How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (6 page)

He smirked. “It’s hard keeping my hands to myself,” he panted. “All I want to do is touch those perfect tits of yours, but I know keeping my hands behind my back turns you on.”

“That’s right,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

“I love lying beneath you, watching you take from me, watching you get off from riding me just how you want it,” he said, licking his juicy bottom lip wantonly.

“Fuck,” I moaned, raking my hands roughly down his chest as I came. “Aston!” I shouted, grinding my hips into him as I slowly came down from our delicious high.

He looked like he was about ready, too. The naughty books I’ve read always say for the bottom to wait for the top to command them to finish, or at least ask permission. I wondered what Aston would do. His face bore a look of concentration. He was trying to hold back.

“If it will help you finish, you may sit forward and use your hands,” I said.

He remained the way he was. “I like it just like this,” he said, quickening his pace. “If you don’t mind, that is.” Aston smirked.

“Then I’ll use my hands in place of yours,” I whispered, cupping my breasts and giving my nipples a little pinch and pull. This was all Aston needed to fall over the edge. He quivered and thrust beneath me, yet maintained his position with his hands neatly behind his back. Gold star performance. I reached behind him and pulled his arms around me and we finished the last few seconds catching our breath in each other’s arms.

“Are you sure you’ve never subbed before?” I asked as we began to dress and recover from the tryst. “Because you, sir, are born to submit.” I mean, I was totally guessing, but it certainly seemed that way.

He smiled and finished putting on his tie. “I guess it felt right. I wanted to please you, and that made me feel really good.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Understatement of the year.”

He zipped up the back of my dress and touched my elbow. “Have I earned the privilege to introduce you as my date?” he asked, glancing toward the door.

I gave him a smack on the butt. “Yes, and I may actually consider letting you keep the car.”

He chuckled and buttoned up his vest. “You weren’t before? I thought the auction sort of took care of that.”

I shrugged. “We have history, Johnny and me. As long as I can have visitation rights. Plus, once you’re back from LA, I have quite a rigorous schedule for you.”

“Oh really, Mistress? Do tell.”

I pulled his face to mine with a slight pinch. “I’ll give you the details as I see fit,” I hissed. He bit his lip. “But for now, let’s agree that we’re going to need some intensive training to break you in as my submissive. Perhaps I’ll even give you some tasks to perform while you’re away. Skype is very impressive technology for long-distance . . . arrangements.” Thank goodness I’d have enough time with Sarah to learn this stuff before he got back. But not as her roommate. I needed to be on my own.

“I’ll do whatever you ask, whenever you ask. But I don’t want to think about LA right now, I want to dance some more. Then maybe we could, um, practice again.”

“I’m not one to decline an invitation like that,” I said, taking his hand and trying to play it cool as we both exited the boathouse with flushed faces and wicked smiles. I stroked his palm with my thumb.

Aston and I glided onto the dance floor, arms wound around each other, our bodies knotting like ropes.

“I trust you, you know,” he said softly.

I cocked my head. “Isn’t that a bit naïve?” I teased. “You hardly know me.”

Aston pulled me closer. “I know. But it’s in my gut. You just . . . make me want more.” His lips grazed my neck as we danced, entwined, and let the world fall away. I was so charged from our time together, my body surging with new emotions and a confidence high like none other.

I liked this. He liked it, too. I decided that as soon as Sarah’s “play date” was done, I’d formally ask her for some training. Maybe I’d wait a few weeks to move out, in case it pissed her off. But in the meantime, Aston and I could practice more.

Suddenly, he was ripped from our tight embrace.

“Nonna?” he asked, staring at his grandmother, and the tall figure who stood behind him. “Dad?”

The man, who looked like an older, darker version of Aston, grimaced. “We’re putting you on the plane tonight. No more distractions.”

Aston shook his head, pulling away from the old woman’s talonlike clutch. “No, I’ll go in the morning.”

Mr. Delano the elder stepped forward. “I’m tired of your dalliances, tired of your lack of commitment to our family business. You’ll get on a plane tonight and you’ll hire the staff this month like I’ve asked you to. Don’t forget, you were the one asking for more responsibility and this is your chance. Now or never, Aston.”

“I can’t—”

Aston’s father loomed over us, and I could see his siblings gathering behind. Four men and one lone woman, who stood off to the side and looked torn. “Now or never.”

Aston looked over his shoulder at me, eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry.”

