The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel

by M. F. Sinclair

  Seton moaned and groaned as he moved my hair out of the way and nipped me lightly on the shoulder. Then he reached out to knead my breasts while his luscious lips captured mine in a soft, brief kiss. I blew out a strand of hair that had spilled across my face and peered out of the window and into the darkened parking lot. There were parked cars everywhere, but I couldn’t see anyone hovering around. If someone came by, they would notice the two people fucking their brains out in the driver’s seat of a luxurious Mercedes. The car windows were slightly tinted, true, but no one would be able to mistake the car’s movements and bumping sounds for anything other than for what it was. Oh, how good it felt to fuck at a public place! The danger of getting caught made the sex all the more exquisite.

  “What if someone came by here and saw us, my pet?” Seton asked darkly, voice husky, as he moved one hand down to my pussy and encircled his calloused fingers over my engorged clit. “What if a policeman came by? Or one of your work colleagues? What would you do then? Would it excite you to watch them watching you?”

  I whimpered loudly and arched my back. His words fueled me, reigniting the already amazing sensations coursing through me.

  “Wouldn’t you love it,” he went on, “if someone were lurking in the shadows right now, watching you take my big cock into your tight little cunt?”

  I groaned in response, my inner muscles tensing with each scintillating word. I was so primed, so ready, that I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came. As if sensing I was getting close, Seton thrust up his hips and began to pump up in a hard, pummeling motion just as his fingers ran a faster circle over my sensitive clit. Oh, God! That felt so good, and I was so getting there! Oh, yes, so close, right there, right there, right there…

  The climax tore over me in wild, furious spasms. My hands grasped Seton’s sweater in a firm grip as I rode it out through its mind-blowing completion.

  “Marjorie!” Seton bellowed moments later as he tensed under me, shouting incoherent things while digging his fingers painfully into my thighs. Once depleted, he pulled me against him and held me in his arms, his breath harsh on my neck.

  I collapsed against his chest and shuddered as he delivered feather-light kisses to my eyelids. We were both sweaty and exhausted, and our bodies sagged against each other as we tried to collect our breaths.

  The minutes passed. We just lay there, in each other’s arms, not saying a word. It felt wonderful to hold Seton this way, and he didn’t seem to mind the cuddling at all. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it. His now steady heartbeat mingled with mine.

  I could have stayed that way forever, but one of us had to break the contact, and I wanted it to be me. Reluctantly, I pulled away from him and met his gaze. A look of sheer smugness flickered across his flushed, handsome face.

  “I knew it,” he said.

  “Knew what?”

  His smile deepened in its smugness. “That you wouldn’t be able to refuse me. It’s not over, Marjorie.” His hand reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from my face. “You’re in too deep to let go. You have no power in this relationship, or in anything. I’ve made sure of that. I own and control you, my pet, and it won’t be over until I say it’s over.”

  My body stiffened. Painful realization washed over me. Seton had been manipulating me all this time. All of the pain, the confusion, the obsession—everything I’d gone through for the past week—was all maneuvered by him. I knew he had control over the terms and conditions, not to mention the sexual acts, of our arrangement, but I had no idea that he was also controlling me in life. He had wanted me to feel those things, had wanted to turn my ordered life upside down—and all for what?

  “For my amusement.”

  Those words kept coming back to bite me in the ass.

  Anger suddenly simmered from my skin. I shut my eyes for a moment, shook my head, and fought back the urge to cry.

  I hoisted myself off of him and moved back to the passenger’s seat with as much dignity as I could muster, which wasn’t easy with my skirt hiked up to my waist and my blouse wide open. I lowered my skirt, buttoned my blouse and turned to face the side window. I heard Seton zip up his jeans and toy with his belt buckle.

  “Take me home,” I said briskly.

  I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was staring at me. “Marjorie—”

  “Take me home!”

  It took a few heartbeats before Seton turned on the ignition and drove away from the big parking lot. I pressed my head against the side window and closed my eyes, revulsion and self-loathing growing within me.

