How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (12 page)

Aston’s face was unreadable.

“And if said son didn’t reply to phone calls or texts, what would I assume? That he was being irresponsible? That he didn’t just take that expensive car and ride off into the sunset toward the closest casino? I’d protect my investments until my son got back to me. Call it holding your money hostage, call it what you will, but I think they did it for your own good.”

Aston grit his teeth. “They deserve this.”

I inhaled sharply through my nose. “No parent deserves to worry about their child. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me as a sister when Harrison enlisted? To know your family was in danger and you couldn’t help?”

His demeanor slackened and he remained quiet.

He blinked, took another sip, then looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard. Your brother must have been really great,” he said.

I felt my eyes water at the thought of him. “Harrison was my protector, my best friend. He was friendly, freckled, and hilariously funny. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him. He was the best person I’ve ever known. In every foster home we were in, he was the one who really took care of me. He raised me.”

“I’m surprised you were a foster kid.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It just seemed like you had really strong parental guidance. I didn’t realize it was your brother. You have such decent values,” he said. “Hard work, respect must be earned, the whole deal. My parents never taught me those things—they just acted as if I’d known them already. Like I was supposed to ace the test before the teacher taught the lesson.” Aston looked sullen as he spoke.

I tapped my chin in thought. “Maybe they thought you were better than what you were showing them. Maybe they knew you were capable of all these things, but were disappointed when you weren’t putting your talents to good use.”

His face flushed, whether out of anger or frustration, I couldn’t tell. He pouted like a young boy. “But they didn’t let me.” It seemed like this was Aston’s version of a sad tantrum.

“But you didn’t prove you could handle the responsibility,” I retorted. “Think about it—a restaurant is a huge investment. You think that just because you put a fancy menu in front of them and hand them some tasty leftovers that they’d hand you the keys to the kingdom?”

He sighed and sat back. His hand hovered over his eyes and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “You’re right. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about them cutting me off.”

“I know,” I answered, pulling him into a hug. “Now text your mom and tell her you’re okay.”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

I pulled back. I couldn’t imagine having a mom, having her worry about me, and not tell her that I was okay.

Aston sat up. “I think I want to go out there and prove myself to her before I do anything else. Maybe just something like ‘I’m okay, text you soon.’ I don’t want to beg for the money back.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

He brightened. “And when I get the restaurant in Vegas, that will show them that I did listen all those times. That I am capable. And you know what, I want it for myself, too, not just to prove them wrong.”

I planted a kiss on his lips. “I’m proud of you, you came to this conclusion yourself.”

“If you ever want to talk about your family, you know you can vent to me. I know it must be hard.”

I smiled sadly. “Not much else to say. I’ve only told a few people about my life growing up, being passed off to different sets of parents every year or so. Some were amazing, some were awful, but Harry was always there,” I said, tears forming in my eyes. “But no more about that. We’ve got enough on our plates right now.”

Aston nodded. “Speaking of plates, on to our next order of business.”

I inhaled deeply, looking at the food. I tried to put the calories and fat out of my brain and just think of it as fuel. My curves had been getting a lot of attention lately and it was Aston who was making me feel more accepting of them. They did look good on me. Maybe eating this won’t make me feel so guilty.

He presented the plate. “Here we go: sundried tomato and goat cheese omelets.”

I smiled and picked up my fork. “You sure know how to talk dirty.”

“You ready to rock, girlfriend? Today’s all about pain, baby. I know you’re a sweetheart, but a lot of the appeal of a BDSM relationship is the exchange of both pain and pleasure. I know you mentioned a spanking, and while that’s all well and good, I know you can do better. Those arms of yours are toned, girl, and could do some serious damage to hot, rich buns of steel. Start slow and if he likes it, add more sting. He’ll let you know if it’s too much, and if not, bad subbie! This should be enough exercise today. Heh.”

It was nice getting a message from Sarah each morning, especially on mornings when I wanted to be lazy. She motivated me.

Aston and I had big plans for Chicago, originally. We were going to try all the famous pizzerias and eat their thick, deep dish pies while I tried to ignore the calories and enjoy the cheesy goodness. Then we were going to go to the Museum of Science and Industry, to see the Sears Tower, and do all the touristy things the city had to offer.

Instead, Aston did the smart thing and got his money back for the second night and we took to the road again. I was really proud of him. But, admittedly, we stuck around until lunch so we could get an authentic deep dish pizza from Lou Malnati’s. The pie was thick and gooey and the sounds Aston made while eating it made me wish we’d kept the room available for some afternoon delight.

The road to Lincoln, Nebraska, was utterly dull. Endless swaths of land, farms, and a whole lot of nothing for hours on end. I thought much of our driving had been this way, but this was easily the most boring route so far.

“Want to play license plate bingo?” I asked, head in my hand as I looked out the passenger-side window. The wind whipped through my hair and I’d forgotten my kerchief, so I knew that wherever we stopped I’d look like a hot mess. We’d need to hit up a rest stop at some point so I could at least brush out the snarls.

