“How do good girls answer their Daddy?”
My brain short-circuits. My god—my panties just disintegrated.Poof. Gone. Vaporized by that voice alone.
I take a steadying breath, pulse racing, and answer him, my voice just above a whisper.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs, voice rough, threaded with something darker—possessive, reverent. “I want to hear you say it again. And this time…” His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress, fingers dragging fire up the curve of my spine, slow and claiming. “Say you’re mine.”
My breath catches. “Yours?”
He kisses the corner of my mouth—soft, teasing—then my cheek, then just beneath my ear, where his voice drops to a whisper that makes my skin shiver.
“In every way that counts. You just didn’t know it yet.”
I tilt my head, eyes fluttering closed as my body arches instinctively toward him. There’s a pulse between my legs, deep and insistent, begging for more—forhim.
“I want to,” I whisper. “ I want to know it.”
He stills, just for a moment, like he’s waiting for me. Then his hand slides to my waist, grip tightening. “Then say it, baby. Who do you belong to?”
I meet his eyes—dark, hungry, patient in a way that tells me he’d wait forever for me to be ready, buthopes to GodI’m not going to make him wait any longer. My lips part, and I say it, a little shaky but true nonetheless.
“I’m yours, Daddy.”
He groans low in his throat, like the sound wrecks him. Then his mouth is on mine—urgent, claiming, and full of promise. His hands roam like he already owns me, and I let him. Because he does.
But even in the middle of all that fire, there’s something else—something quiet and certain beneath it.
This isn’t just playing pretend. This is a discovery. This isus.
“You don’t have to know what you want yet,” he breathes against my mouth. “We can figure it out. Together.”
“I think I want to… I want to… try,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The growl he makes sends heat straight through me and I feel it—not just the heat, but the safety. The way he handles me like I’m both breakable and his.
Like maybe this isn’t just a fantasy. Like maybe it’s a part of me that was just waiting for the right man to coax it out.
He kisses me like he’s starving. His hands slide under my dress again, palms warm, rough in all the right ways. When his thumbs brush beneath the curve of my bra, I gasp—and that’s all the invitation he needs.
“Off,” he commands against my lips, tugging at the hem. I raise my arms, breathless, and he peels it off me like unwrapping his favorite toy. His eyes roam over me with a heat that makes my whole body flush.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”
I start to roll my eyes—deflect the compliment like I always do—but he catches my intention.
Before I know it, his hand is around my neck, not tight—just enough to make my breath catch, to send a spike of awareness straight through me. My eyes widen, my body going still under his touch, every nerve dialed up to ten.
His gaze pins me, voice low and dangerous.
“Remember what I told you last time you rolled your eyes at me?”
A shiver rips down my spine. I nod slowly, heart hammering.
