Veronica nodded. She couldn’t deny what was in plain sight—she could feel the dampness between her legs, the cotton soaked with the evidence of her reaction.
He stood, and she slid off his lap. Her legs refused to carry her, and she slid onto her knees at his feet, automatically taking up the position she’d been in earlier.
Veronica stayed there, shocked and horrified at how natural it felt.
This is not who I am.
Is it?
She remained there for a long minute as her emotions once again went to war with each other.
Oliver didn’t move. He stood there in front of her and waited in silence.
“I don’t want to be a submissive,” she finally said in a low whisper. “I don’t want to be weak.”
He gave a rolling belly laugh as he reached down and helped her to her feet. His arms went around her in a tight hug as she regained her balance to finally stand unaided.
She didn’t know what to say to his chortling, so she stayed silent.
Finally, he released her and put his hands on her shoulders.
“Oh Roni. My Roni.” Oliver kissed her forehead. “There’s nothing weak about being a sub.” He reached around and unbuckled the collar. “You’re one of the strongest women I know.”
Oliver’s fingers were trembling as he worked the collar free, and he hoped she wouldn’t catch on to his inner turmoil.
Damn it. What’s wrong with me?
He’d told Wendy he would have to deviate from his usual routine for Roni because of the circumstances, but he never thought on their second visit he’d be at a loss for words.
Or self-control.
His plan was falling to shreds, and he wasn’t sure how or why. All he’d wanted to do tonight was make her consider that maybe if she wanted to continue being a Domme, she empathize with the subs more. Or better yet, embrace her natural inclination toward being a submissive by admitting she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his affections and activities.
Instead, he’d worked himself into a frenzy and had, for a fleeting second, considered her offer. Oliver would never admit it to anyone, ever—but for the first time since the accident, he considered giving himself over to a submissive’s desires.
He didn’t feel guilty.
That would probably come later when he was alone in bed and staring at the ceiling.
He had to deal with the here and now.
And the here and now of it was that he’d made progress.
They both had.
He wrapped the leather around his palm before brushing away her tears, letting the heated band graze against her cheek.
“In a good relationship, the submissive holds a great deal of the power, of the control. You should know this. You’re no fool. Obviously, you don’t believe it. Why not?”
“Because it makes no sense.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t work.”
“It doesn’t work because you don’t know what it feels like to be in the right place with the right man.” He showed her the collar. “I want you to think about this during the next week, and we’ll talk about it.”
Oliver placed the coiled leather on the table in front of them.
“Okay.” Judging from the tone of her voice, she’d take more convincing.
“Come. Sit down.” He slid over to the far end of the love seat. “Come on.”
She slowly sat beside him, watching his every move. A gasp escaped as she shifted on the soft cushions.
He held back a grin at seeing her discomfort.
Oliver reached under the love seat and pulled out the small cooler. “You’ve got to be thirsty after all this. I know I am.”
The cool energy drink felt like ice in his hand, soothing his own swollen skin. He popped the top and offered it to her.
She eyed it suspiciously.
“Drink it.” He took a sip and held it out. “Don’t tell me you’re not dehydrated.” He narrowed his vision. “I won’t ask again.”
Veronica plucked it out of his hand and took a tentative swig, obviously apprehensive.
Her eyes widened as she tasted the sweet liquid, and the rest of the can disappeared in a long lengthy drink.
Oliver retrieved a second one and a granola bar. He opened the can and worked the wrapper off with his teeth.
The chocolate chewy wafer tasted like the best meal he’d ever had. The drink—ambrosia.
It hadn’t been that long since he’d done this aftercare with another woman in another house.
But this time seemed different.
He hadn’t done this last week because there hadn’t been a reason to. Now that he’d successfully collared and disciplined her, it was a necessary part of the routine.
Veronica glanced at the bar and licked her lips.
He tilted his head and looked at her. “Are you steady enough to eat this?”
“Please,” she whispered.
He handed the remainder over along with his can, trading it for the empty one in her hand.
“Thank you,” she mumbled through a mouthful of granola.
He leaned back and put his arm around her shoulder. She tensed up at first at his touch, but melted against him as she nibbled on the bar. A grimace here and there showed recent events were very much at the forefront of her mind.
“You don’t do this a lot,” he said.
“What?” She covered her mouth as an unladylike burp escaped. “Excuse me.”
“Aftercare.” Oliver resisted the urge to growl. “The time after you finish up a scene.”
She shrugged. “I do. Kind of. But not like this.”
He nodded. “What do you do?”
Veronica folded up the wrapper into a tight little packet. “I take them back to the bar and buy them a drink, maybe a bit of cuddling. Then I send them on their way.”
Oliver bit back the words choking his thoughts. He edited them and replaced the cursing with gentler phrasing.
