How to Discipline Your Vampire (22 page)

Or love. My mind skimmed over the word, so I thought about it again.

Love.

Love.

What I felt for William was love, and it was glorious.

I heard the door open and close softly, and William gently padded into the bedroom. I assumed he went in to see me, but when he didn’t emerge for ten minutes, I wondered what was going on.

“William?” I asked loudly. “Come here, I want to talk.”

He emerged from our room with my planbooks in his hands. “So do I.”

Shit
.

He tossed five of the books onto the couch. “Care to tell me about these, Cerise?”

I shrugged, pretending to feel nonchalant about his discovery. “That’s where I write out our scenes. Well, not our scenes, necessarily, just the role-play ideas that come into my mind.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “That’s an understatement.” He fingered the pages, flipping wildly. “Cerise, there are ten years’ worth of scenes in these books.”

“Well, some are past scenes,” I huffed. “But yes, I do have plans that go into the future. What’s the problem?”

“The problem?” he asked, voice raising awkwardly. “Cerise, this is fanatical. You have planned out role-play scenes for three days a week, fifty-two weeks of the year, for ten years. I know you have your quirks, but this is just . . .”—he trailed off—“insane.”

“How dare you,” I spat. “You have journals detailing your miserable whining for much longer than that. What’s the difference?”

He dropped the rest of the stack. “The difference is that the journals are real. You have clearly spent entire months of your life planning out things that never even happened. Cerise,” he said passionately, “what happened to make you do this?”

I crossed my arms and backed away from him.

“Oh, so this is clearly a product of some psychosis? What if I’m just a creative and organized person who borders on OCD?”

His tone softened. “Honey, this isn’t normal.”

“You’re not normal—you’re a
vampire
! We’re not normal,” I said, shaking my head, mortified. “Fuck normal.”

“Why don’t we shelve these for a while? Spend a month just being spontaneous.” He picked the books off the floor and put them protectively under his arm.

I snatched them back. “No.”

“No?”

“But I’ll let you keep this one, since that’s the one we’re on. You can get a jump on this month. I expect to do the fan scene on Monday.”

He took a deep breath and spun on his heel. “I’ll start my homework, then,” he grunted and disappeared.

I forgot to tell him I loved him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

William

Dear Miss Norrel,

I’m so excited to have won the “Date with Cerise Norrel” contest from
E! News
. You have been my favorite actress for years, and to finally get to meet you is a dream come true. I loved your comedic side in
Work It, Girl,
and truly,
Running Out
was a nonstop thriller. Your acting is so versatile, and you’ve never chosen a bad role. I really hope that the next year is an Oscar year for you, Cerise. Anyway, I just wanted to say again how much I’m looking forward to finally meeting you and getting a chance to know you. I promise I won’t be a weird creepy stalker fan, haha.

Sincerely,

William Gentry

Luckiest Contest Winner on Earth

I sat back and smiled at my handiwork. Sometimes I took my scene responsibilities too seriously, so today’s lighthearted theme should be fun. After our little spat, I figured I should do a scene that was on the less serious side, just to loosen her up. Show her I wasn’t mad.

Aside from small arguments, things have been . . . wonderful. I was still in awe of all that has transpired. I really couldn’t be happier. Aside from the strange text messages she’s been receiving for the last few days—ones she refuses to talk about, I might add—things have never been better.

Cerise fit into my life like a puzzle piece that’s been under the couch for years.

I sent the “fan mail” off to Cerise during her lunch break—she had told me how much faster the day goes by because of my correspondences, so I made sure to send her at least a little note every day, even on surprise days. Today, instead of an e-mail, I had flowers delivered with that little card.

They were, however, exceptionally steamy and sensual. I was getting quite good at writing smut.

Today I set up our bedroom like an intimate café, a quaint Italian bistro. I had baked fresh bread earlier, and was working on a good recipe for gelato when someone left a package at the door. I ignored it for the time being and poured the silky mixture into the ice cream machine to freeze.

The plaid tablecloth was set, the silverware polished to a perfect shine, and I was dressed in my most casual of outfits—a concert tee paired with some ripped jeans and a camera around my neck. I wanted to look the part of a fanboy, and I think I managed to nail the look. I even threw on—heaven forbid Harvey ever saw this—a baseball cap. Today I was a member of Red Sox Nation.

Soon the truck pulled in and I held the camera to my eyes, ready to snap some photos of my favorite actress.

“Miss Norrel! Miss Norrel!” I shouted as I clicked the camera wildly. I ran up to her and shook her hand vigorously. “You’re even more beautiful in person!” I exploded, gushing compliments at this goddess of an actress.

Cerise’s face bloomed with a scarlet blush and she lowered her eyes. Even though this was just a scene, I loved the effect my compliments had on her. It was like she had no idea how beautiful she was.

