He kissed her, tenderly at first, then more deeply. She moaned into his mouth, her body soft and pliant again. "Cyn, I want to make this work between us."
"Me too. But I meant what I said. You're not the boss of me. That isn't what I'm looking for."
"It's not what I'm looking for, either. I love your independence. But I don't like how upset you got at breakfast. You spiraled out of control. I can help you break that cycle."
She looked at him sideways.
"And I hate that Rick is the one who finally made you laugh."
She shrugged. "He's had more practice."
"Yeah." He pulled her close and kissed her. "If we're going to be a couple, we need to tell him about us."
She pulled away and looked at him with wide eyes. She sat on the couch, holding a pillow to her chest.
"That's not an unreasonable request," he said.
"Now's not the time. He's already upset about something. He and Jordy are fighting, and they never fight."
"You haven't seen them in five years. You don't know how things normally are between them now. Whatever's going on, it's between the two of them. Rick said as much."
"Why are you so resistant to talking about this?"
He worked to keep his anger from seeping into his voice. "Rick isn't your boyfriend anymore. You should be thinking about me, not him."
"Trent, seriously, I'm upset. Can't you be a little supportive?"
"I am being supportive." A toxic mix of rage and jealousy rushed through him. "I'm doing my best to be patient and understanding, and meanwhile, you're obsessing over your ex-boyfriend."
"I'm not obsessing. I'm worried. I dated him for three years, and I've never seen him this upset. Jordan, either."
"But there's nothing you can do about it." He sat and took her hands. "We've got two days to figure out where we go from here. Let's focus on that."
She pulled her hands away. "So everything has to be about you now? I'm not allowed to have other friends?"
"Cynthia. I'm trying to help you. Turning your attention to pleasing me is a way to distract yourself from the noise in your head. Take a deep breath, and try to be rational."
She stood and crossed her arms. "Don't you dare talk down to me."
He paused and collected his thoughts. He was doing this wrong and making things worse. He needed to show leadership in this situation, and not let his emotions get in the way.
Her rigid expression crumbled. "All those great talks we had in high school, was that because you wanted to get me into bed? And now that you've succeeded, you think you don't have to be nice to me anymore?"
"Of course not." He rose and rubbed her shoulders. "I care about you. But you're worrying about things you can't control. It's upsetting you. Let's talk about something else."
She raised her brows. "We can talk about you being a prick."
"Another outburst like that, and I'll put you over my knee."
"The hell you will. I don't do power exchange unless we're playing a scene."
He raked his fingers through his hair. "When subs get upset, a spanking can relieve the tension."
"You know what would relieve my tension? If you would fucking talk to me. I'm worried about my friends, and all you can think about is sex."
"What good would it do for us to talk about it?" He scanned her eyes, surprised by the hardness in them, so different from the wanton submission the night before. A spanking would distract and help center her. But the two of them were still finding their legs. He had to prove she could trust him—not just in the bedroom, but in all facets of their lives.
"Cyn, I love how you care for your friends. But what you said before…Rick and Jordan fight. I've seen them ready to beat the crap out of each other, and five minutes later, they're laughing like nothing happened. Whatever's going on with them, they'll work it out."
"So I should mind my own business." Her tone was hard and cold.
He brushed his fingers through her hair. "We've got our own stuff to deal with. Your attention should be on me, not Rick."
She glared at him a moment longer before her gaze fell to the floor.
"BDSM can be a sort of mindfulness meditation. When you're feeling out of control, it can help you turn off the outside voices and focus on the present moment."
She looked up at him. "So it's like yoga."
"That sarcasm is uncalled for. You're acting like a brat. No good Dom would put up with that."
Tears filled her eyes and fell onto her cheeks. She drew a ragged breath. He encompassed her in his arms, shushing and caressing her. "I know this morning has been hard on you," he said. You're a jumble of emotions. A spanking will help you release them, and wipe the slate clean between us."
