Their Famous Dominant

by Nicole Edwards

  Son of a bitch.

  My hormones lit up at the idea of being ordered to his bedroom. Then the rational side slammed that door shut in an instant. I reread it again without my libido’s interference.

  “Is he giving me an out?” I mumbled. “Or an ultimatum? Maybe both?”

  Yep, I had really fucked this up if he was insisting we talk. Never had he done that to me before. Usually, I offered him a reason and he moved on. It didn’t appear that was going to be his modus operandi going forward.

  Of course, now my mind drifted to his bedroom and what I wanted to be doing when he finished with his shower. Was that woman there with him now? Who was she? Was I going to meet this one? Or would he keep her a secret like all the others? And what if he did introduce us? Was she in the lifestyle? Perhaps a submissive? Could she teach me a thing or two? What happened if I saw them together? Perhaps Trent tying her up?

  “For fuck’s sake, Troy. Don’t be ridiculous.” The reprimand did little to rein in my thoughts.

  How the hell did my mind wander so far off the beaten path? Then again, it wasn’t the first time. That tended to happen when I started trying to figure out what motivated my boss. I could think about Trent all day and all night if I allowed myself to. Sometimes I worried I had a serious crush on the guy.

  Granted, my strange focus on my boss was probably due to the fact I hadn’t dated anyone in … a long time. Too long. The only company my cock had seen in at least a year and a half was my hand. Maybe that was what I was doing wrong here. I needed to go on a date. Man, woman. It didn’t matter. Someone to keep me company and to take my mind off my boss.

  Knowing Trent would anticipate my response, I quickly shot him a message: I want nothing more than to remain in your employ. I’ll be there promptly at seven a.m. and I’ll wait for you to finish with your shower.

  And until then, I would simply fantasize about all the ways I wished Trent Ramsey would include me in that damn shower.

  Fuck.

  FIVE

  Clarissa

  SUNDAY ENDED THE SAME AS pretty much every Sunday had for the past year.

  After going for an afternoon walk, I returned home to shower, put on my pajamas and settled on the couch with a turkey sandwich, a bag of chili-cheese Fritos, and the remote. I’d spent the entire day working on lists. Admittedly, I was a list maker and I found it soothed me to lay out my plans on paper. I had discovered planners—the cute Erin Condren ones—a few years ago and I’d become addicted to them. To the point I filled them with stickers depicting various holidays and celebrations, as well as upcoming events.

  It seemed to be the only thing I had that was consistent anymore. Without a steady job, I was quickly losing sight of anything that resembled normal for me. Truth be told, I did much better with a routine, with some sort of guidance.

  Not that I couldn’t do this on my own. I could. If I really put my mind to it.

  I think that was the problem. Ever since I was let go, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t like the idea of working for myself. It was harder than I’d thought it would be and it wasn’t nearly as rewarding.

  While Alan Dillis had officially hired me to review his contract—come to find out, it was a standard lease agreement for a storage unit, of all things—it hadn’t taken me any time at all to complete. And since I billed by the hour … well, you could do the math.

  Without any other prospects aside from Trent’s friends—whoever they were—I was starting to feel the pressure. In fact, I was feeling it so much that I’d decided it was time to start packing up my house because I knew the end was near. Without a steady income, I wouldn’t be able to pay my mortgage, which meant I had to gear up to sell it.

  It wasn’t like it was the end of the world. I knew my situation was only temporary. Things would turn around for me eventually, but I had to be patient and I had to be smart with my decisions. Since I didn’t have any sentimental attachment to the house, I didn’t feel bad about selling it.

  I hated acknowledging that, but at least I wasn’t in denial.

  So, first thing this morning, I’d written out a list of things I needed to do in order to prep my house to go on the market. With my background in real estate, I knew what was necessary, so I put a plan in motion. After that, I headed to the home improvement store and picked up some boxes and packing tape. The decision was made and I knew I wouldn’t change my mind.

