Chapter 26 Harrison
The rhythmic, muted click of the keyboard was the only sound in the room, a steady metronome that Harrison found surprisingly grounding.
He was propped up against the headboard, his laptop balanced on his thighs, the blue light of the screen casting sharp shadows across his jaw.
On the monitor, a complex series of security feeds from Oasis flickered in the corner, while the main window was occupied by a rigorous audit of the club’s high-end liquor inventory.
He was a man who lived in the details. He knew which bartenders were over-pouring, which VIP hosts were skimming off the top, and exactly how many seconds it took for a bouncer to neutralize a threat in the lounge. But as his fingers danced over the keys, his gaze inevitably drifted to the right.
Kelsey was out cold. She was buried beneath the heavy, silk-lined comforter, only the top of her dark head and one pale shoulder visible.
She looked small—fragile in a way that she never allowed the world to see.
The frantic, vibrating energy that usually defined her had been thoroughly wrung out, replaced by the heavy, limp exhaustion of a girl who had finally stopped fighting.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He picked it up with a practiced, silent motion.
Savannah: Dinner prep is halfway through. The seafood delivery was five pounds short on the sea bass, but I called the vendor and tore them a new one. They’re sending a runner now. The line is quiet. We’ve got this.
Harrison’s thumb hovered over the screen. He appreciated Savannah. She was the only person in Kelsey’s life who seemed to understand that the girl needed a leash as much as she needed a friend.
Harrison: Good. Keep it that way. If there’s a crisis, call me. Do not contact her. She’s resting under my orders. Check the refrigeration seals on the walk-in; she mentioned they looked worn.
Savannah: Yes sir. Give her my love.
He set the phone back down, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.
He liked the feeling of being the wall between Kelsey and the chaos of her own making.
For years, she had been the wall for everyone else.
Now, she was just a girl in his bed, wearing his shirt, being cared for by a man who didn't find her competence intimidating—just exhausting for her to maintain.
He closed the laptop and set it on the floor, the work suddenly feeling hollow compared to the heat radiating from the woman beside him.
The afternoon sun was dying, casting long, bruised shadows of orange and violet across the bed.
It was that liminal hour where the world felt soft and blurred at the edges.
He slid down under the covers, moving with the silent, predatory grace that had made him a king in a city of sharks. He didn't want to wake her yet—not with words.
He pulled the comforter back slowly, exposing her.
She was still lying on her stomach, her skin pale and luminous in the twilight.
The white cotton shirt had ridden up to her waist, revealing the soft curve of her hips.
He reached out, his hand hovering over her, feeling the warmth.
He didn't touch the marks he’d left; instead, his hand slid lower, tracing the pale, unblemished skin of her inner thighs.
Kelsey stirred, a low, melodic hum vibrating in her throat, but she didn't wake.
Harrison moved lower, his body a heavy, grounding weight on the mattress.
He knelt between her legs, gently guiding them apart.
She was so pliable in her sleep, her body intuitively trusting his touch even before her mind was conscious.
He hiked the shirt up further, pinning it beneath his chest as he leaned over her.
He started with the backs of her knees, his tongue tracing the delicate, sensitive skin there. He felt her breath hitch—a small, jagged break in her rhythm.
“Daddy?” She whispered, her voice a ragged, sleep-torn thread.
“Don’t move, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and damp. “Just feel me.”
He didn't stop. He moved higher, his mouth finding the soft, tender junction where her thigh met her hip. He was slow, agonizingly deliberate, his tongue swirling in wet, rhythmic patterns. He heard her fingers dig into the pillows, the silk rustling as she fully woke up to the sensation of him.
“Daddy, please,” she gasped, her hips giving a small, involuntary twitch of need.
He didn't answer with words. He reached up, his hands catching her hips and anchoring her firmly to the mattress.
He buried his face in her, his tongue finding her center with a blunt, demanding precision.
She was already slick, her body responding to him with a primal urgency that made his own blood thunder in his veins.
Kelsey let out a broken, high-pitched sob into the pillow, her back arching as he tasted her.
He wasn't being gentle; he was being possessive.
He used his teeth, nipping at the soft flesh of her inner thighs before returning to the wet heat of her.
He wanted her to feel every second of it—the contrast of his rough stubble against her sensitized skin, the demanding weight of his body, the absolute lack of escape.
“Open for me,” he commanded, his voice a dark, gravelly rumble between her legs.
She obeyed instantly, her legs falling wider, her body baring itself to him in total, shameless surrender. He drank her in, his tongue working with a relentless, driving pace that sent her spiraling. She was whimpering now, her words lost to a series of frantic, breathless pants.
