How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (14 page)

The morning after the play party was the day we left for Miami.

The weeks prior had passed in a blur, from the boys’ loss to Keaton’s surprise visit to the play party with Scarlett. My life, which used to consist of hoops and phone calls home had turned into something else entirely.

Not that it was a bad thing, but it was definitely different. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and I didn’t recognize myself. There was no wide-eyed innocence there, just a confident soon-to-be woman. A pseudo-Domme. And that part of me felt awkward as well, actually. I was, and yet I wasn’t. I was straddling too many worlds—college, basketball, love, dominance, family. I didn’t know how to be this many things at once.

As I packed my bags—this time full of actual sex toys and tricks—I wondered at who it was that I was becoming. Of course I was excited about what was going to transpire between Keaton and me, but I didn’t know if it was fueled by lust, infatuation, or something more. Did I love him? Was he right for me? These questions plagued me as I sat quietly from the shuttle to the airport lobby and finally to my seat on the plane.

Coach class, this time. I felt oddly at ease there, though, like I wasn’t going to get scrutinized. I tried being talkative with the team, but truthfully I was a bit hollow. I had so many expectations and obligations and I just couldn’t find the balance I needed to make it all work.

Luckily, Callie sat next to me and held my hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Which part?” I asked, sipping a water and staring out the window. Big changes were coming, and I didn’t know which I wanted more—to win the game, or win Keaton. Or which would break my heart more, losing either.

“Both,” she whispered. “You’re going to nail it tonight on several levels.”

I nearly spurt my water out of my mouth. “Come on, Callie, I’m just nervous.”

“The game’s a lock up and you know it. You said it yourself,” she reminded me.

I nodded reluctantly. “And Keaton?”

“Hello? The guy said he wanted this with you from day one. Minute one, right? I wouldn’t second-guess that.”

She was right about this, too, but how could I admit my other nerves to her? The fact that he clearly dated a lot of women and I was about to give myself to him? “I bet he does this a lot,” was all I could manage.

Callie psshed me. “You’re not some groupie, Thea, and you’ve got him under some sort of spell.”

I squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“Just thank me with some discreet peen pics while he’s asleep.”

SO THE PREGAME RITUAL WENT
as usual. Coach’s speech, the captains’ brief statements, a prayer, and a cheer. Then we were ready. Like everything in my life lately, it all happened so fast.

Soon I was on the court. The lights stung my eyes and the sounds echoed loudly in my ears. I felt like I was under a microscope, or in some glass jar and the air was slipping out second by second.

Callie’s pep talk’s effects only lasted so long, and now here I was feeling naked and vulnerable on the court. The place where I felt the most at home had become a foreign territory. And as the Miami fans made me see, I was the enemy.

My first shift was a mess. My knee wobbled, the ball was slapped out of my hands, and I couldn’t catch a rebound to save my life.

It felt like an amplified rerun of the game that launched us into the tournament.

Sitting on the bench with my hands in my hair and my head nearly between my legs, I huffed and puffed and tried to keep calm. It was just one game in the Division I national championships, no big deal. I wanted to punch the sarcastic voice in my mind. The one who told me I wasn’t good enough to be here.

Or in his bed, it would also say.

Bile rose in my throat.

Control was slowly slipping from my grasp as tears made their way into my eyes, blurring my vision. We were ahead and the game wasn’t going badly, but I felt like I was losing a battle on every front.

Control,
I thought to myself.

Control was what I was becoming good at. I was starting to gain confidence in college finally, with both the team and with the way I handled Wes and the guys. I had control in every situation.

Scarlett taught me control of a different kind. The control I could have over ropes and instruments of pain and pleasure. Control of the body.

And soon, as he reassured me earlier today, I would have control of Keaton’s body. The rock god that nearly every woman in America wanted. I was going to have control over that later tonight.

It was my turn to get back on the court, and everything changed for me. Someone lifted the lid on the glass jar and let the air back into the room. The brightness of the lights dimmed and the sound of the crowd’s roar had little effect on my ears.

It was my body and I could control it the way I wanted.

So I told it to drive down the court, ball thundering beside me as I pivoted, shot, and swished. The thrill, the euphoria, was back. The love of the game had returned and invigorated my body. Once again, I felt like I belonged here. Not just on the court, but on a championship-quality team. I could do this.

Our lead increased, my confidence deepened, and I became myself again.

A better version of myself.

One who knew who she was and what she wanted.

And right now she wanted to win.

Instead of focusing on the anxiety and uncertainty of what was going to happen with Keaton shortly, I pushed it out of my mind and took control of the task in front of me. One thing at a time, I decided. That was the best way to maintain control.

I kept each second of my life in the moment, no worries about what had happened before or what was ahead. The bad game I had three weeks ago disappeared, and my date later on tonight evaporated from my mind. It was just me, the team, the ball, and the hoop. Nothing else existed; nothing else mattered. All I knew was the rush of the court, the swish of the ball, and the surge of exhilaration that happened every time I took a shot.

The young Miami team that fought against us was indeed full of energy, but they were also inexperienced. We played our seniors into the ground, but they knew it could be their last game if it didn’t go well, so they rallied. And when they needed a break, the underclassmen like me took the reins and kept the lead up and the home team at bay.

By early in the second half, we had the game wrapped up. I took my place on the bench as the seniors hit the floor and Coach clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I know I’ve said it before, but I really think you may be staring down a Rookie of the Year title, Thea,” he said, handing me water and walking away. I embraced his endorsement only partially—I couldn’t afford to think about honors when it was still the Sweet Sixteen round and the game wasn’t over. Control what you can, that was my new motto.

