Текст книги "Playing Hard to Master"

Автор книги: Sparrow Beckett

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

He arched a brow. “What, little miss brat?”

“Just one question, Professor. Do I get an A?”

He grinned evilly and bit her neck. “A+, I’d say. But I have to do that again, just to make sure.”

Damn it. Her and her bratty mouth.

Regretfully, he left her to go start the shower. When it was steaming, he motioned her in. “Come on. Let’s clean you up.”

“This is awfully personal for a professor.” She eyed him slyly.

Taking her arm, he helped her in. “Now I’m just your boyfriend.”

The warm water hit her sore body, making her wince. “Ow.”

Chuckling, he moved the dial and made it a little cooler then got in the shower with her. “Sorry.”

“You don’t look sorry.”

“You deserved it.”

She couldn’t argue with that. And anyway, the feeling of being used and abused was fucking hot. It’d been a long time since she’d felt this good.

No, actually, she’d never felt this good. No man had ever managed to satisfy her so thoroughly. Sex had been boring with her vanilla exes and kink had been hollow with random play partners.

But Ambrose . . . He blew her mind.

He took his time soaping her up, gently and carefully, like he was taking care of an injured kitten. When his hands ran over the welts on her ass, she gritted her teeth and moaned. He frowned and she wondered if he regretted hitting her so hard. She didn’t.

His words from a minute ago finally registered.

Now I’m just your boyfriend.

“So you’re my boyfriend, are you?” she asked, trying to sound cocky and indifferent, but wondering if it came out vulnerable, like she felt. Rejection was still a risk, and it knotted her stomach.

He looked up from where he was kneeling while washing her legs. “I think it’s time to label it that way, don’t you?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Sure.”

With a satisfied look, he stood up then pointed the nozzle so it rinsed the soap off her body. Each time it hit her ass, it reminded her how well he’d managed her. How he didn’t take shit, but didn’t try to squash her fun either. That she could expect laughter with him but also the stern disciplinarian she needed.

She was starting to think that falling for someone wasn’t so bad. Sure, she felt a little out of control, but maybe that’s what love was. Free-falling and hoping someone would be there to catch you.

*   *   *

It was a little late to have Ambrose over, but he was coming anyway. She had to work tomorrow morning, so it was a good thing she wasn’t in the mood for sex. PMS did that to her. But Ambrose had practically been text-begging to see her. He’d sounded a little off, so she’d agreed.

Nerves made her already sore stomach worse. What was so urgent that he had to come over at ten at night on a Friday? She knew he had a work holiday party that night, and that dates weren’t allowed, much to her disappointment, but now she was worried something had happened.

Trying to resist pacing a hole in her living room floor, instead she poured herself a glass of wine to settle her anxiety. When a knock sounded at the door, she jumped and almost spilled it all over herself.

She opened the door, knowing it was Ambrose, and he stumbled in. Far from looking like a blue-collar guy gussied up for an uncomfortable office party, his tailored black designer suit made him look like a high-priced hitman, or a celebrity. His style was too staid for GQ, but, hell, the sight of him was enough to make a girl sit up and beg.

Too bad he was hammered.

“Um,” she said, watching him sway a little. “Hi.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked her over slowly. “You’re hot.”

She’d purposely worn oversized pajamas so she didn’t give him any ideas. “Uhh. Thanks.”

Something weird was definitely going on. He leaned in and hugged her, then sniffed her hair loudly. “Mmm. You smell like I remember.”

Yeah, she could smell him too. Alcohol. “You’re drunk.” She pushed away.

“A little.”

“Did you drive yourself here?”

“Of course not.” As if he owned the place, he plopped down onto her couch and threw his arms over the back of it. Clearly, he planned to stay awhile. “My friend dropped me off after the party.”

She watched him a minute, wondering what the hell was going on. He gave her a heated look. Was this a booty call? “Look, Ambrose. I have work tomorrow. I’m not interested in having sex with a drunk-off-his-ass idiot.”

“No sex. Just sit with me a minute. I’ve missed you.”

