The Submission of Alistair Ingram (7 page)

“I
know you better than you know yourself,” he murmured, and ran his tongue over
the spot he’d teased with his teeth.

“Don’t
fool yourself,” she said, closing her eyes and steeling her nerve. She jabbed
her knee into his chest and pushed him off.  He gripped her thighs and pulled
her against him as he knelt on the seat so she straddled him with her knees
trapped under his arms.

Her
sundress rode up and bunched at her waist. She tried to pull it down, but he
took her by the wrists and pinned them between her breasts with one hand.

Bethany
struggled against him. She hated being restrained. It brought back all of her
worst fears and memories. The last time she’d been tied up…well, it was almost
the last time she did anything at all on this earth.

“Please,”
she begged. Her body started to quake.

“Don’t
be afraid of me,” he said, bending to touch his lips to hers lightly. His
tongue stroked hers gently, urging it out of her mouth to tangle with his.
“It’s just me. I’m not one of them.”

One
of them? A Dom? No, he wasn’t. But he was a man. He was stronger than her and
had quickly managed to pin her underneath him.

“Relax,”
he said, nibbling her chin, across her jaw and down her neck.

Bethany
closed her eyes and focused on breathing as Alistair’s tongue tickled the
hollow at the base of her neck. She was well aware that she was taking deeper,
faster breaths and tilting her head back, unable to stop herself.

“There,”
he whispered against her collarbone. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

The
index finger of his free hand hooked in the waistband of her panties and ran
from side to side, hip to hip. His touch made her skin hot. Ticklish, she
squirmed.

Alistair
took his finger away, and she opened her eyes wanting to ask him why he
stopped.

Gazing
down at her, he smiled. “I can make it okay. You’re safe with me.”

His
egotistical promise had her slamming a wall back up between them. “Let go.” She
struggled against him, but couldn’t get loose. “You can’t make anything okay.
You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I
do know what I’m saying.” He pressed the full weight of his upper body against
hers. “You weren’t scared a minute ago. You were enjoying it, and I’m still
holding your wrists.”

She
pushed against his chest and shook her head. “No. I--”

“Look
at me.” He let her wrists go and grabbed her shoulders to still her. “Look at
me, Bethany.”

She
met his eyes, sincere and…shit, was that pity she saw in them? Fuck Alistair
Ingram and his pity. Black Betty wasn’t a woman to be pitied.

“Tell
me you weren’t turned on.”

Bethany
tilted her head, blinked her wide, blue eyes at him, lifted her mouth and
clamped her teeth down on his chin.

Alistair
cried out and jerked up off of her. “What the fuck?” He dabbed his chin with
his hand, checking to see if he was bleeding. He wasn’t.

Bethany
scrambled back across the seat, righting her sundress. “Never look at me like
I’m a pathetic piece of trash you can fix.”

“Pathetic
piece of trash?” Alistair laughed. “More like psychotic lunatic.” He rubbed his
chin. “Christ that hurt.”

“Good.”

He
took a deep breath and blew it out hard. “You’ll let me in, you know. The more
you resist, the harder I’ll push.”

“I
have barriers around my emotions crafted in Mordor. Good luck.”

“Mordor?”
Alistair bust out laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re a
Lord of The Rings
fan.”

She
cringed. She’d forgotten he was in those movies. “Who’s not?”

He
let out a sharp, derisive laugh. “The years I made those movies I pretty much
lived in Mordor.”

Thinking
back, she recalled hearing or reading rumors about Alistair Ingram during the
time those movies first came out. Drinking, drugs, women, the typical libations
of a young superstar actor breaking out in Hollywood.

“Did
you hit bottom?” she asked. “Or is this bottom for you?” She gestured to
herself.

Alistair
reached over and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, smirking.
“Didn’t we talk about this? I don’t bottom and neither do you.”

Reality
Check

The
reminder of his days making the
Lord of The Rings
movies had left
Alistair cooled off considerably. Bethany—Black Betty—whoever the hell this
woman was sitting next to him, had no business in that part of his life. In the
past he left behind.

He
was a serious actor now. The roles he took he’d always been serious about, but
he’d fucked around thinking he was the next Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Tom
Hanks. Hollywood quickly proved he was only a B-lister climbing the ranks and
hazed the holy hell out of him.

Tempted
by hot models and actresses—who he later realized were hanging on to his
coattails and could give a shit about him personally—booze, drugs and an
over-inflated sense of self-worth, he’d spiraled out of control. Alistair
almost lost everything he’d worked hard for.

Once
word gets out that you’re an asshole who’s hard to work with, the work doesn’t
come so easily.

If
there was one thing he’d learned, it was that guys like him—good bodies and not
too hard on the eyes—were a dime a dozen and most of them were trying to break
into acting.

He
could be replaced.

He
knew that now, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it.

Alistair
gazed across the seat at Bethany. What the hell was happening between them? She
was a total head case and exactly what he didn’t need in his life. Was he that
fucked up that he needed to save her? Was his ego taking over again?

She
looked over and met his eyes. One confused, lust-filled, stricken look from
those falsely innocent blue eyes, and a noose was tightening around his neck.
She showed him everything with her eyes. She didn’t hide from him and pretend
she was perfect.

She
knew he wasn’t perfect and didn’t treat him like he was.

Bethany
was real.

He’d
missed real. Nobody in LA was real with him. Hell, he might as well live in a
bubble. Everyone kissed his ass all the time, even his friends. At first it was
fucking fantastic, but it got old fast. For so long he’d been waiting for
someone to come along with a needle to pop him out of the bubble. Then she came
along—Black Betty and that whip—and busted him out.

