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You were supposed to spend Christmas with Bishop. Even though you were fairly new, and the age gap was significant, the relationship had grown into something that had surprised both of you. At first it was your love of role playing and your daddy kink that made you peruse him. You weren’t waiting for this silver fox to come to you, no. You’ve always been a woman who knows what she’s want and how to get it. And you got him. One taste of you and he was hooked.
But this was supposed to be your first Christmas together and he’d been gone away on a run with the guys. He barely made it back in time for the gift exchange at the clubhouse. But even though you were happy that he was here now you can’t stop pouting because he’s not giving you enough attention.
He spent most of the time since his return talking with the other guys, as if he hadn’t already spent enough time with them, you spent it sitting alone stewing in your own self-pity and you irritation and anger only grows by the minute.
Bishop had noted your bad attitude and he’s had about enough it.
“What’s wrong, babygirl.” He asks you.
“I’m bored. I’m tire of being here all alone all by myself.” You whining draws attention from the others here tonight. Some of his men look at him with a mixture of amusement and sympathy while other just rol their eyes.
“You know bebita, I’ve had enough of this. We’re leaving. Now.” His voice was sharp.
The car ride had been quiet and felt longer than it should and when you made it home, your marched into the house still pouting, slamming the door and leaving your man outside.
Bishop stepped into the softly lit living room, brushing the cold December air off his jacket. The faint smell of pine and cinnamon from the Christmas tree lingered, but his attention snapped to you, sitting curled up on the couch, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.
“I am glad you made it just in time,” you muttered, your tone icy despite the warmth of the room. You didn’t look at him, instead keeping your gaze fixed on the crackling faux fire from the faux fireplace.
He tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and strode over, his heavy boots making the wooden floor creak. “Barely,” he replied, his deep voice carrying the weight of exhaustion. But when he crouched in front of you, his dark eyes scanned your face. “You’ve still got a look on you. What’s really the problem, sweetheart?”
You let out a sharp huff, refusing to meet his gaze. “Nothing.”
Bishop chuckled, a low and knowing sound. “‘Nothing,’ huh?” he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. He straightened, towering over you now, his presence impossible to ignore. “You’re pouting like I just ruined Christmas.”
His words only fueled your irritation. “You leave for days, come back late, and act like I’m the one in the wrong? It’s Christmas, and you’d rather spend it with your boys than with me. You were with them all week already. Why do you got a fuck them since you love them more than me.”
Bishop tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Ah, there she is,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “The attitude I know so well. I’ve been out there freezing my ass off, handling things for the club, and you’re sitting here, giving me this?”
He stood, towering over you now. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh? Acting out because you didn’t get enough attention?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off, stepping closer. His hand slid beneath your chin again, this time with more insistence, forcing your eyes to meet his.
“Alright then,” he said, his tone dropping, firm and commanding. “If you want my attention, you’ve got it. But you’re not gonna like how I give it when you’re acting like this.”
Before you could respond, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you up from the couch. Your heart raced as he backed you against the wall, his rough hand tilting your chin up to meet his eyes.
“You want to pout and play brat? Fine,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I’m the one who decides how this ends.”
Your breath hitched as he pulled you to your feet, his grip firm but never rough. He backed you against the wall, his broad frame pinning you in place. His fingers traced a line down your jaw before tilting your head back slightly.
“You’ve been spoiled too long, thinking you can act out and I’ll let it slide.” His lips hovered inches from yours, the heat of his breath teasing you. “Not tonight.”
Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, the tension thick between you. His free hand slid down to your waist, gripping you possessively.
“Now,” he said, his voice laced with honey and venom, “let’s see if you’re ready to act right or if I have to teach you how.”