I scratch the side of my head. “Do you want to leave?” Kayla couldn’t be more wrong. I like more than the idea of her. An idea is a small thing that may or may not bloom into reality. She’s already my reality. “Your feelings are paramount. I’m sorry I hurt them. It’s part of the—”
She shakes her head, holds up a finger to stop me, and finishes my sentence.
“The games. It’s part of the games. After last night I’m not sure how much more of the games I can handle. Part of me knew it was for the cameras,” she says, holding one hand over her chest. “But the other half was just a girl getting her heart stomped on by someone who doesn’t care to give it any value.”
“Don’t make me punish you then.” It’s the obvious solution. Be a good girl. “Your heart shouldn’t be involved, Kayla.” Mine is currently racing. “I’m sorry. I apologize.” I do want her heart in this. More than anything else. Why am I telling her otherwise?
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she narrows her eyes at me. “We both know you enjoy punishing, Dominic. Mental torture isn’t something I can fathom anyone enjoying. I want to be with you. That’s why I want to stay. I can’t honestly say I want to be here. For what it’s worth, I don’t forgive you for last night.” Her gaze darts to the carpet. “And you can’t tell me what to do with my heart either.”
Watching closely, I lay one hand on her shoulder. She closes her eyes, her reaction immediate and visible. “Come with me to my parents’ house for the weekend. No one will know. My father said to bring a girlfriend home. My mother would be through the roof excited. Do you want to be my girlfriend this weekend? As my apology of sorts. It’s a family reunion. It’s sure to be unbearable and enlightening at the same time. I truly am sorry, Kayla.”
She turns out of my grasp. “So I can come back here and be one of the six submissives you domineer around for the cameras. That seems like another form of torture. You are a sadist, aren’t you?”
“Watch your mouth,” I say, rubbing the stubble on my chin. This was a horrible idea. She’s right. “With how much you’ve been using the computers illegally I figured you’d jump at the chance to leave the house—get outside of these walls.” That piques her interest. “My parents don’t watch the show, but my siblings probably do.”
Kayla’s face falls. She rubs her hands down her cheeks. “The real world. That’s right. I’m the whore on television. Gross. A trip isn’t going to fix anything. You know that, right?”
“What did you think was going to happen when you came on this show, Kayla? I’ve given you the money for college. That’s what you wanted, right? If that’s what is important to you, then just go. We both know a Dom/sub relationship between us will be complicated.”
She spins on me, her beautiful eyes fixed on my face. She’s vulnerable. She’s this fantastic mix of snow and fire. She melts and singes at the same time. “Let me ask you a question,” she breathes.
I swallow and nod once firmly. “Why don’t you want a girlfriend? Why this weird relationship? You can do normal. You do normal with me when we’re together off camera.”
I shake my head. “We are friends.”
She bites her lip. “Permission to do an experiment, Sir.” Kayla raises her perfectly sculpted brows.
“Yes,” I reply. Curiosity has the best of me right now, and the way she’s looking at me makes me delirious with lust. Kayla leads me to her bed, pushes me down to a seated position, and crawls on top of me to straddle my legs. My breath catches in my throat, and she notices. The smile stretching across her face tells me she has the upper hand. Grabbing my face between her hands, she pulls me in for a deep, lingering kiss.
I need this. Her touch. Her approval. I need Kayla. My breathing speeds as the kiss turns into something more palpable—something that means more than a kiss in the playroom or even the punishment room. A kiss that isn’t for the cameras, it’s only because we want it. I don’t kiss the other women. I wasn’t sure why until right now. The floating, crashing, owning I feel when I kiss Kayla. This is hers and hers alone.
She breaks away. “I’m still mad at you, just so you know. This doesn’t change anything. Acting or not, my anger doesn’t die that easily.” I merely nod, smile, and pray she leans back into me. Reaching down, she grabs my cock through my pants while moving her mouth in time with mine. “Feel that?” she asks, her voice a husky whisper.
