How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (21 page)

I stroked her hair and felt her exhale. “Trust me.”

“I trust you,” she breathed, “but not him.”

Nodding, I had nothing else to say. She didn’t know him like I did, and he had a bad reputation. No, the worst reputation. Nothing I could say could erase the things she had read about him.

“I’ll be there, you know,” she said, “for the game. I was at the Final Four one, too.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I had no idea you liked basketball. Aside from being the landlord, you know.”

She pulled away and grinned, wiping her eyes. “No, but I like you. And that’s reason enough.”

The locker room was as still and silent as death. We each sat in our stalls, focused, stoic. Some girls tapped their feet nervously; others checked their hair to make sure their ponytails or braids were in place. Donelle had headphones on and I watched her head bob to the beats. Coach hadn’t made his entrance yet, and we weren’t about to stir before he got us worked up.

Before heading to the arena, I admit I wasn’t in perfect form. A day had passed and I was still rattled by Scarlett’s tirade. True, she didn’t know Keaton the way I did, but I did worry about what she had to say. It was the unspoken fear in my heart. What if he hurt me? What if I ended up just another girl he sang to and won over?

And I hadn’t even heard from him today. He knew it was the national championship and yet I didn’t get a single congratulatory text or phone call. Keaton’s last discussion with me about the NDA was rushed and I didn’t even get to tell him about how I was feeling. How I had reservations about his devotion to me.

Callie offhandedly mentioned that even though Keaton hadn’t been reported as being seen with Nastia, he did unexpectedly cancel a show in LA. Were they holed up in a hotel room, reuniting? I wanted to vomit.

But I had the national championships to win, and I had to man up. I had to become the Domme I was training to be. Strong, self-assured, and who made decisions that befitted her and nobody else. And there was nothing else that would suit me more than winning tonight. So I laced up my sneakers and headed to my destiny.

Finally, after minutes of silence, Coach Dunks walked in. His face was passive, body language guarded.

“You know why you’re all here,” he said, eyes scanning the room, reading our faces.

We nodded.

“You’re here because you’re qualified. You have the skill set to go up against this vetted, dynamic team. You have the talent on the roster to take them down a notch. All you need now is to pull the trigger.”

We started to look up, to make eye contact with each other. There was fire there, burning behind each and every pair of eyes. It matched mine, and I felt my confidence grow. We were a team, and we could do this.

Dunks smiled broadly. He felt it. He turned his glance to me and nodded.

“I got some special strategies today,” he explained, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. “Thanks to Thea. You all owe her a thank-you—she did some extra research on this team, stats I didn’t even know existed, and I’m fairly certain it’s going to be what makes this game for us.”

The girls looked at me and a few smiled. A few nodded. But all of them looked at me with more respect than I had got all season with my Rookie-of-the-Year skills. They appreciated my mind as well as my layups.

“Thanks, Thea,” Donelle said. A strong fondness for the team spread through me and I knew that from here on out, I’d be on a much more even playing field . . . err, court.

Before I knew it, it was time to head out onto the court. Tonight was big—I mean, national TV big. The arena was beyond packed, and I could swear as I walked out onto the brightly lit parquet that I saw fans practically hanging from the rafters. It was a sea of blue and white. Husky Pride. I wanted so badly to make them proud. I knew my family would be here tonight, and of course I wanted to show off for them, too.

I looked up into the crowd where they usually sat and gave a wave. They were talking to someone very animatedly. My dad was hugging the guy. I trotted with the team, completely distracted by my parents’ odd antics. Once we got into the lineup for the national anthem, I finally got a good look at who my parents were talking to.

Keaton. He waved, blew me a kiss, and wrapped his arm around my mom.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

My rock star boyfriend canceled a concert in LA to sit with my parents at the title game. He did care. I was special to him.

A gust of calm blew through me, a mere whisper in my mind, but I knew I’d be able to get through the game. My mind was finally at ease.

I adjusted my headband and we lined up for the tip-off. Donelle was our center and she won the ball easily. I was always in awe of the way she commanded the court, and for a second I thought maybe she’d be a good Domme, too. Without a second of hesitation, she passed it to me. The moment the ball touched my hands, my body felt electrified. I drove myself down the court, propelling myself and the ball toward the net. One of Notre Dame’s girls was riding me hard, but I pivoted around her and easily put the ball in the hoop.

