Ruthless Daddies (Reverse Harem Daddies)

6. Dmitri

6

DMITRI

I step into the low-lit haze of our Manhattan club, Nebula, and the familiar wave of music hits me first—a deep, bass-heavy beat that reverberates through the floors and straight into my chest. The crowd pulses along with it, bodies moving in sync, a sea of dark silhouettes illuminated by flashes of blue and purple lights cutting through the smoke. It’s loud, packed, and reeks of everything I despise—sweat, cheap cologne, and the faint, underlying stench of desperation.

The place is one of our most profitable ventures, a constant stream of cash flowing in from the city’s elite who come here looking for an escape. From the outside, Nebula looks like any other exclusive nightclub in Manhattan—neon lights, velvet ropes, a line of people begging to get inside. But behind the curtains, it’s more than just a place to dance and drink. It’s a hub of information, a meeting point for those who operate in the shadows, and a place where deals are made under the guise of hedonism.

I nod at the bouncers as I make my way through the VIP section, ignoring the clinking of glasses and flirtatious laughter that fills the air. Waitresses in sleek black dresses weave through the tables, carrying trays laden with bottles of champagne, vodka, and every other poison that keeps the patrons here spending more than they intend.

Alcohol has never interested me. I’ve watched it dull too many minds, seen too many men lose their edge and spill secrets they shouldn’t. I prefer to keep my wits about me, especially in a place like this. It’s all too easy to let your guard down, to get swept up in the haze of alcohol and sex and forget that every corner of this room has ears.

I settle into a corner booth, giving myself a good view of the room. The music is a steady, pounding rhythm, and the floor is packed with people—writhing bodies, faces tipped back in laughter, lost in their own little worlds. It’s a carefully curated chaos, and it’s profitable as hell. Nikolai’s influence, mostly. He’s the one who knows how to draw people in, keep them entertained, keep them coming back for more.

But tonight, I’m not here to enjoy the ambiance. I’m here to observe.

My eyes scan the room, picking up on the familiar faces—the regulars who pay for their VIP access and the ones who slip in quietly, looking for a private corner where they can discuss business under the cover of darkness.

My contacts have told me there’s been an unusual amount of interest in our operations lately. Someone’s watching us, making moves where they shouldn’t be. And that’s why I’m here tonight—to see who’s stupid enough to try something on our turf.

A waitress approaches, smiling at me with a practiced, sultry look. She leans closer, her perfume strong and sweet, the neckline of her dress dipping low. “Drink, Mr. Morozov?”

I give her a polite smile but wave her off. “No, thank you.”

She pouts, clearly disappointed, but moves away when she realizes she won’t be getting a big tip tonight. I watch her go, noticing how she stops to chat with a man near the bar, whispering something in his ear before glancing back at me.

Interesting.

The man she’s speaking to is new, someone I don’t recognize. He’s dressed like he belongs here—expensive suit, hair slicked back—but there’s something off about him. He’s not relaxed like the others. He’s watching the room, just like I am.

I lean back, feigning disinterest, but keep him in the corner of my eye. He’s either here for business, or he’s the kind of fool who thinks he can play games on our turf. Either way, he’ll find out soon enough that this isn’t a place for amateurs.

The music shifts, the beat slowing down slightly, a heavier rhythm taking over as the lights dim further. The crowd presses closer together on the dance floor, couples swaying, hands roaming. It’s the kind of scene that would have Nikolai grinning, slipping into the crowd with that easy charm of his. But it’s lost on me. I’ve never had the patience for it.

As the man by the bar glances in my direction again, I feel the familiar, quiet surge of adrenaline. It’s a subtle thing, the awareness that something’s off, that I’m being watched. I give nothing away, though, keeping my expression neutral, letting him think he’s going unnoticed.

Amateurs.

I glance over my shoulder, catching the eye of one of our security guys, Sergei’s protégé. I give him a quick, subtle nod, and he melts into the crowd, heading toward the bar to deal with our new friend.

The game is simple—find out who he is, what he wants, and make sure he leaves with a message. You don’t come into our place and make moves without us knowing. It’s a lesson too many people seem to forget.

I settle back into the booth, ignoring the flashing lights and pounding music, my eyes still scanning the room. The man at the bar shifts, stiffening as our security approaches him. He glances at me one last time before turning away, realizing too late that he’s made a mistake.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, glancing at the message on the screen. It’s from Nikolai: How’s Nebula? Make sure you’re not scaring off all the customers with that scowl of yours.

