Knocked Up by the Dom

by Penelope Bloom

  He steps close to me, caressing my cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes drop to my earrings.

  “White,” he says thoughtfully. The way his voice rasps in my ear like gravel sends heat blossoming from my chest to my core. It’s a vaguely familiar voice, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it. He exudes control and power, and my body responds to it. “Someone needs to teach you your place.”

  He pauses, and I realize it’s his way of making sure I want this. He’s giving me a chance to back out, to escape. I could smile politely and slip out right now with no harm done, but I don’t want to. The tingle of electric excitement across my skin has me more than curious. It has me hungry. I already feel something I’ve never felt before.

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “Someone should teach me.”

  He bites his lip and I’m transfixed as I watch his bottom lip flick back out from beneath those white teeth. I want to feel those lips against mine. I want his heat.

  “Red means you want me to stop, yellow means slow down. Do you understand?”

  Safe words. Yes. He’s giving me the safe words. The thought that things might get so intense that I would need them sends a fresh jolt of excitement through me. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.” He moves to the wall with paddles and whips, walking slowly as he drags a finger along them. He settles on a paddle, unhooking it from the rack and flipping it once in his hand before nodding with satisfaction. “This will serve,” he says.

  His eyes meet mine and I nod, sucking in long, ragged breaths. My heart pounds and I’m already so wet I can feel it soaking my panties. I’ve never been so turned on and he has barely even laid a finger on me.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the wall.”

  I find myself obeying without question, as if his words are as strong as his hands, forcing me into submission. My palms slide up the smooth wall. I’m still playing mental catch-up, replaying the last hours rapidly, trying to put my finger on the precise point where my relatively normal life took such a strange turn. I push down the thought that I’m selling myself. Five grand a week and I’m willing to enter a private room with a stranger and become the object of his desires?

  It’s not just about the money though. Money may have given me a push in this direction, but the reason I went through with it was deeper than that. I’ve spent my life watching my relationships fall to pieces because sex feels like a joyless exercise to me. When Scarlett described the club, a deep longing rose up in me. A deep, irresistible curiosity that I had to sate. I needed to know if this was the missing piece.

  My thoughts are ripped back to the present by the touch of the rubber paddle being dragged from my neck down my spine to my bottom. His fingertips graze my thigh, pulling my dress up over the swell of my ass. Goosebumps prickle across my exposed skin. My fingertips dig into the wall and I squeeze my eyes shut, biting my lip hard. I’m putting myself at his complete and total mercy, letting him have control, and it feels good. Fuck. It feels fantastic.

  His lips brush my neck, hot and wet, making me gasp. Smack! I jump, pressing my cheek into the wall as the circle of pain pulses on my ass where he hit me with the paddle. He soothingly rubs his hand over the spot, melting away the tingle of pain with his warmth.

  “That was for making eye contact,” he growls into my ear.

  I whimper, fighting back the urge to turn my head and look into his eyes, to kiss his lips. Giving in feels too good. It feels so right that I don’t want it to stop.

  His hand slips between my legs, cupping my wet panties. “So fucking wet,” he says, voice full of lust. “You would love to have my fat cock inside you, but you don’t deserve it. Not yet. You’ll have to learn to behave first.”

  I hear him walk away and wait, every nerve on my body tingling in expectation. At first I think it’s a tease. I think maybe he’s just dragging this out to make me want it more. It’s working, you beautiful asshole.

  There’s a long pause but I’m afraid to look. Then I hear his quick footsteps pass me and the door opens. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me trembling, dress hiked up over my hips. I step away from the wall, confused and hurt.

  What?

  I follow after him, but he’s already at the other end of the hallway, stepping down the stairs when I leave the room. I follow toward the lobby and see him leaving the club without looking back. He just left? Did I do something wrong? I spend the rest of the night sulking around the club in a haze, wondering what I could have done to make him leave.

  “I’ve never felt like that,” I say to Scarlett as we pack a box full of onsies. This shipment is going to Florida, and it gives me chills to think my business has grown so far already. Those chills are followed by something verging on nausea when I realize how quickly I could crumble beneath the weight of it all if I don’t keep working at Club Crave.

  Scarlett whistles appreciatively. “Damn, girl.” She jumps up on a table, nearly loses her balance, and rights herself at the last second. Once she has her balance, she crosses her legs beneath her and perches. Scarlett has a distinctly catlike tendency to want to sit in high, hard to reach places. She even adopts the same smug look of disinterest a cat would wear in her position. “I worked there almost a month before one of the doms so much as touched me. I can’t believe he took an interest in you so quickly.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say.

  Scarlett laughs. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying it’s not normal. You should be proud.”

  “Except for the part where he rushed out of the room without so much as a word? You’re sure that’s not just some normal BDSM thing?”

  “Not that I know of, no. You’re not going to back out of the job, are you?”

  “No,” I say. As mortifying as it was, being left by the masked man only made me hungrier. Even talking about it has me wet and throbbing. It has been three days and I still haven’t stopped thinking about him. “I need the money.”

