Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
I chuckle, shaking my head. "You're lucky I like you or I'd stop making you so goddamn much money." I'm a financial analyst. He runs this place, and I keep his pockets flush on the side by helping oversee his investment portfolio.
"No, you wouldn't. You're too good at it." His grin widens. "Seriously, though. Use your membership. Don't use it. Either way, it's still yours. I'm not canceling it."
I shake my head, not surprised. Roman does what Roman wants, exactly like he said. This is his club. He makes the rules. I glance back down at the bar, watching as a brunette tries to shove her hand down Les Anderson's pants.
"You ever get tired of watching people fuck?"
His loud laugh bounces off the ceiling. "Every fucking day. Why do you think I spend half my time up here with my wife instead of down there? Parts of it are erotic, but voyeurism isn't my kink. Maybe it's enjoyable for those who get off on it, but it's all just poles in holes after a while."
"Jesus Christ."
"You asked," he reminds me.
"Yeah, I guess I—" I freeze, my gaze caught on a young couple walking into the main bar from the hallway. The man is maybe twenty-nine or thirty, his blond hair slicked back into a neat bun. His stylish purple suit accentuates his muscular frame and broad shoulders. A mischievous grin plays across his lips as he turns back to say something to the woman a few steps behind him.
As soon as my gaze lands on her, the rest of the world falls away. I haven't seen her in two years, but she's haunted me every fucking moment since that day on campus. There is no mistaking her. She's burned into my memory, every delectable inch of her seared into my gray matter like a brand.
Her pouty lips move as she whispers something to the man in the purple suit, shaping each word like a kiss. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her head, strands hanging loose around her delicate face. Even after two years, she's still an innocent little angel, so goddamn beautiful she takes my breath away.
Her simple black dress hugs her round, curvy body in ways that make me jealous of the fabric. Those should be my hands sliding across her hips like that, my hands caressing her plump ass just so. My mouth teasing her perfect nipples until she's begging Daddy to let her come.
Jesus Christ. I didn't dream her. Did I?
"The blonde," I growl, grabbing Roman's arm. "Do you see her?"
"What blonde? There are like twenty of them down there, Micah."
"By the door. Black dress."
Fuck.
If she isn't real…
If I'm losing my goddamn mind…
"Davina." Roman pries my hand off his arm. "Her name is Davina Dauphine."
Davina. My baby girl's name is Davina.
Fucking hell. She's real. She's here.
Somehow, my wildest dreams have actually come true. I don't believe in divine intervention, but this feels pretty fucking divine to me.
"She's visiting for the night," Roman says softly. "Do you know her?"
"I…Christ, I've been looking for her for two years," I rasp, unable to take my eyes off her as she moves deeper into the bar, her innocent eyes wide as they dart all around her.
"Jesus."
The man with her reaches out, looping his arm through hers. He pulls her toward him, leaning close to say something to her.
Oh, hell no.
He has his fucking hands on my baby girl.
A growl rips from my chest, my vision turning red.
I practically launch myself down the stairs, possessive fury churning through me.
Chapter Two
Davina
This may be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, and I don't even get to take the credit. I always imagined that when I said I did something completely outrageous, that I'd at least be able to say that it was my idea, but no. I don't even get the glory. My best friend, Corey, does.
Rude.
My knees practically shake as the massive bouncer at the door takes our invitations and our IDs and looks us over. He stares hard, as if he's scouring my mind for every bad thought in my head.
I blink wide eyes at him, trying to appear calm and confident even though I'm a quivering mess inside.
I don't belong in this place.
Part of me hopes he realizes that and sends me on my way.
"Go on in," he practically growls, dashing that hope all to pieces. "Keep your clothes on in public rooms and keep play to designated areas. If you need help, find a monitor. And most importantly, keep play safe, sane, and consensual." He cuts his piercing blue eyes at me, his bald head gleaming. "Have fun."
"Not likely," I mutter, my stomach turning somersaults.
"Did you say something?"
Crap. He heard me.
"Nothing," I squeak, my face blazing with heat.
Corey loops his arm through mine as the behemoth motions us into the club. My heart pounds like a freaking drum. This is a terrible idea.