How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (15 page)

“Oh, does it feel good to be bad! Today may be a bit of a challenge for you, honey, such a sweet girl. I want you to dabble in humiliation. It’s something many subs crave, the feeling of being inferior, exposed, vulnerable. Push yourself to do this and I promise it will be just one more little toy in your box. Heh, box. Speaking of box, since you’re on the road so much, today’s exercise is Kegels! Squeeze that honeypot so tight you could snap something off in it!”

The drive got significantly quieter once Aston mentioned his ex. I wasn’t jealous, per se, just uncomfortable. Aston had made it clear he was mine. That gave me instant confidence, especially since we’d be entering the domain of someone who had previously fucked him. They may have had a thing, but we had introduced each other to a different world.

The unease grew as prairie turned to mountain and farms turned to mansions. There was money here, mad money to support outlandish lifestyles. I swallowed hard and fixed my hair as we wound through a neighborhood of mega homes that looked like they’d be featured on an HGTV show. I had to keep telling myself this woman was a lawyer, someone who could help. But how would she look at me, all tattooed and dyed red and with Aston? I’d never imagined him with a lawyer. I thought he just pranced around with the pretty girls of Newport and Providence. The idea of him being in a relationship with someone educated and rich disturbed me a lot more than picturing him with gaggles of leggy clubgoers.

“You okay?” he asked as the car began to slow. We were close to his ex’s place, and I swallowed hard.

I nodded, smoothing my corkscrew pony one last time. I’d gone with a decidedly more subtle hairdo than the pompadour-like rolls, and opted for short bumper bangs in the front and a high ponytail in the back. I felt graceful with my hair upswept, more elegant. It made me stand straighter.

“She’s nice, you know,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “And we haven’t been together since she was in law school. You have nothing to worry about.”

I shrugged, playing it cool. Awesome, she was nice on top of it. Great. Aston pulled Johnny into a windy private drive with a gate. The sun was setting and it illuminated the long strip of trees that lined the road. Aston pressed the button, heralding our entrance, and someone buzzed us in. The wide wrought iron gate opened, we drove through, and I watched in awe as the house unfolded in front of us. It was a French Provincial–style home, with a hipped roof and tall windows. The exterior was beige on the border of soft peach, and where I thought the home would stop, it just kept going. It rambled, grew outward, and with each foot that was exposed, I gaped.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

Aston sighed. “Yeah, this is her getaway home. She spends half the year at an estate in Wellesley, Massachusetts, where she’s a law professor.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to know.”

So she was loaded, brilliant, the works. And I was going to be asking for her advice. My eyes rolled so far back into my head I worried I’d lose them. We parked at the carriage house—yes, the carriage house—and Aston walked me up to the massive oak double door. His hand, softly on my arm, reassured me. He was here, he was mine. But still, I didn’t want to be here, asking his millionaire ex for legal help.

The door opened, and there stood a statuesque blonde. She was tall and had a poise about her that made her look impressive. Long, wheat-colored hair fell in flat sheets around her heart-shaped face. “Aston,” she said, in a low, sexy, and smart voice. I straightened. “It’s so nice to see you.”

Aston pulled me close. “Sheila, this is Veronika.”

I took her hand and shook it as she appraised me. I felt her eyes scrutinize each of my visible tattoos, I felt her gaze flicker to my unnatural hair, and then, worst of all, I watched her focus fall back on Aston with a thinly veiled expression of confusion. My heart lurched.

“Thank you for having us,” I said, relaxing into Aston’s embrace. Us, I said.
Aston and me. Not you
. “I appreciate your help.”

She spread her hands in front of her. “I hope I can help. I’m able to practice in Massachusetts and Colorado, so Rhode Island’s laws may be different, but we can talk. Please, come in.”

