Disciplined by the Dom (19 page)

“God, you are beautiful,” he said, low enough that she barely heard. He didn’t seem to be saying it to her. It meant that much more. Now she felt truly naked.

“I’ll want you to serve me dinner,” he said, barely able to tear his eyes away from her body. “But as you can probably deduce, that will only be your nominal activity.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

She felt overheated, already. She kept thinking about the electrodes on her nipples. What on earth would that feel like? When would he do it? How? That he was drawing it all out was killing her.

He suddenly turned, pulled out the chair at the head of the impressive table, and sat down languidly.

“I’m hungry,” he said, motioning toward the other service cart with a knowing smile. “And thirsty.”

Catie felt the beginnings of a tremor deep inside. This was a new level of submission, for her, and it…

She shivered.

“Yes, sir.”

What did he mean about mindfulness? It was difficult to think about anything else but him, reclining as he was in those fitted trousers, looking at her. And she was
naked
, with freaking electrodes attached to her nipples. How was she supposed to think about anything else but when he would activate them? When he would touch her? When would he finally—

“Wine first, I think,” he called out.

She snapped to attention and saw that there was a bottle of Chianti on the lower shelf of the second service cart, already opened, presumably breathing for the requisite half hour. Next to it was a set of fine crystal wine glasses. Hesitantly, she walked towards it.

“You can do better than that,” he said.

Her spine straightened. She was, at first, more offended than anything. Catie thought she might be a lot of things—spoiled, entitled, naïve, apparently capable of the worst betrayal—but she had, at the very least, always strived to be the best at whatever she did. Mindfulness. She hadn’t been mindful. She hadn’t been conscious of the act of walking, she hadn’t thought about what it looked like to him.

Well, he wanted mindful? She would knock his socks off.

She bent over, arching her back slightly, just to give him something to think about, and retrieved the bottle of wine and one glass. This she walked over to the table, her carriage erect, her breasts thrust forward. The posture alone made her more aroused.

The bastard knew what he was doing.

He watched her pour the wine with a satisfied smile.

“Very nice,” he said as she held the bottle correctly, turning it as she finished the pour.

“I’ve been to nice restaurants, sir.” 

“But not everybody notices their servers.”

That was true. She was quite accustomed to being treated like a piece of meat at most of the bars where she’d worked.

“I have a feeling you do, sir.”

 He took the wine without another word, and swirled a sip in his mouth. It looked good.
He
looked good. His mouth looked good.

She was getting distracted again.

“Who is your thesis advisor?” he said suddenly.

She stopped short, the bottle poised in the air. She was completely unprepared for that. Which was ridiculous—she should have been prepared for exactly that. That he hadn’t asked before was a small miracle. She blinked, licked her lips, put the bottle down.

She was just about to say something—anything —when she felt the first shock.

It started as just a low tingle on her nipples, starting there and shooting straight to her spine, and grew to a cacophonous buzzing, nearly painful, just before it stopped. It did stop, but it left a powerful echo. Her body roared, the sensation centered now on her clit, her nipples slightly burning. She gripped the edge of the table.

“Sir,” she managed.

“Incentive,” Jake said, raising one hand to reveal the tiny remote.

“I’m not comfortable answering that,” she said, improvising. Her nipples still tingled, and she was wet, slick between the thighs. It was hard to think straight.

“Why not?” he said.

“You having a chat with my thesis advisor? It could compromise me.”

Now Jake smiled broadly, showing off that million-dollar smile. It was a crime that he could be so gorgeous right now. She had enough working against her.

“So you’re drawing a boundary?” he asked. “What you might call a ‘hard line?’”

She smiled too, but she could feel that hers was weak.

“Yes,” she said. “Sir. I did ask you to help me find them.”

“That you did.” He took another drink of his wine, his eyes once again trailing down the length of her body, and up again, to meet her gaze. “Incredible. You have no idea, do you? And yet, there’s something you’re not telling me.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Everyone has something they don’t tell people,” she said. She looked him dead in the eye, and she’d never know why she did what she did next. “Even you, Mr. Know Yourself. Sir.”

