Page 9

I feel the tremor that runs through Megan's body the instant my breath touches her throat, and something primal and possessive roars to life in my chest.

Finally.

After more than a year of restraint—fourteen months of watching her move through Kayla's classroom with that careful grace, fourteen months of imagining what she would look like beneath those modest dresses—I am finally touching her.

Her pulse flutters wildly beneath the soft skin of her throat. I can feel it against my lips, a frantic rhythm that tells me everything I need to know.

"I asked you a question, Ivy," I say softly, my lips still hovering near her ear. My hand slides from her jaw down the elegant line of her throat, my fingers splaying across the rapid rise and fall of her collarbone. "What have you been thinking about?"

Megan's breath hitches. "I... I wanted someone who could take control," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Someone who would make me stop thinking. Stop worrying. Just... feel."

My jaw tightens. "Then that's exactly what I'm going to give you."

I pull back just enough to look into her brown eyes through the lace of her mask. My hand moves to cup the side of her face, my thumb brushing across her plush lower lip.

"Red stops everything immediately. Yellow adjusts. Understand?"

Megan nods, her eyes wide and dark with arousal.

"Say it," I command gently.

"I understand," she breathes. "Red stops everything. Yellow adjusts. I'll use my voice."

"Good girl," I murmur, and watch with satisfaction as her pupils dilate at the praise.

I slide both hands down to her hips, my fingers curling into the soft curve of her waist through the green silk. My hands look enormous against her, and the contrast sends a surge of pure possessive hunger straight through me.

I pause, considering my next words carefully. This is a risk—but if she says no, I will respect it completely.

"There's something I want to ask you," I say, my voice low. "A private name I use in dynamics like this. You can say no, or you can choose something else entirely. This is your choice."

Megan's eyes widen slightly behind her mask. "What kind of name?"

"Daddy," I say simply, watching her reaction. "It's not about age or family. It's about trust. Care. Being the one who takes control so you don't have to carry everything alone. But only if you want it. If it doesn't feel right, we don't use it."

Megan is quiet for a moment, her breathing shallow. I can see the curiosity in her eyes, the way she is turning the idea over in her mind.

"I've never..." she starts, then stops. "I didn't expect that."

"I know," I say. "That's why I'm asking. Do you want to try it? Or would you rather I use something else?"

She bites her lower lip, and I watch the exact moment her hesitation shifts into something warmer. "I... I think I'd like to try it," she whispers. "It feels... safe. Like you're taking care of me."

Relief and satisfaction flood through me in equal measure. "Then we'll use it. But if it stops feeling right, you tell me. Understood?"

"Understood," Megan says, her voice steadier now.

"Good girl."

I walk her backward toward the bed, my hands never leaving her hips, guiding her with steady pressure. When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, I stop.

"Sit."

Megan sinks down onto the white duvet, her hands braced on either side of her hips, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

I reach for the tie of her wrap dress, my fingers brushing against the knot at her waist. "May I undress you?"

"Yes," Megan breathes.