How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (9 page)

I looked down. “Another good idea.”

“Later,” he said, stroking my thigh. “I made sure to skip dessert so we’re not too full afterward.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You are just full of good ideas, Aston.” I leaned over and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Give me two more bites and then you’re mine.”

“No punishment?” he asked as I took another heaping mouthful.

I shook my head, mouth full, then swallowed. “This is so good that I’m letting you take the lead tonight.”

He cleaned his plate, then looked up. “If that’s what you want, Mistress.”

I took another drink of wine and put the glass down. Then I stood and walked over to the couch, unknotting the robe’s tie at my waist. He remained on the stool, watching me, as I opened the bathrobe and dropped it to the floor.

Aston pulled off his shirt, then undid his fly in a flash. Soon he was walking toward me, nude and ready. I sat on the couch and he joined me, our bodies next to each other, not yet
on
each other. We kissed, and I slipped my hand behind his head and pulled at his hair. He moaned, sliding his tongue into my mouth. His hands roamed my breasts and mine found his erection, hard and ready. The kiss deepened, and our bodies slid from the couch to the floor. I wanted to devour him. Hands everywhere, tongues probing, we messed around like it was the first time. Horny, hot, frantic.

But then Aston pulled away, and I saw an expression on his face not unlike the one he made when he was cooking. He had an idea, I could tell.

Aston got up and I watched his naked form saunter across the room to the kitchen area. “Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.

He looked over his shoulder. “I’m grabbing leftovers,” he said.

“Now?” I asked, gesturing to my naked body. “It can’t wait?”

Aston picked something up from the table and turned toward me. “Trust me, Mistress, I know what I’m doing.” He held up a bottle—the extra virgin olive oil we’d dunked bread into, and a small empty bowl.

My eyes went wide. “Oh. Well, in that case, take your time.”

He smiled, approaching me. “This is all I need. And you, of course.”

I nodded, throat tightening. Was he going to do what I was hoping he’d do? It was a silly thought—I could tell him to do whatever I wanted—but the thought of him initiating this made me almost come right on the spot.

“Come here, Mistress,” he whispered, sitting on the carpet across from me. He was fully erect and I could almost feel the heat coming from his gaze. I sat mermaid style in front of him as he poured a quarter cup of the fragrant oil into the bowl. Aston swirled his long pointer finger in the golden liquid and pulled it out slowly, sexually. My mouth fell open, which was all he needed. He raised his finger to my mouth, oil dripping down his wrist, and I sucked it off his finger. His chest heaved and his erection twitched as I took his entire finger in my mouth.

“Mmm,” I moaned, and he pulled out.

I could see him labor for breath as he reached out with his other arm and pulled me closer. “May I pleasure you, Mistress?”

I nodded, speechless, beyond aroused.

He guided my body down along the floor, and soon I was on my stomach, ass in the air. I knew what was going to happen, and I almost wanted to pause the moment because the high from the anticipation was so great.

“I’m going to start here,” he said, slipping his finger down my slit. I nearly yelped, I was so turned on. I heard wet sounds as he rubbed my pussy, hot and ready. He slid two fingers inside, strummed my clit with his thumb, and then out of the corner of my eye, I could see him doing something with the oil.

Slowly, his pinky finger, slick with oil, circled my ass. “Yes,” I moaned, desperate for him to continue. I wanted it. And without further discussion, he worked his finger inside. I gasped, surprised by the unusual feeling. The pressure of it amazed me, and the way he pulled his finger all the way out and then plunged it in made my back arch with pleasure.

His finger stalled at the motion. “Do you—”

“More,” I moaned.

Aston pulled his hand away and I looked behind me, startled that he’d stop the amazing contact with my body. But then, I saw what he was doing. His long pointer finger and middle finger were swirling in the oil. He smiled at me. “Relax,” he said, and I settled into my former position with a wicked smirk.

Aston’s left hand swept under me and continued its work on my pussy, and I lifted my ass in anticipation for what he was about to do with his right hand. Soon, I felt the pressure of his index finger pushing inside me and I almost came on the spot. After a few slow pumps that seemed like forever and yet not enough, he added his middle finger.

