Page 81 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“You deserve a real conversation,” I said.

“You think?”

“Yes. And you will get one.”

“When?”

“After I can be sure you are not walking into an Orlov ambush because you would rather punish me than protect yourself.”

“Punish you?”

The disbelief in her voice was exquisite. My cock thickened again because the thought of Kit punishing me was amusing, but the thought of putting her over my knee for putting herself in danger to make a point was not amusing at all. It was vivid. Necessary. My palm itched with the urge to introduce her to consequences she could not outthink.

“You are the sort of woman who would run toward danger if you thought it gave you leverage in an argument,” I said.

“I am the sort of woman who doesn’t like being handled.”

“You have never been handled properly.”

The line left my mouth before I decided to allow it.

The silence that followed was different.

Charged.

Hot.

Even through the phone, I felt her stillness.

Interesting…

“That,” she said quietly, “was a very dangerous thing to say.”

“Yes.”

“Do you make a habit of dangerous statements?”

“Only with you.”

Her breath stilled and my grip tightened around the pen. There was my tell. There was the quiet little proof that beneath the fury and suspicion, beneath the analysis and the knives and the locked doors, she felt the same current I did.

Good.

“Ivan,” she said.

“Kit.”

“If you think telling me you’re Bratva and then issuing orders is going to make me docile, you picked the wrong woman.”

“I do not want you docile.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

Everything.