The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  “Right,” I say. Then I lean over to whisper into his ear. He jerks away violently, like I threw hot water on him.

  “Good day, Ms. Parchet,” he says, scuttling away.

  Making a fist by my side, I let out a small scream. “Goddamn it, Tim! Where is he?” I yell at his back. He doesn’t respond. He starts walking faster.

  Clutching my mail in one hand, I take off for the Dom Lair. There’s a Dom who needs punishing. I pick up my pace, jogging—the beautiful gilded corridors passing as a blur as I exit the sub house and find the hallway. There are crew members scattered about, holding clipboards and tablets. As far as I can tell I don’t have a camera on me, so I take off at a run when I’m close to the large door. I bang three times with my fist.

  A security guard opens the door just enough to see me. “Can I help you, Ms. Parchet?”

  “I need to see him.” I use the word need. “Tell him that.”

  He nods, opening the door a little wider to let me pass into the first foyer, makes sure no one is behind me, and closes and locks the door behind me. “Stay here, ma’am,” he growls, pointing to the ground where I’m standing.

  I roll my eyes at him and agree. He disappears through a door that leads to Dominic. It’s cold in here. Bumps prickle my skin as I fold my arms around my middle to keep myself warm. I have on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a black tank top, and a light purple sweater. My makeup and hair is professionally done, but I refuse to let them choose my clothing for anything except when we’re filming scenes.

  Van, the guard, doesn’t come back to get me. Dom does. He throws the door open wearing a pair of jeans slung low on his waist. His hair isn’t done, and it looks like he just woke up. He has his phone pressed against his ear, but nods for me to enter. Smiling wide, he holds the door open, and I brush his rock-hard abs as I pass by into his home. He smells of yesterday’s cologne and alpha male deliciousness.

  “Hold, please,” he says into his phone and lowers it to his side.

  With one huge, tanned arm, he reaches past me to close the door behind me. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Kayla?” I swallow down his appearance, because I came here angry for a reason and I need to remember it.

  I take a step away from him to clear my breathing air. “Who were you with last night?” I can’t remember the schedule, and now I’m pissed at myself for not being more thorough.

  A confused look passes his face. He bites down on his bottom lip. “What is this? Are you upset about something?” He points to his phone. “Let me finish this and I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I was having lunch.” He saunters away, putting the phone back on his ear. He looks over his shoulder and winks at me. Like a bad salesman. Is that supposed to comfort me? His retreating back is a marvel of sculpted muscle and flawless skin from the top of his neck all the way down to the bottom slope of his back.

  I sit down on a stool at the bar in his kitchen. There’s a half eaten sandwich on a plate next to me. I start flipping through my stack of mail until I get to a letter from Harvard. Fuck. I know exactly what this is. The payment to secure my spot next fall is due. I tear it open and do a speed read of the jargon and find I am indeed correct.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I growl at the black and white piece of paper. The logo on the top makes my heart flutter like no man can.

  I don’t hear him approach. “You want to fuck, then?” he asks, his smile evident in his voice. I fold the letter haphazardly.

  I clear my throat. “No. I mean yes,” I say, my future hanging by a thread. If the payment doesn’t arrive by the due date, my spot in line will be given to someone else. A loan. I merely need a small loan. That was my plan before I received the call from the producers of the show. Go eyeballs deep in debt to secure my future. It’s what most college kids do these days. Winning this competition would change everything. Right now, the competition isn’t even on my mind. Dominic is. It makes every hair on my body rise at the realization. “I got my mail on the way here. I was just going through it.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, pointing to the letter.

  I look up and behind me, where he’s standing. I shrug. “Just something from my school.”

  “You’ve graduated already.” He’s stating a fact from my paperwork.

  I lick my lips. Might as well be honest. “I got into Harvard. I want to get my MBA.”

  His eyebrows lift in surprise. I turn back to stare at my stack of mail. How many seconds will it take him to put the puzzle pieces together? The reason I’m really here. Distraction. “Why did you tell Tim not to talk to me, Dominic?”

