How to Discipline Your Vampire (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cerise

“Bizzy is . . . ,” I said, pausing to collect my thoughts. “Bizzy is
my
Domme, so to speak.”

William’s eyes went wide. “You’re a switch?” he asked, completely perplexed. “And Bizzy’s a woman?” He held up his hands. “Not that I’m judging . . .”

I laughed, and replied, “Oh, she’s all woman.” I snickered. “Bizzy’s my nickname for my very bossy vagina. She calls all the shots.”

“Like, your busy beaver?”

“Oh God, not
busy,
B-I-Z-Z-Y.”

William seemed stunned for a second, then doubled over laughing. He shook his head. “Well, I suppose some of your dialogue with Bizzy makes sense, then. Although I’m a bit weirded out that she talks in such a high-pitched voice.”

Oh—my—God, Bizzy has a
voice
?

I just smiled and pretended I knew that.

“So, do you have a name for my . . . business?” he asked shyly.

I bit my lip and decided whether or not to tell him what Bizzy had dubbed his junk.

“Ahh,” I began, “are you sure you want to know? This name was Bizzy’s call, not mine,” I said defensively.

He smiled and approached me slowly. “Tell me,” he cooed, “
please
.”

I ground my teeth and reluctantly answered, “Apollo.”

One eyebrow flew up. “Like the Greek god?” he asked, smirking.

I nodded. “And like the space shuttle. Worthy of worship, and takes me to the moon.”

William scooped me up and planted a not-so-sweet kiss on my lips, whispering, “How about I formally introduce Apollo to Bizzy, then?”

I nodded so hard I got a crick in my neck. Luckily, William was able to work out all the kinks.

Literally.

Emphasis on the word
KINK
.

Rawr
.

“Sup, bitch?”

“What’s new?” I asked, trying not to look annoyed.

Erin took a long swig of her tea, eyes never leaving mine. “Oh nothing with me,” she droned, “except I heard an interesting rumor about you,” she said cryptically.

“It’s true,” I said, “I did swipe all the good jeans at Nordstrom.” I smiled and held up my bag, triumphantly. “Fifty percent off!”

Erin flicked her eyebrows up at me, and blew into her hot drink. I realized our routine was beginning to get a little stale. I took no pleasure in our long, tea-soaked talks anymore. “No, I heard your submissive is moving in with you.”

“William moved in last week,” I said, grinning broadly. “He’s just about unpacked.” I snickered to myself at the private joke.

“Lemme guess: You’re already having vanilla sex with him, aren’t you?”

My face completely gave me away. I made a mental note to never, ever play poker. “We have plenty of flavors at our house,” I said with enthusiasm, “and vanilla can be very tasty.”

She crossed her arms so forcefully, her boobs squished up to her neck. “And what’s next? Sex in those awful flannel pajamas on weekends? Or, better yet, rushing through sex so you can watch your favorite TV shows together?”

I just rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the barrage of bitch she was throwing at me.

She pursed her lips and spoke again, condescendingly. “And I suppose I won’t see you at any more munches or play parties now that you’ve settled down.”

“Oh no,” I clarified, “you’ll probably see us
more
. Just because I’m committed, doesn’t mean we won’t be having fun. Lots of it.” I smiled again, broadly, and slurped down the rest of my Frappuccino, since Erin’s mood had sapped some of my positive energy.

She just grunted and rolled her eyes, then looked at her phone. It had buzzed, nearly knocking her drink over with the force of the vibration.

Her face became vacant as she read the text message. “No, ah, good for you guys . . . ,” Erin said, shoving her phone in her bag and blinking back tears. “I need another Splenda.”

She rushed over to the little beverage cart and fiddled with the napkins, sugar, and little stirring sticks for a solid minute while I stared at her back, wondering what the fuck was going on.

“What’s new with work?” I asked once she had settled back down.

“Ah, new boss. Douchebaggy-dude whose dad owns shares in the company. It’s fucking horrendous. How about you? Getting ready for summer vacation?”

I nodded wordlessly. I didn’t want to tell her how William wanted me to get a full-time position. And I certainly didn’t tell her how much that prospect terrified and nauseated me.

“How’d you hear we had moved in together?” I asked, changing the subject, curious that something so recent and so personal had gotten around to Erin without my telling her.

She blinked furiously again, “Actually it was, Br—” she started to say, then sobbed, “Brent.”

I leaned in, confused. “Erin?”

She pulled her phone back out, and showed me the message that had dismayed and upset her.

It was from Brent.

IT’S OVER.

“Everything okay?” William asked as I walked in.

I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the drama from the tea date. “Erin’s going through a rough patch. It’s fine. She just needs to work some things out.”

“You want to talk?”

I huffed loudly. “I don’t even share
my
dirty laundry. Why should I share Erin’s?”

He held his hands up defensively. “You just look ruffled.”

“I’m fine. Actually, I want to spank the hell out of something, so it may as well be you.”

He dropped his drawers and shuffled silently toward the bedroom, snickering softly.

Truth was, I did indeed feel ruffled. I felt like Erin’s breakup was somehow my fault, although I have no idea why. I hadn’t been with Brent in months, and the fact that I had moved in with someone should cement our nonrelationship even more. Still, there was something unsettling about the timing of it all.

