How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3)

by Mina Vaughn

  “Knees slightly parted. Hands behind your back,” I said, and he complied, squaring his broad shoulders and settling into place. I stood above him, his face level with my navel. “Kiss,” I said, and he nuzzled my stomach and grazed a few kisses down it. I hooked a leg over his shoulder, steadied my arm on the anchor, and looked down at him. His eyes met mine and he opened his mouth for another kiss, right where I wanted it. I groaned, feeling his intimate kiss deepen, his tongue sliding into me effortlessly. I grabbed his head and stroked his bangs, pressing his face deeper between my legs. “Good boy,” I moaned. He pulled away for a moment, looked up at me with those dangerous eyes, and then took a long lick, teasing me.

  Despite his skill, I needed more. Now. Gone was the Veronika who hesitated or second-guessed everything.

  I unhooked my leg from his shoulder and stood with my ankles at his thighs and bent low, grazing my breasts across his face. A nipple scooted by his wet mouth and he licked, trying to catch it. I let his kiss linger a moment but the desire between my legs was too much to bear. I pushed down onto him in one swift move.

  “Oh god, Mistress,” he groaned. His hands trembled behind him, and I knew he was dying to put his arms around me, but I could manage without his leverage. I steadied myself with my hands on his shoulders and pumped up and down. He felt so good, rock hard and twitching beneath me. I watched him lean back, thrusting his hips slightly, giving me a ride while I was still the one driving. Just enough friction, enough pushback. He was exactly what I needed. My fingers tightened on his shoulders and we both leaned back a bit, intensifying the angle, rubbing harder against each other. The sweat glistening on his skin, the desire and the submission, it was all overwhelming. He was giving me exactly what I wanted on every level.

  “So good, Aston,” I moaned, pushing myself down harder on him, “so fucking good.”

  His eyes met mine and he bucked and pulsed under me. “What can I do to make you come, Mistress?” he asked.

  “Keep talking,” I whispered. “I like to watch your mouth move.”

  He smirked. “It’s hard keeping my hands to myself,” he panted. “All I want to do is touch those perfect tits of yours, but I know keeping my hands behind my back turns you on.”

  “That’s right,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

  “I love lying beneath you, watching you take from me, watching you get off from riding me just how you want it,” he said, licking his juicy bottom lip wantonly.

  “Fuck,” I moaned, raking my hands roughly down his chest as I came. “Aston!” I shouted, grinding my hips into him as I slowly came down from our delicious high.

  He looked like he was about ready, too. The naughty books I’ve read always say for the bottom to wait for the top to command them to finish, or at least ask permission. I wondered what Aston would do. His face bore a look of concentration. He was trying to hold back.

  “If it will help you finish, you may sit forward and use your hands,” I said.

  He remained the way he was. “I like it just like this,” he said, quickening his pace. “If you don’t mind, that is.” Aston smirked.

  “Then I’ll use my hands in place of yours,” I whispered, cupping my breasts and giving my nipples a little pinch and pull. This was all Aston needed to fall over the edge. He quivered and thrust beneath me, yet maintained his position with his hands neatly behind his back. Gold star performance. I reached behind him and pulled his arms around me and we finished the last few seconds catching our breath in each other’s arms.

  “Are you sure you’ve never subbed before?” I asked as we began to dress and recover from the tryst. “Because you, sir, are born to submit.” I mean, I was totally guessing, but it certainly seemed that way.

  He smiled and finished putting on his tie. “I guess it felt right. I wanted to please you, and that made me feel really good.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Understatement of the year.”

  He zipped up the back of my dress and touched my elbow. “Have I earned the privilege to introduce you as my date?” he asked, glancing toward the door.

  I gave him a smack on the butt. “Yes, and I may actually consider letting you keep the car.”

  He chuckled and buttoned up his vest. “You weren’t before? I thought the auction sort of took care of that.”

  I shrugged. “We have history, Johnny and me. As long as I can have visitation rights. Plus, once you’re back from LA, I have quite a rigorous schedule for you.”

