Heat rolled over Peyton’s skin at that drawled suggestion, and she opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out.
Pedro shut her mouth with his index finger and laughed.
“Think on it. I shan’t insist on it, but I do have a fondness for women with pierced nipples. Especially for someone who enjoys nipple play as much as you do.”
He studied her for a while and then sighed.
“I get the feeling I’m going to regret asking his, but why did you bring up your past behavior now? After all, what’s past is done. We can’t change it.” There was that curious undertone again that made Peyton wonder whether he wasn’t hiding things too. She hadn’t missed the fact that there were no personal pictures in his bedroom either.
She made a grab for the bedcovers, suddenly all too aware of her nakedness, but Pedro’s hand on hers stopped her.
“No, I like to see you naked. In fact, as of now, when it’s just the two of us, I want you naked and available to me, always.”
A shiver went down Peyton’s spine at that thought and her eyes widened.
“All the time? What if I’m cooking or…errr.” She knew her face was bright red when she mumbled the next words. “What if it’s my time of the month?”
Pedro cupped her face, and instead of the smirk she was expecting, she saw nothing but quiet understanding in his hazel eyes.
“At that time you can wear underwear, of course. I’m not a complete tyrant. All of these are negotiable to a certain degree anyway. We’ll have to revisit your hard and soft limits anyway. I think they might have changed something, since you wrote them down for the auction, si?”
Peyton’s stomach roiled at that reminder of what she had to tell him, and Pedro frowned at her reaction. Damn her expressive face. For the life of her she couldn’t hide her emotions from him.
“Yes, Sir, they have, but…”
Pedro sat up straighter and this time his look was all Dom. Her clit did the samba and her mind calmed, like it always did when he exerted his dominance, and she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to carry on.
“I haven’t exactly been truthful about my reasons for being at that auction.”
Chapter Eight
Disappointment slammed into Pedro’s gut with so much force it winded him. The rational side of his brain told him to calm down. Whatever it was, at least she was telling him now, but the other side of him, roused by her instinctive submission to him, just felt betrayed. He got off the bed, all too aware of her anxious gaze following his every move and the way her hands fisted in the bedcovers, as though she wanted to pull them up to her chin. The fact that she didn’t calmed him somewhat. Clearly she wanted this to work, so he should do her the courtesy of listening at least.
He forced himself to stop his pacing and leant against the door frame to his en suite bathroom instead. Of course that meant the shower unit was in direct line of his vision and memories of their time in there not too long ago assaulted his brain. This, right here, was why he never brought any sub back to his place. He didn’t need the fucking reminders when things went wrong.
He unclenched his fists and fixed his attention back on Peyton. She looked miserable as sin, sat there on his bed.
“When you say not exactly truthful, what do you mean by that exactly, Peyton?” he asked, and she flinched at the tone of his voice. It came out far harder than he had meant it to, but fuck him, this was important, and could potentially concern the whole club.
When she didn’t reply straightaway, Pedro threw his hands up in the air and crunched his teeth to stop himself from growling.
“Answer me, girl, or I’ll escort you out of here in your birthday suit, cancel your provisional membership at the club, and make sure no other respectable club in the UK will allow you entry. Honesty is the very damn basis in this lifestyle, so spit it out already.”
Peyton’s eyes filled with tears and he had to stop himself from reaching out to her. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was going soft in his old age.
“I signed up to get in for an inside story.” He had to strain to hear her whispered words, and he crossed his arms across his chest and stared her down. “Not a nasty one,” she rushed on to say, and Pedro swore.
“Really, you do surprise me Ms. King. Since when are reporters ever interested in telling the truth?”
Peyton flinched, but she straightened her shoulders, and this time did yank the sheet up to cover herself. Another punch to his gut.
