The champagne bubbles fizzed against Emma’s tongue, sharp and celebratory. She leaned across the small, sticky table towards her father, Jay. “To us, Daddy,” she declared, her voice slightly louder than necessary in the dimly lit bar. “To closing the Henderson deal!” She clinked her flute against his, her eyes bright with triumph and alcohol.

Jay watched her, a familiar warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with the champagne. Her sheer blouse gaped open, revealing the smooth plane of her chest beneath. The short skirt had ridden up even higher as she leaned forward, exposing the tops of her thighs. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “To us, sweetheart. Couldn’t have done it without you.” His voice was gruff.

The music pulsed around them, a low thrumming bass that vibrated through the soles of Emma’s heels. She giggled, leaning back now, letting her knee brush against his leg under the table. “You’re such a liar,” she teased, swirling her champagne. “You’d have closed Henderson in your sleep.” Her eyes lingered on his face, pupils wide and dark in the bar’s dim light. A strand of hair fell across her cheek.

Jay’s thumb moved almost imperceptibly on her bare thigh, tracing a tiny circle against the soft skin just above her knee. The warmth of her seeped through the thin fabric of her skirt. He could feel the faint tremor in his own hand. “Maybe,” he conceded, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested, hidden by the tablecloth. “But it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.” His voice was thick, the words sticking slightly. The scent of her perfume – something light and citrusy – mixed with the stale beer smell of the bar.

Emma tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her lips. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted her leg slightly, pressing it more firmly against his touch. “Fun?” she echoed softly, her eyes locking onto his. “Oh, Daddy, you have no idea.” She took another deliberate sip of champagne, the flute cool against her fingers. “Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in so close he could feel her breath warm on his cheek, “old man Henderson was practically glued to my legs the entire meeting. Couldn’t take his eyes off them.” Her smile turned sharp, almost predatory. “Poor guy probably got a crick in his neck.”

Jay’s thumb stopped its circling. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her thigh, a sudden possessiveness flaring hot and bright beneath the haze of alcohol. The image of Henderson’s gaze on Emma’s legs, on the skin he was touching now, sent a jolt through him. He said ... would you have slept with him?

Emma’s laugh was low, throaty, a sound that vibrated against the bar’s background hum. She leaned back slightly, letting her gaze travel slowly, deliberately, down to where his hand remained hidden under the tablecloth, then back up to meet his eyes. Her own held a challenge, a flicker of something reckless. “Would it have gotten us the deal?” she countered, swirling the dregs of champagne in her glass. Her voice was light, but the question hung heavy between them.

Jay’s knuckles whitened where his fingers pressed into her thigh. The possessive heat flared again, hotter this time, cutting through the champagne haze. “Emma,” he growled, the word rough-edged. He didn’t need an answer. The image was already seared into his mind: Henderson’s greedy eyes on her, those wrinkled hands imagining what Jay’s own fingers were tracing right now. The sheer blouse, the impossible skirt – weapons she wielded effortlessly. His assistant. His daughter. The thought twisted, ugly and thrilling.

She laughed again, a low, rich sound that seemed to vibrate right through the table. “Oh, Daddy,” she murmured, leaning close enough that her citrus scent overwhelmed the stale beer smell. Her eyes danced with wicked amusement. “He’s like seventy, smells of mothballs and desperation.” She took a slow sip, her gaze never leaving his. “But yes,” she breathed, the word feather-light against his ear. “In a second. For the deal? Absolutely.” The admission hung between them, stark and shameless.

Jay’s fingers dug into her thigh, the possessive heat flaring into something sharper, almost painful. The image solidified – Henderson’s gnarled hands, Emma’s bare skin, the sheer blouse gaping open. His jaw clenched tight. “You wouldn’t,” he rasped, the words thick. It wasn’t a question. It was a desperate denial.

