“I’ll take care of it, Laurel. Let the harem know I won’t be seeing them outside of filming and pre-filming meetings, please.” I don’t turn around. She clears her throat.
“That will be all.” The door clicks closed, and I take a deep breath. Opening my laptop, I pull up the website and wince. It’s worse than Laurel let on. There’s screen shots of my lips pressed against Kayla’s, quotes that I’ve said to her on air, mixed with viewer commentary on how Kayla won me over with her tight body.
If only they knew.
With my head in one of my hands, I hold down the scroll button and watch the number rise. There are literally millions of comments and photos of Kayla. Some aren’t even photos from The Games. They look to be pulled from her social media accounts. Out of morbid curiosity for this PR nightmare, I keep on seeking. There’s a shot of Kayla with an ex-boyfriend. They’re kissing under mistletoe. She has on a red dress, and the boy, because he’s not a man, is wearing an ill-fitting suit. There’s beer cans in the background and red solo cups littering the floor.
“Fuck!” I roar. I’m glad that Kayla and the subs don’t have access to this. Her mail. I still have her stack of mail. I could send for an intern to bring it to her. I want to.
Van pops his head out of his office door. “Everything okay?”
I ask him if he’s seen the website. He looks guilty. “Yes. Everyone is talking about it. It’s not any of my business. Your well-being is my only concern.” Rarely do I need anyone looking after my well-being inside these walls. When I leave, it’s a whole different animal.
“I need to run an errand quickly. Mind my phones for a few, please.”
****
At this hour, I can’t get to her room without being seen, so I head to the meeting room where we did interviews and call her room to request her. I don’t even use the main office to give her a message. Damage control starts now. She slips into the dark room, closing the door behind her. She’s barefaced, wearing a bikini top and a short as fuck skirt. When she sees me eyeing her she says, “I just got back from the pool when you rang. Figured I better not keep you waiting.” She motions down to her lack of dress. “It’s my day off,” she explains. “Although I do have to head to the salon in a few.” Kayla smiles, but it falters when she sees I haven’t cracked a grin.
I stand from the wingback and grab her mail from the coffee table. “I forgot to give you this the other day.”
She approaches slowly. “Oh, that’s right. I need that.” Her eyes light when she sees the stack and then flick back up to meet mine. “Is everything okay, Dominic?” She has no idea what is going on outside these walls. It makes me feel sick. I went through her mail while I was waiting for her. There’s a letter from someone named Jason. I wanted to open it, but trust issues aren’t something I’m ready for at the moment.
Her finger brushes mine as the mail changes possession. “I’m going to be honest with you, Kayla. Things between us need to change if you want to stay on the show.” Why am I so fucking nervous? “I can’t see you outside of filming anymore. And during filming, our interactions will be different. You don’t have a day off anymore. We need to film in the punishment room.” I look at my watch. “In two hours. So it doesn’t interfere with tonight’s play scene with Jessy.”
“What does that mean?” The fire in her eyes isn’t there, but hurt is.
Turing my face away, I respond, “I think I explained it pretty thoroughly.” Her skin is so beautiful without makeup. It’s odd. It’s personal. Too personal. I’ve only seen one other woman like this. Not even the dozens of submissive relationships I’ve had over the years were this loose. This is the problem.
“Why are things changing?” Kayla crosses her arms—uneasy. “It’s so hard to keep up with you. One day you’re telling me things about your family and your past, and the next you’re shaking that finger at me and telling me I need to be punished. What is it now, Dom? I’m eager for information.” Kayla tilts her head to one side and runs her hand through her ponytail. She steps further into the room, closer to me.
How best to explain this? “Viewers are pegging you to win, Kayla. It’s too early for that. We need…I need to make sure the show is successful. In an effort to combat the talk, I’m not seeing any of the subs outside of the play rooms. That’s how it should have been from the start, anyways.” I slide my hands into my pockets to still them.
Kayla has made her way across the room in a span of seconds. The faint smell of coconut and sweat lingers on her skin. I bet she’s still warm to the touch. With the distance between us closed, I can’t think straight. I shake my head. “This is the problem, Kayla. This,” I say, nodding between our bodies. I’ve never wanted anything more.
