Chapter 15
“That’s good. Now open them wider.” Ambrose bent down and tapped her thigh with his forefinger.
Kate rolled her eyes but complied. How long had they been doing this? Positions, protocol, form. She felt as if she were in fucking ballet class or something. Even Banner wasn’t this picky. Why did it feel like Ambrose was stalling? They hadn’t even played yet. No sex, no bondage, not even any spanking. Fuck, she hadn’t even taken her clothes off in front of him yet! Was the man a eunuch?
Ambrose nodded in approval, then sat back in the recliner, leaving her on the carpeted floor. “You’re a quick learner.”
“We’ve only been doing it a month,” she muttered.
He didn’t hear her, or at least pretended not to. She waited, impatiently, for his next command, trying her best to look sexy and desirable. With Banner, big doe eyes always worked. She looked up at him, widening her eyes, and bit her lip.
He looked interested for a moment. Hope blossomed. But then his expression went blank again and he said, “Will you get me a soda from the fridge, love?”
Her shoulders sagged, and she stifled a disappointed sigh. She hadn’t signed up to be a service sub, but at least it was something to do. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she grumbled as she rose from the floor.
The sarcastic remark would’ve earned a punishment with Banner. Of course, with Banner he wouldn’t be wasting their time together having her fetch him drinks. And if he had happened to ask it of her for some reason, she didn’t think she would have minded.
Ambrose only chuckled at her brattiness. She threw him a glare, hoping to get a rise out of him, something, anything. Things had grown stale between them fast. They’d had chemistry to start. He was Dommy like Banner had said, but they never actually did anything. It was just instruction. Over and over. He nitpicked every form, every position, every action. Frustration was mounting. If she didn’t masturbate to thoughts of Banner nearly every night, she’d have died from boredom by now.
She walked back into the living room to see the TV had been turned on and fought the urge to chuck the bottle of Jennings Cola at his head. Why didn’t he want to have sex? Was she unattractive? Did she smell bad?
Sighing, she knelt back on the floor. Ambrose was watching the nature channel. Something about ant communities.
I can’t believe I shaved my legs for this.
He’d wined and dined her. He was charming and funny and freakin’ hot. The first couple weeks, he’d taken her through his rules and the positions he preferred for his subs. She’d done exactly what Banner had taught her—complied with minimal resistance, acted submissive, asked what she should wear. But then things just stalled. Ambrose wasn’t as controlling as Banner, which was exactly what she wanted. Or so she’d thought.
But now she craved dominance. And not in the form of how many inches apart her knees should be when kneeling. She wanted a rough hand in her hair. She wanted to be bent over something and threatened. She even wanted to hear the sound of a belt being pulled from its loops. She could almost smell the leather, hear Banner’s ominous footsteps as he walked toward her.
Ambrose felt more like her teacher than her Dom. He didn’t take control like Banner did. He didn’t demand her submission. And he definitely didn’t take ownership of her.
God, she was losing her mind. Being owned was exactly what she’d been protesting—the whole reason she and Banner could never work. Maybe it was sexual frustration making her yearn for a Master. For Banner’s mastery. For the click of the leash onto the collar around her neck. His collar.
Her chest tightened. She felt so lost. She wanted to make things work with Ambrose. He had so much potential. Why was he avoiding playing with her? Did he find her ugly? Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back.
In a last-ditch effort to save the night, she blurted, “Do you have a dungeon?”
“Huh?” Ambrose muted the TV show.
“Do you have a dungeon like Banner’s?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re ready for that? It’s only been a month.”
She grunted. “I’m getting older every second. A month is long enough. Take me to your dungeon.” With a leer, she added, “Unless you’re scared.”
He laughed. “Banner warned me about your bratty streak. Lucky for you, I happen to like brats.” Sighing, he put the soda down, shut off the TV, and stood up. “Come on then, girl. Let’s go to the dungeon.”
