Disciplined By The Dom (Club Volare)

by Cox, Chloe

  “I don’t understand,” he said lamely.

  Eileen walked past him into the grey light of early February and looked up at the sky to see if it would rain again.

  “I have some things I want to give you,” she said. “Some stuff I want you to hear. Try something different, rather than just being miserable. You’re screwing up your life with this, you know. It’s getting ridiculous.”

  He felt twelve years old again. “What?”

  She rolled her eyes. “So we’re on for the fourteenth. We’ll go to Angelo’s in the old neighborhood. Fantastic, that’s settled.”

  She walked briskly down the steps, looking down the street to see if she could spot a cab. One started to turn the corner, and she walked out into the street with her hand up like the native New Yorker she was.

  “Listen,” she called back as the cab slowed to a stop. “Will you talk to that girl already? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’re gonna screw that up, too. Promise me, all right?”

  Without waiting for a response, Eileen ducked into the cab shaking her head, her bright red bob bouncing back and forth. It was just as well. Jake was too stunned and disoriented to be of much use. He stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, Eileen’s final words echoing inside his mind, until he realized she was right: he was going to screw it up. He had made it all about himself, when it was about Catie. And if there was one thing the memory of Stephan made abundantly clear, it was that he couldn’t make the mistake of allowing anyone to depend upon him ever again.

  He’d have to complete Catie’s training, somehow find a way to disentangle the threat of her thesis, and he had to do it quickly, before the stakes grew any larger.

  It meant he needed to know more about Catie than she was willing to tell him. It meant he needed to do some investigation. And he knew just who to call.

  chapter 18

  Catie sat in the Volare lounge and stared morosely at the blue folder in front of her. It was the same blue folder that held all the information on the Volare members and the Valentine’s Auction. Names. Biographical details. Shit they’re into. She took out the New York Lottery scratch ticket she’d bought on the way over and put it on the low table next to the folder, as though it were a viable second option.

  Well, you never knew.

  She’d gotten another call from Brazzer. Of course she had. She’d been able to delude herself into a fantasy life with Jake at his incredible townhouse for all of one day—one incredible day—before Brazzer had ripped her out of the clouds and pulled her back down to reality. Catie had been disappointed when Jake left her in her own room, with her own bed, but Brazzer’s call later that night had reminded her that she needed all the cover—and all the protection—she could get.

  Brazzer had wanted to know if she was ever going to have anything for him, or if he should spend the money elsewhere. Catie had tried to get him to give up some info on his alleged second source, but he’d only laughed at her. She’d had to tell him she’d have something for him, but he hadn’t believed her. In the end, she’d had to tell him about the auction. Not details, but that it existed. She felt terrible.

  And here she was, with the mother lode of gossip information staring her in the face. She’d done what she was supposed to do, she’d written the copy for the Auction catalog. She’d kept a copy of the document for herself, as…she wanted to say as insurance, but it wasn’t that. It was so she’d have something to sell Brazzer if she could ever bring herself to pull the trigger. Theoretically, she could do it now. She could call Brazzer up and be out of town tomorrow.

  “Shit,” she said. There was no one around to hear it. Mid-morning, mid-week—not a busy time at Volare. She was just waiting to meet Lola.

  Lola, who made her feel terrible without even meaning to. She couldn’t decide if Lola suspected her or worried about her or both.

  Catie eyed the lottery ticket again. It was, obviously, stupid. No one wins the lottery. But she couldn’t help herself. She’d walk past the bodega and find herself fantasizing about suddenly having the money. She’d be able to call up Ridge Hill and set her grandmother up for the rest of her life, and then she imagined herself tearfully confessing to Jake, and in this fantasy he was angry, but he saw, in the end, how sorry she was, and he understood and he forgave her. And so did everyone else.

  It was beyond pathetic.

  Still, she leapt forward with sudden vehemence and scratched furiously at the silver foil with her nail.

  Nope. Loser.

  “Did you win?”

  She looked up, startled. It was Vincent Duran. Looking at her curiously. Like he was trying to place her.

  Catie told herself she was just being paranoid, and forced a smile. “Never do,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  They were totally alone.

  Vincent unbuttoned his shiny grey suit—this one had a definite sheen to it—and sat down with his arms spread wide on the back of the armchair. He looked at her, smiling, smacking his gum. Like Brazzer had.

  “I came to see you,” he said.

  “I’m here to meet Lola,” she said. “I have the catalog stuff. Is she not coming?”

  Vincent shook his head, still smiling at her, a puzzled smile.

  “I swear to God, I know you from somewhere,” he said. “It’s been driving me crazy. Help a guy out, would ya?”

  Catie shrugged helplessly, tried not to overdo it.

  “I got nothing,” she said.

  “Well, that ain’t true,” he said, looking at her appreciatively.

  Catie made a point of fingering the fine leather collar on her neck. She wore it as a choker. Had no idea what it meant, if anything, just that she was training with Jake. That she was his, for the time being. That maybe Vincent better back off.

