Playing Hard to Master (12 page)

“Why do you keep stalling when I ask about seeing your place?” she asked, her voice smaller than she’d meant. “And why haven’t you answered any of my texts today?” She’d spent all day wondering if he was running away again. “I’ve been worried all day, thinking you were . . . done with me. Or seeing someone else . . .” Her voice hitched, embarrassing her. The last thing she wanted him to see was how much it hurt, how vulnerable he made her feel. She also didn’t want to come off as clingy.

“Is that what this is about?” He chuckled. “No. I am absolutely not seeing anyone else. I promised you we’d be exclusive, and I take that seriously. Also, I came today to invite you to my apartment for dinner tonight. I just wanted to get it cleaned up a little so I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“Okaaaay.” She sized him up, narrowing her eyes so he’d know she was using her bullshit detector. “What about texting? Why have you been ignoring me?”

“I dropped my phone down the stairs last night.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. So I have to pick up a new one today.” He sighed. “I was planning to go after the haircut.”

“Ugh. I hope you had a warranty. Morgan had to replace her iPhone after her toddler broke it, and it cost six hundred dollars outside of a plan.” She looked up at him. “Want me to ask around if someone has an old one they’re not using?”

“No.” Smiling, he ran a finger down her cheek. “That’s sweet, but I’ll be fine. I got an end-of-the-year bonus from work, so I’ll just use that.”

She nodded, getting lost in the way he looked at her, like she was his next meal. His finger left a trail of heat down her cheek. Pictures of the last time he’d touched her flashed through her mind, sending tingles down her spine and to naughty places. Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for food anymore.

“Are you okay now?” he asked, concern on his face. “I didn’t mean to make you worry so much. And I do love your hair. I was just surprised you didn’t tell me. I’m not the kind of Dom to dictate what color my sub’s hair is.”

“It’s not your fault.” Now she felt guilty for assuming the worst. “Work has been tiring, so I’m not exactly at my most stable right now.” Chuckling humorlessly, she added, “I guess it’s good you see just how crazy I can be.”

He pushed away from the wall, turned back to the street, and took her hand. “Everyone is crazy now and then. Come on. Food will make everything better.”

“That really sucks about your phone.” She squeezed his hand. “I’ll pay for lunch today.”

“Not a chance.”

By the tone of his voice, she knew there was no point in arguing. “Stubborn.”

“Yup.” He held open the door, and the smell of fresh sauce filled the air.

Her stomach growled. “Mmm. I wasn’t hungry a minute ago, but now . . .”

He laughed. “Me too. Come on. I know the owner. There’s a special table in the back we can sit at. Marcelo!”

Someone from the kitchen peeked out and waved. “Hey, Ambrose! Table’s free if you want it.”

“Excellent. Thank you!”

“Hey, tell your mom thanks for the polenta bread recipe.”

“Will do.” He pulled her through the busy but small restaurant, then around the corner, where it split off to the kitchen and bathrooms. There, by the window, one little table sat in a private nook.

Wow. Star treatment for Ambrose. She was surprised, and maybe impressed. With a hand on her lower back, he guided her to one side and held her chair for her. After she sat down, he took the seat on the other side.

He gazed at her a moment, wearing a lopsided smile. Then he seemed to snap to attention. “Is this okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask.”

“It’s fine.” She laughed nervously. How could this be more awkward than everything else they’d done? “Um.” She fiddled with the menu on the table. “You have a lot of friends.”

He shrugged. “I like to eat. You get to know people that way.” He took the menu out of her hands and shook his head. “My parents own a bakery, remember? So they know all the foodies in town too.”

Frowning, she looked at the menu he’d stolen away. “But . . .”

“The good stuff isn’t on the menu, gorgeous. Trust me.” He winked.

At first it seemed like he was being controlling, insisting he order for her, but now she realized this was his version of fun. With a smile, she sat back and relaxed, letting worry go for once, and trusted him.

