How to Discipline Your Vampire (19 page)

And damn, if he didn’t taste delicious. I couldn’t get enough—if only they made ice cream in William flavor. Just like William, however, it would go straight to my thighs. Heh. I can’t take credit for that one—that was all Bizzy.
Maybe I’d let it go straight to my ass,
I wondered, then pulled my head from the gutter.

Oh wait, I was giving a BJ, of course my head was in the gutter. And by the gutter I mean his lap, bobbing up and down like a sexy buoy.

I knew he wanted to groan and grunt, and grab my hair. It was a shame I wasn’t letting him. But, however, I would offer a consolation.

I looked up, and tried my best to read his mind. “William,” I said, temporarily removing my mouth, “you have my permission, you know,” I hinted, and went back to work.

He waited until he was all the way inside before coming silently. While he didn’t move or speak, I could tell from the faint tremors in his hips and from the sensation in my esophagus that I had brought him ultimate pleasure.

I sat up, uncuffed him, and told him he did a wonderful job.

“I think you’re the one who did a wonderful
job,
” he joked.

I shook my head in dismay. “William, did you just make a funny?” I asked, stunned.

He smirked. “I think I’m capable of anything when I’m with you,” he said, chuckling. “But honestly, that wasn’t an easy assignment, Mistress,” he said, giving me a peck on the mouth. “But I loved the challenge.”

I nodded with satisfaction. “So did I,” I said. And that was the truth.

After he dropped me off at my house, I found myself sniffing his jacket, which I had thrown over my shoulders in the cold theater after we had our fun.

And I really do mean fun on several levels. Sexually, we were having a blast, but also, we were starting to laugh together. To go to the movies together. That was
fun
.

But the other hesitation I was having didn’t go away, and I didn’t imagine it would. Yes, William was able to assuage my fears of being rejected and fooled. I now understood his sincerity, unquestioningly. He wasn’t lying to me, and he wasn’t tricking me. He wanted to be with me and I truly did believe him.

But, with every scene and every physical experience we had, one thing became more and more clear to me: We were
not
equals. I was a Domme—a Domme craved things and her submissive provided them. Now, William was an epic provider. Sexually, I was beyond satisfied, and creatively, he stimulated my craving for role-play. That should be enough, right?

But, he was faking the physical restraints, and that was hard for me to swallow. Heh. No, really. I know that no matter how many ropes, chains, and shackles I threw at him, he could tear through them as if they were made of paper. Physically, he was more than my match, and much more than any other man. He was faster, smarter, stronger, and simply better than me. How could I delude myself into thinking I was dominating him, even for a second?

I hated that he put on a façade when I bound him. He did it because that’s what was expected of him, and because it was what I “wanted,” but I didn’t want an
illusion
of dominating him—I wanted to actually be able to restrain and give him that delicious blend of pleasure and pain that I was very good at doling out. There was an illusion going on in my bedroom, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

How could I ever truly get the upper hand? Sure, he did what I asked, but there is a visceral feeling inside me that comes alive when I tie someone up and spank him. And with William, well, it may
look
like I was feeling that, but I knew I was really just putting on a flimsy show. He was supernatural, and I was weak.

And I hated feeling weak.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cerise

CAN WE TALK
?
William texted me an hour after he left.

OF COURSE,
I replied and started to make myself dinner. Within minutes, he was at my doorstep.

“Back for more?” I asked devilishly. He dropped his keys on my coffee table and walked toward me with that needy yet submissive manner.

“I have a request. I want to talk,” he said with a jaunty wag of one eyebrow.

I hugged him tightly and gave him a peck on the mouth as I stood on my tiptoes. “You did seem a little quiet today. This had better be good, Gentry.”

He tongued my neck, and swirled lightly on my earlobe. “That goes without saying.”

I groaned and writhed against him. “I think I want to make a request first,” I panted.

His mouth moved south down my neck and his tongue flicked open the buttons on my shirt. “You’re distracting me.”

I gripped his silky black hair as he finished unbuttoning my shirt. As he kissed my navel, I pulled his head back sharply. He looked up at me with those endless indigo eyes.

My hands ran from the top of his head, down his cheeks, and grabbed his jaw. “Now, what could make my dirty boy come back so soon?”

He grimaced and hesitated before he spoke. “You said something in your sleep last night. I need to know if you were serious.”

“What?” I said, raising my voice an octave. “I say a lot of stupid shit in my sleep. What was it?” Did I call him by someone else’s name? Did I cry for my mommy? Did I sing show tunes?

He sighed. “You asked to become a vampire.”

I gasped. “No. Way.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I even mentioned it. What girl in her right mind would want to be a monster?”

