The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  “Can we please go back to your legs wrapped around my waist and my tongue on your body?”

  “You always have the best ideas…darling. Three dates in. We’re totally down to fuck on this one.” He shakes his head. I pout my lower lip. “Why not?” I counted down the hours to this date for this specific reason. I shaved my legs. “I have one more question,” I say, now that I’m distracted again.

  Taking my waist in his hands, he lifts me gently and walks us into his bedroom. He lays me down on the bed, the soft duvet cool on my back. I catch sight of the life-sized portrait of me running away...from him. The first time I saw the image it made me sad and angry. Now, I can think of it as a new beginning and it doesn’t make me happy, but I can appreciate it—what it represents. “We’re taking it slow this time, remember? That’s why. What’s your question?” he asks. He can’t possibly be serious about going slow.

  “How are you so sure about us? That this is real? That we’ll make it?” Every aspect of our relationship was glamorized for cameras and made to order on behalf of ratings. Even now, Dominic Reed has a surreal quality about him. He’s mine, yes, but he’s also the world’s. A part of him and…us, will always belong to people other than ourselves; strangers.

  Hovering over me, he sighs. “Because I know what reality is and being with you is the only truly real thing I’ve ever experienced. Us together is real. Our love is real. I look at you and see the rest of my life. When nothing else is clear, and the world is upside down and nothing is going right, I still have you and that’s enough for me. It’s enough. The world could crumple down around me and if your hand was in mine, I’d be content.”

  And Kayla Parchet melts into a puddle of messy, warm goo. “You’re enough for me, too. I’m pretty sure you have a playbook on the exactly right things to say. Where’s it hidden?” I smile. His words almost embarrass me. The truth is so poignant and real. The cynicism I carried with me all these years never left room for dreaming of this.

  He brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “No playbook. It’s all new, but nothing has ever felt so right.” Tucking his head, he kisses my neck slowly, deliberately.

  I moan—pleasure sensing nerve endings firing to every part of my body. “If the world is going to crumple down around us, I think we should be doing more than holding hands. Everything else I agree with.”

  “Let’s get a head start on the end of the world and remedy this situation right now then.” Dominic slides my jeans down my legs and kisses as he goes, grazing my smooth skin with his tongue. I help him remove my boots and make haste with my shirt and bra. When I’m sitting in the middle of his bed wearing nothing but a G-string he stops and stares, nodding as if he’s giving me his approval.

  I can’t let him get too comfortable. “My asshole is not bleached. I feel like I should probably warn you.”

  Tossing his head back, he laughs—the throaty sound filling the room. “You sure know how to ruin a moment, don’t you? I don’t want your asshole tonight.” He pulls off his shirt and unbuckles his pants. Grabbing both my ankles, he pulls me to the end of the bed.

  Sliding a finger down from the top of my panties down the inside of my leg, he pulls them to the side to expose me. “I want this. I want to fuck it with my tongue until you come all over my face. I want my dick so deep inside you that I don’t know where I start and you end.” He slips a finger inside me and crooks it toward him, hitting my G-spot perfectly. Dominic is such an attentive lover. Every breath I take and every noise I make he’s gauging, deciding what to do next, what my body needs before I realize what I even want.

  Arching my back, I push his finger into me a little deeper. “I want you,” I reply. It’s an honest truth. Gazing at him as he looks at me, I’m mystified how I ever doubted his feelings for me, or thought for even one tiny second I could ignore mine for him. Dominic’s warm mouth covers my clit and his tongue assaults me with flicks and pressure. It doesn’t take long for me to come—the orgasm so powerful that every hair on my body stands on end. I’m basically vibrating with pleasure, wracked with love for him and plagued by wanting more. Every hard, muscled inch of him.

  Dominic lazily kisses my stomach as he makes his way up to my mouth. “You do realize you’re never leaving me again, right?” he asks. For once, his possessiveness turns me on. It’s not for the cameras. It’s for me—for him.

  Tracing his lips with my own, I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath. “I’m still not sure how this is going to work out between us, but I’m too in love to care. That’s a good place to be. Where common sense meets spontaneity.” I let my lips press against his. “Make love to me. Please.”