  While I was carrying the boxes into the garage that afternoon, another flower delivery had arrived. It wasn’t until then that I realized how much I was looking forward to those daily deliveries. So much so that I knew I wouldn’t be putting Trent off any longer. I figured if he was putting forth the effort, why couldn’t I?

  If and when he requested to see me, I would simply give in.

  No, I wasn’t thinking that this could be any sort of relationship—Trent was not that type of guy—but I wasn’t above spending a little time getting to know him. What could it hurt? He was a Dom, I was a submissive, and if nothing else, we had that in common. Perhaps we could do a few scenes together.

  I put my empty chip bag on the paper plate and set it to the side just as my phone buzzed.

  My heart thumped painfully against my ribs as excitement fizzed in my veins. I knew without looking who it was and I hated that I’d been looking forward to hearing from him all day.

  I pulled up the message.

  I’m back in town and I’d like to take you to lunch tomorrow. While I am making a request, I’ll phrase it as a command because, pet, I believe that is what you respond to best. I’d like you to meet me at noon. A table will be reserved.

  My heart continued to beat wildly as I stared at the message. Another followed shortly thereafter with the address for the restaurant. It was the same place we’d met at last week.

  Without hesitating, I typed a response before I lost my nerve. I’d be happy to meet you for lunch. I will be there.

  His reply came almost instantly: Perfect. Wear a skirt. I look forward to seeing you, Clarissa.

  I wasn’t entirely sure I was thinking clearly, but I was past the point of caring. Right now, I needed something to take my mind off how shitty my life had become. I needed something to look forward to.

  And it appeared that something was going to be Trent Ramsey, no matter how hard I tried to fight it.

  Trent

  Monday, August 20

  “I’M NOT SEEIN’ MUCH PROGRESS, Trent,” my trainer bellowed as I was flat on my back on the bench. “You’ve been slackin’ off.”

  “The hell I have,” I groaned as I pushed the bar up for another rep. When I set it on the pegs, I huffed out a breath and stretched my arms toward the ceiling. “I don’t know the fucking meaning of that word.”

  Case laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed in my home gym. “Now why do I believe that?”

  “Because it’s true,” I groaned as I started to sit up.

  “Oh, no. Don’t you dare get up. You’ve got one more set.”

  Fuck.

  I gripped the bar once more and got into a better position.

  I met Case Rhinehart years ago at one of the first BDSM clubs I frequented here in Dallas. Oddly enough, the six-foot-three-inch beast of a trainer was none other than a masochist who I had befriended over the years. It wasn’t until I fired my first personal trainer more than a decade ago that I sought out Case. For the past ten years, I had looked to this particular submissive to whip my ass into shape.

  “I’m startin’ to wonder,” he said with a chuckle as he leaned forward to spot the bar.

  “About?” I wasn’t sure where his train of thought had gone.

  “You and the slackin’. I thought my eyes were deceivin’ me but you might be gettin’ a gut.”

  Yeah. No way in hell. The kid was yanking my chain. “Careful, kid, or you’ll be kneeling at my feet and begging me for forgiveness.”

  As usual, Case’s light green eyes sparkled with interest.

  No, he wasn’t inter
ested in me, per se. I knew for a fact the man was currently between Doms. He was a member of both Dichotomy locations because he traveled with me quite a bit.

  I finished my set and dumped the bar back on the pegs. Once he was sure it was secure, Case stepped around, offering a hand to help me sit up. My gaze instantly dropped to my stomach and I pressed my hand against the muscles there. Case chuckled before tossing me a towel and a bottle of water.

  “You’re too easy, Ramsey,” he teased.

  “Yeah, fuck off.”

  He huffed a laugh before chugging his water.

  “Well, you might not have a gut yet, but I think we need to up our sessions.” He held up a hand in mock defense. “Now, I know you’re gonna tell me there’s no need, but there is. And I’m gonna talk to Brax because we need to focus on your protein intake.”

