Page 116 of Punish Me, Daddy

Gently, he pulled free of my sore hole, and I gasped, the feeling of his seed dripping from me instant. It was shameful and wrong, but my clit throbbed in response anyway.

His arms circled my waist, and then he was lifting me, turning me, gathering me against his chest as he stepped back toward the bed.

My fingers curled into the soft material of his dress shirt.

“Thank you for punishing me, Daddy,” I whispered, not sure where the words came from, but knowing they were true.

He kissed the top of my head, and we sank down onto the bed, tangled in each other’s arms.

“You are mine, baby girl,” he crooned. “Your heart. Your mind. Your soul. Every inch of you. Tomorrow, when you say ‘I do’ and become Mrs. Morozov, you will truly belong to me, to the man who will keep you safe, who will cherish you, and care for you, and give you the life you deserve.”

His palm landed on my bare ass, squeezing one cheek hard, so hard I flinched.

“And the man who will always punish you when you need it.”

I pressed a kiss against his chest, smiling softly, and he leaned in and kissed my forehead.

“My good girl,” he said.

As he pulled me closer, my sore ass nestled against his hips, I thought about the next day, when I would wear a wedding gown and walk down the aisle. I would say my vows, and I would become his wife. He would be my husband.

The next time I disobeyed him, I’d do it knowing exactly what it meant, knowing exactly how he’d punish me for it. For now, though, I was his good girl and for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow, I would be his bride.

I smiled to myself.

I couldn’t wait.

CHAPTER 35

Sloane

I woke up sore.

Not the aching kind of sore from a workout or a hangover. This was deeper. The kind of sore that bloomed in your muscles and your skin for hours or even days on end. The kind that whispered you’ve been claimed thoroughly and completely.My ass still throbbed with every tiny movement. My thighs were sticky. I felt like I’d been poured into a new version of myself and left to set overnight.

Nikolai was already awake, of course.

He stood by the windows, shirtless, coffee in hand, looking out at the city like he owned it. Which, at this point, he might. The early light cast sharp lines across his chest and arms, and I let myself admire the view for a moment before he turned and caught me.

He smiled.

And fuck, that smile—it made me bite my lip as my toes curled.

“Time to get up, baby girl,” he said gently. “We’ve got a wedding to plan.”

My heart leapt and my stomach dropped in the same breath.

This was really happening.

I pushed the covers off slowly, slipping out of bed with a groan as the soreness settled deeper. Nikolai crossed the room to me and handed me a white box wrapped in black silk ribbon.

“What’s this?” I asked, fingers brushing over the silk.

“Something soft,” he said. “For this morning.”

Inside, nestled in white tissue, was a delicate wrap dress in the palest ivory silk. Soft, flowing, understated, but elegant in the same breath. It draped like water when I held it up. A belt cinched the waist. The neckline dipped low enough to entice and the hem floated mid-thigh.

It was elegant. Commanding. Effortless. Bridal.

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