Claiming His Baby

by Nikki Chase

  Harvey bristles. “Mind your own business.”

  That was a mistake.

  In a split second, Minotaur Man has got Harvey pinned against the door, his hand bent painfully behind his back. The part of Harvey’s face not covered by his blue mask turns red as he fights for breath.

  “I said I wanted to hear it from the lady,” Minotaur Man repeats, acid dripping from his voice.

  He turns to me, and I find myself staring into the blue, placid pools of his eyes. Despite the confrontation, the man is unruffled. Not even a strand of his dark hair is out of place.

  In a deep, authoritative voice, he asks, “Are you okay? Did this man hurt you?”

  I should feel relief flooding into my bloodstream. Instead, my heart breaks into a gallop.

  My savior—there’s something about him. His aura screams danger.

  And the worst thing about it? That very aura is calling out to me.

  Matteo

  The girl shrinks, her back curving against the wall. She shakes her head.

  “You’re not okay?” I ask as I twist the arm of the perv harder.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow,” he squeals. “The bitch is lying. She’s fine.”

  “The bitch?”

  What the fuck?

  I send the guy screaming into a world of pain. The noise might invite some attention, but who cares?

  “Where does it hurt?” I ask her, my free hand balling into fist, ready to pummel the perv exactly where he has hurt her.

  She shakes her head, her green eyes filled with apprehension. “No, I mean . . . I mean he didn’t hurt me. I’m okay.”

  “See? I didn’t do anything to her,” the perv croaks. He lets out a relieved sigh when I loosen my grip on his arm.

  Of course, he doesn’t know that’s just because I hate the idea of attacking anyone—even a worthless fuckface like this guy—from the back.

  He turns around and adjusts his mask. Then, I punch him hard enough to send the blue, cardboard thing flying across the room.

  The perv crawls on the floor. He seizes his mask and holds it with one hand over his face as he yells out for security. As soon as a black-clad, muscular man enters the room, he smiles. “That was against the rules. You weren’t supposed to do that to a VIP member. You fucked up. They’re going to kick you out.”

  The bouncer, a bald man with tanned skin, scans the room. When his eyes land on me, a flicker of recognition flares in his stare. “Is there a problem here, Sir?”

  “Yeah,” the perv says in his annoying high-pitched voice. “This guy just came out of nowhere and hit me. Get him out of here.”

  But he’s just embarrassing himself. What he doesn’t realize is the bouncer is looking at me and not him, ignoring him and waiting silently for my response.

  I would’ve loved to beat more sense into this guy. Show him what it feels like to be the weaker one, to be bullied into submission.

  But I see the shudder running through the girl’s body. What she needs isn’t vengeance but comfort. And I’m dying to give it to her.

  To the bouncer, I say, “Get him out of here. He’s been harassing this young lady.”

  “What? I did no such—” The guy’s complaint is cut short when the bouncer grabs his arm and drags him away past the heavy, black curtain and into the main hall. His screeching turns into a faint sound, buried by the music playing outside.

  Still, the girl’s shudders persist. She leans against the wall as though she’d collapse if she moved.

  “Take a seat,” I tell her.

  There’s an elaborate couch in the corner of the room—more decorative than anything since people only pass through this area on their way to the private section.

  The girl pries herself off the wall, her palms pressing against it as she teeters toward the couch, propelling herself forward.

  She hasn’t said much, but I can tell how brave she is just by her behavior. It’s not that she has no fear; but she pushes through despite her fear.

  I’ve been watching her all night. She’s been through a lot in one night. Forces herself way out of her comfort zone.

  “What’s your name?” I take a seat next to her.

  “Ashley,” she says after a short pause, not even meeting my gaze. Is she afraid? Of me?

  Sure, I’ve just clocked a guy right in front of her. But I’d never hurt her—unless it’s to bring her pleasure. God, the thought of turning her skin bright red as she whimpers in submission, her wetness dripping from between her long legs . . .

