Page 27 of Stalk Me

“That’s what I thought.” I release her chin. “Such a needy little thing under all that polish. Fighting so hard against what you want.”

“I hate you.” But there’s no conviction behind the words.

“No, you hate how well I see through you.” I step back, letting cold air rush between us. “How easily I can make you fall apart.”

She grabs the edge of the table to steady herself, chest heaving. The war between desire and resistance plays across her face.

“We’re in public,” she manages, glancing around the café.

“And yet you’re still here, aren’t you?” I smile. “Not running away. Not calling for help. Just trembling and wet, desperate for Daddy’s attention.”

A strangled sound escapes her throat, her knuckles white against the table.

I straighten my tie, savoring how Sofia’s chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. The flush on her cheeks and the darkness in her eyes tell me everything her lips won’t admit. My little brat fighting so hard against what she needs.

“I’ve enjoyed our chat.” I brush imaginary lint from my sleeve. “But I have meetings to attend.”

She swallows hard, still gripping the table like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. The sight sends satisfaction coursing through me.

“I’ll pick you up at eight tonight. Wear something elegant. And Sofia?” I lean close, letting my breath ghost across her ear. “Don’t let me down.”

Those green-gold eyes follow my movements as I shrug on my coat and straighten my cuffs. The power of her gaze burns into my back as I stride toward the door, but she remains rooted in place.

Just before I exit, I glance over my shoulder to find she hasn’t moved an inch, still trembling against the table, watching me with a mixture of desire and defiance that makes my blood sing.

Perfect.

12

SOFIA

Iadjust my emerald dress in the mirror, noticing how it matches my eyes and remembering how he liked the color on me. Eight o’clock approaches, making my stomach twist with anticipation.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I mutter to my reflection. “He’s just a man.”

But Nikolai isn’t just any man. The way he commands a room, the steel in his voice when he gives orders... I press my thighs together at the memory of his hand gripping me as I inched toward an orgasm.

The doorbell rings at exactly eight. My heels move elegantly across the hardwood as I approach the door. I pause, hand on the knob, drawing in a steadying breath.

Nikolai fills the doorway in an impeccably tailored black suit. His steel-gray eyes rake over me with possessive hunger.

“Sofia.” His voice wraps around my name like silk-covered steel. “You look exquisite.”

“Thank you.” My voice is breathy and weak.

“What do you say when I compliment you?” His tone drops lower, demanding.

Warmth creeps up my neck, along with a jolt of excitement. “Thank you... Daddy.”

The gallery owner in me—controlled, independent, sophisticated—should reject this dynamic. But beneath that facade lies a truth: abandonment has left its mark, first with my birth parents, then the Henleys’ sudden death. Nikolai’s dominant presence fills those fractured spaces, his protection wrapping around my wounds like priceless silk over broken marble.

He tilts my face with his fingers. “Good girl.”

My hard-won control shatters beneath his touch, and I lean toward him like a flower seeking the sun.

“You can’t fight this forever,malishka. I see how much you need this. Need me.”

A whimper escapes my throat. He’s right. I’m tired of fighting, of being strong alone. Just for tonight, I want to relinquish control.

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