by Mina Vaughn
My eyebrows lifted. “Go on.”
He swallowed hard. “You had spiky heels, and your hair was pulled back tight in a ponytail. You . . .” he trailed off. “You put a dog collar around my neck.”
This time my breath caught at the image, and I felt myself get even more wet. “Is that what made you come all over the tiles, Dirty Playboy?” I placed the forkful of peach in his mouth and watched him chew as I put my hand on his boxers.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said.
I pumped his shaft in response and he panted.
“Mistress,” he said after a moment of writhing in my grasp. “Would you mind terribly taking the desserts out of the oven?” His voice was strained. “I don’t want my gift to you to burn.”
“Sure, but only because you asked so nicely,” I said, removing myself from his lap and walking over to the oven. “And because, it’s chocolate.”
“As much as I want to just enjoy you and the dinner, soufflés are tricky and can be ruined in a million ways,” he apologized.
I pulled the puffy brown treats from the watery tray he had situated inside the hot oven. Carefully taking each ramekin with oven mitts, I placed them on plates he’d set up with small dessert spoons.
“Are these ready now?” I asked.
He nodded. “They’re best hot out of the oven.”
With great care, I walked back to our little spot at the table and placed the two chocolate soufflés on it. Straddling Aston again, I rubbed his crotch with my hand and kissed him hard.
“Miss me?” I asked, gasping for air.
He nodded, and I wound my fingers in his hair and pulled him closer to me. Another long minute passed with the caressing of tongues and the pressing together of flesh, but the scent of chocolate overwhelmed me.
“Want a taste?” I asked, bringing the soufflé under his nose and letting him inhale.
“You first, Mistress,” he said. “I wish I could use my hands and feed it to you myself.”
“Open,” I said instead, and placed a warm mouthful on his tongue. “But don’t swallow.”
His throat twitched in protest, and I brought my hungry lips to his and began to lick the chocolate out of his hot mouth. Like a good boy, he kept still as I ate the dessert from him, and didn’t even complain when I spooned in another heap and went after it myself.
“You may swallow,” I said, after pulling my tongue from his mouth. He closed his lips and I watched him finally taste the dessert.
“That was the most delicious torture,” he sighed. “I never thought waiting for something would make it taste better.”
I slid both hands into his boxers, gripping his length and giving it a slow tug. “Does that mean you don’t want to fuck me right now?” I asked, scooting closer.
He panted and licked a stray dab of chocolate off his lips. “I want what you want.”
The last spoonful of soufflé dribbled down his long cock.
“I want to eat some more.”
And we were on the road once more. Last night ended up being another night in—we got too wrapped up in each other to leave the suite to check out the city’s nightlife. Fine by me. And definitely fine by Aston.
I hadn’t reciprocated his confession of love. He only said it that once, and the opportunity hadn’t come up yet. I was certainly infatuated with him, no doubt, but I think we had a lot more to learn about each other until I could call it love. I mean, he gave me feelings of more than just lust, and he made me finally feel good about myself since Derek, but love?
I wasn’t sure.
We were certainly happy as we drove some more through the plains and farms of America. It was a wholesome scene—a retro car, a retro chick, a handsome guy, and some great tunes. Nobody had to know that I was a sexual dominant and that Aston liked getting spanked.
“Looks like our phones work again,” Aston quipped as my phone vibrated five times.
“Must be more messages from Sarah,” I groaned. “She’s got a new sub and was texting me about him all last night.”
I glanced down at the display and felt the blood drain from my face. Five texts from an unknown number. My hand hesitated a moment before I opened the messages. Throat dry and eyes stinging, the second I began to read them I knew it wasn’t good.
The first message was sent yesterday at five PM.
I’ve given you every opportunity to make this right. You have avoided those safe routes and now it’s time to pay. I know you’re going to the pinup contest in Vegas—I was the one who sent in your pictures. Look at the thanks I get. I’ll see you in Vegas with my lawyer in tow.
Another message marked ten minutes later.
I know your phone is still working because it’s how my lawyer called you so don’t ignore these messages, you greedy bitch.
An hour later.
Are you fucking kidding me? I looked into the guy who bought OUR car, and it’s the same one you’ve been slutting it up with? I’m pretty sure this is fraud, you cunt.
Midnight.
This guy’s facebook has pictures with him and every whore in Providence. Real nice. Can’t wait to take money from both you assholes.
The last one was a selfie. It was Derek giving the finger in front of the Bellagio. He was already in Vegas.
I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would stem the tide of tears that was about to explode from them. I dropped my phone into the cup holder and silently prayed Aston wouldn’t see my trembling hands. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t panic.
But how could I not? Not only was he talking about more money than I had, but add to it the lawyer fees and then throw in fraud? Did that mean jail time? At the thought, a sob escaped my throat and I hushed myself with my own hand.
“Veronika?” Aston asked, glancing over at me from the driver’s seat. He lowered his glasses and his darkly fringed eyes met mine, which were brimming with tears. I couldn’t hide it any more.
