Playing Hard to Master (5 page)

She realized she was doing that stupid puppy staring thing again and cleared her throat, trying to stay focused. “Um. Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m okay. Can I sit down?”

“Oh! Of course!” Why didn’t she think of that?

He chuckled then they both sat on the couch. Smiling, he said, “It’s really cool what you do. I mean, I know people who donate money, but I’ve never met someone so . . . hands-on.”

She laughed. “That’s what people without money do when they want to help.”

“How often do you do protests and stuff?”

“I’m an active member of Community Cares. It’s a nonprofit organization that advocates for community-based services for those who need them. We also work to change local policy to help close the socioeconomic gap and make opportunities more equal for everybody.”

“Wow.” He pressed his hands together. “That’s amazing.”

She shrugged. “It’s nothing. I mean, I wish I could do more, but I gotta work, too, so I don’t end up in the shelter.”
Again.
But she didn’t say that. A second date was no time to get into her life story. “How’d the wedding go? Did your friend like your haircut?”

“She did. Though she was pretty googly-eyed for her Master.”

Her brows rose as her interest piqued. “It was
that
kind of wedding?”

“Yes. Well, it was both. She had vanilla family and friends there, so the Master/slave part was very subtle.”

“Are
all
your friends kinky?”

He laughed. “A lot of them are. My two best friends are both Masters.”

Jealousy speared her. What she wouldn’t give for that. “That’s awesome. I wish I had actual friends in the lifestyle. I have some vaguely kinky friends who are understanding, but no one to really talk to about this stuff. A few acquaintances from the club, but that’s it.” She gave him a sidelong look and smiled. “Maybe I can wiggle my way in and steal your friends.”

“You don’t have to steal them. I know how to share.” He winked. “I’m sure they’d like you anyway.”

“You think so?”

“What’s not to like?”

Though the sentiment was sweet, he really had no idea what he was talking about. She frowned then stared at the floor. “I’m a brat.”

“So?”

“Masters hate brats.” She knew from experience. And if his friends were Masters . . . they didn’t stand a chance together.

He placed a hand on her knee and she looked up at him. “My friends understand there are all types of subs. And they respect the girl I’m with, regardless of whether they like the kind of sub she is or not.” He sat back, withdrawing his hand, and she wished he’d put it back. “Besides, it’s none of their fucking business. I like brats, and that’s all that matters.”

She beamed at him. God, he was sexy when he swore. She liked that rough-around-the-edges thing—the attitude that they didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of them. Yeah, Ambrose had that in spades.

Her gaze dropped to his arms again. Mmm. She’d like to see where else he had tattoos. Maybe lick them.

“What do your tattoos mean?” She eyed the Roman numerals. They made him look even more dangerous, which made him more irresistible.

His smile was wicked. “If I tell you my secret, you have to promise not to rat me out.”

“Rat you out?” She laughed and traced the figures with tentative fingers. “I can keep a secret.” Had he done time or something? Maybe he had kids from a previous relationship?

Ambrose held his arms out to her. “The story behind these probably makes me sound crazy, but since you seem trustworthy, I’ll tell you.”

He sighed dramatically, like he was weighing whether or not she could handle what he was about to say. Now she was more nervous than intrigued.

“These are the dates . . .” He paused, eyeing her cautiously.

“Yes?”

“. . . that both sets of my grandparents got married.”

She arched a brow at him. He couldn’t be serious. Shouldn’t they be something less . . . sappy?

“You don’t believe me? It’s true. Both sets of my grandparents had serious romances going on, and stayed married until they died. Maybe it’s not very cool for a guy to want to immortalize that with ink, but it reminds me that life isn’t all about paying bills and collecting shit.”

Oh God.
He was serious. That was possibly the sweetest thing she’d ever heard.

When he looked at her weirdly, she realized she was smiling up at him like a giddy schoolgirl. She gave her head a shake. “That’s really cool, actually. I didn’t expect that.”

“Did you have fun the other night?” he asked, as if struck with the urge to suddenly change the subject.

