His Submissive (Boston Doms Book 2)

by Jane Henry

  Hillary saw Tess's eyes narrow.

  "But I was just—"

  "In the future, Miss Damon, I'd appreciate it if you'd save your personal conversations for after work."

  He pushed his way between Tessa and Matteo and stomped over to the small office off to the side of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

  Tessa looked outraged. She narrowed her eyes at the closed door like she was contemplating violence. But finally she turned and stalked toward the swinging door that led to the front of the restaurant, slapping it open with her palm. She held it open just long enough to turn and look back at Matteo.

  "Looks like you were wrong. But thanks anyway, Matt," she said.

  Then she spun around, her brown hair flying out behind her, and disappeared through the door.

  All the while, Matteo looked extremely pleased with himself. He seemed to be fighting a smile.

  "Holy crap! You think this was funny?" Hillary exploded. "You are unbelievable! You got your brother all upset, and you got Tessa in trouble with her boss!"

  Matteo turned to face her fully, his eyes scanning quickly from her hair, to her dress, to her shoes, and then back up, focusing on the drink in her hand. His smile evaporated and he raised one eyebrow.

  "Why, hello, Hillary," he said pointedly. "It's lovely to see you this fine evening."

  Hillary rolled her eyes, even as a part of her squirmed at the subtle rebuke. Why did he always seem to turn her into a senseless puddle of goo or a raving shrew?

  She leaned back against the door frame and sipped her beer, glaring at him.

  He walked over and leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, facing her, so close that his folded arms nearly touched her chest.

  And even though he made her crazy, damn him, every cell of her body wanted him to lean closer, to bridge the inches separating them.

  Do it, she told him silently, wishing he could read her mind. Please, please, do it.

  He watched her carefully, his eyes trained on hers for so long that she almost began to wonder if he would make that move… finally.

  And then his eyes shuttered.

  "How many drinks have you had tonight?" he demanded. "Because you don't look sober. And if Nicole was your ride home, you are shit out of luck. She's obliterated."

  Hillary closed her eyes for a moment, bracing against the rush of disappointment.

  She had been a connoisseur of love since she'd first known the concept existed. As a writer, romance and happy-ever-afters were her stock in trade, so she'd read and researched and studied the condition the way an astronomer might study a distant planet, hoping that one day she'd get to experience it first-hand. She'd spent hours and hours dwelling on what being in love would feel like—the pulse-pounding heat of it, the soul-deep understanding, the feeling of connection, the longing to crawl deep beneath someone else's skin.

  But for all her imaginings, she'd never dreamed that love could make a person feel so damn lonely or so out-of-control.

  She opened her eyes and forced herself to smile.

  "Three beers," she told Matteo calmly. "Oh, no, wait…"

  She held up a finger and quickly downed the last of her beer.

  "Make that four," she amended.

  She saw him bite his lip, a sure sign that he was struggling to maintain control, and felt a perverse satisfaction.

  "So help me, Tinker Bell," he warned, his green eyes blazing. "If you don't control yourself…"

  And with that one word, she lost her mind.

  "Don't. You. Call. Me. That!" she said, shoving her palm into his chest. "I am nobody's fairy princess, and definitely not yours. And if I don't control myself… What? Hmmm? Finish the sentence, Matteo, I dare you. What will you do?"

  His eyes were focused on hers, and his jaw moved from side to side, but he didn't answer.

  "Will you take me in hand? Punish me? Be my dominant?" she goaded. "Noooo, of course you won't. Because I suggested that once before, to my everlasting shame. And you turned me down flat."

  "And you know why," he said, his voice infuriatingly calm even as he leaned forward against her hand, close enough that she could feel his hot breath on her face. "I don't do long-term, I don't take advantage of girls who have some weird, misplaced hero-worship thing going on because I helped them out of a jam—"

  "Hero-worship!" she sputtered. "Oh my God. You have totally lost your—"

  "And," he continued, as though she hadn't interrupted, "I don't do girls who are eight fucking years younger than I am."

  She shook her head at the utter stupidity of this statement.

  "I can't give you what you want or what you need," he finished.

