Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

A leksei

I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

She’d tried so hard to hide her reaction yesterday, to mask that flash of heat in her eyes when I’d leaned close, gripped her hair in my fist, and called myself Daddy. It was subtle, but I’d seen it written all over her face—a flicker of surprise, a beautiful rosy blush that spread across her cheeks at that single word.

She’d liked it.

I’d hidden it well, but her reaction had made me hard as a rock.

I knew what kind of girl she was. She would never admit it, at least… not until I made her.

She was competitive, fierce, and proud, but there were little tells, barely noticeable to anyone else, that ultimately betrayed her. She was drawn in, curious, maybe even a bit aroused. She’d felt the power shift in that moment, even if she’d wanted to pretend otherwise.

I’ve dealt with enough people to know when I’ve found someone unique, someone who was worth taking the time to unravel. She was a rare find. She thought she could hold her ground, meet my gaze, and keep control. I almost admired her for it. But the truth was we both knew she was mine. It was only a matter of time before she admitted it—out loud…

On her knees as she sucked my cock.

Or maybe even when she was bent over my desk and begging me to fuck her with her bright red ass on full display.

All in due time…

As I scanned the gallery, making last-minute checks before the day began, I sensed her before I saw her. I turned my head just as she walked in, her presence magnetic, even if she was pretending not to notice me watching. Her dark brunette hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face with an almost careless elegance, those piercing blue-gray eyes taking in the room with that determined look I’d already come to recognize was an integral part of her.

She was dressed professionally, of course, but there was a certain allure in the way she carried herself, an underlying confidence and pride that only added to her far too tempting sex appeal.

My gaze roved over her, lingering as she walked, the subtle sway of her hips, the way her shoulders squared off as she lifted her chin, the way her perky little tits filled out her blouse. But then she turned, her eyes meeting mine, her chin tilting a bit higher, almost defiant as she stared back at me.

Almost like she was daring me to walk over to her, pin her against the wall, tear up her skirt, and sink deep into that wet little pussy of hers until she screamed for Daddy.

Even as I thought it, I knew that she wasn’t going to make this easy, and I liked that about her.

I liked a good challenge.

I offered her a small, knowing smile, watching the way her posture straightened, and then the flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

Good. I liked that.

Let her be annoyed. Let her try to ignore that pull between us. Let her try to pretend she was unaffected by me.

She’d come around soon enough, and I intended to enjoy every moment leading up to it.

“Good morning, Amy,” I said, my voice calm, almost casual. “How was your evening?”

“It was fine,” she replied smoothly, and I couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at my lips. I could tell something was off about her, maybe in the way her eyes flashed and how she looked away for the briefest of seconds, or the way her cheeks flushed just the slightest bit, or even in the way her fingers tensed as she answered my question.

I’d gotten to her; that much was clear.

I’d bet money on the fact that she touched her needy little pussy last night while thinking about me.

While thinking about calling me Daddy.

I didn’t press. I didn’t need to.

I could read Amy Whitaker like a book.

“Good to hear,” I said, nodding toward the gallery floor. “We have a few things to sort out for the new pieces coming in. I assume you’re familiar with our upcoming installations?”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin again, that competitive glint in her eyes. “I was actually going to suggest we place the Parisen sculpture in the east alcove. It’s under-lit right now, but with a few adjustments, it could be the focal point we need. The lines of sight lead directly there.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. “A strong suggestion,” I said, meeting her gaze, “but that kind of under-lighting works best for metallics. Parisen’s work is matte. If you bring it to the center, we could amplify the light, giving it depth. We want people to see that piece from every angle.”

She didn’t miss a beat, nodding, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. I looked at her with interest.

“Or,” she replied, matching my tone, “we could bring in some indirect lighting and adjust the angles. It’s the subtlety that’s going to make people stop.”

She was good, I’d give her that. The way her mind worked, the little details she paid attention to—it made her a rarity in the art world, and I needed to capitalize on that. I nodded again, not challenging her further, letting her know she’d made a valid point without needing to push back.

“We’ll try it your way,” I said finally, offering a small smile. “I’ll leave the lighting adjustment to you.”

I could see the way she almost wanted to press further, as though expecting me to give her something more to argue. But I wasn’t here to best her or turn this into another test right now.

It was give and take between us and I wanted to show her that I respected her opinion.

That sometimes Daddy would let his little girl win.

With a curt smile, I turned away, feeling the weight of her gaze on my back as I walked through the gallery toward my office to see to a few things before I joined her on the floor again later that afternoon.

As the hours passed by, we fell into an easy rhythm, each of us occupied but acutely aware of the other. Amy moved with commendable efficiency as she adjusted displays, repositioned lights, and consulted inventory lists with a well-educated eye. It was a joy to watch.