“That’s not fair,” she said. “Have you actually read any of my pieces? I always report truthfully. Sometimes my editor puts a spin on it I don’t like, but I would never report negatively on purpose. What happened with Mistress Scarlett is huge, and I wanted her story on it, and—”
“And Scarlett made it perfectly clear she is not prepared to tell it.” He interrupted her and took a step toward her in his anger. “So what did you think you would achieve? Gain access to the club, and then what? Report on our clients? What happens at the club is fucking confidential. You signed the clauses. Slade will nail you and your pathetic little paper to the fucking wall. You’ll never work as a reporter again.” Each angry word had brought him closer to her until his legs hit the bedstead and he towered over her.
To her credit, she didn’t flinch away from him, just raised her chin and glared up at him.
“Don’t you think I fucking know that? But it was me or she’d have sent someone else. At least I had…have every intention of reporting truthfully, without exposing anyone or naming names. Fuck, I’ll let you read the damn article before I submit it, so you can approve it, but this whole thing is not just going to go away. Let me tell it my way, show the lifestyle for what it truly is, and then maybe we can put all this to rest. I’m only telling you now, because I didn’t want this to stand between us. I knew you’d react like this, and I’m sorry, I should have been truthful, but Scarlett would never have put me in the auction, and I didn’t know I’d get you and…”
She stopped talking and just burst into tears, and Pedro swore. He lasted all of one nanosecond before he sat down on the bed, and pulled the infuriating woman into his arms. He couldn’t help but give her a few shakes, and then pulled her into a bear hug and let her cry.
When the storm had finally subsided, he tipped her head up to study her expression.
“What on earth were you thinking, pequeña?”
She shrugged her shoulders, sniffed, and offered him a watery smile.
“I don’t know. It seemed a good idea at the time, and then you got me, and…” She bit her lip and wouldn’t look directly at him.
“And?” He urged her on, tightening his grasp on her hair, and she whimpered.
“Well, and I finally understood. I won’t write this article if it means you and me can’t be.”
A warm feeling spread through Pedro at her halting words and he smiled and kissed her nose.
“Let’s not be too hasty on that. You might have a point in writing it, but we’ll need to run it by Scarlett and Slade, and only the members who agree to be interviewed will take part. No actual names, and we will definitively have to approve it first.”
At the hopeful look in her face, he shook his head.
“I’m not saying Scarlett and Slade will go for it. I’m not even sure how I feel at the thought of coming under scrutiny, but let’s leave this on the table for negotiation for now.”
“Okay, and thank you, Sir.”
Slade nodded and released her. “Now, that we have that cleared up, I’m going downstairs to make us something to eat.”
Peyton let the sheet drop and jumped out of bed with an eagerness that made him laugh.
“Can I help, Sir, please?”
“Sure, but grab one of my T-shirts to wear. As much as I love marking your body, I don’t want you to get burned in my kitchen.”
He winked at her and left the room. They still had much to discuss, but his heart felt suspiciously lighter.
* * * *
<
br /> Peyton hugged herself and exhaled slowly. That had been way too intense, and the relief that washed over her when he’d pulled her in her arms had left her quite light-headed. The reflection she caught of herself in the wardrobe mirrors told the story all too well. Her hair was a complete mess, her eyes were red and swollen, and her complexion all mottled from bawling her eyes out. Add to that the myriads of marks on her back, butt, and thighs, and the bruises forming on her breasts, she looked more like a battered wife than ever. No, she amended that silently. She looked like a well-used submissive, and that thought made her smile.
Now, all she had to do was get that distinction across in her article, and life would be rosy. Peyton grimaced at herself. She got the distinct impression that it would probably be far easier to lasso the moon, but she had to try. It was the least she could do, even if the thought of running this by Master Slade and Mistress Scarlett made her feel sick inside. They would be as furious as Pedro had been, no doubt. He was right. What had she been thinking? It had seemed so easy and straightforward on paper. Get inside, experience a bit of this supposed submission lark, report back. Peyton shook her head at herself as she went to the toilet, washed her hands and face, and then finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. His cologne and just the very scent of him invaded her nostrils when she slid open the doors to his wardrobe, and she had to smile at the color-coded shirts, and neatly folded clothing. Pedro was definitively not your average bachelor. There were a surprising number of smart suits on that rail, and again she wondered what he actually did for a living. A well-worn T-shirt caught her attention. It looked a bit frazzled and seemed to have some sort of Spanish logo on the front. She pulled it over her head, and made her way downstairs.
