My Dom (Boston Doms Book 1)

by Jane Henry

  "Okay," he allowed. "A dominant is sometimes like that, for fun or when the situation calls for it. But in general…"

  His blue eyes were serious as they held hers.

  "In general, a dominant is all about protecting what's his. And the rules he puts in place aren't arbitrary or based on his whim… in general," he reiterated, seeing that Heidi was about to protest. "Yeah, it sounds like this guy could've expressed himself better, since you hardly know him, but… it sounds like he was trying to be protective."

  Heidi sipped her coffee. She remembered the way Dom's hand had felt, wrapped tenderly but firmly around her waist, how gentle he'd been when he'd grabbed her seat belt and buckled her in, how he'd all but carried her to her front door and offered to get her an ice pack from his own freezer, how he'd given her his cell number and told her to text him when she was ready to pick up her car. That part had felt nice, so nice. But…

  "Okay, fine. So doms aren't necessarily jerks. But I'm not his," she said slowly, putting the mug on her desk. "And I'm not a submissive. You know me, Paul! I'm not weak. I have a career. I have goals." She gestured around the office. "I could never just sit back and let someone call all the shots."

  "Doms aren't jerks," he agreed. "And, sweetie, subs aren't weaklings."

  She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

  "It takes so much strength to yield yourself to someone completely… such an indomitable sense of self to let someone else call the shots," he said rapturously, excitedly. "To know that someone's given themselves to you that way…"

  Heidi sucked in a breath as light finally dawned.

  "You know an awful lot about this," she observed.

  "I do," he agreed, his eyes not leaving hers.

  She exhaled loudly and looked away, not ready to have that conversation right now.

  "I still don't think…"

  He held up a hand to cut her off.

  "It's not for everyone. It might not be for you. God knows, with your mother…"

  "Hey!" Heidi protested. "Just because she believes strongly in women's rights…"

  "True or false? She commonly refers to straight white men as 'our oppressors'?"

  Heidi winced and blew out a breath. "True," she admitted.

  "True or false? She considers labeling restrooms as 'Women's and Men's' a form of 'gender apartheid'."

  Heidi sighed. "Also true. You know it is."

  "Mmmhmm. And she has a right to her opinions, but just consider how they might influence your perception of your hot, intriguing, protective neighbor," he said, a teasing glint in his eye. "Speaking of whom, do you think you'll see him again?"

  "Probably tonight," Heidi mumbled. "I took the train in today, and I think he's taking me to get my car when I get home."

  Paul focused on this.

  "So maybe you could suggest doing something this weekend, to thank him!"

  "Can't. No, really," she insisted, when Paul looked at her skeptically. "Not only do I have a ton of work to do, legitimately, but I actually, um… promised my mom I'd visit." She shrugged sheepishly.

  Paul sighed.

  "Well, if it's meant to be, an opportunity will present itself. Just… keep an open mind," he advised as he stood up and stretched.

  Heidi figured that wouldn't be a problem. Right now her mind was flooded with all the things Paul had told her, and all the things she still wanted to know.

  "We have got to get some decent furniture in here," Paul complained, and Heidi's attention snapped back to the present.

  "If only I had an executive assistant I could delegate a task like that to…" she mused.

  Paul grinned and handed her the FedEx envelope with a mock salute.

  "I'm on it, boss."

  Chapter 6

  Daddy's little sex kitten.

  Dom groaned out loud, scrolling through the profile pics on Fetforyou.

  The blonde looked like she was barely out of college, wearing a hot pink tank that rose several inches above her navel, skin-tight leggings, and dangling a pacifier from her index finger while giving the camera a raucous wink.

  Shit.

  Surely the owners of the site planted actresses or models to lure in the singles.

  One could hope.

  He'd always been lucky. Brother to Boston's most eligible dominant, he'd ridden Matteo's coattails and always managed to find someone in the scene pretty easily. He would walk into pretty much any club, and could be guaranteed to walk out with a girl on his arm. So he shouldn't have been surprised that when he got into the scene in Boston—some underground, more exclusive, and hidden, but some rather overt and open—there were single women at the ready. There had been a boom in interest ever since the romance industry found the sweet spot in the whole Dom/sub sub-genre, and to Dom's relief, many were just curious, or looking to test things out.