  “Right,” says Scarlet, seeing straight through my excuse. “The money. Especially if it’s wrapped around Mr. Masked and Gorgeous’ “fat cock”.”

  “Shut up.”

  After we finish work for the day I step outside and check my phone. More texts from my mom and now my dad has been texting me too. I’ve been deleting his texts without even reading them, but I catch the preview and see “Please call me. Need to ta--”. I jab the delete button with my finger without opening it. The hurt from what he did is still too raw and fresh. It is reopening all the old pain from the divorce and I can’t deal with it right now. Maybe I won’t ever deal with it. That would probably be more than he deserves.

  My mom is still pushing about a cruise for her and Ronnie. I’m tempted to just dig myself that much deeper in loans to give her the money for it and get the stress off my mind. But I ignore her text too, shoving my phone in my purse. I’ve paid her back a hundred times over for raising me. I helped pay the bills and never took anything from her once I was able. Knowing it doesn’t erase the guilt and the need to help her anyway, but it helps.

  When I look up from my phone, I gasp.

  Logan fucking Steel is sitting on the bench outside my building, feet planted wide and looking gorgeous as sin. I try and fail not to stare as I walk past, suddenly so self-conscious that I nearly forget how to walk like a normal person.

  He clears his throat, and I falter, daring to turn my head toward him. He’s looking straight at me. I pause, not knowing what to do until he pats the bench beside him. I stupidly glance behind me, making sure he’s not looking at someone else. He’s not.

  I quietly move toward him, drawn to obey by some unspoken power in his eyes. I sit, and there’s not enough room on the bench to avoid my thigh touching his as I settle on the cold bench.

  “It wasn’t easy finding where you worked,” he says smoothly. “Once I realized you weren’t actually my employee, that is.”

  I look down, biting one side of my lip. “Wh
y did you want to find me?” I ask quietly.

  He looks thoughtful, as if he hadn’t even considered his motivations. “You intrigued me,” he says finally.

  Silence hangs between us as I’m lost for what to say. Even if he is gorgeous and wealthy, I can’t help feeling a little put off. “So you stalked me?” I might be accusing him of stalking, but as little sense as it makes, being stalked by a guy like him doesn’t have the same creepy vibe it might from another man. It’s actually turning me on.

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Call it what you want, but I’ll walk out of your life if you wish it.”

  I frown. Out of my life? Why does the innocent phrase spark desire in me? Why does the idea of this man being in my life appeal to me so much? “I don’t know what I want yet,” I say eventually. My mind goes to Club Crave and the masked man who paddled me, the man who had me dripping wet with anticipation and desire. I feel a slight pang of unease at accepting Mr. Steel’s attention, but then I remember how the masked man left me without a word. I didn’t make any commitment to him and he certainly didn’t to me.

  “Then maybe I can buy you a coffee?” suggests Mr. Steel.

  I don’t know if I’m driven to accept his offer because the list of reasons to say no is so short or because I’m trying to get back at the masked man somehow, but I accept his offer.

  25

  Logan

  I take her to a small independent coffee shop and order her a caramel mocha. I get myself a black coffee. I had intended to come clean right away, to tell her I was the man from the club. I wanted to tell her why I left so suddenly. I wanted to explain I had conflicting feelings from the mess my ex wife made and how it complicates things for me. Most of all, I realized I want to move things forward with her the right way. I don’t want it to be cheap and anonymous. I want her to know who I am, and I want to make sure the terms are clear and open from the beginning. No lies. No confusion. Just pleasure.

  I’ve already found myself pushing beyond the point of comfort. Revealing the truth now would be a betrayal. It would be ugly, and it might jeopardize our already fragile bond. I’m surprised by how unwilling I am to take that risk yet, even though I know the damage caused by withholding the truth will only get worse the longer I let this go on.

  I smirk over my coffee as I watch her talk about her business.

  Her eyes are slightly wide while she talks. I recognize the look. Whether it’s cars, computers, sports, or movies, everybody has a passion. Hers is her business, and I fucking love that about her already.

  “I had to try, you know?” she asks.

  She must not drink coffee regularly, because the caffeine seems to be having a profound effect on her, both opening her up and relaxing her.

  “I do,” I say. “I leveraged everything I had to build my businesses starting capital. At the time it seemed like an impossibly reckless decision, but I stood by it because--”

  “Because the alternative would have been worse,” she interrupts. Her voice is a little hushed, almost thoughtful like she’s thinking aloud. She gasps a little and covers her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I just interrupted you.” She sits up straighter and gestures like she’s zipping up her lips and throwing away the key.

  I smirk. “You had better unzip those.” My words hang, the rasp in my voice betraying more of my internal thoughts than I intended. The flush in her cheeks shows me she didn’t miss any of my meaning, either. “Because you were making an interesting point.”

