by Mina Vaughn
He smiled sweetly, and smoothed my bedhead. “Of course I’d take care of you,” he said, as though he did nothing extraordinary. Maybe he didn’t even know how special he was.
“William,” I said, realizing I needed to clarify, “you, uhh, really went above and beyond the call of duty.”
He frowned slightly, and explained. “I was taking care of your needs. Whatever you require, I give happily. A shoulder to cry on, or a hangover remedy—anything you need, I will take care of. Please don’t question my devotion,” he said, burying his head in my hair. “Thank you for sharing your past with me last night,” he whispered. “It feels good when you open up to me.”
Honestly, it was true. Despite my embarrassment, I thought last night’s episode was cathartic for both of us. Slowly but surely, William was removing the bricks I had walled up around myself for years. At first, he merely beat his fists against them, but now, I believe he may have been dismantling my defenses.
And I think I may be okay with it.
“Well,” I said, cradling his head against me, “your journals showed me a lot about you, so I suppose it was only right for me to share as well.”
“Can we talk more about it?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. I didn’t want to relive that nightmare again. Another time, another day, perhaps.
“Then may I suggest an activity for today?” William asked politely, pulling himself out of the little cocoon he had made from my hair.
I nodded, not knowing what to expect.
He strode over to the closet, and pulled out a cute and casual skirt and blouse—both crafted from former pajamas, of course—and tossed them to me lightly. “We’re going to the movies,” he said.
I raised my brows at him, and he retracted and rephrased. “Er, I mean, would you like me to accompany you to the movies, Mistress?” he asked.
I nodded. “That’s better.”
The theater was empty, but that was to be expected. I mean, really, who went to go see classic films at eleven AM on the weekend?
A vampire and his girlfriend, that’s who.
OH MY GOD—did I just think the word girlfriend?
I mean Mistress. Right. MISTRESS.
We found our seats, right in the middle, up toward the front, and William graciously bought me popcorn and ginger ale. My stomach was still a bit tender from the sidecar bender.
“Casablanca,” I said as the screen sprung to life. “You know, it’s a shame I have never seen this. Guess I just never got around to it.”
William smiled and put his arm around me. We looked like any regular couple. “I’ve lived through all of this,” he said, gesturing at the screen with his free hand. “This is a Sunday series,” he explained. “They do a classic movie from every decade. If you want to come back, you can see more of what my life has been like.”
“Sounds great.”
We both fell silent, cuddled up, and began watching the classic love story.
I was entranced by the beauty of it all. The dialogue was well written, the costumes were simply gorgeous, and the plot had me intrigued. As I stared at the screen, I imagined William sitting in Rick’s café, just as lonely as the proprietor. I put my head on his shoulder.
He kissed my ear and whispered, “We’re alone, you know, Mistress.”
Bizzy stirred from the movie-induced slumber. She said Casablanca wasn’t smutty enough, so she had been quiet for some time. “How do you know?” I asked.
“The silence,” he sighed, cool breath tickling my ear. “All I can hear is the movie and your heartbeat.” And speaking of my heartbeat, I’m sure he heard it just skip a beat. I’m also sure he heard my breath hitch in my throat.
“And what are you implying, William?” I asked, voice stern but teasing.
He squirmed in his seat, and I liked it.
“Well,” he said, voice nearly breaking, “I left you a little surprise in your purse.”
Another surprise? Hmm, this should be interesting, I thought as I fumbled through my larger than necessary Coach bag.
And my fingers touched cold, slick metal.
Two sets of handcuffs.
“William,” I said incredulously, “did you set this up as a scene?” I dangled the two pairs of cuffs in front of his face accusingly.
“Maybe,” he said, looking down sheepishly. I reminded myself that he couldn’t blush, although I swear I could see color creeping into his lovely visage.
I clicked the cuffs so that his wrists were strapped to the armrests. He was blissfully immobile. “This one’s all for you, my creative submissive,” I said into his ear, and began to lower myself to a kneeling position.
And then, using his ridiculous speed, William slipped his jacket from under his seat . . . hands still cuffed . . . and made sure I wasn’t kneeling on the cold theater floor. A gentleman to the end, this vampire.
Though the theater was dark, I could make out the shapes that were necessary. For instance, the very obvious bulge in William’s slacks. I pulled him out slowly, and he writhed in his seat. I heard the delicious sound of the handcuffs clinking as he squirmed.
“Don’t move, William,” I warned. “I know those cuffs can’t hold you,” I said, pausing to flick his tip with my tongue, “so you’ll have to show me your restraint in another way. Don’t move your body and don’t let me hear a sound.”
He sat in compliance, mute, already obeying my directives.
And then, my popcorn-buttered hands greased his long length, and I took a delicious lick. I hummed, increasing the sensation for him, and placed him deeply down my throat. I half-expected to hear him break the rules, but he sat stoically as I deep-throated him. His eyes, however, gave him away.