For once, she wished he’d make her eat her words. A rush of excitement tore through her. Now she’d see what he was really like. They could test their connection and maybe, finally, she could get Banner out of her mind.
Ambrose’s house wasn’t as artsy as Banner’s. She could tell he lived comfortably by his giant TV and sound system, but he didn’t have style like Banner did. He took her through his dining room and into a room at the back she hadn’t seen yet. It was set up like an office, but there was an area off to the side with furniture she recognized. A coffee table with restraints dangling down and an O-ring hanging from the ceiling. A cabinet stood against one wall and an oversized couch was on the other wall.
“My dungeon is more like a playroom,” he said. “And it doubles as an office. I don’t have a big basement like Banner.”
She peered around, taking inventory of the items she liked. “It’ll do.”
Ambrose laughed. “It’ll do? Don’t you know talking about a man’s dungeon is like talking about his cock? We’re prideful folk, even in the kink world.”
“Well, I have yet to see your cock or maybe I’d have more compliments.”
He barked a laugh. “Sassy girl.”
Then do something about it, she wanted to scream.
She sashayed across the room, hoping to entice him with what Banner had thought was her best asset—her ass. Was Ambrose an ass man? It was hard to tell, since he hardly ever touched her.
“So, have I been naughty enough?” she purred.
“For what?”
Really? Playing coy, she shrugged. “A punishment.”
“Nah. You’d have to be much worse for that.”
Ugh! The man was impossible. What would he do if she just stripped right there, right then. If she stood here naked, then bent over the couch, showing off her clean shaven legs and pussy? Would he be able to resist?
She was almost brave enough to do it. Except that if he didn’t touch her, if he ignored her, it would hurt her already fragile ego. It made her wonder about Banner. He’d rejected her too. He didn’t want what she had to offer, which wasn’t twenty-four-seven slavery, but it was submission and devotion and maybe even love.
Her eyes watered. What was she doing there? Why was she putting herself through this hurt and humiliation just for some kinky sex? She could find a nice vanilla guy who never made her feel this way—unwanted. Rejected. Maybe the kink world wasn’t for her.
Her eyes stung from trying to hold back her tears. Feeling as though she might burst into deep sobs that left her even more humiliated, she looked for a quick escape.
Ambrose watched her, hands in his pockets, looking no more interested than when he had been watching the documentary about ants.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she choked out.
He nodded, and she barely managed to leave the room before the first tear fell. In the bathroom, she cleaned her face then texted Janine.
I need death by ice cream, posthaste.
She texted back right away. I’ll meet you at your place in 30 minutes.
Thank you.
Now she had to find a way to end her date with Ambrose.
***
Faking cramps worked to get out of the rest of their night together. He hadn’t even seemed that broken up about it, which only made it sting more.
At her place, she rubbed Pixie’s belly until Janine arrived, armed with her favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s.
“What happened?” Janine said after they doled out huge bowlfuls of ice cream. “Why
the sudden crisis?”
Kate shook her head. “Nobody likes me, and I think I’m going to die childless and single with a vibrator as my only sex partner.”
Janine choked on a bite of ice cream and half coughed, half laughed for a minute. “That’s ridiculous. What would make you think that?”
“Ambrose won’t fuck me. I put out so many signals. The last step is a flashing sign above my vagina that says ‘For a good time, stick your cock in here.’”
Janine choked again, laughing at the same time. “Seriously. Stop it. I’m trying to help you wallow in ice cream here.”
Kate sighed. Even Cherry Garcia wasn’t making her feel better.
“Don’t be sad, Kate,” she said, sobering. “There’s someone out there for you. If Ambrose can’t see how hot you are, and how kinky, and maybe a little desperate . . .”
Kate tossed her a glare.
“Then he’s an idiot and not meant for you. Personally, I think you had more of a shot with Banner. At least you didn’t need a vagina sign for him to satisfy your slutty urges.” She winked.