I woke up to hands clutching my shoulders, jostling me awake.

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

Groaning, I pushed myself to sitting and opened my eyes to find Sarah’s wide eyes searching my face. “Well?”

I glanced at the clock. It was six fifteen in the morning. “You’re the devil,” I mumbled. “And there’s not much to tell. Let’s talk later.” I unhooked her fingers from my arms and tried to sink back into sleep. Sleep, where I’d forgotten what had transpired yesterday. When I met someone who rocked my world and then lost him within hours.

Yeah, sleep would be better than having to tell her about Aston before I’d even processed it. The wheels on my emotional roller coaster hadn’t stopped spinning.

“Well the playroom’s missing a few items. You at least had some fun, right?”

“Some.”

“Hold on,” Sarah said, running off. “I have just the thing to wake you up.”

The second she was out of my room, my eyes closed. Maybe it was to keep the tears from coming. What an idiot I was, to think that a hoity-toity playboy like Aston would want a relationship with a tattooed mechanic.

I blinked, realizing that was Derek’s voice in my head, not mine.

Yesterday I discovered I was more powerful than I’d thought, and whether or not Aston was going to be around didn’t diminish that acquired dominance. I breathed in deeply and tried to reorient myself. I may have lost Aston, but I was ahead. I sold Derek’s car, earned enough money to get me out of this apartment and on my own, and I had some of the most exciting sex of my life.

All in all, not a total failure. Today could be a new start.

Just then, the door swung open and Sarah scuttled in holding two plates. “They opened a new bakery next door. I’ve been smelling these egg-white breakfast sandwiches since four
AM
. I had to go get some.”

My mouth hung open. “No, just no.”

She nodded and sat with me on the bed. “Seriously, just burn it off! It’s protein, sweetheart, and those nut burgers of yours aren’t enough to keep you healthy. And as for the bread, who cares? Be a little bad as a treat, then be good. It’s kind of like bondage—misbehave so Mistress punishes you, then rewards you.”

Blinking, I gawked at the fluffy sandwich she was offering. It wasn’t huge, and I hadn’t had anything naughty in a week, but this temptation was just too much. I could see melted cheese, for crying out loud! How dare she tempt me this way.

“I’m all set, Sarah. I actually had a really weird night and I think I’ll go for a run since I’m up,” I said, hoping to deflect her with some fitness.

She squinted at me. “Not until you tell me what happened,” she said, taking a bite. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and I watched the foodgasm with jealousy.

I slid off the bed and stood. “No, I’m going to go. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

Sarah stared, stunned. “What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “Nothing, or everything. I don’t know. When I’m done with my run, you’ll get all the dirty details.”

I didn’t even turn around to see her expression, I just grabbed my gym bag and walked out. As I plodded down the stairs, I finally allowed myself a fist pump of victory. I could do this! I could assert myself and branch out on my own.

Alone. For now. But still, progress.

I tried to push thoughts of Aston from my mind, but those unfathomable eyes and full lips haunted me. Before I exited the lobby of our apartment building, I took out my key and checked my mailbox. I typically never checked it because I paid all my bills online and nobody ever used snail mail anymore. But the box was bursting, so I figured I may as well clean it out considering I was in the process of cleaning the junk out of my life as a whole. The usual spam was there—coupons, flyers, and such—but a hot-pink envelope with my name in a fancy scrawl left me scratching my head. It was postmarked Las Vegas.

Using the nail of my long pointer finger, I slit open the envelope and pulled out a stiff, shiny card. There was some paperwork included as well, but I saved that to read later.

Dear Miss Kane,

Congratulations! You’ve been selected to participate in this year’s Miss Pinup Las Vegas pageant. Your success in the pinup modeling industry has not gone unnoticed, and we hope you can join us next month for the big show. Enclosed please find registration forms and the requisite information.

Sincerely,

Aaron Brewer

President of Miss Pinup Las Vegas

I stared at the card in disbelief. I’d heard of this contest for years, but had never entered. And to think that I’d been nominated somehow, that someone had seen my picture and thought I would be a contender? My amazement continued for another minute before I realized this was it.

My ticket out.

I had money, but wasn’t sure where to spend it. I had freedom, but didn’t know what to do with it. I flipped through the paperwork, eyes glazed with the haze of excitement. The grand prize was cash, a sponsorship with the Viva Las Vegas nightclub, and a modeling contract.

