14. Julian
14
JULIAN
I vy stands at the counter, a gingerbread house kit sprawled out before her. Her eyes gleam with concentration, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth. She's so fucking adorable that is scrambles my damn brain.
I lean in, my voice a low rumble near her ear. "Every perfect piece earns you pleasure, Ivy. But mistakes..." I let the sentence hang, watching her swallow hard. "Mistakes earn punishment."
She bites down on her bottom lip, pink rising to her cheeks, telling me how eager she is for this game. I've always loved how responsive she is, how much she loves the games we play. Her hands are steady as she begins to assemble the walls. I step back, watching her work. She's meticulous, precise. Good. It's what I expect from her.
I fetch the whipped cream from the fridge and a bowl of hot fudge from the counter. Her eyes flick to the items, curiosity piqued.
"Sensation play," I explain. "Hot and cold can enhance pleasure." I scoop the hot fudge onto a spoon, blow softly to cool it. Her eyes widen as I trail the edge of the spoon down her neck, leaving a warm, sweet trail. She gasps, but doesn't falter in her task.
The first wall goes up perfectly. I reward her by licking the fudge off. She sighs as she leans back on me, and I surprise her with a cool dollop of whipped cream on the nape of her neck. She shivers, laughs. "That's cold, Julian."
"And?" I ask, lifting a brow.
She grins. "And... I like it."
Her eyes meet mine, bold and challenging. I feel a rare smile tug at my lips. She returns to her task, placing the second wall with careful precision. Again, perfection.
This time, I lean forward and suck the spot on her neck, laving it with my tongue until it's clean. She sucks in a breath, her grip tightening on the gingerbread.
Then, a mistake. A piece of the roof slips, crumbling slightly. She freezes, eyes darting to me. I tut softly, reaching for the hot chocolate. I dip my finger, tracing her shoulder. She tenses, chills breaking out around her skin.
I grip her hips to hold her in place as I lean forward and bite down on her shoulder. Hard. Her skin nearly breaks beneath my teeth, and she squirms a little as I suck even harder. When I pull away, there's a large purple mark on her skin from me. It makes my cock hard, and I push my hips against her.
"Mistakes have consequences, Ivy," I murmur as she bites down on her bottom lip, arousal written all over her face, but I'm grinning now, enjoying this game more than I thought possible.
She sticks her tongue out at me, a playful gesture that makes me want to kiss her senseless. I should spank her for the insolence but I find that she has been confusing me more and more these days. I want to steal every smile, every laugh, every moan and orgasm. I'm barely getting any work done.
I nod towards the gingerbread. "Keep going."
She takes a deep breath, steadying her hands. The next piece goes up perfectly. I spread whipped cream across her collarbone and lick it clean, watching goosebumps rise on her skin. Her breath hitches, but she stays focused, determined.
We continue this dance, her building, me teasing. With each perfect piece, her confidence grows. With each mistake, her moans echo through the room, her body slowly being covered in marks from my bites and pinches. Her ass is sporting a bright red handprint now and there's no spot on her neck I haven't marked.
The combination of hot and cold, sweet and rich, has her skin flushed, her eyes bright. She's never been more beautiful.
As she places the final piece, a triumphant grin on her face, I step closer. I smear whipped cream along her lips and then I dip two fingers into the cooled hot fudge.
"Open." My voice is low, my cock raging now.
Her lips part and I push them inside, heat blooming through my body as she sucks the fudge off. I drop my hand, licking the whipped cream from her mouth but when she leans forward for a kiss, I pull back.
She gives me a little pout, and I consider pushing my cock between her lips. No one sucks me down like her, so fucking eager to please.
But I have other plans.
"What do you want me to do now, Julian?"
I lean down, my lips brushing hers in a ghost of a kiss that leaves her wanting. "Now," I murmur. "I want you to go clean up."
While Ivy's in the shower, I gather my supplies. The mistletoe branches are fresh, their white berries gleaming against dark leaves. I select strategic points throughout the penthouse - doorways she'll have to pass through multiple times each day.
