How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (4 page)

For a moment, I said nothing. What could I say? That I was nervous about looking like an outcast at a wedding in front of hundreds of people I’d never met? I was a model. That would sound silly. My ego had been so damaged from Derek I never thought I’d fit in anywhere except in the world of cars and tattoos. But it was time to drop that train of thought and take on the role of Mistress Veronika Kane. So I answered, “I never have to do anything, Aston. I’m choosing to attend this function with you, and I’m choosing to have you submit to me later tonight.” I reminded myself again why I wanted this.

Aston started the car and smiled. “I have no idea what that means, but I like the sound of it. I’m guessing I’ve been a good boy?”

“Let me see how you handle this bad boy, and we’ll talk later,” I said with a wink, putting on my horn-rimmed sunglasses as we hit the highway and sped up.

The drive to Newport passed quickly, especially since Aston actually did know a lot about cars. Much more than I had expected.

“How you got your hands on a car like this is beyond me,” he said, slinking his hands up and down the wheel with a swoony touch. I knew it was a compliment, but I bristled slightly at the assumption I couldn’t afford it on my own.

“It was a hunk of junk when we bought it,” I said, quickly changing the we to I so as not to have to talk about that dickhead. “I spent an entire year restoring Johnny to his former glory.”

“You did it yourself?” he asked, voice rising. I clenched my teeth. Jeez, this guy just did not know his place. Was I doing this Domme thing wrong?

“I had a little help,” I said, not wanting to talk about Derek. I frowned at Aston’s incredulity and nodded. “I always liked to work with my hands. Hell, I started tinkering with cars before I was even in high school. I caught on pretty quick. Johnny was the fourth car I restored from scrap to show quality. I sold the others and bought a shop.”

“So why did you hold on to this one?” Aston asked, moving his right hand from the wheel to the leather on my seat. He wanted my hand. I didn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m . . . not ready to talk about that.”

“And your parents?” he asked.

“They’re gone, too, my biological parents. Harrison and I basically grew up in a half dozen foster homes,” I whispered, squeezing my eyes closed. “So what about you? All I know about you is that your family members are restaurateurs.”

He shrugged. “That’s really all there is to know. I’m the youngest of four kids over a span of ten years. All my other siblings are married with a ton of kids. Everyone’s in the business. Went to Providence College, got a degree in business, started working for my dad.”

“Must be nice to have a job lined up for you after college,” I noted.

He nodded and waved his hand dismissively. “I didn’t need that degree. I don’t even use it.”

“Sounds like the family business isn’t what you’d pick.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do like food a lot.”

He was keeping something from me, and my curiosity was piqued. “What would you do if they just up and sold all the restaurants?”

“That would be high up on the never-gonna-happen list, along with my siblings ever letting me sit at the big kid table of life,” he said with a sad laugh.

I gave him a pat on the arm.

He looked over my shoulder at a sign that read O
CEAN
P
OINT
Y
ACHT
C
LUB
.

“Looks like we’re here,” he said. “Too bad, actually. I was enjoying the ride.”

I nodded and we drove up the elegant road to the club’s parking lot in silence. After a moment I said, “You handle him well, you know.”

His smile changed him somehow and the emotion of it took me aback with its ferocity. Pride. Not arrogance, but a feeling of accomplishment. He did want to impress me. I put my hand on his. “Ready, handsome?”

Aston smiled. “Any rules? I’ve never taken a Domme to a wedding.”

I returned the smile and readied a proper response. “You don’t take a Domme anywhere. She takes you.”

He didn’t laugh, but simply bobbed his head in agreement. “This kink stuff is pretty intense. Anything else?”

I took a moment to think. “Let’s start off easy. You’ve got a big head and you need to deflate it a bit if you want to be with me. Just speak when you’re spoken to, stay one step behind me, and always look directly at me when I’m speaking. I’m the center of your attention tonight, Aston.”

“That’s a given,” he said. “Do I call you Mistress?”