  “Oh really, Mistress? Do tell.”

  I pulled his face to mine with a slight pinch. “I’ll give you the details as I see fit,” I hissed. He bit his lip. “But for now, let’s agree that we’re going to need some intensive training to break you in as my submissive. Perhaps I’ll even give you some tasks to perform while you’re away. Skype is very impressive technology for long-distance . . . arrangements.” Thank goodness I’d have enough time with Sarah to learn this stuff before he got back. But not as her roommate. I needed to be on my own.

  “I’ll do whatever you ask, whenever you ask. But I don’t want to think about LA right now, I want to dance some more. Then maybe we could, um, practice again.”

  “I’m not one to decline an invitation like that,” I said, taking his hand and trying to play it cool as we both exited the boathouse with flushed faces and wicked smiles. I stroked his palm with my thumb.

  Aston and I glided onto the dance floor, arms wound around each other, our bodies knotting like ropes.

  “I trust you, you know,” he said softly.

  I cocked my head. “Isn’t that a bit naïve?” I teased. “You hardly know me.”

  Aston pulled me closer. “I know. But it’s in my gut. You just . . . make me want more.” His lips grazed my neck as we danced, entwined, and let the world fall away. I was so charged from our time together, my body surging with new emotions and a confidence high like none other.

  I liked this. He liked it, too. I decided that as soon as Sarah’s “play date” was done, I’d formally ask her for some training. Maybe I’d wait a few weeks to move out, in case it pissed her off. But in the meantime, Aston and I could practice more.

  Suddenly, he was ripped from our tight embrace.

  “Nonna?” he asked, staring at his grandmother, and the tall figure who stood behind him. “Dad?”

  The man, who looked like an older, darker version of Aston, grimaced. “We’re putting you on the plane tonight. No more distractions.”

  Aston shook his head, pulling away from the old woman’s talonlike clutch. “No, I’ll go in the morning.”

  Mr. Delano the elder stepped forward. “I’m tired of your dalliances, tired of your lack of commitment to our family business. You’ll get on a plane tonight and you’ll hire the staff this month like I’ve asked you to. Don’t forget, you were the one asking for more responsibility and this is your chance. Now or never, Aston.”

  “I can’t—”

  Aston’s father loomed over us, and I could see his siblings gathering behind. Four men and one lone woman, who stood off to the side and looked torn. “Now or never.”

  Aston looked over his shoulder at me, eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry.”

  I woke up to hands clutching my shoulders, jostling me awake.

  “Tell. Me. Everything.”

  Groaning, I pushed myself to sitting and opened my eyes to find Sarah’s wide eyes searching my face. “Well?”

  I glanced at the clock. It was six fifteen in the morning. “You’re the devil,” I mumbled. “And there’s not much to tell. Let’s talk later.” I unhooked her fingers from my arms and tried to sink back into sleep. Sleep, where I’d forgotten what had transpired yesterday. When I met someone who rocked my world and then lost him within hours.

  Yeah, sleep would be better than having to tell her about Aston before I’d even processed it. The wheels on my emotional roller co
aster hadn’t stopped spinning.

  “Well the playroom’s missing a few items. You at least had some fun, right?”

  “Some.”

  “Hold on,” Sarah said, running off. “I have just the thing to wake you up.”

  The second she was out of my room, my eyes closed. Maybe it was to keep the tears from coming. What an idiot I was, to think that a hoity-toity playboy like Aston would want a relationship with a tattooed mechanic.

  I blinked, realizing that was Derek’s voice in my head, not mine.

  Yesterday I discovered I was more powerful than I’d thought, and whether or not Aston was going to be around didn’t diminish that acquired dominance. I breathed in deeply and tried to reorient myself. I may have lost Aston, but I was ahead. I sold Derek’s car, earned enough money to get me out of this apartment and on my own, and I had some of the most exciting sex of my life.

  All in all, not a total failure. Today could be a new start.

