How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (16 page)

“Why are you standing naked before an entire city?” I asked, sitting on the bed and continuing to watch his back.

“Because you asked me to, Mistress,” he replied, voice hoarse.

“And why would I ask you to do such a thing?”

He paused. “Because you can.”

I tsked and stood, stalking up to him like a cat. “Because you’re exposed, Aston. Which is exactly what I felt at your ex-girlfriend’s house. You gave me no history of how you two had met, offered no information on the woman who would be hearing personal information about me, and you didn’t even tell me she’d offered for us to stay there. Or that you’d agreed. I was embarrassed, Aston. I didn’t like how she made me feel.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to go as wrong as it did, but you left me vulnerable.”

He shook his head. “Sheila and I were the only vulnerable ones in that room. You’re a Domme, Veronika. You’re powerful and intimidating as fuck. How would you feel if your ex brought a knockout dominant into your home so you could do them a favor? And how did you think I must have felt, being unable to help you to the point where I had to ask my ex for assistance? You were the only one in that room with any power, Mistress. I’m sorry that you were uncomfortable, so please take your discomfort out on me.”

I brought my hand hard across Aston’s perfect behind. “Since you asked so nicely. . . .”
Thwack
. I hit him hard again with my palm.

“Green,” he breathed.

I stepped away from him, stalking around the room for things to use. I was still angry at him, but he’d made a good point. He had a talent for reframing things and making them sound better than they were. Perhaps it was part of his arrogance, the idea that of course he was right; he was always right. It very well could be the part of him that was arrogant enough to trade dates for chocolate cake or hot cars. But right now, he was mine.

I untied the sashes that held the hotel curtains pinned to the walls, then walked up to Aston, who continued to flash the city of Denver. He was erect.

“So proud of your cock that you’re displaying it for millions?” I asked, grabbing it and giving it a hard stroke.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“Put your hands above your head,” I whispered. Using the curtain sash, I bound his wrists together and then stood on tiptoe and threw the end of the rope around the curtain rod. I licked the soft flesh of his neck as his arms were hoisted far above his head. His body trembled as I walked to the second window and pulled the cord of its drapes.

This time, I wound it around Aston’s eyes, blindfolding him. “Now you can’t see how many people are looking up at you and your hard dick,” I whispered. “You’ll have no idea who is gawking from other buildings or from the street.” There didn’t seem to be any onlookers, but it didn’t matter. My hand stroked his cock once more, and he let out a whimper.

“Do what you want with me, Mistress,” was his only reply.

Good.

I sauntered over to the light switch and flipped it off. I’d bound his eyes tight, and he didn’t flinch or move, so perhaps he thought the light was still on. Piece by piece, I peeled my clothing off, wanting to be naked and wild while I punished my dirty playboy. I continued to search the room for more items with which to give Aston proper punishment. All I could find was a television remote, some local magazines, and a thick binder with information on room service, takeout menus, and channel listings.

I rolled one of the magazines into a tight wand and gave him a quick slap across the thighs. Aston jumped, then quickly settled. I didn’t realize how stealthily I had snuck up on him. Another hard slap and he yelped.

“Should I gag you?” I asked.

He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head no, as I brought down the rolled magazine on the front of his upper thigh. Aston moaned. “Green.”

I fluttered light touches across his hips, juxtaposing the pain with pleasure, and he wiggled and writhed there in front of the dark city. It was past midnight and everywhere lights were winking out. I ran my tongue up his chest and positioned myself between him and the window, pressing my naked body against his.

“Can they see you, too?” he asked in a nervous whisper.

“Does it matter?” I asked coyly.

Aston shook his head. “No, Mistress.”

“Good boy.” I put the binder at my feet, giving me just a few more inches to try to manage my feat. On careful tiptoes, I wrapped my legs around Aston’s hip, pushing my ass back against the window and holding me up. Aston gasped in shock as he felt my wetness rub against his cock.

