The bed shifted as his large, warm body pressed against her back. Baron’s muscular arm wrapped heavy around her waist, pulling her tight against his broad chest. Naked and hard, he nestled against the curve of her ass.
“Mornin’, angel,” his deep, smoke-rasped voice growled, thick with satisfaction. He nuzzled behind her ear, lips curling in a wicked smile she could feel. “Sleep well? Bet you’re feelin’ me now, huh?” He rolled his hips lazily, grinding against her.
His arm tightened, crushing her back. Calloused fingers traced up her stomach to palm her breast, kneading roughly. “What’s the matter, baby? Feelin’ shy all of a sudden? Didn’t seem to mind me all over you last night.”
His teeth scraped along her throat, tongue flicking over her pulse.
“Gonna have to watch that pretty mouth. Don’t want my baby hooked on the wrong candy.” His hand drifted lower, toying with her panties’ hem.
“Only sweets you need are the ones I give this tight little pussy. Remember that.”
A love tap to her mound, then he stood. “Daddy’s got shit to do today. Wear the dress I left in the closet. Meet me at Club Zion at midnight.” He smirked, cupping her cheek.
Not a request. Baron’s voice was low and full of dark promise. She was his now.
“I got you some jewelry too. Diamonds and shit.” With that, he left his penthouse.
Later, Baron lounged in the VIP booth at Club Zion, his kingdom. His Voodoo Boys lounged nearby, indulging in vice. Scantily clad waitresses glided through the smoke and neon, delivering top-shelf liquor.
He sipped whiskey, the burn sliding down his throat, green eyes glinting in the low light. Crisp white shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate tattoos. Diamond earring glittered; gold watch gleamed. A lion watching his pride.
He was waiting for her — the girl from last night. The one he’d claimed as his own. She had orders — dress and jewels, be here tonight. No was never an option with Baron.
Lars leaned in, nodding at two women eyeing them. Baron chuckled, shaking his head. Only one woman tonight.
“Yo boss, your new bird coming or what?” Archie asked, phone in hand, Yorkshire accent thickened by drink.
Baron smiled. “Relax, Archie. My angel’s coming. And if she doesn’t show… we’ll send one of our boys to give her a ride.”
Archie snorted. “More like no choice, right?”
Baron’s smirk deepened. The silly girl probably thought it was just a fling. He’d known her less than twenty-four hours — but he knew she belonged to him now.
He lit a cigar, smoke curling from his nostrils as minutes ticked by. Still no sign of her.
Sliding out his phone, he typed: Yo sweetheart. Don’t keep Daddy waiting. VIP booth, back left. Wear the presents I got you.
Satisfied, he leaned back, puffing the cigar. His angel wouldn’t dare disobey.
“Give her ten more minutes,” he told Archie lowly. “Then send a boy to collect my wayward angel. Politely, of course.”
Baron took another sip. The alcohol did little to cool the fire simmering inside him.
Come on, baby. Daddy’s waiting.
Time to see if she’d fly into the devil’s arms — or if he’d have to clip her wings and drag her to hell himself. Either way, it was going to be one wild ride.