The Dominator (42 page)

I started to pace, started to entertain thoughts of taking off and escaping but before I could form a coherent thought I heard something outside so I looked out the peep hole and there was a security guard standing right outside the door. Holy shit.

I went back into the bedroom, into the Hers bathroom to splash water on my face, and about fifteen minutes later I heard the door open. My heart started to speed up but I took a deep breath, tried to push my fear away. I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, which was already half way open. I walked over to the doorway and both James and Nino were standing there. They both looked absolutely pissed. The sight of the pair of them in my doorway was pretty damn intimidating-looking.

I swallowed and hugged myself. James spoke, “Tommy asked that you wait in the bedroom for him to get back. He’s asked us to lock the door. Since this door doesn’t lock from the outside, one of us’ll be right outside the door on guard till he gets back. You need anything?”

“No,” I croaked out.

Then without saying anything, one of them slammed the door shut in my face.

Shit. What have I done? Even the guards were mad at me.

Almost three hours later I was still in this room and I’d worked myself into a frenzy of scared shitless. Every time I heard voices outside the door my heart and stomach plummeted. But it was them talking as they switched up or were talking to one another or whatever.

When I finally heard
his
voice I wanted to scamper and hide under the bed.  Adrenalin coursed through my veins. It was getting dark and the Vegas lights were starting to twinkle on bit by bit outside. I was sitting in the darkening room on the bed with no lights on. I’d had two glasses of wine into me, and I didn’t know if when he finally came in if I’d resume my pissed off stance or if I’d cower.

The door opened and closed. He was standing in front of me. He flicked the lamp on beside me.

“You say bring it? Consider it brought.”

I stared down at my lap like a fricking coward.

“Look at me,” he said. I looked up and he was taking his necklace off and putting it on the nightstand. “Not so tough when you’re not hiding behind your phone? I can’t believe you took off like that.”

“I was making a point,” I mumbled petulantly and as the last word was coming out of my mouth he had my chin in his grasp. His eyes were fiery mad and fricking scary.

“Then I guess I need to make
my
point now,” he told me.

He let go of my face and sat on the edge of the bed beside me, “Over my knee,” he said calmly, so calmly that for a second I thought he was going to crack a smile. It was so preposterous that he couldn’t possibly be serious. But he didn’t crack a smile. He was serious. He had a belt in his hand.

I gawked at him, then at the belt, then at him again. He raised his eyebrows and pointed to his lap, tightening his lips.

I started to shake my head, “When we have a problem. We need to talk about it; we---“

He grabbed me and threw me across his lap before I could finish.

“We can talk later, Tia. Right now, I need to beat your ass.” I could feel a rock hard erection under me. His hand was flat across my lower back.

I tried to get up but he suddenly had my hair. He made a ponytail with it at the nape of my neck.

“Tommy, please don’t.”

“No? Why?”

“We need to
talk
about our problems, we need---“

“Oh, talk? You mean not take off and run away leaving the other person in the middle of the fucking street?”

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

He slapped my rear, not very hard, and with his hand, but then he reached under, undid my belt, button, and zipper, then yanked my shorts and underwear down just past my butt and having them around my thighs just felt so…so tawdry or something.

Another slap, still his hand but on my bare rump.
Ouch, that hurt.

“Wrong answer,” he said. Then his hand was on my butt. The coolness off it felt soothing after the two slaps. I held my breath.

“What
should
you have said?”

I frowned. Did he think I was going to apologize?

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m apologizing to you after what you did to me today,” I told him.

Slap.

“Hey!” I shouted and tried to struggle out of his hold. I couldn’t believe this was still, at his core, who he was. After everything we’d been through, after all that he’d said.

It was like he read my mind just then, “Do you think that because I’ve been sweet to you that this part of me is gone?” he said low and menacingly, “Do you think because I’m in love with you that you can walk all over me? Do you fucking think you can tell me what
I
need to do for you to be faithful to me? Really? Fucking really?”

Whoa.

“I’m in charge,” he said low and dug his fingers into my rear end. It was hard and definitely going to leave a bruise, “Me!”

“Tommy,” I whimpered.

“What?”

“Don’t,”

“You don’t want this?”

“No. If you’re so in love with me---”

Smack. This time the belt bit across my ass and I bit down on my lip hard and tried to pull away. He did it again. This wasn’t a sexy game, this fucking hurt. And he had to know the difference. Tears stung in my eyes.

“You don’t set the rules around what I will and will not do
if
I love you, do you hear me? If I’m in love with you? Unfuckingbelievable…”

He took me by the arms and pushed me off his lap but onto the bed on my tummy and then I heard him undo his pants. Before I could move, he pushed into me in a quick thrust but I was not wet, I was not aroused. It fucking hurt. He had my hair, “Not wet for me? Oh baby, this is a problem. Don’t you remember that I ordered you to get wet for me whenever I spanked you?” his hot breath was against my ear and under any other circumstance I probably would’ve thought it was sexy, it probably would’ve created some moisture down there. Not now, “Another reason to punish you.”

“Tommy,” I whimpered.

“What?” he spat.

“Stop.” I pleaded.

“How else will I teach you that running from me is absolutely never okay? Don’t tell me to stop. I fuck you how and when I want to fuck you.” His hand covered my mouth.

He pulled out and tried to go in again, slower, but I just winced, still bone dry. Then he pulled out and flipped me over onto my back and ripped my blouse open and then pinned my arms with one hand and covered my mouth with the other.

