by Measha Stone
“Well, nothing did. I just fell asleep.”
“You told me last night you were working today.” The door shut again, and it was only Jamison and Garrick in the room.
“At the time, I had planned to. Shirley called me while I was out.”
He clenched his jaw but forced himself to relax. He’d told himself he’d give her time, be patient, but she pushed harder than he’d expected. “And where was out?”
“Are we going to have this conversation every time I do something without you? You aren’t a control freak, are you?”
Okay, his patience was done.
“Carissa, I have to get back to work. And you have some thinking to do.” He caught Garrick’s raised brow but turned away from him. He’d address that later. “I’m coming over this afternoon. I expect you to be at your apartment. Since you hadn’t planned on being off work today, you shouldn’t have any plans. You will stay in your apartment until I get there. And then we will discuss last night, this morning, and this conversation.”
“You’re grounding me?” He imagined her dark eyes widening, a reddish tinge touching her cheeks as her temper rose. “I know we play with our ages a bit, but I’m not a fucking child.”
“Not one foot outside your apartment. And we’ll add your language to the list.”
“And if I’m not here?”
He almost growled. No other woman had pushed him so hard before, maybe she wasn’t serious about giving them a real try. Maybe she really was just looking for fun at the dungeon. Except he saw her, saw the light in her eyes when he had her snuggled up in his lap. It wasn’t an orgasm she was looking for, it was a connection. The same thing he was searching for with a partner. He’d held her and felt her, not just her warm body, but her—the girl in the woman, the woman in her soul.
“I’ll be here,” she whispered after a long moment of silence.
“As soon as I finish here, I’ll come over.” He finished the call with a softer tone and took a moment to breathe before facing Garrick.
He should have waited another moment. When he turned around, Garrick had the biggest shit-eating grin he’d seen him wear in a long time plastered on his face.
“So that’s what you left our party for on New Year’s Eve? Carissa?” Garrick folded his arms over his chest.
“You knew exactly what I was doing,” Jamison shot back. There were very few secrets between them, having been friends since college and business partners for a handful of years already.
“She’s going to be hard to tame.” Garrick raised his brow. “That woman has been all twisted up since I met her.”
“Twisted up about what? She knows what she wants, she’s not ashamed of being submissive, and even less ashamed of playing in the nursery.” Jamison pretended to shuffle files around his desk.
“It’s not that. She’s a natural submissive. I’ve seen her with a few boyfriends—oh, none of them lasted very long. Either they weren’t into the scene and she thought she could deal, or they couldn’t deal with her,” Garrick said.
“You aren’t making any sense,” Jamison accused, although that did give him a bit of an insight into Carissa’s misguided idea that all relationships were terminal.
Garrick sighed. “She’s got a mind of her own but she doesn’t understand that she can have that and belong to someone. One or the other.”
“Ah, no gray area, all black or all white.” Just like her theory that they would either last forever or they wouldn’t make it out of the gate.
“So, while you’re trying to get that through her thick skull, she’s going to give you a run for your money,” Garrick promised with another gleeful grin.
“You act as though the taming isn’t going to be fun. I’ll grant you, I don’t know her like you do—I may have met her socially here and there, seen her from across the room at a party or two, but now that she’s mine, she’s all mine.” The utter possession he felt with his words only amplified his desire to get to her apartment post haste. “The taming, the training, it’s a never-ending thing.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Are you telling me you don’t want me to date her? Don’t think I can handle her any more than you can handle your Jade?” Heat prickled Jamison’s neck under his collar. Not handle Carissa?
Garrick’s expression darkened at the mention of his new girlfriend. They’d had a rocky start, but from what Jamison could tell, things were starting to smooth out.
“I’m just saying—well, hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. Carissa’s like a little sister in some ways.” Garrick ran his hand through his hair. “Just don’t fall for her toughness. Sometimes she gets all puffed up but inside she’s all soft and gooey.”
“Are we still talking about Carissa or one of those marshmallow Peeps?”
Garrick laughed.
“Now. What did you want? I know you didn’t come in here to warn me off Carissa.”
“No, though I did enjoy hearing your end of that conversation. Nice to see someone else trying to keep his mind in one piece while wanting to pull every shred of hair from his head.”
“Glad I could entertain.” Jamison sat in his brown leather chair that perfectly matched the deep brown coloring of all the furniture in the room. Thankfully, the designer had opted to use light colored carpeting and paint, otherwise his office would resemble too closely the dark den of his father’s house.
“Well, anyway. I wanted to ask you about the high rise. Your father sent over some reports and a meeting request. I didn’t realize you wanted to start building properties.”
“I don’t. I mean, I’m not sure. He mentioned something last night but I haven’t looked at what he gave me. He contacted you, too?”
Garrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought it was weird. Usually the only dealings I have with him are when you force me to your place for dinner or he barges in here with urgent business matters for your real business.”
