How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (10 page)

Arm in arm, Aston and I purchased tickets for the boat ride along with the other tourists and we piled on to the long, flat ship. There were folks young and old, couples and groups, and a number of loners who wore ponchos and huge cameras around their necks. As we boarded, we were handed ponchos and I giggled as Aston slipped one over his head. “You look ridiculous,” I said.

He left its hood on and along with his sunglasses he looked like a complete fool. At least there was no moose hat. “Put yours on.”

“No way!”

“You’re going to get drenched,” he warned, taking the poncho from under my arm and draping it over my carefully sculpted hair.

“My shellacked hair is waterproof,” I said. “I don’t need your stinking poncho.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” Aston said as the boat started to move. The Falls arched over us and I marveled at their scope.

The roar was overwhelming, a sound unlike any I’d ever heard. The rushing waters completely drowned out every other noise—chattering voices, the boat’s motor, my own heartbeat. It was nature, raw and wild, and I took Aston’s hand as we gawked at the sight.

But the closer we got, the wetter the ride became. Maybe I should have put on the poncho. The mist that rose from the water rolled toward the boat in clouds of droplets, and soon the whole boat was drenched. Aston wiped the water off his glasses and looked down at me and laughed.

I looked like a drowned rat. The cute white blouse I’d tied in a knot at my tummy had become completely see-through, revealing that I was wearing a pink polka dot bra underneath. The flirty yellow skirt I’d paired with it now stuck to my butt and legs, and I was pretty sure that if I tried to walk I’d look like I was wearing a diaper. Ugh. I touched the top of my head and wanted to cry. My poof had gone splat.

Aston had removed his glasses and put them in his pocket. He pulled his hood down, allowing his perfectly slicked hair to get mussed by the roaring waters.

“What are you doing?” I asked, shouting. “You were nice and dry.”

He put an arm around me, but not before taking his poncho completely off. “Nobody in the world could make wet look so appealing,” he said into my ear. It wasn’t exactly a sexy whisper, more of a hushed shout, but the compliment made me shiver, and it wasn’t from the cold water.

“Come with me,” I said, moving us from the crowded railing toward the cabin of the boat. We were still in a throng of people, but I didn’t care. I put my arms on Aston’s muscular shoulders, pivoted him around and pushed him against the cabin’s side wall.

“Kiss me like nobody’s here,” I said.

Aston’s wet arms encircled me and he dipped me low before planting a passionate kiss on my mouth. We looked like the soaking-wet version of that sailor and nurse in that famous photograph where they’re kissing in Times Square at the end of World War II. Rivulets of water ran down our faces and bodies, but all that mattered was the heat that was coming from each other. The chill couldn’t touch us. I felt his erection through his thin, soaked clothing, and my nipples strained against my bra and shirt, aching to be touched and sucked. Aston’s tongue had invaded my mouth, and I pushed him harder against the wall, grinding into his muscular body. The memories of our few but heated encounters rushed through my mind, and I replayed our sexual history on repeat while we kissed. Aston tied to an anchor, the scorchingly hot oral sex on the side of the road, and last night’s taboo pleasures with some olive oil.

“I want you,” I moaned.

Aston looked down at me through his rain-dappled eyelashes. “There are at least five people watching us,” he whispered into my ear, then tongued it.

I pushed him away playfully. “Later,” I said, putting my hand on his chest, “you’re all mine.”

He grinned despite the torrent of water running down his nose. “I hope so.”

THE REST OF
the day was spent seeing the Falls from above, walking through town, and taking a stroll through the botanical gardens. We noticed a lot of people around town had wet clothes too, so we didn’t mind a soggy stroll. It was nice, just being together and doing “date-like” things. We were relaxed around each other, and there was a comfort we shared that was both new and familiar.

And yet a specter still loomed over me. Derek. All day I wanted to tell Aston what was going on back home, but I worried he’d want us to turn around. I also felt somewhat guilty that he was the one who bought the car. What if Derek demanded it back? What if he thought it was a scam that I sold it to the guy I was now dating? Despite all the fun we were having, the knot in my gut was a subtle reminder that all was not well. Fucking Derek, ruining my life from afar.