  She clears her throat and looks down, running her finger through the water-ring left by her cup. “I was going to say most people don’t understand. They don’t get how you could risk everything for the business because they imagine how devastating it would be to fail. But they don’t realize it would be worse to let the idea die. Sometimes I think I’d rather lose everything than watch the possibility of what my business could be slip by.” She shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  “You’re making perfect sense. I feel the same way myself.” The drive she has turns me on like she can’t imagine. She reminds me of myself. She lives and breathes ambition, and the passion obvious in her voice and gestures is clear, but she’s also holding something back. Whatever she’s hiding is in the silences and the movement of her eyes when she talks about how quickly the company has grown. I can only guess, but if she’s working at Club Crave, she must be having some kind of money trouble.

  “My company has a number of branches and divisions. One of our branches is a fashion line,” I say. “We have a retailer that deals in baby clothing. I’d be interested to see some samples of yours. Maybe it would be a good fit for our store.” I’m offering her an easy out. A business partnership with my company would mean resources like she can’t imagine. She would have all the capital she could handle to expand and grow.

  Her eyes bulge and she leans forward. My gaze drops to her slightly parted lips and the hint of her pink tongue glistening between her teeth. I want to lean across the table and pull her into a kiss. I push down the desire and watch her expression, enjoying how plainly she wears herself in her features. In my line of work, most men and women have learned to betray nothing in their faces. I could be working alongside someone who plans to stab me in the back and have no idea. It’s refreshing seeing someone so open.

  Something dark settles over her features and she shakes her head. “I can’t take your offer. I appreciate it, but I can’t.”

  I nod my head, expecting as much. “You want to make it on your own or it won’t matter,” I say.

  Her eyes flick up to mine, surprised.

  “We’re not so different,” I say. “I expected you would refuse my offer. It’s part of what draws me to you. You can’t be bought.”

  I watch something pass over her face. Doubt. Guilt. Shame. She’s thinking about Club Crave.

  “I don’t think I’m the person you seem to think I am,” she says, standing abruptly.

  I stand too, gripping her forearm. “Sit,” I say with more force than I intend. The Dom in me came out in that moment. Something crackles between us. Sexual energy. Recognition. Heat.

  We slowly sit back down, eyes locked. I see recognition finally settle into her eyes. “You?” she asks. Her cheeks blossom with red. “You’re the one from the club. Oh my God,” she covers her face with her small hands.

  I gently pull them away, forcing her to look at me. “I should have said something sooner,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “Why did you leave?”

  No bullshit. She cuts straight to what’s on her mind. I admire that. “I wanted this,” I say, gesturing to the table and to us. “I wanted it to be real. And if I was going to have you, I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted it my way.”

  Her breath catches and her chest heaves in that way I’ve already come to love and crave. “Your way?” she asks quietly.

  “Complete control,” I say. “I have particular tastes and expectations. If we were to become involved it would be… less than ordinary.”

  She laughs a little nervously, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  I’m not the type to hesitate, but I do now. The danger of pushing too far and losing her is at the front of my mind. Losing her? The thought makes me want to laugh. She’s not mine. Not yet, at least. “I want to continue where we left off at Club Crave. This weekend. Will you be there?”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Good,” I say, standing. A thought occurs to me and I step closer to her, leaning down until her hair tickles my nose. “You will wear white cotton panties. Do you understand?”

  She nods her head, almost imperceptibly, eyes still staring forward and slightly wide.

  I leave her sitting in stunned silence. It feels odd, blurring the line between a traditional relationship and a dominant submissive relationship. But I have to keep the line clear. I came today to get a sense of who she is. It’s important to me before I can enjoy exploring her sexuality. I have to know she
’s a stable minded person. With that out of the way though, I need to close off that side of myself to her. Things can get complicated in all the wrong ways if I let this get too personal. Like I did with Lana.

  I step into my car, thinking about the way she agreed to wear the panties I requested without question. She is perfect. No question, no hesitation. She just agreed. I fucking love the way she submits to me. For the first time in years, I feel alive again, really alive.

  I blink the exhaustion from my eyes, only now realizing I’ve been buried in my laptop for several hours. It seems like forever ago that I met with Emmaline for coffee, even though it was only last night. Today’s Tuesday, and I have to wait until the weekend to see her again. Fuck. I don’t know if I’ll last that long. Every time I close my eyes, I see the way goosebumps rippled across her perfectly round ass. I see the way the sharp red circle appeared after I paddled her. She loved it. It was her first time submitting to a man, I could tell, and she fucking loved every second of it. She was probably wet from the moment I confronted her.

  I shift, adjusting my hardening cock. I might not be able to wait until the weekend to see her again.

  There’s a soft knock at my door before Lacey sticks her head in my office. “Logan--”

  “Mr. Steel,” I correct.

  She clears her throat. “Of course. Sorry. Mr. Steel. Your sister is-”

  My tall, athletic sister shoulders her way past Lacey. Her brunette hair is pulled back and slightly dented from the visor she was likely wearing all day. Olivia played tennis through college on a scholarship and now she owns her own tennis academy. As usual, she’s wearing a tennis dress and smells like sunscreen. She flashes me a white-toothed smile, ignoring the look of offense on Lacey’s face. Olivia raises a large brown bag and sets it on my desk.

  “I brought you Chinese. My sister senses were tingling and I figured you could use a little nourishment.”