“How could I not?” I ask against her mouth. She leaps off the bed, taking steps back toward the wall as she catches her own breath. I lean up on my elbows to watch her. “Get back over here.”
She shakes her head. “That”—she points at me—“was more than friendship. No cameras. No rules. Just us. Tell me again you don’t want that.” She points with her other hand so both of her hands are in front of her—guarding herself from her feelings. “Tell me you don’t want me like this,” she says, motioning to her body and face. I want it very badly. Her. The reason it took so long with Jessy in the playroom was because I couldn’t stop thinking of Kayla. I wanted to get back to her, and in turn it made my cock block itself. It wanted Kayla, not anyone else.
I lie back on her bed, pull on the tips of my hair, and look at her ceiling. “You’re right.” Of course I saw this coming. I didn’t see her being the one to bring it up.
“Do you only want this with me? Or is our friendship,” she says, air quoting the last word, “because it’s convenient?” From the moment I saw her roll her eyes on her submission video I’ve wanted only her.
“This complicates things. Just come to my parents’ house this weekend, okay? We can practice. I’m the Dom this year, Kayla. That’s not going to change. We’re mid season. I can’t send everyone home and ride off with you on a white horse. You understand that?” Even now, the thought makes my heart beat faster. I’m in uncharted territory. She slides next to me on her side and props up her head on her hand. “It’s only you,” I whisper, letting my head fall to the side to meet her gaze. “I’m truly sorry. Forgive me.”
She smiles, but it falls away quickly. “I don’t want to be the whore from the show, Dominic.”
I trace her pouting mouth with my thumb. “You’re my whore, though.”
She bites my thumb. “I’m no one’s whore. Even if this goes somewhere, I can’t get my family’s faces out of my mind. They didn’t know where I was going, but I know my brother watches the show. My friend Jason told me they’ve been calling my apartment non-stop. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from this.” I’ve embraced the BDSM lifestyle. It’s not something I think about at all. It’s sort of like coming out. Once everyone knows you can take a deep breath and live your life. I put myself in Kayla’s position and it does seem daunting.
“Decisions have consequences.”
“What will the consequence be for my decision to go with you this weekend?”
I kiss her. She smells sweet mixed with my saliva. My dick hardens again. “I can’t make any promises, because my family is crazy, but it gets you outside of this house and away from everyone else.” My mind is spinning with everything that will need to be taken care of to conceal this trip. I’ll need help.
“No Dom and sub stuff all weekend?” she asks. “I won’t have to share you with anyone except your family members? No cameras? I can deal with being your whore for that, I think.” The word whore sends a shiver up my spine. She’s not a whore, and maybe that’s why I feel this way. Why haven’t I tried to have a girlfriend after all this time? Surely, I’ve felt a fraction of this desire with another woman before Kayla? An ex-sub, possibly? I don’t remember it, which means it never happened. Why now—at this inopportune time during my games?
A knock at the door breaks us from our moment. Her gaze darts to the door, and she looks marginally terrified. “So you are expecting someone?”
“I mean, not really. I wasn’t sure,” Kayla says in a rush of air and fear. I fucking knew it.
Standing slowly and deliberately, I make my way across the room. I already know who
I’m going to see. When I open the door, there stands the intern. The second he sees me instead of her, he looks like a deer caught in headlights.
“Mr. Reed, sir. I was just, uh…delivering a message from the producers,” he stutters, his words clipped and untrue. A deck of playing cards falls from his hand onto the floor. He kneels and starts scrambling to pick up the cards.
“Kayla, you have a visitor,” I say, turning to meet her terrified gaze. “Strip poker?” I ask casually, letting a smile waltz across my mouth.
“Oh my God. No. No. This is a huge misunderstanding.”
I open the door wider so she can watch the intern scrambling on the floor trying to pick up cards. “What is it then?”
“He was coming to play rummy with me. I swear. Totally platonic, Dominic.”
“Sir,” I correct her.
Her mouth pops open. “Sir. Sir. Of course. Sir. Fuck.”