It was amazing how so much emotion and feeling could be expressed through his eyes. Sometimes they were soft, inviting me to let down my guard and just lose myself. Other times, like now, they sizzled, intense. I felt my face burn as he looked down on me with ferocious passion.
And damn, if he didn’t taste delicious. I couldn’t get enough—if only they made ice cream in William flavor. Just like William, however, it would go straight to my thighs. Heh. I can’t take credit for that one—that was all Bizzy. Maybe I’d let it go straight to my ass, I wondered, then pulled my head from the gutter.
Oh wait, I was giving a BJ, of course my head was in the gutter. And by the gutter I mean his lap, bobbing up and down like a sexy buoy.
I knew he wanted to groan and grunt, and grab my hair. It was a shame I wasn’t letting him. But, however, I would offer a consolation.
I looked up, and tried my best to read his mind. “William,” I said, temporarily removing my mouth, “you have my permission, you know,” I hinted, and went back to work.
He waited until he was all the way inside before coming silently. While he didn’t move or speak, I could tell from the faint tremors in his hips and from the sensation in my esophagus that I had brought him ultimate pleasure.
I sat up, uncuffed him, and told him he did a wonderful job.
“I think you’re the one who did a wonderful job,” he joked.
I shook my head in dismay. “William, did you just make a funny?” I asked, stunned.
He smirked. “I think I’m capable of anything when I’m with you,” he said, chuckling. “But honestly, that wasn’t an easy assignment, Mistress,” he said, giving me a peck on the mouth. “But I loved the challenge.”
I nodded with satisfaction. “So did I,” I said. And that was the truth.
After he dropped me off at my house, I found myself sniffing his jacket, which I had thrown over my shoulders in the cold theater after we had our fun.
And I really do mean fun on several levels. Sexually, we were having a blast, but also, we were starting to laugh together. To go to the movies together. That was fun.
But the other hesit
ation I was having didn’t go away, and I didn’t imagine it would. Yes, William was able to assuage my fears of being rejected and fooled. I now understood his sincerity, unquestioningly. He wasn’t lying to me, and he wasn’t tricking me. He wanted to be with me and I truly did believe him.
But, with every scene and every physical experience we had, one thing became more and more clear to me: We were not equals. I was a Domme—a Domme craved things and her submissive provided them. Now, William was an epic provider. Sexually, I was beyond satisfied, and creatively, he stimulated my craving for role-play. That should be enough, right?
But, he was faking the physical restraints, and that was hard for me to swallow. Heh. No, really. I know that no matter how many ropes, chains, and shackles I threw at him, he could tear through them as if they were made of paper. Physically, he was more than my match, and much more than any other man. He was faster, smarter, stronger, and simply better than me. How could I delude myself into thinking I was dominating him, even for a second?
I hated that he put on a façade when I bound him. He did it because that’s what was expected of him, and because it was what I “wanted,” but I didn’t want an illusion of dominating him—I wanted to actually be able to restrain and give him that delicious blend of pleasure and pain that I was very good at doling out. There was an illusion going on in my bedroom, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
How could I ever truly get the upper hand? Sure, he did what I asked, but there is a visceral feeling inside me that comes alive when I tie someone up and spank him. And with William, well, it may look like I was feeling that, but I knew I was really just putting on a flimsy show. He was supernatural, and I was weak.
And I hated feeling weak.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cerise
CAN WE TALK? William texted me an hour after he left.
OF COURSE, I replied and started to make myself dinner. Within minutes, he was at my doorstep.
“Back for more?” I asked devilishly. He dropped his keys on my coffee table and walked toward me with that needy yet submissive manner.
“I have a request. I want to talk,” he said with a jaunty wag of one eyebrow.
I hugged him tightly and gave him a peck on the mouth as I stood on my tiptoes. “You did seem a little quiet today. This had better be good, Gentry.”
He tongued my neck, and swirled lightly on my earlobe. “That goes without saying.”
I groaned and writhed against him. “I think I want to make a request first,” I panted.
His mouth moved south down my neck and his tongue flicked open the buttons on my shirt. “You’re distracting me.”
I gripped his silky black hair as he finished unbuttoning my shirt. As he kissed my navel, I pulled his head back sharply. He looked up at me with those endless indigo eyes.
My hands ran from the top of his head, down his cheeks, and grabbed his jaw. “Now, what could make my dirty boy come back so soon?”
He grimaced and hesitated before he spoke. “You said something in your sleep last night. I need to know if you were serious.”
“What?” I said, raising my voice an octave. “I say a lot of stupid shit in my sleep. What was it?” Did I call him by someone else’s name? Did I cry for my mommy? Did I sing show tunes?
He sighed. “You asked to become a vampire.”
I gasped. “No. Way.”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I even mentioned it. What girl in her right mind would want to be a monster?”