  Braxton McBride—known to everyone as simply Brax—was my personal chef and Case’s boyfriend, as well as another submissive who was a member of my clubs. As for how two submissives had ended up in a relationship, I couldn’t tell you, but it seemed to work for them. While Case had a history in the lifestyle, Brax hadn’t been introduced to BDSM until after he met Case via me.

  “Well, you tell Brax he better lay off that kale shit. I’m not a fan. And that’s the fastest way to get me to skip a meal.”

  Case shook his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

  I pushed to my feet and downed more water. “I’ve got some business coming up in Chicago. I’ll need you out there for a week or so. Maybe longer. I’ll let you know when I nail it down.”

  “I go where you go,” Case said with a grin. “And I’ve been lookin’ forward to headin’ out there again.”

  I smirked. “While I know you’re interested, I’m not sure you can handle Zeke.” Although, I wouldn’t mind watching the two of them together.

  Not because I had a fetish for watching two men, but more so because I did have a strange fascination with sadomasochism. Watching, not participating. I wasn’t a Sadist. Not even in the loosest sense of the word.

  His eyes glazed again just from the mention of Zeke’s name. The guy had it bad.

  “I’d love the opportunity, regardless,” he said as he tossed his towel into the hamper. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be here.” I turned toward the treadmill.

  “I only want you on that thing for thirty minutes,” he said. “No longer than that. If not, I’m gonna up your calorie intake and I’m gonna have Brax put kale in every damn thing you eat.”

  I grumbled. “Fine. Thirty minutes.”

  “See ya tomorrow.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. I had exactly forty-five minutes before Troy was scheduled to be here.

  Oddly enough, I was looking forward to seeing him.

  I only hoped the boy could manage to be here on time.

  *

  Standing in the shower, I closed my eyes and gripped my rigid cock in my fist while I let thoughts of Clarissa and Troy take over. I knew it wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, but I could no longer fight it. As it was, they’d started to overwhelm my dreams. I was in too deep where they were concerned. It was time I set my plan in motion.

  If it wouldn’t have been completely inappropriate, I would’ve called Troy into my bathroom and had him stand there while I jacked off. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the type of guy I was. This wasn’t a club and he wasn’t a willing submissive who was eager to please in any way I wanted him to.

  No, Troy was my assistant and I respected that. No way in hell would I cross that line unless Troy requested it. If I had to guess, he had absolutely no idea that I’d been thinking about him like this for a year now.

  While I firmly stroked my shaft, I let my imagination wander. Images of Troy and Clarissa formed. As usual, they were naked. Only this time, they were kissing each other, hands sliding over slick skin, their soft moans echoing off the tiled walls as I watched them.

  I couldn’t deny I was a voyeur in many ways. I enjoyed the hell out of watching people. I could picture Clarissa on her knees, Troy’s cock tunneling in and out of her sweet mouth while Troy sat impaled on my cock.

  “Fuck,” I groaned.

  I opened my eyes as I stroked harder and faster. Knowing Troy was on the other side of my bathroom door didn’t help to lessen my desire in the least. I had to wonder if he’d ever had similar thoughts about me. I saw the way he looked at me when he wasn’t aware I was watching. I’d seen interest there.

  I groaned as my spine tingled, my release inevitable. I imagined Troy at my feet, his lips caressing my dick, his tongue rasping along my shaft…

  I came with a grunt, my eyes closing to avoid staring at an empty shower. When my body was spent, I leaned against the tile and took a deep breath. I had a plan to put in motion today, one I was looking forward to immensely.

  As for whether or not Troy was willing to give in to my deepest, darkest desires was yet to be seen, but I knew I had to find out.

  And I intended for the first lesson to start today.

  Troy

  I FOUND MYSELF BACK IN Trent’s enormous bedroom—the same spot I was in last Wednesday, right before Trent sent me home for a long weekend. The place was in perfect order, the bed made, the furniture dusted, the housekeepers having already come through to ensure it was exactly the way Trent liked it.