Emma tilted her head, her smile widening into something dazzling and dangerous under the bar’s dim lights. She leaned in, her breath warm against his neck. “Oh, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice a silken purr. “Even if we didn’t get the deal?” Her eyes held his, unblinking, filled with a reckless, molten certainty. “I would have.” She winked, slow and deliberate, a spark of pure defiance in her gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Jay stared at her. The possessive fury that had gripped him moments before dissolved, replaced by a sudden, startling warmth that spread through his chest like spilled wine. A slow, genuine smile curved his lips, surprising even himself. He loved this. Loved her fierce, unapologetic openness, the way she wielded her allure like a blade. It wasn’t defiance aimed at him; it was her own wild spirit, untamed and thrilling. His thumb resumed its slow circle on her thigh, firmer now, possessive in a different way – not of controlling her, but of reveling in her sheer, breathtaking audacity. “You,” he murmured, his voice rough with admiration, “are magnificent.”

Emma’s smile softened at the edges, a flicker of surprise in her eyes at his unexpected shift. Beneath the tablecloth, unseen by the bustling bar patrons, she shifted subtly. Her legs, already exposed by the scandalously short skirt, parted just slightly. An invitation. Her knee brushed deliberately against his inner thigh, the contact electric even through the fabric of his trousers. She held his gaze, the challenge in hers softening into something warmer, more intimate. “Only magnificent?” she breathed, leaning in so her lips were a whisper from his ear. The citrus scent of her perfume intensified. “Or just ... yours?”

Jay’s breath hitched. The possessive thrill surged anew, hotter, more primal. His hand, still resting high on her thigh, didn’t retreat. Instead, his fingers slid deliberately inward, tracing the sensitive skin along the inner seam of her skirt. His thumb pressed against the softness there, a claiming touch hidden beneath the table. Their eye contact deepened, locking them in a silent, charged bubble amidst the bar’s noise. Time seemed to stretch, the thumping bass fading into a distant thrum. He saw the dilation of her pupils, the slight parting of her lips, the flush creeping up her neck. She didn’t look away. Didn’t flinch. Her stillness was an answer louder than words.

Emma shifted again, almost imperceptibly. Her legs parted wider beneath the short skirt, granting his questing fingers deeper access. The hem rode up further, exposing the delicate lace edge of her panties – a flash of black against pale skin. Her gaze remained locked on his, unwavering, molten. A faint tremor ran through her leg where his thumb now stroked slow, deliberate circles against the very edge of the lace. Her breath came shallow, visible in the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the sheer blouse. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken hunger and the sharp tang of champagne on their tongues.

She leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. The sudden intimacy made him freeze. Her voice, low and husky, vibrated against his skin. “I’m going to make you cum tonight, Daddy.” The words were a velvet promise, laced with raw intent. Before he could react, the wet heat of her tongue traced the sensitive curve of his ear. A jolt of pure electricity shot down his spine, tightening his grip on her thigh possessively. Her citrus perfume flooded his senses, mixed now with the faint, musky scent of her arousal. She lingered, her breath hot against his damp skin, a silent dare echoing the words she’d just spoken.

Jay didn’t hesitate. Possession roared through him, drowning out the bar’s clamor. His hand slid from her thigh, fingers interlacing tightly with hers beneath the tablecloth. Her palm was warm, slightly damp. He stood abruptly, pulling her up with him. Her champagne flute clattered onto the table, spilling golden liquid onto the scarred wood. “We’re leaving,” he stated, his voice rough, brooking no argument. His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unwavering. The challenge was met, accepted. Now came the claiming.

He pulled her through the crowded bar, weaving past laughing patrons and sticky tables. Her high heels clicked sharply on the stone floor, struggling slightly to keep pace with his long strides. His grip on her hand was iron-tight, anchoring her to him. She didn’t resist; she leaned into the pull, her free hand brushing against his back, fingers splaying possessively over the fabric of his shirt. Her short skirt rode dangerously high with each step, drawing appreciative glances she ignored entirely. Her focus was solely on the broad back leading her away, the sheer blouse gaping open with her quickened breath. The scent of roasting chestnuts and spilled ale clashed with her citrus perfume. His hotel loomed across the square, its arched doorway a promise. She stumbled once, her heel catching on uneven stone, and his arm instantly wrapped around her waist, hauling her flush against his side. The heat of him seared through their clothes. He didn’t slow. His thumb rubbed circles against the bare skin of her hip where her skirt had ridden up.

