The house is too quiet for your liking. No music, no chaos, just the occasional low creak of Joker's office chair and the steady scratch of his pen. You know he's working—something about numbers, shipments, and some new guys coming by soon. Boring.
So naturally, you do the one thing he told you not to do.
You wander around in one of his white tank tops, thin and a size too big, barely covering your lacy panties. You know he's told you—three times now—to go put on "something that doesn't scream come-fuck-me" because he's got people coming over.
But the floors are cold, and all your comfy clothes are... somewhere. Probably the laundry.
That's your excuse, anyway.
You tiptoe down the hallway toward his office, humming to yourself, twirling the end of your hair on your finger like you're totally innocent. When you reach the door, you peek inside, face half-hidden behind the frame.
"Daddy?"
He doesn't look up. "Put clothes on."
You pout instantly. "You didn't even look."
"I don't need to look. I can hear your little feet," he growls. "You wearin' pants?"
"...No."
"What. The. Fuck," he mutters, pen still gliding across paper. "You tryin' to get me killed? Or maybe you just want me to kill them when they look at you wrong?"
You step fully into the room, tiptoeing across the rug until you're standing by his desk, arms behind your back, swinging gently on your heels. "I just missed you."
That gets him. His pen stills mid-signature. He sighs deeply and finally lifts his eyes to you. And yeah—he's pissed. But there's something else in his stare too. Something dark and hungry and amused, all tangled up together.
"You're not playing fair, little girl."
You bat your lashes. "I'm not playing at all."
He groans under his breath and stands, looming over you now, his presence instantly bigger, heavier.
"You are the cutest goddamn pain in my ass," he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "You think that sweet little face makes it okay to disobey me?"
Your bottom lip juts out. "I didn't mean to disobey..." you mumble, twirling his necklace around your finger. "I just... I wanted attention. That's all."
His jaw twitches. He's fighting it—he always does. But you see the crack in his armor. The way his hand curls around your waist just a little tighter, the way his breath catches when you shift closer.
"And you thought walking around in panties was the way to get it?"
You nod. "It worked, didn't it?"
He laughs once—low and dangerous. "You're lucky I like you, sweetheart. Anyone else would be in the goddamn ground by now."
You smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "But I'm not anyone else."
"No," he murmurs, hands sliding down to your thighs. "You're mine."
And just as he lifts you effortlessly onto the desk, there's a knock at the front door.
He growls, pressing his forehead to yours. "Of course."
You giggle, arms draped around his neck. "I told you they'd be early."
He looks at you—really looks at you—and sighs like he's made peace with the chaos you bring.
"Five minutes," he mutters, voice low and dark, pressing a kiss just under your jaw. "Then I'm answering that door. But when they leave?"
You grin. "I'll still be wearing this."
He growls again, walking away before he changes his mind and cancels the meeting altogether.