“I don’t want to hear another fucking word out of your mouth,” he spat.

I was shaking and it felt like we were back where we started. Me afraid, him being horrible but worse because I knew he didn’t have to be like this but he was choosing to be. I hated this. This wasn’t a game; this was something else, something hideous. This was so hideous it was going to take me back to when I first met him and would erase the moments we’d had together that had made me go from feeling like my life was over to feeling like I could fall for him, fall hard. 

In Mexico when he held me and washed me clean.

In the hayloft when we danced and he told me he was in love with me and played the song I’d dreamt of dancing with my future husband to.

In the hospital when he was so worried about me and showed me that he would look after me, when he slept all awkwardly in the chair holding my hand all night long.

On the floor in the bedroom the morning when we were shot at, when he’d been a human shield to keep bullets from hitting me.

Something inside of me was shriveling up and it, whatever it was, was dying. He let go of my wrists and my mouth and then let out a big exasperated-sounding sigh. Then he leaned over me, “Stop it,” he said, looking me in the eye. His eyes were so cold. I was sobbing so hard I was starting to hyperventilate.

“Stop…” he repeated, angrily.

I couldn’t stop. I’d probably need to breathe into a paper bag before I could stop.

“Shut up!” his hand came down over my throat and he squeezed. I think I stopped breathing out of shock as much as him cutting my airflow off. Tears froze in their tracks on my face and my mouth and eyes were wide as I gasped and then he loosened his grip.

He stared at me. He stared at me with such an angry hateful look. He still had my throat but he’d loosened his grip.  I swallowed and felt the lump in my throat touch his palm.

He got up and opened the door. I stayed where I was. I was just lying there with my shorts down around my knees, my ripped blouse, and my tear-stained face.

He was back with a glass of whiskey. He stood there, his pants undone. He drank from it and then threw his t-shirt over his head and then dropped his pants.

I closed my eyes and held my breath. He took my shorts and underwear the rest of the way off me. I just laid there.

“Sit up,” he said.

I sat up. He pulled my ripped blouse off and undid my bra and then took that off. He did these things almost clinically.

“Up,” he muttered and I stood up. He pulled the blanket back, “In.” he said.

I lay down and he got in beside me then climbed on top of me.

“Open your legs,” he said.

I shook my head, “Please, Tommy.”
Enough. Please enough.

“Now!” he snarled and my legs obeyed but I was whimpering.

He leaned over me and took his cock and started gliding it up and down and up and down between my folds, against my clit. I just laid there staring at the ceiling.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

My eyes met his.

“You’re mine,” he said.

I felt my eyebrows furrow. I tried to relax them. I didn’t want to provoke him further.

“Never run from me again.” More rubbing, especially on my clit. I was trembling.

“I’m the one in control,” he said.

He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth and sucked. Then he took his cock and repeated the process of stroking it up and down. After several strokes he rammed into me to the hilt. He did this not taking his eyes off mine.

“I own this pussy,” he declared coldly.

I couldn’t hide my disgust and tried to look away.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

“Fuck you,” I whimpered.

“Oh, it’s back on, is it?” he asked and he looked sickeningly pleased.

He leaned down and tried to kiss me. He actually tried to kiss me! I reached up to push his face away but he caught my arm and then pinned both arms and started to pound into me, fuck me and use me like I was a piece of meat and then kissed me hard, painfully, and then grunted, “Try to slap my face again and I’ll slap your face. In fact, I think I still owe you a black eye and a fat lip, don’t I?”

My whole body went lax, I didn’t try to fight. That threat was his winning move. He threatened to hit me while his cock was inside of me and I was just done fighting. I just stayed there, letting him push into me over and over until he leaned back over and started to kiss me, hungrily, roughly, his hand back around my throat. I tried to float away in my mind, I saw the sky over the field back at his farm and imagined his beautiful face looking at me with love and I tried to feel that love. But I couldn’t. I just wanted to float away.

He finally came, but not inside me; he pulled out and came all over my stomach, marking me like I was his property. He reached over and wiped my stomach with something, I didn’t see what. Then he went limp and breathless on top of me.

He stayed there for a second, breathing hard. I don’t know if I even breathed or if I was just frozen in horror. Finally, he leaned, reached over me, and flicked the lamp back on and said, “Put it back on me.” He had the silver necklace in his hand. The necklace?

I usually fumbled with things like that, I don’t know how I got it unclasped and re-clasped in the dim room in the state of mind I was in but I did, first try, as he hovered over me watching me do it, looking at me stripped bare and vulnerable and at his mercy, his own expression stripped bare and telling me so much with his eyes. His eyes came into focus for me and they were on mine and suddenly pain-stricken, sorrowful. My throat and chest both started to burn.

After it was around his neck and my hands dropped back listlessly to the mattress he looked at me, that pain and sorrow etched in his features intensifying. I just stared back at him, feeling empty, raw, feeling utterly broken. I bit back the emotion. He rolled off of me, reached down to the floor and grabbed the t-shirt he had on, and then he put it over my head. He took a wrist and motioned for me to get my arm into the arm hole. I did the second arm myself.

He laid back down on top of me, burying his face into my neck, “Fuck baby. I love you,” he whispered that into my ear and then ran his thumb over my bottom lip. Then he started to stroke my hair and we just stayed there and he kept doing that while I was pinned underneath him. I didn’t make a sound, I didn’t move a muscle. Eventually, he fell asleep right on top of me like that.