  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  “Ashley.” My tongue tries on her name for size. I don’t know why but it doesn’t seem like a good fit. “I’m Matt.”

  “Thank you for saving me, Matt. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there,” she says, her voice unsteady. Below her golden mask, her full lips quiver.

  I know exactly what would’ve happened. That coward would’ve taken advantage of her inexperience in the most heinous way possible.

  “I’ve been watching you all night,” I admit. “I couldn’t just stand by while he dragged you away like that. You clearly didn’t want to go with him.”

  Ashley’s honey-brown hair sweeps over her delicate shoulders as she finally turns to face me. She studies my face and frowns. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you watch me?” she asks.

  “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  Even in the ghostly blue light, I can see bright patches flushing Ashley’s cheeks. She’s embarrassed. How adorable.

  “I know I shouldn’t have worn this,” she says, looking down at her sexy little body. “I stick out like a sore thumb.”

  I frown. Is she seeing what I’m seeing? “You don’t. You stand out. Like a jewel.”

  Ashley giggles. “Come on. You don’t mean that. Compared to all the other girls, I’m dressed like a grandma.”

  Her babydoll lingerie is conservative for this club. But she must be insane because only a crazy person would mistake her for an elderly woman.

  The black lingerie hugs her figure, showing the shape of her curves while hiding the actual form. Black lace gives glimpses of her smooth, porcelain skin while opaque satin covers her tits. A dark-blue horizontal line cuts across her narrow waist. Below that line, the babydoll skims the flare of her hips and ends around halfway down her thighs.

  “You look classy,” I say.

  A blush colors her skin, and silence descends upon us. A couple laughs as they stumble past, obviously drunk and impatient. The girl is practically leading the guy forward by pulling on his dick as they disappear beyond the doors.

  “How do you like it here?” I ask. “Aside from that fuckface, of course.”

  Ashley laughs, a melodic sound that tinkles across my ears. “It’s . . . interesting.”

  “In a good way?” I raise an eyebrow.

  I saw the way she stared at the performance outside. She was so transfixed she didn’t even notice me staring—or the coward from before approaching.

  But more than that, I saw the way her breathing grew heavier. She pulled her thighs together and rubbed them against each other to relieve the pressure building in her core.

  Ashley nods.

  She’s shy, but she’s honest. She’s anxious, but she persists. Despite her apprehension, she wants to be here. She wouldn’t have come on her own otherwise.

  “How did you hear about this place?” I ask.

  “A friend.”

  That’s weird. “Why didn’t you ask her to come with you?”

  “Well, she’s more like an acquaintance, really. And she, uh, she doesn’t want to come.”

  Interesting. “She’s not like you.”

  “Huh?” Ashley tilts her head to the side and frowns like she can’t decide whether she should be offended.

  “You like this, don’t you? That’s why you came.” I trap her gaze. “The idea that a man could have complete control of a woman. The idea that a woman would wi
llingly give it up. It intrigues you. Calls out to something deeply primal within you.”

  “How do you—” Ashley smiles wryly. “It doesn’t matter. This was a mistake. Obviously, I don’t belong here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I freaked out the moment something happened,” she says.

  I stare at her. “You mean when that freak forced himself on you?”

  Ashley nods.

  “That wasn’t BDSM,” I say. “That was harassment.”

  “But you said it yourself. ‘Complete control.’”

  “You’re forgetting the other side of the equation.”

  She gives me a questioning look.

  “You’re supposed to willingly give up control,” I say.

  “Yeah. And when it came down to it, I didn’t want to.”

  I fix my gaze on her and she looks down at her black shoes.

  Is she kidding me?

  First, she told me she looked like a grandma. Now, she thinks she’s not cut out for this?

  I can already tell she’s the perfect submissive.

  “I told you. That wasn’t BDSM,” I repeat.

