Page 23 of Kneeling for Daddy
I want to hit him—almost as badly as I want to kiss him—but I settle for an exaggerated groan. “Fine. Whatever.” After swiftly changing into the black cocktail dress he left out, I use my extra two minutes to apply eyeliner and sweep on mascara. His eyes flick down my body when I return, heat darkening his gaze.
The car ride is silent and tense, the city glowing around us as the sun dips behind the buildings. My nerves tighten when he pulls up in front of a building bathed in neon lights. When I read the sign, my stomach drops:Kings Temptation.
“A strip club? Really?”
“I have a meeting,” he shares, as if that explains anything.
“A meeting? At a strip club?” I scoff. “And what am I supposed to do while you enjoy your lap dance? Dust myself in glitter and twirl on the pole?”
He cuts me a look that makes my cheeks flame and curbs my tongue as he pulls the car into the valet. I’m expecting something seedy and grimy, but when we step inside, I’m so taken aback that I nearly lose my balance.
It’s…beautiful.
From the velvet booths to polished marble floors to chandeliers dripping crystal light, everything feels opulent. Even the air smells faintly of rich perfume and expensive alcohol. The women on stage are not what I imagined from the waythey are portrayed in movies. These women are graceful and commanding.
“This is…” I hesitate, caught off guard. “Classy.”
Nik smirks with a small chuckle. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”
“No,” I admit before catching myself. “I expected it to smell like sweat and desperation. My mistake.”
He shakes his head, steering me toward the bar. Pulling out a stool, he firmly instructs, “Sit. Stay. And don’t get into trouble.”
“Arf, arf.” I respond, garnering a roll of his eyes before he walks to the back of the club, leaving me perched on a high stool with a cocktail menu in my hand and irritation simmering in my chest. I order a glass of Cristal and sip slowly, tapping my nails against the glass. I listen to the music and watch the mesmerizing dancers for a few numbers before growing bored.
“Evening,” a deep, smooth voice whispers from behind me as I pull my phone from my purse. “Is the entertainment not up to your standards?” I laugh as he takes the stool next to me. His hair is slicked back and his smile is warm. Based on his well-tailored, worsted-wool suit, I assume he comes from money. He is handsome, in a clean-cut, Wall Street sort of way. “First time here?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask, arching a brow.
“Only because I’d remember a face like yours,” he flirts with a harmless, boyish grin. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Why not?” I finish my champagne and slide the empty flute away.
The stranger signals the bartender and orders a round. When they arrive, we clink glasses. He leans closer, and I get a hint of his faintly citrusy cologne. “So… you here alone?”
“No,” I answer softly. “But he’s busy at the moment.”
The man’s eyes flick over me in appreciation, and he woefully shakes his head. “Then he’s a fool. A woman as beautiful as you should never be left waiting.Iwould never leave you unattended.” I smile tightly and take another sip of my drink, keeping things light with the man beside me.
As much as he states it, Nik doesn’t actually own me. I’m not a possession, and there is no reason I can’t talk to another man. This is harmless. I’m just sitting at the bar and having a casual conversation with someone.
Okay,I’mhaving a casual conversation. This man is clearly hitting on me.
His hand brushes against my knee, and I think it’s an accident until he slides it further up my thigh. I freeze for a moment, then blurt, “Don’t.” I shift my weight, putting the faintest sliver of distance between us.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He grins, reaching over and gripping my thigh a little more forcefully. “Don’t be like that. I know your type. Just tell me how much.”
I swat his hand away and curtly snip, “You don’tknowanything. I said don’t.” But he doesn’t listen. He rises from his stool, boxing me between him and the bar—trapping me on my stool. His hand slides over my hip, and I stiffen as anger and panic violently collide inside of me. My heart slams against my ribcage, and my eyes dart wildly around the room, hoping someone, anyone, will see my discomfort and come help.
Across the room, past the booths and stage, Nik stands with a group of men mid-conversation. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes—God, his eyes—they are icy and cold. They don’t once leave me or the man touching me as his face hardens and his jaw clenches. With a quick word of apology, he steps away from the group around him as the stranger tightens his grip, pulling me flush against him.
I’m so afraid I can barely breathe. But it isn’t the man with his hands on me who makes me tremble. It’s the look on my husband’s face. He looks homicidal. Nik crosses the club with long, purposeful strides, every inch of his body radiating the lethal intent of a heat-seeking missile. He doesn’t weave through the crowd. It parts for him, giving the appearance he’s tearing through it.
My pulse spikes, and my stomach clenches and twists. I’ve wondered for days what it would look like when I pushed Nik too far. Now watching him storm toward me like a crazed man, I quickly regret my curiosity. Not that it matters anymore. I’m about to find out just how unhinged my husband is and how far he will go to punish me for this.
Ani stiffens in the man’s grip, her shoulders squared and fear etched into every detail of her face. He tightens his hold around her waist and drags her even closer, like she is his to claim.
I don’t think. I don’t breathe.
