Frustrated Instincts (Marina: Part Three: Naughty Nookie Series)

by Serena Akeroyd

  I don’t have all the answers, because I don’t know all the questions. All I do know is that I’ve never felt more at peace with myself than I have during these last weeks under Nate’s careful guidance.

  Sucking in a breath, I pull out a simple daisy-yellow dress. A high mandarin collar that comes down to a tight, skin-fitting bodice before flaring out into a pleated skirt.

  The very fact I’ll be wearing no panties makes a mockery of the rather conservative dress.

  In fact, all of the clothes he picked for me were like this. Covering more than they showed, but still, in some way sexy. In this instance, the way the dress cups my boobs is a dream. I look like a good girl with killer tits.

  The thought makes me grin as I tug the dress overhead. As I look down, the gold shields surrounding my nipples create slight bumps under the fabric and just seeing them has my eyelashes fluttering in reaction. Slipping into some silver ballet pumps I’d brought from New York, because flats are the only option with this monster shoved up my ass, I’m ready to go.

  Well, that’s a lie. I’m not. But I am.

  If that makes sense.

  I take a few seconds to roll my hips, to try and get used to the butt plug. Each roll has me sucking in a breath. Nate must have heard me, because he steps closer to me and studies me with a cocked brow.

  “You’re not trying to get yourself off, are you, Marina?”

  I’m trying to think of him as Nate, when I know I’ll be stepping outside in a few seconds. The last thing I want to do is call him Sir in front of other people. In this instance, I can’t. “No, Sir. Just trying to get used to walking with the plug, that’s all.”

  He nods and says, “You can lean on me.”

  Taking the hand he holds out, I cling to his arm and together we walk out of the room and head toward the mess. Going down the stairs is a nightmare, worse than I thought as the monster shuffles inside me. My nails are digging into his forearm as we take each step and each hissed breath has him looking at me from the corner of his eye. When we make it outside to flat land, I release a relieved breath and after the agony of the stairs, find walking normally a damned sight easier.

  The yard is empty but the mess isn’t. Over the weeks, we’ve taken an unspoken reservation of a table close to one of the fireplaces. There are ten in the mess and the hearths are the most popular seating areas. Especially come winter.

  Our table is close to the fire, but tucked away in an almost secluded spot. Or as secluded as the mess gets.

  When seated, my back is to the room and Nate watches over the hall like a Lord of old. His eyes roaming over all he surveys...

  The thought makes me shudder, because I’m a part of his fiefdom, like an ancient Lord. I’m his to command and it’s my duty to obey. Fuck, the thought shouldn’t make my pussy quiver, but Christ, you try to keep your thoughts clean, when a huge butt plug is shoved up your ass and your clit feels like it’s ready to walk out on strike!

  Sucking in a breath, trying to breathe through my need, I nod a silent thanks as Nate pulls out my chair for me. I’m grateful, oh, so fucking grateful that my face isn’t visible to the rest of the room. If they could see the twist of my features, the faint sheen of sweat on my brow as I try to sit comfortably, they’d wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

  My teeth clench down on my bottom lip as I squirm around, making it worse in an attempt to make it better. When Nate takes a seat, eyes me from across the table and mutters, “Sit still!” Only then do I put a stop to my fidgeting.

  “This isn’t conducive to my eating a big meal, you know.”

  My snarky comment has his lips twitching. “I know.”

  I huff out a breath. “I thought the idea was to encourage me to eat?”

  “It is. We’re looking at this proactively.” His earnestness immediately sets me on edge. I narrow my eyes at him and wait for him to speak. “For every minute you can sit there with the plug in, I’ll owe you a debt of orgasms.”

  I snort at the statement, but a grin twists my lips. “Seriously?”

  It’s strange. Without really talking about it, we’re not Dom or sub here in the mess. It would be too hard; the walls have ears. So for him to talk about this, here, is a bit, well, a lot unexpected.

  “Seriously.”

  “So if I can sit here for twenty-three minutes, you owe me twenty-three orgasms? When I want them?”

