“Where are we going?” she asks.
“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.”
We’re both knocked to the side when I steer the boat into a wave at the wrong angle because my eyes were focused on Kylie’s cleavage and the way the drops of water from her hair are trailing a path that I wouldn’t mind joining them on down between her breasts.
“You weren’t kidding about being a bad driver,” she says.
“I was afraid of water most of my life,” I say. “I guess I’m behind the curve on nautical pursuits because of it.”
“You were afraid of water?” she asks, frowning. “I don’t take you for the type to frighten easily.”
“I had an older brother who was trying to walk across a waterfall when I was fourteen. His name was Kyle. I spent my life looking up to him. He was invincible, as far as I was concerned. It was a stupid thing he had done hundreds of times with his friends, but he stepped on a slick rock, lost his balance, and hit his head before he fell about twenty feet down. By the time they found him at the bottom of the river, he had already drowned. After that… it felt like I was drowning if I even thought about getting in water above my knees.” I laugh at myself, surprised again by how much I seem to be telling Kylie without planning to. “Listen to me, talking like I’m on some fucking therapist’s couch.”
“No,” she says, reaching to touch my knee. “If I am going to trust you, I need to know you. What happened between us three years ago was…” she clears her throat and gives up searching for the right words. “What I’m trying to say is, yes, I felt something. I felt like I wanted to be part of your life, as crazy as that was. But I can’t afford to attach myself to a mystery anymore. It’s like I told you, I have Dean to think about. Maybe before him I could’ve just enjoyed the ride and waited to see where it took me. But if this is going to work now, I need to know you. The real you. So don’t apologize for it.”
I nod my head. “It’s just not me. Talking about myself like this. I’m used to keeping everyone at arm’s length--hell, I’m used to keeping them outside the fucking door.”
9
Kylie
He pulls the boat up to a sandy patch of land that juts out from the beach, where a small team of two chefs and a waiter are standing beside a smoking grill. There’s even a table set up with candles.
“This is for us?” I ask.
“Just for us,” he says before hopping out of the boat and offering me his hand.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m extremely grateful either way, but why did you bother having me pick out a dress if we were going to eat out here?”
“I wasn’t about to have you walk into the restaurant looking this fucking sexy. Whether you’re ready to trust me or not, I’m sure as hell not ready to let other men see you like this.”
I notice both of the chefs and the server are female and smile a little despite myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever met a man more possessive than Damian, and I can’t say the idea of being wanted so badly and so greedily by him doesn’t make my skin prickle with excitement. Somehow he manages to make nothing but the black compression shorts he wears look classy and mouth-wateringly sexy at the same time.
Even wet, his hair seems to fall perfectly over his piercing blue eyes. The small beads of water that occasionally run down his muscled frame catch my eyes, dragging them down his carved chest and rack of perfectly defined abs, and down more to the bulge I would think was too big to be his cock if I hadn’t experienced it first-hand already. In some ways I thought I had managed to embellish it in my memory, but I can see the outline clearly now, and I know I was remembering it just right.
I press my thighs together against the growing heat I feel between my legs. I’m sorry, Dean. I’m doing my best to handle this the right way. I really am.
The guilt rises up like something black and vile, tainting all the excitement and happiness I feel. It’s not the first time tonight, either. Every time I start to let go and enjoy myself, I’m haunted by the idea that I’m being careless. Worse, that I’m doing something that will put my son in danger.
And yet nothing about Damian is making me feel like I’m in danger. His idea of sex is vastly different than anything I ever imagined, and he practically radiates sexuality, but that doesn’t have to mean he’s a bad person. I need to give him a chance. It could turn out that he’s wrong for me and Dean, and if that’s true, I can walk away. But if I never give him a real chance, and in doing so give myself a chance to be happy then how will I know? I won’t be able to go back and change it if I push him away now.
I force the guilt back down, wishing it would stay there because I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m a responsible adult and I am allowed to date.
“This is beautiful,” I say, but I forget to remove my eyes from the outline of his cock against his pants, where I was absent-mindedly staring while wrapped in thought.
“You can take a closer look if you want, but I may need to send the staff away.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. “The table. This. It’s very sweet and thoughtful of you to set this up.”
“Don’t give me too much credit. I was honestly trying to figure out a way to keep your clothes off as long as I could. This was the best idea I had.”
I laugh as he guides me into a chair at the table and lets his hand graze my ass. The quick touch makes my pulse race and fills my thoughts with dirty and dark desires. He takes his seat across from me with a knowing look on his face.
“Well, whether your intentions were good or not, this has been great. I’ve never been on a date like this before. Just movies and chain restaurants, pretty much. Maybe mini golf here and there.”
“So it is a date?” he asks.
I sigh. “I forgot I was trying to keep you hanging on that.”
The chefs take the fish we caught and begin filleting them right by the water on a cutting board. I half-watch, but I can barely draw my attention away from the way the candle light flickers in Damian’s eyes as he watches me. His attention doesn’t waver, not even for a second. He’s consumed by me, and I’ve never felt so flattered by a man’s attention.
