ve got thought bubbles in neon over my head.