“You know why that ended.” Though lately, she’d been questioning that. But it was too late. Banner had probably moved on. Plus, even if she did want the Master/slave thing, did he even want her? From the way he insisted on foisting her off on Ambrose, it seemed unlikely. He could have anyone. He was loving and sexy and a damn good Dom, and there were so many submissive girls out there who would do anything to be his. And what did she have to offer except a big ass and a hell of a lot of work when it came to submission? Maybe if she hadn’t challenged him so much, she’d have stood a better chance.
“Yeah, that was a bunch of bullshit,” Janine said, catching her attention. “You’re both being stupid.”
“What?” Janine was the one person she could count on for support. They bitched about men, vented about work, and watched trashy reality TV to make themselves feel better about their lives. They definitely didn’t call each other out on stuff.
“You two are good together. You just don’t see it.”
“I’m not what he wants.”
“Bullshit!”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”
“I’d spank you myself if I had an ounce of dominance in me,” she scolded.
Even the lame threat didn’t make Kate laugh.
Janine stuffed a bite of ice cream in her mouth. Kate had let the rest of hers turn to soup, feeling nauseated with anxiety.
“I’d get Chris to spank you if I didn’t think Banner would blow a gasket.”
Kate froze. What?
“It’d be hot to watch anyway,” Janine said, more to herself.
“Why would Banner care what anyone does to me? He’s the one who threw me at Ambrose.”
Janine scraped the bottom of her bowl, then licked the spoon clean. “Yeah, well, he’s been moping around for weeks. You should see him. It’s so obvious he’s jealous.”
Kate rejected the idea immediately. She didn’t mean that much to him. If she did, he wouldn’t have been encouraging her relationship with Ambrose every time she called or dropped by. He always seemed so happy for them. Maybe she’d been exaggerating about how well things were going because she wanted to show she’d moved on and that they could still be friends. But really, she was lying to herself. According to her fantasies, she hadn’t moved on. And staying friends was killing her. With Ambrose not putting out, and her constantly comparing him to Banner, her sex drive was through the roof. It was a good thing they hadn’t seen each other in a while or she’d have trouble not jumping him.
“No.” She shook her head. “There must be another reason.”
Janine grinned. “It’s all about you, baby.”
If that were true—and that was a big “if”—if she told him she was ready for more, maybe not twenty-four-seven, but more dominance, would he consider taking her back?
But they were never really together to begin with. She was supposed to be learning from him, not falling in love with him.
Shit. Did she love him? Her emotions were too fucked up to say for sure. Right now, she just wanted to feel his arms around her, to breathe in his scent of soap, to know that there was someone in the world who would protect her at any cost. She fought back the urge to drive to his house just to see his face and hear his voice. Sexual frustration mixed with self-doubt and too much chocolate was a recipe for bad decisions.
“Keep resisting if you want to,” Janine said. “But it’s only hurting you both.”
Chapter 16
Around them the hum of the crowd faded, leaving Banner and the artwork on the wall in a swathe of silence. At his shoulder, Rook stood, and Banner could feel his brother become similarly mesmerized.
The subject of the piece knelt, androgynous in its suffering, a supplicant to a higher power. A sliver of hope lay behind the figure, a subtle beam of sunlight filtering through heavy cloud. Banner wanted the subject to turn and look, but s/he was too immersed in what was being experienced to see anything external. Or was the ray of light actually the subject? He could almost feel its frustration at being ignored.
Life, pain, suffering, hope—the concepts turned and mixed. The canvas reflected the human condition, taking his small problems and showing him what they meant in comparison to what other people were going through. It was easy to wallow in self-pity, but the painting showed him how shallow and pathetic he’d become.
So she didn’t love him. So what?
His world had narrowed to the point where he sat in the dark in his house, moping over a girl not liking him. Was he twelve? Hell, Rook had bigger issues than he did, and he didn’t mope around whining about them. He hadn’t even said anything about the idiots at school for a couple of weeks now. Maybe things were improving.
