He Claimed Her in One Night: Billionaire and His Best Friend’s Daughter

Maverick POV

What in the actual fuck…?

Maverick Pierce froze. The woman who’d just pushed through the frosted-glass door that separated the reception area of the Quarter from the main dungeon resembled his biggest investor’s only daughter.

He shook his head. It couldn’t be her.

As far as he knew, Charlotte Hendry was tucked away at an expensive New York college earning a master’s degree in social work. She sure as hell couldn’t be standing in the middle of one of New Orleans’s most exclusive BDSM clubs.

But holy hell, the resemblance between the two was startling, at least on the surface.

Both were tall and slender. Each time he’d seen her, Charlotte’s hair had been in a messy bun. She dressed in soft, comfortable jeans, often with artistic rips in the fabric, and tank tops beneath long-sleeved men’s shirts.

She was very different from the woman who paused to watch a submissive receiving a flogging on a nearby Saint Andrew’s cross.

He lowered his sparkling water to the table as he swept his gaze over the look-alike. Her blonde hair was lit by fiery highlights and danced around her shoulders in feminine waves. She wore a black leather crop top with sexy cap sleeves that left her midriff bare. Her asymmetrical skirt was short enough to slam his imagination into dangerous territory.

He pictured himself lifting the hem as she grabbed her ankles and took a deep breath before he caressed her, then used his bare hand to paint her buttocks a tantalizing shade of pink. It would be even better if she was panting and screaming his name.

The woman took a step forward, perhaps to get a better view of the scene. He glanced around to see if she was with anyone. Prospective members of the Quarter were required to attend with a sponsor on their first three visits. Since she appeared to be alone, it meant she’d been here a number of times.

When the flogging ended, she turned toward the bar area. Aviana, the club’s owner and respected businesswoman, had been persuaded to add one about a year ago when it was pointed out that she could open at lunchtime for members who wished to have a discreet place for business meetings. Serving lunch had been another stroke of genius—and financial gain.

Since most clubs of this nature didn’t serve alcohol, it had taken her some time to establish a policy. Members or guests who imbibed at all had their hand marked with an X, which forbade play for the rest of the evening. And she had a strict two-drink rule for everyone.

The bar area was glassed in, making it much quieter than the dungeon. Mav appreciated having the opportunity to relax with a sub after a scene, providing them both a gradual transition from intensity back to the real world. At times, he’d used the space to negotiate with a new sub. On a couple of occasions, he’d even stopped by to relax after an evening out.

Aviana had been decorated with a Louisiana flair. A picture of a tiger representing LSU hung from the wall, alongside an autographed New Orleans Saints football jersey, and neon signs from the thriving local brewery.

Tonight, he’d chosen his table with care. He had an excellent view of Aviana’s throne, a number of the Saint Andrew’s crosses, along with a few of the spanking benches. And of course, her.

Captivated, curious, he stretched out his legs and watched her approach.

When she entered, she paused to scan the long, polished bar and the people seated there. A couple was snuggled together with their foreheads touching. Two stools were occupied by Doms without subs.

Obviously having made a decision, she walked toward the back of the space so she could sit alone, at the end of the bar, with an empty, inviting chair next to her.

About three feet away from him, she saw him and jerked to a stop, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes locked.

Fuck it to hell. Shock, hot and white, pulsed through him.

The sexy temptress—with the parted, enticing mouth—was his friend’s daughter. Did Ryan have any idea that his only child was more than a thousand miles from school and that she liked to get her ass spanked by men she might not know?

Charlotte blinked, severing their connection. Instead of saying anything, she squared her shoulders and continued past him.

Her.

Jesus. What the living hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after her.

Now that Mav knew who she was, he was torn between pretending he hadn’t seen her and paddling her ass himself.

If he were smart, he’d pay his bill, collect his play bag from the coat check, then go home where he could masturbate to some fantasy woman and forget he’d ever seen Charlotte. But he wasn’t sure he could walk away, despite the risks.

The Quarter had a strict code of conduct. Movie stars, musicians, politicians, and business tycoons needed a place free from scrutiny, which made privacy Aviana’s main priority. Many people opted to use a scene name, and unless there was an agreement between all parties, no one could acknowledge they knew one another outside the club. No doubt that was one of Charlotte’s reasons for joining.

At the very least, striding over to her and turning her over his knee would guarantee a suspension of membership privileges. There was a chance he’d be expelled. Since visiting the club on his rare trips to Louisiana provided a much-needed break from the grind of running his digital-media conglomerate, Mav valued his membership.

So for the moment, he waited and watched, bouncing his leg with customary impatience.

She wriggled onto a barstool, exaggerating her movements—he was sure—to capture attention.

Adrian, one of the Doms at the bar—a man who was devouring his trust fund, sleeping all day, partying all night, and discarding a relationship a week—glanced toward Charlotte.

Mav mentally repeated the club’s rules.

Charlotte was at least twenty-one, capable of making her own decisions.

She was also free to allow a Dom to tie her up, blindfold her, flog her.

What she did was none of his business.

Still watching her, Adrian grabbed a cane from the top of the bar and tapped it against his open palm, as if in deep thought. Then he slid off his chair.

Mav snapped his back teeth together.

No one was touching Charlotte.

No one but him.

Fuck the club rules.