His Submissive (Boston Doms Book 2)

by Jane Henry

  "I didn't know I was supposed to be listening to you!"

  He flicked on his directional and pulled into a vacant parking lot, cruising to a stop and putting his truck in park. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, turning to face her. She shrugged and smiled sheepishly at him, cringing a bit as he cleared his voice and crossed his arms on his chest.

  "Care to repeat that?" he asked sternly.

  She squirmed in her seat. "Um. I said I didn't know I was supposed to be listening to you?"

  "And what exactly do you think you're supposed to do to your dom? Hmm? Any idea?" She sat silently. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm waiting."

  "Well... listening would be a good start."

  "Damn right, girl. You've already earned yourself a spanking for rolling your eyes at me. Should we compound this?" Her eyes widened and she shook her head.

  "No." She laughed nervously. "I think I'm, uh, kinda all set with not compounding anything tonight."

  Even as he knew she needed him to be consistent and firm, his heart went out to her. It had been a long night for her, and she needed his understanding right now, even if she did need a good spanking to set her to rights.

  "Good," he said approvingly. "Now answer my question. Are you hungry?"

  She shrugged. "I don't think so. No, not really."

  "When was the last time you ate?" he asked.

  She bit her lip and seemed to be thinking.

  "Well, if you have to think that hard, then it must've been a while."

  "Yeah," she said, "It was. I was too nervous before I went to The Club, and I ate a really light breakfast..."

  "You girls," he muttered, as he backed out of the parking lot and headed toward his apartment. "Dom has to make Heidi eat all the time. Crazy. How can you forget to eat?"

  Hillary shrugged. "I have no idea. I do know Heidi got spanked for it last week. She turns into a crazy woman when she doesn't eat."

  He snorted. "And what do you turn into?"

  She giggled. "A fairy?"

  Ah, now they were getting somewhere, if she was able to joke about fairies when she'd done nothing but give him grief about calling her Tinker Bell.

  "So when you're displaying particular Tink-like qualities, time to feed you?"

  Another laugh. Good, she was starting to lighten up. He wanted her to feel the weight of her impending punishment, but she also needed to trust him, and he'd get a lot further with her if she could lighten up.

  "Yep, guess so," she said. "If I start flying and sprinkling you with fairy dust, I need food."

  He chuckled. "I was thinking more like if you give me that nose twitch and scowl Tink gives, time to feed you." He paused. "After I spank you."

  He heard her gasp as he pulled into his parking place.

  * * *

  They didn't speak as he led her up to his apartment. She'd been there so many times, she knew the routine, knew where everything was, and usually made herself immediately at home. But tonight, she shifted on her feet, unusually quiet and nervous and it was obvious to him why. He'd never spanked her, not even a teasing swat, though he'd been sorely tempted on many occasions.

  Matteo, however, wasn't nervous. He felt exhilarated, the prelude to taking her in hand when he would remain stern and unyielding. Matteo had administered punishment spankings so many times he'd lost count, on his own terms in his place with whomever he took home, and, on occasion, at The Club when the situation warranted it. He knew the routine, knew how to gauge the emotional reaction and tolerance well, and knew it was important to watch his submissive's cues before, during, and after a discipline session.

  In the car, he'd decided he would only use his hand for her first spanking. He had plenty of other implements to choose from, but they could be serious, and she hadn't been spanked very often. He suspected she would be able to take it. Even though she was small, she was strong, but the circumstances didn't require a serious punishment. Considering the effects of making her wait, he weighed the option of going over ground rules before spanking her or getting the punishment over with, but seeing how nervous she was in the car, he decided it would be best to spank her first. She would be on edge and nervous if they discussed things before her punishment. After he spanked her, he'd likely have her undivided attention.

  "You thirsty?" he asked, and she shook her head, perched nervously on the arm of his couch.

  "I'll cook us dinner after we take care of business," he said nonchalantly, watching her chest rise as she inhaled, and her hands twisting in her lap. "Hand me your coat and bag, and take a few minutes to compose yourself. Then go in my bedroom and I want you standing in the corner when I come in."

  Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected that instruction. But it was a useful tool he liked to use, and it would humble her, but also get her focused on her place, and what was to come.

  "You want me in the corner?" she asked incredulously.

  He nodded, leaning up against the counter in the kitchen so that he was facing her, arms crossed.

  "Yep. That's what I said."

  She frowned and seemed to be warring with herself, trying to decide if she should listen to him or not. He gave her a few seconds to process before he uncrossed his arms, pushed himself off the counter, and took a step toward her, prepared to take her to the corner with a sharp swat to her ass if she didn't move. She jumped off the couch and ran to his room, and he shook his head.

  Oh, it would be so fun to tame Tinker Bell.

  When he entered the bedroom a few minutes later, she stood straighter. Her little hands were clasped behind her back, and her chin was lifted – in defiance? Or an act of bravery? He would know shortly. His room was small and clean. A king-sized bed stood in the center up against the wall, a small brown dresser flanked the wall to the right, and the door to the bathroom was next to the dresser. Atop the dresser he had a small basket where he kept his loose change, keys, and shit like that. A laundry basket in the shape of a basketball hoop stood at the foot of his bed, and above his dresser, two small cases with baseballs autographed by various members of the Boston Red Sox.

  His tools were all in the little table next to the bed, but he wouldn't be needing any of them tonight. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as she shifted nervously from one foot to another. He waited a few beats before he called her to him.

  "Come here, Hillary." His voice was low and commanding. It was rare he called her by her full name. He needed her to know that yes, he could be her buddy and her friend. Sure, they would drink beer and hang out, and he'd help her pick out those earrings she needed for the wedding. He'd even go with her when she needed to see the new vampire movie but was too scared to go alone, and he'd crack funny jokes and swipe the fries off her plate at Roadhouse. But if he was going to be her dom, she would have to think about how she behaved.

  Hillary shuffled over until she stood between his legs. Her eyes were bright and her hands shook when he took them in his.

  "You nervous, babe?" he asked softly. A little nerves would go a long way when he was to punish her, but he didn't want her to truly fear him.

  She nodded and swallowed. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

  It felt nice to hear her say that. He closed his eyes briefly, momentarily taken aback by the power of what was happening between them—Hillary standing before him, trusting and prepared to submit, the erotic charge of her submission making him grow hard before he even took her over his knee. She needed this from him. She needed to know he cared enough about her that he would expect her to obey him, that he would take care of her needs and teach her to do as he said. And he realized the taste of her obedience made him want more, her submission satisfying a hunger he couldn't control.

  But he could only meet her needs as her dominant if she obeyed him first.

  He continued to hold her hands in his.

  "You don't have to be nervous about this, honey," he said gently. "If I'm going to be your dom, you'll have to learn to obey me. But I will never take you further than you need to g
o." Tears came to her eyes as she nodded.

  He held her eyes for a moment—those pretty eyes were so fetching and vivacious, so trusting. He nodded. Now was the time. His eyes roamed her body and she shifted under his gaze as if it contained a palpable heat. She was wearing a lilac dress that came together at her waist, some kind of a wrap thing that looked thin. He preferred to spank bare skin, but didn't want her to freak out. He could almost hear her wonder... would he make her remove her dress?

  "Lie over my lap," he ordered, releasing her hands and patting his lap.

  He heard her inhale as she gently laid her little torso against his knee, her legs dangling behind her. He inhaled. God, she was hot. It would be hard to keep his head in the game and stay focused on making sure she learned her lesson.

  "Why am I spanking you, Hillary?" he asked sternly.

  She wriggled on his lap, and he was so hard it was painful. "I... rolled my eyes and talked back to you!" she said in a rush of words, her hair falling in her face as he held her over his lap.

  "Place your hands flat on the floor in front of you," he commanded. "That's right. I'm not going to put up with you giving me lip or being rude. Understood?"