Suddenly self-conscious, Banner wiped eyes that were about to overflow. His throat was tight. He glanced at Rook, but the kid was keeping it together better than he was.
“How did we not know about Archange Lapierre before now?” His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears, but Rook wasn’t judgmental about things like that.
“He’s new.”
They both stared at the canvas again, and Banner lost track of time.
Life was too short to love people who didn’t love you back. Maybe Kate was out of reach, but part of his problem lately was that he’d been avoiding Ambrose to avoid her. He had to stop being stupid and immature about it. Ambrose and Konstantin were too important to him to let a girl come between them. Hadn’t they promised not to be “those guys” since high school?
Ambrose was throwing a welcome home party for Konstantin the next night. He’d seriously thought about coming up with a work excuse, but he’d been avoiding Ambrose so much lately, he knew the lie would be obvious. Time to bite the bullet and reclaim his best friends. And if Kate was there being . . . Kate, he’d just have to learn to ignore that. Maybe exposure to her and Ambrose together was the key to desensitizing himself to her charms.
He was going to go. He was going to hook up with some random sub. He was going to have fun, even if it killed him.
“I’m going to look at his sculptures upstairs. Are you staying?”
Banner’s attention focused back on Rook, who was staring at him. People around them were drinking champagne and eating hors d’oeuvres, their voices a cacophony compared to the stillness the painting had spread through him. He wasn’t ready to part with the artwork yet.
“Maybe for a few more minutes. What time is it?”
Rook pulled their father’s beaten old pocket watch out of his pocket and handed it over.
“It’s almost eight. Here.” Rook pressed the archaic timepiece into Banner’s hand. “You should keep this.”
“What? No. You love this thing.” Banner frowned at him.
Rook laughed airily. “I have no idea why Mom gave it to me in the first place. You’re the businessman. Artists don’t need to know the time.”
“I can’t keep this, Rook. Dad
would have wanted you to have this.”
His brother shrugged. “Just keep it for now, then. It’s safer with you anyway.” Rook gave him the finger guns and strolled off. What was getting into him? Maybe things were going even better with Dylan? He was almost afraid to ask. He watched Rook’s retreating back, wondering if the boy had gotten taller.
Archange Lapierre’s work was calling to him, so he turned his attention back to the series of brushstrokes that conveyed so much meaning. He’d have to find someone later and ask if the piece was for sale.
***
The woman at the boutique had called him “sex on a stick”—whatever that meant—but as he walked into Ambrose’s party he felt like an aristodouche. Leather pants? How had he ever let the saleswoman talk him into leather pants?
The guys would mock him, and he’d pick up some poser sub, and he’d burn the pants when he got home. Whatever.
He walked in the door without bothering to ring the bell. The driveway was already full of cars, so he knew that if he was interrupting anything, it was meant to be seen anyway.
Konstantin, looking like his casual yet evil self, was standing in the foyer talking to two women in short latex costumes. He caught sight of Banner almost immediately, dropped the conversation, and came to him. They hugged hard and thumped each other’s backs.
“Banner, you ugly fucking bastard! I got into town last night, and there wasn’t even one message from you. Why do you hate me?” Even though he was ignoring them now, the women lingered nearby. His rough good looks attracted them more than his money. Something about Konstantin whispered about danger and perversion, and women were always trailing in his wake. That and his accent, which was always heavier when he came home from seeing his babushka.
“Because you don’t make me feel pretty anymore.” He headbutted him with moderate force, and seconds later they were wrestling each other on the floor. The women gasped and got out of their way.
“Children, children. This is an adult party. Do I need to call your parents?” They paused, midgrapple, and Banner saw Ambrose looking down at him. “You never got back to me. I was wondering if you were going to come up with another lame excuse to bail on the festivities.”
Finding Master Right Page 21