I made a sound of disgust in my throat, annoyed by his self-pity. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just . . .” I trailed off, trying to pinpoint why this question made me so queasy. Did I say that? More important, did I want to?
“So was it just a fantasy you were having in your sleep? Wanting to be together long-term, without the commitment fears when you’re awake?”
“First off,” I said with a warning tone, “our relationship revolves around me calling the shots, not you. If I want something to change about our relationship, like, whether or not I was alive or dead, I’d say so.”
William’s shoulders sagged. “Good.”
Wait, good? He didn’t want to change me? Or did he want me to change for his own purposes? I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking about this?”
“I just thought . . .”
“What? That I’d finally be able to spank you harder?”
His face fell. He had lost an inch in the last minute. “Don’t push me, Cerise.”
“You seem to want to push conversations that I don’t want to push,” I exploded.
He laughed bitterly. “And that’s part of it, too.”
“How?”
“Why would you want to become a vampire when you won’t even admit your feelings for me?” he finished quietly.
“This relationship is working fine as it is. Why would you want it to be different? That’s why you asked if I was serious or not. You’re trying to get me to commit by becoming a vampire.”
He crossed his arms. “Is it so horrible that I’d like to think of our relationship in terms of decades of sharing our love, and not years? I know it makes me sound weak, Cerise, but I need it. Love.”
“Your journals never spoke of a need for love,” I hissed. “Just a good spanking. This is because you think I’m the weak one. I’m not enough for you the way I am.”
His head sunk. He looked cowed. “Of course you’re enough for me, Cerise. And yes, I said love and I meant it. Everyone needs love, even a creature like me.”
“Oh don’t drop that bullshit on me now. That vampire self-loathing crap. We were doing just fine before you said those words, and we’re doing fine now. Except in the spanking department.”
He took a step away from me, and tore his eyes from mine. “You really think this is about inadequacy? If only you’d open up to me more, we could talk about things like this without you flying off the handle. Let me in.”
I threw my hands in the air. “I’ve given you what you’ve wanted up until now—can’t you just let things happen naturally?” Part of me wanted to go along with it, to discuss becoming a vampire, but how could I do that without losing the upper hand?
He pointed his finger at me. “This is what I’m saying, Cerise! Just let things happen naturally! Let our relationship evolve. If you’re so thrilled with what we’ve got going, why won’t you consider taking the next step? Let’s start to talk more. Maybe once you’ve buried your demons you’ll be fine with yourself and we can discuss the long term.”
That stopped my breath.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘be fine with yourself’?”
He met my eyes once more. “You have baggage, Cerise. Make things right in your life. Unburden yourself from your past. Enjoy life. Then, if what your subconscious told me last night is true, then I can help you enjoy death.”
I blinked at his words.
William uncrossed his arms, opening his posture boldly. He meant business.
“My life is fine, thank you. Now will you come down from that high horse and talk to me for real? What is this really about?”
He groaned and plopped into a chair. “You make no move to commit in any way toward me aside from our Domme/sub relationship, and I know you want more. I can feel it in every touch, every conversation. What’s more is that you won’t share more of your past with me, not even that silly recipe box. I’ve shared the journals from my entire life with you, and you won’t even let me peek into your past scenes. You know you can trust me, right?”
I sat next to him, measuring my anger and tempering it with sympathy. I really hadn’t given much in this relationship. “I’m commitment shy in the traditional sense. I’ve never had a good rapport with either parent, and they hated each other. Let’s just say I have no role models in the healthy relationship department. So
no, I don’t want to bring that into this.”
He looked at the floor. “Then we have different ideas about where this is going.”
I swallowed hard. “I guess so,” I whispered.
“I’m going into work for a bit,” he said, and left without another word.
As I sat on the couch, flipping through magazines, I thought about my fear of commitment.
How tight a ring would feel around my finger. The fear of shedding my last name, part of my identity.
And ultimately, these thoughts led back to Brent.
Brent Sorenson and I were together for a long time.
He had put together countless scenes for me, and while they weren’t as extravagant as William’s, they were certainly impressive.
His last scene, however, was the deal breaker.
I came home to the entire house lit by a dozen paper lanterns. Bouquets of white gardenias and roses filled the house and made it smell like a spring garden.
I was a little worried that night. He had been really mushy and sentimental all week, saying words like love and commitment and even babies. I blew off the conversation every time.
No lie, though—my submissive was begging for my babies. I told him my uterus was off-limits. And, as the gatekeeper, Bizzy agreed.
He had said over the phone that tonight would be special. To block off the next day, and take off from work. I should have known what he had planned.
In the bathroom hung a white wedding gown, complete with a veil. It was beautiful—halter top, mermaid fit, glitter and glam to a minimum. Classy. The shoes that went with it were tiny, dainty little kitten-heel pumps. He put a lot of care into it, and even though the idea of a honeymoon scene squicked me, I gave in and put it on grudgingly.