Could I really do this? Abandon my life here for parts unknown, a wild adventure?

And could I do it on my own?

There were two paths in front of me—one where I took the
Cosmo
shoot and stayed local in my familiar world, waiting a month until Aston came back, and then what? Or two, I could throw caution to the wind and head to Vegas for this contest. As much as I loved my garage, it could run without me.

These are the thoughts that plagued me as I ran on one of Power Gym’s treadmills. I kept it on the interval setting—having the grading and the speed change on me kept me on my toes and prevented serious thoughts about Aston from flooding my mind. My body tingled at the very thought of him. When I hopped off the machine, my legs wobbled from overuse and they felt like they did after my orgasm yesterday—invigorated, thrumming with power, but weak-kneed. And when I showered, feeling the hot water cascade down my body, I was reminded of his hot kisses on my skin and the way they seared. My forehead fell forward onto the cool tile wall as I let out a sob.

But I couldn’t give in to it—I couldn’t.

I had big things ahead of me.

If I had the guts to do them.

When I got back to my car, I picked up the card and paperwork again, deciding I should read through them thoroughly this time. It was all pretty self-explanatory—pay for airfare and hotel yourself, waivers and whatnot, but details on the last page startled me into action.

The last day to register was Monday and the contest was less than two weeks away.

I fumbled through my glove box to find a pen, and then furiously began scribbling out my information. I didn’t have the luxury of thinking through this—I had to act now. Adrenaline helped my pen slide across the page and within a minute, it was done. I hauled ass to the post office and express mailed it to the pageant headquarters.

Vegas, I’m coming for you.

After the post office, I headed to the garage instead of going back to the apartment. It was the weekend and nobody would be there, so I could lose myself playing with a car while thoughts about my future marinated in my mind. I’d heard once, that when faced with a tough decision, you ought to do something to get your mind off it and your brain would figure it out subconsciously. So I hoped my brain would do all the tough travel planning like plane tickets and the hotel, but then I realized I didn’t have a built-in Expedia app so I just let my mind wander and fantasize about this new beginning for me.

I liked the idea of putting myself on autopilot, so I pulled my hair back and decided to get greasy. I ran into the back room where I kept some key supplies—namely, rollers to set my hair and keep it out of my face—and threw on some dirty jeans and a tank top I didn’t mind destroying.

When I came back into the garage, a Thunderbird awaited me. A ’67 classic, fifth generation, racing-green beauty. It was a hot car, a fast boy, and part of me hated that it reminded me of Aston. It had a rich, raw swagger about it that nagged at the corner of my mind, which made me miss him just hours after we parted. And parted poorly, I might add. So I opened the hood and went to a place where things made sense. Pistons, carburetors, fuses. Nothing about sexy socialites in these lines, just a little grease and some rust. This car needed some love, and that was something I could certainly give it right now.

I lost myself in the restoration. In the wrenches and the spare parts. It was only after the fifth loud knock at the door that I realized I wasn’t alone.

“We’re closed,” I shouted. I wiped my forehead with my wrist, since my fingers were caked with engine grease.

The knocking continued, firm, slow, and insistent. This person wasn’t going anywhere. I glanced around at the other cars and realized that some were very high-end, and this was probably an impatient owner who wanted his baby back. I knew the feeling, so reluctantly I caved and approached the door, hair in rollers, covered in grease.

This better be important.

I pushed the garage door opener and adjusted the red kerchief that was covering my hair. My jeans were already covered in oil so wiping my hands on them one last time to try and appear decent wasn’t going to ruin them.

“What’s the trouble?” I asked the person who must clearly be in need of some serious repairs if they were showing up at my garage like this. The door scrolled up, and revealed dark jeans, then a tight white tee. Damn. If only Aston would dump the J. Crew look for something more like this. If only he’d stayed—

“I’m actually looking for trouble. Can you help?” a cocky, low voice asked just as the door revealed his face.

I gasped and wanted to hide behind the Thunderbird. “Aston?”

“Hey, Mistress,” he said, walking in with a slow stride. This wasn’t the Aston I met yesterday—this was Aston 2.0. His hair was mussed and his long bangs hung over his eye the way I’d imagined, and it looked like he’d ditched his preppy look for a decidedly more punk feel. No Chucks, no wallet chain, but the skinny jeans and tight-ass tee were a definite upgrade.