“This is…” She sighed. “Better. Nicer.”
Oliver pressed on. “Why didn’t you go to one of the private booths? Or order something back to the room? I know they deliver. You could have had cold water or energy drinks or a snack sent back. Most clubs offer that option.”
She frowned as if contemplating some mathematical problem. “Never occurred to me. I mean, we’re tired and sweaty, but all the men usually wanted to get back out on the floor.” Veronica studied the wrapping paper in her hand, the dense ball rolling around her palm. “They told me they were fine and wanted to leave.”
To get away from you. Oliver’s mind filled in the blanks. To get away from a Domme who had no idea what to do before after and during a session.
A wave of sympathy surged through Oliver.
“Next week, I’ll show you more. But right now, you rest.” He pulled her close and mentally berated whoever had encouraged Veronica to be a Domme.
You can’t put two wheels on a sports car and call it a motorcycle.
* * * * *
At times, Veronica thought it might have been better if the café had blown up in a spectacular detonation sans the staff.
She sat in her office and stared at the stack of paperwork cluttering her desk. The smell of smoke still permeated the walls, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get all of it out.
So much—
She put her head down on her desk and gave an annoyed huff.
So much crap.
The insurance company had tried to shift the blame to the staff, invalidating most of her claim with the insinuation someone had misused the oven. After Veronica had produced the fire investigator’s report stating it was a problem with the wiring, the idiotic company had pointed to the workmen who installed the oven. Another series of phone calls had exonerated her employees and confirmed what the original report had said.
The insurance company was annoyed but content to pay their part.
Which was nowhere near what she needed to get back to where she’d started from.
The end result was this incident had set her back a full year on any future stores.
Veronica let out another breath and watched a stack of papers flutter.
All I need—
All I want—
She closed her eyes and sighed. All she wanted to do was close up the office and go to a club, get her game on with some sweet young thing and get off.
That wasn’t even a pipe dream. Between having to supervise the workmen and being banned there was no way she was getting any.
She propped her head up on one hand and studied the cheap inspirational poster tacked to her wall.
Hang in there indeed.
There was also another issue.
Since her last session with Oliver, she’d been—
Veronica felt a tremor rock her body at the recollection of the session.
He’d done something to her. Of that there was no doubt. She wasn’t sure what, but he’d flipped her mojo sideways and backwards.
The first indication had been when she’d gotten home last Saturday.
Despite the cuddling, or because of it, her libido was alive and kicking hard when she’d stumbled out of the cab and back up the steps to her apartment. She hadn’t even had the energy to yell at Mr. Anderson when he opened his door and peered out at her.
But she was horny as hell and had to do something about it.
After slamming the door, she’d gone to her bedroom, stripping down along the way. She had toys and knew how to use them.
Except something wasn’t working. Or working properly, she mused.
The silver steel bullet had felt so good in her hand, so right as she slid it over her belly. Her mind conjured up a handsome naked man in bed with her, his hands stroking her as he murmured sweet nothings; following her commands to pleasure her and do it right the first time.
Her hand slid lower along her thighs, the vibrations sending her pulse soaring.
Her imagination sent the man along his usual route, dropping kisses along her bare skin before heading south.
Suddenly, his face shifted, morphed into a familiar sight.
Oliver.
But he wasn’t listening to her orders as she barked them out.
He straddled her with a delicious grin and pinned her arms to her sides. His hands encircled her wrists and pushed them down into the mattress as his hips rotated, the pressure inside her building as he pressed against her with an agonizingly slow pace.
“Not until I say so,” he whispered, keeping her still.
He entered her with a maddeningly slow glide, grunting as he withdrew and started his erotic assault on her again with the same agonizing speed.
Veronica gasped, the tremors rocking her body as she fought for control.
“Not yet,” Oliver demanded, locking his deep-blue eyes with hers. He rubbed his chin against her, the beard stubble scraping her skin.
She whimpered and arched up, straining at the invisible bonds. Her fingers dug into the sheets as he increased his rhythm, doubling and then tripling his speed, setting up a punishing pace.
“Not yet.”
Veronica keened in frustration, thrashing against him even as she drew him in as deep as she could.
He leaned over and put his lips to her ear, dropping a tender kiss before speaking.
“Now.”
The orgasm rocked her to the core, her silent scream stretching her out and over the edge.
Her hand slid off her thigh and onto the mattress. The silver toy rolled down the bed and bounced onto the floor, still buzzing.
Oh my God.
Veronica couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry, and she felt like she’d run a marathon.
It’d never been this good before. Not in any of her imagined scenarios or even at the club with the real thing, a flesh-and-blood man acting on her command.
Because you weren’t in charge, her exhausted mind whispered.
You let him lead. You let him dominate you. Because you’re a—
Veronica ground her teeth together and mentally slapped the tiny voice away.