He met her gaze, evenly. Didn’t move a muscle, not even the hand that held the remote.

“But this isn’t about me,” he said.

She laughed again. Catie didn’t know why, but with the presence of the electrodes, or maybe just the situation she was in—whatever it was—she felt let loose. Not drunk, but not sober. Dangerous.

She was still laughing softly. She could tell by his expression that he couldn’t quite figure out what was going on.

“Oh my God, with this again?” she said finally, and poured him some more wine. He was probably going to need it. “How can it not be about you, too? You’re here, right? You’re participating.”

He seemed sort of stunned.

“If you say it’s not personal again I’m going to scream, I swear,” she said, plunking the bottle on the table. She had no idea what had gotten into her. She was going way off script; she was messing with the scene. She was demanding honesty, of a sort, from someone she was determined to lie to. It was like the world’s greatest bluff.

Holy crap, had she rendered Jacob Jayson actually speechless? He laughed. He stared. She had no idea what impelled her to keep going.

“I read your book,” she said. She was just desperate now, casting about for things that weren’t about her. This one appeared to work.

“What?” he said, suddenly serious. He leaned forward, his little remote control apparently forgotten.

“Yeah,
Love and Shakespeare
,” she said, filling his glass to the glistening brim just to give her hands something to do, her voice shaking the entire time. “Kind of weird for a guy who says he can’t become attached. Like, interesting area of study. I liked the sonnets you quoted,” she added at the end, stupidly. The damage was already done, even if it was true.

He said nothing. Just stared at her. She felt the urge to go further on the offensive, in a last, desperate surge. Maybe it would even work.

“And you know what else I’ve been thinking about?” she said, putting the bottle down, aware, again, of her nakedness, yet unable to keep herself from talking. “What is up with the bartending? I mean, everyone at Volare probably knows who you are, except, obviously, dumb people like me. It’s not like you’re incognito. But you make such a point of it,” she rattled on, wishing she could stop. What the hell was wrong with her? “It’s not like you need the money.”

Now she just stood in front of him, naked, with those electrodes on her. She felt like she’d gone too far. She felt it was obvious, what she was doing: deflecting. Making it about him.

She felt this was how she’d be caught.

But he answered. He studied her, he calculated, he toyed with the remote in his hand. But he answered.

“My father was a bartender,” he said. Not ashamed, not angry. Just…evenly. Watching her. “That’s how my parents met. He was tending bar on a chartered yacht, and my mother was…my mother. He tracked her down when he saw in the papers that she was pregnant.”

She didn’t know what to say, exactly, except to press her point. Be investigative. God, what was she thinking?

“So, like, in memoriam?”

“Not exactly. But I try to be more like him than like her. I remember him most taking care of people in his bar.”

Jake paused, turning to his glass of wine. He took a long, slow, memorial sort of drink.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m prying but…your life is so weird. And you keep asking me questions, and it’s just weird not to know about you.”

Oh, Christ, what was she doing? He pushed his chair away from the table and turned it to face her. Then he took her hand and pulled her close, between his legs. Her skin felt hot, and she could feel the focus shifting back to her, back to his questions. His calm stare did nothing to help her feel more in control.

“So what about that book?” she asked. It sounded forced, even to her.

“This was about you,” he said. He still held the remote in one hand. With the other, he began to trace designs on her stomach. She couldn’t hide how she quivered every time he touched her there.

She couldn’t believe she’d pressed the point. Not because she was supposed to be serving him, though that struck her as incongruous. Not because they had this strangely regimented relationship. But because as she looked at him, it became clear that no one, ever, had forced him to answer this particular question.

It suddenly struck her: it was possible he’d never been forced to answer any question, ever. Certainly not by a naked girl with electrodes attached to her nipples.

“It won’t work, Catie,” he said. “What you’re doing right now. There’s something you’re hiding. Something you’re afraid of.”

“And if there was?”

