"Get some rest," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."
He picked up my box of memories. Carried it inside my room, set it carefully on the dresser. Then he walked back out, closing the door between us with a soft click that felt final.
I stood in the hallway. Touched my swollen lips. My whole body was trembling with wanting.
Tomorrow. We'd discuss the contract tomorrow. I'd sign those optional clauses and officially become his Little. His to care for. His to discipline. His to protect.
His.
I went inside. Closed the door. Leaned against it and let myself smile.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.
Chapter 9
Nikolai
Ididn'tsleep.Couldn't.Mybody was still singing with the memory of Sophie's mouth on mine, the taste of her, the small desperate sound she'd made when I'd pulled her against me in that hallway. I lay in bed counting ceiling tiles until the numbers blurred together, then counting my breaths, then giving up on counting entirely around 3 AM and just staring into the dark while my cock ached and my brain replayed that kiss on an endless loop.
At 5 AM I gave up the pretense. Showered. The hot water did nothing to calm the restless energy crackling under my skin. I dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal button-down, rolled the sleeves to my elbows, tried to look casual when I felt anything but.
The second-floor study was waiting. The room was smaller than my office—more intimate. Burgundy walls that made the space feel like a womb. Built-in bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes my grandfather had collected over decades.A Persian rug he'd brought from Moscow in the seventies, the pattern worn soft from years of footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the compound's interior courtyard, morning light just starting to filter through.
The mahogany desk sat against one wall, but I wasn't using it. Desks created hierarchy. Put one person in the power position and the other as supplicant. That wasn't what I wanted for this.
I moved two leather chairs to face each other near the fireplace. Not across from each other—that would still feel adversarial. Adjacent. Close enough that our knees might touch if we both leaned forward. Partners negotiating terms, not employer and employee.
The contract portfolio went on the side table within easy reach. Heavy leather, embossed with the Besharov crest. Inside: the original service agreement we'd signed a week ago, the addendum with optional clauses she hadn't been ready for then, and blank pages for amendments we'd write together. Everything she'd need to see that this was real. Legitimate. Not some manipulation but an actual negotiation.
The tea service took longer. I'd gone down to the kitchen myself at 5:30 AM, startling the cook who'd arrived early to start breakfast prep. The tea was loose leaf, not bags. You had to respect tea or it tasted like dishwater.
I set the silver service on another table—pot, two cups, saucers, honey, cream. Sophie took both. I'd noticed during our silent dinners all week, the way she'd doctor her tea until it was more sweet than bitter.
My hands shook slightly pouring my own coffee from the carafe I'd brought up. I'd performed dozens of contract negotiations as Pakhan. Maybe hundreds. Territorial agreements with other families. Employment contracts with soldiers and associates. Business deals with legitimatecompanies who didn't ask too many questions about where the money came from.
None had ever mattered this much.
None had ever been about someone I wanted the way I wanted Sophie Volkov.
I sat in one of the leather chairs. Stood. Adjusted the angle of the contract portfolio. Sat again. The clock on the mantel ticked toward 6 AM. Three hours until she'd arrive.
I could have called her earlier. Could have asked her to come at dawn, as soon as I woke. But she needed time too. Needed to prepare herself for what we were about to negotiate. For the vulnerability of admitting what she wanted, what she needed, what scared her.
I opened the contract portfolio. Read through the optional clauses for the dozenth time. The language was clinical—had to be for legal purposes—but underneath the formality was intimacy. Trust. The kind of exchange that required both people to be completely honest about desires most people spent their whole lives hiding.
ENHANCED ARRANGEMENT: Daddy Dom/Little Dynamic
The words made my chest tight. Made my cock stir despite the anxiety. I wanted this. Wanted her. Wanted to be the person she trusted enough to be small and vulnerable with.
But I had to do it right. Had to make sure she understood what she was agreeing to. Had to protect her even from her own desperate wanting if it meant she'd be safe.
The study windows brightened as the sun climbed. I watched morning light paint the courtyard garden gold, then amber, then the clear brightness of day. Checked my watch. 7 AM. Two hours.
I reviewed my notes. Questions I needed to ask. Boundaries we had to establish.
Footsteps in the hallway at 8:45 AM made my heart slam against my ribs. Too early. She wasn't supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes.
But the footsteps passed by. Someone else—probably Maks heading to his office. Not Sophie.
