How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (5 page)

He sighed and closed his eyes. “I coast through life because they shove me. I don’t resist anymore, it’s too much effort.” His response was flippant, and he rolled his eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“They make success for me. It’s easier to go along with them,” he said with a casual shrug. “I want to branch out on my own, but they’ve made it clear I’d never make it. Like I said before, to them I’m still at the kids’ table. The only one who ever listens to my ideas is my sister, but even she can’t convince the rest of them.”

That took me by surprise, but the conversation still nagged at me. “What was your grandmother talking about? What do you need to pack for?”

His eyes rose slowly, as if it were physically difficult to meet my gaze. Another anxious waiter scurried over to him, offering shrimp wrapped in bacon. “They’re sending me to LA,” he explained, straightening. “To help with the new franchise location.”

My heart sank. There go all my fantasies about training him. Sarah would be so disappointed that I wasn’t going to be her protégée. “Oh. Well, that sounds like a big responsibility. Maybe they’re tough on you because they know you can handle it. This could be your chance to prove yourself,” I offered. He had nearly proven himself with me, so maybe his submissive nature had worked on them and they rewarded him with this position.

He frowned. “They just need a body with the last name Delano,” he grumbled. “They want me to hire wait staff, that’s all. Not work on menu development, not make actual decisions.” Aston’s tall, hard body straightened and tried to look proud and arrogant like he usually did, but I could sense something different in him now that his family had ambushed him.

“Was that your job with the Providence locations? A manager?” I asked, puzzling the situation out.

“No. They stuck me at the door to be the handsome face of the family as guests came in. I’d stand there, bored out of my mind, and make conversation with everyone. My father told me I was lucky I looked as good as I did, since I’d never cut it anywhere else in the business. I think they thought I wasn’t too bright just because I wasn’t a model student.”

“And you just did it?”

He shrugged. “I inherited a career, so that meant I didn’t have to go looking for a job. I made money since the restaurants are cash cows. I got to meet a lot of women, too.” Part of me was thrilled by his honesty and self-awareness, but another part of me raged at his passiveness with his own life. It made me happy that I was in the process of making changes in my own. Even though I had no idea where I’d be living.

“Maybe LA will give you an opportunity to show them you’re actually needed.” As much as I hated that he’d be moving across the country, it kept me in a position of power by not confessing that losing him before I even had him made me sad.

“They don’t listen to my ideas. I had this entire menu in mind for the new locale. Kind of turning old Italian favorites into more New American comfort foods. Have you ever had polenta french fries? Dip them in roasted garlic ketchup and it’s insanely good. They’d love that on the West Coast. Oh, and I made a pot pie last week with pesto Alfredo sauce instead of gravy. Amazing.”

My mouth nearly hung open. “Aston, your family ignored this? That sounds fantastic.” My stomach, which until now had only held veggies and some bubbly wine, rumbled. He was having another kind of alluring effect on me. A dangerous kind.

He was making me hungry.

“I mentioned it once and they told me to stick to being the face of the restaurant. What I really want is to open my own place in Vegas. But without their backing, that’s never going to happen. For now I have to keep being the face of the business.”

I put my pointer finger to Aston’s chest. “You go out there with that handsome face and your brilliant ideas and keep talking until they listen.”

His head dipped and his hair fell in his eyes. He actually kept it there. Noticing my preferences already, Aston? “They won’t. Plus, I’m only out there a month to hire the staff, then I come back while they set things up. It opens in September.”

A sparkle of hope bloomed across my skin. “Oh,” I said, playing it cool. He’d be back in a month.

“That’s enough time to prove yourself. Consider that a direct command from Mistress,” I said, curtseying.

He laughed. “Oh really.”

I pulled him close. “You listen to me. I’m going to teach you to grow a backbone, Aston.” I had just grown one myself, so I guess the lessons would be fresh in my head.

“That,” he said, head tilting down to mine, “makes no sense.” His lips puckered and he planted a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Through submission, you’ll gain self-worth. I will break you down to build you up. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our little table talk just yet.”

“I hope not,” he sighed. “You really think you can teach me to get those assholes to listen to what I have to say?”

I nodded. “That, or I’ll march up to them and tell them to listen. I can be very persuasive.” Giving him a sly wink, I grabbed his hard ass and pinched. “When do you leave?” I asked.

He gulped. “Tomorrow night.”

I slinked my hand down his back, in full view of his staring grandmother. “Looks like we’re going to have more lessons than merely handling Johnny. Maybe we should find someplace private.”