“Not while anyone can hear.”

He opened the car door and came around to open mine. “Then, after you, Mistress,” he whispered, and I stood and escorted us inside.

The long verdant lawn of the yacht club was decorated with flowered cocktail tables and a grand tent by the ocean. A clever decorator had hung crystal chandeliers from the property’s tall trees which provided a whimsical and elegant touch. “Looks like we missed the service,” I noted as guests passed by with drinks. Stiff serving men holding silver platters offered flaky, ornate morsels.

Aston didn’t seem fazed. “Champagne,” he barked at a nearby server.

The nervous waiter approached with a tray of two types of bubbly—some flutes held gold liquid, others had a raspberry at the bottom and rose champagne. “Of course, Mr. Delano. If these don’t please you, I can grab something from inside.”

“I like these,” I said, grabbing a pink flute before Aston could further order the guy around. Besides, I am a sucker for berries since they are a safe treat. “So do you know the bride or the groom?” I asked. The couple must be taking photographs, since I didn’t spot any kind of receiving line. Many of the guests, especially the women, kept glancing our way. A jazz quartet played some tunes in the shade of a gazebo. As soon as the champagne server spoke to some of his buddies, the appetizers began a rapid parade in our direction.

The place was catering directly to Aston. His chest puffed out when he saw this, and he made sure to look over each morsel with scrutiny before he took any. I grabbed a tomato, cheese, and basil skewer. It was bright, fragrant, and hopefully healthy.

“Both,” he answered. “The groom’s parents were original financiers for the first Delano’s restaurant. The bride’s family is partnering to bring our franchise out west.”

I sipped the champagne and nodded. “Close friends of yours?”

He shrugged and shifted uncomfortably. “Providence is a lot like a small town. Everyone knows everyone, at least in the restaurant business. Gotta like ’em all, at least to their faces.” He looked around and raised his glass at someone, smiled, and nodded at another. I sniffed and felt slightly queasy from the waft of cloying lavender perfume.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Aston.”

He turned and I saw him grimace.

“This little prank of yours isn’t very funny,” she continued.

“No prank,” Aston said, sipping a glass of champagne. “Just enjoying the beautiful view.”

The woman snorted. “You’ve got some nerve.”

I coughed and turned toward the woman.

She was a very short blonde, whose hair fell in a bowl shape around her jowly face. Her fat diamond earrings caused her flabby earlobes to droop dangerously low.

“Veronika, this is Clara,” Aston droned. He gestured casually to me. “Clara, Veronika.”

I looked at him with a plastic smile. He hadn’t introduced me before speaking with her.

I held out my hand, but the woman looked at it in disgust. “Not. Funny.”

Aston straightened. “Get some class, Clara. Try to enjoy yourself,” he said to her and walked away, gesturing for me to follow. “I know we will.”

I frowned at him and at the odd situation.

We walked toward the bar instead of discussing it. Aston had drained his champagne, and I quickly followed suit, the little raspberry at the bottom tumbling toward my nose each time I sipped. Before we had even arrived at the bar, waiters came to take our empty glasses away and provide us with more appetizers. It was like the waiters were making beelines to Aston before other wedding guests. “Is your family catering this thing?” I asked, handing him the canapé they’d given me. Didn’t want to fill up on puff pastry. Maybe they had some crudités.

“Yes,” he said, dismissing an overly attentive waitress with a flick of his hand. For a moment I didn’t see a submissive in front of me, but one of those alpha billionaires from my books. He held these people in the palm of his hand, and yet he wanted my palm spanking his ass.
What a strange turn of events for him
, I thought with a smile. Then I remembered that awful woman with the fat earlobes, and what she implied about what Aston was doing there, especially with me. That raised my hackles.

“So. What’s not funny?” I asked.

He shook his head and grimaced. “It’s nothing. She’s a huge bitch.”

“Tell me what she meant by that.”

Aston stiffened. He glanced around nervously. “This . . . might have been a bad idea. I should have never taken you here.”