  He raised an eyebrow at the next profile pic. Were those tattooed eyebrows? He frowned. He was all for 'live and let live', but the whole black ensemble and full-body piercing wasn't his kink.

  Turning his head to the side, he tried to figure out the next picture. Was that a man, or a woman? Yikes.

  There were many submissives in the local area. But none were what he was looking for.

  What was he looking for?

  It wasn't until he discarded the profile of a perfectly attractive, professional-looking woman with short, curly hair, that it dawned on him.

  Full, thick, long hair the color of melted chocolate. Piercing blue eyes that changed like the crashing waves of the ocean, eyes that could be calm and welcoming, or stormy and foreboding. Fetching freckles across the nose, a pouty mouth, a full figure that beckoned to be touched…

  She was on his mind because he was still awaiting her text.

  Period.

  His phone buzzed, and he glanced quickly. How late did that girl work, anyway? When the hell was she going to text him? Did she think he sat around day waiting for her text?

  Tony calling.

  He picked up the phone on the second ring, though he well knew a phone call from his youngest brother most certainly meant he was looking for something.

  "Yeah," Dom said, not wasting time or breath on pleasantries.

  "'Sup, man," Tony said on the other line. "What are you up to?"

  "Oh, just scrolling through the sordid, somewhat terrifying profile pics on Fetforyou," Dom said. "You?"

  "For real?"

  Dom sighed. "For real."

  "What happened to that chick you were taking home?"

  "Didn't work out," Dom said shortly. Tony, though well informed of the scene that both Matteo and Dom lived, wasn't into the scene himself. No need to give him the gory details.

  "Sorry."

  Dom snorted, as he remembered the scathing texts Tammy had sent him.

  You call yourself a dom? I've gotten better spankings from my sorority sisters.

  Hell hath no fury like a submissive scorned.

  "Don't be," he said.

  "Dom, seriously, man, why not try out vanilla again? Maybe pick up a girl at a bar, like normal guys do? This is the Hub, you know? Gorgeous girls everywhere you go."

  "Yeah," Dom said with a sigh. "Not sure I can do vanilla."

  He liked being in control. He liked the sense of power and the eroticism of it all. He didn't do flowers and hearts and romance.

  "Sounds like you're not doing much of anything," Tony countered.

  Dom growled. "So you called just to give me shit about my love life?"

  "Uh, no," Tony said. Figured. "We, uh, have kind of an issue here." He spoke quickly, getting it all out in once sentence. "Val maxed out the damn credit card at the shoe convention at Copley, and now I'm coming up short, and electricity rates are up here, and—"

  "Why do you allow her to do that?" Dom interrupted, his anger rising. Tony's girlfriend, Valerie, was a spender, and Tony had spoiled the girl by getting her anything she wanted. She was always dressed to the nines, with perfectly manicured nails and the latest bags and
shoes. Valerie was a sweet girl, but really needed to stop spending all of Tony's money, and it pissed both Dom and Matteo off that Tony wouldn't man up and stop her.

  "Dom, this is the modern era. I don't allow or forbid anything, despite what archaic ideas you and Matteo have about shit."

  "Archaic my ass," Dom growled, not sure what he wanted to do more; shake some sense into the girl spending his brother's hard-earned money like water, or shake his brother, who allowed the stupidity. "You don't have to be a cave man to protect what's yours."

  He meant to refer to Tony's money. Tony owned an Italian restaurant in town, Cara, in the North End, and did well for himself. Still, the restaurant business was fickle, with serious competition downtown, and income wasn't always steady. He had large bills to pay, and his spendy girlfriend didn't help. But as Dom spoke, his own words conjured up an image of Heidi, leaning on his arm, a look of pain on her face as he instinctively laced a hand around her waist.

  You don't have to be a cave man to protect what's yours.

