How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (7 page)

I shrugged. While the sex just now was as equally incredible as the first time, it was still a bit too alpha, even with the blindfold. “I said I’ll think about it.”

Aston looked at me like I was crazy while I dressed. I stayed silent and buffed out the tiny scratch the bumper got from his, well, bumping.

“So?”

I tsked at him. “Aston. First of all, you scuffed a customer’s car. Secondly, that sex was decidedly not submissive.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m used to getting what I want. And I wanted you.”

I frowned. “You said you wanted me to train you, and I said I was going to punish you, then you fucked me on the hood of a customer’s car.”

Aston inhaled and exhaled. “I do like the submissive stuff, and I definitely think you still have every right to punish me. But does it always have to be that way? I’m new to this. And you seemed to want it as much as I did.”

He was right, but I wasn’t ready to admit it. “I think we need to set some ground rules,” I replied. “Before the trip.”

His eyes widened. “So is that a yes?”

I pretended to be fascinated by the grease on my nails. “Maybe. If we leave tomorrow, think we can drive out there in two weeks?”

Aston nodded. “I’ll start putting a route together and making some calls about hotel availabilities.”

My heart was thundering in my chest, stunned that I’d made such a quick decision. But he was right—it wasn’t a commitment. We both wanted to be in Vegas, and if the road trip didn’t go as well as it could, we didn’t have to stay together once we got there.

It was a road trip. A potentially very sexy road trip. How could I say no?

“I’ll get a Domme/sub checklist at home. Then pack.”

This didn’t seem to faze Aston, who nodded with a grin. “Great. I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow morning?”

I smiled back. “Seven o’clock. And I’ll pack us some kinky goodies for the drive.”

Then we’d be hitting more than just the pavement.

WHEN I GOT HOME,
I was surprised to see Sarah standing right in front of the door, fifteen-pound weights in each hand, doing lunges. Her face was red with effort and her body soaked with sweat. I swear, this girl never took time off.

“Where have you been?” she asked as I shut the door. “I skipped a Tabata class just to hear about your bonerfest last night!”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “Hmm, where have I been? Just the gym, my garage, and on the hood of a car.”

Sarah finished another lunge and put the weights on the floor. She danced her way over to the kitchen table and plopped down. “Dish.”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start. “Yesterday I sold Derek’s car to a hot restaurateur who led me to believe he was a sub looking for a Domme. He bought a date with me along with the car, then we went to a wedding and had crazy bondage sex in a boathouse.”

Sarah’s mouth unhinged and I thought she was going to swallow her tongue. “You are fucking with me right now!”

“Oh, you’d know if I were fucking you.”

Her mouth dropped open even wider. “Listen to you! Keep going! Especially about the hood of the car!”

I nodded. “Right. Last night didn’t end the way I wanted it to, so Aston showed up at the shop to make it up to me.”

“And that’s how you ended up on the hood?”

“Yep,” I said, nearly blushing. I wished I could keep the blood from my cheeks. I couldn’t blush in front of an experienced Domme. I had to act like I was on equal footing, but the reality was that I was at the bottom of her Stairmaster. “Which brings me to something else.” My heart skittered in my chest. I didn’t want to have to tell her I was moving out, but it was necessary.

“Yeah?” she asked, leaning forward, intense.

“Well, I’ve been invited to participate as a finalist in the Miss Pinup Las Vegas contest, and—”

“That’s great!”

“I’m not done,” I interrupted. Sarah frowned, since she was typically the one who led conversations. “Anyway, Aston wants to open a restaurant in Vegas. So we’re road tripping it.”

Sarah looked surprisingly thoughtful. “Okay, I get that you two are having a little thing, and that’s great, but are you sure you want to just jump into a D/s relationship? Do you even know him?”

“Well, we’re sort of learning as we go. And I met a few members of his family last night, and we’re getting to know each other.” I wasn’t going to elaborate on how I was received by his family.

She shook her head. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. Wait, if he wants to start a restaurant out there, is this just a fling?”

There it was; she was catching on. “Now that I have some money from selling Johnny, I was thinking about moving out there for a while. It’s a great place filled with jobs for pinups. I was thinking of—”

“You’re moving across the country with some guy you don’t even know?” The whipcrack in her voice meant Sergeant Sarah was back.

Sighing, I held my hand up. “We’re not moving in together, just driving—”

“And you’re just going to leave everything? Your business, your friends?”