“Why do you call it a problem? You can’t fake this, Dominic. Try as you might, you’re not going to be able to conceal chemistry. It’s innate. An uncontrollable facet in your controlled world.” She takes my white shirt in her hands and yanks it up and out of my slacks. My fucking breath hitches. I keep quiet, watching her long fingers work the pearlescent buttons on my shirt. Her ponytail swings as she hits her knees in front of me. It takes every ounce of self-control to keep my hands off her head as she unfastens my pants and watches them hit the floor.
My cock is already hard and ready to fuck. Because she’s right. Our chemistry has a life form of its own. I don’t have any control of it. When she sucks my dick into her mouth and whale eyes me from her kneeling position on the ground a thought hits me.
If I can’t conceal the fire, she has to leave. I groan when she starts pumping her fist around my cock and deep-throating so perfectly that my knees shake in anticipation. She hums and spits and tongues my balls and swallows it down so deep that I’m ready to blow in a matter of minutes. Sending her home would be a tragic mistake. For more than one reason.
Closing my eyes, I savor every single pleasure inciting nerve ending in my cock. I’ll forget the chemistry. I have to. I’ll make it all about sex. No emotions. “I’m coming,” I whisper through gritted teeth. Then I pull out of her mouth, pump my cock a couple more times, and explode all over her flawless face. She licks the remnants from the tip and smiles. I groan, completely defeated by her mouth, her wiles, by her mere existence.
No, she’s staying. I’m just going to have to play the game differently.
I watch as she stands, steps out of her skirt, and uses it to wipe off her face. I help her. She laughs when I catch a drop of come sliding down her neck. Taking my finger between her teeth, she licks it off my pointer finger, swirling her tongue like she’s tasting a dick. My cock pulses. It always wants more from her.
My smile fades. My heart rate doesn’t slow. “Thanks for that. I still need you for filming in the punishment room.” Her perfect blow jobs don’t change a thing, unfortunately.
“Is this about the money?” she asks, wiping the corner of her mouth. My own mouth is watering right now. I want to kiss her. Fuck her. Take that bikini top and bind her wrists together so she can’t move—or touch me in any way, shape, or form. “I don’t need it. I’ll give it back.”
“No, of course not. It’s not even about you at all. It’s about me. This is my fault.” That sounded like a lame breakup line from a cheesy romance novel. With her skirt off, the tiny string bikini bottoms she’s wearing taunt me. I pull the black string on one side and the triangle falls away, exposing her waxed cunt. Groaning, I say, “Kayla. Please just do what I ask of you. For now. Just to give the people what they want. A competition.”
She smiles, her straight teeth resting on her bottom lip. “Are you telling me there’s no competition? That’s what it sounds like. We can be secret friends. No one else will know.” She licks her fucking lips. She’s bending me to her will—better yet, she’s breaking me.
I consider it. I really do. “This shouldn’t even be up for discussion. You are my sub. I want a sub, Kayla. Not a girlfriend. I want the sting of my palm and your naked body at my disposal. I’m a greedy man. There’s n
o gray area. You have created this gray area. Let me rephrase.” I grab her hand. “We have created a gray area and the audience sees it. I’m black and you’re white.”
She pulls her hand away and ties her bottom back on. “If you mix black and white just so, it makes gray. I don’t see what’s wrong with gray area. I don’t want to go to the punishment room. What if I don’t agree?” She folds her arms under her chest, perking up her tits.
My gaze draws down. “Then you can go home. I’m taking control of this. I’m asserting my dominance, and you will fall in line, Kayla. Fall in line or leave. Your choice. You’ll be punished for creating so much drama in the sub house.” I regret my word choice immediately after I see the damage they’ve caused.
She steps back. “That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s not me!” It’s a combination of women and jealousy. My mother taught me well. I’m not touching that subject with a ten-foot pole. I’ve warned her not to be jealous. She has nothing to worry about if we can get this winner chatter under control. I want to tell her that I want her, but I’m honestly not sure if I’m ready for her. My promise was a forever submissive. One glance at Kayla’s bare face and tapping foot and I’m having visions of girlfriend. Wife. Future. A life I never entertained.
