How to Reprimand Your Rock Star (DommeNation #2) (6 page)

“I’m sorry,” I said, hands up in defense, “but I think it’s creepy.”

My Lyric Poetry professor asked: “Why, Thea?”

A couple of the other girls in the class looked at me incredulously. They had been rapt by the story of Eros and Psyche.

“Because she sleeps with him every night assuming he’s a monster?” I responded. “Cause that’s totally normal.”

Serena, a girl who lives in my dorm, huffed. “The stories say she was completely amazed by their nights together. I believe the term
endless pleasure
had been mentioned a few times. Monster rumors or not, Psyche was crazy to mess with a good thing.”

I shrugged. “I’d have taken that candle to him before anything was consummated.”

“It’s about faith,” Professor Moffat retorted. “She learned to trust him, to love him, but when her faith was challenged, she lost everything.”

My eyes rolled and I decided to let more opinions loose. “She was a sheep. Yes, she was the prettiest girl in town, but she wasn’t the smartest. I was glad when she finally got the guts to look at him. I don’t care how good Eros himself was in bed, getting swept off your feet and seduced by a god and not even giving it a second thought is idiotic.”

I started and blushed at my own words. In a way, I had resisted this same temptation. Keaton was a rock god, but when he tried to sweep me off my feet, I kept my legs steady. I wanted to be in charge. Not like Psyche, who just let Eros do whatever the hell he wanted to her.

Plus, Keaton couldn’t hold a candle to this guy. Rock gods trump love gods every time. Mmm, candles. Wax. Dripping wax onto Keaton’s abs.

Shit, you’re in class. Snap out of it, Kinkster
.

No, this myth wasn’t for me, but the ideas it was giving me about Keaton had to be contained in my head. I’d save my fantasies for when I wasn’t running my mouth about some ancient legend.

“Well aren’t you just a hopeless romantic?” another student taunted. I think his name is Evan. I had an answer for him, of course. I was starting to get very good at combating boys.

“This isn’t romance! It’s stupidity. If she wanted a god, she should have gone out there herself and wooed him. Or at least let him try to win her over with the lights on.”

The professor tapped her chin. “We’re not talking about Athena here. Psyche was a human woman, and her fate was tied to that of her village. She did what she thought was the right thing. She was lucky she ended up happy for that short time.”

The girl next to me snorted. “So, be grateful for what you’re given because this is as good as it gets? That’s BS. I’m with Thea on this one.”

Professor Moffatt chuckled. “Well, be grateful you don’t live in ancient Greece, ladies. And be grateful for Sadie Hawkins. Now, can we get back to the thematic preoccupations regarding fate and free will?”

We grumbled in assent and the scintillating discussion gave way to more academic discourse. I was irked by the myth, and it wasn’t the first time. Girls being flighty and ignorant while boys played them was something that had always bothered me. On my high school team, I had been the shoulder to cry on for so many girls that it made me lose faith in mankind . . . emphasis on the man. Why were they always trying to be so damn aggressive, possessive, and obsessive? Why couldn’t they just let us take the reins once in a while?

I glanced down and saw that I had doodled K
EATON
on my notebook. I circled it with a loop that looked a bit too much like a lasso for my liking. I swallowed hard and decided I needed a nap after class to clear my head. I did, after all, have double-session practices coming up the rest of the week, and I needed to be loose.

Although to cure this kind of pent-up frustration, I’d need more than just
zzzz
s.

KEATON KNELT AT MY FEET
as I circled him.

Only it was Keaton, but it wasn’t. His hair was longer and bound at the nape of his neck, held there with a leather tie. Behind him, turquoise waves crashed. We were in some sort of clay building with a wide-open door that looked out over the ocean. I fingered an arrow that hung at my hip, skimming the soft feathers at the end.

“Mistress Athena,” he said, blue eyes searching me. “Please.”

The words made my body tingle. The way he said them, begging. I wanted to hear more pleas.

His shirt was off, and his tattoos were nowhere to be seen. It was just smooth, unmarked muscle and flesh. He wore a pair of white linen pants and the way his body looked in such skimpy clothing made my body shiver. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but knew I had to keep him waiting.

In my hand were long pieces of braided leather, but unlike the tawse, they were loose and had no rigidity. I was wearing a white cotton sheath bound at the waist with a hemp cord. Not very intimidating, but the way he looked at me made me feel like a queen. I touched my scalp and felt a circlet of flowers there.

“You are mine,” I said with a voice that sounded much different from my own. It was lower, richer, and had an unquestionable authority about it.

He nodded. His body shook.

“Lie down for me,” I said, and he promptly shifted his weight and lay back onto the packed earth floor. His muscles tensed with anticipation. This seemed like a different man in many ways, but when our eyes met, I knew it was still Keaton. That baby-blue hue bright with mischief, despite his very agreeable position beneath me. A trickster still.

I knelt astride him, desperate for our bodies to touch, but firm in the knowledge that I needed to withhold from him until he broke. Until he shattered from need. My fingers flew to the cord at my waist and I untied it. He licked his lips. He knew the game we’d be playing.

I reached over him, my breasts skimming his face, and bound his hands above his head. I tightened the hemp and I felt him grunt with satisfaction. Our eyes met and I knew he wanted more. He wanted pain and pleasure. My hand slipped again to the arrow at my hip and pulled it from the sheath. This time I fingered the point. His eyes widened.
Not yet
, something told me,
start with something simpler.