We walked into her marble foyer, and I found it hard to imagine that this woman had earned this mansion, among others, herself. She must be like Aston, with a rich family. I wondered if that’s how they met, just a couple of businessmen comparing checkbooks, when one mentions to the other that he has a single son. There was a little table in the foyer, scattered with framed photos of people in exotic locations. Above the table was an angular, modern-looking, gilded mirror. In its reflection I saw how mismatched Aston and I looked. Then there was Sheila, in the periphery, quietly assessing us.

“Let’s have a glass of wine,” she said, leading us into a living room of sorts. Now, for me, a living room is where you have your TV and couches, but this room had scattered fancy chairs and a fireplace you could see through from both sides. The furniture was low and unpredictable, so despite the house’s very traditional exterior, the inside was quite modern. Aston took a seat on the only spot in the room that looked built for two—a divan. Smart choice, since I’d modeled on one or two in my career. I sat, perfectly posed, and waited for this Sheila person to bring the wine.

Her walk had become stuffier, I noticed, more self-conscious as she returned with glasses full of deep red wine. I took mine with a lazy smile and lounged back on the luxurious couch, eyes on Aston. He was staring at me hungrily and I felt another surge of power move through me. We were here, in her place, but he still wanted me.

“So, Sheila,” Aston said, turning away from our heated glances, “I briefed you via text. Have you ever had experience with joint property?”

Sheila sat down gracefully on a low, cobalt-blue leather chair and crossed her legs. “I’m not a divorce attorney, Aston, but yes, I’ve dealt with splitting up.”

There was a loaded silence there that made me squirm.

“I’m not sure what Aston told you, but my ex only worked on the car and paid for some parts. All the documents were in my name,” I clarified.

Sheila opened a tablet on her lap and swiped the screen open. “Was it ever considered a gift? Was there a promise of joint ownership? Were you engaged?”

The last question dried my throat. “We were engaged,” I breathed. I felt Aston tense next to me. I hadn’t mentioned that part. I didn’t think I had to.

Sheila frowned. “That muddies things a bit,” she said, taking a long sip from her glass and placing it on the ornate metal end table beside her. “When you broke up, how did you divide things?”

I could see Aston drain his drink. Clearly he was not enjoying this, and frankly, I don’t think anyone in the room was.

“I took my things and left,” I said. “I don’t own much, so it was easy. I had moved in with him, so the furniture was his. I may have bought a few mixing bowls or frames, but mainly I took my clothes and my personal items and took off.”

Sheila looked at me in distaste. “So you didn’t formally discuss the split? You just left? In my professional opinion,” she said, lip arching upward, “that was a stupid move.”

Aston stood. “Veronika is a smart woman who had her reasons for what she did. Do not speak to her like that,” he said, venom in his voice. He then looked at me with apology in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

I gestured for him to sit, and he quietly obeyed. I turned my attention to Sheila, who seemed stunned at the exchange between Aston and me. “Under normal circumstances, breakups ought to be discussed, but I have to disagree with you on one thing, Sheila. Breaking up with Derek was the furthest thing from stupid.” I sat up straighter, crossed my legs, and placed a hand on Aston’s knee. “He wasn’t my type.”

I felt Aston’s gaze on my neck, my legs, and I wanted to blush, but I think my body repressed it just to out-cool the lawyer ice queen.

“Regardless, he may have some claim on the car because you two were going to enter an arrangement of marriage wherein he would be half owner of all your possessions. What did you do with the ring?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your goddamn—” Aston burst out.

Again, I held up my hand. “I gave it back. Not in person. I didn’t want anything left of him, which is why I sold the car. I wanted a fresh start.”

Sheila took another sip of wine and looked at me flatly. “I suggest you settle. Give him the money he’s owed in cash. If this goes to court—and like I said, I am not familiar with Rhode Island property laws—it could cost you a lot more than just half the money from the sale of the vehicle if you lose.”

I glanced down at my fingernails, not wanting to meet her eye. I fidgeted with my cuticle. “Well, I don’t have the money anymore,” I began.

“Well what about the buyer? Can you come to an arrangement with—”

“I’m the buyer,” said Aston.