  Just then, the door swung open and Sarah scuttled in holding two plates. “They opened a new bakery next door. I’ve been smelling these egg-white breakfast sandwiches since four AM. I had to go get some.”

  My mouth hung open. “No, just no.”

  She nodded and sat with me on the bed. “Seriously, just burn it off! It’s protein, sweetheart, and those nut burgers of yours aren’t enough to keep you healthy. And as for the bread, who cares? Be a little bad as a treat, then be good. It’s kind of like bondage—misbehave so Mistress punishes you, then rewards you.”

  Blinking, I gawked at the fluffy sandwich she was offering. It wasn’t huge, and I hadn’t had anything naughty in a week, but this temptation was just too much. I could see melted cheese, for crying out loud! How dare she tempt me this way.

  “I’m all set, Sarah. I actually had a really weird night and I think I’ll go for a run since I’m up,” I said, hoping to deflect her with some fitness.

  She squinted at me. “Not until you tell me what happened,” she said, taking a bite. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and I watched the foodgasm with jealousy.

  I slid off the bed and stood. “No, I’m going to go. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  Sarah stared, stunned. “What happened to you?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing, or everything. I don’t know. When I’m done with my run, you’ll get all the dirty details.”

  I didn’t even turn around to see her expression, I just grabbed my gym bag and walked out. As I plodded down the stairs, I finally allowed myself a fist pump of victory. I could do this! I could assert myself and branch out on my own.

  Alone. For now. But still, progress.

  I tried to push thoughts of Aston from my mind, but those unfathomable eyes and full lips haunted me. Before I exited the lobby of our apartment building, I took out my key and checked my mailbox. I typically never checked it because I paid all my bills online and nobody ever used snail mail anymore. But the box was bursting, so I figured I may as well clean it out considering I was in the process of cleaning the junk out of my life as a whole. The usual spam was there—coupons, flyers, and such—but a hot-pink envelope with my name in a fancy scrawl left me scratching my head. It was postmarked Las Vegas.

  Using the nail of my long pointer finger, I slit open the envelope and pulled out a stiff, shiny card. There was some paperwork included as well, but I saved that to read later.

  Dear Miss Kane,

  Congratulations! You’ve been selected to participate in this year’s Miss Pinup Las Vegas pageant. Your success in the pinup modeling industry has not gone unnoticed, and we hope you can join us next month for the big show. Enclosed please find registration forms and the requisite information.

  Sincerely,

  Aaron Brewer

  President of Miss Pinup Las Vegas

  I stared at the card in disbelief. I’d heard of this contest for years, but had never entered. And to think that I’d been nominated somehow, that someone had seen my picture and thought I would be a contender? My amazement continued for another minute before I realized this was it.

  My ticket out.

  I had money, but wasn’t sure where to spend it. I had freedom, but didn’t know what to do with it. I flipped through the paperwork, eyes glazed with the haze of excitement. The grand prize was cash, a sponsorship with the Viva Las Vegas nightclub, and a modeling contract.

  Could I really do this? Abandon my life here for parts unknown, a wild adventure?

  And could I do it on my own?

  There were two paths in front of me—one where I took the Cosmo shoot and stayed local in my familiar world, waiting a month until Aston came back, and then what? Or two, I could throw caution to the wind and head to Vegas for this contest. As much as I loved my garage, it could run without me.

  These are the thoughts that plagued me as I ran on one of Power Gym’s treadmills. I kept it on the interval setting—having the grading and the speed change on me kept me on my toes and prevented serious thoughts about Aston from flooding my mind. My body tingled at the very thought of him. When I hopped off the machine, my legs wobbled from overuse and they felt like they did after my orgasm yesterday—invigorated, thrumming with power, but weak-kneed. And when I showered, feeling the hot water cascade down my body, I was reminded of his hot kisses on my skin and the way they seared. My forehead fell forward onto the cool tile wall as I let out a sob.

  But I couldn’t give in to it—I couldn’t.