  Can't? Or don't want to? But she didn't speak the thought aloud. She was pretty sure she already knew the answer, and had just enough pride to not want him to confirm it.

  She was exhausted suddenly and could feel tears pricking the back of her eyelids.

  "I'm not sure you have the first clue what I want or need," she told him wearily. "But it doesn't matter. You're not my dominant, Matt. So you don't need to know how many beers I've had. You don't get to make demands about how I'm going to get myself home. I'm a big girl and I'll take care of myself."

  "Hillary," he began, his tone gentle.

  His unexpected kindness was the last straw. She felt the traitorous tears starting to fall.

  "Don't!" she warned him, hugging her arms around herself. "Don't be all nice to me. Not now. I can't handle it."

  He uncrossed his arms and pulled her forward so that her forehead rested against the warmth of his chest.

  "Ah, baby," he said, stroking his large, calloused hand over her short hair. "You've been so strong with everything that's happened these past few months."

  She began to cry in earnest.

  "But I don't want to be! You have n-no idea how h-hard it is to find a good Dom, Matt. I c-can't just walk into a club. I definitely can't go online again. I'm so sc-scared of meeting another guy like… Marauder," she finished in a whisper.

  She felt his shoulders tense. She knew he didn't like remembering that night any more than she did.

  "I don't want to feel this way—out of control and half-crazy. I don't want to be your problem anymore. But… I don't even know where to begin," she admitted.

  Matteo was silent for a moment, then blew out a breath. "When you moved here, I promised you I'd be your friend, your big brother." He paused. "I'm thinking I've done a pretty shitty job of it."

  Guilt reared its head and Hillary made a sound of denial. "I haven't exactly made it easy. I—"

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently until she lifted her head and met his eyes.

  "When I fuck up, I say so," he told her. "But that ends now."

  She frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "It means that I'll find you a dom," he said, sliding his hand up to wrap around the back of her neck. "Someone that I know I can trust and, more importantly, that you can trust. Someone who can take care of you… give you everything you need."

  She felt her eyes go wide.

  "You? Are gonna play matchmaker? For me?" she repeated.

  It sounded amazing. It also sounded like the worst kind of torture.

  He pursed his perfect lips thoughtfully.

  "Let's call it… Sourcing and vetting of qualified prospective dominants," he told her, his green eyes twinkling. "Matchmaking makes me think of my old Nana Angelico, trying to find nice Italian girls for her grandsons."

  He surprised a watery laugh out of her.

  "Oh, yeah. Definitely," she agreed with a sniffle, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sourcing and vetting is way more manly."

  He chuckled. "Anyway, I've been around a while and know a lot of guys who are into the scene—some guys I've worked with at The Club, plus a few guys I know from the shop." His brow puckered. "I'll give it some thought and get you some possibilities by the end of the week."

  Wait… A guy from The Club, one of
the longest-running BDSM scenes in Boston, where Matt happened to be a part-time Dungeon Master and security guard, or a guy from Inked, the tattoo parlor where Matteo rented a table? This idea could have potential.

  "Really?" she said. "You know, a guy from Inked might be nice."

  He quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Why?"

  "I've kinda got a thing for hot, tattooed guys, obviously," she told him. "Mmm… Definitely sexy."

  His brow lowered, and the hand wrapped around her neck tightened momentarily before he dropped it to his side. "I'm pretty sure that's not the kind of thing a girl tells her brother."

  But you're not my brother. Duh.

  She laughed.

  "But it's exactly the kind of thing a girl needs to tell the guy who's gonna source and vet her prospective doms," she informed him. "You know, maybe I need to get you a list of important criteria. Non-smoker. Can't live with his mother. Tall. Likes reading. Brown hair." She ticked off the items on her fingers.

  "Yeah? You like brown hair?" he asked, smoothing a hand over his own short brown locks.

  "Mmm… But maybe on the longer side. Like that football player, Julian Edelman. You know?"

  He shook his head and pulled her out of the doorway, before removing the bucket and firmly closing the alley door.

  "Anything else?" he asked, amused.

  She pretended to think about it. "Nothing I can think of right now."