Before long I’m just as entranced, unable to look away in what must be several minutes of wordless communication like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’d normally find my eyes darting away from a man’s after a few seconds of silence, overcome by awkwardness and the impulsive need to fill the silence. But with Damian?
I feel comfortable. I listen to the water lapping at the sand to our side, to the crackle of wood burning beneath the grill, and to the rustle of wind through the palm trees beside us. The smell of freshly cooked fish begins to fill the air as well, mingling with the sweet salty smell of the ocean.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
“Took you a while to think of that one.”
He smirks. “I didn’t see you complaining.”
The server, a smallish woman with blonde hair tied back in a severe ponytail brings us plates. “We have two fresh lobster cakes crusted with panko. The sauce is a jalapeño lemon drizzle. Please enjoy.”
I give Damian an ooh so fancy wiggle of my eyebrows. He half-smiles.
“I think I’ve only ever had crab cakes. And those were imitation crab,” I say.
“You’ll enjoy these, then.”
I pick up my fork, looking at the food and not feeling as sure as he does that I’ll enjoy it. I’ve never been a fan of spicy foods, and the idea of lemon and jalapeños mixed together sounds kind of unappealing. Still, I don’t want to be rude. I’m sure this whole night cost a fortune, including the food, and I’m not about to be ungrateful by turning my nose up.
I take a forkful and bite in. The crust on the lobster cake is perfectly crisp in a way that complements the smooth, creamy interior. The first taste that hits my tongue is a savory blend of herbs in the breadcrumbs. The rich lobster flavor comes through next, followed by a sweet bite of spice from the jalapeño and then
the acidic bite of the lemon is quick on its heels to neutralize the burn on my tongue.
“Oh my God,” I say. “That’s so good.”
“I know. I come here all the time, and these are a big part of the reason.”
“Do you bring a lot of women here?” I ask. I mentally scold myself as soon as the words are out. Really? Could you have possibly fabricated a sentence to sound more needy and jealous than that? Of course he brings other women here, he--
“It would probably sound less sad to say I do,” he says, sounding unfazed by my immature question. “In all honesty I haven’t even looked at another woman that way since I laid eyes on you. I always thought men who talked like that in absolutes with women were full of shit. They’d say once they met their wife, they stopped noticing other women. I never believed it until you.”
I swallow hard, not failing to notice the way he might have just implied he could see me as a wife. He really doesn’t move slowly, does he?
“Say I decide I can really trust you completely to be part of my life and my son’s life… Have you thought about the possibility that I might not be everything you’ve spent three years imagining I am? What if you couldn’t stand living with me, or the way I sing in the car? As much as it’s nice to hear all the things you’re saying, I don’t know how you can know with so much certainty.”
He sets his fork down, leaning forward just enough to intensify the effect his eyes have on me. No matter how much he looks at me, I can’t stop wanting more of his attention. Having those eyes of his on me feels like a drug, one I can’t get enough of.
“I know people,” he says. “It’s how I made my fortune. It’s part of the work I do every day. It has always been a gift of mine. Everyone says so much more than they realize through their body language, and I’ve been fluent in that language as long as I can remember. You’re not saying it, but what you’re really worried about is that my sexual needs will be more than you can handle.”
A jolt of surprise runs through me. Whether I realized it or not, I think he’s right. That fear was at the heart of what I was saying. “And what if it is more than I can handle?” Is it a deal breaker? That’s the real question I’m asking, and maybe the most important. It might even be the only thing standing between us. What if I can’t dive into the lifestyle he wants. What if I can’t live my life as some kind of submissive to him?
“I’ll make this as clear as I can,” he says. “My sexual appetite revolves around you. You know what gets me off? You know the only fucking thing that has brought me any kind of pleasure for the last three years? The idea of making you cum.”
One of the chefs pauses, knife held in her hand. I feel a flush of embarrassment when I realize they can probably hear every word he’s saying right now, but judging from the looks they are exchanging, they are all wishing they were sitting where I am right now.
“I don’t care if you cum because I’m fucking you missionary while you wear a bathrobe with the lights off, because we’re sneaking a quick fuck in a place where people could find us, or because I’ve got your hands tied up over your head and I’m spanking your ass with a paddle. All I care about is giving you the hardest, most life-shattering orgasms I can. That is my sexual appetite.”
I feel a little dizzy, and my pussy is so hot and wet it feels like I need to jump back in the ocean or…
No. The “or” isn’t an option. Not yet. Damian knows what to say to make me want to leave logic and good sense at the door, but I still don’t know enough about him.
“That’s--well,” I say, clearing my throat and taking a drink from the glass of wine I just noticed by my plate. “That’s good to know.”
I shift in my chair at the office, struggling to think of anything but him. I let out a long breath, shaking my head.
“So?” asks Melina, who rolls her chair over during Greg’s usual bathroom break.
“So what?” I ask, but we both know exactly what she’s talking about.
She gives me a dry look. “Don’t make me beg for details. You know I’ll do it. I’ll get down on my knees. I’ll suck your toes.”