The water and the compliment energized me into the end of the second half, and as the clock ticked down and our score went up, I knew we were one step closer to going to the next match. But there were five minutes left, and I just had to live in the now. I threw some three-pointers and the score rocketed up.

By the time the buzzer went off, I had added an extra ten points to the score just in the last few minutes of the second half. The team whooped as we clustered together in sweaty, sweet victory.

We were going to play in the Elite Eight.

Back in the locker room, there was somewhat of a crowd around my stall.

“Thea, looks like this is for you,” Donelle said warily as my happy teammates high-fived, fist-bumped, and Gatorade splashed.

I grabbed a drink and walked to where she was pointing.

There, in my locker, was a glittering green box.

I blushed and picked up the gift, which was about the length of a shirt box but at least double the depth. “Must be from my mom,” I mumbled and dashed to the bathroom. I knew it wasn’t from her—we didn’t have much money, and sending me a gift at an away game just wasn’t a possibility. No, it had to be from Keaton. I scooted into the stall and lifted the cover.

A lovely botanical smell wafted upward. Sitting on a gauzy piece of tissue paper was a laurel wreath and a notecard.
For the beautiful victor
, it read in a spiky, slanty script. Keaton, of course, there could be no doubt. I smiled at the gesture—in ancient Greece, laurel wreaths were what winning athletes wore. I couldn’t believe he’d do something so thoughtful, since I was not just studying ancient Greece, but my parents were from there as was my entire family. It was my heritage and it meant a lot to me. I wondered if it meant as much to him.

Curious about the depth of the box, I lifted the tissue paper and gasped at what was beneath: a white, one-shoulder Valentino gown. It was made of countless gossamer strips, braided and wrapped into one insanely intricate dress. A small card fell out of the folds. Instead of a note, it had a number on the envelope. Three hundred. I slid it open and instead of revealing a note, I saw it was a hotel keycard.

Oh my. A key to his hotel room. A dress to wear there. My heart raced in my chest. Could I get out? We hadn’t even talked about the logistics of how tonight would actually go down, since every time I mentioned it he’d just give me some sort of weird, cryptic answer, as usual. But this . . . was going to happen. Would I actually go to his room and be with him tonight?

The Heartbreaker of the Century?

I looked down at the dress and wondered at my life. Did I really need to get my hopes up only to inevitably have my heart broken by this guy? I had everything I thought I wanted—a scholarship, a championship-quality team, and three more seasons ahead of me at UConn. I had never wanted anything else. Anyone else. But there was this wreath, proving he understood me. And this dress and this key, proving he wanted me.

Keaton Lowe wanted
me
.

More importantly, I wanted him. I squared my shoulders and walked out of the stall with the box under my arms and a story in my mouth.
Control, Thea, control.

“I can’t believe this, but my uncle flew my mom into town to see the game,” I explained.

Lucky for me, months ago I had mentioned to my captains that I had a rich uncle in Florida. They knew my family would never be able to afford to see this game, so they wouldn’t question the story. I didn’t mention that I hadn’t seen the guy since I was six.

“That’s amazing!” Reese said, giving me a quick hug. “What was in the box?”

“A surprise,” I answered, pulling out the laurel wreath. “It’s a Greek thing. It’s for victories.” My teammates hugged me and shoved me out the door.

Callie blew me a kiss.

I was headed to my penthouse rendezvous.

The Florida air gave me a sloppy kiss when I walked out of the arena. Warm and moist, it clung to my skin as I hailed a cab to take me to the South Beach hotel where Trickster City was staying. To Keaton’s penthouse. To his bed.

I had showered quickly and threw on a tank and some shorts. I figured I’d put the dress on once I got to the lobby of his hotel, considering my teammates would probably not be buying the mom story if I walked out in a designer gown. My hair was still damp, which was good for curls, since that usually meant they could dry properly on their own and not kink up under a hair dryer.

And speaking of kink, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going to be in store for me in Keaton’s penthouse. I knew he liked the idea of being all taped up, and he sure knew his way around handcuffs, but what exactly did he expect me to do? What tools did he like? What exactly turned him on? Scarlett’s lessons helped on several levels, but how would I ever achieve her level of poise and intimidation? My knees knocked together as I remembered what Keaton had done to me during our few times together, how he had made me feel. I swallowed, head tipping back onto the seat’s headrest, and pictured the way his mouth felt all over my body, the way his fingers felt inside me.

I did make the right decision, keeping him in suspense and not throwing myself at him every chance I could. I made him wait for me. If I had just picked him right off the bat, it would have shown no loyalty, none of what made me different from the groupies and starlets. I denied him and apparently he loved it.

I didn’t want to deny him much more, however. Tonight would be about indulging at long last.

The cab pulled up to the hotel and my eyes bugged. South Beach was the most colorful, most sexy place I had ever seen. The buildings defied convention with their odd shapes and curves and nearly-neon hues. I walked toward the chic hotel and gaped at the foyer. The vaulting art deco space was all marble and gold. I quickly realized I looked out of place and made my way toward the back of the lobby where I found an amazingly modern bathroom. Inside, I picked up the filmy dress and slipped it on. It was tight, but I moved easily. Since sneakers wouldn’t complete the look, I decided to go up to his room barefoot. It was Miami, so I figured it wouldn’t look too out of place. Lastly, I fluffed out my curls and placed the laurel wreath on my head. I stepped out of the stall and looked in the mirror. I could see why he picked out the dress.

I looked like a goddess.

When I stepped into the elevator, I pressed the button for the thirtieth floor, but it didn’t stay lit. I looked down at the keycard in my hand and realized it needed authorization. I swiped the card on the slot next to the floor icons and the button glowed. The elevator surged upward. I steeled my nerves.