Undeniably His: Bliss Series, Book Five

by Hall, Deanndra

  “So,” he says, sinking back into the sofa, “you start a new job Monday?”

  “Yes. I’ve been a customer there for years, so it only made sense to ask, and Frieda hired me on the spot.”

  “That’s great! If you’ve been a customer for a long time, you’ll be an asset to the store.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping. It’s kind of a new chapter in my life. A new life, actually.”

  “I see that. Hence the hair, huh?” he asks as he takes a sip of his drink.

  “Yeah. The hair―my natural color. Less makeup. And I spent time buying comfortable clothes,” I explain. “Not sloppy, mind you. Just comfortable.”

  “Everybody should be comfortable in what they wear. If these leathers weren’t comfortable, I wouldn’t be wearing them,” he says, taking another sip. “But I have to say, you look great. You look a lot more relaxed. Or at least you do now. Fifteen minutes ago, not so much,” he says and chuckles.

  “Yeah. I had no idea what you were about to say, and honestly, it was freaking me out.”

  “You realize Brian talked to me, right?”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. “I figured as much.”

  “Yeah, he was pretty damn steamed.” That’s a surprise to me. “He asked me why I was being so dismissive to you, and I told him I didn’t make it a habit to hit on other Dominants’ submissives. That’s when he told me you weren’t his.”

  “We’ve scened together a few times since he moved back here, but that’s about it. I scened with the previous dungeon master, Dave, a lot, but not after he met Olivia and they got together.”

  “When was the last time you were collared?”

  My face burns with shame. “Never.”

  “Divorced?”

  “Never married.”

  Now he rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with men? Sometimes I think they’re a blind bunch of fools.”

  “Oh, I had plenty who wanted to scene with the porn queen,” I explain, painful as it is to say.

  “I bet. Shallow guys. I hate that shit. So do you have any kids?”

  “No. You?”

  His smile is warm and wide. “Yeah. Little boy, seven. Baker. He’s a character.”

  “Awww! So you’re divorced?”

  “Yep. Didn’t last long after we moved out here.”

  “Where are you from?”

  He laughs aloud. “Took you long enough to ask me! Alabama.”

  “Whoa! Culture shock!” I say and laugh along with him.

  “Yeah, it kinda was, but after a few months, I really started to like it here. I mean, it’s not the south, but the people are friendly enough. And I love the weather.”

  “Rain? All the time? You’re kidding, right?”

  He laughs again. “A lot of rain, but the sunny weather we do have is beautiful. And the view of the mountains? Breathtaking. I’m from outside Birmingham. Not the prettiest place in the world.”

  “Never been there.”

  “Haven’t missed much,” he says with a snicker. “A lot of red clay dirt and dust. But it’s my hometown. You from here?”

  “Always.” I’m trying to come up with something to ask him. “What exactly do you do for a living?”

  “I hunt and fish,” he says with a wink.

  “There’s money in that?”

  Before he can answer, one of the older members, a Dominant named Ansel, walks up. “Excuse me for interrupting, but I just have to ask,” he says to Boone. “Are you who I think you are?”

  Boone chuckles. “I dunno. Who do you think I am?”

  “Lawson?” Boone nods. “I’m Ansel. And let me just say, those Big Blue Tuna Lures you guys sell are amazing! I’ve never caught so many fish in my life!”

  “Great! And thanks for telling me. We’re very happy with the way they’ve been performing. BBT Lures got a couple of really good placements in tournaments this year, so expect to see a lot more out of them. And, as always, we’re their exclusive distributor, so come see me if you need some and I’ll hook you up!” Boone says with a mile-wide grin.

  “I’ll do it! Again, sorry to interrupt, but I had to say something. Glad you’re a member here and if I can do anything to help you, just let me know,” Ansel says.

  “No problem. Thanks, and have a great evening,” Boone tells him as he walks away. I’m just sitting there, trying to figure out what that was about. “I suppose I should explain what just happened here,” he says, almost like he could read my mind.