Ding
, two points.

The first half continued in the same vein. The girls trusted me much more to travel with the ball instead of just handling layups and rebounds. Which was great because of the maps I had in my mind of who would be going where. It was like the lanes just opened up for me, giving me free rein to just dominate the court the way I’d dominate Keaton.

Keaton, who was here and schmoozing with my parents. That man. He wore a ridiculous Husky hat with dark sunglasses and a long-sleeve shirt that hid his tattoos. He had grown a bit more stubble and honestly I don’t think even his biggest fan would have recognized him. But I wasn’t a fan, I was his owner, and I’d know my Baby Blue anywhere.

I sat on the bench and wiped the sweat from my brow and neck. Callie passed me a bottle of water and I gulped down a lusty squirt. Glancing back into the crowd, I marveled at the ease with which Keaton had charmed my parents. I could see them chatting, smiling, and I think I may have caught my dad giving him a fist bump.

But I had to keep my head in the game. Keaton was part of the reason I got here, but I couldn’t focus on him right now.

As the second half drew closer, it brought a bit of an unpleasant surprise—the Notre Dame coach completely mixed up the roster. He was playing girls in new positions and it was throwing me off completely. The patterns I had seen in my head were nothing, now that their team was running around willy-nilly. Granted, they weren’t as good in these new positions, but I couldn’t anticipate their moves anymore.

We trudged into the locker room, tied up at the half. And not the way I like. Coach started to offer a few pointers, but looked flustered. I thought about the new arrangement of the roster and what the patterns could become. Shifting around the players in my head, new schemes began to appear in my mind. I had to share them with the team.

“Coach?” I asked. Suddenly, all the eyes were on me again.

He nodded in my direction.

“Clearly they saw we were onto their plays and they shifted players around. But,” I said, trying to sound as modest as I could, “I think I figured out the new ones.”

Coach tuned in as I rattled off a few ideas. He scribbled madly, and the team leaned in as we discussed our strategy.

The beginning of the second half was fast and fierce. We rematched Notre Dame stride for stride and quickly upset their mix-’em-up strategy. Finally, we tied it up again. The renewed energy from our strategic victory bled into every aspect of the game—shots were crisper, turnarounds were quicker, and the three-pointers were falling like rain.

The crowd was worked to a frenzy. Husky fans were cheering, chanting, and I even saw Keaton wearing one of those silly foam hands, waving it around like a lunatic. Even in his hat and glasses, he still looked like a total hunk. I was stunned that nobody had discovered him in the crowd.

The buzzer was seconds from sounding and they were up by two. With every moment that ticked by, another opportunity was wasted. I couldn’t let us lose—I had to grab this game and give it a good, hard spank.

The ball sailed through the air between two Notre Dame players, intending to pass it up the court and keep it from our end. The distance between my arm and the ball seemed impossible, but I made it happen. My confidence bridged the distance. I swiped the ball out of the air, pivoted on one foot, and as the buzzer rang, I shot for three.

Time slowed and the crowd stopped, breathless, as the ball made its way in a perfect arc toward the hoop. Here it was, Thea, do or die.

And as I watched the ball make its graceful swoop through the net, I knew I had done it.

The scoreboard clicked up three points, and we had won.

“Pops! Pops! Pops!” the crowd shouted, chanting my name in victory. Keaton’s elated face beamed down at me as I saw him begin to make his way down to the court along with my family.

Before I knew it, the confetti was raining on our heads as Gatorade was splashing over Dunks’s. We cheered, we hugged, all sweat and confetti and energy-drink sticky. The team surged together, vibrating in joy as one mass of winners. The surge of happiness and satisfaction and euphoria I felt was beyond words—this is what I had always dreamed of. This moment, this team, that final second where I put the ball through the hoop just as the buzzer rang out.

The national championship. We won it.

The after-party was one of the best nights of my life, hands down.

All the players’ friends and family joined us in celebration as we surged together on the parquet floor, hugging and high-fiving. I felt my mother’s arms wrap around me, my dad’s reassuring hand on my shoulder, and a minute later, Keaton’s hot lips on my mouth.