  Her "yes, sir," was barely audible. Without further ado, he raised his hand and brought it down with a resounding slap! She inhaled as he lifted his hand and gave her another sharp swat. His hands were big and she was much smaller than he was, but still, he got the distinct impression he was not really getting through to her. Was he spanking hard enough? He gave her six sharp swats and paused, his hand resting on her bottom.

  "Are you done?" she asked, and his suspicions were confirmed—she seemed frustrated, angry even, her attitude practically begging him to take her in hand.

  "Stand up," he commanded. She obeyed, her eyes flashing at him, her lips pursed in a scowl. At times, giving a submissive a wimpy spanking was almost worse than none at all. It would be a tease, barely scratching the surface of what they really needed.

  But could she take more—a paddle, a cane, or his belt? And shit, if he stripped her down to her bare skin... oh, God, he'd never be able to keep his hands to himself. He was already barely holding himself together. He'd let her keep her panties, but she had to lose the dress.

  "Now that you're warmed up, that's gotta come off," he growled, sterner than before, her defiant glare goading him as he jerked a thumb at her dress. She exhaled, her little fingers nimbly going to the hem of her dress, and it took every bit of self-control he had to keep himself under control as she shimmied the dress up over her hips.

  "Oh God," he said, half curse, half pleading, as she stepped toward him.

  She was wearing a fucking thong.

  He couldn't trust himself to speak anymore, so instead he reached for her wrist and pulled her over to him, bodily lifting her up and placing her gently but firmly back over his knee.

  "Ten for the eye roll, and five more for sassing me," he said.

  The thin stripe of sheer pink fabric on her ass was just about the sexiest thing he'd ever laid eyes on, but he plowed on, determined to do what he'd set out to do.

  He lifted his hand and brought it down sharply, cupped just enough that when he connected with her bare skin she arched her back and swore. He felt pleased, knowing he was finally getting somewhere with her. Turned out Hillary's tolerance was higher than he'd anticipated.

  "You'll behave yourself," he growled. Swat! "And watch how you speak to me." Swat! He rained swats on her backside, pleased to see her turning a bright shade of red as she wriggled and squirmed as he spanked her soundly.

  "Are you going to obey me?" he asked with another sharp swat.

  "Yes!" she said, her voice strangely thick and shaky.

  "Will I have to do this again anytime soon?" he asked again with another stinging swat.

  "No, sir," she said, and her voice was barely audible this time.

  She lay limply over his lap. He knew he hadn't overdone it. Then why was she sniffling, her hands covering her face?

  He lifted her up into his arms and held her.

  "You okay, baby?" he asked, his instinct to soothe and protect kicking in. She sniffled.

  "Oh my God, I needed that," she sniffled. "I—so—needed that."

  He reached his thumbs out, brushing the tears from her cheeks, and he couldn't stop himself. He needed to comfort her. He needed to soothe her tears. Before he could think too hard about what he was doing and his conscience pricked him, he bent his head to hers and brushed her lips with his. Her body arched, reaching for him, her fingers grasping his neck and holding on. As he opened his mouth, he took her more firmly in his arms, and her whole body rose to meet his. She moaned as he kissed her harder.

  No sex!

  Swearing silently to himself, he finally pulled away and her head fell on his chest. He groaned, partly from desire, but partly from wanting to kick his own ass.

  Chapter Five

  Hillary mechanically moved pastries from a pink cardboard bakery box onto a large serving platter on the food table, while trying to pretend she wasn't acutely conscious of Matteo leaning against the mantle on the far side of the living room, looking uncharacteristically brooding and grim as he chatted with Paul.

  It wasn't fair that someone could be that handsome, that sexy, and that distracting. She grabbed viciously at a cannoli with her tongs.

