Alexander had always been a man who enjoyed control.
In business. In public. In bed.
Every move was calculated.
Every reaction, anticipated.
And tonight?
Tonight, he knew exactly what he was doing.
He flirted shamelessly.
Laughed at things he barely listened to.
Let his hands linger on the women at his side just a second too long.
He let them touch him.
Lean into him.
Whisper in his ear.
And all the while—
He felt her watching.
He let himself enjoy it.
Enjoy the fact that, for once, she was the one simmering, the one struggling to stay composed.
Because she was jealous.
Fucking furious.
And she couldn't even say anything.
Because she was the one who set the rules.
She was the one who said, This isn't serious.
And yet—
She couldn't stand seeing him with someone else.
Oh, sweetheart.
You did this to yourself.
At the end of the night, he made sure to leave with a slow, lazy stride, his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, his cufflinks glinting under the venue lights.
The women kissed his cheek, lingered for one last touch—
And then he walked.
Because he knew.
He knew she was coming.
Knew she had been holding back all night, seething in silence, pretending she was above it.
And right when he was about to step into his car—
A fierce hand grabbed him by the wrist.
The shock on her face when he turned to her was almost enough to make him smirk.
She hadn't planned this.
Hadn't meant to reach for him.
But her anger, her jealousy, her emotions—
They finally won.
And Alexander?
He fucking loved it.
Because now, she had no choice but to face it.
Face this.
Face him.
He didn't say a word.
Just turned, opened the car door—
And waited.
Waited for her to make the next move.
And after a tense, charged second—
She stepped in.
Silent. Seething.
He slid in beside her, exuding the same calm arrogance as before, knowing damn well she was about to blow up.
But she didn't.
She just stared ahead, jaw tight, fists clenched, not saying a word.
The tension in the car was so thick, it could break.
But he didn't push.
Didn't rush it.
Because the best explosions were the ones you let simmer until they detonated on their own.
And by the time they reached his penthouse—
He knew.
It was coming.
The second the penthouse door closed behind them, the tension erupted.
Gie didn't even think.
Didn't try to find the words.
Because what could she say?
That she was mad? That she was jealous?
That she hated seeing him with those women, hated that he flirted, hated that she was the one who made this bed and now had to lie in it?
She couldn't.
She couldn't admit any of it.
So she did the next best thing.
She grabbed him by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him like she wanted to punish him for making her feel this way.
It was not sweet.
Not soft.
It was angry. Hard. Teeth and tongue and frustration and desire all tangled together.
Her fingers clawed at his shirt, gripping the fabric so tightly that it strained against his chest.
Alexander let her.
Let her take what she needed.
Let her punish him with her lips, her nails, the desperate way she pressed against him.
But when she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes still burning with fury—
She did something he didn't expect.
With one hard push, she sent him toppling onto the floor.
His eyes flashed with amusement, intrigue, something dark and wicked.
But before he could make a comment,
Before he could move—
She reached under her dress, pulled her panties down, and stepped right onto his face.
Like she was declaring it.
Like she was staking a claim she refused to say out loud.
Like she was telling him, this is where you belong.
And Alexander lost it.
He groaned, gripping her thighs, his fingers digging in like she was the only thing keeping him on the ground.
He didn't fight it.
Didn't question it.
He just opened his mouth and devoured her.
His tongue was relentless, hot and slick, lapping at her like he had been starving.
Gie moaned sharply, her hands gripping his hair, tugging, trembling.
But even as her legs wobbled, even as she tilted her head back in sheer pleasure—
Her eyes were still angry.
Still furious.
Still seething with the jealousy she refused to admit.
And he loved it.
Loved the way she was fighting herself, fighting this, fighting him—
Even while her body completely surrendered.
His grip tightened, pulling her down against his mouth, his tongue thrusting deep, flicking, teasing, sucking.
Gie cried out, her thighs shaking, her breath ragged.
But she didn't back down.
Didn't let go of the fire burning inside her.
She rocked against his mouth, grinding, taking what she needed, punishing him with the wet heat of her body.
"You're mine," she muttered, not even realizing she had said it.
But he heard it.
And he rewarded her for it.
He sucked her clit between his lips, slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right—
And she collapsed.
Her body gave out, her legs buckling, and he barely caught her before she sank to her knees on top of him.
She moaned so much, her lips parted, her body shaking, her climax hitting her like a violent storm.
But even as she came undone, even as she trembled in his arms—
Her eyes were still angry.
And Alexander?
He was completely obsessed.
Gie's body was still trembling, her thighs weak, her breath shaky, but she wasn't done.
Not yet.
Because if she couldn't say the words—
If she couldn't admit what was really happening between them—
Then she would show him.
She yanked him up, forcing him to stand, and the second he was on his feet—
She kissed him.
Deep. Desperate.
Like she was trying to brand him with her mouth.
Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan against her lips.
But then—
Then she let her hands trail lower.
One slid to the side of his face, stroking the sharp line of his jaw.
The other—
toying with the earring she had given him.
Her thumb brushed over it, teasing, like she was reminding herself that he was still wearing her.
Still hers.
Her kisses trailed down his neck, his collarbone, stopping at his nipple, where the silver chain of her jewelry gleamed under the dim light.
She licked it, tracing the metal with her tongue, pulling at the chain just to hear him suck in a sharp breath.
Alexander shuddered.
"You love that I wear your pieces," he rasped.
She hummed against his skin. "Maybe," she murmured. "Or maybe I just like knowing that you're walking around with my marks on you."
His head tilted back, lips parting, his breathing heavy.
He was already falling apart.
But she wasn't done.
Her hands slid lower, palming him through his slacks, feeling how thick and hard he already was.
She smiled against his skin, dragging her lips down his chest, pressing tiny kisses along the sharp ridges of his abs.
Not tasting him. Not yet.
Just teasing.
And then—she said it.
"I've been thinking about a new jewelry piece," she murmured, her fingers slowly undoing his belt.
Alexander groaned softly, his hips twitching toward her touch.
"Oh?" he rasped.
She nodded, dragging her tongue lightly along the edge of his waistband.
"A chastity belt."
His breath caught.
"For your dick," she added.
"So you can't use it unless I say so."
A deep, wrecked groan tore from his throat.
His fingers dug into her hair, his body going taut.
"Jesus, Gie—"
She smiled.
"You like that?" she mused, undoing his pants, letting them fall to the floor.
"Being mine? Letting me be the only one who can touch you?"
"Fuck," he muttered. "You drive me insane."
She finally pulled him free, watching with fascination as his cock sprang up, thick, heavy, already slick at the tip.
His abs tightened as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him with slow, teasing precision.
And when she finally let her tongue flick against him, tasting the salt of his precome—
His head snapped back.
A deep, broken groan ripped from his throat.
His hands tightened in her hair.
His thighs shook.
And then—
He came.
Hard.
His body jerked, his breath ragged, his release spilling hot and thick onto her tongue.
His moans filled the room, raw and uncontrollable.
His eyes rolled back, his grip trembling, his composure shattered.
And Gie?
She loved it.
Loved seeing him fall apart.
Loved that she was the only one who could make him lose control.
When he finally came down from his high, chest heaving, hands still tangled in her hair—
He looked down at her.
And his gray eyes burned with something dangerous.
Something possessive.
Something terrifyingly close to love.