No.
She’d spent the rest of the night arguing with herself and woke on Sunday to the news the city inspectors wouldn’t be able to visit until at least Wednesday.
So here it was—Wednesday, and she felt out of sorts not only from her business imploding but her mind and body warring with what she wanted with what she was thinking.
Veronica gazed at a blob of words only a few inches from her face.
I could call Dad. He’d front me the money for a new location. At a reasonable interest rate.
Even as she thought it, a chorus of voices rose up to scream and curse, reminding her he’d draw blood for any favor she asked.
Not yet.
It’s not that bad.
A few more months and she’d be back on track.
She ran her fingers through her hair and focused in again on the forms cluttering her vision.
Paperwork.
There’s got to be a level in hell for whoever designed all these forms. A tiny forest elf chopping the idiot into tiny pieces and gluing him back together again. Rinse and repeat.
She allowed herself a smile at the mental picture.
“Veronica?” Dan popped his head around the corner. “There’s a man here to see you.”
Another damned inspector.
She rubbed her eyes clear of the daydreams. “Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.” She focused in on him. “How’s it going out there?”
The manager smiled. “The new two-toned blue paint scheme is looking fantastic. Much better than the old gold-and-black one. I think it’s an improvement.” He sniffed the air. “Can barely smell the smoke now.”
She nodded and shuffled the pages into a pile. “Good. Keep those fans going, and I’ll be right out. Offer him a coffee or something—I’m not above bribing him if it’ll get us cleared earlier.”
Dan nodded and retreated from her office.
Veronica scanned the top page, hoping the numbers had changed.
The math, unlike her emotions, was clear and logical.
I’ll have to shelve the idea of opening another store for at least a year.
She bit her lower lip, annoyed with the harsh facts.
She’d have to discuss the situation with Jane and hope the barista would wait. If she chose to leave Veronica would understand but it’d be a killing blow for Java Jive’s expansion plans. Jane was a good assistant manager and one hell of a coffee expert—she’d jumped at the chance when Veronica had offered her a chance to get her own store.
Now she might lose two of her dreams at once.
Mentally, she rehearsed what she’d tell Jane. Another business owner would tell her she had to stay, bribe her with more money and more promises.
But Jane was too smart to get caught up in that. She knew the books almost as well as Veronica did, and there was no way Veronica would lie to her anyway. They’d become good friends, and she knew in the end she’d tell Jane to do what was best for her. Even if it wasn’t what was best for Java Jive and Veronica.
She shook her head as she reached for her dark-blue jacket, pulling it on over her light-blue blouse.
Might as well look good while I’m groveling for the inspector.
Oliver looked around the café. It’d improved drastically since his last visit, and he could see the appeal it held for returning customers. The only thing that had changed was the color on the walls, the vibrant shades of blue making him smile.
Veronica came out of the back room.
Her body language shifted as soon as she saw him, he
r confident strut and stoic business face changing into a softer, gentler form. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she smiled, the mask vanishing from sight.
“I thought you were one of the city inspectors.” She looked around. “Can I offer you a coffee?”
“No, thank you. Your people are busy enough they don’t need the extra work.” He gestured at the redecorated café. “It’s looking great.”
And here we are breaking the rules again, his conscience grumbled.
Bending them where needed, he snapped back.
“It’s going to take some work. And an act of God if that damned insurance company doesn’t get their act together.”
He chuckled. “Let me guess. They’re not willing to pick up the tab and are searching for any and all angles to avoid paying out.”
She nodded. “I’ve had small claims go through before without trouble. I don’t understand why it’s so hard now.”
Oliver gestured at a nearby table, the red metal circle waiting for customers. “Let’s sit down.”
She followed him over and sat on the matching chairs. “Are you sure you don’t want something? We’ve just gotten in some fine Arabica coffee beans.”
“No. I’m fine.” He adjusted his long leather trench coat. “We had a fire at one of our stores about five years ago.”
“How bad?”
“Bad enough. It was a bookstore—we lost all our stock either through the direct fire or the smoke and water damage.” Oliver rubbed his chin. “We thought it wouldn’t be so bad because we’ve been with the same insurance company for decades. Silly us. We had to jump through hoops and absorb some loss before reopening.”
“Bureaucrats,” Veronica said, making it sound like a curse. She let out a sigh. “We’ll get through this, but it’s going to be a pain in the ass.”
“The pleasure will be worth the pain. As you and I well know.” He patted her forearm. “I was going to my store and thought I’d check in on you and see how you were doing.”
She shrugged. “We’ll survive. It’s just a matter of time before we’re up and running again.”
“I mean how are you doing.” He met her eyes and raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Her cheeks went scarlet, betraying her thoughts.
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 10