Maybe he didn’t like looking like a romantic sap. Did he think it ruined his image? Because she was pretty sure girls would be crawling all over him if they knew.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” The challenge in her tone surprised her more than it seemed to surprise him. It was a curse that whenever she got horny, she got bratty. The more turned on she was, the brattier she acted. And right now, her heart was pulsing in rhythm with her clit.

Ambrose arched a brow. “It seemed like you enjoyed yourself, but I like to ask subs outright. It’s better to have clear communication than be left guessing and get it wrong.”

“That’s very responsible of you.”

“I’m not an asshat Dom. I care about what subs want and feel.”

In that case, I want to feel you inside me.

She squirmed, suddenly flushed.

“What was that thought?” He narrowed his eyes. “You just gave me the naughtiest look I’ve ever seen.”

She smiled slyly. He wasn’t going to get it that easily.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“You’ll have to guess, Sir.”

Keen interest stirred in his gaze. “Someone wants to play again?”

She stayed quiet, refusing to deny or confirm. Let him figure it out. Playing coy was one of her favorite games, and it drove good Doms crazy.

“Tell me the dirty thought you just had,” he ordered. The rumble in his voice made her shudder.

“How do you know it was dirty?”

“It wasn’t?”

Many thoughts about him were dirty. She merely smirked.

“Should I force the answer from you?” He shifted as if he were uncomfortable, which only made this more fun. “You like role-play. Should I interrogate you?”

“Sharp metal objects are a hard limit.”

He chuckled. “How about spanking?” Did his hand just twitch? “Is that a hard limit?”

God, she hadn’t been spanked in ages. It’d give her a good idea of what his potential was. Slightly, she shook her head.

A second later, he swung her over his knee. She yelped in surprise. Changing into a short skirt and leggings when she’d gotten home had been an excellent idea. Would he do what he’d promised in the club and pull them down?

Fuck.
She was wet already. Her breasts poured out of her bra—a hazard of being a DDD—and her nipples tightened.

But she wasn’t easily cowed, and he needed to know that. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by a hand spanking? Please. I’ve played with canes, Sir.”

He chuckled. While she hung over his legs, she wondered if he was the kind of Dom who could make her scream. Unlikely with just his hand. Maybe he had a belt he could take off. Or she could get her toy box from the other room . . .

Smack.

“Ouch!” A wide streak of heat spread from where he’d hit her. “Where did you get the paddle?” Did he keep one in his back pocket?

“That was my hand, sweetheart. Still not impressed?”

Whack.

“Fuck.”

He paused then ran his hand over her ass, soothing the sting there. Maybe she was slightly impressed. He had a fucking hard hand.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinking, or should I keep going?”

After two smacks? He had to be kidding.

“Huh? Did you say something? I just dozed off.”

He laughed, making her body shake against his. “Such a little brat.”

Yes, Sir!

“Your safeword is ‘red,’” he said, serious now. “If you don’t want to play, I suggest you say so now. Otherwise, you’re agreeing to be mine. For now.”

He waited. She pursed her lips.

“Since you have a safeword, I’m taking your stubborn silence as consent.” With that, he lifted her skirt and yanked her leggings down, taking her panties with them.

Holy shit. He doesn’t fuck around.

She dug her fingers into his legs and braced herself. Was she afraid of him? There weren’t many Doms that could inspire that in her. That sliver of fear, of uncertainty, was one of her favorite parts. She clenched her thighs together to relieve the ache there.

“Fuck, you have a gorgeous ass,” he mumbled.

Her face heated. Men loved it because it was round enough to grab onto, to hold while they fucked her, or to take a good beating.

Grunting, he adjusted himself underneath her body, muttering something about her killing him. She wasn’t sorry.

A moment later, he brought his hand down on one naked cheek. Hard. She gasped and shut her eyes as the pain peaked then faded. But then he did it again, just as hard. And again. He fell into a rhythm quickly—slow enough to make her feel each one, fast enough that she didn’t have time to recover before the next one landed. And he wasn’t holding back.

Her bratting must have hit a nerve for him to spank her so hard. Still, she was known in the scene for being a stubborn bottom. She had plenty of cushion back there.