  “You’re in too deep to let go. You have no power in this relationship, or in anything. I’ve made sure of that. I own and control you, my pet, and it won’t be over until I say it’s over.”

  What an eloquent way of summing up the nature of our relationship. My body felt happily satiated, sensitive and sore in all the right places. It hummed with physical satisfaction, yet my heart felt heavy. It was cruel of my body to play this awful trick on my heart. I sighed and left a faint mist on the window pane. What a way to end an incredible sexual encounter. Talk about an anticlimax!

  ***

  The car came to a halt in front of the three-apartment condominium I lived in. I scooted out and slammed the door shut as I dashed over to my house. Seton hurried out of the car and rushed to my side, his fingers pressing into my back. I stepped away from his touch, reached into my bag and searched for my keys.

  He stepped behind me and tried to grab my arm, but I pulled away. “I’ve upset you,” he stated flatly.

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  I heard him let out a sigh. “Why?”

  I glared at my front door and said nothing. All I wanted to do was get him and our afternoon of hot sex out of my mind and get on with life as I’d once known it. That was all I wanted. Why was he making things harder than they had to be?

  “Talk to me, Marjorie. Why are you upset?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. An earnest expression crossed his face, his eyes pensive. My shoulders sagged as I turned back to the door and leaned my head against it. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

  He was silent for a moment, then blew out a ragged breath and said, “Are you going to start with that nonsense again?”

  “It’s not nonsense!” I bellowed. “I’m serious. I don’t want to carry on with this. I don’t want to continue to be your plaything. I won’t let you play mind games with me again.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I spun to him, eyes narrowed. “You know damn well what I’m talking about! Or are you going to deny that you’ve been using me and manipulating me all this time?”

  A strange, unidentifiable emotion flickered in his eyes.

  “Well?” I asked, voice harsh. “Are you going to deny it?”

  Seton said nothing, just stood there with his hands in his jean pockets—a tall, dark, brooding presence hovering around me.

  Silence fell. A cool, crisp breeze stirred around us, and I glanced up at the darkening sky. When had it become dark? I didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally spoke, but we’d been standing there, staring at each other, for a long while.

  “You knew what you were getting into, Marjorie,” he uttered flatly. “I told you why we were doing this. And you accepted it. So why are you complaining?”

  My fists clenched, and I fought the urge to dig my nails into my palms in irritation. “You’re right. I agreed to do it, but only because I thought I could. I’m no stranger to sex without strings attached—”

  “But there are strings attached, my dear,” he interrupted insolently. “You might get my manuscript in return. Isn’t that the reason why you’re doing it?” His mouth curved into a grim smile. “We’re both getting something out of this, Marjorie, and don’t you forget it.”

  My breath caught in my chest. “What—what do you mean, we’re both getting something out of this? What are you gaining from this other than your control over me?”r />
  “Nothing compared to what you’re gaining. You accuse me of using you, yet you’re the one after my manuscript, so that your boss could give you a gold star for a job well done. You’re no better than I.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, I’m no better than a prostitute either, as you constantly remind me each time you send me one of your pretty little outfits.”

  He thinned his lips and said nothing.

  I didn’t move a muscle, just stood there holding the doorknob, feeling my heart sink to my stomach when he did or said nothing to deny my claims. And why would he? He hadn’t deceived me, not really. It all went back to our first meeting. The fact that I had agreed to everything and later developed feelings for him was my problem, not his. But I still felt like there was something more sinister going on. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. It was in his eyes, an expression that resembled…pain. Yes, that was it. That was the look I couldn’t place earlier. He was indeed hiding something, and that something caused him the pain that had flickered in his eyes. But whatever it was, I knew he wouldn’t tell me. Seton was too proud to show any emotion other than arrogance and mischief. There was no use in asking him. I let out an inner sigh. I was tired of devoting so much time and thought to him. I wanted my life back, damn it! I longed for my free-wheeling days where I didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone but myself. I wanted it back and I wanted it now!

