Disciplined by the Dom (8 page)

Her fingernails dug into her own skin as she fought not to bring her hands around, to grip the hair on his head and pull him into her. She wasn’t physically bound, but she could not move. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand anything that was going on inside her body, and when she felt the first rumblings of an orgasm barreling towards her, again her first instinct was to fight it or flee or
something
. She couldn’t lose control, couldn’t…

But she did.

He tore it out of her, relentless, sucking on her clit until she came for him, screaming, again.

Something clanged, and a jolt rocked her body, pulling the clamps at her nipples harder. It took Catie a moment to realize it was her chair, coming back to rest on the ground. She had been fully prepared to accept that it was internal, an aftershock, some other new thing. The clamps were gently removed and her nipples began to fill with a rush of blood. She whimpered slightly from the pain of it, the way a leg hurts when it’s been asleep, and then her blindfold was removed and she saw Jake kneeling between her legs, his thumbs pressing softly into her nipples, massaging them slowly.

“You’ve done very well,” he said.

“At what?” she mumbled. She still quivered, her knees shaking against his ribs.

He smiled.

“So far I’ve discovered how you react to various stimuli and peppered you with exploratory questions in a way designed to disorient so you could not lie. You did very well, Catie. I will be able to train you.”

Now she opened her eyes fully and tried to sit up straight, but she couldn’t get the proper leverage with her hands still clasped behind her back. Instead she glared at him with the aggression of a woman who is overcompensating.

“Why do you think I would lie?” she demanded.

Jake’s eyes held her own, but seemed, for a moment, far away. She needed him to be close to her and she needed to hide from him all at once, and because it was impossible, she felt herself starting to get angry.

“Everybody lies,” he said, and rose.

She had no answer for that.

He reached down to cup her cheek and tilt her face up to his. “If I had asked you if you enjoyed bondage, I am not sure you would have been truthful, even to yourself. You think you like to fight. And you do, at times. But you also have kept your hands clasped behind your back this entire time, without the aid of physical restraint. We have learned something new.”

Catie forgot to be angry for a moment, and instead was bewildered. She had. She still
was
.

“You may release your hands now.”

She brought them back quickly to her lap and found that they were trembling. Jake had been inside her head again. Despite her best efforts, despite the fact that she had her own job to do, despite everything that made it a terrible idea. He’d been inside her head because she’d let him in. Burning with recrimination, she pulled her skirt back down and moved to close her shirt.

“No,” he said sharply. “Leave it open. I like to look at you.”

Catie paused. No, she hesitated. There was a moment where her hands hung in the air, and they could go either way, when she was deciding whether to obey. It was only that he had come so close to her again, had been inside her, even if he hadn’t…

No, she could do this. She let her hands fall to her sides and felt herself begin to flood with warmth again, even so soon after coming for him.

His thumb brushed her cheek, a gesture of approval, and without thinking, she turned and took it into her mouth. She sucked on it and let her tongue slide over it before nipping it with her teeth.

She heard his intake of breath as she let his thumb go and she looked up at him, feeling somehow triumphant. He was rigidly motionless, his face on fire.

Stiffly, he said, “There is one last question.”

chapter
8

“Who would you call if you were in trouble?” Jake asked.

Catie blinked. She must have misheard.

“What?”

“Who would you call if you were in trouble? If you needed help—if something went wrong here. Someone you could trust to come to your aid, no matter what the situation,” he said.

He was still looking at her. Catie wanted to look anywhere else but up at him. She cast about wildly, looking for something, anything. She thought she had been prepared for his questions, she thought she could rely on her improvisation skills, but now her mind was blank. It wouldn’t allow her to think about this. Her eyes fell on the black box, still on the table, and she almost wanted to cry with relief.

“You said I could choose a card from the box if I couldn’t answer,” she said, her words coming very quickly. “I choose the box. I’ll choose a card.”

“No.”

His fingers threaded through her hair, and she remembered the last time they’d been together and looked over at the table, wondering. But he wanted her to look at him.

“Not for this question. This question, you must answer.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You must.”

“You can’t make me.”

She cringed. She hadn’t meant to sound like a child. She hadn’t meant to be reminded of her own pathetic situation. Volare was an escape from that, it was her way out, it was a place where she could be someone else, not the poor little rich girl who wasn’t rich anymore and whose family didn’t give a shit about her.

That was it. She wasn’t just drawing a line in the sand. She didn’t want to answer because she knew the answer, and it was terrible.

“Catie,” he said softly.

She looked back up at him again and pretended she didn’t have tears welling up in her eyes.

“Is it because there isn’t anyone?” he asked.

He’d know if she lied this time. He’d know, and he’d know she could lie about anything. And yet, admitting it would make it real. She hadn’t thought about how often she lied to herself; about how often she’d pretended that her father was about to come around, that she’d hear from him soon, that it would all turn out to be a mistake. But now someone else had asked. Now Jake had guessed, and she couldn’t lie any longer, not even to herself. She wasn’t a coward. She plunged ahead.

“Yes,” she said. “There isn’t anyone. I’m alone.”

He looked at her for what felt like a long time. Several times, she thought he was about to say something, but he never did. He just stood there, stroking her cheek, smoothing her hair, watching her with eyes that had gone soft.

Finally, he said, “Thank you for telling me, Catie. I will arrange for something. Stay here. I will be back shortly.”

And he walked out of the room.

