Layla's POV

I didn't know how long I stared at him for. All I knew was his words sounded ridiculous like what the hell was he talking about? The thought never even crossed my mind, especially not after what Ryan had done. It wasn’t even like I could recognize love if it slapped me in the face.

I felt my body hijacked by need so I nodded quickly to whatever he meant.

He steadied his arm firm around me, his grip was possessive yet careful. I rested my head against his shoulder, my heart thudding in my chest. I felt every flex of his muscles as he carried me through the private elevator and up into his penthouse.

Everything felt like a dream. Yes. It had to be a dream.

There was no way I’d be in this position with a random man I met at a club if this was real. A strip club, to be precise. I wasn't the type to throw myself at men or grovel at their feet for sex. Hell, I usually reject them without thinking twice.

Jordan had offered me a promotion in exchange for sex, and I had said no. Because the man disgusted me even if I wasn't in a relationship at the time.

Yes, I was in a futile relationship at the time so it doesn't count.

I didn't want to wake up from this dream. I could barely process anything except the heat radiating from his body as he held me in his arms. Like I wasn’t a mess of sweat, alcohol, and desperate need clinging to his shirt.

I barely registered the sound of the door clicking shut behind us. He sat me down carefully on his velvet couch like I was made of glass.

God, why didn't you send this man to me before I met Ryan?

My dress had ridden up. My cheeks were flushed. My eyes, glassy from the alcohol, scanned the place with a kind of dreamy disconnection.

His home was dark and minimalist like him. Everything inside screamed expensive. There were no signs that anyone else ever lived here. No woman.

“I can walk,” I muttered, even though it sounded pathetic. My words were slurry, breathless.

He stood in front of me, jaw locked, his eyes dark. He stared at me silently like he was debating whether to fuck me or throw me out.

But I knew he wouldn't attempt the second option. He had brought me home for a reason.

He could’ve dropped me off like a gentleman. He could’ve ignored the kiss we shared outside the club and never opened that car door.

But now I was inside his world, and it was too late for him to pretend otherwise.

He looked at me like I was the only thing worth staring at. My hair was messy, lips red and swollen from our kiss in the car, and the dress I wore was hanging on by a thread.

I faced him. “Why are you standing there like I’m about to explode?”

“Because you are,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

I giggled, light-headed, heat curling inside me again. “I just want to be touched. Is that too much to ask?”

He swallowed thickly. He didn’t answer at first. He just stared at me like he was trying to hold back something dangerous.

“You need water,” he said finally, his voice low and firm.

“I need you,” I pouted.

Still, he walked over to the bar, grabbed a cold bottle of water, twisted it open, and brought it to my lips. I obeyed like a bratty child. I drank half of it. He wiped the corner of my mouth with his pad of his thumb.

“You’re no fun,” I pouted again. “Thought you’d kiss me again. You kissed me like you meant it.”

His jaw twitched. I saw his hard cock jump beneath those tailored pants, begging to be unleashed. And it turned me on even more.

“Layla, you’re drunk,” he muttered, his voice raspy. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Layla? How did he know my name? Did I tell him unconsciously?

I really don't care though.

I smiled lazily. “Drunk, not dead. I know exactly what I’m saying.”

I stood, a little unsteady, and walked toward him, reaching for his chest. He caught my wrists before I could touch him.

That firm grip? It made my thighs clench instantly. Fuck.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice low and dangerously calm.

I nodded slowly.

“Use your words,” he growled.

“Yes, Daddy. Touch me. I’ll be good. I just want to be yours.”

His breath hitched. “Daddy?”

Did I just say that?

I hadn’t even thought about it. The word just… slipped out. It felt right. And from the look in his eyes, it did something to him too.

“Please…” I whispered again, softer this time. “Just make me feel something else. Just for a night.”

My voice cracked. My whole body felt like it was wired. My submission came out naturally, like it had always been hiding beneath the surface. With him, it didn’t feel wrong.

His control snapped. He pulled me into his arms and spun me around, bending me over the couch in one swift movement. My dress hiked up, exposing my ass. His palm smacked down on it, hard.

I yelped, breath catching in my throat. “Shit—”

“That’s for teasing me in the car,” he growled behind me.

Another sharp smack landed.

“And that’s for calling me that without permission.”

“You like being punished, princess?” His hand slid to my throat, holding just enough pressure to make me gasp. “Or are you just desperate for attention?”

I whimpered, barely able to speak. “Yes, Daddy. I like being punished.”

“Say it.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

A groan ripped from his chest. “That’s my good girl.”

My panties were soaked. His fingers brushed the lace and I almost came on the spot.

I was shaking. Needy. His dominance was like a drug to me.

“I’ll give you what you want,” he rasped, “but you follow my rules.”

I nodded quickly, frantic. “Yes. Yes, Daddy. Anything.”

He pulled me up and spun me to face him. His eyes studied mine.

I felt like I was unraveling. My head was spinning from alcohol, need, and the weight of all that happened today. But God, I needed this.

“Strip,” he ordered.

My fingers were clumsy on the straps of my dress. I laughed breathlessly, trying to peel it off. He helped me, groaning when my breasts bounced free.

His mouth was on me before I could think.

He sucked hard on one nipple, then the other. His tongue was relentless, his teeth scraped gently and made me cry out. My body arched into him. My fingers were tangled in his hair. I couldn’t get close enough.

He had me in his lap the next second. I could feel his cock, hard and demanding beneath me. I rolled my hips against him, sloppy and needy.

“This isn’t me,” I mumbled. “I don’t do this. I don’t…”

He grabbed my face, his touch firm but tender. “It is you. Right now, it’s exactly you.”

His fingers slid between my thighs and found my soaked panties. I was dripping for him. No one had ever made me feel like this before.

When his fingers sank into me, I clenched hard, gasping. “Fuck—”

“You got wet just from my voice, huh?” he whispered in my ear. “You want to be used like a toy, don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy…”

“Good girl,” he praised darkly. “You’re being so good now.”

His fingers moved expertly inside me. It was slow, curling, steady that I couldn’t even think.

My moans filled the room, raw and shameless. Just his fingers were working wonders on me. But it felt better than anything Ryan ever gave me.