Before I could respond, Aston had put on the blinker. We were still among the fields, but in the distance I could faintly make out mountains. I had no idea how close we were to Denver, but I knew where I was—on the verge of a breakdown. The car stopped and I began to bawl, head in my hands, messing up my eyeliner and dripping blackened tears all over my white capris. Damn you, Derek.
Aston rubbed slow circles across my back, letting me get the tears out before I had to explain. My chest shuddered and I gasped for breath. I hadn’t cried this hard in years. Things were finally coming together for me, why did Derek have to pull this now? Aston opened Johnny’s glove box and pulled out a tissue, gently handing it to me.
“What’s going on?” he asked after I’d finished mopping up my face.
I looked at him, being all protective and concerned, and retreated into myself. I didn’t deserve his sympathy. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
He shook his head. “If it’s enough to drive the boldest woman I know to tears, it’s enough to vent about. Go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Mistress does not want to discuss the matter,” I snapped, trying to play the Domme card.
Aston’s mouth closed and pressed into a hard line. “Not today. And no corn field punishment either.”
My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
He shrugged. “You know you’ve got me under your thumb. I’d do anything for you. But you’re suffering right now, so let me do for you what you’ve done for me—listen. Vent. Just get it all out, verbally this time. Something’s clearly still wrong, despite my efforts to otherwise occupy your mind. If you talk about it and still need to get some release, you can hurt me again.”
Fear crept into me. This was serious. If I wouldn’t talk to him, he’d want to be punished for pushing me to disclose. I was the one in pain, and he wanted to take it through submission. He was in too deep now. This thing with Derek was going to destroy the st
range new relationship we’d discovered.
“Things won’t be the same,” I said. “You may not want me as your Mistress. Hell, you may drop me by the side of the road.”
Aston turned the idling motor off. “I can take it. What’s going on?”
I breathed in and out, slowly. I could only prolong this pain so much, I realized. Once we got to Vegas I’d have to confess anyway. May as well do it now, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Worse comes to worst I’ll just have him drop me at a bus station and I could get to Vegas on my own.
Aston’s hand clutched mine. “I may be in some legal trouble,” I confessed.
“Okay, nothing new to me,” he joked. “What’s up?”
I dabbed my eyes and straightened. If I was going to do this, I’d do it with dignity. A Domme’s grace. “Johnny,” I said, rubbing the car’s smooth leather interior. “I fixed Johnny up from scrap as a partnership with my ex, Derek. He’s claiming he’s owed half of what you paid for it.”
Aston looked thoughtful. “I can see where he’d think that. Was he part owner? Was he on the title or insurance?”
I shook my head. “My name was on everything.”
“So, wouldn’t that mean he’s not owed?”
I swallowed. “I don’t know the law. He put in labor and parts. I didn’t pay him specifically to work on it, and we lived together and owned a bunch of things together.”
Aston’s eyes darkened, whether with jealousy or anger I couldn’t tell. “So did he subpoena you? How’d you find out?”
I breathed in deep. “His lawyer contacted me a couple of days ago, telling me I had to go back to Rhode Island.”
“I see.”
I clutched the tissue in my hand, I tried to focus and not lose control. “And now I’ve found out that he knows we’re going to Vegas. He and his lawyer will be there,” I said, swallowing hard. “And he says that since you and I are together, this could be a case of fraud. I sell the car to the guy I’m dating to get it off my hands and out of Derek’s way, you know?” The sobs were creeping their way back up my throat. “I’m sorry. I had no idea this would happen.”
Aston looked away from me, gripping the wheel even though the car was off and parked. “This would be easier if I was still talking to my family,” he said with a harsh laugh. “I could just give you the money to cover whatever his share was and that would be the end of it. But I only have enough in my checking account to get us to Vegas and stay there for a few weeks. Not enough to pay this asshole off.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to pay him off. You don’t have to bail me out. I’m just telling you because unfortunately you’re involved. I wish I could just give Derek what he’s owed, but I donated most of it,” I said, throat closing. “I could sell the garage, I suppose.” The thought of losing my business caused me to crumple back into tears.
Aston took hold of my chin and lifted it. “It’s a good thing we’re going to Denver,” he said, eyes unreadable. “A good friend of mine who’s a lawyer lives there. We can get some advice before moving on. Sound okay?”
I nodded. “I could use some advice,” I confessed, embarrassed but feeling a lot more hopeful.
Aston smiled nervously. “Let me shoot out a text and make sure we can swing by,” he said, typing quickly into his phone. Apparently there were a few exchanges, and after a few minutes he looked back up at me. “All set. Um, just so you know, my lawyer friend and I have a past.”
I chuckled. “He get you off on some charges back in Rhode Island? I don’t care about your past. Whatever you did, it’s okay.”
Aston nodded. “Good,” he sighed. “Cause she’s my ex.”
“Oh, does it feel good to be bad! Today may be a bit of a challenge for you, honey, such a sweet girl. I want you to dabble in humiliation. It’s something many subs crave, the feeling of being inferior, exposed, vulnerable. Push yourself to do this and I promise it will be just one more little toy in your box. Heh, box. Speaking of box, since you’re on the road so much, today’s exercise is Kegels! Squeeze that honeypot so tight you could snap something off in it!”