“I just saw you two days ago.” Still, she walked to the couch and sat carefully next to him, hoping to avoid being puked on, if he was that far gone. “How drunk are you?”

“I’ve been worse.”

He was barely slurring, but she had no idea what to do with him now.

Leaning back, he pulled her so she was up against his chest, then he ran his fingers through her hair. She was worried he’d be too rough, but he was so gentle she could barely feel it—as if he knew he wasn’t totally in control, so he was compensating.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“You said that already.”

“My brother brought his girlfriend, and it made me jealous as fuck.” He sighed. “He’s always bragging about shit.”

Brother? He never said he worked with his brother.

“So I had to come see you. My fragile male ego was at stake.” Chuckling, he buried his nose into her hair again.

Wait a minute. His brother was allowed to bring a date to the party and Ambrose wasn’t? “You said nobody was allowed to bring their significant others.”

“Hmm?” he hummed sleepily. “Oh. It’s . . . complicated.”

Ringing started in her ears. Her heart twinged with pain then felt like it sank down to her stomach. Tears pricked her eyes.

He hadn’t wanted to bring her.

Her chest hurt. Past rejections went spinning into her mind. All of them hurt, but this was the worst. Was he embarrassed of her? Was she too loud or forward or something? She could behave. Didn’t he trust that?

“Is . . . is there someone else?”

That seemed to perk him up. “What?” His body shifted under her. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

If not that, was it her hair or the way she dressed? She’d have covered the pink if that’s what he wanted. All he had to do was ask.

That thought made her freeze. Would she really pretend she was something she wasn’t for him? Was she that hooked? She’d give up her wild hair and brightly colored nails to please him and not embarrass him? She’d sworn she’d never change for a man. Why was he different?

He wasn’t. He’d lied to her.

A painful lump got stuck in her throat, making it hard to get words out. “Are you . . . embarrassed of me?”

She felt him twitch underneath her. “No.” He grunted, sounding irritated. “Of course not.”

To her humiliation, a few tears leaked from her eyes, but he couldn’t see it as long as she kept her face down. “Is it my hair? Because I would change it for you, if it was really a problem.”

He chuckled. “No. I love your hair. It’s nothing like that. It’s not you.”

“Then why . . .” Her voice hitched, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“Does it look like I give a fuck what people think of me? You could dye your head green and tattoo your face, and I would still be smitten with you.”

Smitten? Was he giving her a line? Still trying to get action?

He wasn’t pawing at her or anything. In fact, he seemed content just to lie there and hold her. But she needed answers. Lying wasn’t acceptable, especially with someone she was falling for so quickly. He was drunk and seemed pretty loose with his feelings. Maybe she could learn a few things about him while she had the chance.

It seemed a little underhanded, but whatever. He’d lied to her, so that justified the means to get answers. Maybe the work party thing was part of his weird hot/cold routine. Was this a commitment issue? Was keeping her away from his friends a way to hold himself back from getting too deep?

Maybe she should start there.

But first, more wine. “Here,” she said, grabbing her glass off the coffee table, where she’d left it. “Finish this for me. It’s too good to toss out, and I’m not feeling great.”

He took the glass. “Poor thing. Do you need me to do anything for you?” The question made her laugh inside. As if he were in any condition to do much for her.

In control of her emotions now, she turned to see his face. It’d be easier to sense a lie that way. “Let’s play a game. I’m going to ask you a question, and if you answer it, I’ll take a piece of clothing off. If you choose to pass, you have to drink.”

He arched a brow. “And what do I get out of this game?”

“To see me naked. Duh.” She wasn’t really in the mood to be ogled, but she’d deal with it to finally get to the bottom of things. Besides, she was hoping he’d pass out before she had to take everything off.

“All right.” He put the glass of wine back on the table. “We’ll play your little game. But when I’m sober, we’re gonna play my kind of game.”

She had no idea what that meant, but what were the chances he’d remember saying that? “Deal.” Smiling that her scheme was working, she went to the kitchen to get a shot glass and a bottle of vodka.

“First question,” she said. “Why didn’t you bring me to the party tonight?”