There didn’t seem to be a waiter serving their table, so Ambrose went to the kitchen and spoke directly with the chef. She tried to tell him this was lunch and she wouldn’t eat that much, but he seemed to be on a mission. Considering the size of him, he’d probably eat what she didn’t anyway.

He turned from the kitchen and asked, “Red wine or white?”

“Actually, coffee, please.”

After a curt nod, he spoke to the chef for another minute then turned back to the table, grinning like a kid in a candy shop. It was fucking adorable. Here was Ambrose, in his element.

“You really like food, huh?”

“Yes.” His forehead creased, the grin fading away. “Is . . . that bad? Anytime I date a girl who only eats salad or whose idea of eating out is Taco Bell, things never seem to last long.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that with me.” She giggled. “I hate salad. Unless it’s drenched in ranch, but then it’s not really a salad, so much as dressing with salad as the garnish. I should probably eat more salad—I mean, look at me—but I just like real food too much. I’ve never made a very good herbivore . . .” She trailed off, realizing she was rambling.

When she lifted her eyes to look at Ambrose, he was giving her that silly grin again.

“What?”

“You’re perfect the way you are. And I love when you talk food.”

Smirking, she said, “Just food? Or are you thinking about other things I put in my mouth?”

“Don’t tease, little brat. You have to go back to work after this. You don’t want me to muss you up in the bathroom, do you?”

That didn’t sound like a bad idea at all. She shrugged and looked at him coyly.

He chuckled. “Bad girl.”

The chef appeared, carrying a glass of wine and a mug. She thanked him, then, after adding cream and sugar, she sipped her coffee, hoping it would make her come to her senses. No matter how private the table, they were still in a public restaurant. And she
did
have to go back to work after this. Now was not the time to tempt the demon.

“So you’ll come over tonight?” he asked. “I’ll text you the address after I get my phone.”

“Sure.” She arched a brow. “What are we gonna do? Watch a movie? Play a board game?”

He leaned back, letting his arms span the back of the chair, reminding her just how large he was.

A shudder swept through her. Fuck, how was she going to last until tonight when she was getting horny already?

“We’ll play some games all right,” he said. “I liked the one we played last time. I’m the Sultan and you’re my little slave girl.”

She thought of the slave bells he’d given her and the fact that she sometimes wore them around her apartment. Wearing them made her feel like she was his property, which was a crazy turn-on. She’d fantasized about belonging to somebody for so long it seemed almost too good to be true.

Time to test a theory. “Oh. Here I was just thinking maybe I’d wear my new schoolgirl skirt.”

His body seemed to freeze in place, then he swallowed hard. “I . . . uh . . . I’d be okay with that.”

She chuckled, feeling cocky and powerful. “Maybe it’s too soon for that. I’ll just wear a T-shirt and jeans.”

Abruptly, he sat forward. “No, I like your idea better.”

“Nah.”

“Wear the fucking skirt, little brat, or you’ll be sorry.”

“Mmm.” Warmth slid from her belly down to her pussy. “What if I like being sorry?” She nibbled her lip.

“There are better reasons to be sorry than for disobeying me.”

She leaned in, her breath shallow and her voice husky. “Like what?”

He sat up straighter. “You’ve been very bratty today. I have a desk and a strap with your name on them.”

A whimper escaped her and she fought the urge to slide her hand down between her legs. If she pressed on her clit, just for a second, she could possibly come right there in the restaurant.

“So you’re going to wear that pretty skirt for me, right?”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale.

He quirked a brow.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.”

Ugh. How was she supposed to finish the day like this? Needy and wet and ready to hump her own hand? She was just about to ask about the mussing-up-in-the-bathroom idea, but Ambrose cut in.

“Here comes the food.”

The chef placed two plates in front of them with heaping piles of pasta that looked and smelled delicious. Still, she was distracted.