“William, a pleasure,” she said, holding out her hand for me to escort her inside. “I’m glad my publicist set up this contest,” she purred, lowering her dark sunglasses and looking me up and down. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

I smiled, escorting her to the “café.” “You’re more than I expected,” I breathed. “Please, sit.”

She sat demurely at the table and placed the folded napkin in her lap. Her dinner sat under a large silver dome and I removed it with gusto. “The chef sent over his finest dish for you, Miss Norrel,” I stammered, “Kobe beef meatballs and homemade pasta in a Barolo wine sauce.”

She licked her lips not so subtly, and corrected me. “Please, call me Cerise.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Wow,” I said, grinning.
“Cerise.”

“Tell me a little about yourself, William,” she asked, daintily cutting into a meatball and tasting. Her face spoke of culinary pleasure as I told her about my life as a perpetual graduate student.

“How about you?” I asked, leaning over the table, eager to hear her answer. “What projects are you working on? Any role you’re trying to get?” I asked.

She shrugged, and speculated on a few roles she’d like. “I got turned down for the role of a pierced, tattooed crime solver, which was a disappointment.”

“You’re too delicate to play such a harsh woman,” I chided. “Your features are too gentle—and I couldn’t imagine that face of yours with all those piercings.”

She smiled, and said, “You’d be surprised at just how edgy I can be. I’m actually quite
harsh
myself. Commanding.”

I cleared her empty plate, and headed toward the kitchen to grab dessert. “You? Commanding? I can’t picture it,” I said, quickly returning with our black raspberry gelato.

“Would you like me to prove it to you?” she asked with a sinister smile, and pulled my chair next to hers. We were same-siders now—and despite my usual hatred for same-siders, I complied happily.

She smirked as I placed the dessert in front of her and took my seat. “Now,” she said, voice lower and decidedly sexier, “feed me my gelato, William.”

“With pleasure,” I said, dipping my spoon into the soft confection and raising it to her perfect, full lips. She parted them with rapture, and I slid the gelato into her mouth smoothly, her tongue lapping up the residue. I reminded myself to refrain from coming in my pants.

“Good?” I asked, barely able to form words while watching her reaction to the dessert’s flavor.

“Unreal,” she said. “More,
now
.” She opened her mouth again, and her eyes rolled back as she tasted my creation.

“I wouldn’t say that having me feed you is terribly harsh, Cerise. You’re being too hard on yourself.” I smiled, and continued to feed her.

She paused before the next bite to speak. “I want you to check outside the door and make sure the chef is busy,” she whispered, eyes shifty. I complied and smirked.

When I returned to the table, she had another surprise command for me. “I want you to touch me under the table,” she breathed. “Make sure nobody comes into our private dining room,” she said, and I locked the door behind me.

I sat in my chair, reached under the tablecloth, and found her spread thighs easily. I moaned as she pushed her legs wider apart, my fingers gliding up slowly. I watched her chest heave as the fingers of my right hand found their way inside her. She had kicked off her panties while I was “checking on the chef,” and I felt a moment of surprise when my fingers met warm wetness instead of lacy fabric.

“I love how cold your fingers are,” she whimpered as I rubbed and pleasured her. She threw her head back rapturously and watched with half-closed eyes.

“Yes,” she grunted, thrusting her hips at me, meeting my dexterous fingers. I bit my lip, barely able to keep my pants on.

“Can you believe you’re doing this?” she asked, breathing heavily. “Can you believe you’re fingering
the
Cerise Norrel in the middle of a restaurant?” I pulled my fingers out, licked them slowly, and plunged them back inside her.

“Thank you,” I responded simply.

“You’re letting that camera of yours go to waste, you realize,” she taunted. My eyes widened.

I picked it up, tentatively. “You’d let me . . . ,” I said, trailing off.

“I’ll even sign them,” she said, winking.

I pulled the chair out a little so that the tablecloth was no longer covering our exploits. She sat there, spread out beautifully, with my fingers pulsing inside her. Her dress was hiked above her waist, bunched in the sexiest way. I took a picture of her rapt face first.

“You can go lower,” she said, thrusting slowly as I photographed our intimate moment. She groaned.

She unbuttoned the first three buttons of her belted shirt dress, exposing her impressive décolletage. “Or here,” she said, now pulling the shoulders of the dress down until she was just in a cream-colored satin bra. One I gave her recently. I snapped away, unable to pull my eyes from her.

She cupped her breasts in both hands, pinching her nipples through the fabric.
Click
.

“The paparazzi would probably pay nearly a million dollars for these photos,” she said, unhooking her bra and spilling her gorgeous nude flesh for the camera. “But I trust you, William.”

Click. Click. Click
. This woman was a natural.