  I was sitting on the bench at the end of his bed, waiting patiently for him to come out of the bathroom. Only this time I was trying to keep myself from thinking about what he looked like wet and naked.

  Good news was I was here on time.

  In fact, I’d arrived almost an hour early. So early I had spent fifteen minutes talking to Trent’s trainer before he left for the day. I had stayed in the kitchen until I heard Trent head for his bedroom. At that point, I had taken up this position, not moving an inch.

  When I heard the doorknob turn, I held my breath and stared at the door. And just like last Wednesday, Trent emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, all that bronzed skin on display.

  Likely due to the rigorous workout Case had put him through, every muscle in Trent’s chest was stark and defined. It was hard not to ogle him, but I managed by dropping my gaze to the floor.

  “You made it,” he said as he disappeared into the closet.

  Yep, that was uncertainty I’d detected in his tone. He hadn’t been sure I would show up.

  Fuck.

  “Look, Trent, I’m—”

  “No talking,” Trent commanded from somewhere inside his closet.

  I stared at the empty doorway, a little shocked by the firm command.

  Trent appeared a few minutes later wearing a pair of black slacks, his white button-down shirt on but open, his chest still in plain view. I waited until he grabbed a pair of socks from his dresser before I got up from the bench and traded places with him.

  “I assume you’ve taken care of your personal issues?”

  I decided to be up front with him, although I couldn’t look at him when I spoke, choosing to stare at that damn statue on his dresser. “To the best of my ability, yes. However, someone broke into my apartment again.”

  “Again?” he questioned. “As in there’ve been multiple occasions?”

  “Yes?” I hadn’t meant to phrase it as a question, but I wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “What the fuck, Troy? Why does this shit keep happening?”

  His tone was so abrupt I spun around to face him. That was when I realized he was moving toward me, his blue eyes hard as they pinned me in place.

  “How many times has your apartment been broken into? And I want the truth this time.”

  I shrugged in response because I didn’t want to tell him.

  “That’s not an answer,” he said in that steel-hard tone that matched his steely-blue eyes. The guy had that down pat. Although he pretended the Dominant was a separate side of him, I knew better than that. Trent Ramsey was all Dom, all the time.

  I
gave another shrug. “I don’t know. Shit. Maybe seven?” Granted, it was closer to twelve, but I was embarrassed to admit that.

  He looked disturbed by my admission. And fine, I understood because it was strange that my apartment seemed to be the go-to place for the criminal masterminds. No one else in my complex was experiencing the same disruptions to their days as I was.

  “But it’s not a big deal,” I lied. “I’ve lived there for three years, so when you think about it…”

  I had no idea what to say to make it sound better. Truth was, I lived in an inexpensive complex that didn’t have the best security in the world because it was easier for me. Being that I spent the majority of my time with Trent, traveling back and forth between all his various residences and the many movie sets, my own place was neglected most of the time, anyway. As was my car. I didn’t feel the need to spend too much money on either.

  “Where the fuck do you live, Troy? I thought your apartment was in a decent part of town.”

  Holy shit. Trent was standing practically on top of me, staring down at my face. At six foot two, the man only had two inches on me, but hell, he made me feel about three feet tall half the time. He was larger than life in every way and … well, there was just something about him.

  “It is,” I lied again. “It’s just … we’ve had a bit of a crime wave for a while now. I’m sure this’ll pass.” Yes, I was digging myself in deep.

  “That’s unacceptable,” he finally said, turning away abruptly and heading back into his closet.

  I had no idea what to say to that.

  When he returned, he was carrying his shined-to-perfection shoes, and a maroon tie dangled loosely around his neck. Once more, he sat on the bench, pulled on his shoes, tied them, then stood and began buttoning his shirt before tucking it into his slacks.