Claiming His Baby Read online

  Claiming His Baby

  Nikki Chase

  Copyright © 2017 Nikki Chase

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is for mature readers. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some.

  All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all sexually active characters are 18 years of age or older.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Grace

  2. Matteo

  3. Grace

  4. Matteo

  5. Grace

  6. Matteo

  7. Grace

  8. Matteo

  9. Grace

  10. Matteo

  11. Grace

  12. Matteo

  13. Grace

  14. Matteo

  15. Grace

  16. Matteo

  17. Grace

  18. Matteo

  19. Grace

  20. Matteo

  21. Grace

  22. Matteo

  23. Grace

  24. Matteo

  25. Grace

  26. Matteo

  27. Grace

  28. Matteo

  29. Grace

  30. Matteo

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Preview: His Captive

  My Brother’s Best Friend

  Knocked Up

  Royal Beast

  Single Dad’s Fake Bride

  Preview: After the Happily Ever After . . .

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Sitting across from me is a dead woman.

  At least, that’s what she’s supposed to be. I don’t actually make a habit out of dining with the dead.

  If I reached my hand across the table, I could touch her, but she can’t see me. She doesn’t know it’s me.

  Would she remember me after all these years?

  I was wearing a mask over my face for most of that one night we spent together. That one fateful night, we saved each other, dove headfirst into the murky depths of our depravity together, and then she walked away from me.

  For four years, she has been my obsession. Thoughts of her burrow into my brain and shroud my heart. Amidst the dull ache of routine, she’s the only bright spot in my life.

  And now, all my hard work has paid off. I’ve found her.

  Once I tracked her down, it was easy. At least I’d proven to myself that she was alive, that I wasn’t delusional. Even though everybody believed she was dead, I knew with complete certainty that she was out there, living and breathing. I could feel her.

  I wanted to stand on her stoop and knock on her door. Watch her as a multitude of emotions flit through her lovely face. Surprise. Recognition. Disbelief. But I knew she’d be dominated by fear the very next moment. And I don’t want that.

  So I tracked down a matchmaking agency, of all things, and arranged it so we could meet here to dine together in the dark. No faces. No identities. Just words. Voices.

  She goes by Ashley these days. Not her real name, of course. But I’ll use it anyway. I can’t rouse her suspicion.

  I want to get to know her—this version of her. And that won’t happen if she’s aware of who she’s talking to.

  “So, Ashley, what do you do?” I ask. Casual question. Nonchalant tone. Appropriate for a first blind date.

  Under the surface, a storm rages. I fight the urge to rip her off her dining chair and crush her body against mine. The savory aroma of food suffuses the air, but what I really want to smell is her scent of wild jasmine. I want to taste the sweetness on her lips.

  I have to be patient. I’ve almost got her in my grasp. Can’t let her slip through my fingers.

  She’s mine. Now that I’ve found her, I’ll never let her go.

  Grace

  Four Years Earlier

  “You’re on your own?” The girl behind the counter asks. Her perfectly penciled eyebrows narrow as she tilts her blonde head and stares at me.

  I knew it. This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come here.

  But I’ve already come this far. And this is my last chance. Besides, with this mask over the top half of my face, I’m somewhat anonymous.

  Anxiety tightens its grasp around my stomach. “Is there a problem? Your website says single females are welcome.”

  “Oh, of course!” She widens her eyes, and the winged tails of her cat-eye liner swish up. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re welcome, of course. I just don’t often see girls like . . . Uh, don’t often see girls, like, come here on their own their first time, you know?”

  “Girls like you.” That’s what she wanted to say.

  Damn it. I’ve tried my best to follow the dress code shown on the website but apparently I still look out of place.

  “Yeah.” I finger the delicate lace of my black lingerie, rubbing the fabric nervously.

  Maybe I should’ve picked something other than the babydoll with the opaque chest. Judging by the other girls in the line, baring my nipples would draw less attention.

  I look like a prude. Stick out like a sore thumb.

  “Okay, so, since this is your first time, I’ll give you the grand tour. My name is Amanda and you can come to me with any questions.” The blonde girl gives me an apologetic smile—maybe she senses my nervousness.

  It doesn’t help much, to be honest, because she’s gorgeous and is even more stunning when she smiles. In fact, every girl who works here wouldn’t look out of place on the Victoria’s Secret runway. I can just imagine Amanda wearing the oversized wings on her back.

  “Thanks. I’m Gra . . . Ashley.” I clear my throat and try again. “I’m Ashley.”

  Jesus. The first person I talk to here and I almost tell her my real name. I need to be careful. Nobody can ever find out I’m here. Nobody.

  “Nice to meet you, Ashley,” Amanda says.