  I turned my gaze to Seton for a final time, saw his tension in his squared shoulders, and took a couple of steps toward him. It was time to finally rescind his power over me. “Velvet,” I uttered sharply.

  One ebony eyebrow rose as he reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly against him. “Are you bloody sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked warningly, his velvety English accent more pronounced than usual. “Because once you use the Safe Word to end our relationship, it’s over, and you can’t take the words back.”

  I shivered at the contact and my courage wavered for several heartbeats.

  “You’re in too deep to let go.”

  His words kept coming back to haunt me, reminding me of the person I had become since I met him. And I didn’t like that person. That person represented everything I stood against. That person was the anti-me.

  I had to swallow a couple of times before I could get the words out. “Velvet.”

  Anger and pain flared in his magnetic eyes just moments before his features hardened into stone. “You are one screwed up person,” he said, sneering. “No wonder you’re alone.”

  He let go of me, pushing me against the front door. Then he climbed back into his car and sped off without sparing me a backward glance.

  I watched as Seton’s Mercedes made a turn up Main Street and disappeared down the road. I grasped the doorknob and thrust my weight against the door, fighting back tears and putting on a brave face to no one but myself.

  I’ve done it, I thought as I unlocked the front door and let myself in. I have my life back. I am alone again. Congratulations to me.

  Chapter Nine

  “Damn Yankees!”

  I looked up from the magazine I was reading and frowned at the interruption. “What about them?”

  Mitch shrugged as he reached for his sweaty softball jersey and stuffed it into a black duffel bag. “Nothing. I just like saying it.”

  I rolled my eyes good-naturedly at him and cast a glance at the field ahead, where the members of our softball team—“The Bookworms”—were kicking major ass, beating “The Sonnets,” a group of local poets, in a fair game. All of the team players were giving each other high-fives and pats on the back. Jeremy did a double jig thing with his knees that made me laugh. The park was crowded and noisy and I could barely hear what Mitch was saying to me now.

  “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

  He gave me a sideways look as he cinched his duffel bag closed. He was topless, having disposed of his sweaty Bookworms jersey. His lean chest was glowing with perspiration. “I said I’ll have to put up with them from now on.”

  “Who?”

  “The Yankees. I’m moving to New York in a couple of weeks, to write a column there.”

  My eyebrows shot up at that. “Wow! That’s great! What sort of column?”

  He donned a blue t-shirt and grabbed his bag. “Same as the one here. I’ll be the token straight guy writing about my exploits for a gay and lesbian publication. The folks over at the Village Advocate—that’s the name of the magazine—liked my book so much that they offered me a job. It pays a hell of a lot better than the Queer Bohemian. It’s the only reason why I took the job.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “They could’ve just hired some eccentric New Yorker to write the column.”

  “Yes, probably, but I guess they thought I was too cute to pass,” he quipped, winking at me.

  A loud cheer came from the outfield. I turned to see what all the fuss was about, but all I saw was the cluster of teammates gathered together, laughing and talking enthusiastically. I looked back at Mitch. “Well, that’s great news. Congratulations! I’m sure you’ll love New York. And who knows, maybe the Yankees will grow on you.” I smiled playfully at him.

  He curled a lip at me. “Never!”

  I laughed. If only he and the others knew the truth. You see, I’m a closet Yankee fan, and every time I join my colleagues for a night of fun watching a Red Sox vs. Yankees game at a sports bar, I have to cheer for the Sox and pretend to look pissed when the Yankees win. I have to save my little victory dances for when I get home.

  As every New Englander knows, Red Sox fans are very passionate and they hate any mention of the Yankees. My colleagues are huge Sox fans, and I’m wary of the fact that one day they’ll discover my horrible secret. (Only Jeremy knows the truth.) The state of Massachusetts will probably declare me a local traitor and arrange an execution by firing squad or something. No, wait. The firing squad was considered an “honorable” method of execution, wasn’t it? I’m a disgrace to my state, so they’ll probably just hang me.