  “So the real thing is what’s on stage, right? I don’t know if I want that either. That X-shaped cross looks cool and all, but it’s not for me.”

  “It’s called the Saint Andrew’s Cross.” I think Ashley would look heavenly on it, but saying that now would only scare her. “That’s just equipment. You can enjoy BDSM without ever touching it.”

  “What counts as BDSM then?” Ashley asks.

  “Do you want me to show you?”

  She nods.

  I inch closer to her on the couch until I feel her sweet breath on my skin. “Tell me if you feel uncomfortable.”

  “Okay,” she says, giggling nervously. Her breathing becomes shallow. The vein on her long, graceful neck pulses rapidly. She’s already aroused, and I haven’t even touched her.

  Natural submissive.

  “Do you trust me?”

  She nods.

  I put my hand behind Ashley’s neck, tangling my fingers in her hair, firm enough for her to feel my strength but gentle enough for her to feel no pain—that will come later, when she craves it.

  Ashley swallows as I tilt her head back.

  “Look at me,” I order.

  Ashley tries to nod but my hand in her hair restricts her movement. She winces. Yet, the throbbing in her vein tells me she finds this exciting.

  She meets my gaze, her gaze soft and pliable. She’s falling under my spell, opening up for me.

  My cock twitches in my pants. Fuck, what is this girl doing to me? No girl has ever gotten me this worked up before, and we’re only getting started.

  If she tells me to stop now, I’ll be gutted. I need to take this slow.

  But those plump, full lips . . . They call my name, begging me to claim them as my own.

  As Ashley’s breathing grows ragged, I give in to my silent temptress.

  She feels exactly the way I thought she would—no, better. Her lips are delicate. Soft. Wet. Ashley parts her lips for me, letting me sweep inside with my tongue, getting my first taste of her. She’s so sweet I can’t wait to find out what she tastes like between her legs.

  She kisses me back, but her arms remain by her side. Eager but yielding.

  She’s fucking perfect.

  I pull away just enough to see her lips turn red from my kiss. All I wanted was to show her a small sample of what this lifestyle could give her, keep her coming back.

  But in the process, I’m giving myself a small sample of what being with her could feel like. And now I can’t hold back. Not unless she tells me to.

  “Ashley,” I whisper into her mouth. Somehow, that name doesn’t suit her. I don’t know why.

  “Yeah?” she sighs. She’s panting, fighting for breath. Her fingers grip the fabric of the couch so hard her knuckles have whitened.

  “Let’s take this somewhere more private, kitten.”

  Grace

  “Let’s take this somewhere more private, kitten,” Matt says in a deep, authoritative voice I can’t refuse.

  My heart pounds against my rib cage. Small pants of hot breath escape from my mouth as I give him a nod.

  Matt’s big hand grasps mine, never letting go even as he fishes in his pocket for the key to open the double doors and take me through the warmly lit hallway decorated with moody paintings of naked silhouettes.

  A little voice in my mind screams. What are you doing? Have you gone insane? You have no idea who this guy is. You haven’t even seen his face. What if he forces himself on you? You’ve seen how the bouncer acted around him—nobody would be able to save you from him.

  I ignore the stream of judgmental questions as my heels click against the dark marble floor.

  Who cares? I’ve been playing it safe my whole life, and look where it’s gotten me. I’m about to lose all my freedom.

  A man I’ve never met will get to make all the decisions for me while I play the role of a decorative bauble. After all my hard work getting my degree, the only job I’m getting is to look pretty and bear babies for the family.

  I’m sure it says something unflattering about me that this is how I choose to spend one of my last moments of freedom.

  If Matt were to attack me, there’s no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Just look at those broad shoulders. The snug fit of his sleeves around his strong arms. The long legs that would easily outpace me. The sheer size of him—he’s easily over six feet tall.

  But whatever. At least I’m doing something for myself for once.

