Page 43 of Punish Me, Daddy (Boston Kings #8)

S loane

He rested his fingers along my jaw, eyes locked on mine, his touch enough to steal the breath right out of my lungs.

“I love you.”

The words landed in my chest like a blow. Not sweet or soft. Just that terrifying, earth-splitting honesty that felt bigger than any promise he’d ever made.

My throat went tight. I hadn’t expected him to say it. I certainly hadn’t expected to feel it swell reciprocally inside me so fast, so certain, but I did.

There was no point pretending otherwise.

“I love you, too,” I whispered.

His jaw flexed like he hadn’t expected to feel it either. Like my words cracked something in him that even he didn’t know how to brace for.

And then his voice dropped, deep and dark, thick with heat and intent. “I’m going to show you just how much when we get home tonight.”

A shiver rolled through me so hard I swore the air moved around us. He stepped back, just enough to open the door and call everyone back inside. The brothers returned first—Maxim, Ivan, Sergei, Aleksei. My father followed last, looking like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

No one asked what we’d talked about; they didn’t need to. It was written all over the way Nikolai’s hand was still on my lower back and the way I didn’t move an inch out of his orbit.

We sat back down at the table, and the room quickly slid back into motion. Ivan took the lead again, pulling up encrypted documents, voice resolute as he walked us through the early framework of the sting.

We talked logistics, how to bait Stillwell into showing his hand.

The setup would involve a fake procurement deal traced through an offshore shell company that Ivan could spoof just well enough to pass inspection.

A girl would be staged—of legal age, but young enough to look the part of a teenager.

The meeting would be wired and recorded.

Stillwell wouldn’t be able to run from it, not with the surveillance in place.

Once the transaction was offered, once he said the wrong thing, we’d have what we needed to bury him.

The fallout would be immediate. The scandal alone would ruin him. The evidence would finish the job.

Charlie had contacts lined up: judges, journalists, political firepower.

Ivan would track the digital trail. Mikhail would help coordinate the bait drop with some of his old connections in the transport network.

Sergei would provide muscle, off the radar, in the shadows but ready.

I’d use Ghost to blast him all over the dark web.

When the final pieces fell into place, the last detail was mapped out and the timeline solidified, Nikolai stood.

“One more thing.”

No one moved as Nikolai reached for my hand.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

It was that simple. No preamble, no ceremony, no explanation.

Aleksei blinked, then grinned like he wasn’t even surprised. Ivan muttered something under his breath in Russian. Maxim leaned back in his chair and nodded once, approving but enigmatic. Sergei didn’t react at all, but I felt the shift in his posture—tense and alert, but respectful.

And my father? He nodded, just once, the expression on his face a mixture of expectation and just a hint of regret.

Nikolai let the moment stretch just long enough, then spoke again. “Tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “You’ll be there.”

A chorus of quiet assent followed. Nods. The lifting of glasses. A few murmured toasts. It wasn’t a celebration so much as acknowledgment . Then Nikolai glanced at me.

“I’m going to take Sloane home with me now. We have a few things to take care of together, don’t we, my bride?” he said simply.

No one said anything, but I felt the blood rush to my face anyway.

My cheeks burned, my fingers curled against the edge of the table, and I looked down fast, so fast it almost felt like confession. The heat that bloomed across my skin had nothing to do with the room. My entire body pulsed, knowing exactly what he meant.

God, I hoped no one could tell. I didn’t lift my gaze. I didn’t dare.

Nikolai’s voice cut through the tension one last time, warm now, almost amused.

“I’ll look forward to seeing all of you at the ceremony.”

Just like that, the meeting was over. Nikolai turned to me, eyes soft in that way that always cut sharper than anything else.

Then he extended his arm like I was some royal princess being escorted out of a gala and not a woman about to be belted by her future husband for her disobedience when she got home.

I hesitated for half a breath, then slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow. His muscles were tense beneath his shirt and when I glanced up at him, our eyes met, and we smiled at the same time.

It was that slow, knowing kind of smile, the kind that didn’t need words to say I see you.