“It’s like you read my mind,” he responded.

I shrugged. “I can’t read minds,” I purred, nuzzling his chest, “but I have other clever tricks in my pocket.” And by pocket I mean my phone with Sarah and her experience at the other end.

He tucked his finger under my chin. “I had a feeling.” His eyes met mine, and I nearly melted. This was so new, so fresh, and I couldn’t wait to be alone. Then his eyes drifted over my shoulder and I felt his body go stiff.

And not in a good way.

“Crap. Don’t turn around,” he whispered. “It’s my ex.”

The silly, insecure girl who once controlled me stayed quiet. My inner Domme had pressed her lips shut. I didn’t even turn around to see what the ex looked like. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, pinching Aston’s butt again and walking back to our table triumphant. I wouldn’t let any of them get the best of either of us.

I grabbed my purse and crooked my finger to Aston. “Come closer,” I whispered, and he bent toward my face. I looked around the tent, feeling the intense impulse to whisk him out of view and school him. I wanted privacy, and I wanted his pants around his ankles. I pictured him pleading, begging, worshipping. Fuck. How could I do that here?

One side of the tent was open and faced the water. There was a small boathouse far off to the left, close to the entrance. “Get out of here,” I whispered.

“I’m so sorry about my grandmother. And my ex. Please don’t leave. I thought—”

“Go to the boat house.” I shot him a conspiratorial look. “I’m going to the car to get a shawl. Then, once enough time has passed since you’ve gone into the boathouse, I’ll join you. Okay?”

He nodded, a smile creeping up one side of his face. He pointed in the right direction.

“Good boy,” I mouthed, and walked away, feeling like I was no longer faking it. I was fucking living it.

I draped the cream pashmina shawl around my shoulders. The ocean breeze was cool and quite frankly, I was done with people staring at my collarbone and arms, where the majority of my tattoos were drawn. Derek was a fantastic tattoo artist, and while I hated the man now, he did create some amazing work on my body. I remember the thrill of feeling his hand on me while he drew the designs, and the way my skin heated at his touch.

I regretted the relationship, but not the ink that was left behind.

I took a moment to wander the grounds, taking in the beauty of the estate at sunset. It was quite romantic, and while the day had had a few speed bumps, I was really excited to be with Aston, if just for tonight. Maybe a month would give us time to think about what we really wanted, considering both our lives were in flux. We both needed a change, freedom. Could we find it together?

I tried to ignore all the tingling sensations coursing through my body. It wasn’t fight-or-flight time, it was do or don’t. I wanted Aston, but was I really ready to dominate? If he was indeed interested in repentance, I’d discover his intentions now.

I crossed the sprawling green lawn with conviction, ready for anything. I looked around for anyone else by the boathouse and stepped inside. A pleasant surprise greeted me.

Aston leaned on a huge, six-foot anchor, and was beginning to tie one arm to it with some nautical rope. His shirt was unbuttoned and open, the vest was long gone, and the tie around his neck was hanging loosely down his bare, muscled chest. He was positioned between two windows that overlooked the crashing ocean below, and his espresso hair had fallen into his eyes. Nice scenery on many levels.

“Mistress,” he said, still winding the long white rope across his tan (and accidentally hairless) wrist, “I don’t deserve to be your date, but can you make me worthy of your presence, at least for now?” The sound of the waves crashing outside synched with his low voice, nearly hypnotizing me with its rocky cadence.

I took a step toward him, fighting the urge to lick my lips. Or take out my camera. This was positively frameable. “Is that an attempt at an apology?”

“I brought you here with . . . unclear intentions. Now I have only one. To please you. I found a padlock on the ground by the door. We can stay in here as long as you want. We don’t have to go back out there.” I nearly chuckled at his formal wording. I supposed we were both new at this.

Outwardly, I frowned. “So now you’re hiding me?”

He shook his head. “We’re in here so you can punish me. If I’ve earned the right to escort you as a date, then I’d be proud to take you back to that reception and dance with you all night.”

I glanced at the wall. There were oars, paddles, all sorts of things I could use to punish Aston. I found his pose interesting. “Why the anchor?” I asked. There were plenty of hooks and other spots in the room he could have used to bind himself, but instead he picked the cold, sharp, metal hunk lying against the wall.

“Your tattoo,” he said. “This reminded me of the one on your arm. What does it mean?”