  "I don't want to get into it, Dom," Tony muttered. "I'll talk to Val. Promise. And it's not all her fault, either. Sales are down this month, and I wasn't planning on having to replace the stove so soon." Tony had inherited a fully functional kitchen when he'd purchased the restaurant, and to his surprise, the stove on his industrial oven had to be replaced much sooner than he'd anticipated.

  "This will be the last time," Tony promised.

  "What do you need?"

  As Dom and Tony discussed details—and Tony's request ended up being much less than Dom had anticipated—Dom glanced out the window. He almost dropped the phone.

  Was that Heidi? With that little mutt of hers on a leash? He flicked the shade and noticed her stop at her car, open the driver's side door and retrieve something, then shut the door and turn, walking toward his apartment.

  What the hell?

  Her car?

  "Is that all right?" Tony said on the other line. Dom had vaguely been aware of a mention of Tony stopping by the next day.

  "Yeah, fine," he said. "I'll talk to you in the morning. I gotta go."

  "Thanks, man," Tony said, and a click indicated he'd hung up. Dom all but flung his cell on his couch as he stalked to his door.

  What was she doing walking her dog? And how did she get her car back? For the love of…

  He opened the door before she even rang the bell.

  Her wide blue eyes looked startled as he yanked the door open, her finger still poised over the bell. Her lips formed a perfect little 'O' and he almost forgot he was pissed. Almost.

  "Is that your car over there?" he asked evenly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at her.

  A flush crept over her cheeks and her eyes flashed.

  "It is."

  "We had a plan," he bit out. "I've been waiting for your text for the past—" did he really want to admit he'd been waiting all day?—"hour. And now I look out my window and see your car!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I told you to call me!"

  Her little dog pulled on the leash, and when he did, Heidi winced. Dom felt a pang of guilt.

  "I tried to," she said as she yanked back on the leash. "I messaged you two times and for some odd reason, the message wouldn't go through." She reached into her pocket for her phone, and another spasm of pain crossed her face. Dom felt like an ass. Was he supposed to invite her in? Would she think that creepy? Send her home so she could rest? But before he could decide what to do next, her dog pulled again on the leash and flew past him, between his legs, and into his apartment.

  "Princess!" Heidi hissed.

  "I'll get her," Dom said, not caring about the little dog so much as the fact that Heidi looked like she was going to pass out right there on his step. "Come here," he ordered, reaching out to take her arm firmly, placing another hand on her waist and practically lifting her over his stoop. He half-carried, half-led her to the brown leather couch in his living room.

  He realized with a quick beat of his heart that his laptop was still open.

  Shit. Had she seen what was on the screen? But no, she couldn't; the screen saver was on now, and her eyes were trained to the entryway to the kitchen, where her little dog was rummaging around. He nestled her on the sofa, took two large strides over to his desk, and slammed the lid on his laptop closed before heading toward the kitchen.

  The dog was in his recycling. He barely stifled a growl. Between irritation that Heidi got her car and didn't ask him, and annoyance that the stupid dog was in his recycling, he wasn't feeling like the most hospitable neighbor.

  "Stop!" The dog dropped the empty egg carton she was wrestling and looked up, blinking at him.

  Good to know at least one member of the female population did what she was told.

  And he would've had the whole situation in control—just as he liked it—if Heidi hadn't piped up from the other room.

  "Princess! Get in here, you little—" Princess broke eye contact with Dom, snatched something shiny and much too large for her tiny mouth, and bolted past Dom toward Heidi. Dom grunted, gathering up the papers and empty cans scattered across his kitchen floor.

  "Oh gosh, Dom, I'm so sorry," Heidi said, sounding flustered from the other room. "She's such a little stinker. Doesn't do a thing I tell her. She was spoiled rotten before I got her, and now she—Princess, give me that—thinks she can do whatever she—oh!" She paused. "Oh, my," she murmured to herself. Dom turned, knee deep in recycling, and turned to see why Heidi had paused mid-sentence.

  Holy shit.

  Princess had snatched the Flog-her.com catalog from the recycling.

  Why did they even send that incriminating shit?

