I should have expected this. Should have known she'd fight.
Something about her defiance made heat curl through me. Made my carefully controlled response slip slightly.
I moved closer. Slowly. Giving her room to retreat. She didn't. Just stood her ground. Hands fisted at her sides. Chin up. Grey-green eyes blazing.
"If you refuse," I said quietly, "there will be consequences."
My voice dropped into that register I used with submissives. Not quite dominant. Not quite threatening. Just absolutely certain. The tone that said I made the rules and she would follow them.
Her breathing changed. Faster. Shallower. Her pupils dilated slightly.
Physical response. Involuntary. Her body recognizing something her mind wouldn't acknowledge yet.
"What kind of consequences?" she asked.
Her voice wavered on the last word. Not fear. Something else. Something deeper.
I was close enough now to see the pulse jumping in her throat. To smell the cedar soap she'd used in my bathroom. To notice the way her hands trembled even as she kept them fisted.
Close enough to touch. I didn't.
"Do you really want to find out?" The question hung between us. Challenge. Promise. Test.
She was looking at my mouth. I noticed. Noticed her hands shaking. Noticed the way she swayed toward me—just a fraction, just a centimeter—before catching herself and stepping back.
The attraction was there. Undeniable. Electric. The kind that made rational thought difficult and control nearly impossible.
But underneath it was something more dangerous. Something I'd seen on the auction stage. The Little she was trying so hard to hide.
She wanted someone to make the rules. To take the burden of decision-making away. To tell her what to do so she didn't have to carry everything alone.
She just didn't know how to want it safely anymore.
"You're a Daddy Dom," she whispered.
Not a question. An accusation. Or maybe a hope.
"And you're a Little who's forgotten how good it feels to be small," I replied. Just as quiet. Just as certain.
The words landed like a physical touch. She shuddered. Took another step back. Hit the window behind her.
Nowhere left to run.
I didn't advance. Just stood there. Patient. Waiting. Letting her process.
Her breathing was too fast, it was desperate.
"I need time to think," she said.
Her voice was shaky. Uncertain. But determined. She was fighting regression with everything she had. Fighting the pull toward submission. Fighting me.
I wanted to close the distance. Wanted to cup her face in my hands and tell her she was safe. That being Little wasn't dangerous. That I'd protect her while she was small and vulnerable and trusting.
But she wasn't ready. Wouldn't believe me. Would just fight harder.
"You have until tonight," I said. Stepped back. Gave her room to breathe. "We'll discuss the arrangement at dinner. Seven PM."
I moved to the door. Stopped with my hand on the handle. Looked back.