I noted she didn’t say family. At least she spared me that hurt. “If I don’t like it, I’ll come back. I just need to try something new with my life. Same with Aston—he wants to open up a restaurant of his own. His cooking sounds really fantastic.”

Sarah sighed, but her face remained stern. “He’s a chef, Veronika. You get pissed at me when I bring you an egg-white sandwich! He’ll be cooking nonstop and you’ll be freaking out! This is a recipe for disaster.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re seriously trying to argue that dating a guy in the food industry is going to cause me to gain weight?”

She stood. “You have food issues, Veronika. I’ve been trying to help you get over them, but full immersion in a life with this guy is going to challenge that. This seems like a really bad idea, especially with the pageant on the line.”

I pushed my chair from the table, stood, and looked Sarah squarely in the eyes. “Then help me.”

Her brows knit. “How?”

My hands flew into the air, confused and frustrated. “I don’t know, text me daily Domme tips. Send me a workout a day to balance whatever the hell he’s having me eat! Just do what you’re good at, and be my friend.”

Sarah’s face softened as she stood. “You really like him, huh?”

I nodded.

She clasped my shoulder. “I want you to be happy. I also want you to beat his ass into submission. So of course I’ll help.”

I stood outside the door to my apartment building with trepidation. Sarah said she’d text me daily advice, but not much else. Despite her tough exterior, she was a softie and I knew she’d miss me. It felt good to have someone back here that would. She helped me bring my bags downstairs and gave me a not-so-gentle hug. Those skinny-muscled arms of hers were like a vise.

“Just be careful,” she said with a sad look, and disappeared back inside the building.

Be careful. Of what? Of Aston? Of my waistline? I knew Sarah had a good heart and was just looking out for me, but she represented the old part of my life. I was an orphan, and she and Derek both took me in. But I was ready to be on my own.

I glanced down at my bags in wonder. How is it that I could pack my life into a few pieces of luggage and a Betsey Johnson purse? My makeup and hair tools alone fit into one, but the rest was the only evidence of my life. Sure, I had a box of stuff still inside the apartment that I’d asked Sarah to ship once I got settled—if that ever happened—but the rest of it fit neatly in my hot-pink suitcases. Clothes, a few pictures, a set of mechanic’s tools, and a pile of shoes. My life, zipped up.

Oh, and of course, a few goodies I forgot to give back to Sarah. She won’t miss a little rope and some tape, right? She can consider it payment for making me do midnight Pilates last week.

I remembered what it was like moving in with Derek. We’d met when I got my first tattoo—the anchor I got for Harrison. Derek was my artist, and as he worked, I poured out my story to him. He was a sympathetic ear, and he listened to me long after the piece was done. Within a week I’d hired him at the garage to do detail work, after two weeks we were dating, and a month later I was moving in. He was possessive—he’d marked me with that tattoo and from then on, I was his. But I was in need of someone to take care of me, so for a long time, I put up with his control-freak nature and just put myself on autopilot while I grieved. He was a warm body, albeit hard, and I was in desperate need of love and attention.

I got the attention, but it wasn’t always positive. I remembered the day I decided to break up with him. He’d woken up cranky, per usual, and when he sipped his morning coffee, he spat it out because I put Splenda in it instead of sugar. His gross, brown spittle spread across the table and landed on his newspaper and a photo I was proud to show him. Something from a new shoot. He just threw it all in the trash, ignoring my picture. That was when I realized he treated me like trash. It was enough to make me leave the “comfort” of our relationship.

I didn’t need him anymore, and I didn’t need Sarah’s well-meaning charity. As for Aston, he was coming along for my ride. I called the shots now.

A moment later, I spotted Johnny tooling up the street, top down, Aston behind the wheel. His skin was golden in the morning sun, and the light reflected off his aviators, brightening my vision. He looked like some sort of Roman god. I bit my lip and suppressed a full-on grin as he pulled up.

“Lookin for a ride?” he asked, lowering his sunglasses and giving me a come-hither stare.

I did my best cheesecake pose with a hand on my hip and my secret smile. “Where ya headed, hot stuff?”

He exited the car, opened the passenger-side door, and took my hand. “Anywhere my Mistress wants.”

His voice, that face, his words. My body sprang to life. I wrapped my free hand around his head and pulled it down to mine for a kiss. He tasted like iced coffee. “What? None for me?”

