Who's My Triplet's Alpha Daddy? Novel

Chapter 51 Dec 26, 2025 POV: Lysander Claire walks into my office Tuesday morning wearing that navy dress that's professional enough to pass HR but cut in a way that makes my hindbrain sit up and pay attention. Something's different about her today. The way she moves, the slight flush on her cheeks, how her scent hits me with enough force to make my wolf stir from its lazy sprawl. She's ovulating. My body knows it before my brain catches up, every instinct suddenly laser-focused on the woman leaning against my desk like she owns it. Fuck me sideways.

"Morning," she says, and even her voice sounds different. Lower. Deliberate. Like she's testing each word's weight before letting it fall. "Morning." The word comes out rougher than intended, betraying exactly how not-fine I am with this situation. She notices. Of course she notices-Claire's too observant to miss the way my jaw tightens, how my eyes track the line of her thigh where the dress clings just wrong enough to be right. "I brought the Harrison revisions." She slides the folder across my desk, fingers lingering just long enough to be deliberate.

Her nails are painted dark red today, and my traitorous brain immediately supplies several graphic scenarios involving those nails and my back. We spend twenty minutes allegedly going through contract language while she systematically destroys my composure. A hand on my shoulder as she leans over to point at a clause, her breast pressing against my arm with enough pressure I can tell she's not wearing much underneath. Her thigh brushing mine when she perches on the desk's edge, the heat of her skin burning through thin fabric like a brand.

The soft press of her hip against my hand when she reaches across for a pen, lingering just long enough I know it's calculated. It's torture. The good kind, the kind that makes you question your life choices while simultaneously making more bad ones. "What's gotten into you?" I finally ask when she traces a finger along my desk's edge, so close to my hand her pinky brushes my knuckle and sends electricity straight to my dick. "I'm done holding back." She meets my eyes directly, and there's something fierce there I've never seen before.

Heat and hunger and absolute certainty that makes my stomach drop in the best way. "I've been so careful, so professional, pretending I don't want you when we both know that's complete bullshit." My wolf growls approval deep in my chest. Low, possessive, hungry in ways that should probably concern me. She leans closer, close enough I can see her pulse hammering in her throat, can smell arousal mixing with her perfume. "I've been imagining what you taste like. What sounds you'd make if I put my mouth on you." Her voice drops to a whisper that makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.

"What you'd look like when you lose control and stop being so fucking careful all the time." My hands grip the armrests hard enough the wood creaks. Every instinct screams to pull her into my lap, taste that smart mouth that's been driving me insane for weeks, find out if her skin is as soft as it looks under my hands. "I want to show you what I've been keeping locked down, Lysander." Her hand finally makes contact, fingertips tracing my knuckles with feather-light pressure that somehow feels more intimate than if she'd grabbed my dick.

"What I could give you if you'd stop overthinking everything and just let me." I'm hard as fucking steel, straining against my pants with enough force it's almost painful. She can see it-her eyes drop deliberately to my lap, lips curving with pure satisfaction at the obvious effect she's having. "Claire-" "But not here. Not now, when anyone could interrupt and ruin it." She straightens, smoothing her dress with deliberate slowness that draws attention to the curve of her waist, her hips, everything my hands want to grip. "Lunch. When the office clears out.

I'll come back and we can finish this properly." She turns to leave and the sway of her hips is pure calculated sin. At the door, she looks back over her shoulder, and the expression on her face makes my mouth go dry. "And Lysander? Don't take care of that yourself. I want you desperate when I get back." Then she's gone, leaving me hard and frustrated and completely wrecked before noon. The morning drags like I'm wading through concrete. Every email reminds me of her hands on my desk. Every call makes me think about her voice dropping to that intimate whisper.

Every fucking minute crawls by while my body remembers the press of her thigh, the heat of her breath, the promise in her eyes that I'm absolutely going to collect on. I'm half-considering breaking her rule and jerking off in my private bathroom just for relief when I check the time. 12:47. The office should be clearing out soon-everyone heading to lunch, leaving the executive floor blessedly empty for whatever Claire has planned. At 1:03, my door opens. Claire. Carrying two coffees like this is casual, like she didn't spend the morning systematically destroying my composure piece by piece.

She's unbuttoned the top two buttons of her dress since this morning-not enough to be unprofessional, just enough that I can see the swell of her breasts when she leans forward to set the cups down. "Thought you might need this." She takes a sip from her own cup, and the movement draws attention to her lips, her throat, the way her tongue catches the last drop of coffee with deliberate slowness that makes me want to bite her. Jesus fucking Christ. "Thanks." I reach for the cup but she intercepts, sets it back down with a soft click.

"Not yet." She moves around my desk with predatory grace, hips swaying. "First, I want to show you exactly what you've been missing by being so goddamn professional all the time." My chair rolls back slightly as she approaches. She doesn't stop until she's standing between my legs, close enough I can smell her perfume mixed with arousal-vanilla and musk and pure want that makes my wolf sit up and take notice. "Claire, we're at work-" "So?" Her hands slide up my thighs, deliberate pressure that makes my breath catch.

She can feel how hard I am, I know she can, and the smile that curves her lips is pure satisfaction mixed with hunger. "The door's locked. Everyone's gone. And I've been very, very patient while you figured out what you want." Her palms press against my erection through my pants and I bite back a groan that would definitely carry into the hallway. "I've been thinking about this all morning." She traces the outline of my cock with one finger, maddeningly light. "Imagining how you'd taste. How heavy you'd feel on my tongue." Her eyes meet mine, dark with want.

"Whether you're the type who likes to watch or prefers to close your eyes and just feel everything." "Fuck-" She drops to her knees and my brain short-circuits completely. Her hands find my belt with practiced efficiency, fingers working the buckle open with confidence that suggests she's thought about this exact moment more than once. Button released. Zipper down with agonizing slowness.

She pulls at my pants and I lift my hips automatically, helping even as my rational brain screams this is insane, we're at work, anyone could walk in despite the lock- She frees my cock and wraps one hand around the base, and the touch after hours of anticipation nearly ends me right there. "God, you're perfect." Her breath ghosts over the head and I nearly come from that alone. "I knew you would be." Then her tongue traces up my length, base to tip, and I stop breathing entirely. Archer