“You’re not allowed to come. This is for me,” I lectured, using my hand to push his body into mine. His thickness felt instantly soothing, satisfying my body so primally that my head forgot the hurt of the day. I used my leverage to thrust all the way down upon him, then bob slightly up and down. Aston took the cue and began to rock his hips in time with mine, fucking me against the window. I felt so exposed there, with my spread ass pushed against the glass as Aston’s hard cock plunged in and out of me, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was him and his beautiful submission, and here he was, fucking me in front of a city of millions, all because I wanted him to. It didn’t matter that I was from the bad side of town and that he was the richest person I’d ever met, we were equal here, in this bedroom, and neither of us cared who saw. It was the ultimate show of my dominance, humbling him here like this. And he submitted to me, allowing me to humiliate him, hurt him, and then please him, all with nothing but a clear glass window separating us from the city below.

The thought, along with the perfect rocking of Aston’s hips rubbing against my clit, had me coming hard, gasping his name into his ear. I saw him smile, and it didn’t fade as I dismounted him. That, I realized, was submission. He was happy even if he was still painfully erect and naked in front of a window. I untied him, pressing kisses against his wrists as I unwound the fabric. I also removed his makeshift blindfold and cupped his face in my hands.

“I forgive you.”

“Hey beauty queen, forgive me for the lack of instructions today but I’ve got this new sub who’s positively exhausting me. What an animal! Dirty TMI deets later. As for your workout, I want you to do some abs for your swimsuit competition. They’re called standing C crunches. Stand on your tiptoes with your arms in the air and then make a C with your right arm and right leg, then switch. Do as many as you can until your obliques want to jump off your body.”

So it dawned on me that I need to start preparing for this dang pageant. So much of my time on the road had been wrapped up in other things—my legal troubles, my budding relationship, and Aston’s warm, strong arms.

I had to focus on me, and not dwell on the bad things, but rather the good things that were coming up in my life. I was making a change, for goodness’ sake, a change for the better. Regardless of what was going to happen with Aston or what was going on with fucking Derek, I was going to Las Vegas to prove myself. To show off what I’ve learned. To get my model on.

“So I want to do a photo shoot today,” I said to Aston as I drove. We were trekking from Denver to Salt Lake City. While we’d wanted to spend some time seeing the Denver sights, the incident with Sheila had put a damper on our time there. Besides, we saw enough of it last night from the bedroom window.

“A photo shoot?” Aston asked, raising an eyebrow. “Trust me, there’s nothing more I’d want to see than you doing some poses, but I’m not exactly the most talented photographer.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s just practice for the pageant,” I said, silently feeling nervous about how I would perform. I barely knew anything about this particular contest—all I knew was the date, that I’d made it into their lineup, and that I’d have to be on point with my hair, makeup, and styling.

“So, what exactly do you have to do?” Aston asked. “I mean, is this a Miss Congeniality thing or what? Cause I say you just bust out your crop and get the judges in line.”

That loosened me up. I laughed hard, possibly for the first time in days. I’d been wound up so tight that I was a mess of stiff neck muscles and a sore ass from driving so long. “I think it’s time to do some Googling. Get on it, hot stuff.”

Aston smiled and grabbed his phone. He typed wildly for a minute or so, brow furrowed in concentration, and then looked up at me. “Well, looks like you’re going to have to practice more than just photos,” he said, then bit his thick lip. “It says here that there’s a talent component, a swimsuit show, and an evening wear segment.”

My mouth fell open. Shit, I really had just thought this was going to be straight-up modeling. “Well, I’ve got the swimsuit and evening gown,” I said, feeling panic creep up my throat. “But a talent? Oh god.”

Aston patted me on the shoulder. “I’ve only known you a week and change, but you seem pretty good at a lot of things in my book.”

I frowned, adjusting my horn-rimmed sunglasses. “Being a Domme isn’t something I could show off, you know. This is a family event.”

He thought for a minute, and I had to look away from him. I didn’t want to engage in this conversation right now—what was I good at? It was humbling, realizing that I didn’t have a specific skill that would help me win this competition.

Suddenly a sound caught my attention and I jerked my head around.