“Hey, so let’s head back to the hotel to change for tonight,” Aston said with a devilish look in his eyes.

“Riiight,” I replied slowly. “To change. Our clothes are nearly dry, Aston. You should have used that line hours ago.”

He nudged me. “I’m serious, Mistress. Just trust me.”

His face was so open, unguarded. And yet his smile still had that arrogant angle to it. He was toying with me somehow. “You’re up to something.”

Aston shrugged and took my arm and we hopped into the car and drove back to the suite. When I opened the door, I was stunned to see a black sequin wiggle dress hanging from the bathroom doorway. Behind it was a pinstripe suit.

“What’s this?” I asked, eyes wide.

Aston placed his hands on my shoulders and gave them a rub. “There’s a casino in town. Thought I’d take a beautiful dame there and play some cards. What do you say?”

I gaped at the dress and the suit. It was perfectly retro yet clearly brand-new. There were little cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, and I imagined I’d look like a singer in some jazz lounge. “Perfect,” I said, smiling. I knew just what hair I’d do and what jewelry I’d pick. “How’d you know my size?”

“I may have glanced at your skirt when it was on the floor,” he said with a roguish smile, then continued to his outfit. “I hope this suit is retro enough,” he said, pulling it off the door. “I had it delivered from this local store that specializes in vintage reproductions.”

“Perfect,” I said, checking the tags. “You’re right, this is the real deal.”

He snickered and rolled his eyes. “Glad you approve.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“Of course not.”

I swatted his ass. “Tell the truth.”

“Maybe a little.”

I gave him two more spanks. “There’s more where that came from if I get any more lip from you.”

He pouted playfully. “I thought you liked my lips.”

Standing on my tiptoes, I leaned in and took his lower lip between my teeth. “Then put them to better use.”

“Good morning, sunshine! Are you ready to greet the day and make it your bitch? All right, let’s get started. Your Domme tip of the day is to punish bad behavior and reward good behavior. Sounds easy, but when you have a tempting subbie you want to blow and he hasn’t earned it, well think again about that hummer. He’ll work harder for you if you reward him well, and if you reward him without having earned it, he won’t know your high standards! Now, as for your workout, do some imbalanced speed squats. Place eighty percent of your weight on one foot and only twenty on the other, and do fifty each side. Work those buns, woman! Sarah out.”

“You’re no fun.”

It was the third time Aston had said those words since last night.

The rain pattered on the roof of the car as we drove toward Chicago. It was going to be another eight-hours-of-traveling kind of day and we were both in foul moods.

“Wanting to play penny slots doesn’t make me no fun. It’s just a different kind of fun.”

He grumbled and gripped the wheel. We were only two hours in, but it felt like we’d been driving all day. “I just wanted to play cards, is that so awful?”

“I could play on one slot all night with what you play in one hand.”

“The other tables were a bunch of amateurs! And it’s none of your business.”

I brooded in silence, beginning to understand the scope of our relationship. I didn’t understand his lifestyle, and despite the dynamic between us, he wasn’t truly learning anything. Spending tons of money was just ingrained in him from an early age. Then again, I still had some food issues so maybe neither of us was making any progress. We were just starting to get to know each other, so a dose of reality had to happen sooner or later. He was a real person, complete with faults. Just like me.

“Are you mad?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me. He looked concerned.

I shrugged, not wanting to talk.

“I’m sorry if we have different opinions on the value of a dollar,” he added.

“It’s not the value of it, it’s the disregard of the value,” I explained. “What did you make at the restaurants your family owned? How much per hour?”

Aston bit his lip. “I don’t know.”

“You never looked at your checks?”

“Direct deposit,” he replied.

“Did you ever check your account?”

Again, he was at a loss for words. “I still worked for it. I still put in my time.”

I backed off for a second and just crossed my arms.

Aston took a measured breath and took my hand. “You knew what was up with me when we met, Veronika. You wanted to tame me, I agreed to it and here we are. Can’t you understand if maybe it takes time? Not many men out there would agree to having someone change them.”

I frowned. “It’s not that I’m trying to change—”

“You are,” he answered softly. “It’s okay. I know I’m spoiled and I know that having a better perspective on stuff like this is going to be right in the long run. I’m not against it, it’s just hard.”