I smirk, typing a quick reply: Only the ones who need scaring.

I pocket the phone, letting my gaze drift back to the crowd, to the flashing lights and the swirling smoke that fills the room. This place, this scene—it’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from chaos. And that’s just how I like it.

I lean back, watching as the man at the bar is quietly escorted out, his face pale, all his bravado gone. He’ll think twice before trying anything here again.

And as I take in the room, the pounding music, the bodies swaying in the dark, I realize there’s a part of me that feels more alive here than anywhere else. It’s a dangerous game, but it’s one I know how to play better than anyone.

I smile to myself, the thrill of it all settling into my bones. Let them come. Let them try.

I’m always two steps ahead.

As I sink back into the booth, satisfied that our little problem at the bar has been dealt with, something catches my eye—a figure moving with wild, carefree abandon in the middle of the dance floor.

It’s Alice.

For a second, I don’t quite believe it. But then she spins, hair catching the light, a radiant smile on her lips as she moves, completely lost in the rhythm of the music. She’s not just dancing; she’s feeling the beat, letting it consume her, arms raised above her head, hips swaying with a confidence that makes her look like she belongs here more than anyone else in the room.

I sit up straighter, my amusement fading.

I make my decision in an instant, pushing myself up from the booth and making my way down to the dance floor. The lights flash overhead, bathing the writhing crowd in shades of blue and purple, but I only have eyes for one person. I weave through the throng of bodies, my focus locked on Alice.

By the time I’m close enough to touch her, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin, see the sheen of sweat on her neck. Her dress is riding up slightly, exposing the smooth skin of her thigh, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to grip her right here and now.

I step up behind her, my chest brushing against her back as I lean in, my lips close to her ear. “What the hell are you doing here, Alice?”

She startles, spinning around, her eyes wide as she looks up at me. “Dmitri!” she exclaims, her breathless voice barely audible over the pounding music.

I’m so close I can see the flush of her cheeks, the way her pupils are blown wide from the thrill of dancing. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can’t tell if it’s from exertion or something else.

“Surprised?” I murmur, my voice low, letting it curl around her like smoke. I watch the way she shudders, a shiver rolling down her spine despite the heat of the room. It’s a small, involuntary reaction, but it’s enough to tell me everything I need to know.

She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes, clearly torn between surprise and something else, something darker. “I’m just…I’m just here with my friend,” she says.

“Is that so?” I say, tilting my head, letting my fingers trail down the length of her bare arm. “Where is she?”

Her skin is warm, almost feverish, and I feel the way she shivers under my touch. She looks around, her gaze unfocused. “She must be around somewhere.”

“You have no idea what kind of place you’ve walked into, krasotka ,” I whisper into her ear. “You don’t belong here.”

Before she can respond, I grip her wrist, not harshly but firmly enough to make it clear I’m not giving her a choice. “Come with me,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

“Dmitri, wait—” she starts to protest, trying to pull back, but I don’t let her. Instead, I lead her through the crowd, ignoring the curious onlookers. She struggles at first, her fingers digging into my arm, but then something shifts, and she follows, letting me guide her as if she’s made the decision to trust me.

I find a corner, tucked away from the main dance floor, where the music is muted just enough that we can actually talk. I press her back against the wall, caging her in with my arms, leaning close enough that our breaths mingle.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice harsher than I intended. The sight of her dancing out there, vulnerable and unaware of the predators lurking in places like this, has me on edge.

She lifts her chin, defiant despite the way I’ve trapped her. “I came here to have some fun, Dmitri. Is that a crime?”

“It is when you show up in one of our clubs, dancing like you have no idea where you are,” I snap back. “This isn’t a safe place for you, Alice.”

She scoffs, trying to push past me, but I press closer, my body blocking her path. “I can take care of myself,” she says, her voice laced with irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Maybe you can,” I reply, my eyes narrowing as I lean in, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me, intoxicating. “But here’s the thing, krasotka —you don’t get to come into my world and play by your own rules.”

Her breath hitches, and I can see the way her pulse beats rapidly at her neck, the way her lips part as if she’s about to argue, but no words come out.

“Dmitri,” she breathes, her voice softer now, her hands pressed flat against my chest. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because,” I murmur, my gaze locked on hers, “I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you.”