My heart bobbed in my chest like a buoy. I moved my mouth to form words—an insult, a reprimand, anything—but nothing came out. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, pretending to tame this damned brash playboy, but I never expected to feel as personally hurt and offended as I did right then. “You have a lot of friends here, a lot of followers,” I said, noting yet another hovering server headed toward us, “you can get a ride home. I’ll drop off Johnny tomorrow.”

He grabbed my hand, “That came out wrong,” he said. “Look, people are starting to file into the tent. Let’s sit down at a table and talk. I probably should have briefed you.”

I pulled my hand from his. “The fact that I need briefing concerns me greatly,” I said with a nasty squint. He swallowed hard and his skin flushed. Could it be he was hot when I was angry with him? This was . . . turning him on? Was he genuinely scared of my reaction, or did he want to humiliate me in front of the socialites?

He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “That woman is my ex’s mother. She’s a troll.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said through clenched teeth. “Obviously she had some reason to be angry with you for bringing me. That’s not rocket science.”

He sighed. “Walk with me,” he said. More eyes were on us. Aston assumed his spoiled prince stance.

I didn’t move.

“Please, Mistress,” he begged.

My mind spun. I had to put him in his place. “Bark like a dog.”

He hesitated for a second and then bleated a pathetic woof under his breath.

“Hop on one foot,” I said through clenched teeth.

He lifted his right leg and bounced. “Woof. Woof. Woof,” he said with each small jump.

“Come along, Aston.” I reluctantly began to walk in the direction he was looking. He remained faithfully a step behind me. The stares continued, the music got a little louder, and the sun began its descent, painting the festivities tangerine. We arrived at a long ebony table set with delicate frames, citing names and table numbers, next to the grand tent. I spotted Aston’s, but something about it was very strange. The table number had been written in a different color ink. It seemed another number was there to begin with. He grabbed it quickly and we headed toward table ten. A few young people sat there chatting and didn’t look up when Aston and I sat down. Which was fortunate, since I was about to grill him.

“You have one minute before I get up and leave. I don’t even care about punishing you anymore,” I said, leaning my chin on my hand. “Discipline would take you down a peg, but I don’t think any amount of spanking would give you some manners.” I was disgusted by how he handled the situation, and more than a little ruffled by the looks people were giving us. “What am I missing?”

He grabbed a water from the table and took a long drink. “I was supposed to be the best man.”

I looked around. “Here?”

He nodded. “Then I broke up with the groom’s sister,” he said, wincing. “One of the bridesmaids.”

“You dick,” I whispered, stunned I was stupid enough to let this charade go this far. “I knew I should have gone with my instincts and stayed away from you. No amount of punishment or discipline can give you a sense of fucking decency.” He was an asshole like Derek all along. Why did I think he would be different?

His proud demeanor drooped a fraction. The other guests wouldn’t notice, but I did.

“Seriously?” I pressed. “How recent was this?”

“A month,” he mumbled. Another waiter approached him and he shooed the man away.

I pushed my chair back.

“Wait, please. You said I had a minute.”

I crossed my arms. I wanted to slap him across the face not just for me, but for this bridesmaid he ditched before a wedding, but I had promised to listen.

“She cheated,” he said. My face fell. “With another guy in the wedding party. I couldn’t be the best man. I wouldn’t. We were doomed anyway—she was too boring to keep my attention and her bitch mother knew it.”

Part of me sympathized. He was humiliated. The other, rational part of me raged. “So you bring a tall, tattooed girl with unnaturally red hair to do what? Draw attention to yourself? Make a scene?” I kept my voice low despite my anger.

Aston ignored the people at the table who had begun to stare and then suddenly seemed to no longer care. “No, I brought you because you surprised me today at the auction. Made me think I could have a fresh start. You’re someone outside this fucking endless circle of acquaintances. Someone who seemed fun, who I could actually find myself interested in and not fake my way through conversations,” he said, scanning the room. “Someone who doesn’t wait on me hand and goddamned foot.”