Aston’s head nodded toward the car’s cup holder, where a box with four different coffees sat. “I don’t know how you take your coffee, so I had him give me a few.”

I pecked his lips again. “You are too kind.” Aston nodded and popped Johnny’s trunk, loading my bags into a nearly empty car. “Where are your bags? I just see one.”

Aston shrugged. “I’ll buy stuff on the road,” he said dismissively. “This car doesn’t fit much.”

He had a home full of stuff, yet he planned on buying most everything he needed on the road and in Vegas? It was so wasteful.

“You okay?” he asked as I slid into my seat.

“Just marveling at the coffee,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell him I was stunned by his careless attitude. Perhaps I’d tell him on the road how I felt about it, but it wasn’t a way to start a trip. I remembered Derek putting me down just before a nice dinner or a weekend away and it would ruin everything. I was concerned, but I wouldn’t pursue it right now. “You drink a lot in a day?”

“Not exactly,” he answered. Aston pulled down the road and watched as I selected my coffee. “You like it black? Sugar and cream is the fun part,” he said, gesturing to his ultra-light iced coffee.

“Too much fat,” I answered, and took a sip of the bitter drink. “Plus, I’ve been on the raw food diet lately. I’m cheating just by having coffee at all.”

“Raw food and no cream and sugar? You’re going to be no fun to eat out with.”

I yanked the coffee from his hand. “Oh trust me, you’ll love eating out,” I said, giving his thigh a pinch.

He chuckled. “That kind, Mistress, is fabulous. In fact, I can pull over anytime you like. I’m just saying that, as a restaurateur, a girl on a diet isn’t exactly an ideal companion. But, then again, you’re drinking coffee and it’s not raw. Was your fitness-junkie roommate holding your stomach hostage?”

I pondered suggesting that he pull over and put his mouth to good use, but I figure I’d save that for midway through the trip when driving got tedious. “I’m the one with the food hang-up. She’s bossy about fitness, instead—she’s a really successful personal trainer. But the bottom line is that I’m a model and I need to be careful on this trip before the pageant.”

“Careful how?”

Good question. “I have to maintain my weight so I can fit into my clothes for the pageant. I’ll probably just go easy. Though I do miss cooked food,” I admitted.

“Eat whatever you want and I’ll buy you new stuff,” he said, waving his hand.

“Excuse me?”

“Mistress,” he added.

I adjusted my sunglasses and frowned. He really was wasteful. “We will not buy another coffee until these are gone,” I said in my Domme voice.

“Pardon?” he asked, craning his head and looking at the three coffees left after I’d made my choice.

“You’re wasteful. Let’s live a little more humbly on this trip. Don’t forget, I’m trying to take you down a peg.”

“By making me drink old coffee?”

“By showing you that you live in excess.”

He grimaced. “I guess I shouldn’t offer you the bag of pastries I grabbed. Didn’t know which you’d like.”

The sentiment softened me a fraction. “That’s very kind, but you see my point, right?”

He nodded.

I gave him a pat on the leg. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn quick. Mistress will make sure of it.” I left my hand on his thigh and Aston placed his right hand on top of mine and smiled sincerely.

Once we got out of Rhode Island, miles passed as we drove down I-90 with the wind in our hair and the sun on our heads. Music blasted through the speakers as we headed toward New York, our first planned destination. Aston figured that if we drove for roughly seven to eight hours a day, stopped at night, and spent the next day sightseeing, we’d get to Vegas in about ten days, which was perfect. It would make the trip more fun by breaking up the drive, and we’d see parts of the country we’d never been to. Tonight we would stay just outside of Niagara Falls, and tomorrow we’d go check out the majestic sight together. I looked at the map he’d plotted on his phone and it looked pretty great—Chicago, Lincoln, Denver, Salt Lake City, and then Vegas. Not bad!

“Have you been to any of the cities we’re going to?” I asked, thinking about all the destinations. “I’ve never been off the East Coast.”

Aston nodded, still clutching my hand. “Denver. I love Colorado, especially Aspen. Great skiing, excellent nightlife.”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Of course he’d hit up Aspen’s slopes and après-ski. He was fancy. His sunglasses, I’d noticed, said Prada. Damn. They probably cost more than my entire shoe collection.