I clenched my eyes shut. I didn’t want to muddy the waters with how the car factored into our relationship, but I supposed that Sheila had to find out if she was going to give us advice regarding the possibility of a fraud charge.

Sheila pinched the top of her nose in frustration. “Were you involved with her before you bought the car?”

“No,” Aston said. “It’s how we met.”

Shelia’s graceful façade fell away as her teeth clenched around her next words. “Were there other promises made in the purchase of the car?”

My eyes flew open. The deal that I go on a date with him. Could that be brought up in a court of law? “I don’t see how—”

Sheila snorted, interrupting me. “Let me guess, he bought a date with you.”

My mouth hung open. “I—”

The woman stood. “Seriously, Aston? You’re still playing the free dessert and a date with me game?”

“Dessert?” I asked.

Aston hung his head. “Sheila, it’s not like that.”

Sheila took a step toward me. “Do you know how Aston used to get all the girls who came into his restaurants? He’d tell them there was a fancy, off-menu dessert. Something rich, chocolaty, and irresistible. Then, he’d note that the price of it was also off-menu—a date with him. Nobody could resist. I’m guessing you’re included.”

Aston forcefully set his wineglass on the table and stood. “I think we’re done here,” he said. “And I think it’s safe to say we won’t be taking you up on your offer to stay the night.”

The words seized in my chest. She’d offered for us to sleep there? Was she planning on getting him away from me? Did he get the invite by making her a free-dessert-type offer?

“Sheila, thank you for extending us your limited legal advice. Aston and I will leave you now,” I said. Aston followed behind me, cowed, as Sheila seethed.

“You don’t exactly seem the type who would eat at his restaurants, so I must have gotten it wrong,” she shouted after us. “You’re probably just a waitress he was banging.”

I snapped, turning around. “Actually, Aston spent a half million on my car—a car I restored myself—and he expressed a need for the company of a strong woman like me.” I straightened, using my model height to loom over her scrawny ass. “As a pinup model, I get lots of offers for dates. Free desserts, if you will. But Aston looked like he needed to be taken down a peg, so I thought I could teach him a lesson. And he’s still learning.” I reached over and pet him on the head. Her mouth dropped. We turned and exited without another word.

The ride into Denver proper from the suburbs was far more silent than the ride to Sheila’s house. I was feeling so many things—I was mortified, but emboldened. I’d won some ground, but I’d also lost some. The whole way, I plotted Aston’s punishment of both atonement and pleasure. He’d both impressed me and disappointed me tonight, and he had to know. I think he suspected, since he drove white-knuckled and with nervous glances in my direction.

“Find us a hotel room in the city. One with a view,” I said. With a nod, Aston continued to drive. I nearly heard his knees knocking together. More quiet minutes passed and the city of Denver’s lights ghosted the horizon.

Aston picked the first hotel we drove past—a simple Marriott—and parked the car himself. He knew he was in the dog house and acted accordingly. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. We exited the car and journeyed to the desk and subsequently to our room with little pomp. The midrange hotel was frill-less but had a stunning view of the city from its perimeter.

The room was basic—bland and tan and hunter green—and I set my things in the bedroom and his on the floor.

“Strip, then walk to the window,” I said, voice quiet, betraying no emotion. Sarah’s lesson couldn’t have come at a better time. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Aston needed this today. I needed it. I had to wield my power like a shield tonight to protect me from all the complicated emotions I was feeling after that awful visit. Aston undressed, and I watched his unease with each awkward unbutton and rumple of fabric. He walked to the window. The middle was wide-open, exposed to the city, while the edges of the large window hid the room with gossamer. Aston chose to stand behind the gauzy drapes since we were only around ten floors up.

“Stand in the middle of the window, facing out,” I said, turning on the lights. He was naked, backlit, and facing the entire city. A bead of sweat formed on the nape of his neck. I watched his beautiful form, his finely sculpted muscles, and his clenched buttocks for a full minute before I spoke.