  He seemed to get the message.

  “Well, I’ll give that stuff to Lola,” he said, getting up and rebuttoning his suit jacket. He reached out his hand.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Jesus.” He snapped his fingers. Catie had been neutral on him up until that moment. Now Vincent Duran had moved firmly into the “douchebag” category. Reluctantly, she gave him the folder and waited for him to leave.

  He didn’t. He was still looking at her.

  “Is there something else?” This time, she allowed a hint of irritation to seep into her voice. She should just leave. The problem was that she had nowhere to go but Jake’s, and she didn’t think she would be any better at facing him.

  “You remember that trouble I mentioned—the thing with the tabloids?” he said.

  “Vaguely,” she answered. She felt overheated. Claustrophobic.

  “Well, I’m still on it, but I’m not having as much luck as I thought, you know? It’s that rag Sizzle, so you know what kinda story they’re gonna do. I mean, Christ. I know these people from my day job, so I’m working on it. I got a source and I’m gonna nail it, but with the auction coming up, I just wanna tell you to keep an eye out, all right?”

  “Will do,” she said. She had to get the hell out of there. She got up, all set to make a beeline for the exit.

  “I mean, you’d mention it if anything came up, right?” he said.

  Could he tell she was avoiding looking at him?

  “Of course I would. Listen, Vincent, I’ve gotta go. I was just here to meet Lola. Sorry.”

  Catie smiled and gave him a little wave, and started to walk as fast as possible for the coatroom.

  “Yeah, all right, no problem. Hey,” he called after her, and it sounded like he was smiling, like he was being friendly, even flirting. “I’m gonna figure out where I know you from, I swear! It’s driving me nuts!”

  Catie winced.

  chapter 19

  Catie had no idea what was in store for her back at Jake’s townhouse, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was running out of time.

  She spent the rest of the day in the main branch of the New York Public Library, tucked away in the farthest cor
ner of the Rose Room, trying to write out a draft of the story she was supposed to give to Brazzer. She’d always been a good writer, and she’d been confident in her ability to deliver. But she’d only ever fed Brazzer little gossipy tidbits, stuff overheard on bar shifts or on auditions that she could turn into hot little items. Never something like this. Never something she actually cared about, never something that mattered.

  It was freaking hard. Worse, she felt insanely paranoid after Vincent had put the fear of exposure in her, and so she’d hunch over her notebook any time someone came near her spot, all the way at the end of one of the long tables. It put her on edge as she struggled to try to capture the essence of Volare, what made it special. Every time she felt like she got close, she’d feel guilty all over again. She was a mess.

  Eventually, she gave up. She would have to buckle down at some point, but she felt strongly that something was missing, and she preferred to believe it was something she could fix. She’d nearly chewed her way through her pencil when she’d remembered about Jake’s once-promising academic career. Professor Jayson. He’d written a book, a well-received, well-reviewed book, right before he’d disappeared completely from the public eye. About five years ago. The sort of thing that might give her the insight she needed to do him justice.

  It was easy enough to find. And it made for fascinating reading.

  Love and Shakespeare.

  She read until closing, and when the lights flickered above her and she finally came up for air, she felt like she’d been right back inside Jake’s head. She was nearly out of breath. She was almost relieved to stop, to get a break, until she remembered that she had nowhere to go but back to Jake’s.

  “I am such a crazy person,” she muttered.

  February had finally settled into its customary bitter chill, and she found herself practically running down the long avenue blocks, her head down against the vicious wind, on the way to Jake’s townhouse. She was so caught up in the cold she forgot to be anxious, right up until she was confronted with Jake’s insane security system.

  He’d given her her own code. He’d programmed her fingerprint into the system. Every time she opened the door, she thought about how much he’d trusted her, how much that meant to her, and how much she didn’t deserve it.

  The door swung open and Catie hurried inside, stamping her feet on the cold marble floor. She’d meant to hurry up to her room, hide, figure out what to do next. They hadn’t even talked about how long she was supposed to stay here, probably because he guessed she didn’t have any other options. The whole situation was strange, and felt like it couldn’t last. She needed time to think.

  But Jake was waiting.

  “Oh, come on,” she whispered. He had just emerged from a room in the back. She hadn’t had much chance to explore most of the house. He was dressed in his usual tailored suit, this one a three piece. His dark hair was brushed back, accentuating that early silver streak. He was gorgeous.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  “I was at the library,” she said. That, at least, was true.

  He nodded, and she thought she saw a shadow pass across his face at the reminder of her “studies.” Her “thesis.” She had gotten away with remarkably little questioning on that front; now she wondered if her luck was running out.

  “Follow me,” he said, and beckoned to her.

  Catie glanced down at her bag, which held the notebook full of Volare notes and drafts of her exposé. Just holding it in his presence made her nervous. She desperately wanted to go squirrel it away somewhere where it wouldn’t remind her of what she was doing so she could once again lose herself in Jake’s presence. She craved that release now more than ever.