With a sarcastic look, he held out his hand for the wineglass.

Scowling, she remained still. He wasn’t off the hook about that. They had a brief stare-down, then he sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you. I felt like it was too soon, and I didn’t want to scare you off.”

His expression was too drunk to judge his sincerity, so she just rolled her eyes and moved on. Lecturing him in this condition was a waste of fucking breath.

“Um. How many exes do you have?”

“Ugh. I’m too drunk for math, brat.” Still, he seemed to ponder it. “For the last couple of years, I’ve been playing with Banner’s leftovers, so who the fuck knows?”

“Are there any significant ones?”

At that, a shadow passed over his face. Now they were getting somewhere. “After high school? One,” he said. “My slave. Ex-slave. It was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“She—” He paused and narrowed his eyes.

Fuck. Was he onto her?

He flicked an imperious finger at her clothing. “I answered. Off with your clothes, woman.”

Fair was fair. And she felt like she was getting somewhere with him. She thought for a moment then took off one sock.

He rolled his eyes.

“Finish what you were saying, and I’ll take off my shirt.”

“I could make you do it now,” he said in his Dom voice. Only it was slurred, which made it hard to take seriously.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re a gentleman, even when you’re drunk.”

He laughed too loudly. “I’m no gentleman.”

Looking him in the eye, she told him honestly, “I trust you.” And she did. Though she hadn’t known him that long, she trusted him not to harm her. Because under the gruff exterior and sadism, he was a good person.

For a long moment, he just stared at her, his expression thoughtful. She wondered if he’d forgotten the question, but then he sighed. “Her name was Shae. We were engaged. Then she left. It was sudden, and she didn’t even say good-bye.” His gaze fell and he added, in a soft voice, “I wasn’t the same after that.”

Well, that certainly answered a lot. His pain was written clearly on his face. How long ago was this? It must have been at least a year or two, but he didn’t look like he was over it. What did that mean for them? She didn’t want a fixer-upper, and he’d promised he wasn’t one, but clearly, he still had issues. What had she gotten herself into?

“Until you,” he said.

“What?”

“I haven’t been the same until you.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “If you haven’t noticed, I like you very much, Everly.”

For all his Domliness, there were times he was simply adorable. A man who’d had his heart crushed but still opened up to her. He played with her, giving her what she needed, treated her like a kitten during aftercare, and had called himself smitten. Maybe he was a little broken, but she wasn’t exactly perfect either. In his drunken smolder, she saw a piece of truth. She wasn’t the only one falling head over heels this time. And he would definitely be there to catch her.

“I like you a lot too.”

He slapped his hands on his thighs then stood up. “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”

He’d forgotten about the shirt thing? Jeez. He really was drunk. She rose, too, but snorted and arched a brow at him. “I think I’m putting you to bed.”

His brow furrowed. “If I sleep here, will it mess up your work schedule tomorrow?”

“No.” She stretched and started for the bedroom. “You’ll be too hungover to be in my way.”

Waking up to Ambrose in her bed, she’d be hard-pressed to ever leave, so it was a good thing he was drunk. She’d slip out while he was still asleep then try to make it back during lunch to check on him.

But now she was exhausted. Processing everything that’d happened would have to wait. And if Ambrose thought he was off the hook for lying about the work party, he was sorely mistaken.

Chapter Ten

He rubbed her cold, red nose with his own.

“Don’t do that!” Everly laughed. “You’re going to make my nose run.” People in parkas and big winter boots shouldn’t, as a rule, look sexy, but somehow the woman was making it work for her.

Ambrose moved back to his place behind her, holding the placard she’d thrust into his hands when he’d gotten there. A typical crisis at work had held him up, but she didn’t look the least bit annoyed. Now he was her backdrop while she handed out pamphlets and talked to holiday shoppers about the need for another shelter in town. Apparently, the two that already existed were always full, and there weren’t enough beds. Or food.

His woman wasn’t wealthy, but here she was freezing her ass off to make the world a better place, where up until today, he’d sat all cozy in his big house and burned money. Not literally, but that didn’t make him any less ashamed.

The blue knit hat she wore and her rosy red cheeks made her look livelier than ever, and her passion about her cause lit a fire inside her that was like a beacon. A lot of people instinctually tried to ignore the protesters, but when they caught sight of Everly, they were drawn in. Her passion paired with her friendly and approachable demeanor made them stay to listen.

As for Ambrose, he just tried not to scare people away. He stood back and watched because every time he tried to give people information, they looked terrified. Everly and her friends had noticed, too, and Everly had told him to stand back and hold a placard before someone called the cops on them for intimidation.

Standing in the mall parking lot wasn’t his idea of a good time. His toes were cold, and he was worried about Everly catching a chill. When he got home, he was going to make some calls and see if he couldn’t fix this problem so they wouldn’t have to do another education demonstration until, say, midsummer. Sometime when they could relax in the sun and have a barbecue instead of sacrificing themselves to the elements as an act of penance for having money.

Had he really just thought that?

Shallow, self-absorbed idiot.

He hadn’t grown up with money. There were charities that he and his company gave to regularly, but he’d never actually put himself out to make life better for people who hadn’t gotten as many breaks as he had. Treating employees well didn’t really count, since that made the business run better, and most of them had become his buddies. What Everly did—sacrificing her time and comfort for complete strangers—was more altruistic than anything he’d ever considered doing. Listening to her talk about social responsibility had opened a door in his mind that he’d never noticed before. Amassing wealth and helping your friends was all well and good, but while he was wasting time and money on diversions, there were people suffering right under his nose.

It made him uncomfortable.

Was he supposed to give away everything he owned to even things out? If he were a cutthroat bastard, he’d be a lot wealthier than he was, but he tried to make sure he didn’t screw other people over. They all moved forward together.

He wasn’t a monk who’d taken a vow of poverty either. He liked having money. He’d worked hard to get where he was.

Her words, though, made him feel ashamed. He could do more—he would now. But he was still lying to her. What the hell would she think of him when she found out? He wasn’t in the habit of showing his investment portfolio to women he played with. Talking money was crass and personal. But now . . .

He’d called her his girlfriend. She was his actual girlfriend. His submissive. Not just some girl he messed around with. This relationship was getting more and more important to him, and it was partially built on a lie. The lie had taken on a life of its own, and his efforts to not get caught were leaning toward the ridiculous.

Even lying to her about the office party had almost killed him. He’d watched his employees and their significant others dance and eat and drink together, and he’d spent the whole evening trying to look happy while he regretted her not being there.

But she would have found out he owned the company.

His guilt was starting to plague him.

The family Everly was talking to smiled and waved to her as they left. She turned her amber gaze to him, seeming pleased with her success.

The affection in her expression warmed him, and for a minute he forgot his feet were blocks of ice. Then reality came knocking. Anxiety twisted in his belly.

He had to tell her. And soon. Before his lies ruined everything.

*   *   *

Ambrose handed Everly a steaming mug of hot cocoa. She wrapped her hands around it and sighed with pleasure. Trying not to jiggle her, he cupped her tiny socked feet between his hands, trying to warm them up.

“So what are we doing for Christmas?” Did girls like Everly even accept gifts, or did they ask for immunization donations for children in other countries?

She shrugged. “My Mom and I usually have dinner together Christmas night. I’d like it if you came with me. Don’t worry. She’s nice.”

He’d been thinking about gifts when he brought it up, but she was right. They had moved on to the meeting-the-parents stage. Did he come clean before he introduced her to his family, or did he coach them to avoid talking money?

“Do you think your mother will like me? Are there subjects I should avoid while we’re there?” Fuck, this was kind of nerve-wracking. People generally liked him, but if her mother didn’t, it would seriously suck. He knew how close Everly was to her. Did her mother hate rich people too? Would he have to win two people’s forgiveness?

“She’ll love you. Just don’t tell her you like to tie me up and beat me. She might have trouble liking you after that.”

Ambrose chuckled. “I’ll behave. Our family thing is Christmas Eve at my parents’ house.” He piled another blanket on her, wishing she’d let him draw her a bath. Her skin still felt ice-cold. “My family knows I’m into kink, and they don’t judge, but I won’t do protocol in front of them.”

“So you’re not going to make me sit on your lap and call you Master while we’re there?”

“I don’t make you do those things. You just know your place.” He arched a brow at her, and she blushed, but inched closer to him. He pulled her into his lap, careful not to spill her drink. “Am I allowed to buy you pretty things for Christmas?”

Man. She’d been in his lap for two seconds, and his dick was getting hard. Like it sensed her nearby and knew exactly where it wanted to be, without any prompting from his brain.

She squirmed against him, her subtle smirk telling him she knew exactly how she affected him. Her ass felt cold even through their layers of clothes, and he started thinking of interesting ways to warm it up.

“Pretty things? Like what?” Words were coming from her mouth, but he could tell she was more interested in teasing him with her body than getting an answer.

“Hmm. I’d say lingerie, but seeing you in it would be more a present for me, so that’s not really fair. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “What would you like? Flowers? Jewels? Someone to peel your grapes?” A car? A pony? A trip to Tahiti? He wished he could shower her with expensive gifts. He hadn’t had anyone to spoil in a long time.

“I don’t know. I don’t really need anything.”

“Well, I’m not offering to buy you socks or Tupperware.” He swatted her thigh. “It’s Christmas. Think fun and impractical.”

“I don’t know.” She grimaced. “I don’t do impractical very well.”

“You might not like what I pick,” he warned playfully.

Everly put her hot cocoa on the coffee table and started to be more obvious about grinding against him. He leaned back and watched the way her ass moved while she drove him crazy. How hard would it be to talk her out of her pants? Yeah, yeah, she had her period. Blah, blah. Like any men he knew cared about that. So it was a little messy. Better than being cut off for a whole week. Obviously, she was interested.

She paused. “Can I have orgasms for Christmas?”

“You’re getting those anyway. Whether you like it or not.”

She groaned, then grinned over her shoulder at him. “You know we can’t have sex today. Why are you such a mean, mean man?”

“You’re the one being a tease. Besides, you like me mean, don’t you, my little slut?” He grabbed her hair and she gasped, then moaned.

“Mmm . . . Yes, Master.”

He bit her neck and she melted against him. “We need to stop.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I have my period.”

He lowered her to the floor.

“What are you doing?” she complained.

“Is there something wrong with your mouth?”

“But that’s not fair!” She pouted.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops, then unzipped his jeans. She seemed sulky, like she was going to make a fuss, so he wrapped the belt around her neck and made it into an impromptu leash.

Everly gasped then glared up at him. “You’re just going to use my mouth, and I don’t get to come?” Her lowered brows were ferociously adorable.

He shrugged. “You decided on the rules. If you don’t like them, that’s not my problem.” Having her on her knees in front of him, after spending the better part of the afternoon in public, where he could only look and not touch, was very satisfying. Coming down her lovely throat would be even better.

Ambrose fished his dick out of his jeans and used his belt to tug her closer. “Come here, little slave. My cock misses you.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed at him. “How did we get from you wanting to buy me pretty things, to you wanting to jam your monster cock down my throat?”

“When you’re a naughty tease, there are consequences.”

“I just wanted to cuddle.”

“You’re a very wiggly cuddler.”

“Your dick was hard. I was just trying to get comfortable.”

“Well”—he presented his finger to her mouth, and she sulkily allowed him to push it in—“it’ll be easier to cuddle with me after you fix this, then.”

Check and mate.

For a short while, Ambrose amused himself by toying with her mouth, feeling her teeth, tracing her lips. She was already horny and in no time she latched onto his finger and started to suck. The feel of her suckling his finger made his cock ache for her mouth. When he brushed his dick against her lips, she transferred her attention there, and sucked him off like a good girl.

The makeshift leash in his hand only made it better.

By the time she got him off, she was squirming and desperate for release. He overrode her modest objections and carried her off to the shower. Good girls deserved orgasms.