Page 48 of Enforcer Daddy
I rolled onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow to muffle my frustrated whimper. The pressure against my clit from this position was torture and relief combined—not enough to come, too much to ignore.
Tomorrow I'd have to tell him. Have to admit that I'd touched myself even if I hadn't finished. The thought of that conversation made me want to dissolve into the mattress. But I would tell him, because apparently I was the kind of person who confessed now. Who wanted approval more than she wanted to avoid consequences.
"What have you done to me?" I whispered into the darkness, not sure if I was asking Dmitry or myself.
Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and full of dreams where scarred hands finished what mine had started.
Morningcametoosoonand not soon enough, gray dawn light exposing my shame like a spotlight. I'd barely slept, twisting in sheets that smelled like my arousal, the ache between my legs never fully fading. When I finally dragged myself to the kitchen, Dmitry was already there, looking unfairly good in worn jeans and another black t-shirt that should be illegal.
Bear bounded over immediately, tail wagging, oblivious to the tension I carried like a stone in my stomach. I scratched behind his ears, grateful for the distraction, but Dmitry's eyes were on me. Those dark eyes that saw everything, that probably already knew what I'd done.
"Eat," he said, pushing a plate toward me. Scrambled eggs with dill, bacon, toast with honey. My favorite, because of course he'd already memorized that.
My stomach churned with guilt and something else—anticipation maybe, or fear, or that twisted arousal that came from knowing I'd been bad and would need to face consequences.
"You're quiet," he observed, sipping his coffee. "Bad dreams?"
Dreams where you were inside me, where you made me come so hard I saw stars, where you called me your good girl even though I'm anything but.
"Something like that," I managed.
We ate in silence for several minutes, but I could feel the confession building in my throat like vomit. I'd never been good at keeping secrets—they ate at me, made me reckless and angry. And this secret, this failure, felt like it was written across my forehead in neon letters.
Bear had settled at my feet, warm weight against my legs that should have been comforting but just made me feel worse. Even the dog trusted me. Even the dog thought I was worth caring about.
"I need to tell you something," I blurted, the words escaping before I could swallow them back.
Dmitry set down his coffee mug with deliberate calm. "Tell me."
My hands shook as I pushed the eggs around my plate. How did you tell someone who'd been nothing but patient with you that you'd failed at the first real test? That you couldn't even keep your hands to yourself for one night?
"Last night," I started, then stopped. Started again. "After you left, after you told me not to—"
"You touched yourself." Not a question. A statement, delivered without judgment but with complete certainty.
Heat flooded my face. "I didn't—I mean, I did, but I didn't—" I took a breath, forced myself to be clear. "I touched myself but I stopped before I came. I wanted to be good, I tried to be good, but I couldn't help it and—"
"Eva." His voice cut through my rambling. "Look at me."
I raised my eyes to his, expecting anger or disappointment. Instead, I found something more complex. Understanding mixed with determination, warmth tempered by steel.
"Thank you for telling me the truth," he said, and the sincerity in it made my chest tight. "That took courage. Many would have hidden it, pretended they'd followed the rules."
"But I still broke them," I whispered. "I couldn't even last one night."
"No," he agreed, standing and moving around the island toward me. "You couldn't. And that needs to be addressed."
My stomach did that complicated twist—part dread, part sick anticipation. He stopped just close enough that I could feel his body heat, could smell that uniquely Dmitry scent that had haunted my dreams.
"I'm meetin with my brother today," he said, voice thoughtful. "Going to talk to him about the contract. But this . . ." He gestured between us. "This is an emergency that needs immediate correction."
"An emergency?" I squeaked.
"You need to learn that when I give you an instruction, especially about your body, about your pleasure, it's not a suggestion." His hand came up to cup my chin, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "You need to understand that defying me has consequences, even when you confess, even when I'm proud of you for being honest."
"Proud?" The word came out breathless.
"Very proud," he confirmed, thumb brushing my jaw in a gesture that was both gentle and possessive. "You could havehidden it. Could have pretended you'd been perfect. Instead, you trusted me with your failure. That matters, Eva. That matters more than you know."
