The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (24 page)

“Mr. Seton has asked me to deliver this to you, ma’am,” George said, flashing me a smirk that stretched from ear to ear as his hands lunged forward to reveal a glossy black bag.
 

Heat rushed up to my cheeks.
 
The man was being insolent.
 
He clearly knew the bag contained something naughty.
 
He’d seen me wearing slutty outfits and engaging in lewd acts with Seton, after all.
 
I glared at the bag in his hands, debating over whether to accept it or reject it.
 
Hmm.
 
I wondered what was in it though.
 
Was it something as exotic and creative as the faux-Edwardian prostitute outfit, or was it as tacky and slutty as the black leather dress with all the zippers?
 
I sighed inwardly.
 
Curiosity won.
 
I had to see what other sleazy getup Seton had concocted for me.

“Uh, go wait outside.
 
I’ll be right back,” I murmured, grabbing the bag.
 
Then I practically slammed the door in George’s face and headed straight to my private bathroom.

I went to the counter by the sink and emptied the bag.
 
A big, shiny black box with a pink satin ribbon slipped out.
 
I stared at the box with some trepidation.
 
What other outlandish scenario had Seton devised for us?
 
Did it involve another sleepless night?
 
Even though I’d stayed in bed all day yesterday, I was still exhausted, and Seton hadn’t given me enough time to catch my breath, let alone prepare myself, mentally as well as physically, for another sexy tryst.
 
The man was going to be the death of me if this carried on, which, as it happened, wouldn’t carry on.
 
Still, I was curious about what was inside the box.
 
So, after mulling it over for a few seconds, I pulled at the pink ribbon and untied the rather appealing package.

Swallowing back a lump of nerves that suddenly formed in my throat, I cautiously unfolded back some white tissue paper and pulled out a neon-pink micro-mini skirt that, from what I could see, would barely cover up my ass and a white crop top with a pink Playboy logo emblazoned on it.
 
Frowning, I set the top and skirt aside and removed the other contents from the box.
 
There was a white leather belt with little silver buttons and holes on it and a pair of seven-inch, neon-pink plastic pumps.
 
A bright pink wig and a tube of bubble gum pink lipstick completed the rather bizarre package.
 
Huh.
 

A little keen on pink, are we?
 

Bile rose as I stared at the ensemble.
 
It was another hooker outfit—another painful reminder that I was nothing but a whore to Seton.

Without another thought, I grabbed the note taped to the bottom of the box and read its message.

Dear Marjorie,

I hope you’re feeling better and that you’re well rested.

I want you to do the following:

Wait for everyone at work to go home and then don all of the items you see inside the bag. (Remember, if it’s not in the bag, then I don’t want you to wear it.)
 
Call me on my mobile before you leave the office.
 
Go stand at the corner between Main Street and Old South Street and wait for me there.
 
Prance around the street and show yourself off to the passersby.
 
That’s how I want to find you.

I hope you’ll follow these simple instructions.
 
I look forward to seeing you, my pet.

Yours,

D.J.S. xxx

I gaped at the note, my stomach churning.
 
He expected me to walk out of my office wearing
that
?
 
He wanted me to wait for him at a street corner like some common prostitute?
 
But of course he does, I thought bitterly.
 
He sees me as nothing more than a whore, someone who’s selling her body in exchange for his manuscript, so he might as well get a kick out of seeing me acting like a genuine streetwalker.

Anger and indignation jerked inside of me as I clutched the tassels of the satin ribbon and twisted them into a tight knot.
 
He had no intentions of joining Bookends AtoZ, yet he expected me to do this for him.
 
He wanted me to humiliate and degrade myself for…for what?
 
What was the point of all this?
 

“For my amusement.”

Those words—the words he’d uttered during our first meeting—came back to me.
 

“I thought it would amuse me to see exactly what you’d do and how far you’d go just to get me to write for you.”

I bunched up the pink satin ribbon and flung it across the room.
 
Picturing him laughing about my capitulation made my skin boil with indignation.
 
I ran shaky fingers through my hair and leaned against the counter.
 
I knew I had no right to be angry.
 
He’d been forthright with me since the very beginning.
 
And I had agreed to become his plaything.
 
I’d agreed to play along in his disgusting little schemes.
 
I gave him
carte blanche
to do with me whatever he damn well pleased.
 