“There is. And I’m going to find out what.”

Jake held up the remote and pressed the button.

chapter
21

Jake watched Catie writhe between his legs and felt himself harden even more, if that were possible. She made it so difficult to maintain focus, to pursue a goal with any kind of consistency. It was all he could do to keep from throwing her on that table. And that was what he was supposed to do to her: distract to her the point where she didn’t have the wherewithal to lie, to hide, to avoid.

He pressed the button again, and she twisted her hands into the fabric of his trousers and moaned.

Jake knew what she was doing it. It confirmed what he’d thought about the way she reacted to vulnerability. Every time he got close, she’d push him away by testing some boundary, and pull him in by provoking him. That dance was intoxicating. Maybe it was what drew him to her. Maybe it was what let him feel.

“Oh God, Jake!”

He took his thumb off the button and she leaned over him, arms on his shoulders. His buried his face between her breasts and inhaled. He was starting to lose it.

He held her as she shook, waiting for her to regain just enough strength to answer his questions, just not enough to avoid them. But he misjudged her. Again.

“So about that book,” she said into his ear, laughing weakly.

How could he not admire a woman like that?

Jake ran his free hand down the side of her body, let himself cup her wonderful ass. He sighed.

“I told you I cannot become attached or emotionally involved,” he said, moving his hand around to the front of her thigh. “But I didn’t always accept that. I…studied it, with an aim towards acquiring the ability. Like you would a technical skill.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” she breathed.

He pushed his hand between her legs, burying it in the warm wetness between her thighs. She was unbelievably wet. He decided to tease her some more, and flicked twice at her swollen outer lips. She jumped.

He said, “It didn’t.”

She remained silent. Her breath was quick and shallow, and hot on his ear. He pulled her off his shoulders and moved his legs between hers, opening her so that she straddled him. Her eyes were half-closed and her skin was flushed, her collarbone glinting with a thin sheen of sweat, but she still had that spark.

“Catie,” he said. “No matter what you do, you won’t evade me. I’ll find out. I’ll get you to
tell
me. I’ll get you to beg to tell me.”

He balanced her on his legs, her own legs spread wide for him, and pushed the button.

Catie arched her back and screamed. He watched the muscles in her abdomen flex and strain, and when he could see she was on the verge of an orgasm, he stopped.

She whipped her head back to look at him, blinking, confused. She was shaking.

“Please…” she said. “Let me come.”

“No.”

“Please!”

He shoved his free hand back between her legs, and thrust two fingers inside of her, saying, “Don’t come, Catie.” Her muscles squeezed him tight, and she moaned, leaning into him again.

“Please, Jake,” she whispered. “I can’t…”

“What are you afraid will happen if I know you too well, Catie?” he asked.

Her hips had started to rock on his hand, almost unconsciously, and she leaned back again so he could see her face. She looked tortured, tired, torn, and yet balanced on the precipice of something amazing, something big. He felt guilty, felt terrible, felt actual pain—he didn’t want to make her feel anything bad, ever. But then he watched her face. He watched her turn her fear around, as he’d seen her do before, watched her confront whatever it was. Watched her be brave.

She looked him in the eye, her face soft, her hips rocking gently. “I’m afraid if you know me too well, then you won’t want to know me at all,” she said.

Jake didn’t understand what was happening to him. He looked at her, looked at the jumbled swirl of emotions, plain as day on her face, and he felt them inside. It was like a storm had broken in his chest, and it was frightening. He was feeling what he saw in her, he was
feeling,
period, with another person, in the moment, like the live line that connected them had given him a sense of empathy, a way to feel, vicariously. Years of being unable to do exactly this had left him wholly unprepared.

“Oh Jesus,” he said.

A beat.

He removed his hand and tore at his belt buckle at the same moment she went for his zipper, the two of them fumbling like idiots, finally managing to free his aching cock. She didn’t wait for him, just wrapped her arms around his neck to pull herself forward and then lowered herself onto him, groaning as she slid down the full length of his cock.