Nodding, I squeezed his hand. “When you put it that way, I guess I understand. And I do agree it’s better in the long run, but I like you for you. Just a, you know, less cocky version.”

He stuck out his tongue. “You know you love it.”

I leaned over the seat and planted a kiss on his cheek. Just up ahead, there was a sign for a diner, Yolk’s on You. It was apparently attached to a comedy club.

“Let’s grab lunch here,” I said, pointing. “We still have a way to go until Chicago and that smoothie, while delish, isn’t doing enough.”

Aston made a sour face. “Those places are called greasy spoons for a reason. Let’s look for someplace nicer.”

I swung my head around and gave him the stink eye.

“Or here. Here’s fine.”

Smiling smugly, I sat in silence as he pulled into the diner. It was a cute little place with red shutters and daisies planted in the window box. The smell of pancakes wafted through the doors as we stepped inside. It was all retroed out, complete with vintage milkshake advertisements and chrome stools.

“This is your kind of place,” he said with a reluctant smile. “You win, I like it.”

“That’s the pancake smell talking,” I said as the young hostess showed us to a booth. “It’s picking you up by the nose and dragging you, the way it does in old cartoons.”

We sat down and glanced over the menu as the waitress poured us two steaming cups of dark coffee. I sniffed my cup happily and took a swig. “That’s the real deal,” I said with a smile. “Percolated.”

He glanced behind me. “I don’t see any brewers, so you’re probably right. I don’t like old coffee that’s been sitting on a burner, but how’d you know it’s perked?”

I tsked. “And you’re the gourmand? Perked coffee is always richer without being bitter. It’s because the water has to go up and over the grounds so many times, as opposed to drip coffee that only goes through once.” I took a long sip and nodded. Yeah, that’s the stuff.

Aston took a sip and I watched his mouth move around, tasting the flavors. “You’re right. Smooth but strong. I’ll make sure we only brew perked coffee in my restaurant.”

I leaned forward, excited. “So, aside from the whole Italian comfort food thing, what are you thinking for the concept?”

Aston tapped his lip. “How about I show you?” He pulled out his iPhone, spent a few minutes swiping, and held up the screen. It was a Pinterest board.

“So the concept design-wise is rustic but high-end. I like the idea of grass paper on the walls, sort of rattan-looking, but really sleek glass and brushed-nickel tables. The contrast, to me, is really nice. I found these stools for the waiting area that are bales of hay that have been coated in plastic laminate. Basically, think Tuscan color scheme—oranges, yellows, browns—but add in really high-shine and flat chrome elements to make it modern.”

I gaped at the images on the screen. “Aston, that is absolutely gorgeous.”

He beamed. “Want to see the proposed menu?”

I nodded so hard I looked like a bobblehead. He returned to his phone and flipped around a bit and then handed it to me.

I marveled at the selection. There were only around five appetizers, eight entrées, and a handful of desserts, but they were so innovative. “Arancini lollipops with rice pudding and gelato in the middle? Are you kidding?” I tapped my feet in excitement. While it wasn’t great for the figure, old-school rice pudding sounded so good right now.

He smiled. “It’s like making fried ice cream. You deep-freeze the gelato on a stick, then mold the sweet rice pudding around it, coat it in biscotti crumbs then flash fry it.”

I licked my lips. “You’re a genius.”

“You’re a bombshell.”

For a moment, we just stared at each other in happy silence. This wasn’t what I signed up for, but I was starting to give in to my feelings. He was more than a hot submissive; he had a sharp mind and a creative streak to match my own. I was starting to fall for the guy.

The waitress made her way over to us. “Now that you two lovebirds are done chatting, what can I get you?”

I glanced down at the menu. “I was going to get the fruit, yogurt, and granola cup, but he’s made me hungry. I’ll have the pumpkin pecan pancakes.”

Aston’s eyes bugged. “That sounds amazing. I’ll get the Irish Benedict.”

“Our hash is fantastic,” the waitress said, then freshened our coffee and walked away.

Aston reached across the table. “I’m happy I was able to make a bit of an impression on you,” he said. “I’m so glad you didn’t order rabbit food.”

I dropped his grip. “What do you mean?”

