Page 60 of Merciless Daddy

She let me. Barely.

Then I stepped back and carried the glass to the other side of the desk.

Her face changed as distance opened between us. Hunger became humiliation. Humiliation became anger.

The progression was fast. I recognized all of it because I felt my own version.

“You’re enjoying this,” she said.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Yes. I enjoy that you want me. I do not enjoy denying you.”

“Then stop.”

“No.”

She stood.

I held up one hand. Not a command. A request for enough silence to do this correctly.

“If we explore what just happened,” I said, “we do not improvise it over whisky while your brother is a hostage.”

Her eyes flashed. “He is not a hostage.”

“He is a boy under guard because his father knows you love him.”

“Careful.”

“I am being careful. More careful than either of us likes.”

She folded her arms. “What does ‘explore’ mean?”

“It means we write everything down.”

For once, I surprised her.

“You want paperwork?”

“I want clarity.”

“Of course you do.”

“What does Daddy mean to you?”

The word entered the room.

She went perfectly still.

I continued before she could strike at me for saying it.

“What authority would you want to surrender? When? In private only, or in parts of daily life? Which rules would be practical—food, sleep, security—and which would be play?”

Her breathing changed.

I did not look away.