Ambrose scooped a bite then stopped and looked at her. “Why are you pouting?

The chef had left, and no one was within earshot.

“I’m horny, Sir.”

He laughed. “Poor girl. That’s what you get for teasing me.”

Obviously, she wasn’t going to get any mercy from him. She growled and stared at her food.

“Eat. The chef made it just for you. You still have a long day. I’m not letting you leave until you eat.”

“Yes, Sir,” she grumbled with a mock salute.

His eyes narrowed. “We’ll address that over my desk later.”

Her stomach
thunk
ed and her whole body felt like it turned to Jell-O. Slowly, she picked up her fork, trying to clear her mind of all the dirty thoughts flipping through it.
Fuuuuuck.
Why did she have to open her big, bratty mouth? Now she’d be thinking about that desk for the rest of the day.

They fell into silence as they ate the cheesy pasta mix on their plates. Though she stayed horny, her thoughts drifted from sex to food. The dish was amazing. Each ingredient blended perfectly with the others. She found most cheese dishes to be greasy, but this was just perfect.

It wasn’t long before she’d finished more than half of the heaping portion on her plate.

“How do you like it?” Ambrose asked, polishing off his.

“It’s really good!”

He smiled genuinely.

“But I’ll pay for my half. It’s only fair, especially since you have to replace your phone.”

Rolling his eyes, he placed his fork by his plate. “This is a date. You’re not even paying for your water. Now shut up and keep eating.”

“Rude!” she teased. “I’m full though.” At his glare, she said, “Seriously. It’s too much. I’ll take it home for tomorrow.”

He seemed satisfied with that and took it upon himself to get to a to-go box from the back. After working out some kind of arrangement with the chef, he told her everything was paid for and walked her to the door.

“I think I’m booked solid from one to four,” she told him as they headed back to the salon. “But you can come after and I’ll do your hair.”

“Nah. Not today. Just let me know when you have an open spot later this week.”

“It’s no big deal. I can take you at four.”

“No.” He playfully nudged her. “I need you well-rested for tonight.”

“Oh really?” Chuckling, she said, “What if
I
need
you
well-groomed for tonight?”

He frowned at her. “Heyyy. You’re not attracted to me with shaggy hair?”

She sighed wistfully. “You’re hot no matter what. It’s not fair.”

When they reached the salon, he yanked her up against him, leaned down and kissed her, hard and long, until she couldn’t breathe. When he stopped, she turned and realized they were right in front of the big window and all her coworkers were watching.

She scowled up at him.

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he smirked and said, “I had to claim what’s mine.”

Sighing, she rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, hiding a smile at the word “mine.”

“Men!” she shouted over her shoulder.

His cocky chuckle followed her inside, making it harder to hide that smile. But right when she stepped through the doorway, about nine women squealed and grinned at her. A few coworkers even clapped and jumped up and down.

Oh my God.

Sometimes working with a bunch of women in such a close environment really sucked. For the rest of the day, she played Dodge the Twenty Questions, counting down until their date tonight. And her date with his desk and strap.

“This is the act of a desperate man.” Kate laughed as she followed them up the stairs.

“When you meet her you’ll understand.” Ambrose grunted and hefted his end of the desk.

Banner almost dropped the other end, but caught it before it hit the metal stairs. “If a girl is the one, Trouble, a guy will go to ridiculous lengths to win her.” He and Ambrose exchanged glances, and Kate grimaced.

“You just wanted to stick your dick in me.” Kate snorted.

“Yes,” both men replied.

Banner growled. “I’ll drop this fucking desk on your foot, you bastard.”

“Oh, like that was a big fucking secret.” Ambrose rolled his eyes and shuffled backward when he got to the top of the stairs. If Banner thought any straight man on the face of the planet didn’t want to fuck Kate, he was a moron. “Things happen for a reason though. For me, I think Everly might be that reason.”

