Don't touch Daddy 💦💕⛓️‍💥

IVY.

I had just dropped from the taxi, and trust me, I didn’t plan on staying out this late, but… Dani… that girl had a way of keeping someone. She took me everywhere I didn’t have the time to go in four years. It was like she wanted to make up for every distance today!

And of course the outfit I was wearing was hers because almighty Dani decided my clothes were too boring for a club night.

It’s eleven and I just entered the estate.

From the gates, the securities couldn’t take their eyes off me. It was kind of shameful in a way, but then, it only means I’m that good, right?

And now here I am standing in front of the door, with Christian in front of me, just as I want to open the door.

My mouth opens to greet him. But I barely gather my good evening before—

“Where the fuck do you think you are coming from?” His voice bites out in fury.

I freeze mid-step, my heels clicking hard against the floor. The greetings I had arranged in my head retreat.

“Out,” I say. Just one syllable.

“Out where? Did you not read the rules?” he spits.

“Rules?” A laugh bubbles up. I tilt my head to study him in the dim, amber light of the porch. “Wait. Let me guess. You were up here all night, pacing like a caged beast, pissed because I didn’t write a formal application letter requesting permission to breathe outside your walls?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Oh… I guess that is it. Sorry. It was urgent. Next time I’ll submit a dictionary explaining why I want to leave. For now, let me pass.”

“Stop right there.” His whole body locks up as he gestures with his finger to stop. He’s dead serious, the air between us turning to ice. “You don’t break the rules in this house and think you can get away with it.”

Is he serious right now? I ask myself.

“Christian, I’m not your pet bird.”

“Point of correction, Ivy,” he bites out, stepping closer, his presence suffocatingly heavy. “First of all, you will address me with respect. You will not call me Christian. We are not that informal.”

“Exactly. We’re not.” The word burns on my tongue, hot. My voice rises. I don’t care who hears me. “We are not that informal, which is why you should stay the fuck away from me! Tell your goons to back off, too—because the next time anyone tries to trap me in this Gothic house, you’ll have to bury someone again, and I swear to God it won’t be me!”

He breathes as he murmurs an inaudible curse.

“Where the hell are you coming from by eleven at night in a city you just arrived in?”

“That is none of your business,” I say firmly, holding his gaze. If he thinks I will be scared of him, jokes.

“It is my business because you are under my roof!” His eyes blaze, a mix of anger and frustration.

He steps forward. And I stand my ground, refusing to give an inch, even as my heart beats faster than it should.

“Who said I wanted to be here under your godforsaken roof?” My voice trembles, slicing through the defiance.

I swear to God I didn’t want anything to do with him. He never called me. He didn’t even know me when my mother was alive. I was a ghost at the edge of their perfect picture—and now he wants to lock me in a cage?

“Christian, you never cared about me! You never considered me a person until my mother died, and now you want to boss me around? Who the fuck are you in my life?! Tell me what you think you are!”

The words echo in the high-ceilinged hall.

“You’re just a man my mother fucked,” I grit out before I could bite the words back.

A sudden, hot sting of tears pricks the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back with a vengeance. I won’t cry in front of him. No. I’m not giving him that satisfaction.

“You have no right restricting my movements,” I continue, while holding his gaze. “I am an adult!”

“You are not.” He whispers, like he’s struggling to believe it. “You don't have any idea what this city holds.”

“I do! And for God's sak, I’m fucking eighteen! And I can do whatever the hell I want with my life!”

One minute he’s there in front of me, the next second he surges forward—too fast—and pins me against the wall.

The impact rattles my teeth, but he doesn’t let his chest touch mine.

No part of his body touches me as he boxes me in completely. Eye to eye. I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

“Who, Ivy…”

“Who told you you could talk back to me?”

I watch the pulse in his throat as his eyes search my face, revealing the desperate struggle of a man barely keeping his emotions under control.

“Who told you you could go out dressed like this…” His eyes trail down my body swiftly, “…while you’re under my roof?”

Up close, the heat radiating off his skin is intoxicating. And his scent. Goodness. He smells nothing like those boys in the club. Masculine. So fucking masculine.

And now, even in this anger, I can’t deny the truth, no matter how much I hate it: Christian de Luca is drop-dead, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. In a way that makes my panties wet just staring from this distance.

“And who are you to decide what I wear, Christian?” I ask.

He watches me for a second longer than necessary.

Then,

“Your stepfather,” he bites out the word like poison, like it tastes as foul in his mouth as it does in mine.

I hold his burning gaze, swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat, a wicked, reckless pulse taking over my limbs.

“Stepfather?” I dare, making sure to lock my eyes on his. “Isn’t that a heavy word for a man who looks at me like he wants to bend me over this wall and fuck the hell out of me?”

I shouldn’t say that. Not to my mother’s husband.

But I say it out loud because I see it. I feel it. It’s written all over him. The way his eyes linger, the way his jaw clenches, the pulse in his neck. And of course that bulge that’s threatening to explode.

“Ivy…” he warns, but the authority in his voice is fraying at the edges, snapping thread by thread. He tries to pull back slightly.

“What? Am I lying?” I step right back into his space, closing the gap before he can retreat. The audacity of me having this power over him, even if it’s for one minute, thrills and terrifies me. But then again, someone has to force him to look in the mirror. Someone has to let him know he isn’t the saint he pretends to be.

“Stop. Don’t come close to me.” He warns.

“Why?” I ask, my eyes holding his. “Because you might lose control? And just do it?”

My hand moves before my brain can catch up to my impulses. I palm the heavy, straining bulge in his slacks—and

fuck,

The man is hard. Rock-hard. Burning hot beneath the fabric of his pants.

I force my expression to stay flat, my fingers curling instinctively over the thick, aching heat of him. The cock twitches in my hand. That iron leash is snapping right now, right under my palm.

“Christian… aren’t you so hard for someone who’s supposed to be a stepfather.”

“Ivy… stop,” he groans. The sound doesn’t sound like the command tone from earlier. It sounds like a plea. And to make it better or worse? He doesn’t pull away. He stands completely paralyzed.

I apply just enough pressure, feeling him jump beneath my touch. “Tssss…” The moan slips out of his mouth and my pussy weeps.

“You aren’t pulling away,” I whisper, my voice dropping an octave into a breathless, mocking challenge. “You seem to like this a lot more than you admit. Step… DADDY.”

The second the word leaves my tongue, a hot, electric shockwave hits my own cunt, dampening my panties and melting my bones.

That’s the breaking point.

With a violent jerk, Christian slaps my hand away. He rips off his jacket, shoving it roughly onto my chest to block out the view of my choking-out boobs, then he leans in, his breath hot and dangerous right against my lips.

“Rule number one, Ivy,” he growls, his voice vibrating with a dark, trembling fury that makes me freeze and want more.

“Don’t. Touch. Me. Ever.”

I stare up into the raw, consuming hunger burning in his eyes. So sexy. Yet terrifying.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and walks down the hallway. My legs squeeze tight. Enough to send pressure to my already aching clit…

This is wrong. But it feels oddly right. And I only live once. So I take the right part and ignore the wrong side.

One week in this house won’t be so boring, I guess.