Page 61 of Submitting to Daddy
After dinner, Madison offers to do the dishes. Her mom quickly waves her off.
“I’ll get ’em later. Go walk around the yard or something. You used to sit on the porch after dinner every night.”
We step outside into the warm Virginia dusk. The sun is sinking low, painting the sky in pink and gold. Crickets hum in the grass as we sit on the porch swing, the old wood groaning beneath us.
“See?” Madison bumps her shoulder against me. “I told you she wouldn’t shoot you.”
“Shestillmight,” I tease. “You’re her baby.”
Madison laughs, leaning against me. “She likes you.”
“She likesyou, and I make you smile,” I correct.
She shrugs.
“Same thing.” She curls into my side, head on my shoulder, fingers drawing slow circles over my thigh. “You did good, Daddy.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’d do anything for you, firecracker.”
She goes quiet for a moment, then murmurs, “I know.”
This place is a world away from the one I built on blood. And yet… sitting here with her, surrounded by the soft homeliness of where Madison came from, I can’t help but think maybe we can have this, too.
Not a perfect life.And definitely not out here in the country…Butours.
The bass thumps low and slow through the floor of the club, a rhythm that pulses through the soles of my heels and up my spine. Crimson, violet, and gold lights shift in waves, and the scent of expensive cologne fills the air.
Standing at the end of the bar, I scribble down a few notes about the girl currently dancing on the stage. A pair of strong arms snake around my waist, pulling me against a wall of muscle and power I know better than my reflection. His lips hover near my ear, breath hot.
“Sir,” I admonish, not looking up from my notes, “this club has a strict no touching rule.”
Cillian chuckles darkly, dipping his fingers beneath thewaistband of my pencil skirt and grazing the waistband of my lace panties.
“I’m serious, Cillian,” I hiss, even as my body responds to his touch. “I’m working.”
His grin is audible. “That’s my line, firecracker.”
I twist in his arms just enough to shoot him a look over my shoulder. “You’re going to get me fired.”
“You’re the house manager.” He smirks. “You’d have to fire yourself.”
“You’re still my boss.”
After a couple of weeks in the penthouse, pacing like a caged animal and bored out of my mind, I practically begged Cillian to let me do something—anything.I had no intention of coming back to dance at the club. It just so happened that Chloe, the former house manager, had announced she was moving to California to be closer to her sister. Right time. Right opportunity. And a job that doesn’t require parading around in my underwear as drunk middle-aged men slip twenty-dollar bills into them.
I slid into the role like I was born for it; balancing schedules, keeping the dancers happy, resolving disputes with drunk customers before they turn into brawls. I’ve quickly earned the girls’ trust and staff’s approval.
“Fine.” He sighs, letting his hands fall away from my body but staying close. “As much as I hate the idea of sharing you… I do miss watching that perfect ass of yours up on stage.”
I grin and nudge him away with my hip. “You’ll live.”
He wanders off toward one of the back rooms where Enzo and Nikolai are holding a meeting with some smug, coked-outassholes from Colombia. I don’t ask questions. I just keep the drinks flowing and entertainment on their laps.
The night passes in a blur of glitter, fishnets, and G-strings. We’re close to closing, and the last wave of regulars is starting to trickle out. I make the rounds one last time, checking on the girls, talking to security, confirming tomorrow’s supply order.
Finished with my work, I slip into the dressing room. I look through the new lingerie delivery and grab a set of black thigh-highs and a strappy wine-red number from the shelf.He’s going to love this one.With it all tucked under my arm, I head upstairs to the VIP suites and make my way to the one at the end of the hall.
I send a quick text to security.
