Chapter 1

Ariana

1

My phone vibrates against my thigh as I navigate the bustling city streets.

It's Dad.

Taking in a deep breath, I brace myself for the familiar letdown.

With a resigned tap on my Bluetooth headphones, I answer.

"Hey, Dad. What's up?" My tone is flat.

"Sorry, honey, but I need to cancel dinner tomorrow. There's an urgent staff meeting," he explains, his tone devoid of any real regret.

I ascend the steps to my apartment building, the click of my low heels echoing on the concrete. "Figures," I mutter, more to myself than to him.

"Ariana, this meeting is critical for my Senate campaign. We're launching the fundraising phase, and some key supporters will be there," he continues, trying to justify his absence.

"Right. The campaign," I mutter, feeling the sting of being second to his political ambitions yet again."I get it. And next week? What will it be? Your task force against the Steel Knights MC? The biker boy vigilantes who have been terrorizing Everton City."

He pauses, irritation in his tone. "Ariana, please.

I press on, frustration mounting. "And after that? A city council issue? Dad, really, when does it end?"

He's silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Ari. We'll reschedule. Talk to Laura; she'll find a time."

"Sure, I'll just slot myself in between your more important commitments," I retort, my frustration boiling over.

"Ariana..."

"Enjoy your evening, Dad." I end the call, feeling both defiant and deflated.

It's a shame his career has always been more important than his family.

Ever since Mom passed away five years ago, it's been mostly me, navigating life with an array of tutors and family friends, while Dad chased his political dreams.

His career always came first before all else.

Rejecting Harvard for the Rhode Island School of Design only widened the rift between us. His disappointment has been a constant companion, and now, at 23, I'm still grappling with it.

Entering my apartment, I shake off the conversation and check my mail.

An eerie sense of being watched causes me to glance around, but there's nothing. Just the usual quiet of the hallway.

"Home, sweet home," I mutter, locking the door behind me.

Being his daughter, I know I'm expected to aspire to greatness, but I find a simpler satisfaction in my job at a jewelry store, a stepping stone to my dream of opening my own boutique. My designs are still on paper, but their potential is real, tangible.

I shed my clothes and prepare for a bath, the freedom of solitude enveloping me. "Come to mama," I chuckle, pouring a glass of red wine.

As I settle into the mango-scented foam, my muscles relax, but my mind races. It's been a hard day dodging advances from a handsy boss, fueling my dream for independence.

My thoughts drift to Dad's relentless campaign against the Steel Knights, a notorious motorcycle club led by three irresistibly sexy older men.

Though I've never met them, my imagination paints a vivid picture of rugged, charismatic rebels, each embodying a raw, magnetic allure that stands in stark contrast to the starched suits of my father's political world.

This imagined trio not only fuels my fantasies but also symbolizes the thrilling freedom I desperately crave.

A seductive rebellion against everything my father values.

A stark contrast from the clean-cut politicians he surrounds himself with—passionate, unrestrained embodiments of danger and freedom, thriving in the chaos he tries so hard to control.

Sometimes, I wonder if beneath his stern exterior, my father secretly craves their wild, unbridled lives. Maybe he envies their ability to live so authentically and unapologetically, just as I do.

This wild path they tread mirrors the very friction between us, each of us yearning, in our own way, to break free from the chains of expectation. In their daring pursuit of freedom, I find an unexpected allure—a reflection of my own desires to break away and live unrestrained.

Immersed in the warmth of the bath and the wine, I let my thoughts drift to a forbidden fantasy with a tall, rugged man in jeans and leather. His eyes dark with desire.

As I sink slightly deeper into the water, I allow my thoughts to travel farther from the real world, gleefully aided by the wine. I allow myself to wonder what it would be like if I were to hook up with one of the Knights.

That would definitely get my father riled up.

I muse, a wicked smile playing on my lips.

My hand moves downward, imagining myself in the presence of a Steel Knight.

A fearsome tall, dark, handsome silver-fox.

His jeans grow tighter as he watches me undress.

His deep, brown eyes turn pitch black at the sight of my full, naked breasts.

My fingers reach between my legs, where I'm already slick with desire, and the dirty thoughts are only making my core burn even hotter.

I work my clit with slow, circular motions, and my eyes close as I let my bad boy take care of me. He kisses me hard. He's hungry for more, so he bends me over.

I gasp, tension gathering, tightening …

I bring my other hand into the mix and drive two fingers inside, curling them with every retreat while I add more pressure to my clit. Almost there …

"Yes! Fuck me hard," I whisper. I can almost see him towering over me, stretching me, pounding into me like a wild animal. He has claimed my innocence, my virginity, and now he's conquering my womanhood, my body.

He slaps my ass. Hard.

I can almost feel him while I finger myself into a crushing, spine-tingling orgasm.

"Oh, yes!" I hiss as I let myself go, my pussy rippling in ecstasy underwater, the scent of mango filling my nostrils.

Slowly but surely, I breathe out, my heart still drumming as I come down from a delicious climax. Giggling, I give myself another moment to relax before I leave the fantasy. It was too nice, and I'd like to stay with it for a little while longer, with him, this dangerously hot stranger, on top of me.

Not wanting my skin to start pruning, I exhale sharply and open my eyes.

I freeze.

I'm not alone.

"What the…?" is all I can manage, my voice leaving my body as I stare at the man in my bathroom, my eyes wide as saucers while terror fills my veins with ice.

"I guess Daddy's little Princess has a bit of a naughty side," the man says, his voice low and raspy, akin to the feral growl of a lion that's about to pounce and tear me to shreds.

I register all the details about him: black hair, black eyes, black stubble, jeans, black leather jacket, steel-toe boots.

He has a gun in his hand with the muzzle pointed straight at me.

"Who the hell are you?" I blurt out, about to scream.

"I wouldn't scream if I were you," he replies as if he's read my mind.

I simply nod.

"Good girl," he says. "Now get out of the tub and get dressed. You're coming with me."