  If she noticed me falter, she doesn’t show it. She probably comes across hundreds of names a night anyway. She’ll forget mine before the end of the night.

  Amanda moves up the long table and gestures for me to follow her, letting the other girl help the next guest. She stops in front of a black, leather basket filled with white, black, and gray bracelets. “If you’ve been on the website, maybe you know about our color codes?”

  I nod.

  “Awesome. So, black means taken and unavailable. Gray means taken but available—some doms like to share.” Amanda winks. “And white means you’re a free agent. I take it you’ll be needing the white one tonight?”

  I swallow and nod again.

  “Perfect.” Amanda stretches a white length of leather and holds it up for me, then wraps it around my wrist. The golden clasp makes a tiny metal clink.

  This is it. I’m officially a guest at the club now, a club so exclusive it doesn’t even have a name. Men fork out a fortune just to enter, although women get in for free as long as we stick to the dress code.

  I first heard about this club from Jeanie. She signed up for my gym just to flirt with the fit men who could afford the expensive membership. Sometimes, she joins the yoga class to chat with the girls too—just in case we know any wealthy, eligible bachelors we can introduce to her.

  In short, Jeanie’s a gold digger. Yet, even th
ough she knows about this club, she refuses to come. Ever.

  When she told me about this place, she scrunched up her nose in disgust. To paraphrase Meatloaf, Jeanie would do anything for a rich man but she won’t do this.

  “Let’s join the party,” Amanda says as she parts the heavy, black, velvet curtain. Light spills out through the gap, highlighting her blonde curls in an otherworldly shade of magenta.

  It feels like entering another realm. The luxurious carpet swallows up half the height of my high heels. Crystal chandeliers with black shades hang from the ceiling.

  We stand at the top of the stairs, overlooking a big hall with a stage in the middle and stadium seating around it.

  Everybody wears masks, except for the staff members who carry trays of drinks among the audience and flit around on the big stage where it looks like they’re setting up a performance.

  I gape at the woman being tied down to a wooden structure on the stage. That thing wouldn’t look out of place in a medieval torture room. It looks like a cross, except it’s shaped like the letter X.

  As I follow Amanda, I walk past a woman with a furry mask that has cat ears attached, a man with a silver, futuristic mask that makes him look like a half-robot android, and a jester’s mask complete with a cap and bells.

  Some of the masks turn to face me as I explore the hall, sizing me up. Despite the brawny security guys and the mask keeping my real identity safely hidden, I feel vulnerable. Every step of my feet jolts fear deeper into my stomach.

  A man in a black mask with curved horns looks up over his shoulder just as I approach from behind him. I can’t see his face, but electricity crackles in the air between us when our eyes meet.

  It’s a stunning Minotaur mask, but it’s the eyes that peer at me from behind it that trap my attention. The man has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. A strong jawline covered with a layer of trimmed, dark hair.

  His suit looks expensive. So does everybody else’s, of course. As Jeanie said, these men are politicians, CEOs, and celebrities. If they took their masks off, I might recognize more than just a couple of faces. Most of the men here dress well.

  But Minotaur Man looks like he’s just strolled out of the designer’s catalog, whereas the others have simply bought their suits from the store.

  The man says nothing, but he turns his head to follow my walk down the stairs, his gaze hot on my back.

  Why would a man like that pay any attention to me? Is there something stuck to my shoe, maybe?

  I glance down to find that even though I’m dressed more conservatively than the other girls, my appearance is fine. I look exactly the way I did an hour ago when I scrutinized every single detail in my bedroom mirror.

  I’m wearing a simple, gold mark that covers my face from the top of my eyebrows to halfway down my nose bridge. Aside from my black pumps, it’s the only part of my outfit that blends in with the other guests, although I never thought I’d wear it to a place like this when I bought it on a family trip to Venice.

  Amanda shows me the smaller rooms adjacent to the big hall. Each one is more surreal than the previous one.

  “Beyond this door are the private rooms. Only doms with special keys and their guests can go inside,” Amanda says, her golden curls tumbling down her back as she stops in front of heavy, wooden, double doors with intricate carvings on them. “But as you can see, even the public areas provide many opportunities to play.”

  We walk back out into the big hall where Amanda excuses herself. As it turns out, standing alone in a big hall full of half-naked people is a lot scarier than following a guide through the same hall.

  Doubt gnaws at me again. Why did I think this would be a good idea?

  Sure, BDSM may seem appealing when I’m living vicariously through some character in a fictional story. But this is real life. I’m crazy for taking a mere fantasy this far. Even if I’m in my last throes of freedom.