Running a hand through my hair, I glance at my watch again. “I know it’s not you. Get to the salon, please. Please understand. There are so many layers to this game. You have no idea. I work on both sides, so I do. Trust me.” Gently I cup the side of her face in my hand. Understand. “It’s the best for everyone. Keep your head down and don’t get caught sneaking around.” I didn’t tell her to stop. She’s smart enough to pick up on it.
She pulls out of my grasp. “I fail to see how it’s best for me, Dominic. Whatever. Let me be off to the salon. How shall I look for tonight’s punishment? Barely Legal Teenaged dream, or Angry Vindictive Bitch?” She spins on her flip flopped toe and heads for the door. Her ass, my God, her ass in that bikini would make a man commit murder.
“Stop,” I command. She turns to look at me over her shoulder. “Put this on,” I say, tossing my white dress shirt to her. She jabs her arms through the sleeves, but she doesn’t take her eyes off my mid section. She likes my abs.
“Oh, and, Kayla?”
“Yes, Sir?” she sneers.
“Wear your collar.”
Chapter Eleven
“Siblings Suck”
Kayla
This one time, when I was twelve, my brother, Sebastian, stole my diary from in between my mattress and box spring. He photocopied every single sordid page and taped a page to the refrigerator door whenever I did anything to piss him off. It was the ultimate blackmail in epic proportions. Especially when you’re twelve and hate everything about everyone and everything. Including yourself. I vowed war against him. Still to this day, he has unreleased pages of tweenaged Kayla’s life. That’s the thing with siblings. They’re your frenemy from day zero. You love them because they are cut from the same cloth, but you hate them because they know too much about you. They’re in the inner circle of your world. All the bad decisions you make and horrible characteristics you develop along the road of life, are known. There are no secrets with siblings.
All of the research I was able to obtain about Dominic has him pegged as the middle child. Other news articles declare him as the oldest of the Reed boys. You can’t be both at the same time. I’m using computers illegally. I figure it’s not truly illegal because I’m sure I’m being monitored. It’s in a large, open office adjacent to the sub house. He’s punishing me anyways. Might as well do something to actually warrant being spanked…or whatever he has in store for me. I didn’t find his birth order odd until I stumbled upon an opinion piece written by a famous celebrity blogger. He’s infamous for trash talking, so I’m not sure what to believe, but the headline is “Dominic Reed, oil heir, destroyed by loss of brother.” I can’t read quickly enough, my eyes scanning the article at hyper speed. It says his brother died in an accident when he was a child…in front of Dominic. The article blames the accident on his nefarious BDSM ways.
My heart is thumping jaggedly—furiously—against my chest when a woman clears her throat from behind me. “There you are,” she says.
Clicking off the browser, I turn in my seat. She didn’t see. There’s no way she saw what I was reading. “I’m so embarrassed,” I admit, far too loudly. “I wanted to do a little research on the play scene for next week.” Yes. This will buy me some time. The inexperienced card will get me a long way with the employees. They feel bad for me. I think.
Her eyes flit over me in an accusatory way, but she says, “Oh. Well, you’re needed in the salon. Mr. Reed is filming a scene right now and will be ready for you in about thirty minutes.” He’s off schedule. Way off schedule and it makes my stomach turn.
Standing, I leave the office, brushing my shoulder against hers on my way out. The new knowledge, whether it’s factual or not, has caused a riot of emotions and feelings inside of me. I wish I had months to scour the Internet to research him more. What else would I find?
As I approach the salon doors, I take off my silk robe to expose my naked body for the team to primp and preen to perfection. I have on a simple pair of black, cotton thongs. I greet the makeup artist. Her name is Shawna. She’s small, quiet, and I can tell she doesn’t judge me. She smiles this tiny, little, comforting smirk as she works on my face. I don’t think she has pores. I stare at her skin, trying to find flaws as she fixes mine.
“Mr. Reed stopped by and asked that I apply more makeup than usual, Ms. Parchet. In case you’re wondering why it’s not your usual job.”
