Page 62 of Punish Me, Daddy

I didn’t reach for my phone or build a wall, though. I just rolled over into the space he’d left behind, pulled the blankets tight around me, and pressed my face into his pillow.

And I inhaled.

Deep.

His scent hit me all at once. It was woodsmoke, leather, heat, and something I couldn’t name, but still somehow recognized. Masculine. Grounding. That faint trace of aftershave that had clung to my skin from the night before when he held me in his arms and kissed me. It wrapped around me like a second set of arms. Like a hug.

I closed my eyes and breathed it in again. He was gone, but he wasn’t far. For once, I didn’t feel abandoned.

I felt… safe.

The word startled me a little. I blinked up at the ceiling, fingers grasping at the pillowcase, still surrounded by the ache of what we’d done and the softness of what came after.

He’d held me.

All night.

He hadn’t asked for more. Hadn’t pushed or demanded. Just wrapped me in his arms like I was something he intended to protect—or possess. Maybe both.

Eventually, I forced myself to sit up, brushing my hair back, the sheets sliding down to my waist. The light had shifted further across the room, and that was when I saw it.

A box.

Wrapped in black matte paper with a blood-red ribbon tied in a neat, perfect bow. It sat on a table near the windows, waiting for me. Like he’d known I’d get up, wander, and find it.

I rose slowly, wincing a little as my feet touched the cold floor, the soreness between my legs making me move with more care than usual. The ache was a reminder of his hands, his words, the moment he looked me in the eyes and told me I’d be saying my vows to him in a week.

I crossed the room, bare and unhurried, the silence humming around me, and stopped in front of the gift. My fingers trailed across the smooth paper, my heart pounding a little harder than it should have.

I didn’t open it yet.

For a moment, I just stood there, wondering what kind of man punished you like a sinner, held you like something sacred… and left you a perfectly wrapped present in the morning.

Then I took the ribbon in my fingers and pulled it. It fell to the table in a soft heap.

I peeled the paper open like I was undressing a dangerous thing. Inside, nestled in layers of deep red tissue paper, was the softestfabric I’d ever touched. I lifted it carefully, holding it up to the light.

It was a wrap dress.

Silk. Crimson.

The color of heat and warnings and blushing skin.

It was simple, elegant, not particularly flashy. The kind of dress that made a statement by pretending not to. It dipped just low enough at the neckline to tease, cinched at the waist with a matching sash, and the hem hovered somewhere at mid-thigh. A dress that would cling in all the right places. Float when I moved. Underneath it, a pair of matching ballet flats. Minimal. Feminine. A whisper of softness. But there wasn’t any underwear. No bra. No lace. Nothing to come between the silk and my skin.

A flush crawled up my neck.

This wasn’t just a gift. It was a command wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a bow: wear this and feel me with every step you take.

I slipped into the dress slowly, careful with the fabric, letting it fall over my skin like a warm breath. It hugged the curve of my waist, draped over my breasts, and skimmed down over my ass. I was hyper-aware of how bare I was beneath the dress. I had a feeling I would be conscious of it all day.

I didn’t hesitate when I slid on the flats.

It was time to explore.

The penthouse beyond the master bedroom was quiet, filled with light and air and the kind of stillness that didn’t make me nervous like my penthouse had. It made me feel safe.

The hallway outside his room was long and moody, flanked with paneled walls and soft recessed lighting. A runner in charcoal gray muffled my steps, and the scent of something subtle and expensive lingered in the air.

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