  He clears his throat and slides into the chair next to me. Dominic doesn’t say a word. He takes a bite of his sandwich, his gaze aimed straight forward. Fuck. “I like talking to him. He’s normal,” I say, staring a hole into the side of his head. His profile is of magnificent proportions. Jaw line square, nose sculpted perfectly of medium size, lips large, pink, and kissable.

  That gets his attention. “Why are you here then? Go talk to him, Kayla. Go fuck him.” He turns to stare me down. This isn’t my friend, this man is a Dom. An angry one.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one said anything about fucking, caveman. No need to get all protective on me. I like talking to him because he reminds me of the outside world. Of college, of life before I time warped into your twisted game.” I remember why I came here in the first place. “I just came from the viewing of your episode with Coco.”

  Scooting my mail toward the other side of the counter, I fold my arms across my chest. “That was really something to watch,” I admit.

  “Are you jealous?” He swivels in his chair, his legs spread wide. He takes the back of my chair and turns me to face him and captures my knees in between his. “Kayla Parchet is jealous? Where’s the camera when I need it. I never thought I’d see the day.” I keep my arms folded and my face uninterested.

  I can let him have the upper hand for a moment of two. I turn my face to the side. His hands on Coco come to mind, and I have to swallow down the anger. “Not mad about Tim anymore, I see,” I rasp, biting my lip. I chance a look at his face. “What if I am jealous? Are you jealous? Of intern Tim?” He couldn’t possibly be, but there is no other valid explanation. “There are ten of us. Jealousy is part of it. What does it say if you’re jealous over me?”

  “How much do you owe Harvard, Kayla?” My mouth pops open. I thought my change of subject was good. Dominic is artful. “I’m a smart man. Tell me. How much? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  I feel sick. Pushing away from him, I rise from my chair to stand. “I’m not asking you for anything except a fair shot.”

  “If I give you the money for tuition right now, will that affect things between us?”

  Sneering, I swing my hands to my hips. “I’m not a charity case. You can’t give me money. That’s against the rules,” I explain. “Men don’t just give money to women for school without expecting something in return.”

  His beautiful eyes sparkle with anger. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my money, Kayla. You’re on the verge of deserving punishment. Watch it.”

  Rolling my eyes all the way to the high, high ceiling, I say, “Oh, now you want to punish me. You’re hot and cold in the same second. I don’t understand you.” I’m not supposed to. He’s not like me. He’s not normal. Walk away, Kayla. Walk away. This is going to end badly.

  Dom stands, towering over me, his scent eviscerating all thoughts about walking away. “Half the time I’m so angry with you that I want to cane your ass until it’s beet red. The other half of the time I’m…enamored with you. Oftentimes it’s both at the same time. Explain that, while you’re so busy telling me what I can and cannot do.”

  I’m speechless, mouth open wide, gaze locked on his eyes.

  “You will take the money for college. This show won’t be the reason you do or do not further your education. You won’t be around Tim because I demand that you aren’t, and you won’t be jealous of the other w
omen.”

  I step toward him. “I agree to the first two. Barely, with regards to the money because that’s too much, but I agree. Tim is an easy one, but you can’t tell me how to feel.”

  “I just did.”

  He asks when and how much money is due for my tuition. I tell him the full amount, and he doesn’t bat an eye. Why would he? He has so much money that he couldn’t spend it in one lifetime. Maybe in fifteen? At his request, I follow him from the kitchen into his bedroom. It’s an odd place to keep a checkbook, but what about our situation isn’t odd? He slides the check made out to cash across the low dresser to me as he tells me about his own MBA. I pretend to listen, but I’m buzzing high from the check and because I’m in his bedroom right now. Is everything this simple for men like him? How simple and wonderful his life must be.

