What his hesitation was now, he had no idea. It was probably the added emotional connection he was worried about, especially since he didn’t know where he stood with her.
Or maybe it was just sixteen years of conditioning he was having trouble getting past.
If he balked much longer, he’d have to give her an explanation.
By the time he got back to the kitchen, Arabella had breakfast laid out. They’d brought enough fresh food with them to feed an army, and apparently either she thought he was starving or it was just easier to hide the big lump of rat poison under a mound of scrambled eggs.
“How much poison did you add?” he asked, gesturing to the eggs.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” she replied mildly. She led him into the dining room, which she had set for two, one of them at either end of the ridiculously long trestle table. She gestured for him to sit and put his plate down in front of him.
“Breakfast is served, King Grant.”
“King? Have I been given a promotion?”
She shrugged. “I’d tell you to check with human resources, but we don’t have any reception this morning.”
“We don’t?” He raised his brows and felt for his phone, only to realize he’d left it in their room. He’d forgotten it up there part of yesterday too. It was strange how his phone was an extension of his arm back home, but here he kept forgetting to carry it.
“Nope. I guess we’ll have to figure out how often this happens and see whether there is a way to boost the signal for when you have guests. I don’t know if people will be able to handle being out here with no reception.”
They began to eat, and Grant had to restrain himself from groaning aloud from the pleasure the food brought him. With only a hot plate in his apartment, he rarely had home-cooked anything unless he went over to Will’s house. Arabella was a good cook. Compared to Grant she could host her own cooking show.
“I’m starting to wonder if you just brought me along to make you food.”
“I brought you along because I need someone I can trust here as a second opinion. Someone with a good eye for detail, who runs a successful business.” He put some jam on his toast. “I also wanted my best friend here to share this with, even if she’s pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed at you.” She sighed. “We just wanted very different things from our . . . friendship before we got here, and now that we’ve found some common ground it should be easier.” She took a bite of her bacon, then glanced up at him earnestly. “What was torturing me about this morning? Were you getting even for something?”
Grant could feel heat rising in his neck and he wished there was some sort of convenient way to change the subject, like possibly an attack by rabid geese.
“Do geese get rabies?” he asked, abandoning any hope of being suave.
“Did you . . . get bitten by a goose while I was making breakfast?” she asked, eyebrow arched.
“No. I was just wondering.” He applied himself to shoveling through the eggs and toast, but he could feel her gaze on him, waiting. Eventually he gave up on her losing interest in his answer and laid his fork aside. “I just need to get my head on straight.”
“About geese or me?”
He shook his head. “Not about geese. You’re not the issue either.” Letting her think he was having second thoughts about being with her wasn’t fair. “If we were closer to civilization . . . to a pharmacy . . .”
“You think I’d lie about getting tested and who I’ve been with?” she asked, her brows high and her eyes reflecting hurt.
Well shit. He’d made a mess of this conversation already.
“What? No! I just . . .”
“You just what?”
Of course it would come to this.
“Well, when you have a specific rule that you’ve held firmly to for twenty-eight years, it’s hard to break it. Even if you know it’s okay and you really want to.”
“So you fully intended to have sex with me but then chickened out and left me hanging?”
Even from where he sat all the way at the other end of the table her frown of displeasure held a warning. He wasn’t sure why, but pissing her off had always been entertaining—probably because she did the same to him on a regular basis.
“I also felt it was important to get our relationship off on the right foot.”
“Oh? I don’t really think of sexual frustration as a desirable trait in my D/s relationships. I’m not one of those people who get off on self-denial.”
“You’re not supposed to. It’s a good way to remind you who’s in charge. I enjoy your bratty side, but a girl who wants sex needs to behave.”
“That sounds like a Dominant making excuses for being chickenshit.”
“Just because we agreed not to use condoms doesn’t mean I owe you dick.”
She rose from the table and walked toward him, plate in hand, and he got the feeling that he’d be wearing her non-poisoned scrambled eggs in about thirty seconds if he didn’t talk fast.
“If you dump that on me, you’re not going to enjoy the consequences.” He didn’t have anything specific in mind, but he was sure he could come up with something suitably humiliating.
She eyed him speculatively, likely wondering how bad of a punishment he could dream up. He held out his hand for the plate and let his gaze go glacial.
She swallowed, her gaze flicking to his hand and then back to his face. Threatening a brat with punishment was almost an encouragement for them to misbehave, but he hoped she gave him enough credit for creativity to know he’d figure out how to make it truly unpleasant.
Under her breath, she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “fucker.” The plate finally drifted close enough for him to take, as though she could barely stand to hand it over. He took it casually, but there’d been at least a 50 percent chance he’d end up wearing her breakfast.
“Good girl.”
A roll of her pretty dark eyes let him know exactly how much the praise had meant to her. Exactly zilch.