Her eyes darkened. He bent his head toward her, brushing his lips along her neck.
"I don't want…" Her protest died as she turned and captured his mouth, her kisses soft and needy. His hands skimmed down her back and over her ass. "I don't like fighting with you," she said in his ear.
"I don't like it, either. Power exchange can eliminate that struggle. If you trust and obey, we won't have to argue over petty things."
"I don't know if I can. Or even want to."
"I'll earn your trust, baby." He slid his hand up her thigh. "You're so turned on right now, and we both know why. You've been naughty, and you want me to punish you."
She shuddered, melting into him. "I haven't been naughty. Just honest."
"It's okay to admit it, Cyn. It doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make me respect you less."
He pushed his hand up further and touched her through her panties. "Ask for it, Cyn." He nibbled her ear. "Ask for what you want."
With a breathy moan, she murmured, "Please, sir. Show me what happens to bratty subs."
He smiled, and she bit her lip, giving a nervous little laugh. She didn't resist as he led her to the couch and guided her across his lap.
His cock responded to the pressure of her body, and even more to the pliancy of her will. His heart pounded, his breath quickened, but he reined in his eagerness. This was about Cyn, about establishing the terms of their relationship, showing he could be the Dom she needed and more.
He situated her with her torso resting on the cushion, bearing her weight so she wouldn't lose her balance. He lifted up her skirt, revealing lacy red panties, which he lowered to mid-thigh. She whimpered.
His hand instinctively caressed her white, tender ass. Her breath rasped at the contact, and he moaned, wishing he could simply enjoy the softness, the decadent exposure of her body to him. But he had a responsibility to prove he was a Dom worthy of his beautiful sub.
"Hands behind your back with your wrists crossed."
She obeyed with a whimper. "Please, sir, I didn't mean to be naughty. I'll be a good girl next time."
"I'm sure you will, once I show you what happens when you lose your temper." He gripped her wrists firmly with his left hand, holding them down. She ground her pelvis against him.
"This is your punishment for using a disrespectful tone with me. When it's over, I expect you to apologize. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." Her voice wavered.
"What's your safe word?"
"Mustang, sir."
His cock thickened against the fabric of his jeans. He licked his lips. He raised his hand and brought it down hard, leaving a bright red print on her pale flesh.
***
Cynthia flinched at the impact, not simply a sting like the night before, but a deeper ache she wasn't expecting. She wriggled, instinctively trying to escape, but he held her firm with one arm as he rained down blows with the other. "Ow, Trent, please!"
"You need to accept your punishment, young lady." He spanked her harder, and she yelped, her ass blazing, her dignity in shreds.
Worst of all, she was so wet, she was sure he could see her sex glistening from his vantage point. He was right. She wanted this, craved it. She loved being at his mercy, experiencing his strength in this absolut
e, visceral way.
She gave herself over to his heavy hand, the fight leaving her. The blows continued to fall, but her body slackened, yielding to the pain, aroused by it. "I'm sorry," she croaked.
The spanking slowed before stopping altogether. "On your knees," Trent ordered.
She scrambled to the floor and lay her cheek on his knee. Her head was a little woozy, and she craved his comfort and his touch. "I'm sorry, sir."
Trent stroked her hair. "That's my good girl. You accepted your punishment well. You deserve a reward."
He lifted her to her feet. Encompassing her in his arms, he led her to the bed. She leaned against him and let out a little sigh. Her whole body glowed from his attention.
He positioned her on her back with her legs dangling off the side. She relaxed into the mattress, feeling dreamy but incredibly aroused. She didn't know what Trent had in mind, but she knew it would be amazing.
He sank to his knees. Skirt up, panties forgotten somewhere by the couch, she moaned as he flicked his tongue against her clit.
"So wet." He thrust a finger inside. "Don't come until I say you can."
She whimpered at his admonition, already so turned on from the spanking she worried the slightest touch would set her off.