  He was done being taken off guard. Done not having a handle on the situation. Done feeling out of control. This wasn't who he was. This wasn't how he did things. He was a fucking dominant, and doms took control of the situation.

  Turning back to the recycling as if he hadn't seen her look through the catalog, he made sure everything was perfectly fine, then walked nonchalantly back into the living room. Heidi had dropped the catalog, a decided flush creeping along her neck and cheeks, and she was blinking rapidly.

  He was going to get control back. Now.

  The catalog would stay exactly where it was.

  "Can I get you a drink?" he asked, as if the catalog on her lap wasn't filled with pictures of paddles, floggers, and canes, the cover girl bent enticingly over a large desk remarkably like the one right behind Heidi. He acted as if she held a men's clothing catalog, or perhaps a little advertisement from the British Tea Company.

  She blinked and swallowed.

  "Water?" she croaked.

  Princess moved, causing Heidi to shift and wince. He turned a stern eye to the dog and pointed his index finger.

  "Stay!" he ordered. Princess dropped her head to her paws and sighed.

  He leaned against arm of the couch and folded his arms across his chest.

  "We have some things to discuss," he stated, fully in control of the situation. Heidi's eyes flicked back down to the catalog in her lap. "But first, I asked if you need something to drink. Something stronger than water?"

  "Water would be good," she murmured. "Thank you."

  He gave a curt nod, and walked to the kitchen. He would take his time, as he was curious what she'd do with the catalog. Tapping the ice tray on the counter, he glanced out of the corner of his eye to see what she was doing. He barely stifled a chuckle. She was fully immersed in the catalog.

  Could be nothing but morbid curiosity, but his hunch said otherwise.

  He poured a glass of water, turned, and stalked back to the living room. As he anticipated, when he entered the living room, her eyes flew back up, pretending she hadn't been perusing the spanking implements in the catalog in her lap.

  "Oh, hey, I'll take that," he said nonchalantly, reaching his hand out. She flushed again. Damn, she looked hot when she flushed. Her eyes grew brighter, her cheeks more pronounced, even her chest wa
s heaving. As she reached her hand out, he wondered exactly why she blushed. Was it understandable embarrassment? Or something more? It appeared some probing was in order.

  He really had to do something about the stupid catalog that came in the mail. Should've tossed it in the garbage instead of the recycling. Dom knew what he liked and had a ready supply of tools he ordered from a private contractor online. The catalog had been a gag gift for Christmas from Matteo.

  Dom took a long, deliberate look at the cover, as if he were just now realizing what it was. He barely tempered a grin, looking at the Fabio-like dominant with a stern look on his face, wide paddle in hand, repentant striped bottom looming beneath him. It was so over-the-top it was comical. "Oh, this stupid thing," he said, as he pushed himself to his feet and walked toward the recycling. He snorted. "My brother thought it would be funny to send me this for Christmas." He tossed it into the bin. "I don't have any use for that shit," he tossed over his shoulder.

  It was the God's honest truth. He much preferred the custom-made tools he ordered over the factory-made crap. Still, he wanted to keep her wondering.

  "Oh," she said. He turned back to her, and smiled.

  She smiled back. Shit, she was beautiful. But he had a matter to tend to.

  Heidi was not his submissive. He was not her dominant. However, he'd given her a specific instruction, and it wasn't something he could ignore, no matter what their relationship. If she were his, he'd punish her for it. She wasn't. And he wouldn't. But he'd make damn sure she knew he wasn't happy with the fact she'd not done what she was told.

  Why did girls do that?

  She could've gotten herself into an accident, or hurt herself worse. All she had to do was message him. He'd been right there, waiting the whole time. He felt himself growing stern.

  "Now tell me why you got your car after I told you to message me so I could help you get it."

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed. Good. He wanted her to feel his displeasure. He wanted her to know he disliked being disobeyed.

  She thrust her pretty chin in the air, as if she'd just gotten braver.

  "I wanted to," she said stubbornly. He felt his eyes narrow but she went on. "I appreciate all your help, Dom," she said, "I really, really do."