“You okay?”

I nodded with a smile. “Heard a nineteen sixty-one Chevelle. Check it out,” I said, bobbing my head to the left, where a gorgeous yellow blur sped past.

Aston blinked. “You could tell what make it was?”

I nodded. “Just turn it on, and I’ll know,” I said, tapping my ear. “Can’t carry a tune to save my life, but I’ve got a killer ear.”

“Every part of you is killer,” he said, staring at me, lost in thought.

“Don’t worry about the talent, Mistress. It will come to you.”

He started furiously typing into his phone, intermittently glancing up at me.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he said.

It was a lie. “Come on.”

He shrugged. “I’m arranging something.”

“Come on,” I said, trying to snatch it away from him and still drive. “We still need to brainstorm.”

He shook his head. “We don’t, just trust me.”

I groaned. “Do I have to make this an order?”

“It’s a surprise, Mistress. Just go to the show, and trust me. I’ve got it.”

My breath sucked from my chest. “What do you mean, ‘
I’ve got it
’
? Aston, I’d like to win this thing and I think I’d need to know what freakin’ talent I’m performing onstage in front of judges and hundreds of people.” I couldn’t manage to keep the annoyance from my voice.

Aston still grinned, confident as ever. “Our relationship is built on trust. Can you trust your sub enough to take care of your needs?” he asked, placing his hand on mine.

He had a point. “You do trust me with your body . . .” I said.

“And my heart. Now just focus on being gorgeous—not that you need to think about it,” he said, correcting himself with a laugh.

I smiled along with him, his chuckle infecting me with unexpected mirth. Aston believed in me, so I had nothing to fear. I mean, about the pageant. I’ll put my other worries on the backburner for now.

A sign up ahead pointed to a local lake and boasted ten-dollar parking at the beach. “Why don’t we go there?” I asked. “Just for an hour. I could put on my bikini and you could take a few pictures of me in the sand. It’s only late May, so it’s not like there will be hundreds of people there. It will be fun,” I said.

Aston agreed, and I took the small detour. Today wasn’t one of the ten-plus hour days of driving, so we had more than enough time to kill.

The beach, as I had hoped, was mostly deserted. There were some families walking dogs, a few old couples getting a bit of exercise, but that was about it. I grabbed some things out of the trunk, including my favorite bikini, and headed to the changing room. Aston rented a couple of lounge chairs and bought us drinks while I headed to change.

I walked into the beach bathroom and pushed aside a faded blue curtain that led to a changing stall. There was sand and water all over the floor, and the place smelled of sunscreen. I loved the beach. Pulling out my suit, I smiled at the two little pieces. It was a sailor-style bottom with gold buttons and a high waist. The top was a simple cherry-patterned bra style that had a closure in the back. I peeled off my clothing, then began to slide the bottoms up my legs.

When I’d sufficiently pulled the waistband up to my belly button, I looked down in shock. There was a small overhang of skin billowing over the bathing suit. My eyes widened.

I had developed a muffin top.

Desperately I began readjusting the bottoms, wiggling and shaking and trying to get my body into them. They’d fit perfectly the week before! Could one week with a chef ruin my body? Was Sarah—I hate to even think it—right? A primal sob came out of my throat, a groan of frustration.

“You all right in there?” I heard Aston ask from his chair on the beach.

“Fine!” I called.

But I was not fine. I pulled on the bra part only to find that the closure in back was pulling. I ran my hand down my side and felt—oh god—a little handle of skin that poked out above the top of the bikini.

I clutched my head in my hands. I had back fat.

I paced in the small room, worrying about what Aston would say when I emerged. I stepped out of the stall and straight toward the bathroom mirror and examined myself. Sure enough, there was skin hanging out of two places where it had never done so before. I didn’t have a scale, but I bet that I’d gained roughly five pounds this week, despite the little daily workouts from the sergeant. I closed my eyes and silently prayed that the ultra-expensive evening gown I’d brought—one I’d been given after a particularly successful shoot—would still fit. I fixed my wind-blown hair, which was half-up, big pomp roll in front and semi-sleek in back, and pulled my eyeliner out of my purse. Something, after all, had to look right.

