My Dates With The Dom (8 page)

He understood and looked down. “Vanilla. With sprinkles."

I sat down on the bed and crossed my arms over my stomach. The entire time I thought things could work out because he'd spent over two years with a sub. But she wasn't a sub. She was a
girlfriend
. So when he'd talked about concerts and plays, he talked about things he had done with her. Things I so desperately wanted him to do with me.

Surely,
I
was the one dying. The air just didn't seem to make it into my lungs. Pain exploded in my chest and I stared blankly into space. He loved her. He pampered her and cared about her feelings. I was nothing but an easy way to get off.

"You know you have to be punished."

Was he kidding? My heart had just been ripped out. Wasn't that punishment enough? I nodded just the same.

"Lie on your stomach."

I turned. It didn't matter what he did to me. I couldn't hurt any more than I already did.

"I can't stand that you let someone else touch you."

The strap bit at my bottom and I gasped. He knew, he had to know that I was telling the truth. It came down again and I started sobbing, but not from the sting of the belt. He was punishing me for her lies, not mine. My body jumped with each strike, my wails becoming louder.

"We'll never speak of this again,” he said as he rubbed his hand over my smarting ass. “Now present yourself."

I couldn't believe I allowed him to use the strap. It didn't matter that it was only six or seven strikes. As I rose to my knees and stuck my reddened ass in the air, I couldn't believe I was now going to let him fuck me. He entered me before my mind could wrap itself around the concept. I paid for my sins, for hers, and for Michael's.

I could barely sit when we went downstairs to the dining room later on that evening to eat the turkey he had brought from the club. It had all the fixings, but my nonexistent appetite wouldn't allow much past my lips. He tried to make the rest of the night easy and light-hearted, but hard as I tried, I couldn't match him.

I'd won, but I'd lost. I had the man I loved back, but the only way I could enjoy being with him was if I could stop loving him.

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I'd decided to just let things slide. The relationship, or lack of it, wouldn't change no matter how much I scrutinized it. Desire snowballed rather than decreased. So I did what I had planned on doing from the beginning, just have fun. Once I let go of my boyfriend fantasy, I enjoyed Michael again.

Still, I occasionally wondered what he did with his time. Like my ex, he was an attorney. Yeah, I know, I should have learned the first time. But where my ex's success meant upper middle class, Michael's success was top shelf. I knew he had important clients. The size of his house attested to that. But could he spend all his time working?

I banished the thoughts before they took a firm hold and gave thanks for what I had. We made it through the contract, but in spite of my happiness, I still harbored the fear he wouldn't want to renew. On our last night of the contract, he didn't mention any plans for the following Friday.

The few days at the beginning of the week were torturous. What would the next contract look like? Would there even be one?

He called on Wednesday and asked if we could meet Saturday instead of the usual Friday. I dressed with even more care than usual. A long grey skirt and pink top hid a black lace push up bra with matching thong, a black leather garter belt, and black spike heeled boots which came up to the knee. I couldn't wait to get my clothes off and see his expression. The boots would send him over the edge, nothing like a high pair of dress boots and sexy underwear to harden his cock.

I took off my clothes in the alcove, and was in the process of folding them when Michael opened the inner door.

"Very nice, I love how you always dress to please me. But that'll have to be for later. Get dressed. You haven't eaten have you?"

I shrugged. “I guess I could eat. Where are we going?"

"Broadway Bistro."

He assisted me with my clothes but remained on the quiet side on the drive there. Was it because he only planned on seeing me occasionally when the mood struck? Would there be any kind of contract at all? Maybe this was the way he planned on ending it, with a nice dinner like a consolation prize.

A cacophony of sound assailed my ears as soon as we entered the restaurant. Now I could add headache to sour stomach. If he didn't ease my mind before the meal, there was a better than good chance I wouldn't be able to get it down no matter how haute the cuisine. The tinkle of china and crystal sounded more like the chime signaling the next round. Ambiance and delectable scents couldn't penetrate my anxiety. I decided to ask him point blank the second we were seated at the table. I mean, really, it's not like things could get any tenser.

