Playing Hard to Master (9 page)

This wasn’t satisfying her the way it did when a Dom handled her. But all she needed was the pain. She could do without the mastery.

The lie was hard to swallow, but she forced herself to push thoughts of Ambrose and permanence and how badly she yearned for something real away.

A moment later, she heard the telltale swishing sound of a cane slicing through the air. But it didn’t land on her. Troy tested it out a few more times, making her flinch.

“I’ll start slow,” he said. “Over your skirt at first. Okay?”

She nodded. The club safeword was “red.” If she yelled it and Troy didn’t stop, people would come running.

Her muscles tightened in anticipation, and she tried to relax with a deep inhale.

A voice caught her attention. Every hair on her body rose. It was far away at first, but then it became clearer, and closer. She turned her head, searching for the owner.

There, in the corner near Konstantin, was Ambrose.

And he was staring at her.

“Stop,” she blurted.
Fuck.
Why had she done that?

Troy stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Ambrose. “Are you safewording or is this how you like to play?”

Leaving him hanging for a minute, she tried to focus, to pull her attention away from Ambrose, to forget he was there. He wasn’t hers, she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t there for her.

Focus on Troy.

She had a chance for a good bottoming experience. What did it matter that Ambrose was there? God, she could practically feel his gaze on her body, hot and weighted.

Ugh! It was too hard to concentrate. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against the cross.

“Red,” she finally said with a sigh.

Troy gave her a mildly annoyed look then started untying her. She wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t form. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ambrose stalk toward them, seeming to get bigger and more menacing with each step.

Damn.
Maybe she could stay here and he’d play with her.

She gave her head a shake. No. She shouldn’t let him play with her until he answered some questions. She so wasn’t up for a repeat of what’d happened with Scott.

Once untied, she turned around, just as Ambrose reached them.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Troy looked back and forth between them. “You didn’t tell me you had a Dom.”

“I don’t.”

He looked again then snorted and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said to Ambrose, who merely nodded.

Silent guy code? With an angry grunt, she turned to Troy, who was already walking away, “I said—”

“Can we talk?” Ambrose asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “You totally just . . . cane-blocked me.”

“I didn’t make you safeword.”

“I couldn’t concentrate with you watching me.”

“Well, I can’t take my eyes off of you. It’s not my fault.”

Flattery will get you nowhere.
Sighing, she uncrossed her arms and let them hang at her sides. “What do you want?”

“To talk. In private.”

The hot/cold routine wasn’t going to work for her. It had been a week since he’d bolted, and now here he was, acting like it was the next day. She was a bossy, demanding sub with high expectations. He’d already broken communication when he’d shut her out and left with a cold good-bye. “I’m the kind of girl who knows what I want, Ambrose. I won’t let you hurt me.”

He flinched. “Hurt you?” His gaze held hers, steady and a little shocked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, surprising her. She hadn’t realized how much it’d messed her up until she’d said it out loud. Memories surfaced, and with them ugly emotions. When she’d fallen for Scott and he’d started to play with others, the humiliation had hurt worse than the betrayal. If she was going to get into another real relationship, she wasn’t going to be the first one to fall head over heels. Everything needed to be spelled out so she wouldn’t embarrass herself again.

“Jesus. I’m sorry, Everly.” He glanced around them then gestured to a quieter area in the back. “Can we please sit? Just for a minute?”

Her resolve faded with the apology. She hadn’t expected that. A lot of Doms were too cocky to say sorry when they fucked up. It meant a lot that he had. Nodding, she followed him to a booth and slid in across from him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The honesty in his eyes softened her anger. “I have issues. You rattled me, and I got . . .”

“Scared?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so. Look. I don’t usually do relationships. I stick to superficial stuff. But you got in my head. I tried to shut you out, but then Kon texted me that you were here—”

“What?”
Tattletale.
She almost laughed.

“And I couldn’t bear the thought of you playing with anyone else.”

“I’m not yours.”

He leaned in and smiled. “You were the other night.”

Hell yeah, she was. Memories surfaced, making her stomach flutter. He was one of the only Doms who could handle her, that could make her eat her bratty words, give her the pain she needed, fuck her until she screamed. God, if he could get over his stupid man issues, she’d like to keep him. “Maybe so, but that arrangement expired the minute you put walls up between us.”

He nodded. “Okay. I hear you. Can we try again? It’s been a while for me. Can we start over?”