Catie was slightly stunned. She didn’t pretend to know so much about Volare and the rules and expectations surrounding a training session, but she knew people, and she knew he shouldn’t have
left
. He’d just made her answer all these questions, he’d just made her answer
that
question, he’d made her come again—he shouldn’t leave her. He should…

Well, what did she want from him? He’d said he didn’t get attached. He wasn’t “built” that way. But then he got so close to her, so close to something hard and sensitive deep inside her, a place where she was bruised all over, something she’d been able to block out, emotionally, until he came along and demanded access to it. Something he made more real by asking those questions. No, she didn’t have anyone. She was alone. No one wanted her. Thanks for pointing it out.

And now the person she’d felt closest to was someone who said he wouldn’t get attached. Someone who left her here, after all that.

“Screw this,” she said, and dressed herself.

She felt her old defenses growing back, like a scab. She had to remember why she was here. It helped to think of it as a tactical diversion, part of a larger strategy. What would a Roman general do?

She eyed the room critically. She might as well learn something.

That’s when she saw his jacket, still hanging on the back of his chair. Even if she wasn’t worth anything to anyone else, she could prove she was worth
something
. She could do what she came here to do: file her story and support what remained of her family.

She walked over to it, and hesitated for just a moment. Even with everything that had just happened, even with the way he’d refused to tell her his name, even with everything she needed to do to save her grandmother, there was something in her that was repelled at the idea of going through a man’s wallet.

“Get over it, creampuff,” she said, and rifled quickly through the pockets.

It was a simple, fine leather wallet, but expensive. She could tell from the quality of the leather. But she could tell he was rich from the suit he was wearing today, and from the fact that his clothes were always tailored. Many of the members of Volare had money; it was no surprise.

His name, however, was a surprise. A shock, in fact.

She read off of his driver’s license twice. Then she read it again.

“
That
Jacob Jayson?” she said aloud.

“Yes,” Jake said behind her. “
That
Jacob Jayson.”

Oh shit.

Oh. Shit.

Slowly, she turned. There was no point in hiding what she’d been doing. She was still holding his wallet and his driver’s license. And he’d heard her say his name. His name that he very obviously wanted to protect, and for very good reason.

Jake—Jacob—stood in the middle of the doorway, his hand still resting on the doorknob. His face had lost all expressiveness, which was somehow worse. She expected him to be angry, upset, betrayed. She could have responded naturally to that, could have fought back. Could have reacted, could have improvised. But he surveyed her with the cold calculation of a machine, and now she knew what it was really like to be lonely in this room. The anger she’d felt when he’d left flooded in to fill the vacancy.

“You wouldn’t tell me,” she said. “It wasn’t fair. You had just asked me…you had just demanded that I tell you things that were so private, and you wouldn’t even tell me your
name
. How could I trust you?”

He was silent.

“You
deserved
it,” she said hotly.

At the snap of her words Jake’s head tilted back, as though he’d been struck, and a flicker of human emotion lit up his face. Catie was afraid to move, to speak, to breathe, for fear of what that emotion would be. She herself was torn between righteous indignation at the fact that he really did deserve it, and guilt because, well, that’s not the only reason she’d done it. And then Jake stepped forward, and she saw him more clearly. She saw that he was lit up with…

Lust?

“You play games, Catie,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You play games to provoke. I do not know why, as of yet. But let’s find out what kind of response you crave.”

What I crave…

His tone sent shivering sparks shooting through her body until her skin tingled all over. She already knew what it meant.

“You must be disciplined,” he said, and pulled the table across the floor with a harsh screech, back to the center of the room. Catie stared at it, wide-eyed.
Disciplined.
The word itself sent her blood rushing to her core. She was feeling lightheaded again, her pulse throbbing in every sensitive part of her, her hearing dulled.

“Disciplined?” she asked. Her throat was dry.

“I won’t call it punishment yet,” Jake said. “That remains to be determined. But you promised your obedience, Catie. Now obey. Bend over and lay your forearms flat on the table.”

This.
This
. This was the energy she remembered from Lola’s office, when he’d dragged her up by her hair…

She walked over to the table in a kind of trance. The anticipation was better than any drug she’d ever tried back in her wild teenage years. Every nerve felt alive and primed and happy, ready to sing out in a chorus of sensation. Even pain.

She bent over and put her forearms flat on the table. She felt hot between her legs, and that familiar peace came over her as all thought disappeared from her mind, leaving only her desire behind. She wanted him. She wanted his domination. She needed relief—from lying, from the interview. From doing things she knew to be wrong. From everything.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

His fingers danced up the backs of her naked legs, and she sighed. He grabbed the hem of her skirt and yanked it over her buttocks, so rapidly she thought she heard the fabric rip. That small sound gave her chills.

Her underwear was still lying ruined on the floor somewhere. He’d be able to see how wet she was for him all over again. She listened hard for the sound of a zipper,
wanted
to hear the sound of his zipper, was aching to feel him inside her again, but instead—

“Oh, I’m not going to fuck you,” he said behind her. “You don’t deserve to be fucked again yet.”

And then she felt his first blow.

It was his hand, just his open palm, expertly placed at the juncture where her buttocks curved into her legs so that it stung in rippling waves that shook her flesh and made her ache for more. Her breasts swung forward and her sore nipples brushed the table through her shirt, and she gasped.

He spanked her again and again, until she could feel the wetness spill down her inner thighs, until she thought she would come just from the impact. She moaned, and started to arch toward him, and she thought, for just a moment, she thought he might…

He grunted and put his hand between her legs, as if just to remind her she was still under his control. She did not move, held still at the precipice. Her body needed to come.

“No,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and she thought she heard it tremble. “This is your punishment, Catie. If you want to be trained by me—if you want to be trained at Volare—you will not come again without my permission.”

She turned her head to protest, but his hand kept her locked in place. Not without his permission? The idea made her so hot, and so frustrated. She made a fist with her hand and slammed it down on the table.