  “Now,” he said, and his tone was one that she recognized. She felt a twinge between her legs and fingered the thin leather collar around her neck, then followed him up the stairs.

  He led her to a formal dining room. The south wall was nearly entirely windows, looking out on the snow covered garden, and the long wooden table was lit by a single, large candelabra. It was breathtaking, in a dramatic Beauty and the Beast sort of way. She giggled, half expecting the candlestick to start singing at her, and then realized that the strain of leading a double life might be having more of an effect than she’d thought. Giggling probably wasn’t the appropriate response.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just…”

  “You seem nervous,” he said, taking off his suit jacket. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt in his habitual way, and Catie was once again distracted. The man looked amazing in his vest and rolled up cuffs, straight out of a photo shoot or something.

  “I am, actually. Nervous.” She was getting to tell the truth left and right. It felt good. Too bad it can’t last. “What is all of this?”

  “This,” he said, pushing a service tray out from the side of the room, where it had escaped her notice, “is the setting for our next session. And you will address me as ‘sir’ in session, Catie.”

  Catie blanched. She had begged him to continue to train her, and at the time she’d meant it. And she did need him physically, she did need those moments they shared, whatever they were, even if she preferred not to think about why, or what would happen when it had to end. But in the days since he’d put that collar on her, she’d worried about what he’d told her about training in their very first session: it was about self-discovery. It meant he had to know her better than she knew herself. It meant it was about uncovering secrets.

  Which was the last thing she needed. Except, of course, that she did need it. Of course. Nothing about this was simple.

  He was looking at her, waiting, his eyes glowing over the candelabra. Just that look was enough to get her blood flowing.

  Who was she kidding?

  “Yes, sir,” she finally said, and as she did, she felt the familiar rush race through her body. His eyes glittered, and she thought she saw him smile. Even though she knew she’d have to fight to keep her secrets, she couldn’t wait to see what he was going to do to her.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She put her bag down, nestled against the wall by the door, and hoped it would be forgotten. It took her a moment to take off all her winter stuff and hang it all on the back of one of the antique chairs, but eventually she made it over to his side. He watched her the whole time.

  She looked down at the service tray. It was one of two—another was lined up against the wall, waiting. Both had silver service sets.

  “So…?”

  He grinned. “I want to see how you manage service,” he said.

  Catie opened her mouth to object—service was about the last thing she imagined herself to be good at—but she was, again, distracted. Jake had started to unbutton her blouse.

  “Service?” she said weakly. He whipped her shirt over her shoulders, and the fabric made a sharp snapping sound. He let it fall to the floor, and then removed her collar.

  “Service is about mindfulness,” he said. “About putting yourself in mind of someone else. Done correctly, it leaves no room for anything else. But given the way your mind works, I’ve decided to incentivize your performance a bit.”

  “The way my mind works?” she said, her voice a little arch. He paused, his hands on her bra clasp, and waited. “Sir,” she added.

  Now he smiled and her bra fell to the floor, joining her shirt in a pile at her feet. He quickly pinched her nipples, and she cried out in surprise. “I think you know what I mean,” he said.

  She did. In fact, her mind was already going into overdrive. What the hell did he mean by “incentivize?”

  Catie didn’t have to wait long to find out. Jake lingered over her breasts for a moment, and then looked down at the silver service. He lifted the domed cover to reveal another collar, this one with wires attached. Some of the wires were connected to little metal clamps.

  She expected him to explain, but he didn’t say anything at all. Instead he picked up a little bottle and squirted so
mething onto his fingers. He rubbed them together as he looked her up and down.

  “I think I want you naked,” he said, smiling again. “Yes. Take off the rest of your clothes.”

  She was going to serve him dinner, naked. Catie had never thought of this before, had never had the imagination, apparently, to envision herself in such a servile role. She was surprised to find that it turned her on.

  She stripped out of the rest of her clothes, and came up smiling, already wet just from the thrill of being naked with a fully clothed man.

  Jake grabbed her nipples, his fingers wet with some kind of cold gel, and rubbed.

  She shrieked.

  “What the hell is that?” she said. “Sir?”

  Jake laughed softly to himself. “This is so the electrodes don’t burn you.”

  “The what now?”

  But he was already attaching the new collar to her neck. It was thicker than the previous one, and she felt the weight of heavy grounding cord trailing off behind her. The wires dangled down the front of her chest.

  She closed her eyes. “This is…”

  “An incentive.”

  chapter 20

  He showed her a little gadget he held in his hand, and she saw that it was a remote control. So that’s how he would do it. She licked her lips as he stowed the remote in his pocket.

  “An incentive,” she repeated. “Positive or negative, sir?”

  Jake chuckled. “Well, that remains to be seen. I’d wager both.”

  “Both?”

  He didn’t answer. “Two points of contact on each nipple,” he explained. “To keep the current local, so it doesn’t pass through your ribcage.” Catie felt the cold metal clamps on both her nipples, felt them bite into her flesh. She opened her eyes to find him looking at her in open appreciation.