  Dominic grabs me by my wrist. My heart rate picks up. It’s hammering because of excitement. Harvard is really paid for? It doesn’t seem real. He’s touching me, and he’s looking at me with a look that confuses and turns me on. I give up on the previous argument about feelings. He can tell me how to feel. He’s footing my bill. “Why do you kiss me?” I ask. With his lips closed, he rubs his tongue across his top teeth—cleaning them off.

  He blinks once and then again. I’ve stymied him with a simple question. With my wrist still in his grasp, he pulls me toward his bare, muscular chest. His response? Pressing his mouth against mine and pushing my mouth open with his tongue.

  I close my eyes and let him overtake me. My hands slide down his arms and across his chest and wander to his abs and the top of his jeans. “No,” he says simply. “Just this.” He takes the pad of his thumb and rubs it across my bottom lip. It glides easily from our saliva. He replaces his finger with his mouth and pulls me against him. He growls against my mouth. This is him telling me not to be jealous and why.

  Pulling away, he leans his forehead against mine. “It’s just a game. Right, Kayla? That’s what you said.”

  My breathing is fast, breaths passing my lips in tiny puffs. Is he playing with me right now? “I only want to fuck you. Just so we’re clear about that. Oh, and thank you. Seriously. Thank you a lot. And if we are truly talking about the game—please send Coco home. ”

  He smiles, flashing his white teeth and handsome dimples, and then he kisses me again. “Jealousy looks good on you. Don’t mention it again. I’ll pay for college for the entire harem if that makes you feel better.” It does and it doesn’t. I merely nod. He nods back. What’s fair is fair, I suppose. The legalities of this gift hadn’t crossed my mind yet.

  I glance at his large bed covered in black linens and fur throws. “Just for fun. While I’m here and you’re in this kissing, giving mood. Can we make out on that bed?” I tilt my head toward the bed.

  “Asking for a lot today, aren’t you?” He chuckles. Dominic pulls my ass against his erection. “If I make out with you on my bed, I’m fucking you rotten on that bed.”

  I let my eyes widen. “Off camera?”

  He grins. It’s mischievous. “Off camera.”

  I look back at the bed and then at his face. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. With his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he looks as if he’s ready to play in the best kind of way.

  A knock at the door breaks the moment. “Yes,” Dominic roars, never taking his eyes off mine. I jump.

  The security guard pops his head around the doorframe. “A submissive is here to see you. She says it’s important, sir.” My heart drops down to my feet. He doesn’t use a name purposefully. It’s irritating. Perhaps it’s just about the filming of tonight’s scene. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe he sees all the other women behind closed doors and off camera.

  “Rain check,” I whisper, playing at nonchalance. It’s a divine sign I shouldn’t be fucking him off camera—where emotions are allowed to be messy and unrefined. That is the last kind of sex I need from Dominic Reed. I grab my check off the dresser and glance at his face.

  He kisses me once more, chastely on the mouth and leads me out a different door in the back. “Remember the last thing you agreed to, Kayla.” Don’t be jealous.

  He closes the door behind me, and I’m left by myself with a big wad of money. I have what I came here for, yet I feel like I just lost something even larger. His signature is a neat, scribbly line—an irony as confusing as the man who wrote it. My future rests in my hands. It’s no strings attached money. A gift. With my back pressed against the door, I try to pull my shit together. The check is forgotten in the next moment.

  Because I’m so fucking jealous I’m seething mad.

  Chapter Ten

  “Layers”

  Dominic

  I sent home four girls at last night’s filming. The lights were hot and it was more difficult than I anticipated. All the women kneeled at their places on the large stage with their photos on the jumbotrons spanning the back of the set. I turned off four spotlights. Coco was one of them. I told myself it was because she was a weak candidate—her insecure nature, but honestly, I think it’s because of Kayla. I have a deep-rooted desire to please those I care about. It stems from my childhood of people pleasing. One would assume I posses the ability to ignore the pull, but those people haven’t met Kayla. She’s the single most convincing persona I’ve met in a submissive. Someone trying to be a submissive, I should say. The problem with all of this is that I’ve associated the word care with a woman this early in the games. A feeling so prevalent I’ve given her college tuition and a thick layer of my own skin reserved for no one. A layer so important, that it weakens in a way that makes me fearful of what comes next.