Finally, she pulled the entire dress off and sprawled out on the table, a fucking vixen for my greedy camera. I couldn’t click fast enough.

“How about you put that camera on video mode and fuck me. We can watch later,” she panted, and within seconds, I was pantsless and inside her.

“Oh,” she grunted, feigning surprise at my speed. She gripped my ass as I let my passions out. Cerise knew how to draw out a scene. She knew how to make me work for her. By the time she was usually ready for penetration, I was usually at my breaking point.

I loved it.

My mistress owned me completely.

The tablecloth bunched beneath her as I held her hips and pushed rhythmically. I knew just how fast she liked it, and always kept that pace unless she asked me to slow down or speed up.

“Faster,” she begged, and I knew today was a day where she wanted it rough. So I roughed it up and ground into her deeply.

“More,” she insisted, and I pushed myself to the limit. I knew that any faster or harder might hurt her, so I let myself get as rough as I could without crossing that line. It was working, clearly, because beneath me she spasmed and grunted and came hard.

“Come
now,
” she ordered, and I was happy to obey as usual.

She sat up and rolled her shoulders, stretching. “I think this may be a role I’d like to reprise, William,” she said, gesturing to the camera. “How was my performance?”

I smiled, and tugged my pants back up. “Your best yet.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cerise

After I had dressed and showered, I remembered William had mentioned there was a package waiting. I brought it inside and helped myself to a second serving of gelato. We sat down at the table together, chatting about the day’s events, as I peeled back the tape on the brown package and reached inside.

And gasped.

There was a ring box. “William!” I exclaimed, and opened it, revealing a small diamond ring. I dropped it as though it were burning hot.

Then I recognized the diamond and the setting. I had seen this before.

My breath shuddered, and I pulled the other contents out of the box.

Pictures and a letter.

The pictures on top were of me in a bridal gown. William grabbed them, took one look, and grimaced with disgust.

“What haven’t you told me?” he growled helplessly. The fear, sadness, and anger in his voice melted together into a discordant low whine. He was in pain.

He snatched all the contents out of my hands and flipped through the other pictures, and I wanted to cover his eyes. There were pictures of me, naked, dominating another man.

Brent.

Lastly was a note. He slid it across the table.

I took it gingerly, and winced at the pictures. I read the note silently and crumpled it.

“Motherfucker,” I spat.

He folded his arms and spoke. “Oh, so your husband was fucking your
mother
in those pictures?”

“He was
not
my husband,” I said through my teeth. “He was my sub. That was a scene.”

He threw his hands up. “If that was a scene, then why did he mail you this package? This DIAMOND? I thought you broke up a long time ago,” he said. “Or
divorced
. Whichever.”

I sighed, and answered, “It was a scene, William. He did it because he wanted it to be real. He wanted a commitment. Somehow he heard that you moved in with me, and thinks that he should come back now that I’m ready to
settle down
.”

He made a low whistle. “This is settling down? Moving in with your submissive? You don’t even love me.”

“That’s not true.”

He held up his hands. “I don’t even know you. You were fucking married and I didn’t even know.”

“I said that was a scene!”

“Why should I believe you? For all I know, you were hiding your past because of your ex-husband. Or, he could be your estranged husband. You could still be married for all I know.”

I seized his shoulders. “William, it was just a scene. I was never married.”

“Did you love him?” he asked, eyes searching my face.

I breathed in deeply and exhaled the truest words I had ever spoken. “You are the only man I have ever loved.”

His expression was unmoved. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been baiting me into this conversation for weeks! You’ve been pushing a commitment on me! Now you’re telling me you don’t believe me when I tell you I love you?”

He began to back away toward the door. “This whole thing just makes me realize how much I don’t know about you. Your past. Your exes. Hell, finding those planbooks was certainly an eye-opener.”

“Give me time.”

“What progress have you made since we had that serious talk about our future, Cerise? Have you applied for jobs?”

I crossed my arms sternly. “No.”

“Then how can I take you seriously? How can I trust you?”

I took his hands. “Because you submit to me. You show me your most vulnerable side and I take care of your needs. You lay yourself at my feet and you love it.”

He slipped his cool hands out of my grasp and turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

I made no move toward him. He was angry and had to blow off some steam—fine.

“When will you be back?” I asked, mentally planning ahead if he wasn’t able to make tomorrow’s scene. Maybe he’d go into work, or hang out with his niece for a while.

He sighed loudly and turned back to look at me. His expression spoke of his decades of loneliness. “Never.”

My hand flew to my mouth to muffle the strangled cry.

“Dominance and submission are just fine for the body, but not for the heart. I just don’t trust you with mine anymore.” His speed propelled him out my door and out of sight as I sunk against the wall in utter shock and despair.

William was gone.