  Mitch shouldered his bag and flashed me a big grin. “So, I guess we won’t be seeing each other after two weeks.”

  I smiled back at him. “I guess we won’t.”

  He stared at me for a few moments, then said, “Hey, wanna join me for drinks at my house later tonight? I don’t think we’ll see each other again after today and I…I was hoping we could have a last hurrah.” He bobbed his eyebrows up and down in a flirty manner, making it clear what he meant by “last hurrah.”

  I gnawed at the skin on my lower lip and closed my magazine, running my palms over the smooth, glossy cover as I considered his invitation.

  Three weeks had passed since I ended my agreement with Seton. I hadn’t seen him since the time we had that incredible tryst at the Old South Street parking lot. Alfred told me he was dealing with Seton personally, which freed me from all courtship obligations.

  Since then, I had gone out of my way to return to my old life. I worked all day long—at the office as well as at home—and watched old movies and ate greasy takeout food whenever I wasn’t otherwise engaged in some work-related activity. I had also gone out of my way to avoid any accidental encounters with Seton. I now brewed my own coffee and avoided Starbucks like the plague. And I never walked by State Street, so as not to come face to face with Seton’s art gallery. I now worked three out of the seven days of the weeks at the office, the rest of the days I worked from home. I rotated the schedule, never showing up on the same day and time. Seton made frequent visits to Bookends AtoZ, supposedly to chat with Alfred and Jeremy, and I was so not going to do the casual small talk thing with him to keep up appearances.

  The only thing I hadn’t done was engage in a sexual relationship with someone new. A cute guy who owned a bakery a few blocks away from my house had asked me out last week. He was very attractive—all tallness and broad shoulders and mousy blonde hair and brown eyes and dimpled smiles—but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to accept his invitation. He ga
ve me his phone number in case I changed my mind. I had no idea where his phone number was, and I hadn’t planned on calling him anyway. Now I avoided walking by his bakery. Ugh. I was avoiding two men now. Northampton’s not big enough to hide in.

  I also hadn’t been able to remove the ankle bracelet and toe ring. Well, I could remove them, of course, but I just…couldn’t. One night, I stared at the jewels twinkling on my left foot and made a halfhearted attempt to unclasp the bracelet. But then the memory of Seton telling me what the anklet-toe ring represented came to me and I stopped. I couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bear to be parted from Seton’s gift, even if he and I were no more.

  I looked up from the magazine and turned my attention to Mitch, who stood next to me, duffel bag over his shoulder, waiting patiently for my response. Amiable laughter drifted from somewhere in the vicinity of the outfield as a gentle, late-May breeze stirred around us. The late afternoon sunlight burned into my eyes as I smiled at Mitch and said, “Sure. I’d love to see you tonight.”

  Surprise flickered through his eyes. “Great! Nine o’clock at my place okay?”

  I nodded, mentally stopping myself from changing my mind.

  He grinned. Then his gaze momentarily went past me, to somewhere below me, and his body stiffened, his eyes opening unnaturally wide. “I, uh, I gotta go, Marge. See you tonight!”

  Mitch raced down the bleachers and rushed out of the park. Huh. What on earth could have caused such a strange reaction?

  Curious, I spun around to see the source of Mitch’s sudden departure…and my stomach contracted into tiny knots. Seton was there, four steps below me, his back facing me, watching the players in the field gather their things as they got ready to leave. He wore a beige baseball cap, a dark green t-shirt, cargo shorts and—get this!—flip-flops. I had never seen him look so casual in the little time I’d known him. I wouldn’t have recognized him had it not been for those broad shoulders and that unmistakably confident, formidable posture of his. That was the first time I’d ever seen his bare legs. They were muscular and athletic, a light coat of black hair covered his masculine limbs.