“Language, Kayla.”
“Fuck,” she repeats, then covers her mouth. “Sorry, Sir. We play cards. Fully clothed. I was upset. He saw me in the hallway this morning and offered to come cheer me up with a game of cards. Don’t be mad at him. The card games were my idea. I don’t have friends here.” Her words come out rushed. I can tell it’s the truth. She never thought to ask me? I suppose I’m always trying to undress her, not play card games with her. This is a perfect example of what a normal friendship looks like. The intern coming by to cheer her up with a game of cards. She needs cheering up because of me. I’m not her friend, no. Not at all. She has to hide her normalcies from me. It causes a riot of emotions.
“I’ll go pack my things, sir,” the intern says sullenly. He stands in front of me with his face down. He’s more noble than I am—this uncomplicated boy-man. I can’t be mad at him or the situation. I caused it. Kayla comes over and begs me to not be upset with Tim—that she basically had to beg him mercilessly for a secret friendship. She emphasizes over and over that he’s just a friend.
Swallowing hard, I say, “No, no. The lady wants rummy. Go play a game with her. Kayla. I’ll see you later.” I leave without another word. Perhaps this will soften her—maybe she’ll forgive me.
As I step into the tiny elevator, her laughter wraps me like a hug from a ghost. It also pierces my chest.
Right where my heart is supposed to me.
Chapter Thirteen
“The Clampets”
Kayla
Escaping the sub house and then the studio undetected was easier than I thought it would be. Dominic typically takes weekends off, so no one will find it odd that he’s gone. My absence will be explained away easily as I never interact with the other contestants anyways. The only person who may miss me is Tim. And he’s being kept busy with other work. We flew in a Reed Studios private jet to Colorado where a stretch town car awaited our arrival at the private airport. His family’s private airport. That should have been my first clue that I wasn’t in Kansas or even Hollywood anymore. Relief from my departure soon turned to dread.
My stomach has stayed in knots the entire time. Half because the aircraft we flew on was small and bumpy—I mean seriously, I’m surprised we arrived alive—and the other half because Dominic is wearing faded jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and he’s holding my hand. I don’t recognize the man sitting next to me in the backseat of the car. He smiles at me occasionally, but mostly his gaze is fixated out the window—the grim set of his jaw reflecting back at me in the tinted glass.
The mountains and overall scenery remind me of a delicious dessert—white chocolate melting over mounds of creamy cake. The clouds are puffy cotton candy confections. The beautiful plains speed by us and finally the driver turns down a side road blocked by an enormous gate. He’s told me several stories about his parents and siblings. Mainly it was so I could get a feel for their personalities. His mother seems like a sweet matriarch who takes care of everything in the absence of her husband, who is a cynical workaholic who will never be satisfied by anything—he’ll never have enough, he’ll never conquer the world. His siblings are a mix between the two of them. Mostly, I think they’re probably jerks. Dominic, like I assumed he would be, is pegged as the black sheep. I need to meet them before I determine if that’s a good or bad thing.
“Welcome to the Reed estate,” Dominic says, squeezing my hand lightly. His eyes dart from the side window to the windshield in front of us. The house, if you can really call it that, appears in front of the winding paved road. Notice I didn’t call it a driveway. It’s a road. Back in grade school we learned about plantations—how servants had their own quarters. Well, here, it looks as if the house help, and every close relative in their family tree, have their own mini mansions instead. As we pass by smaller, but equally impressive houses, Dominic tells me who lives where. Some are employees of his father’s companies, others are indeed house help, and in one of the largest houses his grandma. His Dad’s mom. It’s information overload, and he sees it written in my expression.
“Don’t worry. They don’t expect you to know anything about them. They expect me to convert to their black gold ways,” Dominic says, patting my knee.
The sundress I chose looks cheap. My sandals from last summer look a little more worn out than they did just five minutes ago, and my God, how can anyone grow up in this and come out normal? I glance at Dominic’s profile.