I put my hands under my kerchief and began pulling the curlers out one by one, letting the messy ringlets fall. “Give me five minutes, I—wait, shouldn’t you be in California right now?”

He moved closer to me and placed his hands on my forearms. “I’d be happy to give you five minutes, but if this is about your hair, I kind of like it.”

“Mistress asked you a question,” I deflected, still stunned by his appearance here. “You should be in California. Explain.” I suavely ran my fingers through my hair, realized I had probably just given myself motor-oil lowlights, and cringed.

“I didn’t want to go.”

I raised an eyebrow. “After that display last night, I’m pretty stunned you’d just say no to your granny.” I didn’t mind shaming him about that—it was weak and he needed strengthening.

“She wasn’t happy,” he laughed. “And neither was my dad. Oh well. They’ll have to deal. I’m branching out.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh well? So are you out of the business?”

Aston shrugged, muscular shoulders flexing beneath his soft tee. “You showed me that I didn’t need them. I could do better than what they had to offer. I told you, I trust you, and when you said I was worth more, I believed that.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Look, you don’t need to be any cockier than you already are,” I began, placing my hand on his tight chest, “but you’re right. I’m glad you stood up to them.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you approve.”

Kneading my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, I pulled him closer. “So what now?”

“Dunno,” he said, voice barely a whisper as our bodies inched closer. “I figured maybe we could continue my training.”

My body caught fire at the suggestion, feeling a deep pull toward him from inside me. But no, he made the suggestion, and therefore was calling the shots. “I don’t know,” I answered breathily. “You stood me up last night. I had to take a cab home. Not exactly behavior befitting a submissive.”

His eyes widened. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I’d make it up—”

“Punishment comes before training, Dirty Playboy. On your knees.”

Without a word, Aston dropped to the ground.

I raked my hands through his messy bangs and gently yanked back, turning his face toward me. His expression was rapt. “How did you know to come here?”

He patted his back pocket. “Deed to the car listed this as your place of employment.”

I stroked his jaw, leaving a smudge of grease, marking him. “Why did you disobey your family?”

He rolled his eyes. “I told you, because I could do better.”

I slapped him across the face. He looked stunned, but not upset. He waited patiently for my explanation.

“First of all, family is important, and while they treated you like shit, there’s no replacing them. When you leave here today, you make amends. Don’t crawl, grovel, or go back to working for them, but the fuck my family attitude doesn’t fly with me. I don’t have family—you’d do well to be grateful.”

He nodded.

“Secondly, you didn’t address me as Mistress.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“And thirdly, you need to be more respectful to me.”

He nodded.

I lowered myself to my knees, level with him. “I’m proud of you asserting your independence, but you’re still a spoiled brat.”

He nodded. “Yes, Mistress, although I’m fairly certain you like my cockiness. And you like that I need punishing.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded and tried to keep his hazel eyes from hypnotizing me. “All true,” I said. “You are a wayward, naughty thing.”

“I am,” he whispered, eyes begging me, pleading.

I swallowed hard, wanting him so badly, but a nagging feeling caught in the back of my throat told me to slow down. “I’m going to Vegas soon. I may stay there.”

His eyes, once pleading, suddenly blazed with emotion. “What?”

“What, Mistress,” I corrected.

He nodded. “You’re moving?”

“Maybe,” I said, backing away from him and leaning up against the car. “I’m going to be in a pinup pageant. It’s a great city for models like me. Lots of work.”

Aston ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back the way it was when I met him. He stood, suddenly going from submissive right back to the cocky playboy I knew he was. “How about I go with you?”

I pushed myself up onto the hood so that I was sitting, because I thought my knees were going to give out. “What do you mean?”

Aston took a possessive step toward me. “I told you I’ve always wanted to open my own restaurant out there. And I’m looking for a fresh start, too. This could be what we both need.”

Need
. I didn’t think I needed anyone right now. I’d plucked Derek off like a tick, and I didn’t want to have to rely on Sarah. Would my newfound resolve be caving if I allowed myself the company of someone else? I didn’t know if I needed Aston for a life change, but I did know one way I needed him, at least for now.

Folding my legs and wrapping my arms around them, I thought for a moment before answering. I was stuck between Domme mode and just being a shocked, lonely girl. How should I answer?

