I led her to the kitchen, sat her at the counter, and made her a simple meal while she watched. Spaghetti and meatballs. Nothing elaborate. Just sustenance, offered to a woman who needed someone to remember she required feeding.
She ate every bite without being told twice. I watched each one, satisfaction settling in my chest like warmth.
When her plate was empty, I walked her to her room. At the door, she turned, looked up at me with those eyes that held too much.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For doing this right. Even when I make it difficult."
I kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger, breathing her in. "You're worth doing right."
"When—" She stopped, gathered courage. "When will you kiss me properly again?"
The question made my control waver dangerously. I wanted to answer with action—to push her against the door and kiss her until neither of us could breathe. Instead, I made myself step back.
"When you've followed the rules for three days," I said. "Meals. Rest. Coming to me when you need help. Three days of proving you can trust my structure. Then I'll give you something to reward that trust."
"Three days?" She sounded almost wounded.
"Three days." I reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can do it. And Maya?" I waited until her eyes met mine. "The anticipation is part of it. Let yourself want. Let yourself wait. I promise what comes after will be worth every second."
I walked away before she could argue or I could weaken.
In my room, alone, I sat with Nikolai's journal and the memory of her sayingYes, Daddyand the absolute certainty that I was building something worth every ounce of restraint.
Three days.
I could survive three days.
Probably.
Chapter 10
Maya
Turnsout,followingtherules could be pretty fun. Especially when the rules were set by the most handsome, desirable man on the planet.
The first rule arrived with breakfast at seven AM the day after we’d worked out the contract.
Scrambled eggs, toast with butter melting into the grain, sliced strawberries arranged with a precision that betrayed military training or obsession. Kostya set the tray on my desk without a word, then pulled up a chair and waited.
The eggs were perfectly scrambled—soft, buttery, still steaming on the plate Kostya set in front of me at exactly seven-thirty AM. My stomach clenched at the sight, that familiar resistance rising like bile.
“Eat,” he said.
Obey, I heard. I loved to hear it.
The fork felt heavy in my hand, but I lifted it anyway. Took a bite. Actually tasted it—salt and pepper and something herbalI couldn't identify. Chewed. Swallowed. My body remembered this ancient rhythm of nourishment I'd been denying for months.
"Good girl."
Two words, delivered in that low rumble while he leaned against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, watching me eat like it was the most important thing happening in the compound. Heat bloomed in my chest, spread downward, made me press my thighs together under the table.
I took another bite to avoid examining that response too closely.
This was day one of my three-day trial, and already my body was testing me. Every time he made a decision for me, something inside unwound. And something at my core heated up, became damp for him, aroused by his commands.
How was I going to survive without feeling him inside me for three whole days?
When noon arrived and he appeared with lunch, I didn't even pretend to protest. Just closed the laptop and ate the sandwich he'd made, aware of his eyes tracking every bite.
