My stomach dropped through the floor. I was frozen, caught literally in the act—laptop glowing under the covers, hair a mess, wearing only an oversized t-shirt and underwear that had been soaked through since morning. It was 2 AM. I'd been working for two hours past my bedtime, and there was no excuse that would make this okay.
"I can explain—" The words tumbled out, desperate and useless.
He held up one hand, and I fell silent immediately. The gesture wasn't angry, wasn't even particularly firm. Just absolute. He walked to the bed with that dangerous grace, each step measured and deliberate. When he reached for the laptop, I released it without resistance.
He closed it with a soft click that sounded like finality.
"Did you eat dinner?"
"Yes." My voice came out small, barely there.
"Did you go to bed at ten?"
Silence stretched between us because we both knew the answer. I'd gone to bed. I just hadn't stayed there. Hadn't slept. Had broken the spirit of the rule even if I'd technically followed the letter.
"Did you stop working when I told you to?"
"Yes, but—"
"And then you started again."
Not a question. A statement of fact that left no room for justification or excuse. I'd made a choice, and we both knew it.
"Come with me."
He didn't wait to see if I'd obey. Just turned and walked toward the door, absolute in his certainty that I would follow. And I did, bare feet on cold floors, my t-shirt barely covering my thighs, my body shaking with something that wasn't quite fear.
His room was warm compared to the hallway, lit only by a single lamp that threw golden light across the bed. He sat onthe edge of the mattress and looked at me—really looked, taking in every detail of my disheveled state, the way I was pressing my thighs together, the way my hands twisted in the hem of my shirt.
"You know what happens now."
I did. We'd discussed this. Negotiated it. I'd asked for it to be on the table, had wanted consequences that would make the lesson stick. But wanting something in theory and facing it in practice were vastly different things.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Daddy."
Something flashed in his eyes at the title—satisfaction maybe, or possession. He patted his lap once, and my whole body went liquid with a combination of dread and desperate want.
Chapter 11
Maya
Icouldfeelmyheart.
Pounding.
Deep, resonant, full of lust.
I felt as though I was on the threshold of something new and exciting. Once I stepped over, I could never step back.
The distance between us felt tiny—three feet of space that might as well have been three inches, air so charged between us I could taste it like copper on my tongue. I stood there in nothing but my oversized t-shirt, hyperaware of everything—the cool air raising goosebumps along my bare thighs, the soft cotton barely covering me, the way my nipples had gone hard and visible through the thin fabric. Three days of anticipation had turned my body into one exposed nerve, every sensation amplified until even breathing felt like too much stimulation.
Kostya didn't move from where he sat on the edge of his bed. Didn't rush. His gray eyes tracked over me slowly, catalogingevery tremor, every shallow breath, every tiny shift as I pressed my thighs together seeking pressure that wouldn't be enough.
"Come closer," he said, voice low and measured.