The admission surprises even me, but it’s the truth. The idea of her out there, vulnerable, drives me insane. And the way she’s looking up at me now, her eyes wide and dark, it’s like she’s daring me to make a move.

“Is that what this is?” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You’re jealous?”

“Maybe,” I reply, my lips curling into a smirk as I lean in closer, close enough that our noses brush, close enough that I can feel her breath hitch against my mouth. “Or maybe I just want you all to myself.”

And then I kiss her.

It’s not gentle, not careful—it’s hard and possessive, all the pent-up frustration and desire pouring out of me in a single, searing moment. Her lips part under mine, a surprised gasp escaping her, but then she’s kissing me back, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer.

I press her back against the wall, my hands sliding down to grip her hips, feeling the soft curve of her body under my palms. She arches into me, her body pliant, her mouth hot and eager against mine.

I grip her hips tighter, pulling her flush against me as I crush my mouth to hers once more, this time rougher, hungrier. Her gasp melts into a moan, and I take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers in a hot, possessive tangle.

Her hands find their way into my hair, tugging sharply, and the pain only spurs me on. I trail my lips down her jaw, nipping at the delicate skin before I find her neck. She tilts her head, giving me access, and I latch on, sucking hard enough that I know it’ll leave a mark. Good. Let everyone see it, see that she’s been claimed.

I suck harder, pulling another whimper from her lips as I work on leaving another mark, making sure she won’t be able to hide what we’re doing here, what I’m doing to her.

“Dmitri,” she moans, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Her voice is wrecked, breathless, and it sends a rush of satisfaction through me, knowing I’m the one making her sound like this.

My hands slide down, skimming over her waist, her hips, until I’m gripping her ass, pulling her up against me. I can feel the heat of her core even through the fabric of her dress, and it drives me wild. I push her harder against the wall, pressing my thigh between her legs, and she lets out a choked gasp, her hips grinding down instinctively.

“Look at you,” I murmur against her ear, letting my hand slide up to cup her breast, squeezing just enough to make her arch into me. “So needy. I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

She shudders, her eyes half-closed, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. “Please,” she whispers, and the sound of her begging is almost enough to make me lose it.

I slide my hand down, skimming over her stomach before slipping under the hem of her dress. Her skin is warm, soft, and when I reach the edge of her panties, I can feel how wet she is already. Fuck, she’s soaked. For me.

“Is this what you want?” I ask, pressing the pad of my finger against her clit through the thin fabric. Her whole body jerks, a broken moan escaping her lips, and she nods frantically, her hands gripping my shoulders like I’m the only thing keeping her upright.

“Words, Alice,” I demand, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” she gasps out, her voice barely more than a breath. “Yes, please.”

I don’t waste any more time. I hook my finger under the thin fabric of her panties, pulling it aside, and then I’m sliding my fingers through her slick folds, feeling just how ready she is for me. I press two fingers inside her, curling them up, and she cries out, her hips bucking against my hand.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” I groan, working my fingers in and out of her, faster, harder, until she’s panting, her nails digging into the back of my neck. I can feel her walls fluttering around my fingers, the way she clenches down, and it’s like she’s trying to pull me deeper, like she can’t get enough.

“Dmitri,” she moans again, her head falling back against the wall as I thumb her clit, rubbing circles over it in time with the thrusts of my fingers. Her eyes squeeze shut, and I know she’s close, teetering right on the edge.

I lean down, sucking another mark into her neck, this one lower, closer to her collarbone. I want her covered in them, want everyone to see and know she’s mine, even if it’s just for tonight. I bite down lightly, and she lets out a broken cry, her hips grinding down harder against my hand.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her skin, pumping my fingers faster. “Come for me, Alice. Let me feel you.”

It’s all she needs. She shatters around me, her entire body going tense, a strangled moan escaping her lips as she comes undone. Her walls clamp down on my fingers, and I keep moving, drawing out her orgasm until she’s trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

I slow my movements, pulling my fingers out of her slowly, savoring the way she shudders at the loss. I hold her up, my hand still gripping her waist, and I watch her face as she slowly comes back down, her eyes fluttering open, dazed and unfocused.

“You’re a mess,” I whisper, lifting my fingers to my lips and licking them clean, tasting her on my tongue. Her eyes go wide, a fresh flush spreading over her cheeks, and it makes me want to take her all over again.

But I rein myself in, forcing a smirk as I lean in close, my lips brushing her ear. “That’s what happens when you play with fire, krasotka ,” I murmur. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”