by Wild, Cassie
“You know what I am,” he said again. “I’m a Dom, Daria. That makes you my submissive.”
A weak laugh escaped me. “Are you going to ask me to sign some sort of contract?” I paused for a second before emphasizing, “Sir.”
“I think we can lay it out just by talking.” He clearly wasn’t amused—or joking. He closed the distance between us.
Under the shirt, my nipples peaked and went stiff.
He reached his hand around the back of my neck, but he didn’t pull me in close like he usually did. An odd tension burned in him, and in response, the hair on my arms stood on end.
“You’re mine,” he said again. “And you didn’t trust me. A sub has to trust her Dom. It’s the only way things work between them. You didn’t trust me, so I’m going to punish you.”
My face went hot. I’d already had my fill of humiliation over the past few days.
I edged away from his hand and walked toward the window, arms crossed over my chest.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered.
Any flicker of arousal I might have felt just standing near him was gone.
“I already explained that. You didn’t trust me. In a Dom/sub relationship, trust is the only thing that makes it work. And you’re not trusting me now, either.”
I flinched. “I do trust you.”
“Then why are you still dressed?” he asked, voice painfully calm.
“Because you’re talking about punishing me!” I snapped, spinning to face him. My voice broke as I continued, “I did what I thought was best, and you want to punish me?”
“You have to show me that you trust me,” he said, unyielding. “You have to prove to me now that you trust me to keep you safe…to not hurt you…at least not any more than you want.”
He closed the distance between us and caught me around the back of the neck again, this time hauling me in close for a kiss that was brutal and rough, an assault on my senses. “Do you want to be mine, Daria?” he asked, voice ragged.
There was a fine tremor in his hands. I hadn’t noticed it earlier.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I want to be yours.”
“Do you trust me?” His dark eyes burned into mine, and the world dissolved down to just us—just him, just me, standing there in the quiet hotel room while the city of Miami hummed just outside the window.
“I trust you.” And I did.
“Then show me. Take your punishment.”
The past few days away from him had been punishment enough. Seeing him bleeding in front of me, blood on my hands, that was punishment enough. Tears pricked my eyes as I eased away from him, slowly unbuttoning my shirt.
He stared at me, holding my hands by the tips of his fingers.
Then he glanced up, and our eyes met. “Why are you crying?” he asked gruffly.
I shook my head.
“Daria…” he said in warning.
“It’s too much,” I said, voice ragged. “After being almost raped, then kidnapped, forced to strip under threat of rape, then seeing you get shot…all the while realizing that if none of that had happened, I might not have fallen in love with you…putting up with Marcos…” I shook my head, realizing I was about to start babbling. And worse, I just might start sobbing. “Now you want to punish me for doing what felt right at the time.”
“I’m punishing you for not trusting me,” he said, voice edgy.
“I think I’ve fucking been punished enough!” I half-shouted. “My life isn’t even mine anymore. I may never be able to go back to dancing. I could be deported. I fell in love with somebody I hardly know. Have you been thinking clearly since all of this started?”
He rocked back on his heels, studying me.
I half-expected him to call it off.
But he gestured to the shirt. “Take it off. If you want to be mine, you have to show me that you trust me. Otherwise…I’ll leave. There will be a ticket to New York for you at the desk in the morning. You and I won’t see each other again.”
Anger flickered inside me, igniting and building until I almost made another life changing mistake and left.
It was his eyes.
Yes, he was being what I would consider an asshole. And no, I didn’t think I deserved to be punished.
But his eyes.
Eyes I loved. Eyes that would haunt me forever if I walked out.
Instead of doing what my head told me and walking out, I followed my heart.
And trusted.
My anger still showed in the savage motions as I jerked at the buttons of the shirt, tearing one off in my haste.
Mindlessly, I stripped out of the bra and the way-too-short skirt. As the clothes fell around me in disarray, I threw my head back and glared at him.
“Face the bed,” he told me.
I did so, unable to stop the fine tremor that went through me.
“Bend over it. Brace yourself with your hands,” he said, voice expressionless.
“What, don’t you want me on your lap this time?” I asked snidely.
“If you’re on my lap, I’ll end up fucking you. And I won’t be gentle. Hands on the bed, Daria.” This time, the words came out a ragged rasp.
Something about the tone of his voice, the way it shook just slightly had the oddest effect on me.
It soothed me.
He was pissed off and scared, just like I was.
And he still wanted me.
Slowly, I did as he’d ordered and bent forward.
I didn’t brace myself as much as I should have.
The blow he delivered to my ass with the flat of his hand was sharp, sending a burst of sensation through me, one just shy of pain. There was nothing at all sexual about this, and I squeezed my eyes shut as he spanked me again.
The third smack, delivered with the same force to skin already sensitized by the previous blows, hurt, and I cried out.
“Be quiet,” he said softly.
I didn’t even bother to try.