“Food is meant to be enjoyed. I’m just glad you didn’t pick something super low-cal. I need to have a bite of those pancakes.”

“So you’re trying to influence me the way I’m trying to influence you? But I’m your Mistress,” I finished with a whisper. I was trying to keep the tone light, but inside I was anxious.

Aston took my hand. “The way you view food, Veronika, concerns me.”

I stiffened. “I’m a model. It goes with the territory.”

He squeezed. “Food is a pleasure, not a threat. I’ve seen the way you look at fatty foods. It’s a mixture of desire and revulsion. Let it go, Veronika. Enjoy yourself. And if it still worries you, do it in moderation.”

My eyes threatened to water. “You know what it’s like to have someone put you down,” I said, my voice low. “You know that there are some lectures your mind just won’t erase. My ex called me fat all the time. He watched and criticized everything I put in my mouth. I will always feel as if I’m cheating if I eat something bad. I want to feel good about myself, but I spent a long time feeling inferior.”

Aston nodded. “I’m trying to undo some of those lessons, the ones that say I’m not good enough. Let’s both start to let them go, and listen to our own voices instead of theirs. Deal?”

I glanced hesitantly over his shoulder at the decadent cherry pie our neighbor was eating. It did look good. “Fine. I might start by ordering some pie for the road.”

We chatted for a few minutes about some of his other menu options when the food came out. My pancakes were a pretty orange color and covered in spiced nuts. I was glad it wasn’t a nut burger. I drizzled a bit of syrup over them and the pat of butter in the middle melted and rolled over the side. I gulped. Aston was trying to teach me food was something to be enjoyed, not feared. I owed it to him to give it a shot.

“To greasy spoons,” I said, hefting a bite into the air.

“To taking chances,” he replied and we clanged forks.

IT FELT LIKE
the twentieth hour of driving, but it was really only the fifth. “How close is Chicago?” I asked, craning my neck to see Aston’s GPS. I was driving, since we decided to split the duty equally. We both loved driving Johnny, but long hours took their toll.

“Another three or so,” he answered with a grunt. “Lunch was good, but I feel like I have to stretch my legs again.”

“I want to stretch everything,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “This road tripping is tough stuff. Plus I have some squats to do.”

“If only we had a bed and some rope,” Aston snickered. “Then we could really get our muscles working. And if you need to do some squats, my face is handy for that sort of thing.”

I pointed my finger at him. “Don’t you tempt me.”

Aston leaned over and licked from my shoulder all the way up my neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to tempt you, Mistress?” he whispered, then plunged his tongue into my ear with a hot swirl.

“Fuck,” I muttered, feeling my body dampen at the suggestion. I surveyed the road—lots of grasslands, some farms. Lots of long roads that looked like they led to nowhere. I put my blinker on and within a minute, I had taken off down a dirt road.

“Mistress?” he asked, continuing to assault my arms and throat with soft, suggestive kisses. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“Shut that pretty mouth before I do it for you,” I said. We drove down the dirt road into a thicket of trees with no other sign of life around. I pulled Johnny over onto the grass a ways, so even if someone drove by they wouldn’t see us.

“I didn’t know you were an exhibitionist, Mistress.”

“What did I tell you about that mouth?” I warned, placing my finger on his lips. “I think you want to taste my panties again.”

He nodded, wordless. Good.

I kneeled in my seat, slid my panties down my legs, and he opened his mouth like a good boy. I shoved them inside, and opened the glove box where the fuzzy cuffs remained. “Remember your old friends?”

He nodded, eyes alight.

“Good,” I replied. “Lean forward and put your hands behind your back.”

Aston complied like a perfect submissive. He may be loose and fast with money, but for me he was a gentleman. I clicked the cuffs around his wrists and turned his face toward me.

“I am going to use your cock for a few minutes, do you mind?”

He shook his head back and forth. I pet his head.

“When I’m done using it, I may or may not let you decide what to do with it next. Is that clear?”

Again, the frantic nodding.

I palmed his crotch, where his erection pushed against his khakis. I ran my fingernail down the length of him and he squirmed in his seat. Slowly, I undid the button and zipper and pulled out his cock. It twitched beneath my touch as I straddled him.