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Her pouty lips move as she whispers something to the man in the purple suit, shaping each word like a kiss. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her head, strands hanging loose around her delicate face. Even after two years, she's still an innocent little angel, so goddamn beautiful she takes my breath away.
Her simple black dress hugs her round, curvy body in ways that make me jealous of the fabric. Those should be my hands sliding across her hips like that, my hands caressing her plump ass just so. My mouth teasing her perfect nipples until she's begging Daddy to let her come.
Jesus Christ. I didn't dream her. Did I?
"The blonde," I growl, grabbing Roman's arm. "Do you see her?"
"What blonde? There are like twenty of them down there, Micah."
"By the door. Black dress."
Fuck.
If she isn't real…
If I'm losing my goddamn mind…
"Davina." Roman pries my hand off his arm. "Her name is Davina Dauphine."
Davina. My baby girl's name is Davina.
Fucking hell. She's real. She's here.
Somehow, my wildest dreams have actually come true. I don't believe in divine intervention, but this feels pretty fucking divine to me.
"She's visiting for the night," Roman says softly. "Do you know her?"
"I…Christ, I've been looking for her for two years," I rasp, unable to take my eyes off her as she moves deeper into the bar, her innocent eyes wide as they dart all around her.
"Jesus."
The man with her reaches out, looping his arm through hers. He pulls her toward him, leaning close to say something to her.
Oh, hell no.
He has his fucking hands on my baby girl.
A growl rips from my chest, my vision turning red.
I practically launch myself down the stairs, possessive fury churning through me.
Chapter Two
Davina
This may be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, and I don't even get to take the credit. I always imagined that when I said I did something completely outrageous, that I'd at least be able to say that it was my idea, but no. I don't even get the glory. My best friend, Corey, does.
Rude.
My knees practically shake as the massive bouncer at the door takes our invitations and our IDs and looks us over. He stares hard, as if he's scouring my mind for every bad thought in my head.
I blink wide eyes at him, trying to appear calm and confident even though I'm a quivering mess inside.
I don't belong in this place.
Part of me hopes he realizes that and sends me on my way.
"Go on in," he practically growls, dashing that hope all to pieces. "Keep your clothes on in public rooms and keep play to designated areas. If you need help, find a monitor. And most importantly, keep play safe, sane, and consensual." He cuts his piercing blue eyes at me, his bald head gleaming. "Have fun."