You don’t come out normal. I pull my cardigan tighter around my body.
Two men wearing black suits swarm the car as our vehicle pulls under the sky-high covering by the front entrance of the domicile. Again, this is not a house. Our doors open. Dominic raises his brows, blows out a breath, and steps out of his door. I do the same and then take his offered hand. Breathing in deeply, I smell the fresh air and the smallest trace of his cologne. We stand, our faces forward, as she comes barreling out of the front door.
“I’m scared,” I whisper. Colors. Every single one in the fucking rainbow ambush my line of vision in the form of the person approaching.
He taps my finger with his. “Me too.”
She squeals like a pig—her hands in the air like she’s talking to Jesus. “Oh my God, ya’ll, they’re here. And, ya’ll, she’s as cute as a sunny, butter button, I’ll tell you what, ya’ll,” his mother says, breaking the world record for squeezing in the word ya’ll into one greeting. At least I think it’s a greeting. I can’t be sure. She’s round, curled, and preened to the likes of a spoiled house cat. Her clothing is baggy, eccentric, but her red-lipped smile is wide and genuine. I can already tell she hides nothing in a world devoid of truth.
She hugs Dominic—her short, thick arms clutching him in a vice grip. “Hey, Mom. How are you doing? Sorry it’s been so long,” he mumbles, putting his arms around her awkwardly. “This is my friend, Kayla. Kayla, this is my mother, Betsy Reed.” Betsy, I think. What a perfect name to describe this woman. Her gaze locks on me like a target.
I extend my hand politely. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She brushes past my hand and hugs me just as tightly. I suck in a breath and meet Dom’s eyes. He’s smiling. She leans away, but keeps her hands resting on my shoulders.
Narrowing her eyes, she says, “Let me get a good look at you, honey. Is my son being good to you? He’s a bit of an odd bird, but his heart is in the right place.” She reaches over and pats him on the chest.
I swallow. I can only agree with one thing. “His heart is in the right place,” I say. Dominic winces. “Your estate is lovely, Mrs. Reed. Thank you for having me.”
She swats my shoulder. “It’s Betsy, not Mrs. Reed, dear. Don’t even mention it. I’m glad Dominic found the good sense to settle down with a nice girl. Come in, ya’ll. I had lunch whipped up. Your brothers are already in here piggin’ out. Your father is on a call. He’ll be down soon. Come in. Come in, ya’ll,” Betsy says. As she walks, I watch her neon yellow shirt swish back and forth—clinging to her ample hips. It distracts me from the fact that I feel like I’m in a hotel instead of a home.
Dominic settle
down? Yeah, right. I shake my head. Dominic notices, peering at me sideways. “How?” I ask, completely stymied by the woman who supposedly bore him.
He laughs. “I’m more like my father. He would hate it if he heard me admit that, but it’s true.” It has to be, because this woman looks like she only spawns fluorescent rainbows and an overabundance of glitter. He laughs once more at my mollified expression.
Betsy turns around. “Laughing. Dominic laughing. My word, this is fantastic,” she says, shaking her head—bouncing her curls. “Boys,” she shouts. “Your brother is here.” My palms grow sweaty. This is the moment I’ve dreaded since I agreed to accompany Dominic on this trip. The media doesn’t hound the other Reed boys as much as Dominic. I don’t even remember seeing photos online. If I did, they were unremarkable, or of bad quality.
There’s raucous laughter coming from a white hallway to the left. I’m not sure how anyone can carry extra weight living here. Everything is so far apart. It’s a ten-minute walk from the entrance to the dining room. The walls are covered with beautiful artwork. Most of it is abstract, just like the doodles on Betsy’s shirt.
Two boys, or grown men, slide down the hallway à la Tom Cruise in Risky Business—socks and all. “Dom. You son of a bitch. I knew it, Caleb. You owe me a grand!” He slaps the other brother on the back. They look like Dominic, but not nearly as attractive. Go figure.
The Dom Games Page 11