“Ew,” I laugh. “I’ll tell you as long as you promise not to suck my toes.”
“Deal. Why, were they already sucked last night on your wild date with Mr. Billionaire?”
“No, for starters. And what makes you think he’s a billionaire?”
Melina clicks her tongue in disappointment. “Young Kylie. One of these days I’ll introduce you to this crazy thing called the internet, where all the answers you could ever want are right there at your fingertips.”
“I’m not an idiot. I just,” I clear my throat, realizing I’m about to admit just how reckless I’ve been so far. “I don’t actually know his last name.”
“I didn’t either,” she says. “I didn’t even know his first name. But there are only so many billionaires in the world, so finding a list of billionaires with homes in California wasn’t hard at all. Then I just had to cross-reference the names with pictures annnd, tada! In less than four minutes I had a sizzling picture of Mr. Damian Price on my computer screen. Thirtieth richest man in the US, business and real estate tycoon, blah blah blah. Point is, he has a lot of money, and he’s hot as hell. And you went on a date with him last night. So you had better spill every last detail or so help me God, I’ll take you into the broom closet and waterboard you.”
“You’ll waterboard me? First you want to suck my toes and now you’re going after my boobs?”
She spits out a surprised laugh. “Waterboard, Kylie. You’re thinking of motor-boating. Waterboarding is torture, motor-boating is… never mind. The point is I’ll torture your innocent little ass if I have to.”
I grin. “You’re absolutely crazy.”
“Yeah,” she says, bulging her eyes threateningly. “So don’t test me, bitch.”
I laugh, covering my mouth quickly incase Greg has lurked back into the office. The sound of laughter draws his attention as quickly as blood in the water draws a shark. He can smell fun from miles off and will come to stomp it out as fast as he can.
I spend the next few minutes filling her in on every detail of the date. When I’m finished, her eyes are dreamy. She leans back and raises her eyebrows with a satisfied sigh. “Wow. I didn’t even know they had a place like that. And the whole private dinner on the beach thing? That was a nice touch. Very nice. So what next? Are you seeing him tonight? This afternoon? On your lunch break? I need more!”
“Calm down, I mean, I don’t even know for sure. He said he wanted to see me again, but we didn’t set anything in stone.”
“He drove you back home, you didn’t even kiss him, and he just said he wanted to see you again?”
I shrug, hoping she doesn’t see the guilty look on my face. I may not have told her absolutely everything, like the fact that Damian walked me to my door and gave me a kiss that still has my knees feeling like warm butter.
I kissed him even though I told myself to wait. But I don’t know who could’ve resisted in my position. Who could stay cold under those blazing blue eyes of his?
“He might have been a little more specific than that,” I admit.
“Like how?”
“He said he wanted to bring me to a BDSM club. He said I didn’t have to do anything, but he wanted me to see what it was like to be his submissive for a night.”
Melina’s jaw literally drops. “He’s into BDSM? Are you serious?”
“You’re surprised? I met him at that crazy party you made me go to. You know, the one with the room full of people in red clothes who were slapping each other with whips and having sex out in the open?”
“I already told you I didn’t know about that little section of the party. I totally would’ve crashed that area if I knew.”
“Well, do you remember the guy I told you about three years ago in the airport? The computer cords he tied around my wrists…”
She claps her hands to her face. “It’s him?” she gasps. “Shut up!”
“No!” I hiss, looking around for Greg. “You shut up before you bring Greg down on us both.”
She rubs her hands over her knees, shaking her head. “This is so insanely cool, Kylie. You know you have to go right? You need to fuck him. Not just for yourself. Not just for me. For every woman alive. You need to go to that club and be his little submissive, whatever that even means, and you need to enjoy every fucking second of it. Do you understand me? I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll disown you if you pass this up.”
I roll my eyes, smiling a little. “You can’t swear on your mother’s grave if she’s not dead yet.”
“Just because she’s still alive doesn’t mean we haven’t ordered the headstone.”
“Seriously?” I ask, frowning in disgust.
She tries to look offended, but can’t pull it off. “It doesn’t matter if we’ve ordered the stupid headstone. All that matters is you and him going to that club. I’ll watch Dean for you if I have to.”
“Angie’s still with me for another couple days, thanks to Alec.”
“See? You have no excuse. Literally no excuse.”
I rub my temples. “You are like a bulldog sometimes. You know that? You just grab on and don’t let go until you get what you want.”
She snaps her teeth playfully at me.
I laugh. “I’ll go, but only so you’ll get off my back about it.”
Damian helps me out of his car in front of a place in a very ritzy part of the city that looks like a nondescript brick box. “This is it?” I ask, feeling a little unimpressed. I was expecting a sleek, modern style building with big floodlights or something. Maybe a huge neon sign of a woman with a whip.
“High profile clients,” he says. “They would rather not broadcast what kind of club this is to anybody who happens to be driving by. You’ll find senators, actors, TV personalities, doctors, and any other type of person you can imagine inside. I’m not just talking about the men, either.”
Knocked Up by the Dom Page 7