Gie stood back, arms crossed, lips pressed together, trying—desperately—to keep herself together.
Because he looked good. Too good.
Alexander stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the sleeves of his charcoal-gray suit, his silver-lined jacket hugging his broad shoulders, the black dress shirt emphasizing the sharp cut of his body.
It was perfect. He was perfect.
And worst of all? He knew it.
He turned slightly, examining himself with the kind of effortless confidence that only men like him possessed, then slid his gaze back to her.
His gray eyes flickered with approval.
"You have good taste."
Gie exhaled slowly, forcing her pulse to settle. "I would hope so. It's my job."
He smirked. Then, completely casually, "You can dress me from now on."
Gie's entire body locked up.
Her brain? Gone.
She tried—so hard—not to read into it. Tried not to think about how those words sounded like something more.
But the images betrayed her.
Because the way he said it—so smooth, so lazy, so undeniably sensual—it made her stomach clench painfully.
Like she could actually imagine it. Imagine choosing his clothes every morning. Imagine undoing his tie every night. Imagine undressing him instead.
Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. God, what was wrong with her?
She needed to leave. Now.
Before she did something she would regret. Before she could combust from the sheer heat of his presence.
"There's one more thing."
Gie blinked, trying to reset her brain. "What?"
"I have.... a shoot. I need a custom piece," he said smoothly.
She frowned slightly, instantly shifting back into business mode. Maybe he need a statement piece.
"What kind of piece?"
He paused. Then—
"A single nipple jewelry."
Gie short-circuited.
Her mouth went dry, her brain froze, and her lungs completely forgot how to function.
A— A what? She must have heard wrong. She must have.
Because there was no way Alexander Millers just asked her to design jewelry for his—
"I—" She coughed, choking on her own oxygen. "I—sorry, what?"
"A nipple jewelry," he repeated, completely unfazed.
Like this was a normal conversation. Like this wasn't about to send her into cardiac arrest.
"I need something minimal but striking," he continued, already undoing the buttons of his suit jacket. "Something that looks like an elegant statement—"
He shrugged off the jacket, his fingers already loosening his black dress shirt.
Gie's entire body locked up.
"Wait—what are you—"
And then—
The shirt came off.
And Gie? She fucking died.
She had seen beautiful men before. She had been around models, celebrities, royalty.
But Alexander? He was on a level that should not be legal.
His body—lean, defined, powerful—was a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and effortless grace. Not bulky. Not excessive. Just pure, controlled strength, every inch of him built like he was meant to be worshipped.
Her eyes involuntarily dragged over his chest, his stomach, the deep lines that disappeared into his slacks.
And then— Then he took her hand. And placed it directly over his nipple.
Gie fell apart.
Her entire body shut down, her fingers pressing against his skin, feeling the warmth of him, the hard plane of his chest, the way his muscles flexed subtly beneath her touch.
Her thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling low and deep, her breath coming out shallow, shaky.
And the worst part? He was watching her. Closely.
Like he knew exactly what was happening to her. Like he could feel the way she was unraveling.
"You'll need to understand the size," he murmured, voice slow and low, just shy of a whisper.
His hand covered hers, pressing her palm fully against him.
She stared at their hands, at his chest, heart pounding.
"I thought you didn't want touches," she whispered, barely able to speak.
He tilted his head, eyes dark. "I like yours."
Her breath caught in her throat.
This wasn't just a moment. It was a confession. A crack in the armor he always wore.
And it changed everything.
"Design something for me, Gie."
He guided her fingers, slow and deliberate, until the tips brushed against the sensitive skin.
"You need to take my correct size," he murmured, voice a dark hum near her ear. "To get the right pin width."
Her breath hitched.
A sound escaped her throat—barely a moan, but real enough to make her clamp her lips shut.
She was looking at his hand over hers, guiding her, grounding her—and at the same time, undoing her.
Heat curled in her gut, slow and sharp, blooming up her spine.
She was getting so hot.
Too hot.
And the worst part? He hadn't even done anything. Not really.
But her body was already betraying her.
And he knew. He absolutely knew. Low. Smooth. Sinful.
Like he was asking for more than just jewelry. Like he was asking for her.