Carefully, he placed the full plate directly in front of his own on the table, so that the edges touched.
As she tried to stroll away, he caught her arm. Although she tried to yank free, he held her easily.
When she stopped fighting, he let go and snapped his fingers, then gestured from her to the table. “Up.”
“What!”
“Kneel on the table facing me and your plate.”
She gave him a long look, but slowly did as he’d bidden her.
“Take your shirt off.”
Sighing, she yanked the very thin T-shirt off, making her breasts bounce. His mind blanked completely as his gaze locked on her nipple piercings glinting in the sunlight slanting through the window. When he could finally raise his gaze to her face, her expression was mocking and smug.
“Eat.”
“My utensils are at the other end of the table, Master.”
The sarcastic use of his title had him smiling dangerously.
“I guess you should have thought of that,” he said dryly. “Now I get to pretend you’re my cute little pet. Eat. No hands.”
She groaned, her cheeks pinkening. “I’d rather starve.”
“Either you eat, or I cane your pussy.”
“You don’t have a cane here!”
He inclined his head toward the corner where he’d propped the bag and the fiberglass rod.
Upon seeing the green rod, her jaw set. “How am I supposed to eat toast without using my hands?”
“I’ll feed you the toast. You just work on your eggs and bacon.”
She stared at her plate then back at him. “If I wasn’t so hungry I’d take the caning,” she assured him.
“Oh, I’m well aware.” Actually, he was pretty sure she was bluffing, but with Arabella one
never knew.
Awkwardly, she leaned forward from her kneeling position, opening her mouth over the pile of eggs and taking a bite. She chewed and swallowed, then glared at him.
“This is a shitty way to enjoy the food I made.”
“Then maybe you should have made different choices for your morning, little slave.”
Despite her dark glare, he didn’t miss the subtle squirm of her hips. She enjoyed being put in her place just as much as he enjoyed putting her in her place.
Reaching over, he picked up a piece of her toast then tore it into chunks. Possibly risking the tips of his fingers, he offered a bit of bread to her, the butter smearing his fingers. Her head darted forward, and he snatched his hand back, narrowing his eyes at her.
“Bite me and I’ll make you regret it.”
“But Master, what if it’s an accident?”
He chuckled. “Like I’d ever believe that?”
“My life would be so much easier if you were stupid,” she said, sighing melodramatically.
“Ditto.”
“I guess we both like the challenge. It wouldn’t be any fun if I could trick you into doing what I wanted all the time,” she said grudgingly.
“And you wouldn’t be any fun if you were always a good, obedient girl. I don’t mind having to work for it once in a while.”
“It’s my responsibility as a brat to make sure you don’t get lazy.”
“I’m starting to get the impression I shouldn’t skip workouts either.”
She gasped in mock horror. “Are you threatening me with corporal punishment?”
“My god, woman, would you shut up and eat? My delicious poisoned breakfast is getting cold.”
Her glower was back, which was good because he’d missed seeing it.
When he held out the toast again, she opened her mouth and accepted it daintily, but made sure to scrape her teeth over the pad of his thumb.
Trouble. That’s what her parents should have named her.
She took another bite of egg, then another, then tried to snatch one of the toast pieces. He was faster, and blocked the toast with his hand.
“I told you I would feed you the toast.”
She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, leaning forward to accept the piece he’d picked up. He placed it in her mouth and then held his fingers in front of her.
“Clean up this mess.”
She chewed and swallowed, then leaned in again to lick the butter from his fingers. Although he’d never say so, he was amazed she hadn’t purposely misunderstood and tried to wipe them off with a napkin, just to be a brat. It seemed her most likely response, but then again she probably didn’t want to be predictable. Her little tongue lapped at the grease on his fingers, apparently wanting to do a thorough job of things.
Like, really fucking thorough. He watched her pretty mouth and tongue make long, agonizing work of doing what she’d been told to do.
Fuck.
Within moments his dick was jealous and on the verge of taking over his brain. It would be so easy to grab her by the shoulders and drag her across the table to suck his dick. Sadly, the woman couldn’t live strictly on a come diet, so he had to make sure she ingested enough food to keep her pretty curves intact.
He yanked his hand back and ate, determined to enjoy his meal even though his little submissive was being incredibly distracting, her half-naked beauty making it difficult to pay enough attention to taste what he was eating. How was it possible for her to be eating like an animal and still make it look sexy? He’d meant for it to be humiliating—especially since she wasn’t into pet play—but all he managed to do was make her slightly physically uncomfortable, and make himself extremely physically uncomfortable. His hard-on was bent at a regrettable angle and he wished he could adjust it without her noticing.
When he was finished with his own meal, he sipped his coffee and watched her until she sat back too.
“May I have some coffee?” she asked through gritted teeth.
