The Dom's Bride: A BDSM Romance Page 3

  “So,” Heather starts. She takes her place opposite us at her desk and pulls out a pen. She pauses when she looks up at the girl across from me. “Wait,” she says suddenly. “Don’t I know you?”

  The girl scratches the back of her neck. “Maybe?”

  “You’re Stephanie!” she says. “I remember you. You’re in social services, right? You handle the…” she pauses mid-sentence and her face starts to turn whiter than the check in Stephanie’s hand. “Fuck. This was some kind of prank, then? I’ll have your—”

  “It’s no prank,” I say. I take the check from Stephanie’s hand and write the figure down before holding it out to Heather. “I told her to make the bid on my behalf. Consider it a donation.”

  “Y-you?” She stammers, but her eyes never leave the tip of my pen as it adds zero after zero to the number in the box. “You’re sure?”

  I slide the check across the table. “I’m sure.”

  “Well.” Heather licks her lips as her eyes go over the numbers on the check again and again. “Given your background, I guess we don’t really need to worry about this check clearing, do we?”

  “We’re done here,” I say, standing and motioning for Stephanie to join me.

  She stands instinctively, as if she already knows her role in all of this, as if she can already feel the desire to submit to me.

  “Have fun on your date!” says Heather. “Are you going right now?”

  “Yes,” I growl before slamming the door behind us and taking Stephanie by the hand. I lead her through the hallways in the back of the venue until we reach the exit. Stephanie hesitates, tugging against my hand as I try to lead her outside. Her resistance makes me itch to discipline her, but there will be time for that. After all, she has no idea what she’s getting into yet, and I’ll need to properly explain how tonight is going to work before I can really begin to enjoy this.

  “My friend will worry about me. I gave her a ride here and if I just leave—”

  “Call her,” I say. “Tell her she can take your car home.”

  Stephanie reaches in her purse and lifts up a pair of keys. “She’ll need these.”

  I grit my teeth in annoyance. “Then tell her to wait out front. I’ll have my driver take her home.”

  Stephanie looks down, cheeks staining red. From the reserved way she pulls her phone out and starts dialing, I can see I offended her with my tone.

  “Wait,” I say, touching her arm with my fingertips to stop her from dialing. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Not yet,” I add. “I have very particular… tastes.” I pause. We’re standing in the middle of an empty hallway at the back of the building and it hardly feels like the right place to have this talk with her. I rub at my nose and sigh. “Go ahead and call her. I’ll explain everything when we get to my place.”

  “Look,” she says, clearly feeling uncomfortable, but I can practically see her fighting to overcome her shyness. “I’m not sure I even want to go on this date with you, okay? Honestly, I thought I’d be pissing you off by bidding so much of your money.”

  With any other woman, I’d let her walk right now. I’d turn my back on the trouble and move on with my day without so much as a second thought. But somehow I knew Stephanie was going to get to me more than any of the others ever did. I knew it when I handed her the check, and I sure as hell knew it when she walked into the office where I waited with Heather. So the thought of her walking on me is unacceptable.

  I press my palm into the wall beside her head, leaning down so our eyes are level and our faces are only inches apart. She flinches back but can’t seem to break eye-contact with me. “You wanted to piss me off?” I ask darkly.

  “You were so arrogant,” she says in a near whisper, as if it’s enough of an explanation.

  I say nothing. I keep pressing my hand harder and harder into the wall to channel the anger that is flowing through me into something that won’t break. It’s new for me to feel this much of any emotion, and there’s something intoxicating in the intensity of it, like I can feel all the anger of her refusal hanging on a razor’s edge, just waiting for the signal to turn into an insatiable kind of sexual hunger.

  “I’ve had a rough fucking day, okay?” she snaps.

  “Yeah?” I ask, not bothering to hold back the grin. The way her innocence and fire are at war with each other makes me even more sure she’d be the perfect submissive. For a night, at least. “So why don’t you end your rough fucking day with a plain old rough fucking?”

  Her already-red cheeks burn even darker. “I think I need to leave.” Her voice is tight and constricted, like she’s having to force the words out. Judging by her body language, she is. Because I can see her hardened nipples through her white blouse already. I can see the way even her neck and chest are flushing red, the way her eyes are wide and unblinking. She’s so goddamn hungry for what I’m offering it must hurt, but she doesn’t want to admit it to herself.

  “You cost me a million dollars. Do you think I’m going to just let you walk away?”

  She licks her lips, drawing my eyes down to her sweet mouth until I can barely stop myself. For the briefest moment, I let my mind wander a dangerous path. I imagine that maybe this time it could be different. Maybe I don’t have to keep this one at arm’s length and cut her loose before there’s any risk of forming a real attachment. For once, maybe it could be more than just a night.

  As quickly as the thought comes, my past rushes up to meet it like a black wave that turns my stomach. I remember how her wrinkled hands felt on my leg—the way I could smell cigarettes on her breath and the feeling of claustrophobia and hopelessness…

  Like always, the horrors of my past are enough to calm the fire. I’m going to fuck her tonight, but that will be it. I’ll cut ties like I always do as soon as it’s done, and I’ll move on with my life.