  All because she’s something I didn’t know I wanted. Or needed.

  Word is out. The other submissives know of my friendship with her and have requested my time outside of filming. It’s interesting getting to know the harem in a more relaxed way, but it eats away at my free time, and I do have a job outside of this. In return, the jealousy in the sub house has skyrocketed. It’s created a problem of sorts. When we aren’t filming sex scenes, we’re watching melodrama so glaring that it makes me wince. Our ratings have never been better.

  Laurel paces my office. “The longer she stays, the worse it’s going to be. The scene you filmed with Kayla…wasn’t normal.” We’ve already spoken about the scene dozens of times. The producers agreed it was more tender than it should have been. I didn’t tell them I had no control over what the fuck it looked like. Toward the end I wanted her so badly that it was almost an out of body experience when I finally sank inside of her. It was a coming to God moment. A moment I replay over and over. A moment nothing else compares to. Merely looking at the pen on my desk makes my dick hard and it’s a writing utensil.

  She stops in front of my desk. I glance up. “You made love to her, Dominic.” Hearing it takes my breath away. Surely, that’s not what the audience saw. It was hot. I get wood thinking about it. I don’t make love. I’ve never made love. Not even to my girlfriend in high school. She liked it rougher than other girls our age—let me pull her hair, fuck her doggy style, and spank her so hard when I came inside her that it left a welt for hours after. No, Dominic Reed doesn’t make love.

  Swallowing hard once, I glare down my favorite producer. “Who is the Dom, Laurel? Last time I checked, I’m the one who has to pick a partner. Are you eating pussy and spanking asses?” I ask, tapping the desk with one finger.

  My producer’s face turns a muddled shade of dark red. She’s mortified. We make a show based on sex and yet you can’t joke about it. It’s fucking ludicrous. She shakes her head and then tucks her hair behind her ears.

  “That’s right. I am. That’s my privilege.”

  Laurel grabs a pitcher of water and pours herself a glass slowly with shaking hands.

  I speak louder than I should. “The ratings are gold. We have advertisement requests pouring in. You were the one to tell me that the Ad department is drowning. You asked to hire another executive to make selections easier. We’ll be able
to sell airtime for more than a Super Bowl ad, Laurel. Tell me again how Kayla is a bad thing.”

  She holds up a hand to interrupt me. “I never said she was bad for the show.”

  “She’s bad for me?” I ask, letting one brow quirk up. She has balls bigger than mine if she’s going to talk personal with me. “How is that your business?”

  I stand from my chair and lean on my desk, daring her to meet my gaze. “Tell me how you think she’s bad for me.” I let my lips curve upward.

  She takes a sip of water. “The Dom Games website, sir. It’s on fire with comments about how you have a…weak spot for her.” Weak. The one word you never want associated with a Dominant. “If that’s not true, perhaps you should show a preference for another to keep them guessing? It’s my job to give you all the information and facts. This is the first season for winner chatter this early in the game. Ratings could very well be affected by it, if they think she has it in the bag.”

  “Send her home then? Would that make everyone happy? Shake things up with the viewers?” I sneer. The attitude was unintentional. I’m angry. The thought of her going anywhere because of semantics pisses me off.

  She shakes her head. “Of course not. It’s obvious you appreciate her.” She pauses. “Strong-willed nature. There was a scene that showed Kayla spouting off to Coco and the next episode you sent Coco home. You have to see how it looks, even if it may not be that cut and dry.” I loosen my tie. It’s choking me all of a sudden. I walk to the window and let my eyes flick over the buildings and city skyline in the distance. “Kayla will have to think you’ve lost interest to make it believable.” Laurel gives Kayla no credit.