Minutes went by, and he kept going faster and harder. At least it felt harder. Her ass was burning now. Worse than the last session she’d had with George, a top from the club. And he’d used an actual paddle.

Unable to stop herself, she started to squirm, trying to dodge the blows. He held her easily and kept up his unrelenting assault. Damn, he had a hard hand.

The pain was intense and she started to kick, then twist to free herself. Tears pricked her eyes. She was gasping for breath. But no way would she safeword for a fucking hand spanking.

Her suffering became obvious, to her shame, when she couldn’t keep the yelps and whimpers in anymore.

“Ambrose,” she finally pleaded, in a voice almost too small to hear.

He stopped.

“Did you have something to say about my hand?” He rubbed his hand over her sensitive skin.

Her thighs clenched as wetness pooled there. God, how could she be so horny after that?

When she didn’t answer, he flipped her to kneel between his legs. Her face was probably bright red, but she hoped he didn’t see the tears in her eyes. Thankfully, she managed not to let them fall. She was putting her reputation to shame. What kind of brat cried during a hand spanking?

“A brat masochist.” He
tsk
ed. “You
are
a handful, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer, figuring the question was rhetorical. Also, she didn’t want to embarrass herself with a trembling voice.

“Did you think I couldn’t hurt you? Hmm?”

She nodded.

“And now what do you think?”

He wouldn’t let her get away with not answering, she was sure of it. After a deep breath, she pulled herself together and said, “You have a hard hand, Sir.”

Chuckling, he ran his hand down her hair, tenderly, as if it would make up for the other pain he caused. It didn’t. “I know you’ve played with canes, but I’m not the kind of guy to jump into that. I need to know your pain tolerance first. Not to mention, I call the shots here. Not you. I don’t tolerate topping from the bottom.”

“But, Sir . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’m so good at it.”

He laughed. “I don’t doubt it. But that’s what frustrates you about other Doms, isn’t it? They let you get away with it. You know deep down inside, that’s not really what you want.”

She kept her gaze on the floor to keep him from seeing the truth in her eyes. No need to show him everything all at once.

But he wasn’t having it. With his hand under her chin, he lifted her head so she had to look at him. “Am I right?”

Their gazes locked. His blue eyes seemed to search her, pull answers from her without her permission.
Shit.
She was used to building walls, and here came Ambrose, looking in the window. He wouldn’t let her hide.

She nodded, feeling warm and safe for some reason. Maybe, just maybe, he could really handle her. Was it too much to hope? To trust?

“Good girl.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Her muscles turned to Jell-O, making her want to melt onto the floor.

“Now let’s go back to the beginning.” He let go of her face then folded his hands together. “Tell me, brat. What was that naughty thought you had earlier?”

Rolling her eyes, she asked, “I’m supposed to remember that now?”

“Yup. Do you need some inspiration to help you?” He started to pull her back over his knee.

“No!” She struggled and he let her go, smirking the whole time.
Bastard!
Pouting at him, she said, “You said you wanted to know what a sub wants and feels. Well, I thought in my head, I wanted to feel you inside me.”

He stared at her for a long time. It was supposed to be a joke. He wasn’t laughing.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Really?”

“It was an errant thought. And meant to stay in my head!” She gave him her best evil glare.

In less than a second he had a handful of her hair tight in his fist. Wrenching her head back, he growled, “Don’t you glare at me.”

“I wasn’t!” she cried. “That’s just my face!”

A laugh burst from his mouth then echoed in the room. She almost smiled. He shook his head. “You are really asking for it, girl.”

“Nooo.” It came out whinier than she’d meant. “I’m sore already.”

He released her hair and she rubbed her aching scalp. God, he hurt her so good.

“So you want me to fuck you?” he asked, as if they were negotiating where to eat for dinner.

Was
fuck yes
too desperate? “If that’s what you want.”

He sucked in a breath. “You have no idea.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Everly shivered at the intensity in his eyes, like he was fighting with himself and losing. Maybe she’d jumped the gun when it came to propositioning him.