Page 61 of Merciless Daddy

“What kind of discipline would you want, if any? A stern conversation. Corner time. Writing lines. Spanking. What is forbidden? What requires permission every time? What words stop everything? What do you need afterward?”

Her cheeks were flushed now, but she held my gaze.

“Afterward,” she repeated.

“Aftercare.”

“I know what the word means.”

“Then you understand why I asked.”

She looked toward the door, then back at me. “You want me to fill out a form before you kiss me.”

“No. I want us to understand what we’re doing before I take authority you’ve spent your life having stolen from you.”

That hit.

Her arms loosened.

I kept my voice level.

“The agreement would not bind you. It would bind me. It would be optional. Revocable at any time, for any reason, including no reason. It would have nothing to do with your shelter, money, protection, or Kiryl. Refusing me would change none of those things.”

“You make it sound clinical.”

“It would not feel clinical. Trust me.”

Her eyes dropped to my hands.

I let her imagine that.

“When we were doing it,” I said, “there would be nothing uncertain about what I wanted. Or what I expected.”

Her throat moved.

“But outside it,” I continued, “you remain free. If you say stop, I stop. If you say the agreement is over, it is over. I do not punish you for withdrawing consent. I do not make you earn care.”

The last sentence cost more than the others.

Rosalia had waited for care I made her earn through patience. Through silence. Through accepting scraps from a man who had convinced himself that providing money and protection excused emotional absence.

I would not do that again.

Yelena stared at me.

“You’ve thought about this,” she said. “You’ve done it before?”

“A long time ago.”

“With somebody else.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Her mouth tightened. Jealousy. Quick, bright, irrational.

It made something dark and possessive in me lift its head.

I put it down.