“Oh God,” Melissa gasped, her eyes darting to Danika, who watched us with quiet intensity.
I kept my tone firm but quiet, not wanting Danika to pick up on the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You are the adult. Everything you do, she will try to emulate. As a child’s therapist, you should know that, Doctor.”
Melissa’s shoulders sagged as guilt flickered across her face. “I thought she was asleep,” she murmured, voice trembling.
“You thought wrong,” I growled, refusing to let the matter slide, every nerve in my body standing on edge. Subconsciously, I knew Dr. Jefferson loved Danika and would never intentionally do anything to hurt her, but with everything going on in the adult world, I wanted my niece protected. Seeing the regret in Melissa’s eyes, I sighed. “She’s smart. She picks up on things even when you think she’s not listening. She needs to know that her world is safe.”
Dr. Jefferson glared at me, her voice clipped with irritation. “I know how to keep my daughter safe, Mr. Shay.”
I met her glare with a terse, “Apparently not.”
Ghost approached, his voice tentative as he asked, “What’s going on?”
Dante followed close behind, concern etched on his face.
Without taking my eyes off Dr. Jefferson, I muttered under my breath, “Your woman has a big mouth.” My words slipped out, heavy with frustration, aimed more at the situation than at Melissa herself.
Ghost reacted instantly, narrowing his eyes at me. His voice was edged, rough with warning. “Watch it, asshole,” he shot back, making it clear he was ready to defend his woman if this escalated further.
Sensing the tension, Dante quickly stepped between us, turning his attention to Ghost. “Danika’s watching,” he reminded us, his tone urgent. His intervention was enough to remind everyone what was truly at stake.
“Exactly my point,” I snarled, shooting one last glare at Dr. Jefferson before turning on my heel and storming off. The frustration and protectiveness I felt for Danika surged with every step, but I knew I couldn’t let my anger get the better of me—not with her there, watching everything.
It was late when I stood on the balcony of a suite at the Villas of Hatteras Landing, watching the sunset over the ocean. The last light of day painted the sky in warm hues, casting gentle reflections across the waves. Leaning forward, I rested my hands on the cool metal railing, feeling the peaceful solitude of the moment as a soft breeze curled around me, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and muffled laughter from the shore. The world felt quiet and distant, leaving only the rhythmic sound of the surf and my own steady breathing to fill the silence as I tried hard to get that infuriating woman out of my head.
I couldn’t understand what it was about her that set me on edge, but her presence irritated me beyond reason. She was stubborn to a fault, never willing to back down, and her rudeness made even the simplest exchanges feel like battles of will. Opinionated and brash, she was without a doubt the biggest pain in the ass I had ever met.
That was no small claim, considering my frequent run-ins with Sinclair, someone known for being difficult in their own right. Yet she somehow surpassed every challenge I’d faced before.
The way she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated or swayed, made my patience wear thin and my authority feel threatened.
Arms wrapped around me as the sweet scent of honeysuckle and lilac filled my senses. “You know, when you called and asked me to get on the next flight, I thought it was for a specific reason. Had I known you needed to talk, I would have dressed more appropriately.”
Turning around, I leaned against the railing, and with a playful glimmer in her eyes, she ran her hand slowly down my chest, her touch leaving an electrifying sensation throughout my entire body.
My initial formal meeting with Professor Bianca Deneau took place at a university luncheon hosted for NYU’s benefactors. Attendance was mandatory for both of us, and neither felt particularly enthusiastic about mingling with donors or participating in fundraising for our respective departments. As the head chair of the English Department, Bianca faced significant challenges securing financial support—her struggle only surpassed by my own, as I led the History Department. Unlike me, who could rely on Sinclair to provide whatever funds my department required, Bianca did not have such a luxury.
From the moment I first saw Bianca, something in her demeanor struck a chord within me. Beneath her defiant gaze and sharp tongue, I recognized a longing—an unspoken need to surrender control, if only to someone who could truly handle the chaos she thrived on. It wasn’t just her reputation at the Playground that caught my attention; it was the way she tested boundaries, searching for someone who wouldn’t break or bend. I’d watched her with other Doms, each one struggling to rein in her rebellious streak, always falling short. That realization sparked a twisted sense of satisfaction in me, but also a challenge I couldn’t ignore. When we crossed paths at the university luncheon, my intent wasn’t simply to assert dominance—it was to expose something deeper in both of us: what drove her to crave discipline, and why I felt compelled to give it.
That encounter marked the beginning of a complicated dance—Bianca fell into the role of my unofficial pet, a dynamic woven from both our desires and uncertainties. She asked often for a formal contract, searching for something stable, tangible,a promise to anchor her volatility. My refusal wasn’t just about avoiding commitment; it stemmed from a fear of losing myself in the responsibility, of letting someone in far enough to see the cracks in my own armor.
Even though I knew it was reckless, I still reached for my phone and called her after I left the beach that morning. Deep down, I understood exactly how she’d respond, and without hesitation or question, she hopped on the next flight from New York, just as I expected. My certainty in her reaction didn’t make my decision any less impulsive, but the urge was too strong to ignore. I needed release, and I knew Bianca would be willing.
As I watched her slowly remove her robe, my breath caught. What she wore beneath it made my pulse race even faster, and I felt completely transfixed by the sight before me.
She was stunning. Perfection wrapped in black leather straps that crisscrossed across her stomach and down her legs. A leather demi-bra with chains contained her breasts, but it was the small delicate chain from the center of her demi-bra that attached to her clit that had me grinning.
Grabbing her roughly by the back of her neck, I yanked her close, feeling her shock and anticipation caress my face. My voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, haven’t you, pet?” I waited, savoring the charged silence before her response.
She tentatively met my gaze, lips parted, her own desire evident in her expression.
“Oh yes, sir, I have,” she whispered, her voice trembling with a blend of trepidation and vulnerability. “I think I need to be punished.”
I growled softly, tightening my hand on her throat. For an instant, I held her there, reminding her who was in charge before swiftly turning her toward the nearest wall. My voice wasfirm as I slowly licked up the side of her face before whispering in her ear, “You forget, pet. You are not in charge.”
Chapter Six
Melissa