“Did he mention why?” Shawna winces a little. “What did he say, Shawna?” I ask. Grabbing her wrist, I halt her little painting brush.
Her blue eyes fringed with black lashes flit down to meet mine. “He wanted me to make sure you were well covered…with makeup,” she whispers. “He didn’t mention why. Sorry, Kayla.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not your fault. Cover me up then,” I say, releasing her wrist and spreading my arms wide. Whatever sympathy I felt for his loss as a child evaporates as I envision him commanding Shawna to cover me up with false paint. Fucking asshole.
“How’s your bikini area?” someone asks from behind me. How innocuous and inappropriate. I spend a few seconds coming to terms with how my life has morphed into this concoction of glamour, sex, and lies.
I had a wax several days ago. “It’s fucking fabulous. No need for your attentions today. Do you want to check? Maybe feel for stubble?”
“God, you’re in top form today,” Shawna says. “It is a punishment filming, is it not?”
I smile. “Yes. Why, yes, it is. Who will be punished remains to be seen.” The intercom system that is attached to the entire building blares The Dom Games melody. He’s fucking Jessy right now. I swallow hard. It sticks in my throat. My skin prickles. I’m hot. I’m cold. I feel sick. This was purposeful. He’s not off schedule.
My punishment just began.
****
I’m sitting on a leather bench in the punishment room, my knees pulled up to my chest, when Dominic enters. He’s dripping with sweat, shirtless, barefoot—angry as sin. The lights are hot, the cameras are close, and my stomach is in knots. A camera follows Dom as he enters the room. They never stopped rolling as he switched from Jessy to me.
I wonder if he even toweled off his dick before leaving Jessy. The thought causes me to suck in a huge, tortured breath. I rest my chin on my knees as he approaches. I’m supposed to be kneeling next to this bench, head down.
“Sir,” I say, when he’s sauntered close enough to hear my voice. The lace bra is itching my skin, my collar is too tight, and my ass cheeks are stuck to the leather. I probably would be much more comfortable kneeling, but I won’t give him that. Not after that song. It’s haunting me. The world famous notes no longer excite.
A bead of sweat rolls from his collarbone, over his pec, and drips down his abs
to land on the edge of his slacks. I wonder what his suit looked like before Jessy took it off him. How handsome he looked as if he were going out on a real date, to a nice restaurant or to a show. Was he wearing a tie? Did he tie her up with it?
My stomach turns. I can’t sit here complacent anymore. My thoughts are going to get me in trouble. Standing slowly, I rise with the wide bench behind me. Dominic’s lips press into a firm line. Eyes narrowed, he commands, “Kneel, Kayla. Now. You will do as I say.”
My whole body burns with fury, but I kneel in front of him. He smells of sweat and sex. I turn my face to the side, closing my eyes. “I’d ask how your scene went, but it obviously went well.”
“That doesn’t concern you. Does it?” The timbre of his voice is one I don’t recognize. If he’s playing at this, he’s convincing everyone. Including me. That’s the point, right? The audience has to think he’s distancing himself from me. Maybe filming his scene with Jessy before this, with me, helped him get into character. It took him out of our gray area.
Fuck that. Why am I making excuses for him? “Of course not, Sir,” I whisper. I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me, his face unreadable, but absolutely stunning. His hair is all messed up. It’s been pulled on and scrunched, and inside her hands. I can’t check the jealousy. It hurts my heart. Dominic is hurting me.
“Suck my fucking cock, Kayla,” Dominic roars—eyes dark and unflinching. He can’t be serious.
Wincing, I tilt my head, never breaking eye contact. “I thought you wanted to punish me, Sir.” Anything else. Beat me with the cane. Flog my cunt with cold leather, whip me, chain me, but don’t do this to me. Don’t embarrass me like this. Please. Can he hear my silent plea? He must know how humiliating this is. This isn’t just getting control back, he’s losing me.
“I am. Now put my dick into your wet mouth and suck.” This isn’t like earlier in his office where there were smiles and touches and emotions. This is a different animal altogether. This means nothing. And everything.
The Dom Games Page 9