  It’s his turn to snort. “No. You can’t have them when you’re being punished. But otherwise, we’ll work through the number and I doubt you’ll make it to twenty-three. Maybe five... if you’re lucky.”

  Damn him, he’s right. When my body first reacted to the size of the plug, an uncomfortable sweat dampened my flesh and an almost woozy feeling overtook me. It took less than a minute for that sensation to dissipate, but the feeling of overwhelming fullness is a little hard to take.

  I take a look at my watch and determine I’ll endure the discomfort for five minutes. It’s worth it. Five climaxes... that’s some leverage.

  “What does that have to do with my eating a big meal?”

  He shrugs. “The condition of you getting to cum is that you eat everything on your plate. If there’s even a pea left over, the deal is null and void.” His eyes are amused as he watches me absorb that little point. “Do we have a deal?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  My sardonic retort has him chuckling. “Good answer.”

  I sigh. That means I have no choice. Not that I want one, but still, I like to know the ins and outs of the challenges he sets me.

  “What’s for supper?” I ask, hesitant in only that one regard, because I could blow this out of the window if the meal isn’t to my liking.

  “Roast lamb with baked veggies.”

  Feeling like a petulant toddler at the idea of eating my greens, I mutter, “What kind of vegetables?”

  “Pumpkin, fennel, tomatoes, onions... Seasonal stuff, but ones you like.”

  I smile at him. “You asked for me, right?”

  He nods. “That’s something I’ve seen you eat at hotels.”

  He’s so fair!

  God, I love him.

  He sets me a challenge knowing I’ll be able to do it. I guess some guys, or some Doms, would have made it harder for me.

  Not Nate.

  Perhaps he can see on my face the thoughts running through my head, because he settles back into his seat with a gentle smile beaming my way.

  My heart stutters at the sight and for countless minutes, we stare at each other. Our eyes connected, our thoughts and feelings transmitted in the most basic of ways. To be loved by this man... to be cherished... God, it’s like a dream.

  I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, to deserve him, but I’ll do everything within my power to make him happy. Anything.

  For far too long I’ve been selfish. A self-contained creature, for the most part. Willing only to open herself up to her two close friends and even then, not divulging the most important parts of her life... I know I’d be an analyst’s wet dream. Either that or a nightmare.

  I’m complex. Complicated.

  But with this man, everything is laid bare. It’s so goddamned simple.

  No running. No hiding. I’m here for him, just like he’s here for me.

  It’s strange how this has only come about thanks to the revelation of who he truly is. A Dom.

  Nibbling my lip, I stare at him and then, down at the clock. Three minutes have passed.

  My left eye has started to twitch even though my thoughts have had me focusing on anything but my physical self and I mutter, “Three, Sir.”

  He nods. “Go to the bathroom and take it out.”

  “Where should I put it?”

  “Take it back to the house and leave it with the rest of the toys I chose for your punishment.”

  “You mean it isn’t over, Sir?” I question, brows falling in a frown of displeasure.

  “No. But you must eat. So we’re at an impasse. There’
s always later.” His smile is borderline mischievous; enough so that I want to cup my ass now to comfort it before later happens.

  Swallowing, I scrape my chair back and stand. He nods at me, then tilts his head in the direction of the toilets. It’s hard as hell not limping over to the bathroom stands, but I think I manage. I don’t hear any sniggers behind me as I traverse across the mess and the instant I’m inside the utilitarian washroom, I rush to one of the stalls, don’t even bother to lock it just shut the damn door, lift my skirt and in two seconds flat, drag the plug out.

  The instant I do, tears blossom in my eyes as every single nerve ending in my body flutters to life before settling down after doing a quick jig. I blow out a breath, then suck one in and am then faced with the prospect of somehow transporting the frickin’ plug across the yard. Knowing my luck, someone, probably Lucy, will spot me and the news will spread among the Brainy Bunch that I’m sporting weapons of mass destruction. For the ass.