  Matteo grabbed her elbow and gently led her back toward the party. "Then let's say our goodbyes to Dom and Heidi and get you home before you cause any more trouble, Tink."

  She stopped short and her eyes narrowed.

  "You know, there is one more thing," she informed him.

  "Yeah?"

  "The most important of all the criteria."

  He sighed impatiently. "Okay, fine. Lemme hear it."

  "Seriously, anyone who can't meet this condition is a non-starter."

  "For God's sake, what?"

  "He cannot, under any circumstances…"She paused dramatically. "Call. Me. Tinker Bell."

  Then she sashayed back to the party, leaving him laughing behind her.

  Chapter Two

  Matteo opened a cabinet in the kitchen and pulled out two huge, drum-like black canisters he plunked on the counter a bit harder than was necessary.

  "Chocolate malt or vanilla ice cream?" he asked over his shoulder.

  His brother Dom was perched on a high stool at the counter in the kitchen.

  "Like it matters? All those protein powders taste like shit. You can call it 'apple pie a la mode' or 'hot fudge sundae' and it's still soy and vitamins pulverized to within an inch of their lives."

  Matteo turned a sardonic eye to his twin brother, and crossed his arms on his chest.

  "I want to hear you bitch about protein powder? Chocolate or vanilla, asshole?"

  Dom glared at him. "I don't bitch, dumbass. I state facts, and the fact remains, that stuff's shit no matter what you call it."

  Matteo ripped open the chocolate, grabbed the scoop inside and dumped it into a shaker bottle.

  "Fine. Make your own damn shake."

  "Dude, lighten the hell up. I'll take chocolate." Dom sounded amused. "You know I'm not into the vanilla scene anyway."

  Matteo snorted, scooping chocolate into a second bottle, topping them both with almond milk, and handing Dom his.

  "Shake 'er up," he said. "You can bitch all you want about it, but if you want those ripped abs on your honeymoon, you'll down this after a workout."

  Dom gave a mock salute, shook his bottle, then put it to his lips. He grimaced and shuddered, but downed the whole thing at once.

  "Heidi will thank you," Dom muttered, pushing his empty bottle to Matteo. Matteo nodded, as he rinsed the bottles and put them in the dishwasher, a momentary pang of jealousy hitting him square in the chest. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that there was no one, save the anonymous girls he occasionally dommed when on duty at The Club, who would thank him for his efforts. Whatever. He felt comfortable in his own skin, knowing his body was at its peak. He loved the feeling of being strong and powerful, whether he had a submissive under his toned body or not.

  It had been two weeks since Dom and Heidi's engagement party at Cara and at least three... maybe four... since he'd taken a girl to bed.

  It was a fucking record.

  "I gotta hit the shower and swing by the studio before we hit the tux place," he said on his way down the hall toward the bathroom.

  "All right," Dom called down to him. "That's perfect. Heidi and Hillary are gonna meet us for burgers after. Heidi wants to see what we chose, and had to go get her shoes anyway."

  Matteo froze, his hand on the knob of the linen closet door, his quest for nabbing a towel on the way to the shower momentarily forgotten.

  Fucking hell.

  Seriously, did people make up shit about twin intuition? Dom didn't have a fucking clue.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, fuming silently, and yelled down the hallway to Dom, willing his voice to stay calm. "Heidi and Hillary? Why Hill?"

  "She's the maid of honor. You know how that goes. Wedding shit's going down, she's there."

  Matteo groaned as he opened the closet and towels spilled down on him. Damn, he really needed to tidy this place up. Maybe he needed to pay someone. He kept it clean—bathrooms wiped down with those Lysol things, floors mopped with the little jet mop contraption—but between his job at the tattoo parlor and stint at The Club, and the time he spent at the gym, he had little time for much else. He grabbed the towels and shoved them in haphazardly, taking one thick, hunter green one with him.

  He didn't respond to Dom.

  The last conversation he had with Dom involving Hillary and Heidi had been one absolute clusterfuck.