He massaged her G-spot with his fingers as his mouth worked her folds. She rocked against him in a slow, gentle rhythm, needing more, more, more. No one had ever sucked her like this before, focused so intensely on her pleasure. Yet every time it seemed he was about to take her to the brink, he pulled back.
She thought about Rick, how he had disliked cunnilingus—while Trent was a master at it. Why had she wasted so much time? She loved Rick, he was a great guy, but Trent was a rock star.
His tongue pushed inside, circling. She thrust toward him. The heat built in her clit, the pleasure sharpening. "Please, sir. Need to come."
"Not yet, or I'll tie you up and sit you in the corner."
Hell, that's hot. His threats aroused her as much as the punishment itself. She had no idea her submissive nature was so powerful. She wanted to give him whatever he demanded, test her limits. See what she could take.
He pushed her legs farther apart and she bucked, her tender ass rubbing against the rough hotel sheets. "This is mine," he said, nipping at her clit.
Lightning shot through her. "Yes, sir." She writhed beneath him, orgasm threatening but out of reach.
"Come now," he ordered, and sucked the tender bud.
She arched into the rolling waves of pleasure. One after another they came, exhausting her. She lay flat and whimpering as Trent rose and pushed into her. He braced her feet on his shoulders, kissing her ankles as he filled her, and screaming her name as his climax rocked him.
Chapter 8
Rick's parents' home sat on a hilltop, with November winds whipping across the open lawn. The grass had turned brown and crunchy, and the summer flowers had withered to hard stalks. By contrast, inside, a fire raged in the family room, warming the sun-drenched space. The décor was vintage 1990s, the kitchen sporting white cabinets and blue marbled Corian countertops. A round table and hutch in the breakfast nook were country oak.
Cyn stood at the sink, rinsing the lunch dishes and handing them to Erica, Rick's mother, to load into the dishwasher. The familiar rhythm steadied Cyn, quieting the discomfort she had felt coming back after being away so long.
In the afternoon rays streaming through the window, Erica's chin-length golden brown hair shone. Two shades lighter than Cyn remembered, the color suited Erica's age and skin tone. She was still trim thanks to her daily swims at the Y. She had welcomed Cyn so openly, it was as if nothing had changed.
"Nice how the men left the work for us to do." Kat set a stack of plates next to the sink. She was easily recognizable as Rick's sister: high cheekbones, aquiline nose, dark wavy hair. They shared their dad's coloring—or rather, what had once been his coloring, before his hair had turned to more salt than pepper.
"Jordan offered to help." Cyn rinsed the silverware. "Your mom told him no."
"If the men are here bothering us, we can't talk about them."
"Why would we want to talk about them?" Kat asked. "Let's talk about whether I should go to law school at Yale or Stanford."
"Why don't you go to Penn?" her mother asked.
"Because Penn's not one of the top three law schools in the country."
"It's in the top ten, and it's an hour away."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
Cyn smiled. Kat was different from her mom, more independent, less amenable. But each in her own way was devoted to family. That encompassing love had welcomed Cyn when she dated Rick, strengthening the attachment. Despite the breakup and five years of estrangement, this kitchen was a calming place.
Muted cheers came from the den off the foyer, where the men were watching the football game. Her high school dreams came rushing back: she and Rick married, with a couple of toddlers tumbling in the adjacent family room while she and his mother cooked the big Sunday meal.
The comfort of that life lured her like a dry hearth to a sodden traveler. The scent of brewing coffee intensified the promise. Life with Rick's family was easy. Not so with Trent.
Trent's mom was a chemist with a pharmaceutical company, his dad a lawyer. Their house had a chef's kitchen, but Cyn had never seen anyone cook in it. Trent's brother, ten years his junior, hadn't dared take his toys out of the playroom. It was as if the family were in a constant state of expecting an HGTV film crew to arrive.