Again with the disarming questions. Couldn’t he have left it alone? “I was off course, Aston. I had lost everyone. I needed an anchor,” I said, tracing the navy blue mark on my arm.

He nodded. “So do I.”

I stepped right up to him until his face was level with mine. “Why do you need an anchor?” I asked, taking the rope out of his hand and finishing the knot on his wrist. Again, his pulse twitched beneath my fingers. I grabbed a second skein and started binding his other muscular arm. I felt my face heat and my legs quake. This felt easy, effortless. I tied him up so smoothly it was like my muscles already had the memory.

“I haven’t had a job outside the family business my entire life. People have let me float by ever since I was a kid. I drifted through school, coasted through college, and now I’m fucking lost in a business I couldn’t care less about. I want to be my own man.” I tied the second knot and he relaxed into the pose. The rosy light of sunset peeked through the window and onto his skin, making him nearly glow.

I fingered his messy bangs and then ran my finger down the slight stubble on his jaw. “You want direction.”

“Yes. I’m used to getting things handed to me, including women. This is different. I like having to work for it.”

“You desire something . . . firm,” I said, placing both hands on his warm chest and running them slowly downward, grazing his stomach with my fingernails. He sank into my touch, skin positively glowing with feelings of sureness and acceptance. No more fear or confusion. Yes, beneath all the confidence, Aston was in desperate need of real validation. He wanted to earn something for once. And for once, I was ready to take what I wanted. The waves outside the boathouse crashed, escalating, heightening my senses.

“I’m going to punish you, Aston. You want that, don’t you?”

He nodded. “More than anything, Mistress.”

“If you’re good, I’ll please you, too,” I said, to myself almost as much as to him. His flecked hazel eyes worshipped me and I could barely control myself. My fingers itched to slide down those tight dress pants and slink up and down his toned thighs. Full lips, high cheekbones, and fucking gorgeous neck, god, he was beautiful. I felt my body clench tightly as I opened his shirt wider. He leaned back and exhaled with a barely audible moan. I slid my tongue across his collarbone before picking out my tool of choice.

I crossed the room, grabbed an oar that had broken in half, and held it in my hand. Broad and hard. It would make a very good paddle. I unbuckled Aston’s belt and unzipped his pants, running my fingers down the hollows of his hips.

“Ahh,” he exhaled.

“Stop making noises, or I’ll gag you again,” I said, and slid his pants to his ankles, taking time to appreciate his fine form. This was punishment, after all, and I wanted to take my sweet time. I left his tight, black boxer briefs on. For now.

“With what? You’re not wearing any underwear, since I watched that entire little show in your apartment very closely,” he joked.

I slapped the oar against the palm of my hand and it made a loud smack. I had to judge how hard to hit. I didn’t want to seem like a softie, but I had no idea how hard to actually hit. He didn’t jump or flinch, but simply waited.

Aston was much better at this than I had imagined.

“This may hurt a little, so would you like something to bite down on?” I asked.

He shook his head no.

“I’m going to teach you some safewords, and they’re exactly like the terms we use for driving. If you say green, that means go. Yellow is a warning that it’s going too far, slow down. Red means stop. Play ends.” I worried about how hard to hit him, and my own pulse quickened with fear and desire. “The first few times I hit, give me a color. I need to know.”

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress. Green, please.”

I ran my fingers up and down the outside of his thigh and brought the paddle against his skin with a thwack.

He gulped for a moment and smiled. “Green.”

I smacked again, worried I couldn’t send him surges of euphoria, and was taken aback by his reaction.

He was feeling euphoric already. “Green,” he repeated. His eyes were half-hidden by his bangs, as he tossed his head back, relishing in this new form of abandon.

What a surprise.

“Two more big ones. Can you handle it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, chest heaving. The sight of him panting, tied to an anchor, rippling chest exposed, was almost enough to make me stop now and absolutely ravish him.

“Count with me,” I commanded, and hit him across the thighs again.

“One,” he moaned with a heavenly smile.

“Two,” he exhaled again when the paddle smacked for the last time.

I ran my fingers up and down his legs again and he squirmed against my touch, bucking, pleading with his body for my hands to go higher.

“Patience,” I whispered, unknotting the rope on his left wrist.

He looked at me in confusion. “You’re untying me, Mistress? Did I—”

“I need your hands to unzip my dress, Aston,” I answered, and stepped forward. With the skill of an expert, I unraveled the rope from his wrists and freed him from the anchor.