The drive got significantly quieter once Aston mentioned his ex. I wasn’t jealous, per se, just uncomfortable. Aston had made it clear he was mine. That gave me instant confidence, especially since we’d be entering the domain of someone who had previously fucked him. They may have had a thing, but we had introduced each other to a different world.
The unease grew as prairie turned to mountain and farms turned to mansions. There was money here, mad money to support outlandish lifestyles. I swallowed hard and fixed my hair as we wound through a neighborhood of mega homes that looked like they’d be featured on an HGTV show. I had to keep telling myself this woman was a lawyer, someone who could help. But how would she look at me, all tattooed and dyed red and with Aston? I’d never imagined him with a lawyer. I thought he just pranced around with the pretty girls of Newport and Providence. The idea of him being in a relationship with someone educated and rich disturbed me a lot more than picturing him with gaggles of leggy clubgoers.
“You okay?” he asked as the car began to slow. We were close to his ex’s place, and I swallowed hard.
I nodded, smoothing my corkscrew pony one last time. I’d gone with a decidedly more subtle hairdo than the pompadour-like rolls, and opted for short bumper bangs in the front and a high ponytail in the back. I felt graceful with my hair upswept, more elegant. It made me stand straighter.
“She’s nice, you know,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “And we haven’t been together since she was in law school. You have nothing to worry about.”
I shrugged, playing it cool. Awesome, she was nice on top of it. Great. Aston pulled Johnny into a windy private drive with a gate. The sun was setting and it illuminated the long strip of trees that lined the road. Aston pressed the button, heralding our entrance, and someone buzzed us in. The wide wrought iron gate opened, we drove through, and I watched in awe as the house unfolded in front of us. It was a French Provincial–style home, with a hipped roof and tall windows. The exterior was beige on the border of soft peach, and where I thought the home would stop, it just kept going. It rambled, grew outward, and with each foot that was exposed, I gaped.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
Aston sighed. “Yeah, this is her getaway home. She spends half the year at an estate in Wellesley, Massachusetts, where she’s a law professor.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to know.”
So she was loaded, brilliant, the works. And I was going to be asking for her advice. My eyes rolled so far back into my head I worried I’d lose them. We parked at the carriage house—yes, the carriage house—and Aston walked me up to the massive oak double door. His hand, softly on my arm, reassured me. He was here, he was mine. But still, I didn’t want to be here, asking his millionaire ex for legal help.
The door opened, and there stood a statuesque blonde. She was tall and had a poise about her that made her look impressive. Long, wheat-colored hair fell in flat sheets around her heart-shaped face. “Aston,” she said, in a low, sexy, and smart voice. I straightened. “It’s so nice to see you.”
Aston pulled me close. “Sheila, this is Veronika.”
I took her hand and shook it as she appraised me. I felt her eyes scrutinize each of my visible tattoos, I felt her gaze flicker to my unnatural hair, and then, worst of all, I watched her focus fall back on Aston with a thinly veiled expression of confusion. My heart lurched.
“Thank you for having us,” I said, relaxing into Aston’s embrace. Us, I said. Aston and me. Not you. “I appreciate your help.”
She spread her hands in front of her. “I hope I can help. I’m able to practice in Massachusetts and Colorado, so Rhode Island’s laws may be different, but we can talk. Please, come in.”
We walked into her marble foyer, and I found it hard to imagine that
this woman had earned this mansion, among others, herself. She must be like Aston, with a rich family. I wondered if that’s how they met, just a couple of businessmen comparing checkbooks, when one mentions to the other that he has a single son. There was a little table in the foyer, scattered with framed photos of people in exotic locations. Above the table was an angular, modern-looking, gilded mirror. In its reflection I saw how mismatched Aston and I looked. Then there was Sheila, in the periphery, quietly assessing us.
“Let’s have a glass of wine,” she said, leading us into a living room of sorts. Now, for me, a living room is where you have your TV and couches, but this room had scattered fancy chairs and a fireplace you could see through from both sides. The furniture was low and unpredictable, so despite the house’s very traditional exterior, the inside was quite modern. Aston took a seat on the only spot in the room that looked built for two—a divan. Smart choice, since I’d modeled on one or two in my career. I sat, perfectly posed, and waited for this Sheila person to bring the wine.
Her walk had become stuffier, I noticed, more self-conscious as she returned with glasses full of deep red wine. I took mine with a lazy smile and lounged back on the luxurious couch, eyes on Aston. He was staring at me hungrily and I felt another surge of power move through me. We were here, in her place, but he still wanted me.
“So, Sheila,” Aston said, turning away from our heated glances, “I briefed you via text. Have you ever had experience with joint property?”
Sheila sat down gracefully on a low, cobalt-blue leather chair and crossed her legs. “I’m not a divorce attorney, Aston, but yes, I’ve dealt with splitting up.”
There was a loaded silence there that made me squirm.
“I’m not sure what Aston told you, but my ex only worked on the car and paid for some parts. All the documents were in my name,” I clarified.
Sheila opened a tablet on her lap and swiped the screen open. “Was it ever considered a gift? Was there a promise of joint ownership? Were you engaged?”