  “Are you saying I’m not allowed to leave?” she asks. There’s a hint of fear in her eyes, but the way her chest is heaving and her cheeks are still stained with red tells me that’s not the only emotion she’s feeling. She wants what I’m offering. I know under her blouse those nipples are hard and I bet she’s already soaking her panties for me.

  I’m so close I can feel the heat of her breath and smell its sweetness. “I’m saying I don’t let a million dollar prize—no, a treasure—slip through my fingers without a fight.”

  A smile twitches across her lips but she covers it with her hand before I can fully enjoy it. “A treasure, huh?”

  I grin. Somehow, Stephanie has a way of taking my mind from the normal sense of dread that follows me every time I get involved with a woman. Instead of my past forcing itself into the present against my will, it feels like I’m the one having to remind myself to be careful this time. Letting my guard down around her is easy. Too easy. Being around her could become very addicting for me, and cutting her loose might not be as easy as I’m expecting. Still, I know what I need to do.

  “Yes. For tonight, you’re my treasure. But you’re a treasure I’ll drag kicking and screaming back to my place if I have to,” I add with a grin.

  She laughs self-consciously, chewing the corner of her lip as she watches me with those big, innocent eyes. “I almost want to defy you just to see if you’re serious. But fine. I’ll go with you. As long as you call your driver and have them take care of Jamie. I’ll text her and let her know what’s going on once we’re in the car, but she’s still going to kill me for ditching her like this.”

  “I think she’ll enjoy the car ride enough to start forgiving you. It’s a fully stocked limo. She can bring a friend if she likes.”

  Stephanie grins. “Okay, yeah. That will probably help my case.”

  3

  Stephanie

  Tristan leads me through the front door of his house, which is a modern style mansion surrounded by beautiful hills and trees. I’ve never been one to be impressed much by material things, but even I can’t stop myself from gawking when he closes the front door behind
me and the lights automatically spark to life across the huge space inside. Every inch of the house just screams expensive, from the priceless looking antiques and art pieces covering the walls and sat up in the corners of the house to the luxurious rugs and marble floors. There’s even a massive window along the living room that looks out over a giant tank of water that I think is an aquarium big enough to fit a shark at first. When I look more closely, I realize the water is actually a pool that must be accessible from upstairs.

  “Wow,” I say. A stubborn part of me was planning on saying nothing about how nice his house was for fear of feeding his already impressive ego, but the word slips out of me as effortlessly as a breath of air.

  He makes a sound that seems to say, yeah, I know. But I’m interested when I don’t sense any pride from him. He must know this place is ridiculously luxurious, but I’d have expected him to gloat over it and want to give me a tour. Instead he just motions for me to sit on the couch in front of the fireplace.

  He takes a seat across from me and leans forward with his hands clasped together. “Before I take this any further, I need to explain my expectations.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Expectations?”

  “Yes,” he says. There’s an odd expression on his face—almost a detached look, like he’s forcing himself to remain businesslike. When I think back on my few interactions with him, I realize he has definitely wavered between a kind of flirty and fiery personality and a cold, indifferent personality. The only explanation I can think of is that he’s having to force one of them. But which one is real, and which is just the one he thinks he needs to show me?

  A chill runs through me at the possibility that the real Tristan Rivers is the cold, detached man I’m seeing right now. I came back to his house alone—even though I did secretly text Jamie to send a search party if she didn’t get another text from me by midnight—and the idea that he could be hiding his real personality from me raises all sorts of uncomfortable and frightening questions.

  I still don’t even know why I’m taking a risk like this when I know my history. Guy after guy, relationship after relationship, they all end the same. They leave disappointed and I take a long, hard look in the mirror to try to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Plenty of people have had tragedy in their past while still being able to live normal lives in the present, so why is it that I can’t seem to move on?

  “What expectations?” I say after he remains silent for several moments.

  “I can give you an experience like you’ve never had,” he says. There’s no hint of boastfulness in his voice, just a cold confidence as if he’s explaining to me that the sky is blue on a sunny day. “To do that, I need your complete submission. Just for tonight. I need you to give up everything you think you know about yourself.”

  Words of protest rise up in my throat and die before they reach my tongue. As much as I want to interrupt him and tell him how crazy all of this is—or even to tell him I’m a virgin and that giving me an experience I’ve never had is probably a lot less complicated than he seems to think—but I’m mesmerized. Despite the calm in his voice, there’s something practically molten burning behind his eyes as he speaks. The clean lines of his face and his suit are at odds with the fiery need I can sense just behind his mask of calm.

  “Assuming I wanted what you’re offering, why would I trust you that much?” I ask.

  “You already trusted me enough to come back to my place alone. You let me spend a million dollars for this date. And I can practically smell your hunger for me, treasure.”

  I clear my throat and cross my legs unconsciously. It’s only then that I notice the slight throb between my legs and the warm, tingling sensation fluttering around between my legs and in my lower belly. The hints of flirtation that he lets slip through his cold exterior keep catching me by surprise. If he was laying it on as thick as most men do, I could put up a wall to it and ward him off. But he’s picking at my defenses like an expert, waiting until I let my guard down and slipping in expertly placed words that threaten to unravel me syllable by syllable.

  “You’ve made a lot of assumptions,” I say carefully.

  “Have I?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say. I don’t have to fake my annoyance. Just because he’s right, it doesn’t mean he has to rub it in my face. “Why should I be willing to give myself to a stranger? What makes you think I’m so desperate for sex that I’d whore myself out like this? What even makes you so sure I want to sleep with you?”

  He chuckles, but there’s no humor in the sound. “I’ve made most of my fortune from my ability to read people, treasure. And so far, I’ve been able to read you like a book. Where should I start? Maybe the fact that you’re a virgin? Or should I start with how you’ve probably never had a relationship last more than a few weeks? What is it? Do you cut them loose because your virginity is too precious for any of them? Or maybe it’s that your father never thought you were good enough and—”

  My hand flashes out, slapping against his cheek hard enough to turn his head to the side. I’m standing in the space between the couches, hand extended and chest heaving before I even realize I got up to slap him. “Fuck. You.” I say shakily. I grab my purse and head for the door, already planning to never spare another thought for this pretentious asshole again as long as I live.

  He grabs me by the arm before I make it to the door.

  “Stop,” he says firmly. “Stop,” he says again, but more softly this time.

  Something in his tone makes me turn to face him. I push back the tears that are threatening to come because I don’t want him to know how much his words stung. He was way off base with the “precious virginity” thing, but about my dad? Having a stranger understand me better than I understand myself stings. It makes me pissed at him and myself all at the same time. On top of losing my chance of adopting Braden? I just want to go home and forget this entire disaster.

  “I shouldn’t have said any of that,” he says.

  “No,” I say. Anger cuts through my voice no matter how hard I try to press it back down. “Where should I start? You’re the privileged guy who thinks if everyone worked as hard as him they could live in a mansion like this too. You probably don’t think you rode your good looks to easy business deals and promotions. You think your cock is some kind of national treasure that women should have to bow down and thank you for, don’t you? And you probably find tragic virgins like me because you get off on how bad they want to fuck you. Well here’s a newsflash for you, Mr. Read-Me-Like-a-Book, you can go fuck yourself tonight. Because I’ve had a really shitty day, and I’m not bowing down or begging for shit.”

  I can’t read the way he’s watching me, but his grip on my arm is tightening. His eyes search my face until the frown creasing his brows turns to something like surprise. “I was wrong about you,” he says. “But you’re wrong about me, too.”

  “Let me go,” I say.

  “Fine.” He lets me go and just before I can turn the doorknob to leave, I hear a click from the lock. When I turn around, he’s holding some kind of remote.

  He takes two long strides toward me, forcing me back until I bump against the wall.

  “I like you,” he says quietly. His hand reaches for my chin and I slap it away.

  I expect him to lash out and swing at me like my dad would have, but instead his lips just spread into an amused grin.

  “You can hate me if you want, but my offer still stands. Do you want to be a virgin forever?”

  “You’re disgusting,” I say with as much venom as I can muster, but there’s a strange shift taking place inside my chest. All the anger and outrage I feel toward him is swirling with my undeniable desire. I might hate this man. I might hate that he thinks he understands me. But there’s something behind all the outer appearances, something deeper that makes me feel connected to him.

  And what he’s offering? He’s offering me a chance to rid myself of what has felt like a curse. I could lose my virginity and
not have to worry about whether the guy is husband or father material. It could be as simple as scratching an itch. Just a checkmark on a piece of paper and I could be on my way.

  “If wanting you is disgusting, then maybe I am.” He reaches to touch my chin again.

  I feel paralyzed. I itch to slap at him again and resist. I want to fight and claw and I want him to take me. I don’t want to give myself to him, I want him to steal me. My stomach turns at the realization, but there it is. If he takes me, I can still hate him. I can still walk out of here pissed at the world and maintain the status quo. It can be simple.

  His rough fingertips graze my chin. “What will it be, treasure? I can unlock the doors and let you walk, or you can let me give you what your body wants. Fuck what your brain wants.”

  “Fuck you,” I say again, though the conviction is absent from my voice.

  He grins. “I don’t think you’re understanding your choices. You either tell me to unlock the door and I let you go, or you’re telling me you want me to take you—one way or another.”

  I understand perfectly, asshole. I press my palms into his chest, which doesn’t even make him budge.

  “Last chance.” He holds the keys out to me.

  I knock them from his hands and then try to push past him, not caring where I’m trying to go. All I know is he’s going to take me. He’s going to fuck me. It’s reckless and it’s self-destructive, but right now in the tangle of emotions I feel, destroying myself doesn’t feel like such a bad idea.

  He catches me outside my arms, pinning them to my side and walking me to the couch. I struggle against him, but I’m only struggling because it feels good to fight. This blend of hatred and surrender feels good. There’s so few things left in my life that feel good. He shoves me down to the couch where I land on the pillows and immediately struggle to get back to my feet.