Page 100 of Punish Me, Daddy

With my belt.

It was after sunset when I returned to the penthouse.

The city below pulsed with light, the skyline jagged and endless. Boston breathed differently at night—slower, darker, honest in a way daylight refused to be.

I stepped out of the elevator into silence. She was already at the dining table, sitting with one leg crossed over the other. A half-finished glass of red wine sat near her hand, fingers curled around the stem like she needed something to hold onto. She didn’t look up when I entered, but her shoulders pulled back just a bit. Her entire body flexed a little too hard.

She knew I knew.

I crossed the room without hurry. Pulled out my chair across from her and sat with deliberate calm, letting the silence stretchout like a rope between us, tightening with every second. I didn’t speak. I didn’t demand anything. I just watched her.

She shifted in her seat, her chin lifted slightly. Still so very proud. To be honest, it was kind of adorable.

Her eyes met mine, and that was when she cracked. Just a little. Just enough.

“I went to the gym,” she confessed, voice clear and composed, like she was daring me to get angry or yell or do anything really.

I didn’t answer right away, simply looked at her, my gaze steady on her, and let that truth sink in between us.

“I went because I wanted to, because I didn’t want to be stuck here all day.”

Without you.

She didn’t say it, but the words hung between us anyway. My fingers wound around the top of the chair.

“And I found something,” she said. “One of your fighters, Mikhail. He knows something about my dad and Stillwell. He wouldn’t say what though. He wouldn’t talk unless you were there.”

I leaned back, exhaled slowly, and let my arm stretch across the top of the chair beside me.

“You disobeyed me.”

She nodded once. Not sorry. Not sorry at all.

“I told you not to leave the penthouse.”

“I know.”

She said it like it didn’t matter, like she’d do it again.

“I should punish you right now,” I said, my voice even, the words curling forebodingly around the space between us. “I should drag you into the bedroom, bend you over the bed, and whip that defiant little ass with my belt until you’re sore and sobbing and very sorry.”

She stilled.

“And I will,” I added, letting it land like a promise. “Tonight.”

Her mouth parted slightly. Eyes wide. She was breathing harder now, wine forgotten beside her. Her whole body was reacting before her mind could catch up.

“You’re really going to…”

“Yes,” I said. “You’re getting Daddy’s belt, Sloane. Not because I’m angry, but because you need it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. Her gaze dropped. Fuck, the way she shifted in that chair, lip caught between her teeth, I almost hauled her to her feet then and there. Almost bent her over the arm of the nearest couch, tore off her clothes, and spanked her bare ass right then and there, but I stopped myself.

“Before that,” I said, my voice dropping now, more dangerous for it, “we’re going to talk to Mikhail. Together.”

Her eyes flicked back up, wide with concern, her breath uneven as she tried to calm herself. “You think he’ll talk with both of us there?”

“He will,” I said. “He’s loyal. If he’s holding back, there’s a reason, and I want to know what the fuck it is.”

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