His smile was all predator. "Oh, baby. You really don't want to play that game today."
"Don't I?" I kept my thighs pressed together, chin raised in defiance. "Maybe I'm tired of being good. Maybe I want to see what happens when Daddy really loses control."
The title in that context—mocking, challenging—made something snap in his expression. He grabbed my ankles, forcing my legs apart with enough force to make me gasp. But instead of touching me, he left.
Just walked out, leaving me spread and exposed and confused.
He returned minutes later with something that made my blood run cold and hot simultaneously. A baby bottle, filled with what looked like milk. The sight of it—so innocent, so perverted in context—made my chest tight.
"What—"
"You want to act like a child? Throw tantrums? Test boundaries you know exist for your protection?" He set the bottle on the nightstand with deliberate calm. "Then you'll be treated like one."
"That's not—I don't—"
"But you do." He started unbuttoning his shirt, each movement precise despite the barely leashed energy humming through him. "You've been asking for this. Begging for it, really. Every time you call me Daddy with that little catch in your voice. Every time you suck on that pacifier when you think I'm not watching."
"That's different—"
"Is it?" The shirt came off, revealing a chest I'd only glimpsed before. Lean muscle, a few scars that spoke of a lifebefore this facility. "Tell me, Bunny—when you were planning this little rebellion, what did you think would happen?"
"I thought—" The words tangled as he started on his belt. "I wanted—"
"You wanted me to fuck you." Simple, clinical, devastating. "Wanted to push until I stopped being careful. Stopped treating you like research. Stopped pretending I don't think about you every second you're not in my sight."
The belt came free with a whisper of leather. I'd felt that belt before, across my ass, marking me with careful precision. But this was different. This was intent without restraint.
"That's not—"
"Lie to me again." He stepped out of his pants with economical movements. "Tell me you haven't been wet for weeks, waiting. Tell me you don't touch yourself thinking about this moment. Tell me you don't want exactly what's about to happen."
I couldn't. Because he was right, had been right about everything since the day I'd signed that contract. I'd been building to this—to him finally breaking the last barrier between researcher and subject.
"Nothing to say?" He moved onto the bed, caging me in with his body. "The girl who wanted to burn suddenly speechless?"
"I—"
"Shh." He reached for the bottle, unscrewing the cap with one hand. "Openyour mouth."
"No."
"No?" He tilted his head, studying me. "You started this game, baby. Don't you want to finish it?"
"Not like this—"
"Exactly like this." He traced the nipple of the bottle across my lips, leaving a trail of milk. "You wanted real? This is real. The part of you that needs to be small, to be cared for, to let someone else make the decisions. The part you've been fighting even as you crave it."
"That's not what I—"
He pushed the nipple past my lips, cutting off protest. The milk was warm, sweet, flooding my mouth before I could stop it. And somewhere beneath the humiliation was relief. Permission to be exactly as small as I felt.
"There we go," he murmured, holding the bottle steady. "Such a fussy baby today. But Daddy knows what you need."
I should have bitten down. Should have spit it out. Instead, I found myself sucking, drawing more of the warm liquid into my mouth. His free hand traced down my body, mapping territory he'd touched a hundred times but never like this. Never with intent to claim completely.
"You want to know why you can't leave?" he asked conversationally. "Why real outside isn't safe? Because you'd fall apart. Three hours in your old life and you'd be looking for someone to tell you what to do. How to be. Who to be."
The bottle emptied slightly, and he pulled it back. I whimpered at the loss, then hated myself for it.