She considered it. Normally, she didn’t go for fixer-uppers. The whole girl-saving-the-tortured-soul thing made her want to puke. But she did believe in second chances. And Ambrose seemed sincere. That he’d humbled himself for her, let himself be vulnerable, spoke volumes about his character. Maybe he could get over this issue—lots of people did.

“Maybe. If you promise to keep the lines of communication open.” She gave him a mischievous look. “And if you take me out on a date.”

“A date?” He arched a brow. “What are we, twelve?”

“I demand a date. I’ll pay if you can’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can pay.”

“Okay. But no playing until then.”

He chuckled. “Such a brat. Do you know how badly I want to put you over my knee right now?”

She smirked and loved the way his eyes darkened at the challenge. She almost wanted to dare him. “Date first. Then maybe if you’re good, I’ll let you.”

“Fuck.” He exhaled loudly and shifted in his seat. “You’re killing me, little brat.”

Grinning, she replied, “Not sorry.”

The smell of the bakery hit him three blocks away. It was the best possible advertising for the place—even better than the TV spots and bus ads Ambrose had taken out as part of his mother’s Christmas gift last year. He’d gotten smacked for that. Although she’d let him loan her the money to open the place, she’d paid him back, and hadn’t accepted any help from him since. Apparently, Christmas gifts weren’t exempt from this rule.

Stubborn.

The happy jingle of the bell was pleasant rather than annoying, and his mother came out of the back immediately. When she saw it was him, she grinned.

“Glenn! There’s a troublemaker out here. You need to come throw him out.”

Jody Langly hugged him hard and stood on her toes to rub a hand over his short hair. “Even when you grow it you look like such a delinquent!”

His father came out of the back, shaking his head, arms crossed.

“Hair, no hair . . . It doesn’t matter. The kid always looks like a goon.” His father shook his hand, and they sized each other up like they did every time they were together. Glenn wasn’t exactly a small man, but he was almost a head shorter than Ambrose. “I could still take you.”

“For now, old wolf. You’re getting a little long in the tooth, there. I’m counting the days.”

His father punched his shoulder and chuckled.

“I can’t believe you left your office! Are you here for a visit or to stock your kick-ass kitchen?” Mom had some serious kitchen envy and made excuses to cook at his place regularly.

“I . . . have a date. I’m just here to pick up fresh bread.”

“Oh my God! Like an actual date?”

Ambrose sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

“But does she know . . .” She made a strange but deliberate gesture, which involved much hand swirling and waggling of eyebrows.

His father facepalmed, then patted her on the back. “I’m sure she knows he’s into kink, dear. Leaving that sort of thing up to chance probably doesn’t turn out well. Unless you meant unicycling? I’m not sure if even he knows whether he’s into that.”

Ambrose snorted at his father’s joke, but thought immediately of Konstantin. Not addressing kink early in a relationship really didn’t turn out well. Maybe he should send Dad over to talk to him and knock some sense into his thick head. Agreeing to marry a stranger? Ridiculous.

“Yes, she knows.” He chuckled. “Is that good enough, or do you want details?” However, she didn’t know about his money. He’d bet his dad would have something to say about that. Guilt crept in.
Fuck. Is it hot in here?

His mother put her hands over her ears. “Oh, just get him the bread he wants while I look for the mental bleach. I think I left some under the sink.” Without so much as a good-bye, she bustled into the back.

“There’s bread in the oven.”

“No bun in the oven?”

“Badum-ching. Yeah. Haven’t heard that one before. What do you want, kid?”

“Hm . . . What’s the best right now?”

“French loaf is ready.”

“That works.”

His dad turned to grab two off the shelf. “Well, I’m glad you’re going to have an actual date. Dwelling on your exes is fine for poets and artists, but the rest of us can’t live off of angst.”

“I’m not angsting.”

He smiled grimly. “Not anymore, but you did for a long time.”

“It was a huge loss to me at the time, and I was just finishing school. Too much changed all at once.” Ambrose shrugged. “We all have our moments of weakness.”

“True enough. I guess if your mother left me you’d find me dead in a ditch somewhere. But we’ve been together since high school. I don’t know how to be me without her.”

“Yeah, I want what you and Mom have. Now stop talking like that. You’re freaking me out.”