Barron Croft still could not wrap his brain around his only son wanting to strike out on his own. Barron never wanted to invest in any sort of entertainment markets, so Jamison had started investing with Garrick on projects that his father wouldn’t list under Croft Enterprises.
According to Barron, it was a little hobby. According to Jamison’s accountant, it was a thriving business on its way to matching his father’s. But Jamison didn’t bring that up at family dinners.
“He’s really excited about this project,” Jamison explained. “If he wants to bring both of us in on it, he must really want it. He probably thinks that if you go for it, I’ll have to.”
“Since when does he need your approval for anything he does?”
“Never. Let’s look over what he sends and see if it’s something we can get behind. If not, then I’ll take it on under his company.” Jamison quickly shut down his computer. “I’m taking the rest of the day off,” he announced, whipping his suit jacket off the back of his chair and jamming his arms through the sleeves.
“I’ll catch you later then.” Garrick flashed another knowing grin, and if Jamison weren’t in a hurry to get to Carissa’s place, he’d have stopped to wipe it off for him.
Chapter 5
Carissa marched across her living room for the dozenth time. Never before had she so wanted to step outside and take a breath of ice cold air as she did at that moment.
She should have called Jamison when she got home the night before, or at least texted him that she’d gotten home okay. He was looking out for her safety. And wasn’t that what she wanted? Someone who didn’t just think of her, but about her?
Maybe she’d pushed the boundary. He’d already sounded all growly when she didn’t tell him where she was headed for the night.
When the doorbell rang, she jumped. “Dammit.” She’d gotten lost in thought and hadn’t seen his car pull up.
She expected to see frustration, irritation, or at least a little simmering temper, but what she found when he opened the door was the exact same p
anty-soaking handsome man she’d met at Dark Lace.
His tie was missing, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair, dark and clean cut, looked as disheveled as it always did, and as if the look of casual eroticism wasn’t complete, a smile pulled at his lips when his gaze met hers.
“Hi,” she said. Excellent way to start the conversation.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He nodded. “Can I come in?”
“Depends.”
His eyebrows arched. “On what?”
She licked her lips, and smiled. “On what you’re going to do once you come inside.”
“Oh.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “You want me to talk about your punishment out here, in the hallway? Did you want me to knock on your neighbor’s door so they can come down and listen?” He pointed toward the stairs that curled up to the third floor of the three-flat building.
“Oh, my god!” She reached out and grabbed his arm, yanking him into the apartment. “Come in, come in.” She peeked back up the stairs to be sure Mr. Buschmann, Chicago’s biggest busybody, hadn’t stuck his head over the railing to listen, and shut the door.
When she turned back around, she found the stern look of a determined man staring at her. The playful smile was long gone, and he was already pulling off his suit jacket. Her stomach clenched—as well as her other lady parts—at the authoritative side of him coming alive.
“I was just kidding,” she said, pushing off the door and walking through the living room.
“You think now is a good time for jokes, do you?” he asked.
His tone stilled her. His stance didn’t do much in the way of relaxing her nerves, either, with his arms folded over his chest and his eyes fixated on her. He wanted an answer, she supposed.
“I think you don’t think so.”
“Very astute of you.” He nodded. “But what do you think?”
She blew out a hard breath. “I think I was kidding, but seeing as you came over here to yell at me, it probably was a bad idea.”
“Yell?” he asked. “I don’t yell. Why would I yell? Because last night I was very clear that you were to call me when you got home and you didn’t? Or because when I tried asking about your evening this morning, you were evasive and didn’t take me seriously? Or could it be the language you used… what did you say? What was the naughty word that came out of your little mouth?” With each question, he took a large stride in her direction, coming to stand directly in front of her by the time he finished.
Whatever comeback was forming in her mind disappeared when she lifted her chin to look up at him. Dark, serious eyes met her stare.
She’d had doms before, and some of them had even liked to be called Daddy, but none of them had ever looked at her with such determination. Maybe she should have just called him when she’d gotten home. He didn’t need to know everything about her day, and she could have set a limit on how much he got to question her about her time away from him. She was allowed privacy. Wasn’t she?
“I’m waiting for an answer, little girl.” His lowered voice, coupled with the intensity of his stare, made her squirm. “What was that naughty word you said?”
“Fucking,” she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes anymore.
“That’s right. That’s the word.” He cupped her chin, dragging it upward and forcing her to find his eyes.
“Why didn’t you want to tell me where you were last night? Are you seeing someone else?”
“No!” She jerked away from his touch and put distance between them. Finding a safe place behind the rocking recliner her grandmother had gifted her when she’d gone off to college, she straightened her shoulders. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”
“Good. Then please answer the rest of my question.”
Impossible man. “I was with some friends, that’s all. We met up for some drinks.” There had been wine, though she’d only indulged in one glass.
“You went out drinking?”