The brass elevator doors slid open onto an empty car. He guided her inside, the mirrored walls reflecting their flushed faces and tangled limbs. The moment the doors hissed shut, sealing them in sudden silence, the charged air snapped. Emma moved forward, pressing him against the cool metal wall. Their lips met—not tentative, not questioning, but a collision of pent-up hunger. Hers tasted of champagne and salt; his, whiskey and heat. Her hands flew to his face, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him deeper. His arms crushed her against him, one hand sliding up her spine beneath the sheer blouse, the other gripping her thigh, hiking her leg around his hip. The short skirt offered no resistance. His groan vibrated against her mouth as her tongue invaded his, fierce and demanding. The elevator lurched upward, but they were anchored only to each other. Her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, frantic.

They stumbled down the hotel corridor, a tangle of lips and grasping hands. He fumbled the keycard, swearing thickly against her neck, biting the soft skin below her ear. She gasped, arching into him. The lock finally clicked green. He shoved the door open, pulling her inside. Darkness swallowed them, broken only by city lights bleeding through the curtains. He slammed her against the doorframe, pinning her wrists above her head. His mouth crashed onto hers again, teeth scraping, breath ragged. “Mine,” he growled into her skin, the word rough with possession. Her heel dug into his calf as she strained against his grip, not to escape, but to grind against him. “Yes,” she hissed, her voice raw. “Always yours.” His knee pushed between her thighs, hiking her skirt impossibly higher. The delicate lace of her panties scraped against his slacks. She whimpered, a sound of pure need.

He released her wrists only to tear at the flimsy buttons of her blouse. Fabric ripped. Cool air hit her skin, followed instantly by the heat of his mouth closing over her nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra. She cried out, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Daddy—” The name wasn’t protest; it was fuel. His hands slid down, gripping the backs of her thighs, lifting her effortlessly off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her short skirt bunched uselessly around her hips now. He carried her deeper into the room, kicking the door shut behind them. Her back hit the soft mattress. He followed her down, covering her, his weight pressing her into the duvet. His lips trailed fire down her throat, over her collarbone, lower. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs. She kicked them off frantically.

She lay naked beneath him, legs spread wide on the rumpled sheets. The city lights cast silver streaks across her skin, illuminating the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes, dark and wide, tracked his every move. He stood beside the bed, unbuckling his belt. The rasp of the zipper was loud in the charged silence. His pants fell to the floor. He stepped out of them. His erection strained against his briefs, thick and urgent. He pushed the fabric down.

Emma’s breath hitched. Her gaze locked onto him, drinking in the sight. “Ooooooo,” she breathed, the sound long and low, vibrating in her throat. Not shock. Worship. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “Look at you,” she whispered, her voice husky. Her legs shifted wider, an invitation painted in moonlight. “All for me.” Her fingers trailed down her own belly, stopping just above the dark curls, teasing. “Come claim your prize, Daddy.”

Jay didn’t hesitate. Possession roared through him, drowning out thought, drowning out anything but the primal need to bury himself inside her. He lunged onto the bed, his weight crashing down onto her. No teasing touch, no lingering kiss. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, yanking her body flush against his. One powerful thrust drove him home, sinking his entire length into her slick, welcoming heat in a single, brutal stroke.

Emma let out a sharp, ragged shriek—half pain, half ecstasy—her head snapping back against the pillows. Instinctively, her teeth sank into the corded muscle of his neck, biting down hard. The taste of salt and sweat flooded her mouth, metallic and primal. Her legs locked like a vise around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him deeper still. “Oh god, Daddy,” she gasped against his skin, the words muffled against his collarbone. “Don’t stop!” Her hips bucked wildly, meeting each deep, punishing thrust. The bedframe slammed against the wall in a frantic rhythm. Her teeth remained clamped on his neck, anchoring her to the storm.

Over and over he pounded into her, each brutal stroke driving the breath from her lungs. His balls slapped wetly against her soft, round ass, the sharp, rhythmic smack echoing the ragged gasps tearing from her throat. Her fingers clawed grooves down his sweat-slicked back, nails biting deep. “Harder!” she demanded, arching violently beneath him, forcing him impossibly deeper. The sheer, ruined blouse clung to her trembling shoulders, moonlight catching the frantic rise and fall of her chest. Her legs trembled, locked around him, heels digging into his flanks with desperate force. Every brutal thrust shoved her higher up the mattress, tangled sheets bunching beneath her hips.