Page 27 of Freefall

That’s why I come to Dusk.

That, and it’s members-only, which means I’m less likely to run into fucking Declan Astor, of all people, like that one time I went to a club in the city. Declan is a part-time acquaintance, full-time pain in my ass. It only took him catching me in a semi-compromising position one time for me to never return to that particular club. Neither of us spoke about it at the time, but he still likes to bring it up like the agent of chaos he is.

Anyway, I came here tonight to get her out of my head.

Harper Daniels.

The one that got away.

No—the one who took off in the middle of an argument while she was fucking pregnant with my kid and then kept that pregnancy and that kid a secret from me for nine fucking years.

I knew. Deep down, I knew when I looked at that little girl that she was mine, and I had only half-convinced myself she wasn’t when Harper came barreling into my office this morning. But that’s what she does. She crashed into my life nine years ago, and now she’s doing it again. And because she can’t do anything the easy way, she snuck into my office and nearly got herself taken down by our new security agent. I knew the moment I saw his hands on her, he wouldn’t be working for us much longer, but the angry red marks on her wrist sealed his fate. It took several calming techniques and a five-mile run in the middle of the workday to keep me from sending him home in a body bag instead of with one week’s pay. I couldn’t have my father asking questions he didn’t want answers to, especially since I told him I would fill in as CEO while he starts his semi-retirement or whatever the fuck he’s doing to try to pretend he’s not the same workaholic he’s always been.

“Been a while, sir,” a soft voice floats from above me. I’m sitting in one of the leather booths now, my arm slung over the back.

“Nikki.” I don’t even have to look up. I know her voice by now. She works as a cocktail waitress here and only partakes in activities on her nights off. Given her outfit and the tray of drinks balanced in her hand, I guess she’s working.

“What can I get you, sir?”

“Club soda. Two limes.”

I don’t say please, not because I’m a dick, but because I know she doesn’t want me to. She wants a demand, not a polite request. Nikki is a submissive, not only in the bedroom, or in this case, private club, but in every aspect of her life. She’s in a committed relationship with the owner of Dusk, but he lets her play here when she’s good, and she often is because she gets off on obedience as much as he does.

She’s the exact opposite of a certain flighty blonde photographer I still can’t get out of my head. Harper thrives on breaking the rules. She loves to be punished, and not the kind of maintenance spankings Nikki probably gets every night from Dax. The kind where she fights it every fucking step of the way like the stubborn, infuriating, beautiful woman she is.

That’s what Harper gets off on.

The fight, the chase, the messy disobedience.

The mere thought has my cock thickening, but I mentally push it away.

“Right away, sir,” Nikki says, pausing as she turns to leave. “I’m only working until ten if you want to…” Pink creeps down her neck, blooming across her chest. “You know.”

That’s the other thing about Nikki. Even though she’s practically married to the owner of a kink club and frequently engages in activities that would make most grown men blush, she’s shy when it comes to using her words.

“Dax is closing tonight, so I’m sure it will be okay. I’ll ask for permission, of course,” she adds.

I peer up at her, doe-eyed hope pouring from her eyes as she uses her free hand to play with the hem of her skirt. She’s still balancing a full tray of drinks on her other hand, which must be making her arm ache, but if she’s uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. Harper would have dropped it by now, glass and liquor sloshing all over the floor.

Fucking Harper.

“Not tonight, Nikki. Maybe another time.”

Her face falls, her eyes lowering to the floor with disappointment. “Yes, sir. I’ll get your drink right away.”

She turns to leave, but I stop her with one word. “Sweetheart?”

It’s the term of endearment I chose a while ago, knowing I could never bring myself to use any of the ones I used with Harper with another woman. Sweetheart seemed perfect. Common enough to be inconsequential, but potentially degrading in certain contexts.

Nikki turns back.

“Remember to use your words next time, Nicole, or I’ll have to tell Dax.” I give her a pointed look, nodding toward her hands, which are still toying with her skirt. “About the fidgeting too.”

She takes a deep breath, relief washing over her features as her fingers still. She needed that reprimand, and even though it didn’t do anything for me, I gave it to her because, like I said, I’m not that much of a dick.

“Yes, sir.”

Then she’s gone, and I realize once again that I made a mistake. Nikki would have been the perfect way to blow off the steam still curling around in my head from this morning—from the last few days if I’m being honest. There are absolutely no feelings. Being with her is like running—a way to boost endorphins. She knows it. I know it. Dax knows it, which is why I’m one of the few men he lets her play with.