  Matt stops at a black door with a gold number 7 on it. The click of the lock opening splits through the silence. Matt reaches inside and yellow lights flood the room with warmth.

  He holds the door open and stands aside. “Welcome, kitten,” he says from behind his Minotaur mask.

  As soon as my heels hit the soft carpet inside, I realize why it’s so quiet. Black, tufted upholstery covers all four walls, absorbing all sounds. I could scream my throat raw, and nobody would be able to hear me.

  My chest throbs at the thought. My blood rushes. But this is not fear. I’m not shaking because I want to escape; I’m shaking because I can’t wait for Matt to start doing whatever he wants to do to me.

  Standing in the middle of the room, I scan the furnishings. A king-sized bed with white satin sheets dominates the space. Leaning against the opposite wall, I notice a big mirror with a gilded frame reflects the impressive bed. A leather chair rests in a corner.

  My cheeks sizzle when I glance up to find an even bigger mirror on the entire ceiling. Aside from this one detail, though, the room appears normal, although there’s a metal chest at the foot of the bed and a tall cabinet that could contain anything.

  Much like Matt, this room gives off an aura of danger that I can’t shake off even though I can’t put a finger to the source.

  “Take a seat, kitten” Matt commands, the door shutting behind him.

  I step toward the chair, my mind spinning with possibilities. His new pet name for me makes me shiver. If any other man were to try calling me “kitten,” I’d probably laugh in his face. But somehow, Matt makes it sound sexy.

  “Not there,” Matt says. He points at the wooden chest. “There.”

  I follow his orders and find myself staring at my own reflection until Matt blocks my line of vision with his body. His hips is at my eye level.

  Try as I might, I can’t stop my gaze from lingering on the massive bulge in his pants. How big is my Minotaur Man?

  “I’m glad you’re taking an interest in what’s down there.” I don’t have to look up at him to know he’s smiling. I can hear the smugness in his masculine voice.

  I tear my gaze off his pants. But before I can look away. Matt grips my chin and raises my head. I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze.

  “I can’t wait to play with you, kitten,” he says. “But f
irst, the rules.”

  “Rules?” I ask.

  Matt nods. “Like I said, you must tell me if you feel uncomfortable at any point and need me to stop.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, Sir,” he corrects me.

  Goosebumps rise all over my skin. “Okay . . . Sir.”

  “Good girl.”

  It’s like there’s a direct line between his mouth and my body. Every little thing he says causes tingles between my legs.

  Heat rises to my cheeks when I notice Matt staring at my thighs as I pull them together. He smirks. Damn it, he knows. My face burns even hotter.

  “I won’t stop when you say ‘stop,’ though,” he says.

  “Then what’s the point of me telling you?” I ask, wondering if I’ve made a mistake by coming in here after all. This is so far out of my comfort zone it’s not even funny.

  “The point is, that’s one of the rules. ‘Stop’ is not the safe word,” he says, “I want you to say ‘red’ if you want me to stop everything,” he says. “‘Yellow’ if you want me to slow down. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Guilt squeezes my chest as I realize I was assuming the worst of him even though he hasn’t given me any reason to.

  “That’s the second time you forgot to address me properly, kitten,” he warns. In a voice laced with danger, he adds, “I’ll have to punish you for that.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” I say through trembling lips. More wetness leaks from between my legs.

  How will Matt react when he finds out just how aroused I am? He hasn’t even touched me below the neck, and I’m practically sitting in a puddle of my own wetness.

  “I’m glad to hear your apology, but I’ll still have to punish you.” He lets his hand fall away from my chin. “Now, take off that mask.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but it feels dumb. I’m obviously about to get naked and have sex with this man. Do I really want to keep my mask on the whole time? It’s starting to get hot and uncomfortable anyway now that Matt has started a flame in my center.

  Raising my hand to my face, I peel the mask off my skin, my veins pulsing rapidly. Will Matt like the way I look?

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, staring at me with his hypnotic blues.