He reached around, his palms rubbing over her skin even as his mouth worked her into a frenzy. The combination of the dull ache in her muscles and the soaring, electric pleasure was too much for her. She began to shake, her heels digging into the mattress as she tried to find purchase.
“Look at me,” he said, shifting his body so he could pull her up.
He flipped her onto her back, his hands pinned above her head. Her eyes were blown wide, the pupils swallowing the hazel, her chest heaving as she stared up at him in the dim light. She looked utterly wrecked, her hair a wild halo on the pillow, her lips swollen and wet.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his face inches from hers. “Every inch of this. Every breath you take. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she choked out, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “Yes, Daddy. Please.”
He didn't give her the release she was begging for—not yet.
He teased her, his fingers sliding into her as his mouth found her breasts, his teeth grazing her nipples through the thin cotton of the shirt until she was sobbing his name.
Only when she was on the very edge of breaking did he finally let her go, his mouth returning to her center until she shattered against him, her body convulsing in a long, violent climax that left her limp and trembling in his arms.
He held her through the aftershocks, his large hand stroking her hair as her breathing slowly returned to normal. The room was dark now, the only light the faint silver of the moon through the drapes.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice returning to that low, protective purr.
“I’m jelly,” she whispered, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. “I don’t think my legs work anymore.”
“Good. They don’t need to work for a while.”
He kissed the top of her head and finally pulled himself away, moving toward the ensuite to clean up. When he returned, she had managed to pull the comforter back over herself, looking like a cozy, ruffled bird.
“I’m starving,” she said, a little bit of her usual fire returning to her voice. “That… took a lot out of me.”
Harrison laughed, reaching for a fresh shirt. “I bet it did. I’ll whip something up here. How do you feel about steak?”
Kelsey sat up, the oversized shirt falling off one shoulder. She looked at him with a hopeful, manipulative little glint in her eyes—the 'boss' trying to negotiate.
“Why don’t we go to Seven Stones?” she suggested, her voice sweet. “I could just sit in the back booth. I wouldn't even talk to anyone. I just… I want to see the floor. I want to make sure the Tuesday rush is being handled right. We could have the tasting menu.”
Harrison stopped buttoning his shirt. He didn't look angry, but the air in the room shifted instantly. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his gaze steady and immovable.
“No.”
“Daddy, it’s just for an hour,” she pushed, her hand reaching out to touch his knee. “I’m feeling so much better. The nap helped… I can handle a quick dinner. I’ll stay in the shadows, I promise.”
“Kelsey,” he said, his voice dropping into that warning register that usually ended all conversation. “What did I tell you in the office?”
She went quiet, her fingers curling into the silk.
“I told you that your life is being handled by me right now,” he reminded her, leaning in until their noses almost touched.
“Going to the restaurant isn't about dinner. It’s about you trying to claw back control. It’s about you checking up on Savannah because you don’t trust that the world can turn without your hand on the crank. ”
“It’s not that I don’t trust her,” she whispered.
“It is. And more importantly, it’s you disobeying a direct order to rest.” He reached out, his thumb catching her chin and tilting it up.
“You aren't going to Seven Stones. You aren't going anywhere. We are staying right here. I’m going to make us dinner, we’re going to open a bottle of wine, and you are going to stay in that shirt and keep your feet off the floor.”
He watched the conflict play out on her face—the stubborn, independent woman fighting against the girl who desperately wanted to be told what to do.
“But—”
“One more word about that restaurant, Kelsey, and I’m going to decide you haven't quite learned your lesson about obedience yet.” His eyes flickered to the bed. “Do you want to spend the rest of the evening over my lap, or do you want to have dinner with me?”
Kelsey’s breath hitched. She saw the absolute lack of compromise in his eyes and felt that familiar, grounding surge of relief. He wasn't going to let her slip back into the stress. He was holding the line.
“Dinner, Daddy,” she whispered, her shoulders finally dropping. “I want to stay here.”
“Good girl.” He stood up and reached for her, not waiting for her to move. He swept her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
In the kitchen, he settled her onto one of the high, leather-backed barstools. He’d already placed the vanity cushion there, ensuring she was comfortable. He pulled a bottle of dark, rich red from the rack and poured her a glass before she could even ask.
“Sip that,” he commanded, placing the glass in her hand. “And watch me work. No phone, no worrying about prep lists. Just us.”
He turned to the fridge, pulling out two thick, marbled ribeyes. Kelsey watched him, the warmth of the wine and the lingering heat of his touch finally settling into a peaceful, heavy glow. She was still a boss, but here in Harrison’s kitchen, she was just his—and that was enough.