The first goes above the master bathroom door. She'll emerge here soon, hair damp and skin glowing. Perfect spot to establish the pattern. The second, I position above the kitchen entrance. Given her love of cooking, she'll cross this threshold often.
I secure another sprig above the door to my study. She likes to bring me coffee, check on me during the day. Now each interruption will have a sweeter purpose. The hallway separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment gets two more bunches - one at each end. These will be for commands, making her pause, making her wait.
The final sprig hangs above the entrance to the living room. It's the heart of our space, where we spend most evenings. Each time she passes through, she'll learn to expect my touch, my orders.
I hear the shower shut off. Moving to the bedroom doorway, I wait. Steam billows out as she opens the bathroom door, wrapped in a towel. She steps through, pausing when she sees me watching.
"Look up," I command, watching her eyes track upward. "From now on, every time you pass under mistletoe in this house, you stop. You wait for either a kiss..." I step forward, capturing her lips in a brief, fierce kiss. "Or a command. Understand?"
She nods, pupils dilating. "Yes, Julian."
"Good girl. Now go get dressed. But remember - there's more mistletoe waiting. And you'll never know which it'll be."
Her breath catches as she glances down the hallway, no doubt counting the green sprigs hanging above. This will be an interesting game indeed.
I back out into the hallway. After she dresses, I watch Ivy practically skip forward, pausing beneath another sprig of mistletoe, her eyes bright with anticipation. Her lips part as she tilts her chin up.
"What do I get this time?" The eagerness in her voice makes my chest tighten.
I step closer, cupping her face in my hands. Her skin is warm, still flushed from the shower. No trace of hesitation mars her features - just pure want. She'll take whatever I give her without complaint, and it's what makes her so fucking perfect.
Pride surges through me. Most women would shrink from my touch, not falling into line as they should. But not Ivy. She leans into my palm, amber eyes locked on mine.
My thumbs trace her cheekbones as I angle her face up. A small sigh escapes her lips. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers - not from fear, but desire. She's always known she's mine, always been eager to follow my instructions and earn her praise.
"So eager," I murmur, studying the trust written across her delicate features. Her hair falls in damp waves around my hands, carrying that vanilla scent that's become synonymous with home. "You make me proud, sweet girl."
She beams at the praise, pressing closer. No hesitation. No doubt. Just pure, unwavering trust that makes something fierce and protective roar to life in my chest.
I capture her lips with mine, pouring every ounce of need into the kiss. Her mouth opens beneath mine, soft and pliant. Sweet. Perfect. My fingers thread through her damp hair, angling her head to deepen the connection. She tastes like mint toothpaste and something uniquely Ivy - a flavor I'd kill to keep.
A small whimper escapes her as I back her against the doorframe. My free hand spans her waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her towel. She arches into me, pressing closer, stealing the very breath from my lungs. Each brush of her tongue against mine sends electricity down my spine.
The world narrows to this moment - to her hands clutching my shirt, to the rapid beat of her heart against my chest, to the way she surrenders completely to my touch. I've taken lives, broken men, built an empire on violence and control.
But this woman... she unmakes me with a single kiss. It's like she's trying to steal my soul from my body with one kiss, and fuck, I'd give it to her. I'm not even sure when it happened - maybe the first time I saw her - but I would give everything for her.
My teeth graze her bottom lip and she moans. The sound shoots straight through me, igniting something primal. Mine. The word pounds through my blood like a war drum. She's mine, and I'd burn Chicago to the ground to keep her.
This desperate need for her should terrify me. I've spent years building walls, maintaining distance, staying in control. Now she's torn through every defense like they're made of paper. Just the touch of her, a little taste, and I'm ready to give her everything - my empire, my control, my everything.
The scariest part? I don't give a fuck. Let her take it all. As long as she keeps kissing me like this, keeps making those little sounds in the back of her throat, keeps pressing against me like she needs me as much as I need her.
She pulls back slightly, gasping for air, and I follow, reclaiming her mouth. I can't let go. Won't let go. She's awakened something in me that can never be caged again.
I will never get enough of her.