  Despite myself, I grin at the thought. It sticks as I unravel a ton of toilet roll and wrap the plug inside. Tucking it under my arm, I stride out, wash my hands and then retreat from the mess and cross the yard with no one around to spot me.

  The instant I shut the door, I sigh with relief and remove the forbidden package from under my armpit. Heading up the stairs, I have to withhold a sneeze as that weird scent of lavender fills my nose again.

  “What the hell is that?” I mutter under my breath, sniffling a little as I climb. It doesn’t seem to disperse.

  A part of me wonders if it’s some new formula the perfumer made up. We actually have one on site; he produces scents for some of the biggest companies in the industry. But I shrug off the idea as I walk into the bedroom and then I freeze.

  “Greta?”

  Seven

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  Greta has always been a troublemaker. Even as a kid, I remember that. My father, while disinterested in most things to do with the management of the ranch, which he undertook dutifully, rather than with grace, hated her. She caused strife among the women, because all the men drooled after her and she lapped it up. She didn’t try and calm troubled waters, she took pleasure out of stirring things.

  Even though I know her type, even though I know what she’s capable of—hell, everyone believed John, the man who killed himself, did it because Greta spurned him and felt no guilt for it either—it’s still a huge surprise to see her in here and going through our stuff.

  When I called her name, she’d frozen. But at my question, she slowly turns around, face flushed as she looks up at me.

  My eyes flicker from her guilty expression to the papers on the bed. I step over to her and look down at the papers, the photographs. A picture of a young Nate catches my eye and I frown. “Why are you looking through Nate’s stuff? And don’t bullshit me. There is absolutely no reason for you to be in this room.”

  I think I’m the direct cause of a miracle. Greta is the sort of woman who always has an answer. Always. She’ll turn black into white to win an argument. And yet, she’s frozen. I can tell. Her mouth keeps working, opening then shutting as though her admittedly-genius brain flickers through the answers that will lead to the least trouble.

  Ignoring her for a second, I reach over and hide a smile at the sight of Nate as a teenager. Some of them are of him as a kid. So focused on him am I that it takes a few seconds to see that some of the photos are with a bunch of people… not just other kids… and one of the men in the photos is none other than John. The math genius John, the amputee John, the one who killed himself, the one who Greta spurned. My memory has always been good but hell, the man has been dead a long time and I shove the photo under Greta’s nose and ask, “Is that John Kelly? I remember him, but not enough to say for definite.”

  Greta’s mouth is taut as she tries to withhold an answer. Apparently, her stubbornness hasn’t changed over time. But her eyes flicker a little; just a smidgen and I know I’m right. Which means Nate’s been lying to me.

  As my mind processes the thought, something that in and of itself makes me feel as though I’ve been kicked in the stomach, the sound of helicopter rotor blades blare overhead. The damned vibration has my feet tingling in my flats and I switch my gaze from the photos on the bed to the still-frozen woman beside it.

  “You have a reprieve. I want you in my office, ten AM, tomorrow morning. Have you got that? And don’t even try to get out of it. If you do, I’ll have you evicted. This breaks so many of the commune’s laws I’ll have no problem with the legalities.”

  Her eyes flash at me and she shoots upright from her kneeling position to hiss, “You even think of evicting me and I’ll tell everyone about your kinks. All those sick, perverted…”

  As she fumbles for a word, I murmur, “Toys? Or shall we stick to things?”

  Her face contorts with rage as she bites out, “I’ll tell everyone, everyone about them.”

  I shrug. “Do it. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. Neither has Nate.” Well, not for being a Dom, he doesn’t. Whether his secrets are shameful is another matter entirely.

  “You can’t be serious? It’s disgusting!”

  Her sneer has me rolling my eyes. “You can’t threaten me, when I don’t give a fuck.”

  Inwardly, I cringe at the curse. Good God, I need a curse-word tin. Something, anything to stop me from saying fuck. Hell, it just rolls of my tongue. Like the word pie or soap. I have a potty-mouth.

  I wonder if there’s some kind of twelve-step program to sort me out. The instant the thought pops into my head, I have to shake my head at myself. Because Nate enrolled me in one. Of a sort. The spank-my-ass-to-hell-and-back program.

