Page 29 of Candy Cane Chains

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, tothe 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.

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