They moved into the main loft area and set the desk down to rest for a minute. “This fucker is heavy. There’s no way you’ll break this one.”

“Break it? You’ve broken desks before?” Kate asked.

“You don’t want to know.” Banner raised his eyebrows at his wife, and she blushed. How Kate could still be blushing after hanging out with them so long was a mystery, but it was also adorable. “Wow. This place is a complete shit hole, Ambrose. She might leave your ass so she doesn’t end up having to support you.”

Ambrose shrugged, looking around the rough space. He’d signed the lease only this morning, and managed to get everything else in without help, but the desk was too heavy.

It was more of a warehouse than an apartment, but it was warm, and he liked the open feel to it. There was a lot of room to cook, too, especially now that his new stove, fridge, table, and chairs had been delivered. There was a TV and a couch, too, but he’d been careful to choose things that made it look like he had a modest income. The bed was tucked into a corner, and he’d been hard-pressed not to buy top-of-the-line linens for it. Maybe having money
was
starting to make him a little snobby about some things.

They moved the desk into a big, empty space in the center of the room, and Banner walked around it. “This might be too much of a message, having it front and center here, don’t you think? And did you bring anything to put in the drawers or in your closet?”

Ambrose gestured to a stack of boxes piled off to one side.

“It smells like new furniture in here.” Kate shook her head. “What are you going to do about that?” She laughed.

“Well, I’m cooking dinner, so hopefully that’ll disguise it.”

“Why don’t you just tell her the truth? This is crazy.”

Ambrose frowned, guilt niggling at his conscience. “I just can’t, Kate. Not yet. If she finds out now that I’ve got money, she’ll write me off in a heartbeat. I have to make sure it’s safe to tell her before I out myself.”

Banner grabbed a cardboard box and opened it, then peered inside. “Poor little guy, embarrassed to tell his girlfriend he’s rich. That must suck.” He pulled a couple of coats out of the box. “At least you didn’t have to go out and buy thrift-store clothes for this. Your stuff already looks like crap. What millionaire wears a coat that he sewed back together with fishing line?”

“Ambrose! I told you to throw that out like three months ago.” Kate
tsk
ed at him, but took the coats from Banner and hung them on the hooks by the stairs. “You need a woman to keep you in line.”

Ambrose arched a brow at Banner, but his friend only shrugged. “You’re not Kate’s Master. She doesn’t have to kiss your ass. You want respect, you’d better earn it from Beverly.”

“Everly,” Ambrose corrected.

“I knew that.” Banner waved his hand dismissively.

Boxes of cutlery and kitchen implements went into drawers, clothes were unpacked, books went on a shelf. A few files, a stapler, and some BDSM equipment went into the desk drawers. He put his laptop on top of the desk to make it look less like a porn prop. Mismatched throw pillows went on the couch, and he and Banner mounted the TV on the wall while Kate made up the bed.

“Don’t make it look too perfect, Kate,” he warned. “Make it look like a man made it.”

She snorted. “Well, I could throw the pillows on the floor and shove all the blankets off to one side. That would make it look more realistic.”

“I don’t want her to think I’m a slob either.”

“I’m sorry to have to let you in on this horrible secret, but you
are
a slob.” Banner clapped him on the shoulder.

“Fine. Make it so it looks like I’m a slob on my best behavior, then.” He sighed. “I told her I spent the morning cleaning.”

“When is she getting here?” Banner put the TV box with a stack of other boxes he’d agreed to take away with him.

“Two hours. I guess I’d better get the food in the oven soon.”

“What are you making?” Kate asked eagerly.

“I’m doing stuffed chicken breasts with a pesto cream sauce.”

Kate clapped her hands and grinned. “Let me know how it turns out! If it’s good, I want the recipe.”

“Oh dear God. They’re food nerding again,” Banner said to no one in particular. “Are you going to put anything on your walls? I mean, I know you’re going for this roughing-it look, but it doesn’t even look like you live here. No plaster lions out front, and now bare walls. Don’t you have an extra fluorescent beer sign you can put up?”