Glenn shook himself like a dog coming out of the rain. “Yeah, where the hell did that come from? Anyway, I’m just saying that it’s about damn time you put yourself out there again. You’re not happy single, I can tell that. If your brother never married, it wouldn’t surprise me, but I think you’d live half a life with no partner.”

Oh jeez. No pressure.
“It’s just a date. Don’t start counting on grandchildren just yet.”

His father smiled mysteriously. “Stranger things have happened.” He waved and walked off, presumably in search of Jody. Damn it. He hadn’t waited for Ambrose to pay him again. They were getting sneaky.

Ambrose fished in his wallet, hoping he had cash on him. He smacked fifty bucks down on the counter, pretending he didn’t have anything smaller, and walked out the door. Served them right.

*   *   *

Ambrose had gone through his ingredients list so many times he was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole in it with his eyes. Why had he decided to cook something that had to be made while she was there? If he’d picked something that took a while in the oven, he could have set a timer and put the food on
IGNORE
.

It was at times like this that he wished that alcohol and BDSM weren’t such a bad mix. He could use a drink.

The house was spotless. He’d hired a maid service to give the place a once-over, even though he usually did it all himself. He rehearsed his lies one more time then made himself stop. If it sounded too rehearsed, she’d be suspicious. Why was he so nervous about this? They’d already had an interesting D/s dynamic going, and had mind-blowing sex—there was no reason for him to feel like he’d drunk five pots of coffee today.

Was it the lying, or the food, or was it the potential she represented that set him on edge?

When the bell finally rang, he was staring at his phone, waiting for a “sorry, I’m not showing up” text, even though she wasn’t late. God, this was going to be a mess.

This date thing was too formal. He didn’t do formal.

By the time he got to the door he was almost gasping for breath. What the hell? Maybe she’d think he was working out instead of having a panic attack. But who worked out in jeans and a T-shirt and right before a date?

He swung open the door, and there was Everly, wavy brown and purple hair tumbling around her shoulders, curves that would make a lesser man faint, and one brow arched elegantly over her lovely amber eyes.

“When you said you were house-sitting, I assumed you meant at a house, not a mansion.” She looked around the foyer as he stepped back to let her in, and whistled. “So your buddy from school, he’s loaded? You neglected to mention that.”

Ambrose shrugged. If she hated wealth as much as she seemed to, he was in deep shit. He was planning on telling her the whole truth as soon as she was sold on him, as a person. For goodness’ sake, he’d grown up poor. It wasn’t like he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But still, lying to her made him feel like an ass. She deserved to know the truth, but he couldn’t figure out how to tell her without ruining everything. Especially after running away the other night.

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He took her coat and hung it on the banister, then led the way into the kitchen.

“Holy shit.” Everly turned in a circle, taking in the great room. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the way it made him wince. “Some of this artwork alone could keep the no-freeze shelter open for months.” She went to inspect the paintings that graced the room.

It was difficult not to preen with borrowed pride, considering three of the pieces were Banner’s art, and one was Rook’s. Now, if Ambrose bought himself a Spirograph or something he might be in business, but unless the art was food-related, he was hopeless.

“They were gifts from our friend Banner and his little brother.”

“Are all of your friends rich?”

“Pretty much. Banner and Rook did the paintings themselves though.”

She grimaced. “Wow. So awkward that you’re the only one in your friend group who didn’t make it big. Does it bother you?”

Ambrose bit his lips together and tried to look thoughtful, even though dread was trying to take over.
Fuck!
Three minutes into this date, and things were already falling apart.

“No. They’re all self-made men. Envying someone else’s hard work and luck is pointless.” He walked into the kitchen area, trying to think of a way to change the subject. When she eventually found out about him, hopefully she would have forgotten this conversation. “Besides, I get to use their stuff.” Maybe he should just come clean now, but he wasn’t ready for her to storm out of his life. Yeah, maybe he was chickenshit, but if he just waited a little while longer, she might like him enough to accept him. Right?

He pulled out the ingredients for dinner.

“What are you making?” She was at his elbow, watching what he was doing

“Food. I was planning on doing steak with some side dishes.” He paused. “I forgot to ask. Are you a vegetarian?”

“Is bacon a vegetable?” Everly laughed. “No, you’re safe. I have no qualms about having meat in my mouth.” She glanced at him slyly, and he couldn’t help dropping his gaze to her lips.

Fuck, she gave good head.

