Page 11 of Submitting to Daddy
The club feels is still humming beneath the surface, like it’s alive and breathing. It’s only been open one night, and already it seems to be a raging success. The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp tang of champagne mixed with money. Upstairs in the VIP suites, a few girls are wrapping up with the high-rollers who wouldn’t leave without one last dance—and a denial of requests they’ll never get fulfilled here. The cleanup crew is already moving through the club like shadows, collecting glassware and brushing glitter from tabletops.
When the last drunk bastard stumbles out the door, the house lights up as the music dies down; King’s Temptation is quiet again. It’s just us—me and my brothers watching the last flickers of neon pulsing against the black marble floors.
Enzo leans against the edge of the bar, rolling his sleeves up with that smugness he wears when he knows something went well. “Not a bad first night,” he boasts, eyeing the tally sheets. “Six figures on paper. More off. We’re already making money hand over fist.”
Thumbing through receipts beside him, Nikolai lets out a pleased sigh. “Two of the booths paid cash straight out. The VIP suite room didn’t even ask for change of ten grand.That’sthe kind of clientele we need more of.”
“Judge Ralston showed,” I share, scanning the now-empty VIP balcony above. “I had Scarlet keep him company.”
Enzo whistles low. “He’s got some vigor left in him for a man of his age.”
“He left smiling,” I mutter. “Next time, we make sure he walks out owing us a favor.”
“He’ll owe us plenty.” Nikolai’s eyes flick to mine. “He already reserved a VIP suite for next week.”
“He liked Scarlet that much, huh?”
“No.” Nik shakes his head and arches a condescending brow at me. “He wanted to ensure the most coveted dancer of the night wouldn’t be tied up all evening again.” My jaw clenches at his words, even though I shouldn’t care. But, of course, it’s her.Raven. Madison.Whatever name she’s using when she sets men on fire without touching a match to them.
The three of us finish up, leaving the aftermath of opening night chaos to the well-qualified staff we hired. When we step outside, my Aston Martin is already waiting at the curb for us. The three of us slide into the car, and I glance in the rearview mirror. “Did you get the footage I asked for?”
Nikolai nods. “Sent it just before we left.” His expression sharpens with interest. “Do I even want to know?”
Enzo raises an eyebrow. “Footage? What footage?”
“Raven’s dances,” Nikolai answers without looking at me, his tone flat. “Every one she did tonight, including in the VIP suite.” I shoot him a displeased glare in the rearview mirror at his overshare, but it does nothing to stop him from talking. “Please tell me I’m not going to spend what’s left of this nightlisteningto you watch her give you a lap dance on repeat like some obsessed teenager.”
Enzo snickers from the passenger seat, a smug smirk spreading across his face as he mimics jacking off.
“That’snotwhat it’s for,” I bark, more tightly than I intend. Nikolai and Enzo both give methatlook. They know me too well, but they also know when not to push. The rest of our short ride home is filled with financial details and small security concerns that need to be addressed.
After letting Enzo out on the floor below us, Nik and I head into our shared penthouse. It’s cold and far too quiet after the loud evening at the club. I head upstairs and shed my shirt the second I’m through my bedroom door—already annoyed with the spicy citrus scent of her perfume still clinging to the fabric. It’s ingrained in my skin, too—like a fucking ghost.No wonder I can’t stop thinking about her.I drop the shirt to the floor and strip off my pants as I head for the shower.
The water scalds my skin, but I don’t care. I stand beneath the spray with my skin burning red, my thoughts still racing a hundred miles an hour. The echo of her voice in my head like a song I can’t get rid of as I rerun every second of her perfect body pressed to mine, every smirk and fleeting glance whenshe knew she had my attention.Because she did… All fucking night.
When I finally step out, towel off, and pull on a pair of loose lounge pants, I feel no better than I did when I walked through my front door. Still wired. Still restless. Still thinking about her. I sit on the edge of the bed, grab my phone from the nightstand, and pull up the footage.
Nikolai labeled each clip clearly: Raven - Main Stage, Raven - Booth 6, Raven - VIP Suite 7. I tap the last one.There she is.It’s surreal, watching it play out from above, me sitting lounging against the back of the couch like I’m in control, when I damn well wasn’t. She had me the second she climbed onto my lap and looked at me like she couldn’t care less how badly I wanted—no, want—her.
Only, I can’t stop watching her. I watch clip after clip, zooming in on her face and memorizing every inch of her sun-kissed skin before returning to footage of the two of us in the VIP suite. There’s a moment, a fleeting second where she smiles, and her eyes betray her. Just a flicker. The smallest crack. But the truth behind her mask. I saw it, even at the time—it just didn’t quite register. She was really smiling. Not working, performing, or pretending to be enjoying herself, but genuinely smiling as she flirted with me.
I tap through the other clips, watching them again, and noticing she’s different with the clients—not less seductive, but less present. Her laughs are shallow, not bubbling over her lips. She’s still flawless and lethal, but completely disconnected. Unlike how she is with me: sharp, alive, and real.
I sit there far longer than I should, cycling through the footage, slowing it down, watching for every small reaction.Every twitch of her lips. Every breath. That fucking sway of her hips I can’t tear my eyes from. I study her like I’m trying to solve her.Maybe I am.
The sky is already beginning to lighten, and the sunrise creeps into my room. Yet, I’m still wide awake. After opening the other folder Nik emailed me, I skim through her tiny human resources file until I find what I need. I type her number into my phone. I shouldn’t. I fucking know I shouldn’t, but my fingers move on their own. I type a single message—no name, no greeting. If she wants to play games with me, she can figure it out for herself. I hesitate for a moment and then press send before tossing the phone onto the bed.
I pull the blackout curtains and climb between the sheets, hoping to get a few hours of sleep. Instead, I lay with my head on the pillow, waiting for her response.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, its vibration cutting through the silence in the apartment and abruptly waking me from my sleep. The sound is sharp against the quiet hum of early morning traffic outside my window. I blink, groggily. The sky glows faintly, violet and ash streaks of dawn fading as they’re overtaken by the early morning sun.
I must’ve dozed off.
My neck aches, stiff from the awkward angle I’d fallen asleep in. Sitting up, the soft throw blanket slides from my shoulder, and the half-empty wine glass still in my hand sloshes dangerously. I set it carefully on the coffee table and rub at my eyes, still heavy from my slumber. When I lift the phone, I expect it to be my mother—again—probably to check if I remembered to lock the door when I got home.
But the number flashing on the screen isn’t hers. Instead, it’s from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN
