The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (32 page)

           
“What do you mean?” he asked, playing dumb.

           
I gave him a look.
 
“You know damn well what I mean.
 
We’re making plans about meeting tonight and then suddenly you run off as if escaping from something—or someone.
 
But when I looked around, I only saw David J. Seton and his sister.
 
David J. Seton is—”

           
“I know who David Seton is,” Mitch interrupted, flustered.
 
“And I know he moved here recently.
 
Why are you asking me this?”

           
I shifted in my seat and was about to drink the rest of my wine when I changed my mind and placed the glass back on top of the coaster.
 
I was a little tipsy after drinking the two martinis earlier, and I didn’t want to get stinking drunk, at least not tonight.
 

“Look,” I said through gritted teeth, “I just want to know, okay?
 
Why did you run away from Seton?
 
How did you know he lived here?”
 
Then something occurred to me, something I should’ve thought of earlier.
 
No one could accuse me of being a quick thinker.
 
Sometimes I wondered if my 4.0 grade-point average was a miscalculation.
 
“You’re his best friend from Cambridge, aren’t you?”

He seemed surprised.
 
“What?
 
No, I’m not—no.”
 
He cleared his throat and started to add something, licked his lips and tried again, but all he did was grab my discarded wine, drinking it all in one go.
 
I noticed with interest that he hadn’t placed the glass back on top of the coaster, but on the bare coffee table instead.
 
A water ring was probably seeping through the table’s glossy black surface already, but Mitch seemed too agitated to care.
 
Mitch was a neat freak—always making sure his apartment was spotless.
 
Something funky was definitely going on.

“Marjorie,” he said huffily, “I don’t want to talk about this.
 
It’s none of your business anyway.”

His words held an edge that made me immediately suspicious.
 
None of my business?
 
The hell it wasn’t!
 
“It isn’t?” I countered, scowling.

He actually blushed.
 
“Margie, I—”

He suddenly leaped up and walked with jittery steps toward the kitchen.
 
I heard him opening and closing the refrigerator door several times.

I sucked in my breath and shot an annoyed look in the direction of the kitchenette.
 
“Mitch, what the hell’s going on?”

He emerged from the kitchen with a forty-once bottle of beer.
 
“Want some?” he asked, indicating the beer.

I shook my head and narrowed my eyes at him.
 
“Come on, Mitch, quit stalling.
 
What’s going on?
 
You’re acting really weird tonight and it’s making me nervous.”
 
I moved my feet from under me and sat on the edge of the sofa.
 
“You know Seton, don’t you?
 
Tell me, are you his best friend from Cambridge?”

“Come on, Marjorie, do I look like a fucking Ivy Leaguer to you?”

No, he didn’t, but that didn’t answer my question.
 
Some of the shallowest people in the world have PhDs from Oxford or Harvard or wherever.

Mitch sat down next to me with his hands between his knees, beer bottle on the coffee table (no coaster).
 
“No, I—I don’t know Seton, as such.
 
But
you
obviously do.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and smoothed my skirt down so that it almost reached my knees.
 
“Yes, I do know him.
 
Bookends’ courting him.
 
He’s the guy we saw at Starbucks the other day, the one who walked right by me without saying hello, remember?
 
But how do
you
know him?
 
And why are you so nervous?”

His shoulders slumped.
 
“He called me later that day, the day we saw him at the coffee shop, saying you mentioned my name in an e-mail.
 
I don’t know how he got my number.
 
I figured he got it from you.
 
He wanted to meet with me to…”
 
He hid his face in his hands and sighed.
 
“Oh, God, Margie, you’re going to hate me for this!”

My heart raced, sensing impending doom.
 
I stared mutely at Mitch, waiting.
 

“I—” he began, but sighed again as he ran his hands through his disheveled blonde hair.
 
“You’re going to hate me because…because—”

“Because he’s invited me here, expecting you to fuck us both,” a velvety voice drawled from somewhere behind me.
 
“And the poor chap’s a bit embarrassed by it.”

I spun around.
 
David J. Seton was leaning against a stack of boxes near the bedroom door, looking scrumptious and distinguished in a beige suede jacket over a white t-shirt and expensive-looking jeans.
 
A wave of pleasure billowed through me at the sight of him, but it soon gave away to anger.
 
“What the—what’s going on?
 
Mitch?”
 
I turned to Mitch to demand an explanation, but he was looking away from us.
 
A flush of mortification colored his neck.

“I believe your toy boy is momentarily indisposed.”

I jumped up at the sound of Seton’s voice, and turned to him as he came charging into the room.
 
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

He stopped in front of me, one arm going around my waist, pressing my body against his.
 
He leaned forward and brushed his lips with mine.
 
“You’ve been quite naughty, my pet, leaving me like that,” he murmured seductively, his breath warm against my lips.
 