  “Well, I have to admit …”

  “I know club members don’t usually use whole names, but you know mine now.”

  I nod. “Boone Lawson.” And then it hits me. “Boone Lawson? The Boone Lawson?”

  “The one and only, although sometimes I hate to admit it.”

  “Why?” Lawson’s of Alabama is the biggest exclusive sporting goods supplier in the nation. Almost all of the products they carry are under exclusive contract to their stores, and they have one of the largest online presences in the sporting goods industry. They don’t sell stuff for tennis, basketball, or that kind of equipment. It’s all kayaks and canoes, boats and boating, off-roading, fishing, hunting, hiking, camping and survival gear, and all the clothing and accessories for all those things. I know all of this stuff because I read about it in one of my magazines, and every time I turn around they’re on the news for some reason. There was this article about women in the outdoor sports, and it said Lawson’s was the number one place for women to go for outdoor sporting goods because of the personal service. They also offer discounted membership packages to about four of the major fitness center chains in the country. And the most important part of the story?

  It was all built by a twenty-three-year-old entrepreneur named Boone Lawson, started in his dad’s garage with a loan from his uncle, and he parlayed it into a megachain in just five years. Not the number of stores, mind you―the number of customers, the personalized service, and the exclusive items. “Why would you be hesitant to admit who you are? What you’ve done is … well, it’s phenomenal by any standard.”

  “It all seems like a dream, really. I get to do something I love and make money at it. I still can’t believe I’ve been this lucky,” he says, stroking the outside of his glass, the condensation his finger has displaced dripping from the bottom edge. For a split second I find myself wishing I were that glass.

  “Not luck. Hard work. I’m very impressed,” I tell him, and I mean it. I don’t know squat about hunting and fishing, but I know enough about business to know there was no luck involved.

  He shakes his head. “Not true. It’s like Nashville. For every person who lands a record deal, there are thousands just as talented, maybe even more so, but they’re not in the right place at the right time. There’s an element of luck to everything.”

  “Is there an element of luck involved in meeting the right person when it comes to relationships?” I ask, curious to see what he’ll say.

  “Boy, is there ever. You could pass your soulmate on a metro platform or a dirt backroad and never know it. And I think too many people settle for someone they know isn’t right for them when they’re not willing to wait a little while and let luck take care of it.”

  “Is that what happened to you?” I ask, hoping I’m not being too nosy.

  “No. I thought she had a snarky sense of humor, but as time went by, I found she just bitches about everything. Constantly. I swear to god, she’ll bitch about stuff while she’s in a room by herself. That’s her whole life. And I finally couldn’t take it anymore. Oddly enough, she’s the one who asked me for a divorce, said I’d stopped communicating with her and didn’t want to talk to her. But really, I just didn’t want to hear anymore bitching.” He doesn’t seem sad about it. Not happy, but not sad either.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It is what it is. And you’ve never been in a long-term relationship?”

  I feel my cheeks heat up again and deep sigh comes out of my throat before I can stop i
t. “Oh, I’ve been in a few, but apparently I was in them alone. I’d think I was in a relationship only to find that the guy didn’t think he was. It appears I’m not too good at reading warning signs.”

  “That’s bad. But hey, at least you’re shet of them, huh?” he says with a chuckle. Well, that’s a saying I’ve never heard before, but I sure as hell know what it means.

  “No kidding.” I don’t know what else to say. I sound like the biggest loser on the planet, so congratulations to me. “Are you looking for a long-term relationship?”

  “Maybe. I mean, I liked being married. I just didn’t like being married to that woman, specifically. But yeah, I’m not one of these guys who hops from woman to woman. I need a base, a soft place to land. I don’t have a lot of travel with my work, but I do have some, and it’s nice to know there’s somebody there watching the house, enjoying what I’m working for, and waiting for me.

  And then a question comes to me. “Have you been in a relationship since you divorced?”

  “No. Seattle is a bit … different. I’ll just leave it at that,” he says.

