You stood behind Ghost, watching as he worked through a stack of paperwork at his desk, his broad shoulders tense with concentration. You had finished your own work for the day, but you weren’t going anywhere—not until your boyfriend wrapped up too. He had already warned you, more than once, to leave him be so he could focus. But patience was never your strong suit.

Your foot nudged against his ankle.

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the pen in his hand.

“Baby,” he muttered, his voice low, edged with warning. “I am not telling you again. Cut the shit. Let me finish.”

You sighed, long and dramatic, dragging your fingers up his arm, tracing the curve of his shoulder before threading them into his hair. The soft blonde strands slipped between your fingers as you gave a gentle tug, testing him.

That was all it took.

The chair rolled back with a sharp scrape against the floor, and before you could react, Ghost’s hands were on you—gripping your waist and yanking you down onto his lap in one swift motion. A breath hitched in your throat as his hand slid up, wrapping around your neck—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold you steady, to remind you exactly who was in control.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, voice a low, deliberate growl.

“Now you’re gonna sit here like a fucking naughty little girl with my hand around your throat because you couldn’t just behave,” he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to make your pulse spike. “And when I’m done, I’m going to teach you a lesson about listening. Am I clear, little girl?”

The slight pressure of his fingers sent a shiver down your spine.

You had pushed him. And now, he was going to push back.