  Only his reasoning for doing so is starting to look less and less clear as I stare down at the photos in my hand. In fact, it’s starting to look pretty damned murky.

  I don’t let my doubt show on my face or in my tone, as I warn, “You’re in the wrong and no amount of manipulation can wriggle you out of it. Tomorrow at ten. No bull, just answers. You got me? Now get out.”

  Her eyes flash and I can tell she’s spitting mad, wanting to wrap me around her finger with my fear of what she might say to the people on the commune but it won’t work. Sure, I don’t particularly revel in the idea of everyone knowing my business, but hell, I won’t be ashamed of it and I sure as shit won’t let some bitch think she can manipulate me with something that is as intrinsic to my personality as my bad attitude. If anything, the nasty side of my nature makes me accept my submissiveness easily. I will not be made to feel like some kind of sexual leper.

  She storms out, like I’m in the wrong and not as though I just caught her rifling through Nate’s personal possessions.

  At the sound of the helicopter, I know I only have a few minutes. Now I’m back, it’s my duty as well as Nate’s to be the welcome committee for any guests. Nobody’s scheduled to stay here in a guest capacity but some of the big boys—and I don’t mean our stud stallion—don’t even bother to make reservations. Wall Street analysts, politicians, we accept them all as long as their IQ is high enough.

  I let my fingers riffle through the photos, spotting Nate at different ages through his childhood and in each one, he’s surrounded by his family. John is there. If I’m honest, I always liked John. He’d been brilliant. One of the foremost members of the commune. His genius had paved the way for countless inventions; in fact, his patents and discoveries had paved the way for the Blue Ridge that exists today.

  But beside that, he’d been friendly. Introverted, yes. Quick to chat, no. But if I ever passed him, he’d smile at me and ask what I was doing at school. He knew I was an artist and that I hated going to classes. He’d taken an interest in me and while my position at the ranch had been an important one thanks to my ancestors, most people had ignored me.

  Friendly faces were few and far between for the scowling child of the disinterested guardians of the ranch; the folk who never socialized with the other members, who lived
in their own superior bubble.

  So yeah, I remembered John.

  What, though, is his connection to Nate?

  I still feel sickened by Nate's obvious lies. I've mentioned John enough for him to speak to me of the truth and why he hasn't is... well, it's a concern. But I can't leap to conclusions. It would be foolish to do that.

  Almost as though I’d been speaking aloud, a voice breaks into my thoughts and answers my questions for me.

  “He was my great-uncle.”

  My head jerks up, as though I’d been slapped. My shock at him standing there is complete and I kind of understand Greta’s mortification.

  “Don’t worry, I saw Greta scurrying out. Snooping, was she?” His cheeks turn concave for a second, as he chews on them in contemplation. “Interesting.”

  “W-why?” I croak out.

  “Why is it interesting?” At my nod, he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “For four years, I never sniffed anything out. Nothing at all. You’re back and on that first day, you told me something no one else had. You pushed me in the right direction without even knowing it. For four years, nada. And yet, here she is. Snooping through my stuff.” He pauses a second and a strange grin crosses his jaw. “Find the toys, did she?”

  I nod, my cheeks flushing. It’s weird. I’m talking to a different man. I’ve learned there are two sides to Nate. Sir and then, the man I’ve known for four years. This one is different. Another layer.

  Christ, we’re more alike than I ever knew.

  “Yeah. She tried to bribe me to keep quiet.”

  “You told her where to go, did you?”

  Despite myself and my discomfort, I snort. Cocking a brow at him, I ask, “What do you think?”

  “Good. I bet that has her running scared.” Again, his thoughts take him away from me and then, he shakes himself out of it and says, “We need to go. Didn’t you hear the helicopter?”

  “Yeah, I was on my way.” I take a step toward him and he shakes his head at me.

  “Do you need that to great our guests?”

  I flush as I look down at the toilet paper-wrapped butt plug and dump it on the bed. “I’ll clean up later.”