The hostess could have been a mime for all I heard her say. When she smiled and turned, Michael placed his hand on the small of my back which gave me the signal to move. I'd been following her half way through the restaurant with Michael a step or two behind me when I heard “Mom?"

The world turned on its axis. Of all the scenarios in the world, the one where I'd stroll by my girls, my ex, and his bimbo had never entered my mind.

I stopped dead in my tracks and Michael didn't have time to brace himself. He bumped into me and we both almost toppled over. I stood frozen staring at the four of them at the table. Nothing had changed. Except I'd been replaced.

I'd almost asked to go elsewhere when Michael mentioned the restaurant because it had been the one place in the city we'd consistently gone as a family. It seemed almost a sacrilege to go with someone else. Yet here they all sat. A chill washed over me, but somehow I battened down the hatches on the storm of emotions raging through me.

No way would I let any of them know how much it hurt. Although Alana looked at me as if she'd killed my dog and didn't know what to do about it. Eliza was five minutes younger and a few years less mature. She'd yelled out when she spotted me and her eyes spit fire in Michael's direction.

I had watched their eyes as they turned from me to Michael. The myriad of stunned expressions ranged from guilt—Alana, hurt—Eliza, anger—the ex, and disbelief—the bimbo.

"Your twins?” Michael asked as he took my arm.

I nodded.

He leaned into me. “Let me guess. They've never seen you with any man but their dad?"

"How could you tell?"

"The hostile glare was a pretty good clue,” he whispered. “Are you going to introduce me?"

"Not sure that's wise,” I whispered back.

The entire table leaned forward as if the slight slant would enable them to be privy to our conversation. It didn't. The girlfriend looked like she was about to blow a gasket. Her eyes bulged and her face scrunched up as if she smelled something foul. I'm not sure if that had to do with the fact that she was stuck with my kids while I was on a date, or the fact that hands down, I was with the better looking man. If she'd know how much larger his bank account was, she probably would have keeled over in her soup.

The father of my children couldn't mask his fury. His purple face also didn't sit well with the bimbo.

"Vicks, what the hell are
you
doing here?” he asked. He might as well have been the evil stepmother catching Cinderella at the ball and from the looks of things he planned on stifling my good time, as if I could have one now.

'Vicks.’ Of all the nicknames I'd had in my life that was the one I hated the most, and often I wondered if that's why he insisted on calling me it. “We're about to have dinner. What else would I be doing here?"

Michael choked back a laugh and nodded at him. “We eat here about once a week,” he lied. “It's one of our favorite places."

Oh goody. A pissing contest. Just what I needed.

"Girls, see you next week.” I turned back to my knight in less than shining armor, “Michael, I think the hostess is waiting to seat us."

"Mr. Manning?” The hostess looked at Michael imploringly. The place was busy and she couldn't wait for us all day while we chit-chatted.

He grinned wickedly and we moved on while my ex-husband still sputtered and his girlfriend fumed. No way was anyone at that table enjoying their meal. Michael, on the other hand, went out of his way to flame the fire.

First, we were seated on the upper level, so not only did we have a bird's eye view of my family, but they had just as good a view of us. Second, the table we had was better and harder to get than the one my ex had. That had to go up his ass a mile. Third, whenever he could, Michael would place his hand on mine or lean in to me. I didn't care how he pissed off the asshole relations, but the girls didn't need the show.

Somewhere during the appetizer I remembered the hostess had called him Mr. Manning. My eyes widened.
Michael Manning. Couldn't be. Holy shit.
“I thought your name was Stevens,” I said out of the blue.

"Still? Come on. You know it's Michael not Giles, why would you think the last name I used in the email addy was real?"

"I don't know. I just assumed it was and you never said differently.” I was glad I was far enough away that the girls wouldn't notice my smile was phony.

"You never mentioned your real last name,” he countered.

I stared at him. “It comes up on your phone when I call you. Yours comes up as ‘private number.’”

