Page 179 of Daddy's Pride
Standing before the mirror, Josiah took a deep breath, steadying his hands as he applied eyeliner with surgical precision. Each stroke was a mantra to boost his confidence. He would find someone tonight. A Dom would notice him and want him. He was a canvas of desire, a work of art that would draw gazes and stir whispers.
“Damn, you’re so good at that,” Denali said. “I can never get it as neat as you.”
“Comes with being artistic. I’ve developed a steady hand.”
Josiah turned in front of the mirror, the lights glinting off his hair styled to tousled perfection. He couldn’t make himself prettier than this, so it would have to do.
“Ready to turn some heads?” Denali stepped beside him in an outfit that was just as daring, anticipation shimmering in his eyes.
The flutter in Josiah’s chest reached a crescendo in his symphony of nerves and exhilaration. He straightened his shoulders. No more doubts now. He had to radiate confidence. “More than ready. I just hope there’s someone who can handle all this.” He gestured at himself from the meticulously applied eyeliner that made his eyes pop to the boots that added a few necessary inches to his stature.
Milan whistled between his teeth. “Trust me, you’ll have them lining up for the chance. You two look edible.”
“Lining up? I’m hoping for more of a stampede,” Josiah quipped, the playful banter easing the tight coil of longing within him. “A sexy, dominant stampede.”
“Is there any other kind?” Denali nudged Josiah with his elbow.
Josiah’s laughter mingled with Denali’s as they shared a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. It was the kind of easy humor that came from years of friendship, from knowing each other’s darkest secrets and brightest hopes.
“Hey, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Denali said in a mock-serious tone.
“Considering what you get up to with Milan and Asher, that doesn’t rule out much.”
“Exactly. Let’s go find you a Dom who appreciates your particular brand of high maintenance.” Denali slung an arm around Josiah’s shoulders as they walked out of the room.
“High maintenance?” Josiah feigned indignation, even as his stomach did a hopeful flip. “I prefer ‘highly desirable.’”
“Same thing.”
As they descended the steps of the brownstone, Josiah’s excitement peaked, every nerve ending alight with the thought of what—or who—awaited him. This was it: the beginning of something new, something thrilling. “Tonight’s going to be epic,” he murmured, more to himself than to Denali.
He didn’t say much on the ride over, his nerves too frayed for conversation.
“Tonight could be the night, Jo.” Denali slipped an arm around Josiah’s waist. “You might just meet him—the one who’ll see you, really see you.”
Josiah leaned into the embrace, drawing strength from Denali’s unwavering presence. “God, I hope so. I want someone who can handle my fire without getting burned, unravel me and stitch me back together.”
“And you will.” Milan turned around and gave him a knowing smile. “You’re cute and sweet, and you have this whole wide-eyed innocence going on that is irresistible to Doms like me. Trust me, if I didn’t have my Denali, I would’ve been first in line to corrupt you.”
Asher nodded. “Same.”
They weren’t lying. Josiah knew that much, and their words gave him a much-needed confidence boost. “Thank you. If you weren’t with my best friend, I would’ve happily taken you up on that offer.”
Milan parked the car, and they approached the club’s entrance, the door a portal to another world. “Good evening, sirs,” the doorman said.
“Hey, Benji,” Milan said. “We have a guest with us tonight. I’d like a single sub wristband for him.”
“Absolutely, Sir.”
Josiah held out his hand, and Benji slipped a neon-green wristband on. “That tells Doms you’re an available sub,” Asher said. “Available Doms will wear a blue wristband. No wristband means not approachable.”
Easy enough to remember. Josiah took a deep breath as they descended into the heart of the club, the beat of the music echoing the beat of his heart—fast, fierce, and filled with yearning.
Chapter Two
The throb of bass pulsed through the dimly lit club, a cavernous space shrouded in shadows and punctuated by flashes of colored strobes that cut through the haze like searchlights. Chains and leather straps dangled from the ceiling, each hinting at untold stories of dominance and submission. The scent of musk and latex mingled with the tang of sweat, creating an olfactory tapestry as rich and complex as the patrons who navigated the maze of desire.
Brody Ayers reclined against the polished obsidian surface of the bar, a glass of Coke cradled loosely between his fingers. His gaze swept languidly across the familiar tableau of writhing bodies. Some were bound in intricate knots, their Masters commanding them with firm hands and unspoken commands. Others were serving their Doms, openly or more discreetly, kneeling under a table as they suckled their Dom’s cock.