“So proud of you,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “I thought you’d be performing tonight.”

He pouted. “I couldn’t miss this. Not ever. I faked a kidney stone to get here,” he joked, arching his back and feigning a look of pain.

Coach called everyone to him. He had a stunned look on his face. “Everyone,” he said, shaking his head, “a very generous Husky fan has kindly rented out a restaurant for us tonight.”

The team looked around at each other, then at me and Keaton. He didn’t make a sound.

“So if everyone will follow us to Grill Ninety-Eight over on Plymouth Street, we’re being treated to a buffet with a DJ and open bar!”

The team cheered and whooped and we celebrated anew.

I got in my parents’ car and so did Keaton. The four of us couldn’t stop talking during the five-minute ride to the restaurant. My dad kept complimenting me on my layups, my mom yammered about how fast I had become, and Keaton just kept recapping his favorite moves of the night.

To say I felt good would be a gross understatement. I was on cloud nine. Cloud thirty-five. Whatever. I was in the car with the people who mattered most to me in this world. Keaton’s charm, his collar, winked at me from across the car and I wanted to throw myself on him. He canceled a show—a major venue—just to see me win.

I invited Scarlett to meet us at the restaurant. I wanted her to meet my parents and spend some time getting to know Keaton. She was stunned at his bold move and decided that yes, she would like to see what all the fuss was about. Her words, not mine.

We arrived at the venue in shock. There was already a huge sign: C
ONGRATULATIONS
, H
USKIES
, W
OMEN’
S
B
ASKETBALL
N
ATIONAL
C
HAMPIONS!

I looked at Keaton.

“I told you I know things, Goddess,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” I mouthed.

“Anything for you.”

Inside, the DJ was spinning a wide variety of favorites for the crowd. Some hip-hop for the team, eighties favorites for the parents, and even a little rock. I wonder who wanted to hear that.

Keaton took off his hat and glasses and worked the crowd. Surprisingly, everyone was really kind and not overly gushy. Apparently in the time from when I was outed until now, people got used to the fact that I was dating a megastar and they just decided to treat him like any other Husky friend or family.

I liked that.

Making myself a dish of chicken piccata, raviolis, and a few of the little dessert tarts—eclectic, I know, but we athletes know what we want after a good, hard match—I sat down and indulged my hunger.

Well, one of my hungers.

As I ate, I watched Keaton chat with Scarlett, who showed up in her most casual of outfits. She was wearing a blue tank with a Husky in the middle, with laminated jeans that showed and hugged her curves. Most of the eyes in the room were on her. My mother shot me a worried look, and I told her that Scarlett was one of my closest friends and the team’s house mom. The team had actually been really excited to see her there, and she was getting a lot of hugs. Maybe they saw that she could be normal with me, and so maybe not so terrifying after all. Still gorgeous, but maybe a tad less terrifying.

Keaton and Scarlett quickly grabbed plates and sat with me and my parents and we chatted. Scarlett talked a lot about her shop, which my dad seemed to find fascinating, and Keaton just kept his hand in my lap contentedly. I stroked his fingers and longed to be alone with him again. The desire was different this time. It no longer felt like I had to be with him again because I had something to prove or learn, or that it would possibly be the last time. No, it was just the attraction and connection between us. The lust and the love, the power and the play. As if reading my thoughts, Keaton leaned over and kissed my cheek chastely. My mom smiled at the gesture.

As the party wound down and the team started to disperse, my parents offered to drive us home, or at least to the parking lot where Keaton had parked his rental.

“It’s a nice night,” he said, wrapping his arm around me, “and I think I’d like to take Thea for a walk. A victory lap.” Keaton smiled and my parents grinned back, melting off into the distance without another word. I swear the man went to charm school.

“A victory lap?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not the type for a leisurely stroll.”

He nodded. “What if I leisurely strolled you to the hotel suite I rented?”

My mouth fell open a fraction, and I corrected the gesture as Scarlett left us with a smile and a friendly wave. “Go on.”

“There are things there that would excite you,” he said, pulling me close. “Chocolate body paint being one particular item that may be of interest.”

My eyebrow quirked. “You noticed my postgame sweet tooth, eh?” I asked, remembering how many of the little tarts I tucked away.