“What
are you thinking?” she asked. “You’re looking at me weird.”

“I
kind of like it when you’re a bitch to me.” He hid behind a smirk. It was as
close to telling her the truth as he could get.

She
cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “If there was a time I wasn’t a bitch to
you, I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

She
reached over and ran her red nails through his hair, making his scalp tingle.
“How much longer do we have until we get there? I’m itching to dig into my
black bag and torture you some more, Pretty Boy.”

“Why
wait? Pull off at the rest stop up here!” he called to their driver.

Bethany’s
head jerked back. “Rest stop? I think you might be more anxious than me.”

He
shrugged. “Maybe just kinkier.”

Her
laugh reverberated through the cab of the S.U.V. “I highly doubt that, Mr.
Ingram.”

“I
prefer Pretty Boy,” he said, running a hand up her thigh.

She
smacked his hand. “No touching unless I tell you to touch. And I’ll decide what
I call you.”

“Yes,
Mistress.” He bit back another smirk.

“Eyes
down. Don’t look at me unless I tell you to.”

Lowering
his eyes, he squeezed his lips tight and bit the inside of his cheek so he
didn’t laugh. “Yes, Mistress.” He was shit at this submissive stuff.

The
driver pulled off the highway into the rest area and parked. There was only one
other car, and nobody else in sight. Bethany leaned forward and whispered
something into the driver’s ear. He nodded.

“Stand
on the sidewalk with my black bag,” she instructed Alistair. “Then don’t move
until I tell you to.”

“Yes,
Mistress.” He sniffed, finding this highly amusing. He’d give a thousand bucks
to know what she told his driver. If the man weren’t bound to an iron-clad gag
order, Alistair might be worried.

He
opened the door and hoisted the heavy-ass black duffel bag over to the
sidewalk, dropped it at his feet and waited for her with his eyes on his shoes.
They could use a polish after this weekend.

His
entire life could use a polish after this weekend.

Her
heels clicked on the blacktop parking lot as she strode toward him. The SUV
backed out of its spot and pulled away. “We have ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll
make this quick.”

She
knelt, unzipped the bag and pulled out a collar and leash. He held up a hand.
“No way. Not in public. I get photographed with that thing on and my life is
over.”

Bethany’s
hand shot up and grabbed him by the balls. His entire body flinched. She pulled,
and he knelt beside her.

He
had to admit to being a little afraid of her. Honestly, he didn’t know her, but
he did know she was a little nuts, and when she had her hands on his balls, he
wouldn’t put it past her to rip them right off  if that’s what she wanted.

Bethany’s
lips were at his ear. Her breath hot on his neck. “If we don’t do the leash, we
do the blindfold, and you get punished.”

Shit.
“Fine.” He’d play it off as some big finale to his bachelor party if he had to.
The media would find it odd since he was no longer engaged, but over the years
he learned they were dumb enough to go along with whatever half-cocked story
his people put out there.

Like
the
Hues of Black and Blue
story. He hoped Kent was shouting that one
from the mountaintops. When a celebrity rest-stop scandal gets out, it’s the
kiss of death. Look what happened to George Michael.

At
least it wasn’t the collar and leash. He’d never live that down.

Bethany
took the black silk blindfold out of her bag and slipped it over his head.
“Stand and pick up the bag.”

He
did, rolling his eyes behind the blindfold but savoring the rush of heat
zinging up his thighs and low in his stomach in anticipation of what was to
come.

She
grasped the handle of the duffle bag and used it to guide him up the sidewalk
toward the building with the restrooms and vending machines.

He
heard the door open, felt the change of temperature from blazing hot summer to
cool A/C and knew they were inside. Her heels made a different clicking sound
on the hard tile floor than they had on the concrete sidewalk.

Bethany
led him to the left. By the scent—urinal cakes and piss—he knew they were in
the men’s room. Hinges squeaked and a door in front of them hit the wall. She
pulled him forward. The stall door slammed and locked.

“Drop
the bag,” she said.

He
did.

“Turn
and face me.”

He
did. His cock began to strain against his pants in eagerness, and she hadn’t
even touched him. But Jesus, her smooth, marble hard voice wrapped around his
dick and squeezed with every word.

“Sit.”

He
sat. It was a toilet. He was sitting on a toilet in a stall in a rest stop
men’s room with a raging hard on. The thought almost made him laugh.

She
ran her fingers through his hair before sliding his blindfold down around his
neck. He lowered his eyes, not wanting to distract her. He was dying to know
where this was headed.

Bethany
took two black cuffs out of her bag. There were several medal loops attached to
them. “Hold out your arms.”

He
did. She buckled the cuffs around his wrists. “Keep them out,” she said, and
pulled to pairs of handcuffs from her bag.

His
arousal turned to panic. “Wait.”

She
swooped down on him and bit his lips together. Then she licked them. “I didn’t
tell you to speak.”

Before
he could gather his wits, she had both of his wrists attached to the rails on
either side of the stall. It was a handicap stall. He hadn’t realized before
now.

“Look
at me,” she ordered.

He
lifted his eyes to hers. She was deadly, serious and sexy as hell. “First
lesson. You will trust me without question. Without hesitation.” She reached
forward and grasped the blindfold around his neck. “I’ll be back for you,” she
said and slid the blindfold back over his eyes.

“No
fucking way,” he said. “You’re not leaving me here blindfolded and locked in a
fucking rest stop stall.”