“If we weren’t in a hurry to get to your pageant, I’d take you to California, too. Wine country’s gorgeous, then we’d drive south to LA. I’ve got a lot of friends there, and the shopping is outrageous. Maybe once we’re settled in Vegas I’ll take you to Rodeo and we’ll have a little spree.”

I frowned, stunned at his arrogance. “I don’t want a spree. Or nightlife in Aspen. That was never my world.”

Aston didn’t reply. Instead he put on his blinker and took an off-ramp.

“Rest stop?” I asked.

He shook his head, then pulled down several windy side streets. The houses were quite far apart, and one street ended up in a dirt road, with nobody living on it. There were signs for a municipal water station, but aside from that, we’d driven about a mile with no inhabitants. Aston pulled over, turned the car off, and opened his door once we’d parked.

“Aston, what’s going on?”

Soon he was on my side of the car, opening the door.

Then he dropped to his knees in the dirt.

“I’m sorry I’ve offended you, Mistress,” he said, and my eyes were glued to the knees of his pants, which were already covered in sandy dirt. He was messing up his clothing to apologize to me. “To make amends, I’d like to offer you something.” Aston smirked at me, then licked his lips. “What do you say to taking that break?”

“What break?” I asked, still surprised by the entire situation. I swung around in the seat so that I could face him.

He placed his hands on my knees and nudged my legs apart. “Eating out.”

A thrilling zip of arousal shot through my body as I watched him eye my legs and peek up my skirt. I opened my legs wide in invitation and scooted my body farther out the door. Anyone could just drive up right now and see us. I was so aroused. Aston opened his mouth and licked up my leg, but I put my hand on his head to stop him. He looked up at me with round, startled eyes.

“Take your clothes off.”

Aston stood without further prompting and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his delicious abs and muscular pecs. “That better, Mistress?”

I shook my head. “All of them.”

“My body is yours,” he replied, and then undid the zipper of his expensive khakis and black boxer briefs, pulled them down, and tossed the clothing into the backseat.

I stared at his body, the chiseled glory of it. His thighs showed several bruises from our fun in the boathouse. “Aston, why did I command you to remove your clothes?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because my body pleases Mistress?” he asked with a crooked smile and a wink.

I frowned. “No. Because you were getting your clothes dirty and that’s wasteful. My Dirty Playboy didn’t have to literally be dirty.”

“But I was showing you I don’t care about expensive things,” he retorted. “These pants are three hundred dollars, and I would kneel in the dirt for you.”

I snapped and pointed down, and immediately he dropped to the ground again. “That’s a wonderful sentiment, but it’s the same thing as buying an entire bag of pastries for two people. Treat what you have with care, not as though you could buy a hundred of them. You better not treat Johnny that way,” I lectured. Or me, I wanted to add. He could have hundreds of girls, but he needs to choose to treat me right.

Head hung low, Aston nodded. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “Just work it off with your tongue.”

Aston picked his head up and smiled. “That I can do.”

Running my fingers through his hair, and watching as he realized I was resuming what he’d begun, I started to get aroused all over again. Aston’s nose skimmed my thigh as he kissed his way up my leg. His fingers followed in a hot trail, and soon his thumbs were hooked under my satin thong.

“May I take these off, Mistress?” Aston asked, hazel-green eyes looking up at me through his thick, dark lashes.

I nodded, biting my lip, as he pulled them off my body. I was already wet, and could feel my dampness on the panties as they left a warm trail down my leg. Aston noticed this, too, and licked it up.

“You taste amazing,” he said in a lusty whisper.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, coming from a chef.”

Aston smiled a wolfish grin and then with no further hesitation, buried his head between my legs. I pushed my skirt up over my hips to watch him lap at my pussy, frenzied and hungry. It was like watching someone lick at a rapidly melting ice-cream cone, frantically trying to prevent a single drop from spilling. He was desperate, starving, and I was enjoying being the source of his hunger.

Spreading my legs wider, I draped one leg over his shoulder, deepening his access to my body. His long tongue swirled in and out, and soon I was pulling on his hair, pushing his face against me, desperate for the release that was so near.

And that was before he added his fingers.

The moment Aston plunged two fingers inside me and hooked them slightly to hit my G-spot, it was all I needed. I shattered with pleasure, tossing my head against the headrest and riding the wave of ecstasy. I felt the sudden urge to push him away, my nerve endings were so sensitive as he continued to slowly tongue away the last bits of moisture. But it felt so good, I just watched, relishing in my relaxed bliss until finally, he pulled away.