“I’m not suggesting we shack up,” he said, looking me up and down predatorily. “I’m just saying maybe we take Johnny on a little road trip. Get to know each other better. Learn a few lessons. Then, once we get there, figure out what the hell we’re both doing with our lives.” Aston laughed, but kept his eyes locked on me. He was making light of it, but I knew he wanted this.

I sat up and grabbed his collar, pulling him on top of me. I unfolded my legs and wrapped them around his waist. He was hard already. I ground myself against him and yanked his head toward mine. “I’ll think about it,” I whispered.

Aston did not hesitate; he kissed me deeply, probing my mouth with his wet, needy tongue. Soon I was pulling off his tight tee shirt and his hands had slunk up my tank, where he roughly palmed my breasts. I could feel his erection slowly grinding against me and I felt the seam of my jeans rubbing my clit in time with his motions. I was loving how aggressive he was being, but at the same time, I wondered where his submissive nature had gone.

I’d ask later. This felt too good.

I gasped for breath as Aston shoved my tank above my breasts and began tonguing my nipple. His eyes looked up at me, locked in my gaze, as his warm mouth sucked hard on my tit. One of Aston’s hands had slipped itself between our clashing hips, and he undid the top button of my jeans. I felt myself sliding off the hood as he yanked my jeans—panties and all—down my hips. As soon as they were around my knees, Aston slipped his fingers inside me. His thumb rubbed a frantic circle on my clit as his pointer and middle finger plunged into my pussy.

“Aston,” I groaned. He smiled at me wickedly, assuming full-on playboy mode as he aggressively worked me. Wondering if he was like this with other women, I laced my hands behind my head and watched as one hand brought me to the brink and the other undid his fly.

“Flip over, Mistress,” he said, voice hoarse with need. My body had a mind of its own, and soon I was facedown on the hood of the car as my jeans were dragged off each leg one at a time. Legs spread, I gripped the rim of where the hood meets the windshield. I wiggled my ass, beckoning him to me. I needed it hard, fast, and right fucking now.

I heard a clang as his belt buckle collided with the hood, and soon I could feel his tip pressing into me.

“May I?”

I panted. “Only if you’re blindfolded. I don’t like how alpha you’re being,” I answered. I mean, I was enjoying the enthusiasm but he still needed to be put into his place.

“How’s this?” he asked, untying the kerchief headband that was holding my rollers in place. He wound it around his eyes. I fastened it carefully, bent back over, and positioned his tip at my entrance, since he couldn’t see.

“Oh god, yes,” I grunted as he slammed into me. One of his hands gripped my hip as the other splayed out on the car’s hood for leverage. My toes curled inside my shoes as he plunged into me hard and pulled out slow. He was thrusting and teasing. I loved both sensations; the aching need as he pulled out, the rough satisfaction of the powerful inward stroke.

“I wish I could see you, Mistress,” he whispered hoarsely.

Desire overpowered Aston, and what initially was a thoughtful, planned-out seduction became frantic humping. I backed my ass up a bit, more leaning on the hood rather than being sprawled on it, and Aston placed his hands on my hips, positively rutting into me. Aston moved one hand between us and his thumb circled my ass and I squealed in unexpected pleasure.

“You like that?” he asked as my body continued to respond approvingly.

“Yes,” I moaned, glancing backward to see his blindfolded face’s pleasure.

“Next time,” he promised, then thrust harder. The angle was so deep, the friction so desperate, and the moans so bestial and out of control that soon we were both coming hard, screaming in ecstasy.

Aston pulled out and collapsed against me with a sigh. I sighed, too, and ruffled his damp hair. We stayed like that for a long moment, just amused and sweaty and sort of taken aback by the whole thing. A minute later, I could hear him pulling up his jeans. I demurely slid my panties back on and checked the bumper for a scratch from his belt. Aston undid his blindfold and gently handed it back to me. “We’re going to have to christen Johnny sometime soon, don’t you think?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Maybe,” I said, my eyes meeting his. “You know you overpaid by like an extra six figures, right?” I said, confessing my discomfort at just how crazy the auction ended up being. I didn’t want him to feel like I ripped him off, but he had to know that the value wasn’t exactly spot-on. “Johnny’s an expensive ride, but you way overbid.”

He shook his head. “I knew the value of what I was getting, Veronika. An extra hundred grand or two wasn’t going to deter me.”

I swallowed hard and tried to regain my composure. “Well then. What now?”

“Road trip?” he asked, sliding the tee over his head. He fixed his hair and looked me squarely in the eyes.