The soft jersey fabric barely covered the essentials, but it would do to cook in. The delicious aroma of freshly brewing coffee met her when she reached the top of the stairs, and Frank Sinatra crooned soulfully from the dining room. She had to grin. “My Way” was one of her favorite songs too. She stopped in the doorway to simply observe Pedro for a second. He was chopping vegetables with a skill and speed that would have done any chef proud, and hummed along to the song. He must have sensed her staring, because he looked up and his eyes widened when he saw what she was wearing. The humming stopped and a shadow crossed his features before he smiled and gestured to the coffee pot.
“There you are. Pour us a coffee, will you? I’ve made Sangria and it’s cooling in the fridge to have with our dinner, but I need some caffeine right now.”
Peyton hurried to comply, and he stopped chopping to take the cup out of her hands.
“Gracias, pequeña.” He took a sip and smiled at her, his gaze resting on the logo on her shirt.
It made Peyton feel as though she’d done something she shouldn’t and she tugged on the hem of the shirt.
“Erm, would you rather I wear something else?” she asked. “I thought this one was better than one of the new ones, in case I spill something on it. I tend to be somewhat messy when I cook, and…”
Her words trailed off when he put the cup down and pulled her close enough for a hug. There was something almost desperate in the way he held her, and Peyton returned the embrace, worry churning in her belly.
“Is everything all right, Sir?” she whispered, and Pedro sighed and released her. Picking up his knife, he went back to chopping with considerably more force than before and Peyton swallowed nervously.
“Everything is fine.” The curt reply stopped any further questions she might have asked, and she drank her coffee instead. A somewhat awkward silence fell between them, the sound of his knife hitting the chopping board the only noise in the room, bar Sinatra singing in the background. The track had morphed into “I Get a Kick Out of You,” and Peyton flicked a glance up at Pedro’s closed-off expression and hummed along to the song, chipping in with the lyrics when she could. Pedro’s lips kicked up into a smile, and he shook his head at her.
“I think it’s safe to say you’d never make a living out of being a singer.”
Peyton stuck her tongue out at him, and this time Pedro laughed.
“Yes, well, you could make one out of being a chef, mind you,” she said. “Is there actually anything for me to do, apart from murdering old Frankie’s songs, that is?”
“You can lay the table, for a start.” At her glance at the breakfast bar, he gestured across his shoulder. “In the dining room. You’ll find everything you need in the drawers of the side cabinet.”
“Okay, that’ll take five seconds. Then what?” she asked, and Pedro laughed.
“Pass me ingredients and mash the potatoes when I tell you?”
Peyton snapped to attention and gave a mock salute.
“Aye, aye, Sir. Have you been talking to my sister by the way? Has she told you what a disaster I am in the kitchen? That’s why you won’t let me help, right?”
She didn’t catch his laughing reply, as she dashed out of there to lay that table. Mission accomplished, she sauntered back into the kitchen to find him expertly turning two pork chops in the frying pan. Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, and Pedro half turned to look at her.
“Won’t be long now. I hope you’re not vegetarian. Guess I should have asked that?”
“Oh no, I like my meat too much for that.” She couldn’t help but glance at his groin, and Pedro tapped her ass lightly with the wooden spoon he’d just picked up.
“Naughty.”
He winked at her and she grinned up at him, making a big show of rubbing her butt.
“For you, definitely.”
Pedro didn’t answer, just took the now browned chops out of the frying pan and added the finely sliced peppers and garlic. He gestured to the potatoes, which stood drained on the worktop.