  “Different how?”

  “I’m from the south. Women there want to get married. Here? Not so much. Let’s just say it wasn’t a priority for the ones I met. Plus I wasn’t a member of a club, so I didn’t have a lot of places to meet women who would be compatible with my particular proclivities.” He finishes the sentence with a wink that makes me smile.

  “Yeah. That’s a little tricky, I suppose, walking up to a woman in a bar and saying, ‘Hey, my name’s Boone and I just wondered if you’d like to go to dinner, dancing, and let me cuff you to a bench and flog you.’”

  He chuckles again. “You’d be surprised at how many would probably jump at that!”

  “Looking at you? Not really. Not too surprised.”

  He takes a sip of his drink before he responds. “We should probably do something other than sit here. If we’re going to dinner tomorrow night, I don’t know about you, but I’m just boring enough that I’ve probably already run out of things to talk about!”

  “I somehow doubt that,” I say with a snort followed by a laugh.

  “I’m not that interesting. But you know what we can do?” He points to one of the performance areas. “Let’s go over there and mess around a little bit. Want to?”

  I have no idea what messing around consists of but if he’s involved, I’m game. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  When he stands, he reaches a hand out and I take it. There’s this sensation that flows into me, and I wonder if it’s coming from him when I feel something―he squeezes my hand and smiles. Shit. There’s a gush of wetness between my legs that I’m afraid everybody in the place can see, but I smile back and let him lead me to the platform.

  A transformation takes place that isn’t visible, but I can feel it. “Submissive, show me your presentation pose.” I don’t know what he’s accustomed to, so I press my hands into the floor and drop to my knees. From there, I sit back on my heels, my arches flexed and toes flat on the floor, and open my knees. My arms come up and I clasp my hands at the back of my neck. This has always been what Dominants wanted from me and if it wasn’t, they didn’t say anything. I don’t know what he’s thinking―my eyes are appropriately downcast. “Submissive?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Let’s adjust that. Sit flat on your butt and fold your legs yoga style.” That necessitates me using my hands to reposition myself, but that’s okay. Once I’m there, I start to clasp my hands behind my neck again, but he stops me. “Arms down, hands on your thighs, palms up.” I make that adjustment and he smiles. “Nice. Now, I’m a little different from most Dominants. I don’t want your head down and eyes averted. I want your head up, and I want you watching me all the time. I mean, all the damn time. Constantly. If I wander out of your viewing range, that’s different, but as long as I’m in range, watch me. I don’t want to have to try to get your attention if I want it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very good.” He studies me for a few seconds. “Hmm.” I want to ask him what he’s thinking, but I know better. Of course, he doesn’t explain―he just goes on about what he’s doing, prowling in one of the cabinets across the room. I’m a little shocked when he comes back with a latex dildo. I’m dressed, so I’m not quite sure what he’s going to want me to do. “I want to check your gag reflex. Anything you need to tell me?”

  “Yes, sir. Can I do the dentist pinch?”

  “The what?”

  “The dentist pinch,” I say, and I illustrate by holding up my hand, crossing my left thumb over my palm, and closing my fist over it. “Dentist pinch. Kills the reflex.”

  “Yes. If that helps, please. Not a problem.” To my surprise, he steps around behind me and looks down at me. Yeah, I’m looking up at him. I remember what he said about keeping him in view. “That’s what I want. Tip your head back as far as you can.” Now I know what he’s up to. “Open wide. Trust me?”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, having trouble swallowing with my neck stretched.

  “Good. Here we go. I’m going to leave it in for a few seconds, so don’t panic.” I open my mouth like a baby bird and he sticks the head in, then pulls it out. “Needs to be wet so it doesn’t hurt your throat.” He does it again, then again until the shaft is about halfway in. It hasn’t crossed my gag range yet. “Okay. Wide open. Let’s do this.” Without any other notice, he shoves it in and it passes the point of no return gag-wise. I feel my body try to kick it out, but I squeeze extra tight on my thumb and it passes. In a split second, I feel his fingers on my lips. He pulls it back out, then presses it back in a second time. That only lasts for a second or two, but that time when he pulls it out, he says, “This time I’ll hold it.”