I kept my distance at first, letting her fall into her element. But every so often, I’d catch a glimpse of her looking at me, watching me as she stepped back to study a piece from a new angle or jot down notes with a thoughtful frown.

Each glance was quick and cautious, before she turned back to her work as if she hadn’t looked at me at all.

Every time I happened to meet her eyes, I saw that flicker of something she tried to hide—a question, maybe, or something that she wanted to say. She’d force herself to look away just a beat too quickly, her chin lifting as though to brush off whatever she’d felt. I’d catch the slightest flush on her cheeks, a tension in her mouth, and I could see her silently reminding herself to stay focused, to push through the day as if nothing lingered between us.

But it was there, unspoken, every time she glanced my way.

Later, as she adjusted the lighting on the Parisen sculpture, I approached her, noting the careful concentration on her face, the way she bit her lip in thought. When I stood beside her, she straightened, quickly composing herself as though surprised to find me so close.

But she didn’t step away from me.

I didn’t step away either.

“Your suggestion was a good one,” I said quietly, glancing at the way the light enhanced the depth of the piece.

She nodded, offering a small, professional smile, her eyes not quite meeting mine. “Thank you. It’s… well, it works.”

I held her gaze a second longer than necessary, long enough to watch her shoulders tense, her eyes drifting to mine before darting away. We both knew she was avoiding something, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

I let the silence hang for a beat, then said, “That’ll be all for today. You can go once everything’s in place.”

She seemed to hesitate, standing there like she wanted to say something as her eyes flicked to mine once more before she straightened her shoulders.

I decided to push her.

“Thinking about yesterday, aren’t you?”

Amy’s head snapped up, her eyes widening before she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing. She seemed to weigh her response, fighting with herself, her jaw setting in that defiant way I was quickly learning meant she wanted to avoid whatever answer I was about to demand.

I stepped closer, watching the way she stiffened, refusing to look at me. Gently, I reached out, taking her chin in my hand and tilting her face up toward mine. Her breath caught, and I felt her lean back just slightly, resisting a little, though she didn’t pull away completely.

“I asked you a question, young lady,” I murmured, my tone low but firm. “Were you thinking about yesterday?”

A flash of something crossed her face—annoyance, maybe, or the last remnants of her pride.

“Yeah, so what if I was,” she countered, her voice hard, yet somehow still trembling the slightest bit. If I hadn’t been listening so closely, I might have missed it.

Her blush deepened, and she looked as though she wished she could take it back the moment she’d admitted it. I felt a slow smile tug at my mouth, a faint, rakish grin that I let her see for just a second, enjoying the way she looked up at me, nervous but still holding her ground.

“Well, with that attitude, you’re going to have to wait a while longer to have my cock where you want it, won’t you, little girl?” I said with a smirk.

The look she gave me was practically lethal. She jerked her chin out of my grasp, her eyes blazing as she squared her shoulders, clearly fuming. I watched her closely, memorizing her every reaction down to the smallest detail, my cock hardening in my slacks.

I couldn’t wait to be inside her.

But the saucy little minx wasn’t going to get it where she wanted it, at least not at first.

Maybe I’d begin with her mouth.

Or better yet, deep inside her tight little ass.

I smirked, my balls tightening just thinking about taking either hole. Her gaze bored into mine, annoyed and full of rage.

Entirely too arousing to a man like me.

Without a word, she proudly turned on her heel, her dark hair brushing past me as she stalked away, each step carrying with it a storm of fury that made me smile as my cock got even harder.

I watched her go, enjoying the way her shoulders were just a bit too rigid, her steps clipped and purposeful. There was something incredibly satisfying in seeing her fight against herself. I could almost see her thoughts, the way she was bristling, telling herself she wouldn’t give me the satisfaction.

The way she told herself she wasn’t thinking about my cock.

I smiled wider.

Already, I was one step ahead of her.

She’d told me she’d thought about yesterday. That small confession had come out despite her best efforts to hold it back and keep her cards close.

Now we both knew she wanted me.

She didn’t like it; she wanted to act as though she were above it.

But I knew that deep down, she needed to be fucked by Daddy.

And she knew it too.

For all her pride, all of her resistance, Amy Whitaker was starting to unravel, and it was only a matter of time before she’d stop pretending otherwise.

Before I made her stop pretending otherwise…

I waited until she was out the door, then leaned back against the counter, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction settle over me. She’d stormed off, no doubt heading home to stew, to tell herself all the reasons she shouldn’t be thinking about me. But I knew that every attempt to shake me would only bring her back to this moment, to my touch, to what I’d said to get inside her head.

Yes, she’d come around. And I was going to savor every moment of it until she did and then I would enjoy every inch of that beautiful body to the fullest.

It was simply a matter of time.