  Sliding my cool fingers down the sides of his back, I feel his skin prickle under my touch. A small groan escapes his lips and makes its way into my mouth. He cradles my head in his hands as I guide his dick into my wet core. He pushes in a little and the full feeling causes my eyes to roll back into my head. “My God. This is what I’ve missed.”

  He smiles against my lips and thrusts his hips subtly to enter me deeper. “You mean you didn’t miss me?” He fills me, contents me, forces me to confront the reality of my love for him and what that means for the rest of my life.

  I nod, but I’m so wrapped up in the sensations I barely even registered his question. “Give me more. I want all of it.”

  “Forever?” he asks, kissing my nose and then my cheek, and then my lips. “You want all of it forever?”

  I don’t hesitate with my reply. “For eternity.”

  He picks up the pace, dipping his face into my shoulder where it meets my neck. His breaths are hot, and his kisses against my skin are electrified. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I meet his thrusts one for one. “Kayla. You feel amazing. Your skin. Your pussy. Everything. I can’t get enough,” he growls. Dominic’s lips are next to my ear now and the vibrations from his words ricochet straight to my chest. “I love you so much,” he says.

  I bring his face to mine, with both hands on his rough cheeks. “I love you, too.” He kisses me fiercely and fills me at the same time. The friction against my clit is perfection. I tell him I want more. He gives it to me exactly how I ask for it. The sex is slow and steady—he looks me in the eyes, he touches me like I’m made of glass, like he’s not sure if I’m real.

  Staring into his eyes, I see my future unfold. It’s more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of. My wildest dreams can’t compare to my new reality. My love for him isn’t fleeting or forced because cameras are stalking our every interaction. I love him because of his heart, because he loves me without reservation. I love him because he listens when I speak, and the way his eyes close before he asks me a question. I love him because despite everything he’s been through, he’s still a good person. He doesn’t use his money or his status to weasel his way around the world. He works for it. Dominic is noble. He’s kind. And as he kisses me—makes love to me so tenderly and passionately—I know he’ll never expect me to be his submissive.

  He wants me as his equal.

  Dominic whispers against my lips, “I’m coming in you.” I hold him as he collapses onto me—chest heaving with his exertion, breaths cascading into my oxygen. We stay tangled in his bed for longer than I can quantify, merely content to touch each other—be together with hands and lips intertwined and souls claiming victory.

  “You said eternity,” he says, smiling. I explain that I would have used another term, but forever seems cliché and infinity doesn’t make sense. He tells me about how he’s never loved anyone before. How he’s so sure of his feelings that no one word describes his emotions. I want to take his words and bottle them, wrap it in a package and hide it somewhere no one else can ever hear them or taste them. They’re my words. He’s so beautiful as he speaks, that I can’t stop touching his hair, the planes of his face, the dip in his large bicep, the dark valley above his collarbone. He watches intently as I commit every nuance to memory.

  Finally, he meets my gaze and holds it. “It will be
different when we head back to The Dom Games,” he says.

  It’s not a game. It was never a game for us.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Love Gets a Finale”

  Dominic

  Gage’s clear, strong voice booms. The women are introduced almost exactly as they were in the first episode. Their spotlights flick on one by one above the monstrous stage. The smell of hot lights, because they do have a peculiar smell, fills the air. It reminds me of hot plastic and new metal. The women, my sub contestants are wearing clothing now—dresses and smiles—no blindfolds. The atmosphere is lighter. There’s no pressure. It’s over. Now, it’s their time to shine.

  Each woman has their own personality, their own makeup choice, a way of presenting themselves that isn’t submissive. It’s curious and interesting to see them in this opposing view. They could be any women walking down the street. Jessy has a grunge look going on. Christine is wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse. Coco, with no surprise to anyone, is wearing a fire engine red, curve hugging bandage dress. I eye them all cautiously. Kayla is watching my every move. Her jealousy coming into this is larger than life. She has no reason to worry, and I’ve told her as much dozens of times.

