Page 86 of Merciless Daddy

“What kind?”

“Scratchy.”

His brow lifted.

“There was one in the nursery,” I said. “It was ugly. I liked it.”

“We’ll find one.”

“Hot chocolate. Not too sweet.”

“Got it.”

“Coloring books. Paints.”

His expression did not change.

That almost undid me.

“And reading,” I said more quietly. “I want you to read to me.”

“What?”

“Stories. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

I looked down at the page. “The firebird.”

He wrote it.

No mockery. No soft smile that turned my need into something charming and small.

Only careful ink.

Blanket. Hot chocolate. Coloring. Reading aloud.

When he finished, he placed the pen down.

The document sat between us. My chosen rules. His obligations. Our exits clearly marked.

Sal turned the page toward me.

“If you sign, it means we may begin exploring this. It is not blanket sexual consent. We ask. We check. We stop when either of us needs to.”

“I understand.”

“You may sleep on it.”

“I’ve spent my whole life sleeping on what other men decided.”

His expression hardened with pain. I picked up the pen. My name looked strange beneath the terms.

Yelena Lvovna Sokolova. Not a bride’s signature. Not a proxy. Not a transfer.

A choice.

I signed. Sal looked at the name for a moment.