He exhaled, and I smelled champagne on his lips. I opened my mouth for a kiss, but gently bit his bottom lip first.

He groaned with the ferocity of a growl and with the compliance of a whimper.

Now it was time to give Aston a proper kiss.

I wanted to be the kind of girl who led with her tongue. A first kiss should relay all your intentions at once, and for me, right now, I had to tell him I wanted it wet and hard. I pulled his head forward with my hands and brought his open mouth to mine, slinking my tongue between his soft lips. His tongue found mine with ease, and again I felt his body tense and soften at once—he gave in to me so easily. I ran my hands down his long neck and scraped his chest with my nails on the way down to his boxers.

“Please, Mistress,” he whispered into my mouth. The words finally sounded right. Mistress. That was me. Not a front I was faking, or a name I hadn’t earned. I was in charge of his pleasure and his pain. I was, for the first time, Mistress. I gave him a long stroke and a squeeze.

“Please what?” I felt his mouth smile beneath mine.

By now, his hands were bold enough to be wrapped around my back, easing their way to my zipper. “Please . . . take control,” he responded. “I want to tear your dress off, push you onto those cushions, and pull you down on top of me. But that’s not how this sort of thing works, is it?” he asked, chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“No, it’s not how this works, but I think we can incorporate some of those ideas.”

I wrapped my hand around my back, covered his wrist with my fingers, and coaxed him to slide my zipper down. The cap sleeves of the dress loosened, and I yanked and shimmied free of the garment in a matter of seconds. He stared at me with both desire and hesitation—I could tell he wanted to be the one sliding the dress from my body. But I was in control, and he knew it.

“Touch me,” I commanded, and his hands moved to my shoulders. His fingers were soft and firm, with the right amount of roughness a man’s hands should have. I worried my Dirty Playboy would have the skin of a pampered prince, but luckily he must have put some hard work in somewhere. His fingers spread and he inched his hands down my chest, palming my breasts and sliding underneath, cupping me. He exhaled loudly. I toyed with the waistband of his boxers, occasionally sliding one hand in, but quickly pulling it back out, teasing. The sunset had bathed the room in the colors of sherbet, glinting on our naked skin with the most lovely blush. I needed to see more, and I wasn’t going to be shy about it anymore. Or ever again.

“There, on the cushions. Strip and kneel.”

He nodded and turned away from me. He had a positively perfect ass. Perfect for watching, perfect for spanking. He winked. There was that arrogance, but I forgave him quickly. He was too delicious. I wrapped my arm around him and gave his long, hard cock a stroke. My fingers could barely fit around it, it was so thick. I grinned and stood back.

“Knees slightly parted. Hands behind your back,” I said, and he complied, squaring his broad shoulders and settling into place. I stood above him, his face level with my navel. “Kiss,” I said, and he nuzzled my stomach and grazed a few kisses down it. I hooked a leg over his shoulder, steadied my arm on the anchor, and looked down at him. His eyes met mine and he opened his mouth for another kiss, right where I wanted it. I groaned, feeling his intimate kiss deepen, his tongue sliding into me effortlessly. I grabbed his head and stroked his bangs, pressing his face deeper between my legs. “Good boy,” I moaned. He pulled away for a moment, looked up at me with those dangerous eyes, and then took a long lick, teasing me.

Despite his skill, I needed more. Now. Gone was the Veronika who hesitated or second-guessed everything.

I unhooked my leg from his shoulder and stood with my ankles at his thighs and bent low, grazing my breasts across his face. A nipple scooted by his wet mouth and he licked, trying to catch it. I let his kiss linger a moment but the desire between my legs was too much to bear. I pushed down onto him in one swift move.

“Oh god, Mistress,” he groaned. His hands trembled behind him, and I knew he was dying to put his arms around me, but I could manage without his leverage. I steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders and pumped up and down. He felt so good, rock hard and twitching beneath me. I watched him lean back, thrusting his hips slightly, giving me a ride while I was still the one driving. Just enough friction, enough pushback. He was exactly what I needed. My fingers tightened on his shoulders and we both leaned back a bit, intensifying the angle, rubbing harder against each other. The sweat glistening on his skin, the desire and the submission, it was all overwhelming. He was giving me exactly what I wanted on every level.

“So good, Aston,” I moaned, pushing myself down harder on him, “so fucking good.”

His eyes met mine and he bucked and pulsed under me. “What can I do to make you come, Mistress?” he asked.

“Keep talking,” I whispered. “I like to watch your mouth move.”