  * * *

  It was the night after Dom had proposed, just Hillary and Matteo, John, Paul, Heidi and Dom out to celebrate with a quiet meal. The girls and John had gone to the kitchen with Tess to look at some wedding cake thing or another, Paul had stepped outside to take a phone call, and Dom and Matteo were left sitting at the table alone.

  "You know she's crazy about you," Dom had said low, not one to pull punches. Matteo felt his eyes widen.

  "Heidi? Well, yeah, I love her, too. It's gonna be great having her as a sister. You guys are..."

  Dom shook his head, frowning. "Not Heidi, Matteo. Get your head outta your ass. Hillary."

  Matteo drained his champagne glass and plunked it on the table.

  "Come again?"

  "She looks at you like a lovesick teenager," Dom said, and the playfulness in his eyes fled. "I'm gonna level with you, Matt. I know your reputation. I know how you play these things. You're a good man. You know I'd trust you with my life. You know that." He leaned in closer. "But this is not the place to fuck around. She's probably still mooning over you from saving her from that stint at Black Box. But I'm telling you now. Hillary's gonna be my sister-in-law." He paused. "Her sister will be my wife."

  Matteo nodded. Well, yeah. He knew that. Then why did his stomach sink to his toes, and a surge of adrenaline shoot through his arms like he wanted to shove his fist through the wall behind Dom's head?

  "And I know Heidi asked you to watch out for her because she moved here and she's her younger sister and all that. I get it." Dom leaned closer to Matteo, his eyes dark, his voice low with a warning edge. "But you get me? Hillary is like my sister. You stay the hell away from her, or I swear to God, I'll kill you."

  It would be a good fight, a brawl really, and he doubted Dom would really best him--Matteo was bigger and stronger—but he didn't want to find out.

  But deep down inside, under the anger at Dom and pleasure with the confirmation that Hillary did indeed love him, and fury that her love for him would go unrequited... he knew Dom had a point.

  And honestly, what could Matteo say to that?

  Dom was right. Matteo was a player, with no interest whatsoever in things like rings, and weddings, and—God!—commitme
nt.

  And Hillary was Heidi's sister.

  Sure, she was gorgeous, and funny, and sweet, and he knew she wanted to be a submissive. It would be great to actually teach her how to... but... no. Nope. He wasn't gonna go there.

  He nodded to Dom.

  "I get you," he said.

  Dom's eyes narrowed. "You promise?"

  "Promise."

  And now, the gorgeous girl he'd carried out from that shit storm at Black Box, the one who'd put her head on his shoulder and cried while he took her to safety, his heart swelling with the desire to protect her and make her feel safe, the one he'd put on his very own couch, holding a glass of water to her shaking lips, tucking in a blanket over her little frame when she'd finally fallen asleep... she hated him now. And why?

  Because he'd kept his word.

  Why wouldn't she?

  He wasn't gonna screw things up for Heidi and Dom. He'd die before he threw a wrench into the best thing that ever happened to his twin brother.

  Hillary's feelings for him were no secret. She'd professed her love for him, and he turned her away. He had to. Out of duty. It killed him that her love for him would not be returned. She'd been so strong and brave, revealing her feelings for him. But he was bound to stay true to his word.

  The tattoo around his bicep meant something to him. He'd been dead sober when he'd gotten it, and stared at in the mirror every single time he stepped out of the shower. It was the tag line he embraced as a young Marine, and it was engraved not just upon his arm, but his heart.

  Death before Dishonor.

  No. Hillary would be like... his sister.

  Yeah, that was it. His sister.

  His fucking sister.

  He slammed into the shower, turning on the water so hot it scalded his skin, trying to wash all that was wrong and twisted and angry from his mind and body.

  * * *

  Even though he was tired, had pulled a twelve-hour shift earlier the day before, and had another night at The Club tonight, Matteo wished he was working at the studio. But no, instead he was going to the fucking mall to get tuxedos and eat burgers with Heidi, who he loved like a sister but who would go on and on about things like those candy almond things and wedding favors, and should the wedding cake be frosted traditionally or with fondant? But he'd also be eating with Hillary, who he'd successfully avoided ever since the night at Cara he'd stepped in it, promising her he'd find her a dom.