“Behave, woman,” he growled teasingly. “You wanted a date, so this is a date. If you wanted me to shove you to your knees and use your naughty mouth, you just had to ask.”

She glared and opened her mouth in mock offense, and he couldn’t resist putting his finger in. Instead of smacking him, as he’d expected, she latched onto his finger, sucking, then nibbling on his fingertip. His cock awoke and clamored for the same treatment.

“Do you need corner time again?”

Everly stepped back, letting his finger slide free from her sexy mouth. “But, Sir, I assumed that was what you wanted me to do. Did I do it wrong?”

Fuck, that was true. She threw him off his game so easily sometimes. “No, you did it too well.”

“Well, then, Sir”—she grinned up at him—“I’ll do my very best to be . . . less pleasing.”

Ambrose had a full body urge to throw her on the counter and show her what happened to bratty little girls. Screaming orgasms, apparently. From a Dom perspective, he was sure that wasn’t right, but it was exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“What does that face mean?” She was holding back a laugh.

He pulled her close and kissed her gently. Without hesitation, she pressed against him, not balking when he deepened the kiss. They kissed for a few minutes, then he pulled her down onto the floor. They grappled, and she ended up on top of him, her legs straddling his in the perfect position to fuck. She rocked her hips, rubbing her pussy against his hard-on, through their clothes. She nipped his bottom lip, and he spanked her ass and growled at her, then rolled her to her back, thrusting against her and frustrating himself in the process. When he stilled, she groaned and tried to coax him into moving again.

It took Herculean self-control to get to his feet and pull her up.

“But why?” she asked, pressing against him.

“Behave. First of all, you wanted a date, so you’re getting a damned date. I’m making dinner, and then we’re going to eat that dinner. We will have an interesting and meaningful conversation, so I can show you how fun and clever I am. Second, I have no intention of coming in my pants. I’m too old for that shit.”

Everly gave a sly laugh and dropped to her knees, then closed her teeth over the shaft of his dick, through his pants. Unable to resist, he grabbed her hair and let her play for a minute before dragging her back to her feet.

“Enough.” His voice croaked, but rather than looking amused, she seemed as horny as he felt.

“Please, Sir?”

He hesitated, wanting to do the right thing, but she was making it so . . . hard. “No.”

She groaned and rubbed against him. “Not even for a second?”

Enough. He spun her around and forced her down over the counter, then spanked the backs of her thighs until she danced from foot to foot. Even through her leggings and little skirt it had to sting.

“Ow, ow, ow!” She squealed and squirmed.

Ambrose had to force himself to stop. Horny sadists had to be careful not to go overboard.

Everly grimaced, which was adorable. He lifted her onto the counter and kissed her nose.

“Now you be a good girl and sit here while I cook dinner.”

“Cruel man.”

“You don’t know the half of it, princess.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and she lowered her gaze.

While she watched, he diced onion, chopped mushrooms, warmed frying pans.

“Who taught you to cook?”

Ambrose shrugged. “My parents, but they mostly bake now that my mom has her bakery. That’s where I got the bread.” He hoped that didn’t make his family sound too rich for Everly, but he was proud of how well his mother had done. The business was doing even better now that his father had retired and joined her. Four hands were better than two.

“Cool. It’s nice to hear about small businesses doing well with multinational corporations taking over everything.” She stretched out on the counter, like a cat. A collar with a bell would be adorable on her. She should also be naked.

He put the steak topping on simmer and tried to focus on making a side dish, instead of fantasizing about taking the scissors out of the drawer and cutting her clothes off. If they ever got into serious D/s, he’d keep her naked whenever possible.

“Can I help with anything?”

Ambrose chuckled. “I don’t think you want to hear my answer to that.”

“What’s so funny? I can cook, you know. Maybe I’m not as fancy as you are, but who can afford steak all the time?”

Hmm . . . Maybe he should have made spaghetti. “Oh, I wasn’t thinking about food, bad girl. I was going to suggest you get naked, but I decided it wasn’t very date-like to say it out loud. And as for the fancy dinner, I have to make sure I impress you now, before some other Dominant snaps you up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could have had me five minutes ago, but you insisted we needed to eat first.”

“You insisted we needed to have a real date. I was all for fucking you as soon as you set foot in the house.” He shrugged. “Besides, maybe we should get to know each other, since I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you.”

He was expecting a smart-ass response, but she blushed and looked away.

Mmm . . . girl . . .