  Instead of being out there with the subs, I’m watching from the safety of the wing of the stage. I don’t feel safe, though. Kayla is announced and a breath catches in my throat. She smiles and waves, and I think she may have even winked. Her black dress is tight, but not too seductive. I can’t bear the fact that men worldwide will look at her and know what’s underneath. Rubbing the back of my neck, I flick my gaze to Gage.

  It’s my fault. A travesty I have to live with. Sharing her with strangers is my penance as king of this insane domicile. A stagehand passes me an updated schedule, and I make my way to another studio with several large sofas, a chaise lounge, and multiple cameras. This is where the questions will be answered—the main course for tonight’s filming. I flex my fists by my sides and adjust my tie because I feel like it’s choking off my air supply. Tugging at the sleeves of my shirt, I make sure the proper amount of white cuff is showing beneath my jacket. Several minutes pass as I worry about wardrobe and what I’m about to do. Nerves are inherent, but I can’t check them right now. I clear my throat a few times.

  One at a time the women trickle into the room. Their mics are checked, and they are directed to a seat. It’s like a wedding. The seating arrangements were meticulously planned, or so Laurel explained when she was giving me a run-down before filming. I wasn’t paying close enough attention as I’ve been distracted. Kayla and I flew here together, and she’s been uneasy since we boarded. A fact that is both disarming and worrisome at the same time. I need her to be present—with me, in all ways.

  “Dominic, we need you on the red chair, please.” I glance where the order came from and make my way to the mark. “When all the women take their seats, Gage will begin the scene.” I nod. “Once we’re rolling, you know what to expect.” Making eye contact with the producer, I nod once again.

  Coco walks in. She smizes in my direction and seats herself seductively on the couch across from me. “You’re looking well, Sir,” she purrs. I thank her while keeping my eyes on the door. When Kayla enters I want to read her face. There’s no time to speak to her before this begins and that’s a fact I’m kicking myself for not remedying. Jessy enters, taking her seat on the love seat next to me. Christine giggles as she walks through the door, balancing like a supermodel on her sky-high heels.

  After a tight-lipped smile, she grabs Jessy’s hand and perches at the edge of the love seat. They’re the winners. They are closest to me. Kayla rushes in, her beauty silencing the chatter. Her gaze lands on me and then slides to Jessy and Christine. A producer points toward a sofa, and she shakes her head. “Dominic,” she says, her voice loud. Now all eyes turn toward me. I haven’t spoken of our relationship to anyone, though everyone already suspects because of the media coverage. This will be the tell. For everyone in the room at least.

  Brushing her hands downs the sides of her dress while she approaches, she says, “I’m not sitting over there. Fix this. Or I’m sitting right here.” She leans over and pats my lap. Someone coughs. Someone else laughs.

  This oversight is annoying. “Please move the furniture to accommodate Kayla’s wishes…and my wishes.” With her hands placed on her hips she directs everything—the Best Boy and Boom Operator picking up the new position of set designer. I let her even though there’s a lot of scoffing and sighing from the boss behind the camera.

  When it’s done, we’re sitting on the love seat and the winners are next to us on the sofa. I can envision what this looks like on frame and it makes me laugh. Laurel is working her chin in between her thumb and forefinger as she makes amends that her vision is destroyed. When she catches my eye I shake my head.

  Gage enters, a woman from makeup powdering his nose as he walks. “All right, all right. Let’s do this, folks. You ready ladies?” His charismatic voice draws all eyes. After the women quiet, he asks me, “What about you, Mr. Reed? You ready for this?” I can’t wait for this. Because that will mean it’s over. My season will be finished. The hunt for a new Dom will start and my episodes will be re-runs and forgotten completely. I hope.

  “Of course.” Fear takes on many forms. It hides in places you’d never expect it to. Right now it’s weaving itself around the only thing I care about. My love for Kayla. Love is many things, but it’s also fear. I can’t control it. That’s why I’ve avoided it for so long. Something I can’t control. The thought frightens me even more.