He stacked their plates and set them aside, then waved her closer and patted his lap. Although she made a sound of disgust, she crawled to him and allowed him to settle her on his thighs.
Even through their layers of clothing he could feel the heat of her pussy. Gingerly, he handed her his mug.
“Now don’t spill it,” he warned.
“But this is your coffee. I prefer mine black.”
“You should remember that for tomorrow. You’re lucky I’m not making you lick it up from the saucer.”
“Is it too late to add fucking with my coffee to my list of hard limits?” she asked.
He arched a brow and was about to ask her if she was serious when she took a sip. She grimaced and wrinkled her nose adorably.
“How do you have any teeth left in your head drinking this much sugar every day?”
He cupped one of her breasts in his palm, almost growling with pleasure at the weight of it in his hand. He toggled the little stainless piercing and watched with avid fascination as the dusty rose of her nipple tightened even more than it already had been. Although he’d anticipated her distraction, he almost wasn’t fast enough to right the coffee cup in her hands before it spilled all over them.
“I warned you not to spill it, baby. Do you need me to hold it for you or are you going to be a big girl?”
Her lips drew back from her teeth in an adorable silent snarl, but she didn’t actually say anything he could punish her for.
She took another sip, and he slid his fingers over her other breast, stroking the underside gently, the feel of her silken skin orgasmic to his hand. How did she not stay home all day playing with her tits?
By the time she finished his coffee, she was squirming in his lap and wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. His cock was still jammed sideways in his jeans, each pulse of it a small agony.
When he patted her thigh and urged her up onto her feet, she glared at him suspiciously.
“Let me guess, you have no plans to take me back upstairs right now.”
“Some of us didn’t just come here to get laid,” he shot back. “I need to have a better look around and take notes about what types of construction I’m going to need and where. I can’t call this a BDSM lodge without making a few adjustments.”
She regarded him sourly. “What? You afraid the BDSM Lodge Accreditation Bureau is going to pull your license?”
“I can’t let that happen,” he said firmly. “So as much as I know you’d love to lie around playing dick warmer all day, I have work to do, young lady.” He tweaked her nipple and handed over her T-shirt, then turned away to clear the dishes and stealthily readjust his hard-on.
“There’s no hiding that monster when it’s hard so don’t even bother being subtle.” She snickered when he scowled at her.
“Could be worse. You could be so small that no one noticed when you had a raging boner.”
“Let me guess, you’re a size queen?”
“One of the hazards of sometimes dating women is getting used to having access to a variety of dick sizes. Andromeda has quite a selection. Apparently I’m nowhere near as much of a size queen as I thought I was.” She shuddered, the movement jiggling her perky breasts. “Apparently, some of the men she’s pegged are much more adventurous than I’ll ever be.”
He decided that no response was probably the best response at that point, considering the only comment he could think of would be how hot it would be to see her and Andromeda together. At one point it had been a serious spank bank feature for him, but then he’d gone and slept with Arabella and the visual went from being hot to making him strangely jealous. If anyone found out about his change of heart, he’d lose his man card for sure. He’d never thought of himself as a jealous Dominant until recently, but apparently jealousy was an emotion he felt now.
By the time he’d filled
the sink, Arabella had joined him and was looking mischievous rather than annoyed. She hopped up on the counter a few paces from him and sat, swinging her legs.
“I knew it,” she fake whispered.
“What?” He fished a plate out of the soapy water and scrubbed it clean.
“You have a secret Cinderella role-play fetish. I should have guessed.”
“You cooked, it seems only fair that I do the dishes. Don’t forget, I have no choice but to do my own dishes at home. I don’t have staff or a service slave.”
“And you don’t expect me to be a service slave?”
“I’m sure we could make a game of it if you were interested, but no, not on a regular basis. We’re both busy with work. If you want to sell the brewery and stay home to be Cinderella and raise my full quiver family we can always renegotiate.”
“Never going to happen.”
“Ah, but you’d look so adorable dressed in easy access rags. I could chain you to the stove at night and give you a pile of blankets to sleep on.”
She stared at him and worried at her bottom lip as though contemplating the idea. After a few moments she seemed to give herself an internal shake. “And here I was picturing you in Cinderella’s ball gown.”
“I doubt glass slippers would be very comfortable,” he objected.
She grinned at him, her dark eyes laughing. “Well, I’m glad you don’t expect me to be a service slave. Not my cup of tea.”
“You don’t even like tea.”
“You know me too well.”
“Not well enough.”
In response to that, her smile turned shy.
He rinsed the last of the dishes and put them in the drain tray.
“All right, little pixie, let’s go on an adventure.”
Chapter Thirteen
While Dex whistled the theme to Mission Impossible, Grant poked his head out the front door. He pulled his head back in slowly and closed the door with exaggerated care.
All's Fair in Love and Mastery Page 16