  I should blend in. Take a seat. I look like an idiot just standing here in the corner. I’m already here. Might as well enjoy a show before I leave, lugging my regrets home with me.

  I plant my butt on one of the theater-style seats by the aisle, sinking my back into the thick, velvet-lined cushion, hoping the pressure will help absorb the throbbing in my body.

  Nobody else is sitting by herself I realize. Couples and groups sit around me. They converse in low voices, leaning close to one another. Hands slip underneath sheer lingerie and bulge the fronts of designer suit pants.

  Two women kneel on either side of a man wearing a black mask, their heads bobbing over his lap as they give him oral pleasure. When they slide down, I can just make out the head of the man’s cock, trapped between two sets of lips.

  In the man’s right hand, he holds two leashes connected to the collars around the women’s necks. He’s leaning his head back, his eyes closed as he breathes through his mouth, too out of it to notice me staring.

  One of the women catches me, though. My heart squeezes with guilt, but she doesn’t even blink. Instead, her red slips curl up into a smile as she waves me over.

  I give her a smile and shake my head before looking away.

  A mask-less girl in red lingerie bends down to offer the drinks balanced on her hand, and I swipe a glass, muttering a nervous thanks.

  I take a sip, cursing under my breath when I realize it’s some kind of a fruit juice and not a cocktail like I’d hoped. It’s my fault for not asking the server, I guess.

  At least it gives me something to occupy myself. I take small sips through the straw, my gaze fixed on the show unfolding in front of me.

  The woman on the stage is now completely restrained, her legs and arms spread apart to match the shape of the strange, wooden cross. Like most women here, she’s wearing nothing but almost-transparent lingerie.

  A big, burly man, wearing all black, circles her, looking dangerous and predatory, the complete opposite of her vulnerability. He rips off her clothes, cutting through the flimsy fabric with a small knife whose blade shines under the spotlight.

  I can’t believe this is actually happening in front of me.

  The man’s hands and mouth roam all over her body as she shudders. Her moans echo through the big hall, reaching a crescendo when he presses a vibrator between her legs.

  A hand squeezes my shoulder from behind, making me jump from the shock. I snap my gaze around to find a man standing on the stairs. He’s wearing a blue mask that doesn’t fully cover his round face.

  “A girl like you shouldn’t be sitting on your own,” he says.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s my first time. I’m happy just to watch.”

  “Why watch when you can enjoy more than that?”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I say, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave me alone.

  The man’s lips curve into a small smile. “Have you seen any of the private rooms yet?”

  I shake my head. “That wasn’t part of the tour. But it’s okay. I—”

  The man grabs my wrist and pulls me up to my feet before I can finish. He tugs me so violently I almost drop my glass of juice on the carpeted floor. He walks so fast I have to focus on every step down the stairs, or I’ll tumble down and fall gracelessly on my ass.

  I try to wrench my arm free but to no avail. Judging by his physique, the man doesn’t seem exceptionally strong, but I’m still no match for a man.

  “You’re one of those girls, huh?” he asks as he takes me past rows of cushy seats. Right in front of the big double doors, he slams me against the wall, knocking the wind out of me. “You act like a brat so a man can put her in her place. Well, baby, your wish is granted. I’m going to make your fantasy come true.”

  I shake my head, my lungs too deprived of oxygen to speak.

  Fear grips my chest. What is this man going to do to me? We’re outside the public area; there’s no bouncer I can ask for help here.

  The man wraps a moist hand around my arm so hard it starts to feel numb.
>
  “Don’t fight it, baby. You came here on your own. I know you want this to happen. Admit it.” His lips form a grotesque smile as he leans so close his soft belly is squishing against me. “You don’t have to, though. I kind of like it when you fight.”

  “Let me go,” I squeak out, panic constricting my vocal cords.

  “That’s it. I like that. Keep that up. I’m getting hard already.” He reaches into his pocket. “Now, since we’ll be getting to know each other intimately, you need to know what to scream out when I’m pounding you. The name’s Harvey.”

  Keys jangle, the sound ringing in my ear. “No. I’m serious. Let me go.”

  “Once you get into my room, you’ll change your mind. Just like all the other girls,” he says, pushing his key into the lock.

  My heart gallops.

  Oh, no. This guy thinks I’m just pretending to not want this.

  My head spins.

  Why did I think it was a good idea to go to a BDSM club? This is the kind of thing that happens in a place like this.

  I hear a man clear his throat, and the grip around my arm loosens. In my panicked state, it takes me a while to realize there’s a second man here.

  “Is there a problem here?” The man asking the question wears a black mask with two curved horns on it.

  Harvey turns from the door, his forehead creasing with irritation. “No.”

  “Let me hear it from the lady,” Minotaur Man insists.