I made a sound of disgust in my throat, annoyed by his self-pity. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just . . .” I trailed off, trying to pinpoint why this question made me so queasy. Did I say that? More important, did I want to?

“So was it just a fantasy you were having in your sleep? Wanting to be together long-term, without the commitment fears when you’re awake?”

“First off,” I said with a warning tone, “our relationship revolves around me calling the shots, not you. If I want something to change about our relationship, like, whether or not I was alive or dead, I’d say so.”

William’s shoulders sagged. “Good.”

Wait, good? He didn’t want to change me? Or did he want me to change for his own purposes? I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking about this?”

“I just thought . . .”

“What? That I’d finally be able to spank you harder?”

His face fell. He had lost an inch in the last minute. “Don’t push me, Cerise.”

“
You
seem to want to push conversations that I don’t want to push,” I exploded.

He laughed bitterly. “And that’s part of it, too.”

“How?”

“Why would you want to become a vampire when you won’t even admit your feelings for me?” he finished quietly.

“This relationship is working fine as it is. Why would you want it to be different? That’s why you asked if I was serious or not. You’re trying to get me to commit by becoming a vampire.”

He crossed his arms. “Is it so horrible that I’d like to think of our relationship in terms of decades of sharing our love, and not years? I know it makes me sound weak, Cerise, but I need it. Love.”

“Your journals never spoke of a need for love,” I hissed. “Just a good spanking. This is because you think I’m the weak one. I’m not enough for you the way I am.”

His head sunk. He looked cowed. “Of course you’re enough for me, Cerise. And yes, I said love and I meant it. Everyone needs love, even a creature like me.”

“Oh don’t drop that bullshit on me now. That vampire self-loathing crap. We were doing just fine before you said those words, and we’re doing fine now. Except in the spanking department.”

He took a step away from me, and tore his eyes from mine. “You really think this is about inadequacy? If only you’d open up to me more, we could talk about things like this without you flying off the handle. Let me in.”

I threw my hands in the air. “I’ve given you what you’ve wanted up until now—can’t you just let things happen naturally?” Part of me wanted to go along with it, to discuss becoming a vampire, but how could I do that without losing the upper hand?

He pointed his finger at me. “This is what I’m saying, Cerise! Just let things happen naturally! Let our relationship evolve. If you’re so thrilled with what we’ve got going, why won’t you consider taking the next step? Let’s start to talk more. Maybe once you’ve buried your demons you’ll be fine with yourself and we can discuss the long term.”

That stopped my breath.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘be fine with yourself’?”

He met my eyes once more. “You have baggage, Cerise. Make things right in your life. Unburden yourself from your past. Enjoy life. Then, if what your subconscious told me last night is true, then I can help you enjoy death.”

I blinked at his words.

William uncrossed his arms, opening his posture boldly. He meant business.

“My life is fine, thank you. Now will you come down from that high horse and talk to me for real? What is this really about?”

He groaned and plopped into a chair. “You make no move to commit in any way toward me aside from our Domme/sub relationship, and I know you want more. I can feel it in every touch, every conversation. What’s more is that you won’t share more of your past with me, not even that silly recipe box. I’ve shared the journals from my entire life with you, and you won’t even let me peek into your past scenes. You know you can trust me, right?”

I sat next to him, measuring my anger and tempering it with sympathy. I really hadn’t given much in this relationship. “I’m commitment shy in the traditional sense. I’ve never had a good rapport with either parent, and they hated each other. Let’s just say I have no role models in the healthy relationship department. So no, I don’t want to bring that into this.”

He looked at the floor. “Then we have different ideas about where this is going.”

I swallowed hard. “I guess so,” I whispered.

“I’m going into work for a bit,” he said, and left without another word.

As I sat on the couch, flipping through magazines, I thought about my fear of commitment.

How tight a ring would feel around my finger. The fear of shedding my last name, part of my identity.

And ultimately, these thoughts led back to Brent.

Brent Sorenson and I were together for a
long
time.

He had put together countless scenes for me, and while they weren’t as extravagant as William’s, they were certainly impressive.

His last scene, however, was the deal breaker.

I came home to the entire house lit by a dozen paper lanterns. Bouquets of white gardenias and roses filled the house and made it smell like a spring garden.

I was a little worried that night. He had been really mushy and sentimental all week, saying words like
love
and
commitment
and even
babies
. I blew off the conversation every time.

No lie, though—my submissive was begging for my babies. I told him my uterus was off-limits. And, as the gatekeeper, Bizzy agreed.

He had said over the phone that tonight would be special. To block off the next day, and take off from work. I should have known what he had planned.