  She had a job to do today—hosting a wedding shower for forty of Heidi and Dom's closest friends and family in her small apartment was no mean feat, even though the food had come from Cara and the desserts from DiMarino's, the famous North End dessert cafe where Paul's boyfriend John was head pastry chef. Having both of her parents in one space was like being a spectator at an armed standoff—perilous at the best of times. Trying to keep anyone from figuring out that she and Matteo were anything but friends made it doubly difficult. And her feet, in the cute, leopard-print kitten heels that Heidi had given her, were absolutely on fire from standing up all afternoon.

  Plus, she had her own special set of rules she had to follow—rules that Matteo had explicitly laid out when he arrived at her apartment earlier that morning under the pretense of helping her set up for the party. Eat something healthy. Don't drink without permission. Come to him if she felt overwhelmed by her hostessing duties. If she didn't follow those, he'd be disappointed and she'd end up over his knee. Again. She needed to get her head in the game.

  And still, all she could think of was the way his broad, callused hand felt as it spread across her back when she was over his knee, and how deep and hungry his voice was when he demanded, "Why am I spanking you, Hillary?"

  She let out a deep, shuddering breath, and smiled politely at Dom's former secretary, Louisa, who was filling a plate with food.

  Focus, Hillary. You don't want another spanking.

  Except… she kinda did.

  Because when Matteo was spanking her, as he'd done several times over the two weeks that she'd been his submissive, she didn't worry about what he was thinking, or jealously obsess about what he was doing on the nights he spent at The Club. She didn't wonder whether he was getting tired of her, or regretting his impulsive decision to help her. She knew, in those moments, that his focus was entirely on her and the connection between them was real. The rest of the time, well…

  She'd thought she was ready for what life would be like with Matteo as her dominant, but she'd been utterly unprepared for how amazing and frustrating and arousing and confusing it would be.

  Amazing, because holy shit, finally she had someone to give her the rules and structure that she needed. She was writing more—and the sex scenes were finally flowing. She was taking better care of herself, and feeling more confident in herself than she had ever been, simply because Matt helped her define and achieve her goals, and gave her very real consequences when she let herself get distracted.

  But it was frustrating, too, because it felt like something was missing—something besides the sex, which was a glaring, obvious omission right there. T
here was a distance between them that felt horribly wrong… Except for that one moment, two weeks ago, when he'd kissed her.

  Hillary pressed her lips together, remembering the weight of his lips as they'd claimed hers, the feel of his tongue sliding against hers… It had only been a simple kiss. But it had felt like everything.

  Until he'd pulled away and apologized, for God's sake. "I won't let this happen again, Hillary. You're important to me, and I don't want either of us to get confused about what's going on here. I'm your dominant, but we stay platonic for as long as this lasts."

  Which was where the confusing part began, because sometimes Matt looked at her with undisguised heat in his eyes, heat that kindled an answering flame deep in her belly. And she knew he got off on dominating her. So what the hell was the problem?

  And just how long would this last? Because with every day that passed, she realized that she didn't simply need a dominant.

  She needed Matteo.

  "Oh. My. God. This stuff is disgusting!" squealed a voice at Hillary's elbow.

  Hillary took a deep breath and wrenched her attention away from Matteo. She glanced down to find Tony's girlfriend Valerie leaning over the table, scowling.

  "Something wrong, Val?"

  Val rolled her eyes and straightened, her four-inch stilettos allowing her to gaze down at Hillary. She shook her long, honey-blonde hair back from her face and sniffed condescendingly.

  "Yes. I specifically told Tony that there had to be something decent to eat at this party, and what does he do? Baked ziti and fucking chocolate, as far as the eye can see! Heidi might not care what her ass looks like now that she's got Dom locked in, but the rest of us still have to put some effort into our appearance!"

  Hillary's fingers flexed around the tongs in her hand, and she forced them to loosen.

  I will not ruin my sister's bridal shower. I will not murder one of the bridesmaids in the middle of my living room.

  But, God, this woman was asking for it.

  "Tony made baked ziti and chocolate-dipped cannoli for Heidi at their first family dinner," Hillary told Val with a forced smile. "So she specifically requested that he make it today."