“There’s a mirror. I wasn’t sure where to put it.”

Banner found the big, ornately framed mirror, and, without asking Ambrose, he hung it on the wall over the bed.

“Classy,” Ambrose grumbled.

“Oh, like you would have hung it anywhere else. Unless on the ceiling above the bed was a possibility.”

All three of them looked up, but the roof was a long way off.

“No blackboard?” Kate asked innocently.

“Mmm . . . I really should get a blackboard,” Ambrose agreed.

“Don’t encourage him, woman!” Banner narrowed his eyes at Kate. “He doesn’t want to fuck this up. Let the poor girl get to know him a bit before she finds out how much of a pervert he is.”

“If she isn’t a pervert, she doesn’t deserve him.” Kate stuck her tongue out at Banner, and Ambrose politely turned away to prep dinner while Banner dealt with her. The giggling and gasping coming from behind him sounded like she didn’t mind the funishment in the slightest.

“Just fuck her over there somewhere.” He waved them toward the living room area. “I need the table to get dinner ready. There’s always the basement, but there’s no furniture down there.”

“I should find a piece of cardboard to throw down on the basement floor and remind her of what happens when slaves sass their Masters.” Banner growled.

The sound of Kate’s whine reminded Ambrose of the noises Everly made for him at the restaurant earlier, and of the way she’d melted against him when he’d kissed her outside her shop. He glanced at his watch. Had it been two hours yet? Could he order her here sooner?

“I think we’re going to go now,” Banner murmured. “Before this gets out of hand.”

“I’m going to have to get a spray bottle to squirt you with when you start groping her in front of people. You’re married now. Isn’t the sex supposed to stop?” When he looked up, Kate was wearing her leather collar and looking up at Banner contritely. He must have had her play collar in his coat pocket.

For the first time in a long time, Ambrose wasn’t envious of what they had together. Instead, he imagined what Everly would look like in that style of collar. Brattier, he guessed.

And so fucking hot.

He’d been up late the night before, browsing collars on Etsy instead of working, but he kept having to take breaks because the idea of her wearing his collar was making him crazy. She would never be a good girl for him—not without him catching her off guard or blowing her mind—but that suited him just fine. Girls that were chronically good were boring.

“We’re leaving. Unless you need help with something else?” Banner’s eyes were gleaming, as though Kate was still all new and shiny and he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

“No, if you get rid of those boxes for me, I’m all set. Go get your fuck on.”

Banner nodded to him cordially and grabbed Kate by the hair. “We might even make it out of the parking lot first.”

*   *   *

The candles he’d lit around the space, as well as turning off the lights, did wonders for his new apartment. He’d fed her, and now they were relaxing on the couch, watching a movie. It was possibly the most relaxed but ready for action he’d ever been on a date.

“You have to quit feeding me so much,” Everly groaned.

“Food is all I have going for me.” He smiled and switched to massaging her other foot.

She sighed and melted against the armrest. “And massages. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to get me into your bed. Or would that be too inappropriate for one of your students, Professor?” She gave him an innocent smile and buttoned her blouse up, as though flaunting her cleavage throughout dinner had been an accident.

The hem of her skirt had ridden up, and she tugged it down modestly, just as he was starting to think he was going to get a glimpse of what she was wearing underneath. Sexy, sweet, or nothing at all—he couldn’t decide which would be more of a turn-on. Even her smoothing her skirt down was doing it for him.

“I don’t think it’s that odd for a professor to want to get to know his students,” he said, playing along. “We’re all adults, after all. There’s no reason to treat you like a child.”

“No, Sir.” Everly pulled her foot away and slipped her black flats back on. “Actually, I needed to ask you something.” She slid the tip of her finger between her lips and sucked on it, and for a painful moment his dick seized his full attention and he forgot to answer her.