I looked at the leather braids in my hand. What should I do with them?

A shadow in the mouth of the hut darkened a curvy shape on the floor. “Use them like the tawse,” Scarlett said.

I awoke with a gasp.

My face was flattened on one side and drool had dampened my Roman Civilization textbook. Looks like that was the inspiration for my dream. Well, that and Keaton and . . . shit, Scarlett! I was supposed to go to her shop this afternoon! Falling asleep on my homework was decidedly not part of operation get-your-shit-together.

Wiping my moist chin and checking the mirror to make sure I didn’t have any words imprinted there, I hustled over to Scarlett’s shop. I passed a few of my teammates on the way, but walked hurriedly by.

“Woman on a mission,” one of them muttered as I passed.

I didn’t feel like explaining that I was going to their dreaded house mom’s place for some back-room shenanigans.

I pushed open the door to Evening Star Treasures and heard bells tinkle softly. The room smelled of heady incense and sweet almond. Shelves were lined with vials of powders and liquids, tins of tinctures, and jars of herbs. Crystals twinkled on a display along with laminated cards that touted astrological signs.

I frowned. Scarlett really didn’t seem the type to make decisions by the stars, and neither was I. The alignment of the universe had nothing to do with how I became me.

“Oh, stop frowning,” I heard a voice say. I turned to the back of the room and there was Scarlett, all red hair and black vinyl, holding a long flowing pink curtain aside. “Are you coming or not?” she asked.

I walked over to her without a word. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of the verbal pun, but I definitely wanted to know what was behind those long, soft pink curtains and how to use whatever I’d find back there.

She stood beside me as I pushed through, arms crossed. “Welcome to the Golden Apple.”

I gulped. Instead of crystals and herbs, the walls here were lined with instruments of pain and pleasure. One wall alone held nearly two-dozen paddles, all different shapes and sizes and materials. I had only seen wooden ones at frat houses but I knew what they were for. I rubbed my ass idly, glad I’d only be on the giving end.

“You like what you see?”

I nodded. “I guess I just expected gray ties.”

She giggled. “Oh, we have those too. Used one just yesterday.”

My mouth moved but no words came out. Scarlett chuckled and took my hand. “Let me show you the ropes.”

I felt my eyebrows nearly touch my hairline.

“Figuratively speaking. Or literally, if you like.”

I nodded and she escorted me around the place. Around the corner from the paddle wall was a section of the store devoted to leather clothing. I wondered if the bra and panties I had picked were a bit too tame for Keaton, now that I was looking at ones that were pyramid-studded.

“I know it’s a bit much for now,” Scarlett said, nearly reading my mind, “but I’ll get you to the beginner’s stuff soon. Just wanted you to see everything first.”

“Thanks.”

The next section of the store was a wall of cheerfully colored phalluses. Some were only penis-like in concept, what with the pearls and batteries and Jesus, why does it have two ends?

“Do you have a vibrator?” Scarlett asked.

I shook my head no.

She pulled down a discreet little package that looked like a tube of lipstick. “Good for first-timers. Consider it a welcome gift from the Golden Apple. I’m really proud of you for taking this step—it’s hard for young people to own up to their kink. You’ve earned this.”

“This won’t fool anyone,” I grumbled. She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I never wear lipstick.”

Scarlett snickered at my feeble joke and we continued through the store. I was particularly taken with her restraints section—not just handcuffs, but beautiful skeins of rope, framed pictures of people hanging in the most interesting sexual cocoons, and metal bars were some of the items that caught my eye.

“You like the idea of bondage more than pain,” she noted, nodding.

“I guess,” I said, skimming the section. It was true. I wanted to torture Keaton a bit, but really only playfully. But to pin him down? To immobilize him? Yes, please. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to something that just looked like shiny duct tape.

Scarlett grinned, all teeth. “That’s bondage tape,” she said, pulling a yard off the roll and spreading it wide. “Flexible, and sticks to itself and not your partner.” Scarlett took my arm and wound the tape around it. At the end, she managed to fasten it simply by sticking two parts together. I touched the tape, felt its slick surface, and nodded.

“I want that.”

Scarlett slipped three rolls onto her forearm and paraded me through the rest of the store. I ended up picking out a pair of patent leather heels and a tawse. She giggled at that.

“So, tell me about Mister Wonderful,” she said as she rang me up.

I rolled my shoulders. “He’s um, interesting.” I didn’t want to tell her who he really was, a rock god. Scarlett would probably say he was the one with the power and that I was just a stupid groupie. I also didn’t want to disclose Keaton’s secret preferences with her.

Scarlett licked her lips. “I like complicated ones. Tell me more.”

I thought about it for a moment, and decided there were certainly things I could disclose. “He’s a little mischievous, a little wild, but he wants me in control. He’s definitely complicated.”

She leaned forward across the counter and looked at me with frighteningly honest green eyes. “So do you want me to tell you how to do this or do you want to fumble your way into his bed? By the sound of him, I’d say you want to go in prepared.”

“I don’t even know what
this
is,” I confessed, burying my face in my hands, joining her at counter level. Here was the hard part, admitting I was into this and that I was completely in over my head. I was supposed to be focusing on the tournament for goodness’ sake, not picking out special tape that lets you tie someone up. My lucky roll should be all I need.