I turned, looking at my back in the mirror. I cringed at the small infringement of skin over the suit, something I’d never seen on my body before. Surely this was something Derek would point out. Or pinch cruelly.

I realized I had to leave the changing room at some point. Pouting, I took tentative steps out the door toward Aston. He was already pivoted toward me, waiting to catch me on film with his camera pointed in my direction. The smartphone obscured his expression, but I nearly skittered backward when I saw he was already shooting me.

“Wait a sec,” I said, lip trembling.
Don’t cry, don’t cry
.

Aston dropped the phone and looked at me, face stunned.

“I know, I know,” I said, holding my hands over my stomach. I blinked, trying to keep the tears back. “I still have a few days to lose it.”

Aston’s eyebrows knit low. “Lose what?”

I frowned at him, walking to the chairs and grabbing a water. “The weight, obviously.” I plopped myself into the seat and took a long glug of the water. I’d replace all my liquids with water, for starters, and try to flush whatever crap he’d been feeding me out of my system.

“What weight?” he asked, shaking his head in surprise. “You look amazing.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have to say that or I’ll beat you.”

Aston mockingly put his hands up in defense. “Seriously, you look incredible.”

“Then why were you so surprised when I came out?” I barked. “You’ve seen me naked, so it’s not like a bathing suit would scandalize you.”

He frowned. “You have no idea just how beautiful you are, do you?”

My heart seized. “You’re just being nice because this is all your fault,” I muttered. I glugged more water, hoping it would swiftly start the detox process.

Aston shook his head. “My fault?”

“You and your chocolate soufflés and your butter and olive oil,” I said, blushing at that last line. “You’ve been making me eat fatty food and it’s ruining my body!”

He bristled. “I’m sorry if pursuing my dream is getting in the way of yours. I thought you liked my food.”

I instantly regretted saying that to him, but it was true. If I hadn’t been dating a chef, I’d be able to fit into my suit. “I like your food,” I said, and his face brightened. “I like it too much! I haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been putting into my body, and we’ve been on the road so much that I haven’t taken the time to actually to do enough to keep me in shape. I used to work out for at least an hour a day. My muscles are probably atrophying.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said. “You’re healthy, Veronika. You look amazing and you’ve really been expanding your mind about food. I’m proud of you.”

I pointed a finger. “If you’d respected my dietary restrictions early on like you said you would, we wouldn’t be in this position!”

He shook his head. “I didn’t hear you saying no to my loin,” he joked, trying to make light of it.

I pulled at my hair. “I never should have fallen in love with a chef!” I shouted.

Aston dropped his water bottle. My gut clenched. Ooh, I should do that more, the muffin top sucked back in. Oh wait, I’d just told Aston I am in love with him.

“You’re in love with me?” he asked, standing. We were inches apart now. “I told you I loved you the other day and you didn’t say it back. I thought maybe you didn’t have the same feelings I did.”

I groaned. “I—I’ve been through a lot, Aston. Admitting I love someone is hard. Everyone I love has been taken from me.”

He put his arms around me, and I felt the warm burn emanating from his muscles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I collapsed, burying my head in his chest. “But we’re so different,” I said. “One day you’re going to wake up and realize that some trashy model isn’t the kind of girl you want to bring home to your parents.”

“I’m not even talking to my parents.”

I shook my head. “That’s going to change. You’re in a spat right now, but that doesn’t mean that in two weeks, or two months, or two years you’re not going to want to see them. You’re lucky you have them, even if they can be mega dicks.”

He nodded. “They’re truly mega dicks. But I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

I snuggled into him, soaking in the words like sunlight. “You really do?”

“I really do. And I think you look beautiful in this bathing suit. And I want to continue feeding you naughty foods. Just think of the ways we can burn the calories off.”

I laughed, suddenly feeling much less heavy on several levels. “Promise?” I asked.

“Promise.”