In the bathroom hung a white wedding gown, complete with a veil. It was beautiful—halter top, mermaid fit, glitter and glam to a minimum. Classy. The shoes that went with it were tiny, dainty little kitten-heel pumps. He put a lot of care into it, and even though the idea of a honeymoon scene squicked me, I gave in and put it on grudgingly.

He walked out of my bedroom in a tux. His super-cut body looked really nice in a tailored suit, as opposed to his usual attire of wifebeater and jeans.

“Mrs. Sorenson,” he said with reverence as I walked out of the bathroom completely mortified over the scene.

I nodded at him, and tried to avoid his eyes. His glare was so intense and so full of longing. I was embarrassed for him.

He scooped me up over the threshold of my bedroom, and into our “honeymoon suite.” He had placed little hotel-room items everywhere. Even a room service menu.

“I know you don’t like champagne, darling, so how about a little red wine?” he asked roguishly, handing me a glass.

I took it and gulped it down in three swigs. It was more than obvious that I was nervous. He looked at me warily, but refilled anyway.

“So, I know wine is relaxing enough as it is, but how would my new bride like a massage on her honeymoon night?” he asked, rubbing some almond-scented oil between his palms.

Brent was a master of massage. I was a sucker for his back rub, so I just smiled politely and lay down on my stomach.

He undid the halter, unzipped the white gown to the waist, and slipped the sides off my body. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and he got to work on my shoulders.

I groaned, and let my worries drop to the floor as Brent massaged my back softly. Every few minutes or so, I’d take another long sip of my wine, and let myself be pampered. This wasn’t as bad as I had thought . . . at first.

Once Brent had finished on my back, I wanted more. I wanted legs, I wanted arms, and Bizzy wanted a “deep-tissue” massage. So I flipped over preemptively.

And caught him off guard.

With a ring box in his hand.

“Uhh,” he stuttered. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

I frowned and said, “Of course I’ve seen it, silly, we’re married.” I tried desperately to keep him in the scene, and to prevent him from doing what I thought he was going to do.

“Cerise,” he said, “I want this to be real.”

I pulled the halter back up. “This is real,” I said, grabbing his hands. “That massage was real, and from my estimation, you weren’t done with it yet.” I put his hands on my thighs, and indicated what I wanted.

“No,” he said, quietly.

I gritted my teeth. “Excuse me?” I asked.

He pulled the ring from the box, and got down on his knee. “Please, will you marry me?” he asked.

“No, Brent.” I looked at him squarely. “The scene is over. Get dressed. We’ve danced around this subject enough, and you know not to question your Domme.”

He frowned deeply, and said, “But you’re not just my Domme, you’re my girlfriend, and I want to marry you.” He pulled out an envelope.

And handed me two plane tickets to Aruba. Dated the next day. “We could have a private ceremony on the beach.”

“You are not my boyfriend. You are my submissive. And I said no.”

He waved the tickets and ring in my face. “Do you really think I’d do all this just for a spanking? Seriously, Cerise—I love you. Not your whips and your cuffs, but you. Your mind, your soul. I fucking love you and I’m starting to think you don’t even care.”

That’s when the tears started. Tears for him, tears for me. “I’m not made of stone, Brent,” I explained. “And I do care. Really. Why else would I be with you for so long?” I cried. “But the truth is, I don’t see that kind of life with you.” The last part came out as a near whisper.

He looked at me, bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘that kind of life’? Normalcy?” he barked angrily.

“Babies, marriage, a white dress. It’s not me, and it’s not going to be my life. I never wanted that,” I said.

He approached me and looked me in the eyes. “I know you’ve been hurt. Now, I don’t know why, but I can assure you that I would never, ever hurt you.”

I shoved him away, knocking over the red wine. I scooted my feet away from the broken glass and resisted the urge to command him to clean it up. “This isn’t about me being
damaged,
Brent—I just know what I want. And what I don’t want,” I nearly shrieked. “How dare you question my values? Not everyone in the world wants needy little brats running around and breaking shit. I don’t need that kind of life to be happy.”

He picked the broken glass off the floor, but not before knocking the almond oil down into the already growing pool of liquid on the floor. “Then I guess you don’t need me. You just need a sub.”

I was hurt, and spoke with equal sting. “I guess so.”

And he left.

And I found other men to temporarily satisfy my needs. And he found Erin.

Then I found William.

Who rocked my world. Who shattered my preconceived notions of what my life could be. Brent just wasn’t right for me. He couldn’t see the happy medium between submissive and boyfriend. He could see only his cookie-cutter version of the future, and I’ll be damned if anyone were to decide to shape my future but myself. And if that future involved blood, well maybe I’d entertain it.

When William gets home, I think I’ll have a word with him.