Well, not anymore.
 
To hell with him!
 
It was just as well I had already decided he was history.
 
The timing couldn’t be better.
 

I blinked back tears as I placed all of the items back into the box and then dumped the box inside the bag.
 
I dashed over to my desk, bag in hand, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and wrote him a note.

Mr. Seton,

I am returning these items to you.
 
I no longer wish to carry on with our agreement.
 
I have also decided not to court you.
 
If you’re at all serious about joining Bookends AtoZ, you may reach Mr. Alfred Williams directly.
 
I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.

Regards,

Marjorie Fordham
     

There.
 
Short, sweet, to the point.
 
No use in going into a tirade.
 
It was over.
 
I would get my life back.
 
That, in the end, was what I wanted—wasn’t it?
 
I tossed the note into the bag and sent out a silent prayer that this would be the end of my ordeal with Seton.

I opened my office door to find George waiting patiently on the other side.
 
I offered him the bag, but he didn’t take it.
 
He stared at it, frowning, then turned surprised eyes to me.
 
“But ma’am—”

“Please, take it,” I said irritably as I cast a worried glance across the office, hoping no one saw me arguing with David J. Seton’s chauffeur-slash-gopher.
 
Fortunately, everyone was too busy to care either way about us.
 
“There’s a note inside that explains everything.”

He said nothing, just stared alarmingly at the bag.

I clucked my tongue.
 
“Oh, for crying out loud, just take the damn thing!”
 
When he made no move, I gritted my teeth and silently counted to ten.
 
“Look,” I snarled.
 
“I have a lot of work to do, George, so if you don’t mind…”
 

I didn’t finish the sentence, just threw the bag at him and slammed the door in his face.
 
I didn’t care if I had been rude.
 
I didn’t care about anything anymore.
 
All I cared about as I plopped into my seat, kicked off my shoes and leaned back in the soft leather chair was that it was finally over.
 
I was free.
 
My obsessions would come to a peaceful end.

Chapter Eight

The afternoon crawled by, and the relief I felt for having broken up with Seton had neither magnified nor waned.
 
A feeling of peace took over me at the thought that I’d have my life back, and the sheer depth of it made me all the more determined that I was never going to see him again.
 
No more Seton.
 
No more obsessions.

Hmm.
 
I wondered if he’d gotten my note.
 
And how would he react?
 
He would probably just shrug, smile that smug smile of his, and move on.
 
Whatever.
 
I didn’t care.

I glanced at the time, saw that it was almost six o’clock, and scooted out of the office, digging around in my black Balenciaga bag until I found a partial manuscript with some notes I planned to go over later that night.
 
Yup, I thought, my life is back to normal already.
 
Seton is nothing more than a soon-to-be distant memory.

I flicked through the file folder as I headed to a nearby sandwich shop for a quick bite.
 
Once I’d reached the main entrance to the shop, I swept my gaze across the street and recognized the familiar sheen of a black Mercedes parked at the curb.
 
I turned, checking to see if George was there.
 
But I didn’t see George.
 
Seton was there, leaning back against the back door, his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me.
 

           
Swearing under my breath, I shoved the file folder into my bag and crossed the rather busy street over to him.
 
“I take it you got my note?” I asked sharply.

           
He had the audacity to look angry.
 
“Yes, I got your bloody note!
 
What the hell do you think you’re doing, disobeying orders like that?”

           
I gritted my teeth and stood before him, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, but not too close that we were touching.
 
“It’s not disobedience when I’m no longer playing your game.
 
Sorry,
Sir
, but it’s over.
 
Time to move on now.”

           
He tightened his jaw.
 
“This isn’t a game and it’s not over, Marjorie.
 
You and I have pressing matters we need to discuss.”

“Such as?”

           
“Such as your strange behavior at the party last Saturday.
 
One minute you wanted me, the next you pushed me away.
 
Why?”

           
I should be asking
you
the same question!

           
“I guess I don’t like to be treated as if I don’t exist.”

“Did you want me to flaunt our relationship in front of your colleagues?”

“No,” I huffed.
 
“But you weren’t subtle in some occasions.”
 
Like when we were dancing.

“No, I wasn’t,” he countered.
 
“Which is why I had to act natural at the banquet table.
 
I didn’t mean to ignore you.
 
I was just trying to be careful.”