Maybe that explained why control was important to Trent. Whether he'd inherited or absorbed his parents' rigid self-discipline, he liked things orderly and planned. He analyzed new ideas and tested them for flaws, as if life were a science experiment.
Those qualities could make him a good Dom, but Cyn would never be able to live with the kind of structure his parents did. She needed autonomy, the freedom to try and fail without anyone evaluating her. Art was a messy process. Sometimes she'd wake up with a good idea and stumble into her office without brushing her hair. She might not shower until late afternoon. In between she might type three thousand words, and delete a thousand of them.
Where did Trent's idea of submission 24/7 fit with that? Power exchange excited her, but negotiating it would be more difficult than she expected. As hot as last night had been—and yes, she had to admit it, this morning—what if her desires and Trent's didn't mesh?
"Last one?" Erica took the plate Cyn handed her and loaded it into the dishwasher. Cyn adjusted her head space to the very vanilla domestic scene, with its plaques of inspirational sayings and photos of Rick and Kat as children.
They headed to the breakfast nook, where Kat had mugs of coffee waiting. Erica scowled. "Where's the cream pitcher?"
"We can pour straight from the carton this once," Kat said. "The dishwasher is already full."
Erica sighed and pursed her lips, but said nothing more.
"How's school?" Cyn asked as they sat. "Seeing anyone special?"
Kat grinned. "They're all special."
Erica shook her head.
"There's no point in getting involved with someone when I don't know where I'll be six months from now." Kat took Cyn's hand. "What about you? You can't seriously be single?"
"I've got my eye on someone, but I don't know whether it'll work out. I mean, I hope it does." She sipped her coffee and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "I'm worried maybe we want different things."
"Having the same values is important," Erica said, "and the same major goals. But relationships are about compromise. The two of you don't start in the same place. The question is, can you find a way to come together?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Her eyes alighted on a photo of herself and Rick before the junior prom. They looked so dorky, Rick with his limbs too long for his body, her with too much neckline and not enough cleavage. They'd both filled out since then. But they looked happy. Rick had been comfortable and easy.
> "I never thought I'd say this." Cyn's voice sounded far away, even to herself. "I miss high school. The intensity of it. Even though half the time it sucked, the other half was like flying."
"Everything was new," Erica said. "The things you felt, you thought they'd last forever. You didn't have the experience of getting over it."
"That's kind of what I write about in my novels, except the characters are college aged. First real love. First real heartbreak."
"You don't think you and Rick had love?" Kat asked. "It looked like love to me."
"I don't know what we had. A reasonable facsimile, maybe, which is probably the most some people have their whole lives. Being in a couple is easier than being alone."
Kat raised her brows and sat back. "Not if it's the wrong couple."
"You sound like you speak from experience."
"So many girls are starved for male attention, they'll put up with a lot of shit. I'm not one of them. I don't need a lover to make me feel good about myself."
"That's not what I meant, exactly…"
"It's in our nature to pair up," Erica said. "And it's not only about finding someone who'll be a great lover. You also want him to be a great dad."
"Rick will definitely be a great dad." Cyn let out a sigh, chest constricting. This weekend was messing with her head. She was actually missing what she and Rick had. She hadn't felt that way since the first time a man went down on her after she and Rick broke up. It wasn't that Rick was a selfish lover. He always made sure she came. His repertoire was more limited than she would have liked.
"I know he misses you," Erica said. "We all do."
"I'm sorry I stayed away so long," Cyn replied. "I…never thought I fit in here, in this town. But I did have some good friends. I shouldn't have abandoned you."
"That's how it goes sometimes. Kids grow up, their priorities change."
"You were so good to me. You deserved better."
Erica squeezed her hand. "You're here now. And you and Rick are both single. He still talks about how amazing you are."
Heat flushed Cyn's face. I should have seen that coming.
"Mom, you're scaring her to death," Kat said. "It's not like he's pining away. He says all his ex-girlfriends are amazing."
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