He was shaken by everything going on, but so was I. Just standing there, taking the punishment he insisted I have if we were to be together, took every bit of control inside me. I didn’t know how to be a submissive.
He spanked me again, and I cried out, the sound weaker this time. Almost pitiful.
Even as I braced for another blow, it didn’t come, and soon, he was behind me, pulling me into his arms.
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said in a voice vibrating with an unnamed emotion. He smoothed his hand up and down my hip.
I sniffed. “That didn’t exactly feel good.”
“But you’re not hurt.”
Dropping my head, I admitted, “No. I’m not hurt.”
He pressed a kiss to my neck, then pressed his brow to the back of my head.
“You make me forget everything, Daria,” he said gruffly.
Seventeen
Daria
I shivered, chilled despite the feel of his torso pressed up against my back.
My butt still stung. But it hadn’t hurt…not exactly. I felt the ridge of his cock against me, and I instinctively pressed back against him.
He pulled away in the next second.
I sensed more than saw him bending over and then he was behind me again, draping the borrowed shirt over my shoulders. “You’re cold,” he said softly.
I think it had more to do with reaction than anything else, but I was grateful for the shirt.
As I put it on, Brooks moved around me and sat on the bed, holding out his hand.
Slowly, I put mine in his, and he drew me closer, tugging me into his lap. The rough gentleness was a sharp contrast to the dispassionate way he’d spanked me. I curled into him, my mind swimming with too much input, too many sensations, and too much data.
His arms came around me, and a shudder wracked him.
Without conscious thought, I stroked his arm up to his neck, then down to his wrist. “I’m okay, Brooks,” I said.
He didn’t respond so I wiggled fr
ee of his tight grasp. I slipped a leg over and straddled his lap. I wrapped my arms around him and tugged his face down, cradling him. Eyes closed, I breathed in the scent of him while he did the same with me.
“I’m okay,” I told him again.
This time, he nodded. “I know. You’re going to stay that way.” He eased back and reached up to cradle my cheek. “It will all work out, Daria. I know things in your life have been flipped upside down, but I’ll take care of you.”
I couldn’t help the scowl. “There was a time in my life when I took care of me. I don’t really like having everything out of control.”
“I understand the feeling,” he said gently. He traced his fingers over the area that had once been purpled with a bruise, courtesy of Marcos. “Up until I met you, there was little in my personal life that I couldn’t control.”
“Only your personal life?” I cocked a brow at him. I didn’t see him ceding control in any aspect of his life.
“I control what I can.” He pushed his hand through my hair and cupped the back of my neck, his fingers digging into the tight muscle there. “There are certain things, decisions, and matters that are up to my father.”
“But you choose to keep working for him. You control that.”
His brow lifted. “He’s my father.”
I nodded, although I didn’t really see what difference that made. Maybe it was because I’d been living with guardians for so much of my life, but I couldn’t understand blind loyalty to anybody simply based on blood.
“Are you happy?” I asked him softly.
The question startled him. His eyes came to mine, a little wider than normal and speculation lit the deep blue. “Am I happy about what?”
“Your life. Everything.” I shrugged. Up until I met him, I’d been mostly content with my life, and there were plenty of things that had made me happy. My career, for one. Dancing. Being here in the United States, on a path to a new life. Those things had made me happy.
But they weren’t enough now. Knowing that Burov was connected to whatever convoluted, cruel schemes were taking place in the Miami clubs had forced me to reconsider my bond with both her and her school. How could I be happy and thrive there knowing what she did in secret? I had no idea if I could get into another school, although lately, I was more and more tempted to try.
Even if I failed, I had come to the decision that I couldn’t stay at Nadia Burov’s school. The woman was too involved in her arrangement with the Castellanos, and I couldn’t continue any sort of relationship with anyone who had come so close to ruining my life.
Brooks was quiet for so long, I almost forgot I’d even asked a question. His eyes met mine, and I saw something I didn’t think he wanted me to see.
Doubt.
“I’m happy enough,” he said softly.
“Your family is involved in the illegal trade and sale of weapons,” I said. “I’ve read up on arms dealing. Your family sells to the highest bidder, right?”
He didn’t respond, his entire body stiff with tension.
“If a drug cartel in Mexico puts in a request, would you sell?”
His lids flickered. “Life isn’t as black and white as people make it out to be sometimes, Daria.”
“The Russian mafia gets involved in gunrunning.” I knew I was pushing things, the look in his eyes made that clear. He wanted me to drop it. I couldn’t. Not anymore. “When I was thirteen, a girl at the school had to leave after her family was killed. She wasn’t there on scholarship like I was. Her family paid her way. Both her parents and her little brother, Petrov, were killed in a gunfight at their home. Her father was a doctor. Her mother was a teacher. I doubt they’d ever harmed a soul in their entire life. Are you trying to tell me that what happened to them falls into the shade of gray?”
He couldn’t answer that. I knew why.
“Can you tell me that no innocent person has ever been killed by a weapon your family sold?”
