Chapter 3 The Good Girl Go Wild

Alexander’s POV

I am fine. Buried in work. Focused.

The contract needs my full attention. Deadlines are fast approaching. My inbox is flooding with emails that have to be sorted — but my mind is a million miles away. I run my fingers through my hair and try to shake the sense of urgency in my bones. Focus, I tell myself. It’s just business. Nothing more.

Until she walks by.

Ivy.

A fucking vision.

Her skirt—too short—moves like it is designed just to tease me. The hem flirts with the edge of her thighs. My pulse kicks up, and I clench my fists on the desk. Everything in my body screams at me to look away. To ignore it. But I don’t. I can’t.

No words, no glance from her. Just the sway of her hips, like she is driving me insane on purpose. I swear to fucking God, that little curve of her body is a weapon. A goddamn deadly weapon aimed straight at my resolve.

I grind my teeth together, trying to shove the fire inside me down. “Focus,” I mutter under my breath. My voice comes out a little rougher than I expect. I feel the burn of the frustration rising in my chest. “She’s just a girl. Just a—”

My eyes snap up again.

Shit.

She’s bending over, just by the console table, her fingers trailing over an antique vase like it’s the most fucking fascinating thing in the world. Like she has no idea what she’s doing to me.

No idea how she’s making me burn from the inside out.

“You like that one?” she asks, voice light and casual. It should be a fucking red flag, but it only makes the fire inside me blaze hotter. She still hasn’t looked at me. Doesn’t even seem aware that I’m watching her. Or maybe, maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing. And that makes it worse.

I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. “Yes. Don’t touch it,” I growl.

My voice sounds rougher than I mean it to. I know she feels it. I see the way her lips curl into that smug little smirk of hers.

"Relax. I wasn’t going to break it, Daddy," she says, all sweetness and venom. The way she says that word — Daddy — like it’s both a tease and a command.

And fuck me if it doesn’t kill me.

I shift in my seat, feeling the uncomfortable strain in my pants. A heat that won’t go away, no matter how much I try to ignore it. “You have school reading to do, don’t you?”

The words come out clipped, but my pulse is hammering in my ears, and I can barely keep my voice steady.

She just shrugs, like I’m not even worth the effort. "School can wait."

And then—fuck—she walks toward the mini bar.

She’s moving so damn slow, dragging it out, every step a calculated move, like she’s fully aware of the effect she’s having on me. I hate her. I hate how much control she has over me. She pops the cap off the chilled water bottle and drinks it slowly, the tip of her tongue brushing over her bottom lip. Her throat works as she swallows, and I’m frozen, watching every single damn movement.

I can hear the slurp of the bottle as she takes another long sip, her lips parting ever so slightly, the sound of her swallow echoing through the room like a goddamn symphony.

And then, I hate myself for it, but my eyes drop to the curve of her throat. The way the water slides down. I imagine my lips there. My tongue tracing that line.

Her eyes catch mine as she lowers the bottle, that little smirk still on her face. "What? You thirsty, Daddy?"

I blink, pulling my thoughts back into the present. My mind’s still racing, and my body is fucking hard. I can feel it — every muscle in my chest tightening. I grind my teeth together, jaw clenched.

“Ivy.”

She looks over her shoulder, and I catch the way her eyes twinkle, that look of someone who knows exactly what’s going on inside my head. “Hmm?” she hums, too innocent, too damn smug.

“I say go.” My words are rougher this time, sharper.

She doesn’t move. Instead, she just licks her lips, dragging it out for as long as she can. And when she turns to face me, her gaze is all fire and mischief.

“I hear you.” Her voice drops a little, the sarcasm clear as day. “I just don’t feel like listening.”

And then—she walks away. Slowly. As if she has all the time in the world. As if she has all the control.

The door to the hallway clicks closed behind her, and I sit there, barely holding onto the last thread of my composure.

But it’s too late. I’m already fucked.

I try to focus again on the contract in front of me, but all I can hear is the echo of her voice in my head. "I wasn’t going to break it, Daddy."

And fuck, the way she said it…

My cock is still half-hard, and my heart is pounding, like I just ran a marathon. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the glass of whiskey on my desk. The burn of alcohol isn’t enough to kill the fire inside me. Nothing will be.

Not until I have her.

She used to be quiet. Shy. Sweet.

I can still fucking feel the way her tiny hand gripped my arm at her mother’s funeral, trembling like a leaf in a goddamn hurricane. How she buried her face in my coat, soaking it with her broken little sobs until I swore the sound would haunt me forever.

I held her tighter. I promised her I'd protect her.

I'd be her shield. Her safe place.

I just never realized I'd be the one needing protection—from her.

To Be Continued ...