  I can’t lie―there’s a touch of panic that hits as I feel it slide in, and then it stops. It’s completely blocking my airway, and as I close my eyes to fight the anxiety, I feel him shift a little. I have no idea what he’s doing until I feel the fingers of his other hand stroke up my neck. Before I can grow any more panicky, he pulls it out and I start to cough. I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. He leans down, his face an inch from mine, and smiles. “You okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer, still coughing a little.

  “Nice throat bump. Very promising,” he says. “But I assume you’ve done this on a regular basis, am I right?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answer, and I don’t know if he’s referencing my former vocation or the fact that I’m a submissive.

  That question is answered when he says, “A latex dildo is harder than a Dominant’s cock. I can’t imagine that your beautiful throat got much rest with those gorgeous lips to wrap around a dick.”

  Aww, hell, that makes my clit tingle. I’m hoping he’s not going to stop with this, but I’m disappointed when he says, “That’s all we’re going to do tonight. We’ll have a lot more fun next time.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the disappointment in my voice.

  But he bends down, looks directly into my eyes, and says, “Don’t worry. You’re going to get the full benefit of my expertise tomorrow night. You’ll probably wonder why you wanted more. And then you’ll want more.” With that, he chucks me under the chin and kisses my forehead.

  I want to melt. I never want to leave this spot, and I want him to stay here with me. But he reaches down for my hand and I let him help me stand. I just assume he’ll turn loose when I’m upright, but instead, he turns it over and kisses my palm, then takes it again and leads me back to the bar. “Master Brian, could my submissive here have a ginger ale?”

  “Absolutely. I take it everything was to your liking, Master Boone?”

  “Yes, Sir. To my liking and then some.” I reach for the glass, but he presses my hand to the bar top with his left and I watch as he takes the drink from Brian and hands it to me with his right. You can bet I’ll be asking about that, but at that very moment all that matters is the cold beverage sliding
down my throat. “Better?” Boone asks.

  “Yes, sir. Much,” I say as I set the glass on the bar’s shiny surface.

  “Good. Can’t have a submissive with a sore throat,” he says, and I hear Brian chuckle. Boone’s grinning until his eyes are squinted shut.

  Now Brian’s laughing. “Oh, no. That would never do!”

  “I think I’m gonna call it a night. Got some stuff I’ve got to do in the morning. Come with me for just a few, submissive,” Boone says and reaches for my hand again. I take it without hesitation. “She’ll be right back,” he says to Brian.

  “Take your time,” my friend answers.

  He leads me as far as the entry door and stops, then turns to me. “I need your phone number.”

  “Oh! Sure.” I rattle it off and watch as he punches it into his phone. In seconds, mine rings.

  “There ya go. Now I’ve got yours and you’ve got mine. Call you tomorrow afternoon and make plans?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. Bye, beautiful. Go finish your ginger ale.” Without another word, he kisses my cheek and disappears into the locker room. In minutes, he waves and he’s out the front door.

  My god. What just happened here? I really don’t know what to think, but I’m shaking all over. Boone Lawson is taking me out tomorrow night. I still don’t believe it.

  When I totter back to the bar a little lightheaded, Brian is grinning. My drink is still sitting there, and I pick it up and gulp it. “I don’t know what you did, but you made quite the impression on one of our newest Doms. I think that guy is smitten with you.”

  “You really think so?” I ask in total disbelief.

  “Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen him when I told him you weren’t my submissive. He looked like a genie had just granted him his last and best wish.”

  “Why?”

  Brian gives me this weird look. “Why what?”

  “Why would he be happy about that?”

  He stands there for a few seconds, mouth wide open from his jaw dropping to his chest, and then blurts out, “Well, god, Melina, the guy’s got the hots for you. Are you fucking blind?”