And even though she was a stone-cold bitch, I felt bad for Erin. She was happy with Brent. Maybe he pulled the commitment stuff with her, and she shot him down, too.

Whatever. It was not my business.

And speaking of business, by the time I got to the bedroom, William was naked and prone on the bed.

“Get on the spreader bar rack instead,” I said, pointing to my newest toy.

I guess
toy
is a bit of an understatement.

William suggested I invest in some high-end bondage furniture, so I figured go big or go home.

The rack was perched in the corner of our bedroom by the closet. We had used it once or twice in the last week because I liked how immobile it kept him. He didn’t appear to be able to break out of it, so it gave more of an illusion of control.

I pulled on a vinyl red catsuit with a black racing stripe down each side, and laced up my baddest boots. He watched from the apparatus, licking his lips.

“I said I wanted to spank. Strap yourself facing inwards.”

He made the adjustment quickly. “Sorry, Mistress Cherry. My humblest apolo—”

Crack
went the paddle on his ass. I held back slightly so I wouldn’t break yet another piece. This one was wood with leather stretched over the entire thing. I think the slight stretch in the leather helped keep it together.

Whack.

“Green.”

Whack-whack
. The paddle grazed both cheeks.

“Mistress,” he grunted, “may I be honest?”

“Yes.”

“Please use the cane,” William moaned, “I want to
feel
it.”

Whack.

“You can’t feel this?”

I saw him tense. “It’s very light. I think the cane may actually sting.”

I trudged toward the toy box with a heavy heart. This wasn’t really working, was it? The illusion of domination, the remote semblance of punishment. I drew the cane out from its sheath and smacked it against my palm.

Sting it did.

“Tell me how this feels, William.” I brought the cane down hard against the backs of his thighs.

“Green.”

I smacked him again, harder. “That’s not how you feel, William. It’s what you want. Now tell me how it feels.”
Smack-smack
.

“Good.”

I knew by the brevity and tone that he was lying.

“Get down.”

“Mistress—”

“Actually, don’t get down,” I said, teeth clenched painfully. “Break out of it.”

“You don’t want that.”

I smacked the cane fruitlessly against his buttocks and it snapped in half. “Don’t tell me what I want.”

With an angry grunt, William snapped the shackles around his hands and feet. The bolts and all tore right out of the rack, and he stood before me naked and broken-cuffed.

And steaming mad.

He took a small step toward me, face grim. “Was that necessary, Mistress?”

I picked the pieces of the cane up from the floor. “Are you questioning me?”

“Yes. Why couldn’t we just play like we always do?”

I pointed my finger into his chest, pushing against his skin. “Because you basically told me I wasn’t doing it right.”

Still, he remained immobile and looming over me. “I was just being honest. You told me to tell you what I want. And what I wanted was to feel more than a light brush.”

I scoffed. “And what I wanted was a piece of furniture that could actually hold you.”

“You made me break out.”

“I had to dispel the illusion of what we were doing. Face it, William, the power exchange will always be this way. You being fucking supernaturally strong, and me pretending to be what you need.”

Finally, his grim expression fell. “You
are
what I need.”

“Exactly what you need, or the closest thing you could find?”

He stroked my face and I looked away. He let his hand drop. “Exactly.”

“But I can’t punish you.”

“Not in the traditional way, I guess, but we could always try other ways. We’ve done a few things that would qualify,” he said with a small smirk.

“William, we may be happy, but neither of us are getting our needs completely met.”

He sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

I staggered back, expecting him to tell me once more how wrong I was. “I—I could try to punish you harder. I could work out at the gym.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’ve told you twice now that I love you, and you don’t reciprocate the sentiment.”

“I asked you to move in with me,” I said incredulously. “And you’re my boyfriend now.”

He walked out into the kitchen. He stood by the counter. “You hide yourself from me in plain sight. You won’t even let me look through your recipe box.”

I snatched it away before he could make a move toward it. “It’s private.”

“And my journals aren’t?”

“It doesn’t work that way. You asked me to read them. I’m asking you
not
to read these. Stop being so fucking nosy.”

“Nosy? I want to read them so I don’t repeat a scene. It’s not like I want to read about your sexploits with ex-boyfriends.”

I swear he used the word on purpose. “They weren’t boyfriends and you know that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you only tell me about your past when you’re drunk?”

I slapped him across the face.

“Green,” he said with a smile.

“I told you what you need to know—that I was traumatized by a high school prank and it caused me to lose my relationship with my dad. What do you need, a diagram?”

He moved toward me. He didn’t touch me, but his demeanor softened. “Just let me in, Cerise.”

“I did. You live in my house.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He pushed his black hair out of his eyes, and I could see he was hurt.

“I’m going out for a run.”

I nodded, and he dressed and left.

Was I right to keep some distance between us? I had already taken a huge step with him, couldn’t he just be happy with that? I thought back to his past and his fears of abandonment, and chastised myself.

What was going on in that head of his? I need to stop hurting my poor, broken vampire.

When he got in, we’d talk. He deserved more from me.

He deserved love. And perhaps I was ready to give it.

I spent some time on the couch, reading more of his recent journals and swooning. Good thing I was lying down, otherwise I probably would have ended up on the floor, passed out from arousal.