“Nah,” he answered, eyes firmly on the road, hands gripping the wheel tightly.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He looked overly tense.

Aston took a deep breath and clutched the wheel tighter. “I need to up my game.”

“Your game?” I asked. “You planning on entering a card tournament in Vegas or something?”

He shook his head. “My chef game. If I’m going to meet with the owner of a hotel and casino, I’d better be hot shit. Without my parents’ backing, it’s all on me. I need more than some flashy menu and attractive concept ideas to win them over. I need to knock their socks off.”

I nodded. “Okay, so what do you need to do?”

Aston shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe just bounce some ideas around while we drive? I think I should have a backup concept in case they don’t like the Italian comfort food thing.”

My stomach grumbled and I thought about the two slices of pizza leftover from lunch. Was this what Sarah had warned about when she said I shouldn’t date a chef? I looked down at my waistline and a small strip of flesh at the top of my shorts slightly protruding over the fabric. I shrugged it off, telling myself that everyone had one of those when they sat down. I took a long sip of water to fill my stomach with something to calm the storm. “Sure,” I said. “Hit me.”

“Only if you hit me later,” he responded with a wry smile.

I chuckled and gave his side a pinch. He wiggled in his seat.

“So, what else can you do with Italian food that you haven’t seen done before? We’ve all seen super upscale Italian, regular mom and pop Italian, Americanized Italian, and the authentic stuff like the delis in Federal Hill. How can we make something new?”

I tapped my lip, getting a little smudge of red lipstick on my finger. “What about Italian tapas?” I asked. I partially liked the idea because the plates were small and I wouldn’t gorge myself on an entire plate of lasagna.

Aston looked thoughtful for a moment. “That’s a nice idea, but the actual dishes wouldn’t be anything new. You’re on the right track, though.”

“What about an Italian burger joint? Vegas is the perfect place for something like that.”

He cocked his head. “Explain. I’m intrigued.”

“So, you’d have a bunch of burgers that are similar to Italian recipes. The meatball burger, where the patty is coated in tomato sauce, shaved Parmesan on top. The lasagna burger that’s basically the meatball burger only with a dollop of ricotta cheese. Maybe a burger with the kind of toppings that go on Italian subs, that sort of thing.”

“That’s really interesting,” he said, nodding quickly. “A marsala burger with mushrooms and a wine-flavored glaze. A saltimbocca burger with prosciutto, provolone, and sage aioli. Damn, Mistress, this isn’t bad!”

I giggled, feeling pretty proud of myself.

“What do you say to some experimenting?”

I licked my lips. “With you, I’m always up for experimenting.”

Aston laughed. “We can do that sort of thing after. I mean let’s skip sightseeing in Lincoln and spend tomorrow test-kitchen style.”

“Test kitchen meaning cook and sample everything?” I asked with a nervous titter.

“Yup. We’ll make sure the room has a kitchen and a grocery store nearby. I can’t wait,” he said, putting his hand on my knee. “Now, let’s think about concept.”

Just then, my phone rang. I slid it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. It wasn’t a number I knew, but the area code was from Rhode Island. I wondered if the new manager was having a problem at the garage. “Hello?” I answered.

“Miss Veronika Kane?” the male voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Speaking.”

“This is attorney Don Garant,” the voice said. My entire body broke out in goose bumps. A lawyer? Shit. “I’m calling on behalf of my client, Derek Latham.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hand trembled as I held the phone to my ear. “What can I do for you?” I asked, trying to make the conversation sound innocuous. I couldn’t let Aston know what was really going on.

“I’m calling to give you a chance to settle with Mr. Latham out of court.”

“Go on,” I said, voice quavering. “Mr. Latham will agree to drop his suit against you if you return to Rhode Island and relinquish a sum of one hundred fifty thousand dollars. This will clear you of any legal obligations and ties to him.”

“I—” I stuttered. “I can’t do that.”

“Miss Kane, might I remind you that you sold that car for a half million dollars? You legally owe your ex-boyfriend two hundred fifty thousand dollars. It is out of great generosity that he has lowered the sum to one hundred fifty thousand. Coming back to Rhode Island and settling out of court will save you a hundred grand. And think of all the lawyer’s fees you’d need if this case went to court. It would probably hit half a million.”

My throat dried out, and words could barely make their way out of my mouth. “I’m afraid the answer is no,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. I didn’t have that much. I couldn’t ask Aston for the money, and I certainly couldn’t go to the veterans foundation and ask for the cash back. I’d have to cross my fingers that Derek had no legal grounds for this, or just go to court and hope that they’d side with me.

And if they didn’t, I’d be forced to sell my garage.

“You’re making a huge mistake, Miss Kane.”

“Wait, how did you know I was out of state?” I asked. Did Sarah give Derek details about my trip?

The phone cut out, and the lawyer was no longer there. He’d hung up on me. My lip trembled, and I knew that a flood of tears were on their way. I couldn’t let Aston see me cry. I had to hide this.