“Aston!” I whimpered, writhing, pushing myself down onto his fingers. “Feels so good.”

He moaned, twisting his fingers and speeding the rhythm. “You like it?” he asked, drizzling more oil onto his fingers and lubing them up. The sensation of the cool oil on his hot fingers as they pleasured me in such a new way was enough to send me over the edge. Aston’s thumb circling my clit, the wet fingers up my ass, it was too much. An orgasm like I’d never had ripped through me, possessing my body, bucking me harder against his knuckles. It lasted so much longer than my other orgasms, possibly because of the new erogenous zone we were exploring, but when it was over, I hungered for more.

Aston pulled his fingers out, wiped them on the towel next to me, and rubbed my back. “I’m glad you liked that.”

I spun to a sitting position, put my hands on Aston’s shoulders, and met his fiery gaze. “We’re not done.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mistress. This was about you. I—”

“I want you to fuck me like that.”

His chest heaved, and the muscles in his arms tensed. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, slinking my body on top of his, rubbing my clit against his erection. It was still so sensitive, I almost came again from the contact. “I need it.”

His head fell back, and his breath stuttered. “God, Mistress, that sounds too good to be true.”

I leaned in and kissed him, biting his thick lower lip. “Tell me you want it.”

Aston nodded. “Mistress, I want it.”

I reached around and gave his firm butt a pinch. “Be more specific, Aston. I like dirty talk.” My body writhed against him, and his hard cock twitched again.

“I want to fuck you in the ass, Mistress.”

One last grind against his crotch, and quickly I was on all fours. I needed this, that fullness, that sensation again. But I needed it to be longer, thicker than his fingers. I couldn’t wait to feel his cock slide inside that forbidden part of me.

But I wanted to watch.

There was a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the suite, located just around the corner of the sofa. I crawled toward it, and I heard Aston follow behind me. Soon, I was looking at myself on all fours. My victory rolls had fallen out of place, and my hair was wild and rough. Aston’s chiseled form appeared behind me and again my body caught fire at the thought of what we were about to do.

“Oil your chest,” I said, watching his image in the mirror. He took the bottle and a large gush of golden liquid fell into his hand. I noticed Aston had placed a blanket beneath himself to catch any of the oil. He slicked his pecs and abs, and soon his body was glistening and ready. I swallowed hard as a second slosh of oil to his hand made its way to his large cock, and he oiled it up, too. I bit my lip and my breathing stuttered.

The hand that had used the oil was completely covered, and he began by wiggling his pointer back inside me.

“We should probably do this gradually,” he said, then slipped his pointer in all the way. In the mirror, I saw my naked breasts bounce as I wiggled my body back and forth, trying to get as much of his finger inside me as I could.

“I’m ready now,” I moaned, back arched. I couldn’t wait another minute.

Aston’s brow furrowed in concentration as he lined himself up. I couldn’t see us from the back angle, but when he looked up into the mirror and into my eyes, I knew he was ready.

The pressure was startling at first as he pushed the tip in.

“Oh god, Aston,” I moaned.

He gasped at the feeling and pushed deeper, slowly.

“Aston!” I shouted, as he gripped my hip with his dry hand, pushing his cock into me from tip to base. The depth, the fullness, was beyond pleasure, beyond reason. And he wasn’t even moving, he’d just worked it in there and my body opened, accepting him.

And then he began to pull out, achingly slow. Just as the tip was about to come out, he went back in, just as slow. My fingers gripped the carpet. “More,” I grunted.

My body got used to the thick, wide feeling of having him inside me, and I knew we were ready to go faster. “Come on, baby,” I whimpered, and his oily thumb moved back to my clit. The twin sensations came together, and I was overwhelmed. He began to pump faster, and I moved in time with him. His thumb circled faster. His grip on my hip became tighter as he fucked me hard.

“So tight,” he muttered, voice thick with impending orgasm.

“Give it to me,” I begged, and he thrust even deeper.

“Yes,” he moaned, sweat forming on his forehead. He alternated from watching us in the mirror to looking down and seeing his cock penetrate me there.