“And I’m here to correct that.”

The hot, sexually-charged glint in his eyes set my pulse into overdrive and filled my brain with confusion, sending mixed signals to my mind and body.
 
“What are you doing here?” I asked him again, breathless.

His smoldering eyes suddenly turned cold when he shifted his gaze to Mitch.
 
“Mr. Briars, I thank you for arranging this meeting.
 
That was good of you,” Seton said insolently before he grabbed me by the elbow and practically dragged me forward until I was standing in front of Mitch.
 
I almost lost my balance when I tried to pull away from him, arms flailing as I almost fell on my ass, but Seton held me by the waist from behind and prevented my fall.
 

“Miss Fordham is courting me,” Seton informed Mitch as he steadied me.
 
“She’s agreed to become my whore to help persuade me to write for Bookends AtoZ.
 
Quite lovely of her to do this, wouldn’t you say?”

Mitch’s eyebrows shot up at us, shock written all over his handsome face.

“Miss Fordham here is my personal sex slave, and she’s more than happy to follow my orders.
 
Aren’t you, my pet?”

Indignation flared through me when I realized that Seton intended to humiliate me in front of Mitch.
 
Mortified, I opened my mouth to protest, but Seton cut me short by turning me to him and yanking my camisole off of me, exposing my breasts.
 
I shot him an outraged look, but he ignored it.

“Now,” he said icily, “make yourself useful.
 
Start servicing me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you want me to,” he drawled urbanely.
 
“And I aim to please.
 
Now be a good whore and get started.”

The urge to throw Mitch’s forty-once bottle of beer at his head was so strong I had to clench my hands to stop them from grabbing it.
 
“You’re a fucking jerk,” I snarled.

A cynical smile touched his face.
 
“I know I am.
 
Now do as you’re told.”

“No!”

He rolled his eyes and sighed.
 
“Don’t defy me, Marjorie.
 
You know I don’t like it.”

My mind whirled with disbelief and confusion.
 
I narrowed my eyes at Seton.
 
“When did you and Mitch arrange this meeting?
 
Was it before or after we ran into each other at the park?”

He raised an eyebrow.
 
“Does it matter?”

I glowered at him.
 
He didn’t have to tell me, for I already knew.
 
They had arranged this before the game.
 
That was the reason why Mitch rushed out of the park when he spotted Seton.
 
That had to be the reason.
 
I mean, what else could it be?

“You’re a prick,” I sneered.
 
“You think you can come in and out of my life whenever it suits you.
 
I told you I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

“If I’m a prick,” he countered, “then you’re a bloody coward.
 
Always running away from your feelings and desires.
 
You dump men before they even think about dumping you.
 
You always have to be one step ahead of everyone.
 
You don’t take risks.
 
But I’m here to change that.”
 

Then he smiled at me in a smug, condescending way, and it was the same smile he had flashed me after we’d had sex in his car, where I realized that he got off on controlling me not just during our trysts but also in life.
 
His obvious intention was to provoke a reaction, and he certainly got it.
 
Something kindled within me, a feeling so profound there was no way to describe it.
 

The flat of my hand landed on Seton’s face.
 
He backed away from me, startled.
 
Slapping him had felt good, really good, and it ignited a momentary need to take my inner turmoil out on someone, and who better than on the very person who had caused them?
 
So I slapped him again.
 
His jaw tightened and his eyes blazed with sudden anger.
 
Hee!
 
I had finally smacked that infuriating smirk (literally!) off his face.
 
It felt
so
good that I slapped him again.
 

Seton evidently had enough.
 
He stepped forward and grabbed me, trying to spin me over to Mitch, but I didn’t let him.
 
I struggled against him, punching him in the chest and shoving him backwards as I fought back tears of humiliation.
 
I wasn’t angry at Seton as much as disgusted with myself when I realized I wasn’t quite as upset as I should have been.
 
I wasn’t angry, not angry at all.
 
I was aroused.
 
And I hated myself for feeling this way.

He grasped my wrists to stop the blows to his chest and turned me toward Mitch, his body pressed against my back.
 
I blew out a gasp when he rubbed himself against me, his enormous erection nudging at me through my denim skirt.
 
Apparently, I wasn’t the only turned on by all this.
 
He got off on this twisted stuff as much as I did.
 

His calloused hands reached for my bared breasts and palmed them, kneading them gently.
 
My nipples immediately puckered to life.
 
A low moan escaped my lips.
 

Seton nuzzled my ear, his shallow breath hot against my hair.
 
“Why are you fighting, darling?” he whispered.
 
“Why is surrendering to me so difficult for you?”
 
He gave my ear a sensual flick with his tongue.
 
“Why do you run away?
 
Open yourself to me, darling, and allow yourself to
feel
.
 
You have nothing to lose.”