Page 77 of The Masquerade: Room 2

“Welcome to the dark side, Pierce. Go get your girl.”

I know Freya is still at the hospital, so I pull out my phone and type out a quick message.

Me: Tomorrow morning. My apartment.

I nurse another drink while I await her reply, chatting with my friends as they come and go, retiring to their private rooms for some well-deserved kink after a long day. This is one of the problems dating a fellow surgeon. Our schedules will always be crazy and often conflicting. When she becomes an attending, it will only make it worse.

I realize as the thought crosses my mind—I want to be around when she reaches that stage in her career. I don’t care if we only have one hour a week to spend together. I’d rather have an hour with Freya than unfettered access to any other submissive. I love her.

When my phone finally beeps, it’s her.

Lavender: I don’t know where you live. Besides, I’m off your service, remember?

Me: Don’t pout. You deserved it at work. Don’t ever question my judgment again.

Lavender: Yes, Daddy.

Me: Good girl. My driver will be outside your apartment building at seven. I want to administer your punishment before your shift.

Lavender: Your wish is my command.

Lavender: Daddy.

Me: That’s my good little girl. Goodnight, little one.

Lavender: Goodnight, Daddy.

I stuff my phone back in my pocket, drop a tip on the table, and head home. I have a punishment to plan. Dalton is right—I may not be worthy of Freya’s love, but I’ll die trying to become the kind of man she deserves, and I’ll quash any obstacle that gets in my way.

Chapter 16

FREYA

Butterflies swarm my stomach as the driver pulls up outside Dr. Harrison’s—Daddy’s—building.

“Take the elevator to the penthouse, Dr. Perrington.”

“Thank you for the ride.” Trepidation courses through every cell in my body as I step out of the town car onto the sidewalk. I don’t know why I’m surprised that he lives on the Upper East Side, but I’m intimidated, nonetheless.

My heels click-clack on the lobby’s vast marble floors, the sound echoing off the walls. I make my way over to the concierge. “Could you let Dr. Harrison know that Freya Perrington is here to visit?”

“He’s expecting you, Dr. Perrington. He’s just coming down to take you up to the penthouse.”

“Oh, I don’t need him to do that.”

“You do. The Penthouse requires a key in the elevator.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.” I try to make as little noise as possible as my heels repeatedly hit the cold marble. This is not the place to be inconspicuous.

When the elevator doors open, my breath is knocked right out of me at the sight of Pierce. He looks effortlessly handsome in a plain white T-shirt that hugs his biceps and washed-out jeans. He’s younger-looking than he is at work or in the playroom. I forget that he’s only a few years older than me.

I took a few years after high school to work and save up some money before I started college. I wouldn’t change it, but I do forget that my peers tend to be a little younger.

“Are you getting in, or are you just going to gawk at me like I’m a meal and you haven’t eaten in a week?” he says with a wry grin. His voice is like gravel in the morning, that delicious rasp tantalizing my senses.

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