“Get a start on mashing those for me.”
Peyton set to work, happy to be set a task, only to screech when the frying pan seemed to catch fire.
Pedro laughed, and putting the bottle of brandy and the matches down, extinguished the flames by putting the lid on the pan.
“No need to panic, I’ve got this. We’re almost done. Those potatoes mashed yet?”
At her nod, he took the bowl from her, added some more spices, and nodded.
“All done then, pass me the plates I put in the oven. Careful, they’ll be hot.” He chucked her the oven gloves, and Peyton paused midway to taking the plates out. She could almost feel his stare on her butt, and sure enough when she glanced over her shoulder Pedro was looking at her exposed bits and bobs with a sinful grin on his face.
Peyton straightened slowly, and put the plates down.
“Did you make me do that just so could stare at my ass?” she asked, and Pedro’s grin deepened, and he shrugged his shoulders.
“You have a great ass, and I like to look at what’s mine.”
A warm glow spread through her at the utter conviction behind those words, and she couldn’t help but grin up at him like a besotted fool.
Pedro arranged their food on the plates and set off to the dining room.
“Grab the Sangria out of the fridge, and bring it in, pequeña.”
By the time she did, Pedro had set the scene rather nicely. Peyton’s steps faltered as she entered the room. He’d set the lights to low and lit the candles in the middle of the table. With the curtains drawn, it gave the whole room an intimate feel, and Peyton’s heart beat a little faster. He took the chilled carafe from her, pulled a chair out for her, and she sank onto the plush seat with a far-from-graceful plop. This new and rather romantic side of him did dangerous things to her equilibrium.
Glasses filled, Pedro held his up in the air, and Peyton clinked hers to his.
“To us, and new beginnings,” he said, and Peyton took a large gulp of her wine. The smooth flavor slid down her throat and warmth settled in her veins. It gave her the courage to ask.
“Erm, Sir, why all this?” She gestured around the room, and Pedro reached across to grasp her hand. His thumb c
ircled the back of her hand, and when he brought her hand up to his lips to kiss each digit, in turn tingles of awareness shot up her arm, and her heart gave some suspicious little lurches. This was dangerous territory. It felt more like a date than anything else, and Pedro’s next words confirmed it.
“I figure if we’re going to make this work, we should establish whether we actually mesh outside of the lifestyle. I know I’m doing this all backward, but this is my attempt at behaving more like what you’re probably used to. How am I doing so far?”
When she couldn’t get her voice to work, he gave a humorless laugh, let go of her hand, and started eating.
He washed that mouthful away with a large gulp of wine and looked at her again.
“That abysmal, huh? Guess my seduction techniques need practice.” He tempered that statement by winking at her, and Peyton laughed.
“No, you’re doing great. I’m just, well, I’m kinda a safe bet, you know.” She looked down on herself and shrugged her shoulders. “After all, I’m sat here wearing nothing, other than one of your old T-shirts.”
“Yes, that shirt. Why did you choose that one?” he asked, and took another bite, gesturing for her to the same. “Eat, before it gets cold.”
Peyton startled and busied herself eating. Just like the pasta he’d made for her in her flat—had that really only been yesterday?—this was delicious and she moaned around her fork. Pedro’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and her nipples tingled at the hungry look on his face. Sexual tension skyrocketed between them, until Pedro cleared his throat and resumed eating.
“This is delicious, Sir. Are you sure you’re not a chef?” she asked, and he laughed.
“No, I’m an estate agent.”
Peyton stared at him and he nodded. “Si, I’m one of those annoying people who’ll sell you a matchbox and make it sound like a mansion. It’s how I met Slade. I sold him his place. We hit it off, and next thing I know, I was heavily involved in Club Spectrum. Funny how life goes like that.” He grew thoughtful and stared at the logo on her chest again. Really, what was the deal with this shirt?
Auctioned to the Spanish Dom [The Spectrum Auctions 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 8