"Does it make a difference who I am? Have I changed in any way?” There was emotion in his eyes that I couldn't quite discern.

No, it didn't matter. My smile relaxed into a real one. “Are you kidding? If I had known I would have asked for much more help with my homework.” That, at least, made him laugh.

In the middle of our meal he took out the Austrian crystal necklace and placed it around my neck. Anyone looking would have thought they were diamonds. And for the first time, I actually wondered if they were. I couldn't help it. At that point I oohed and ahhed just so the bimbo would hopefully stroke out. If nothing else, I know two people who left with indigestion.

My phone buzzed and I checked the text. “We'll call for the details tomorrow. Nice bling. Way to go mom.” Well, at least one of them was happy for me. More than likely she was just pissed at her father. I nodded in their direction as they left.

I turned back to Michael. “Nice performance. What was it all about?"

He took another bite of his gnocchi which gave him a moment to think. Finally, he just shrugged. “Damned if I know. I just didn't like the way he looked at you. And the twit he's with? She's a visible bubblehead."

"She may be stupid, but she's crafty just the same. And has rather large breasts. We can't forget them."

"Performance enhanced, no doubt.” I laughed and he held up a forkful of gnocchi. “Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

I wrinkled my nose. “Positive. But I guess that means you'd like to try the Bolognese.” I pushed my plate closer to him and he stabbed the pasta.

"Um, good,” he said before he slid the plate back. “I am sorry if this causes problems with your kids though. Were they very angry? I'm assuming the text was from one of them?"

"It'll be okay. One thinks it's cool. The other will come around. Unfortunately, they all think the necklace is mine and will probably want a good look at it next weekend when they come to visit.” That was going to be a problem. I'd have to think up some lie where the clasp broke and it slipped off without me noticing.

Michael stared into space for a moment and cleared his throat. “I'd like you to keep the necklace."

Oh shit, was this going to be his send off?
My hands clenched and I barely breathed.

"I don't think we need a contract any more. We've explored our fantasies and can move on from here.” I must have paled because Michael reached for my hand. “I say we continue with the Saturday nights, but don't plan out the sex. Just let it happen.” He looked to me expectantly, like he was afraid I'd be the one who wouldn't want to renegotiate.

I released the breath I'd been holding. He still wanted to see me. I couldn't think clearly. My body started to decompress and relax again. “And if there's something different I'd like to try?” We'd hit on my biggest fantasies, from simple things like a hot tub all the way to various types of bondage. I couldn't even think of anything, but wanted to keep him on his toes.

He grinned at me. “Just tell me or do it and I'll do the same. There's always the safe word. Remember that."

My analytical mind started to categorize. Pros and cons. Cons consisted of not knowing in advance what was going to happen. Now that could be scary, but exciting too. And it's not like I thought Michael would ever hurt me, so there wasn't much to worry about there.

The biggest con was not having a contract. That meant at any time he could decide simply not to call or ever see me again. But if I really thought about it, he could do that anyway. It wasn't like either one of us would take the other to court for breaking the contract.

The pros made my heart race. Since we wouldn't have a contract, we wouldn't have set times to see each other. This meant we could get together whenever we wanted and wouldn't be limited to once a week. Now I knew one of the reasons we set it up was lack of time, but twice a week on occasion would be perfect. In addition there wouldn't be a specific fantasy acted out, just exciting sex between two consenting adults. Like a normal relationship. Again, the entire purpose of the contract was to escape the pitfalls of a relationship, but hard as I tried, I couldn't deny the fact that the more time I spent with him the more I wanted the elusive real deal of a relationship. I tingled all over. No matter how I looked at it, this step was in the right direction. Our time together wasn't over. It was just beginning.

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As we hit mid-December, the sky seemed to open up and blanket us with snow every other day. Bundling up was a pain in the ass, and I often wore pants and snow boots to Michael's and changed into the required skirt in the alcove inside the front door. Lately, we hadn't been out in public at all and I was starting to once again feel like nothing more than a booty call.