Page 59 of Punish Me, Daddy

“You’re a storm,” he answered, his voice certain. “But I’ve seen storms like you before. Challenges like you exhilarate me.”

His thumb brushed my jaw.

“I don’t want you because you’re easy. I want you becauseIcan handle you.I want to give you what you need, baby girl, because I know I’m the man that can give it to you.”

For a second, I didn’t know what to say.

No one had ever said that to me before. People loved me in theory. They loved theideaof me: the energy, the chaos, the mischief. Until they didn’t. Until it got to be too much. Tooreal.

But he didn’t falter, even for a second.

He looked at me like I was already his.

I dropped my gaze—overwhelmed, and warm all over—and it landed on the thick leather of his belt, still looped perfectly at his waist.

Suddenly I was blushing.

Hard.

I found myself wondering what it would feel like against my thighs, my ass, my bare flesh.

I squeezed my knees together beneath the water, which did nothing to stop the ache that had started to bloom all over again between them. I looked back up at him.

He was smirking. Of course he was. He saw exactly where my eyes had gone and knew what I was thinking.

And helikedit.

“I’m not going to break you, Sloane,” he murmured, brushing wet hair from my cheek. “But Iamgoing to punish you when you need it.”

My stomach twisted—in the best way.

“Yes, Daddy.”

The way he looked at me after I said that—like I’d just given him the last piece of something he’d already taken for himself—made my cheeks burn and my thighs clench tighter under the water.

He tilted his head, studying me for a long, quiet moment.

Then he spoke, voice intense and final.

“You’ll be saying your vows in one week.”

The words landed in my chest like a stone.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Not right away. I just blinked at him, trying to register whether he was serious or not. Even as I thought it though, I knew he was.

Nikolai Morozov didn’t bluff. He made decisions and he followed through.

I should have screamed. Argued. Said something halfway reasonable likewe haven’t even datedoryou’re insaneormy father has lost his goddamn mind.

Yet, I didn’t say any of that because something inside me—something small and tired and quiet—whispered,at least he’s staying.

No one else ever had, not really.

Guys liked me in pieces. They liked the version of me that laughed too loud and kissed too recklessly and stirred up chaos like it was my job. I was fun. I was wild. I was something to conquer and brag about.

Until I wasn’t.

Until I was too much. Too messy. Tooreal.

---