  Kayla takes my hand in hers and squeezes. We had a pep talk earlier. Before she went to hair and makeup. We decided to be completely honest. Perhaps the public would leave us alone if they knew the truth—if there was nothing left to discover and splay on the front of magazines, we could obtain some semblance of peace. It’s a long shot.

  Gage asks if his face is okay, and with confirmation, he takes his mark on the black, taped X and speaks into the camera. The teleprompter feeds him his lines, but I’d fathom a guess he wouldn’t need it. He’s been doing this for so long and is so skilled at his job that he could host a show in his sleep. He’s the host for another of my reality television shows. God forbid something ever happens to his face or voice, because the man couldn’t do anything else. Some men were born to do certain things.

  I’m not shadowed. I’m in the same light as the submissives, and I feel fucking naked. I’d never realized how much a false sense of security the slight shadow gave me. The introductions are finished, and Gage takes a seat nearby and starts in with the viewer questions. I preapproved the questions, but my nerves hit me in spades. The responses from the women aren’t rehearsed at all. They answer however they please.

  “This question is for Coco. It comes from the twitter handle spankmereed,” Gage says. Coco laughs. “She asks, ‘when you went home the others were happy. Why were you so rude? Do you think you could have gotten further if you weren’t such a bitch?’”

  Kayla grumbles under her breath. I squeeze her hand. The camera makes a soft zipping noise as it pans around the room. Coco clears her throat and smiles widely. “I don’t change myself for anyone. Do I think I could have gotten further?” She looks directly at Kayla. “No. I think Mr. Reed made his choice early on and strung the rest of us along for a ride. My bitchiness had nothing to do with it. Kayla didn’t like me. What Kayla doesn’t like, Dominic takes care of.” Fuck. It doesn’t matter now, though.

  Keeping a straight face is easy. I’m trained in schooling my emotions. Especially when dealing with submissives. Coco isn’t acting very submissive right now. “Mr. Reed. What do you have to say in reply?” Gage asks.

  Honesty. This may cause a fucking outrage. “Coco is correct. Her personality isn’t why I sent her home. She wasn’t the woman for me. I can’t speak for Kayla, but I can take care of anything I want. She will make a great sub for a Dom. There’s no hurt feelings in sub/Dom relationships, s
o I can say Coco wasn’t what I wanted.”

  “I can speak for Kayla,” Kayla quips, releasing my hand. “It doesn’t matter if Dominic made his choice early on. In fact, it’s noble and telling that he knew what he wanted so quickly. Perhaps the choice wouldn’t have been so easy for him had Coco not been so catty and manipulative. But then again, I don’t speak bitch, so I can’t say for sure.” She folds her arms across her chest.

  Gage laughs, Coco rolls her eyes, and the cameras pan quickly. This is exactly the footage we need—what the people at home want to see. God, I love Kayla. Several questions later and the room is awkward and heated. Faces are red, feelings are hurt, and I’m sure a fight or two would have broken out had Gage not stepped in with his big white veneers and smooth voice.

  “Mr. Reed, the Dominant, we’ve saved questions for you until now. The first comes from cumguzzlincutie.” The women are ushered out of the room, their part already concluded. They will watch the rest of the filming from a side room on a monitor. This detail was important. I lay my hand on Kayla’s when she goes to stand. I whisper for her to say. Uneasily, because it’s not part of the schedule, she sits back down. Gage finishes his question. “‘Do you and Kayla practice any form of BDSM now that you’re exclusively dating? How can you just stop, if you don’t?’”

  My answer doesn’t matter. The show is over. I’m free. “There’s no need to pretend anymore. We don’t practice BDSM. Our relationship is typical—standard. She’s my girlfriend, not my submissive. There aren’t contracts or expectations. If Kayla wants to practice anything atypical inside our relationship that’s up to her.” I look at Kayla. Her gaze is focused on my face—my mouth. “To the second question, cumguzzlincutie, it wasn’t a matter of stopping so much as it was desiring something else more strongly. I don’t think about play scenes, toys or punishment when we’re in a sexual encounter. I merely think of her. Everything else fades away. The only thing I want control over is her heart. ”