“Aston, come inside me,” I moaned, possessed by the filthy image of us in the mirror and the feeling of him inside and outside me.

The fingers on my hip dug deeply and Aston let out a roar as he came with me. I trembled with the sheer magnitude of it, the waves of pleasure crashing against me and threatening to tear me apart. I cried out as my body continued to push and thrash against him, wanting more even as the tide of pleasure receded.

Slowly, so slowly, Aston pulled out of me. Quicker than I could see, he procured a small towel and wiped the oil off our bodies, cleaning us up from the messy fun we’d just had. I collapsed on the carpet and pulled him down with me.

Aston’s body, slick with sweat and the remaining oil, pressed against me and he smiled shyly. “That was something, Mistress,” he whispered, then kissed me on the nose.

I wrapped myself around him, arms and legs, and snuggled into his chest. “I’m glad you decided to cook tonight,” I chuckled, and then we drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t need to make the bedroom decision after all.

The next morning, Aston woke up early, showered and made us some fruit smoothies. When he handed me the green drink, I was somewhat skeptical. I adjusted my towel and eyeballed the thing cautiously.

“This isn’t green because it’s pistachio ice cream, is it?”

He smiled and took a long sip of his. “It’s a personal favorite of mine. I know you said you were concerned with calories last night, and while I disagree completely, I figure I’d make you something healthy to offset the naughty things I concoct.”

I took a step forward and placed my hand on his chest. “You are very naughty.”

Aston licked the green smoothie off his lips and glanced down at the drink. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

Taking the straw in my mouth, I took a long suck, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time.

“Fuck,” he muttered as my eyelids fluttered back in pleasure.

“What is this?” I asked, staring incredulously at the drink in front of me.

“Honeydew, watermelon, spinach, and mint. The sweetness of the melon totally disguises the spinach, and the mint adds a refreshing zip.”

After taking another long glug, I pulled Aston in for a kiss. “You’re like a cooking superhero.”

“Chefman?”

I shook my head. “Something sexier.”

“Bat-chef?” he laughed.

“Super Chefman with a cherry on top.”

“I like cherries,” he said, kissing me again.

“Are you referring to the fruit or to the tattoo on my hip?”

“Both,” he responded, then added a little tongue to the kiss.

Then my phone rang, buzzing in my pocket and startling me. I wanted to ignore it, but Aston took his empty cup to the sink to rinse.

I looked at the caller ID. It was Sarah.

“Hello?” I answered, surprised that she was calling. Nobody ever actually calls anymore—social life seems relegated to texts now, or Facebook messages or tweets or e-mails. A call meant something.

“Hey,” she said, voice somber. “We need to talk.”

I held my finger up to Aston as to signal “one minute” and walked into one of the suite’s bedrooms. “I’m so glad you want to talk,” I said, sitting down on the bed. “But honestly I was hoping for one of your videos. Let’s just say I enjoyed both tips you gave yesterday.” I giggled, but there was nothing but silence on the other end.

“Sarah?” I asked. I hated when people got quiet.

“We need to discuss your ex.”

“Why would you want to talk about Derek?”

Sarah sighed into the receiver. “You have to come home.”

“Not very likely,” I said. “We’re only on the first leg of the trip and we’re having a blast. Why would I come home to talk about Derek?”

A moment’s pause. “Because he was here. At the apartment.”

“Oh my god, why?” I asked. “I am so sorry he’s bothering you.”

“He’s not bothering me, per se,” Sarah said, voice hesitant.

“What’s going on?”

“He wants you to come home so he doesn’t have to get a lawyer involved.”

My eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Lawyer?”

“He’s going to subpoena you if you can’t hash it out with him yourself.”

I threw my hand in the air. “For what reason?”

“The car,” she answered. “He says it’s half his. He didn’t authorize you to sell it and now he wants half the money.”

I shook my head. “It’s in my name. And half my cut of the money—”

“Not half your cut,” she said. “Half the total price. He wants two hundred fifty thousand.”

My mouth fell open. “But I donated—”

“He knows. And he doesn’t care.”