“Uh . . . yes?”

“Well, as you know, my grades on your assignments haven’t been very good. I’m not sure why, Sir. I seem to be doing pretty well in my other classes. I was just wondering if . . .”

He cleared his throat because he was pretty sure his heart was beating in it. “If what?”

“If there was anything I could do for extra credit?” She twirled her finger in her hair and blinked at him.

“Well, I doubt that. I’m a bachelor, so I don’t have much that needs doing. What do you have in mind?”

There was a hint of mischief in her eye, but she masked it. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I could . . . polish your silverware?” She bit her lip and he struggled to squelch the laugh that threatened to escape.

“My silverware? Do I look like I have silverware?”

“Maybe not, Sir. But what else could I do for you? I’d do
almost
anything.”

“Almost?”

She stood and moved to stand in front of him. The flash of bare thigh he saw past the sway of her skirt fascinated him. He wanted to put his mouth there, taste her, and maybe mark her.

“Yes, Sir. There are some things good girls like me won’t do.”

He’d see about that.

“Come with me.” He took her hand, and she hesitated before letting him lead her to the desk.

“You want me to do paperwork for you, Sir? Filing?”

He moved his laptop onto the counter. “Lean over the desk.”

She gasped, then swallowed hard. “But why?”

Inside him, something sinister sat up and growled.

“When I saw you at lunch, you had quite the sassy mouth on you.”

She hung her head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I was so upset about my grade that I kept saying the wrong thing. Is there
anything
I can do to make it up to you?” Her expression turned hopeful.

“Lean over the desk, Everly. That’s two. If I need to ask again, you’ll just be making things worse for yourself.”

Something clicked. He could see it behind her eyes.

“Well, what if I don’t want to lean over your desk?” She tilted her head in challenge.

“I don’t recall giving you the option of disobeying me.” He wrapped his hand around her arm.

“Heyyy! Let go!”

He spun her around and shoved her down over the desk. She tried to rise, but he pinned her down with one hand and lifted the back of her skirt with the other.

“Spoiled little girls like you need to learn to mind their manners.”

“No!” She tried to hide her simple white panties with her hands.

He groaned aloud. Between the modest underwear and the feigned reluctance, his pants were getting uncomfortable. That and the fact that Everly had the sweetest fucking ass he’d ever seen.

He grabbed her wrists and fought her hands down until they were wrapped around the opposite side of the desk. “Hang on like this, Everly, or you’re not going to like what happens.”

“I’m not?” she asked anxiously.

“No.”

He let go of her hands and her fingers stayed obediently where he’d placed them.

With no need to hold her down, he lifted the back of her skirt again, draped it up on her back, and stood there staring for a moment. Would it be horribly rude to gawk at her and jerk off on her ass? Probably.

He hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down slowly, inch by painful inch.

She whispered something he couldn’t hear, but the tone sounded embarrassed and aroused.

“What are you doing?” she whined.

“You’ve been a naughty girl, so you need to be punished.”

“Nooo. I won’t do it again. I promise.” She squirmed but didn’t let go of the desk.

Ambrose opened the drawer and took out the strap he’d made to use on her. Fuck the store-bought shit. He preferred his own handiwork.

She was studying him, and when she caught sight of the strap she grimaced. “Aw, fuck.”

“Language, young lady.” He tapped her luscious ass with the leather, and she froze in place. “For your sass earlier today, you’re going to get twenty. Understood?”

The drone of the television in the background would have covered most noise she made, but they were in the middle of nowhere and she could scream her head off without anyone else hearing a thing. Was it creepy that it turned him on?

“Twenty? But I won’t have any skin left!”

“Then maybe you should have thought about that beforehand.” The sadist in him was wondering how much he could punish her before she begged for mercy. He imagined her sweet round ass rosy and her voice high and pleading. He had to close his eyes and calm his breathing. Going into a punishment too excited was a novice mistake.