  I had big things ahead of me.

  If I had the guts to do them.

  When I got back to my car, I picked up the card and paperwork again, deciding I should read through them thoroughly this time. It was all pretty self-explanatory—pay for airfare and hotel yourself, waivers and whatnot, but details on the last page startled me into action.

  The last day to register was Monday and the contest was less than two weeks away.

  I fumbled through my glove box to find a pen, and then furiously began scribbling out my information. I didn’t have the luxury of thinking through this—I had to act now. Adrenaline helped my pen slide across the page and within a minute, it was done. I hauled ass to the post office and express mailed it to the pageant headquarters.

  Vegas, I’m coming for you.

  After the post office, I headed to the garage instead of going back to the apartment. It was the weekend and nobody would be there, so I could lose myself playing with a car while thoughts about my future marinated in my mind. I’d heard once, that when faced with a tough decision, you ought to do something to get your mind off it and your brain would figure it out subconsciously. So I hoped my brain would do all the tough travel planning like plane tickets and the hotel, but then I realized I didn’t have a built-in Expedia app so I just let my mind wander and fantasize about this new beginning for me.

  I liked the idea of putting myself on autopilot, so I pulled my hair back and decided to get greasy. I ran into the back room where I kept some key supplies—namely, rollers to set my hair and keep it out of my face—and threw on some dirty jeans and a tank top I didn’t mind destroying.

  When I came back into the garage, a Thunderbird awaited me. A ’67 classic, fifth generation, racing-green beauty. It was a hot car, a fast boy, and part of me hated that it reminded me of Aston. It had a rich, raw swagger about it that nagged at the corner of my mind, which made me miss him just hours after we parted. And parted poorly, I might add. So I opened the hood and went to a place where things made sense. Pistons, carburetors, fuses. Nothing about sexy socialites in these lines, just a little grease and some rust. This car needed some love, and that was something I could certainly give it right now.

  I lost myself in the restoration. In the wrenches and the spare parts. It was only after the fifth loud knock at the door that I realized I wasn’t alone.

  “We’re closed,” I shouted. I wiped my forehead with my wrist, since m
y fingers were caked with engine grease.

  The knocking continued, firm, slow, and insistent. This person wasn’t going anywhere. I glanced around at the other cars and realized that some were very high-end, and this was probably an impatient owner who wanted his baby back. I knew the feeling, so reluctantly I caved and approached the door, hair in rollers, covered in grease.

  This better be important.

  I pushed the garage door opener and adjusted the red kerchief that was covering my hair. My jeans were already covered in oil so wiping my hands on them one last time to try and appear decent wasn’t going to ruin them.

  “What’s the trouble?” I asked the person who must clearly be in need of some serious repairs if they were showing up at my garage like this. The door scrolled up, and revealed dark jeans, then a tight white tee. Damn. If only Aston would dump the J. Crew look for something more like this. If only he’d stayed—

  “I’m actually looking for trouble. Can you help?” a cocky, low voice asked just as the door revealed his face.

  I gasped and wanted to hide behind the Thunderbird. “Aston?”

  “Hey, Mistress,” he said, walking in with a slow stride. This wasn’t the Aston I met yesterday—this was Aston 2.0. His hair was mussed and his long bangs hung over his eye the way I’d imagined, and it looked like he’d ditched his preppy look for a decidedly more punk feel. No Chucks, no wallet chain, but the skinny jeans and tight-ass tee were a definite upgrade.

  I put my hands under my kerchief and began pulling the curlers out one by one, letting the messy ringlets fall. “Give me five minutes, I—wait, shouldn’t you be in California right now?”

  He moved closer to me and placed his hands on my forearms. “I’d be happy to give you five minutes, but if this is about your hair, I kind of like it.”

  “Mistress asked you a question,” I deflected, still stunned by his appearance here. “You should be in California. Explain.” I suavely ran my fingers through my hair, realized I had probably just given myself motor-oil lowlights, and cringed.