My eyes watered. Even after being done with Derek, he was still running my life. “I’m not coming,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I said I’m not coming back,” I said, straightening. “He has no recourse. The car is not his.”

“Veronika, I agree but he’s getting lawyers involved. He must have some cause.”

I wiped my traitorous eyes. I didn’t want to cry over him ever again. “I don’t care. Let him come find me. Tell him we got in a fight and I won’t answer your calls if he tries to bug you again. I hate him!” I shouted.

“Come home and settle this,” Sarah pleaded. “You’re just one day out; you can still turn around. I don’t want to see him ruin your life over one stupid car. Be done with it and then you can be with your new man.”

“I won’t let him run my life.”

Aston popped his head in and when he saw my face, his smile dropped. “You okay?” he mouthed. Apparently my shout had startled him and he came to check on me.

“I’m fine,” I said, then waved him out. Without a word, he slunk out the door and closed it behind him.

“I want you to be happy,” Sarah said. “I know you think I’m too bossy, but I really do want what’s best for you. And right now I think gallivanting with that new guy is not in your best interest. Come home, clean this up, then go on your merry way.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Fine. You’ll get your next video tomorrow. Consider this a one-day boycott.”

“Bye, Sarah. Thanks.”

A disgruntled sound came from the other end of the line. “Bye.”

I slid the phone back in my pocket and plopped onto the bed with a sob. Why did Derek have the ability to ruin my life from afar? I left him so I wouldn’t have to put up with his bullshit, and now it was putting a damper on my new start.

I had other things to focus on. Good things. The pageant, my new life, these were all things I would have without him. I wiped my eyes and decided I needed to just zen out, so I did my hair.

As I ran the brush through, I felt my shoulders relax in the repetitious motion. This was comforting, a feeling I was used to many times. I allowed myself to lose myself in the task I’d done so many times, and soon I was somewhat calm.

“Knock, knock,” Aston said after a few minutes. My curling iron had just heated and I’d teased my hair in preparation.

“Come in,” I said, glancing over my shoulder at him.

“Hello Diana Ross,” he said when he saw my wild, teased hair. “Is everything all right? I figured that since it was quiet I could check on you.”

Shrugging, I beckoned him to sit on the bed. “My ex-roommate called.”

“Sergeant Sarah?” he asked, recalling her notorious nickname.

I nodded. “I’m fine.” I wrapped a curl around the barrel of the iron, spritzed it with spray, and began forming tight rolls. It was a good distraction.

“Can I watch?” Aston asked. “Your hair defies physics. I kind of want to see how it works.”

I was glad for both his company and how easily he shifted gears. “Hairspray can do wonders,” I said, fluffing the still frizzy part. “Basically I tease it, spray it, curl it, spray it again, then smooth it.”

One by one, I tamed the teased hair into retro curls. When my entire head was done, I picked which ones I wanted to work with. “Okay, so to do double victory rolls, I pick one or two curls from each side and sculpt them with my fingers, bobby pins, and more spray,” I said, thankful he didn’t encourage me to talk. There was no way I wanted to tell him what was going on with Derek. “This look is cute to do if you want to make your hair look like it’s in a bow, but that requires bangs. I could fake some bangs by doing a roll forward, but not today. I’m going to do a single pompadour-style roll, put the rest in a high pony, and then wrap my kerchief like a headband and knot it in front. Since we’re going to the Falls, I want something that won’t come apart when wet.”

Aston shook his head at me. “You’re some kind of genius.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s genius, but it does take practice.”

“I can see why you’re good at cars,” he said, coming over and rubbing my shoulders, looking at us in the mirror. “They say creative people are usually creative at more than one thing. For you, I think it’s cars and your style.”

“Thank you,” I said, admiring how we looked together. So different but so complimentary. Yin and yang. “So what’s your second creative outlet?”

“Not sure I’ve found it yet, but since I like all aspects of the restaurant business, I’d say it’s planning and execution, you know?”

I nodded. “I can’t wait to see what you do out there. You’re going to knock their socks off.”