He led me out of the room without another glance back. The brothers parted without questions. My father stayed behind, sipping the last of his drink with that familiar look of weariness, like he’d already made peace with this battle he could no longer control.

The tavern door creaked open as Nikolai pushed it, the night spilling around us, cool, damp air brushing against my skin. It helped. Slightly.

It didn’t dull the pulse building between my thighs, though.

He walked me to the car like a perfect gentleman, opened the passenger door, and waited for me to slide in. His hand lingered at the small of my back just a second longer than it needed to. Just enough to make me bite my lip, nervousness billowing through me like a cloud.

When he rounded the car and slipped into the driver’s seat beside me, his hand landed on my thigh, warm and heavy and familiar. I turned toward him instinctively, breath hitching before I could hide it.

Then he leaned in—slow, smooth, and devious—and whispered against the shell of my ear.

“You know my belt’s going to sting, don’t you? Badly.”

The air left my lungs in a rush.

I clenched my thighs together, squirming slightly in the leather seat.

My whole body went tight, pulse thudding behind my knees.

My skin felt too warm, my core too hot, too needy .

I wanted to be defiant. I wanted to be strong, to tell him off, but I thought better of it because all I could think about was the feel of thick leather lashing against my bare ass.

The sound it would make. The way he’d watch every welt rise on my skin. The way I’d probably cry.

And still —I wanted it.

I nodded once, unable to speak. He smiled against my cheek.

“Good,” he said, his voice deepening. “Because I plan to make sure you feel every fucking stripe tomorrow when you walk down that aisle.”

I moaned, the sound barely audible, but he heard it, and his grip on my thigh tightened. I was trembling and my pussy was clenching before the car even pulled away from the curb.

The car ride back to the penthouse was silent again. Every second ticked like a countdown, every turn of the wheels drawing me closer to the moment he’d promised and the punishment I’d earned.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t touch me again. He just drove, eyes on the road, calm as ever, but I could feel the tension radiating off him, a buzzing, like a storm building under his skin.

And me?

I sat perfectly still, hands clenched in my lap, thighs pressed together so hard they ached. My breath was shallow, skin too warm under my clothes, heart pounding hard enough to make my ribs ache. I couldn’t stop thinking about his belt.

I couldn’t stop imagining the sound it would make when he pulled it free of his slacks, the slow drag of leather, the snap of it folding in his hands. I couldn’t stop imagining what I would sound like when it landed. Would I cry out? Would I be able to stay silent? What would I do?

He pulled into the garage, parked, got out, and came around to open my door without a word. Gentleman to the end. But his eyes… his eyes were dark and foreboding, and a tremor of nerves hurtled right through me like a lightning bolt.

He offered his hand, and I took it. We stepped into the private elevator, and the doors closed with a soft whisper behind us.

My pulse was loud in my ears. I could feel my body already bracing, my muscles tightening, breath catching, arousal winding low and hot in my belly.

I didn’t look at him, because I was afraid if I did, I’d beg him for mercy, and I didn’t want to do that.

I wanted to be strong. I wanted to show him I could take it and that I wasn’t afraid of what it might mean to be truly punished by my daddy.

The elevator reached the top floor. The doors opened to the dim, moody light of the penthouse.

He took my arm gently, strong fingers around my upper arm, not harsh, not pulling me, just guiding me. I followed him through the open space, past glass walls and polished black stone, through the softly lit silence that somehow made everything feel more intense.

He led me into the master bedroom, to the foot of the bed. Letting go of my arm, he stepped in front of me, turning slowly. His voice was deep, compelling, and irresistible.

“Strip.”

My mouth went dry.

I hesitated for only a second, then I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. My bra came next, and my boots. Then the leggings. And finally, the lace panties that had felt too delicate all day.

I stood there naked before him.

Exposed.

The cool air wrapped around my body, but the heat beneath my skin pulsed harder. I crossed my arms, only to drop them again, unsure if I was allowed to cover myself. Unsure if he’d correct me.

I was shy. Nervous. Aroused.

He stepped closer. His hands came up, slid around my waist, pulling me into his chest like I was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“I love you,” he murmured.

I shivered.

“I love you, too,” I whispered, small and breathless.