“I’m still hungry if you are.”

“Starving.”

WE WALKED INTO THE GRAND
collection of rooms to a spread like I’ve never seen.

“Suites for my sweet,” he joked and I walked along the smorgasbord in awe. It was an entire ice cream sundae bar—sprinkles, marshmallow sauce, caramel, whipped cream, the works.

“Body paint?” I asked.

“I suppose that was a bit of an understatement. I didn’t really want to tell you about the virtual Ben and Jerry’s I had set up in your honor, Goddess.”

Sticking my finger in the warm caramel, I pulled it out and licked it clean with a moan.

“I’m glad you told a fib. Now I get to punish you.”

He took a step toward me. “Will it be sticky?”

I nodded.

“Then it will be worth any cavities or calories we may incur,” he said, pulling off his jacket. “Where to begin?”

I cracked my knuckles and thought.

“On the table, Keaton,” I said, pointing to the long marble dining room table. “Naked.”

He half-smiled, half-grimaced, knowing how cold this was going to get. It was a fun, new kind of torture I was looking forward to.

So he decided to torture me a bit by stripping slowly.

His eyes met mine as his head dipped low, and he undid each button on his black shirt one at a time, never breaking our gaze. His hand slid down the bare strip of chest, and he pushed the shirt off his muscular shoulders with one gentle shrug. His pecs flexed, his corded arms twitched, and I knew his body wanted mine.

But not before getting cold and sticky.

Then licked clean.

Keaton unbuttoned his pants and took them off with equally slow precision, swiveling his hips as he pushed the denim to the ground. He even took care to remove his socks.

“All of it,” I barked, since he hadn’t taken off his boxer briefs.

He shrugged and gave one last tug, then hopped up on the table and lay down on the freezing-cold marble.

His face was stoic and I could tell he wasn’t terribly comfortable.

Which was okay. I’d take care of him. But of course he would squirm first.

“I love Rocky Road, Keaton,” I said, grabbing the bucket and the scooper. “You are so considerate.”

“You’re welcome, Goddess,” he said with a tight grin. I nearly buckled laughing as I scooped out a big hunk of ice cream and plopped it in the middle of his chest. He flinched.

I licked the mound of ice cream, careful to keep my warm tongue off his body. He moaned. Whether from pleasure or discomfort, I wasn’t sure.

Sticking my finger deep into the scoop, I ran it up and down his chest, watching it melt. Goose bumps sprang all up and down his body and he clenched.

Now it was time for a little relief.

I brought out the warm caramel and drizzled it across his hips.

“Ah!” he cried with a smile.

“Too hot?” I asked, lowering myself for a lick.

“Just, ahh, so many feelings.” His voice teetered and I could tell he was just a bundle of nerves. I soothed him with a long lick of the caramel followed by a slurp of the melting Rocky Road. Planting kisses across his pecs, I warmed him with my mouth.

“That’s better,” he exhaled.

I pinched his nipple. “Was that a suggestion?” I asked incredulously. “Because last time I checked, I was in charge of this little feast you set up.”

“Of course, goddess, do what you will.”

I grabbed a sash from the four-poster bed in the next room and brought it in.

“You need this,” I said, tying the band over his eyes.

A little something Scarlett had taught me once about using hot wax and ice. If your body can’t see what stimulus you are using, it can confuse the pain of heat for the sting of cold. Keaton wouldn’t know what I was doing. I was loving it already.

I grabbed the hot chocolate that was warming over a Sterno and held it above his neck. Slowly, I dripped the fudge onto his skin and his body vaulted into the air and landed back on the table.

“Stay. Still,” I said, and licked up the brown pool that had settled in the hollow of his throat.”

“Chocolate?” he asked, sniffing.

I responded by kissing him, snaking my chocolate-covered tongue down his throat.

Next I took a cherry that had been chilling in ice and ran it over his nipple. Again, his body responded with a jolt. I placed it between my teeth and chewed. “Just a cherry,” I said innocently.

He shook his head. “Goddess, you are driving me positively mad.”

“Mad? Already?” I asked, sticking the fingers from my left hand into the hot caramel and the fingers from my right into the cold ice cream and placing both on his erect shaft.

“But we’ve only just begun.”