He guided her fingers, slow and deliberate, until the tips brushed against the sensitive skin.
"You need to take my correct size," he murmured, voice a dark hum against her ear. "To get the right pin width."
Her breath hitched.
She almost moaned.
She was looking at his hand over hers, guiding her, grounding her—and at the same time, undoing her.
Heat curled in her gut, slow and sharp, blooming up her spine.
She was getting so hot.
Too hot.
Gie didn't even remember leaving his penthouse.
She didn't remember how she got into the car, how she walked through the front door of her house, how she managed to make it to the living room without collapsing in a heap of frustration and unfulfilled need.
All she knew was that her body was on fire.
Her mind? A mess.
Her thoughts?
Completely destroyed.
The moment she stepped inside, she was greeted by Alina's excited shriek.
"Did you do it?"
"OH MY GOD!" Alina jumped off the couch, nearly knocking over a lamp. "You're home?! What the hell, Gie?! Did you do it?!"
Gie groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "I—What?"
Alina threw her arms in the air. "Don't play dumb! You were gone for HOURS! I assumed you were getting railed!"
Gie choked on air.
Her entire soul left her body.
"ALINA!"
Alina crossed her arms, dead serious. "So. Did you?"
"NO!" Gie shouted, horrified.
Alina blinked.
Then—her entire face fell.
"You're telling me you spent hours with him and you are still coming home virgin?"
Gie groaned violently, marching toward the stairs. "I'm going to my room."
"You should be going BACK TO HIS PLACE!" Alina yelled after her. "You could be getting dicked down by a hot guy, Gie!"
Gie slammed her door shut.
Her entire body was shaking—from embarrassment, frustration, and worst of all…
Unfulfilled, unbearable need.
She tried to distract herself by pulling out her laptop and researching online, scrolling through various artists' creations, exploring different nipple rings and exotic jewelry designs. She hoped inspiration would strike, or at least that the intricate craftsmanship would occupy her restless mind.
Instead, her imagination betrayed her.
As she clicked through image after image, her mind flashed to Alexander, picturing him adorned with each design she viewed—bold chains, delicate hoops, intricate bars.
She imagined tracing her tongue over cool metal warmed by his skin, tugging gently until he groaned, eyes darkening dangerously.
She pictured herself pinning him down, feeling him shiver beneath her fingertips, his breath hitching as she teased each sensitive spot, metal glinting erotically under her touch.
Her pencil scratched uselessly against the paper, her lines turning into nonsense, her hand trembling as the ache between her thighs grew too unbearable to ignore.
"Fuck," she whispered, slamming the sketchbook shut.
Her entire body was hot, restless, desperate.
She needed—
She needed release.
She barely made it to her bedroom, her skin burning, pulsing, craving something that wasn't there.
She peeled off her clothes like they were suffocating her, crawling into her sheets, her legs already spreading, her fingers already sliding down.
She was so wet it was embarrassing.
Her breath came out shaky, erratic, as she pressed her fingers against her aching clit, her mind instantly conjuring him.
Alexander.
His hands, gripping her hips.
His mouth, whispering filth into her ear—telling her exactly how he wanted her, how she drove him wild.
His chest, hot and firm, pressing her into the mattress, the jewelry she designed glinting seductively from his nipple.
Her fingers moved faster, harder, her body trembling, her thighs clenching around her own hand as the pleasure climbed higher and higher and higher.
Her lips parted, a moan slipping out, her hips arching off the bed.
She pictured him above her, wearing nothing but the jewelry she had made for him.
The ring on his hand, gripping her waist.
The earring dangling from his ear, catching the light as he pinned her down.
The nipple jewelry glinting against his bare chest, teasing her, making her ache, begging for her mouth.
"Fuck—"
The pleasure snapped.
Her back arched violently, her orgasm ripping through her so hard she nearly sobbed.
Her legs shook, her body convulsed, the waves dragging her under, again and again, pulsing through her with no mercy.
It was too much.
And yet—
It wasn't enough.
Because when the pleasure faded, when her body finally stopped trembling, the ache in her chest remained.
Because it wasn't just lust anymore.
It was him.
And she didn't know how to make it stop.