“What’s going on?” Aston asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, and a tear trickled down the right side of my face. I fought the urge to wipe it and prayed my left eye wouldn’t be so traitorous.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he said.

“Just drive,” I barked. Hopefully he’d remember he was a submissive and just let go of the topic altogether.

Instead, Aston pulled to the side of the road. We were beside a cornfield and the tall stalks stood like sentinels next to the car as he turned off the engine and looked me square in the eyes. “What is going on? You look like you saw a ghost, and clearly you’re on the verge of tears.”

“I’m going to gag you if you keep talking,” I threatened, trying to deflect the truth with sexual advances.

He pointed a finger at me. “That’s not going to work this time.”

I crossed my arms. “I respected you when you didn’t want to talk about what happened with your parents. The least you could do is listen to me right now when I say I do not want to talk about that phone call.”

He put his hand on my shoulder and lowered his voice. “Please, Mistress. I want to know. I want to help.”

I wadded up a napkin and gestured to his mouth. “Open.”

He complied and I felt a little less nervous. If he was gagged, he couldn’t ask questions.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and struggled to find a lie. “I’m having some trouble with the garage. The manager isn’t being straight with me.”

Aston lifted an eyebrow and shook his head. Shit, even when he was gagged he could call me out.

“Fine. You’re right. I lied.”

He looked hurt.

I crossed my arms around me defensively. “It’s complicated, okay? I’ve got an issue back home that I really don’t want to talk about.” I pulled the napkin out of his mouth.

Aston’s face searched mine for a long moment. “Then hurt me.”

“What?” I asked. Had he seen Sarah’s video?

I’d played it to myself while I was in the shower.

“You’re hurting, and I can’t have that. If you won’t let me be a friend and listen to your problems, let me be your submissive and allow me to take your pain.” His eyes burned and his jaw set. He meant it.

“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling complicated, conflicting emotions. I was so scared and so stunned by the Derek situation, but Aston aroused me so much. And the idea of him taking my pain, well, it was something I’d never thought of doing. Plus, I’d get to work on Sarah’s lesson from this morning. And it would be my workout, after all.

He unbuckled and opened his door. “Let’s go.”

I watched as he walked around the car. “Go where?” I asked.

He stood next to the tall stalks of corn that loomed over him. “This way,” he said, disappearing into the field. “You may need a minute to find something in your bag, but I’ll be waiting.”

In my bag? Oh, the bondage stuff I took from Sarah’s place. I exited the car and popped the small trunk. I rifled through the vinyl tape and the rope until I found something long and hard. I pulled it out and saw it was a riding crop. I slapped it against my hand with a sweet sting. It would hurt.

But Aston wanted it.

I could no longer see him, so I pushed past the few stalks of corn and into the field. Still no Aston, just me and plants. “Aston?”

“Here, Mistress,” I heard a voice call from farther in. Pushing the stalks aside, I made my way through the field. “I’m waiting,” he said.

Giggling, I continued to bob and weave through the stalks until I saw a figure. Aston. He was naked, facing away from me, grasping a tall plant like it was a pole. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at me. “I’m waiting for my punishment,” he said, voice heavy and coarse.

At the sight my breath hitched in my chest. The golden sunlight filtered through the long stalks, sending dappled bits of brightness and shadow across his body. His muscles twitched as he heard my approach. “Please, Mistress.”

I stood merely inches away from him and marveled at his body. I started with my fingernails across his shoulders and down his back, raking his skin. He shuddered, and I watched goose bumps peek out from beneath the soft hairs on his arms. “More,” he begged. Little faint red lines surfaced from my fingertips’ race down his spine. I ran them down his back again, this time harder. I felt some of the pain I had pent up from the phone call just now as I transferred it to him.

It felt startlingly good.

I raised the crop and brought it down across his right glute. It left a small red mark and Aston jumped. “Green,” he said, and I was proud he remembered the signals I taught him in the boathouse. Again, the pain inside me lessened as Aston took it from me.

I struck him again with the crop, only this time across his back. A red welt streaked across his back like an angry comet, and my mind began to clear.

“Green.”

Another hit, this time over his shoulder and down by his shoulderblades. He was loving the discomfort, relishing in the pain. He was more of a masochist than I’d thought. Aston didn’t just like the bondage, he liked being controlled and used. And right now, the way I felt, I liked being on the giving end. I was shocked at this feeling, this give-and-take of pain and emotion. He needed to be used, and I needed to be the one in control. While our relationship had taken a vanilla turn once or twice, the root of it was here, it was this. The Domme and sub exchange of power felt truly right.

“You’re making me so hard, Mistress.”

Crack went the crop across both his upper thighs. Fuck Derek. Fuck that lawyer. They can’t mess with me. I clawed my fingernails down his back and roughly grabbed Aston’s ass, fingernails making imprints in the taut skin. “You are mine,” I hissed.

“All yours, Mistress,” he whispered. “Use me.”