Gie was breathless, her body still pulsing, trembling from the aftershocks of the most intense pleasure of her life.
She should have been spent. She should have been satisfied.
But when she looked at him— When she saw Alexander lying there, muscles still taut, chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths, his gray eyes hazy with lingering lust—
Something primal took over.
She wanted to taste him. Wanted to ruin him the way he had ruined her.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she moved.
Her hands pressed against his chest, catching him off guard as she pushed him back into the mattress. He went with it, eyes widening slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face—
Then he smirked.
"Taking control, are we?" he murmured, voice low and rough with approval.
"Talking so much now, are we?" she muttered, rolling her eyes.
He chuckled, and she silenced him with a kiss—hard, deep, hungry—her thighs sliding over his hips as she reclaimed him. Her movements were clumsy, mimicking his kisses, but full of fire and intent.
His groan rumbled deep in his chest. His hands rose to grip her waist, but she grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the mattress. His brows arched again—but he let her.
Let her take. Let her explore. Let her lead.
She was about to see just how much control he would surrender.
She broke the kiss, lips trailing down the sharp edge of his jaw, over the strong column of his throat, her tongue flicking over the pulse that thundered beneath his skin.
Then she found it—
The earring. Her earring. Her creation.
She licked it, sucked on the cool metal, savoring the contrast of silver against his heat. A hiss escaped him, his chest rising sharply, his fingers twitching beneath her grip.
She had imagined this moment in the quiet of night, when the world fell silent and her dreams turned wicked.
And now—
Now it was real.
She moved lower. Her lips skimmed his neck, down to where the chain lay across his collarbone. She pulled back for a moment, drinking him in—the way the metal gleamed against his skin, the way he looked like something crafted for sin.
Even better than she had ever imagined.
Her tongue continued downward until she reached the chain.
Her piece. The one connecting the pierced nipple to the necklace around his neck.
Her fingers found it. Her mouth closed over the jewelry.
And she bit.
Not hard—just enough to make him groan, his hips jerking beneath her.
Then she tugged on the chain—slow, deliberate.
His abs tightened. His body tensed. His breath left him in a broken growl.
"Fuck," he muttered, hoarse, wrecked.
She smiled against his skin.
He was unraveling.
Alexander Millers—untouchable, unreadable, always in control—was coming undone.
Her lips traveled down his stomach, each kiss softer, more intentional. When she reached the sharp V of his hips—
She saw him.
Hard. Heavy. Leaking against his abdomen.
She swallowed. He was huge.
Intimidating.
And this was her first time.
After losing her parents, she had tried to carry the weight of their name alone—burying her youth under responsibility and expectations. She had forgotten what it was to just be.
But here she was—
Getting loose for the first time in years.
And the need inside her overwhelmed the hesitation.
She wrapped her fingers around him—barely managing to circle him. He gasped.
His entire body stiffened, his fists twisting in the sheets. One look at his face—eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving—and she knew.
He was hers.
She licked him.
Slow. Teasing.
His reaction was instant. A sharp inhale. A deep groan. His hips flexed involuntarily.
Then she took him into her mouth.
Heat. Weight. Power.
Her lips slid over him, tongue tracing every thick vein, every curve.
"Fuck, Gie—"
His voice. Her name. Wrecked and holy.
She went deeper, hand working in rhythm with her mouth, the other braced on his hip to keep him from thrusting.
He was fighting not to take over.
She watched him—every twitch, every breath, every tightening muscle—learning what made him weak.
His thighs trembled. His abs clenched. His hands fisted the sheets like anchors.
She was in control.
And he was spiraling.
He whimpered when she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, the sound tearing from him like something sacred.
He looked like sin and surrender.
And she wasn't done.
More suction. More pressure. Deeper. Slower. Harder.
Until his control broke.
Until he moaned her name like a curse, like a prayer.
Until she had him trembling, sweat-damp, mouth parted, teetering on the edge.
And she wasn't letting go.
Not until he shattered.
And when he finally did—
When his body arched, when he spilled into her mouth with a growl so raw it vibrated through her—
He was beautiful.
Absolutely. Utterly. Hers.