“The US military has killed plenty of innocent people,” he said stiffly. “So has the Russian government.”
“I’m not sitting in the lap of either the US military or the Russian government.” I lifted a shoulder, still holding his gaze, although I very much wanted to look away. I very much wanted to stop discussing this. But I couldn’t seem to let it go.
His fingers curled over my hips, tightening slightly.
“If you think I’ve never considered any of these things, you’re wrong,” he said finally.
“Then why do you stay? Is your loyalty to your family worth so very much? Even your soul?”
“Fuck, Daria.” He shifted me out of his lap and left me sitting on the bed as he rose to his feet.
Chilled, I grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled it around me. It didn’t quite cover all of me, but the warmth was soothing.
He paced over to the window, then turned and looked at me.
“What do you want me to do?” he demanded. “You knew what I was involved in almost from the first. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I’m not having a change of heart,” I said, shaking my head. “I had reservations the moment you told me about your family, about the Castellanos. Part of me still wants to run away and hide from all of this. But…” I took a deep breath. “I’ve got some idea now of what it’s like to have your life all but destroyed because of the actions of others. How many lives has your family helped destroy, Brooks?”
He flinched, and I knew I’d gone too far.
Compassion for the position he was in made me whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“Do you regret falling in love with me?” he asked, voice raw.
I looked away. “No. And a huge part of me isn’t happy about that, either.”
“What…loving me or not regretting it?”
“Both.” I looked back at him as I answered.
His lids drooped, shielding his eyes.
I slid from the bed, dragging the blanket with me. I stood in front of him, the blanket wrapped tight. His arms slowly came around me, enveloping me in a loving cocoon. After a moment, he rubbed his lips across my forehead. “You make everything complicated, Daria.”
“So do you,” I replied.
The tension drained away from him, and I turned my face into his chest, nuzzling him.
His breath caught.
I caught his hand and twined our fingers.
I watched his face as I backed up to the bed, tugging him along with me. He acquiesced as I nudged him back on the mattress.
The blanket fell away as I straddled his hips, running my fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the thick, soft strands.
He angled his head, leaning against the touch.
But when I leaned down and kissed him, he caught my shoulders and held me steady.
Bereft, I stared at him.
I could feel the heated column of his cock pressed against me, but the look he gave me was shuttered, eyes carefully blank.
Had I said too much?
Had I done too much?
“You need to rest,” Brooks said gently. “You’ve had a rough few days.”
I wanted to argue with him, wanted to tell him that what I needed was the man in front of me.
Before I could decide if I should try to press the issue, he had eased me off his lap and nudged me back until I lay on the bed. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it over us as he unfolded himself next to me.
I squeezed my eyes closed, wondering if I’d destroyed anything that might have been growing between us.
I prayed I hadn’t.
But at the same time, I knew I couldn’t have stayed quiet about everything I felt. Not for long, at least. It would have eaten at me like a cancer, and eventually, my silence would have destroyed us.
After what felt like an age, he shifted and pushed up onto his elbow, staring down at me.
“Do you want a shower?” he asked softly. “I need one, but you can go first if you want.”
Wordlessly, I nodded. Lifting
my head, I pressed a kiss to his chin, then slid out of the bed.
Eighteen
Brooks
Are you happy?
Such innocuous words, and I felt like I’d been stripped bare by them.
Was I happy?
I had to be honest. Happiness wasn’t anything I’d ever really given any thought to and definitely not in recent years.
I’d been happy in college, away from my family and free to do what I wanted without worrying what my father or brothers would think, whether it would cause problems among us.
I’d dated a pretty, sweet coed from the Midwest for a while, and after Declan had come for a visit, I broke up with her. He met her, commented about how sweet she was, then said that she reminded him of his ex-wife.
That had been the end of it, because I knew too well how things ended with Declan and his ex, Saoirse. They’d been happy together back in high school, but after she got pregnant and they ended up getting married, things started to change.
Saoirse was sweet. Stubborn. Proud. She was now single-handedly raising the two kids born to her and Declan during their tumultuous marriage. Declan rarely saw his kids, and he’d once commented that it was better that way. He provided for them financially, and that was the best thing he could do for them, that they were all better off if he wasn’t in their lives.
I didn’t want to have a relationship where things would be better off if we were apart.
What was the point?
But I could easily see how things with my college girlfriend, Mindy, could have ended the same way. It hurt to end things. For months, the sad look she’d given me when I told her it was over had haunted me.
But it was the best thing I could have done.
That had been the tipping point, I realized. The day when I realized that, as much as I wanted a life away from my family, I might not be able to have one.
Now, here I was in a similar situation, and I felt myself more torn that I could even begin to describe.
Behind me, the shower came on in the small bathroom, and I forced myself not to think about how Daria must be slipping out of the borrowed shirt. I tried not to think about how she might be climbing into the shower, tipping her head back so the water could dampen her golden hair, how the droplets must be running in rivulets down that long, elegant body.