“No, I mean, yes, we were drinking alcohol but we didn’t go out to get plastered.” She gripped the back of the recliner in her fists.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me that? Letting off some steam after the shifts you have isn’t something I’d try to stop you from. You have a stressful job.”
That was putting it mildly. Dealing with the patients and families gave her enough of a headache, but the doctors were the real pains in the ass. Dishing out orders, barking demands, and handing out more attitude than anyone should have to deal with.
“I told you I was going out. You never said you wanted to keep tabs on me.”
“I don’t need to keep tabs on you, and I won’t be putting a tracker on your phone or any other stupid thing like that. But when I ask you a direct question, I expect a direct answer. I do not want to hear vague responses like just out. That’s not an answer. An answer would have been, heading to the bar with my friends.”
He was on the move again, inching closer to the recliner, and the determination completely darkened his expression. He was now a man on a mission.
“And you would have said, Oh, okay?” she snapped her question.
“You’ll never know now, will you?” He quirked an eyebrow. She didn’t like his tone—hard and unrelenting.
“Fine. I should have told you.” She folded her arms over her chest, picking up her own defensive attitude to shield her from whatever he was about to say.
“Oh, little girl. Your attitude really is going to be the first thing we work on.” The smirk on his lips eased the knot in her chest enough for her to breathe a bit easier. “I don’t expect you to tell me what you are doing every second of every day, but when I ask you where you are, or where you’re going, you will tell me. Is that clear, Carissa—girl?”
Did she want that? With all her past relationships, she’d never ventured too far from the bedroom with a power dynamic. And all of those relationships had failed, miserably. Either the men were too wimpy, or too frustrated with her to give her anything other than a few rounds of spankytime before marching out.
But with Jamison, the idea of taking everything between them everywhere didn’t feel so suffocating. The fear she’d felt previously didn’t clutch her throat the way it had in the past.
That didn’t mean anything, not really. It still wouldn’t matter; once the month was up, he’d saddle up and ride off. She couldn’t let him affect her the way he was, she needed to remind herself they had a time stamp.
“Do you think I’ll tuck tail and run the first time you show me your little rebellious side?”
“I didn’t think that,” she defended herself. “I was just thinking, it was late when I got home and I’d talk to you in the morning.”
“That’s not what I told you to do, is it, little girl?”
Of course that wasn’t what he’d told her to do. That was obvious, given the fact he was glaring at her with a very clear desire to redden her ass.
“I asked you a question.”
“No, that’s not what you told me to do.”
“Remove your pants and your panties and find a corner to get comfortable in,” he instructed.
She opened her mouth to speak, sure something full of wisdom and reason would come to her aid.
Nothing. She sighed.
She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? A man who wouldn’t take a little pushing from her and run away. A man who stuck to his principles.
Knowing the large picture windows facing the street wouldn’t allow for much privacy, and the flimsy door leading to the hall wouldn’t keep old Buschmann from hearing what she did not want broadcasted, she headed straight for the bedroom in the back of the apartment.
She needed to paint. The dull coloring of her bedroom only reinforced the boredom of corner time.
Jamison had walked into the room only a few seconds after her, but he hadn’t said a word. She went about stripping out of her yoga pants and panties, kicking them near the dresser.
The bed squeaked behind
her. He was shifting around. Was he just staring at her? When she tried to take a peek at him, he gave her a solid glare and twirled his finger.
“Nose into the corner.”
She sighed.
“What was that?” he asked with a firm tone.
“Yes, Daddy.” She rested her forehead against the cool wall. How easily that sentence slipped from her lips.
She heard him moving behind her, but was still startled when his hand touched her ass. He didn’t smack her or pinch her he simply cradled her cheek in his palm. Heat rose to her face and she pushed herself further into the corner.
“Such a nice bottom.” The deep tenor of his voice startled her after the moments of silence.
His touch was gone, leaving her exposed to the cool air of the room.
“Come here, Carissa-girl.”
She shuffled her feet until she was turned toward him, then, folding her hands in front of her, she made her way to where he was sitting. The chair from her vanity sat front and center in the large area between her dresser and her queen-sized bed. The dark duvet covering matched the expression in his eyes perfectly.
He tilted his head, watching her as she slowly made her way to him, taking each step as though he sat in an executioner’s perch instead of her simple vanity chair. The way his hands rested on his knees, just waiting for her to obey him and go to him and receive her punishment, sent a shiver through her body. He wasn’t playing. This was business for him.
“Do you have a hairbrush, one with a flat back?”
Of course, she did. What spanko didn’t own one of those for this express reason? Only the fantasy of having the wooden brush used on her upturned bottom would most likely prove more satisfying than the reality he was about to dunk her into.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Go get it and bring it back here. And no more dragging your feet, you have fifteen seconds to get your bottom back here, or I’ll add more to your punishment.”
She nodded, her throat too thick to let her speak. The brush wasn’t far, it took her only a few moments to rush to her vanity to get it and get back to him.