“So you didn’t bring me just to shock people? They’re all . . . looking at me.”

He frowned. “They’re staring because you’re a fucking knockout,” he growled. His hazel eyes flashed, and I saw some real depth in them for once. My senses were nearly overwhelmed with his honesty—there was no deception here.

I leaned forward and he squared his broad shoulders. “Do not speak to me in that tone unless you want to be sore for a week.”

“Maybe I want to,” he answered. No smirk, no sarcasm. Just those unassuming, honest eyes. They juxtaposed so drastically with his rich, standoffish demeanor.

I scooched in closer to him and dropped my voice to an intimate whisper.

“What do you want me to do to you?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow. This was a challenge. Could he articulate his desires for me? Would he do it in public?

His breath caught in his throat for a second, and he forced out an answer as his cheeks turned crimson. “I want you to hurt me, then fuck me, then fucking hurt me.”

I leaned in, surprised by this masochistic side. “Go on.”

“I want to be tied up, spanked, and used by you.” His voice was as dark as his coffee-colored hair and as rich as his cufflinks.

This time, my breath hitched. “When?”

“Tonight. Fuck, now,” he said, looking around. “I mean, if that’s to your liking, Mistress.”

I swallowed and tried to bring the boil down to a simmer. One thing I assumed I should be doing is to draw things out for the submissive, make them work for it. I’d tease him now by dragging him to the dance floor. We’d be pressed against each other and wouldn’t be able to really touch the way we wanted to. It was perfect.

“Dance with me,” I whispered in his ear. I watched goose bumps surface along his neck.

“Yes, Mistress,” he mouthed, and escorted me to the parquet floor, where dozens of guests had begun to gather. The tune was slow and jazzy, and I felt my body unhinge at the way Aston placed one hand low on my hip and the other clasping my fingers with a gentle pressure.

We swayed for a moment, wordless and spellbound, just watching the chemistry between us percolate. With each passing second, I felt myself more drawn to him, more desperate to bend him to my will. His responses made my confidence surge and I knew there may be a chance we could be happy. Sadly, my reverie didn’t even make it to the end of the song.

“Are you packed yet?” a shrill voice asked. A tiny, old woman tugged at Aston’s jacket. “And who’s she?”

Aston pulled away from me slightly, bent and gave the woman a kiss on the head. “Hello, Nonna.”

Again, she tapped him with her wrinkled hand. “Answer me.”

I frowned. I didn’t want anyone ordering Aston around but me.

“Not yet, Nonna. Veronika, this is my grandmother, Philomena. Nonna, this is Veronika Kane.”

The old woman squinted at me and pushed her thick glasses up her nose.

“Why haven’t you packed?” she asked.

Aston shrugged and a sliver of apprehension wormed its way into my consciousness. Packed for what?

“Don’t worry about it. I travel light,” he responded.

She snorted. “Like hell you do. I want you to leave here now and get ready. If your father thinks for one second you’re not up to this position, you’ll be out on the curb.”

I steeled myself and tried to make conversation. “The catering tonight is lovely. Your family makes fantastic food.”

Instead of responding politely, like any normal human would, she just wrinkled her nose and looked back at Aston. “Where’d you find her, the circus?”

I stood, indignant, and waited for Aston to do his job and rebuke her. If he didn’t have the backbone to stand up for me to his grandmother, we’d have some issues moving forward. “Nonna,” he said with a slightly warning tone. “Veronika and I met at a car show. She builds and restores antique roadsters. You’d like them.” What was this? Aston was just bending to this old hag’s will? Where was the arrogance, the confidence? Tone or not, he completely ignored her insults to me.

The old woman ignored him and scurried away, looking back at me over her shoulder, annoyed.

“Why did you let her talk to you like that?” I asked, shaking my head. “Is this how your family treats you? I thought you said you coasted through life because of them?”