Aston smiled proudly. I wondered if part of his arrogant charm was how he acted so satisfied with himself. “I just called my dad’s friend who is building a new casino on the Strip. Construction’s nearly done and one of the backers for one of the restaurants he’d planned just pulled out. He says he’ll meet with me because he’s so close to Pop.”

I turned around and faced Aston. “Isn’t that still sort of relying on your family?”

He shrugged. “It’s a foot in the door.”

“Not your foot,” I clarified. “Your dad’s.”

Aston frowned and turned away. “I’ll let you finish dressing,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “I’ll check out the area for some fun stuff to do.”

Perhaps I was too harsh, but today had thrown me for a loop and it wasn’t even noon. Derek had ruled my life. I left him so I could have my own and he was somehow still inserting himself. Then there’s Aston, who still feels like an enigma to me. He’s sexually submissive and genuinely seems to care about me, but how will I ever get past his rich socialite persona? He couldn’t go one day without using his family connections in his favor. I didn’t grow up around wealth, and while owning my own business has given me quite a bit of financial freedom, I’ve never been more than comfortable.

Aston had never been less than pampered. Would he resent my sparse way of life?

THE BEGINNING OF
the ride to Niagara was quiet, nothing but some rockabilly music I’d added to my iPhone for the ride. Aston was curious about the popular songs and bands, and I gave him a bit of a primer on the whole scene. “Rockabilly is sort of a rock and roll country music that was popular in the fifties. It’s a little bluegrass, and that’s where the ‘billy’ comes from—hillbilly.”

Aston snickered. “It doesn’t sound very country. No twang.”

“We’re listening to modern rockabilly. This song is by the Stray Cats. Even Elvis was considered rockabilly. A few modern bands that were influenced by the genre are the Black Keys, Kings of Leon, and the White Stripes. But they’re not classic, more just inspired by it.”

“So why do pinups listen to it?” he asked. “Is it like what you have to do to get into the club?”

I narrowed my eyes at him as he glanced over at me while he drove. “I don’t have to do anything,” I explained, pinching him just above the knee. His body jolted. Was he ticklish? “It’s just part of the scene. Girls who go to car shows and stuff typically are in retro-type environments. If rockabilly isn’t played, punk is. You know, like Trickster City and stuff. It’s just part of the lifestyle.”

“You have a lifestyle associated with the way you dress? That’s kind of cool.”

“Glad you approve,” I said sarcastically. “So what’s the plan for today?”

Aston nodded to the phone. “I Googled some stuff to do in the area. First I thought we’d hit up Hornblower Cruises, where you get to take a boat and see the Falls from the bottom. Then I figured we’d see them from the Skylon Tower observation deck.”

I nodded. “All sounds great. What about tonight?”

Aston smiled. “I have an idea. Does Mistress mind if I keep a little secret?”

I shook my head. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

We drove a half hour more and made it to the area, which was definitely touristy and a little hokey, but totally endearing. We parked at a souvenir shop where Aston bought a silly Niagara Falls shirt that looked like a barrel, the way people allegedly used to go down the Falls.

“You are such a dork,” I laughed as he held the shirt to his chest. He had a childish sense of humor sometimes that disarmed me.

“You’re just jealous of my style,” he said, grabbing another absurd souvenir—a trucker hat with reindeer antlers. Then we hopped back in the car and headed to the Falls. The day was sunny, the car’s top was down, and Aston and I were goofing off like a couple of idiots. It was perfect.

He got out of the car, opened the door for me like a total gentleman, and I felt the urge to blink rapidly. My gosh, here was a guy who was really being chivalrous. Really making the effort. Nothing Derek would have ever done.

And as soon as I’d thought his name, I felt a cold, sinking feeling in my gut. The lawsuit. I tried to push the thought out of my mind as Aston took my hand in his. “May I escort you to our cruise, Mistress?” he asked. His aviator glasses were perched on his nose and his hazel-green eyes regarded me with a smolder. We hadn’t talked about the scorching sex we had last night, but some things are so intimate they cannot leave the moment. While I couldn’t wait to get him naked again, I was going to take control this time. No more of him calling the shots. I wanted this man bound and gagged beneath me.