Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Deke

My poor dick is so confused. Every time Windy calls me ‘ Sir ,' it feels like every drop of blood in my body rushes to flood my groin with hot, lusty need. Then my brain reminds me she's not using the honorific as part of a scene and we're not in a club. By the time my cock relaxes and I can take a full breath without drowning in desire, she'll do something else that's adorable and get it all riled up again.

"Can you finish your milk, babydoll?"

She's done a good job cleaning her plate, but the milk sits half-drunk in the glass while she eyes my coffee cup like it holds the keys to happiness.

"I don't really like milk, Sir. At least, not cold milk." Immediately the image of cradling her in my arms and giving her a bottle of warm milk pushes to the front of my mind. Tenderness washes through me, the fantasy more real than any I've ever had.

Possibilities race through me, centering around making Windy Howell my Little Girl. If I'm honest with myself, she already is mine. The process of opening her eyes so she sees what a darling, submissive Little she is can't possibly be too difficult, considering she's already most of the way there instinctively.

"Let's make a deal, then. I'll have our server, Sharon, exchange the cold milk for a hot chocolate," I say.

"And for my part of the deal?" She might not be agreeing immediately, but it's obvious she's going to.

"For your end of the deal, I want you to promise me there'll be no more skipping meals before practices, conditioning sessions, or games."

"What happens if I do? Like if Coach Vanderman makes me come early again?" Her question makes my palm itch to turn her cute backside red.

"Well, babydoll, that would be a naughty decision you'd be making. And naughty choices have consequences."

My words turn her eyes into saucers.

‘Wh-What kind of consequences, Coach McCree? I mean, Deke. Sir?" There she goes again with that ‘Sir' label. It ignites me nearly as much as I'll feel when I finally get her to call me Daddy.

"We'll discuss what those consequences would look like when I see you next. Along with some more rules I'll have for you. Okay?"

"When, um, when do you think that will be, Sir?" Tiny white teeth pull her lower lip into her mouth to nibble nervously, and blood thumps through me, triumphant that she wants to see me again, soon.

"I have practice with the team this afternoon, then a coaching staff meeting over the dinner hour, followed by coffee with some boosters later this evening. So I won't be able to see you tonight. Sadly, tomorrow looks to be just as busy, but I will definitely see you on Wednesday. Come by the football office once you're done with soccer practice. But I expect you to discuss those injuries with Coach Vanderman, and take it easy until they're healed up a bit. Do I make myself clear, little girl?"

Windy seems to be finally accepting that I intend to spend my time with her, and that I'll definitely be seeing her on an ongoing basis. Her head nods so eagerly the thick braid of her long brown hair flops over her shoulder to drape midway to her stomach. One day it'll be my job, my privilege, to brush out all the mink-soft strands and French braid it for her.

Once I claim her, every aspect of caring for her will be my duty and my right. Envisioning it is enough to have arousal firing my blood, even as logic reminds me to take it slow. Windy's so young I'm betting she has no idea what ageplay is, or what it will mean to be my Little girl. My instincts insist she's meant to be mine.

I pay for our meal and take Windy by the hand, walking slowly to my SUV because I know her knees are probably hurting. Heads turn as I drive back to campus with her in the passenger seat. Now that the day is fully underway, there are people wandering around the commons area and trekking from building to building. A momentary pang of awareness unsettles me. Gossip will spread the news that the head football coach is spending time with a student.

It's unavoidable, but I don't like being at the center of the rumor mill. Several years ago, when I was new to my position as the head coach here, I dated an adjunct professor from the psych department after meeting her at the only BDSM club in town. She'd been playing in the nursery, so naturally I anticipated that she was a Little. It wasn't until we'd been exclusively scening together and dating for three months that she admitted she'd fraudulently joined the club in hopes of researching the psychology of kinks and actually thought ageplay was unhealthy.

Aside from the sheer betrayal I'd felt at having been duped, her attempt to smear me by divulging intimate details about me to others when we broke up was humiliating. Fortunately for me, the university terminated her contract. Last I heard, she's on a sabbatical somewhere in Europe working on her doctoral thesis. Good riddance. She didn't break my heart, thank goodness, but she did leave me apprehensive about women.

My job as the head football coach keeps me in the public eye too much to expect much privacy while I claim Windy. In a perfect world, I'd have enough anonymity to court her privately, with time to get to know her before the world presses in on us. If nothing else, it would be fantastic if we weren't both in the middle of our respective seasons, so our obligations didn't interfere with spending time together. Then again, if wishes were fishes, we'd be swimming in riches.

My nana's favorite rhyming wisdom rings truer now than it ever has, watching dozens of eyes bug out as I lead Windy into her dorm. Can't be helped. There's zero chance I'll risk a future with Windy slipping by me while I wait for the timing to be right.