by L. DuBois
As it was, she did something she tried never to do. She lowered her gaze and leaned into him, seeking the reassurance of his touch. He let her burrow against him, her head tucked under his chin.
“I called you ‘Sir’ because it felt right.”
His lips grazed the top of her head. “That’s what I wanted you to say.”
“Yesterday was…I want that again. All of it. Even when I pissed you off.”
“You didn’t piss me off.”
“Yes, I did.” She sat up. “That first time we had sex on the table, it was…amazing.”
“I won’t disagree, but you were right, it wasn’t a scene.”
“No, wait, please.” Desperate to make him understand, she slid off the chair, grabbed his leg, and yanked on it until he was straddling the chair, his feet on the ground. He raised one eyebrow, but let her do it.
Wanting to make sure he understood, she knelt on the divan so she was facing him, knee-walking in close enough to hold onto his shoulders.
His gaze slid slowly from her face, down to her body. One breast was exposed, her top having slid off to pool at that elbow. Dark brows were drawn together as he focused once more on her face.
“I…” She stopped, thought about what she wanted to say and then started again. “I don’t enjoy sex.”
“What?”
“I mean non-kinky sex. Vanilla sex. I had some bad experiences, and I dealt with them, but I just don’t like normal sex. I need the kink, the…trappings. Until yesterday.” She could stop there. He never had to know what else she planned to say.
But she wasn’t a coward, and he deserved to hear it.
“You were the first man to make me feel that kind of passion. I know I’m not a really formal type of sub, but what I did—grabbing you, jumping on you. I would never have done that with Master Leo.
“And not,” she rushed to add, “because I think he’s a Dom and you’re not. I called you ‘Sir.’ Don’t forget that.”
“I haven’t.”
“I want you to know that you…you made me feel something I hadn’t before. I hate that I screwed it up with what I said about it not being a scene. I think some part of me did it on purpose so you’d walk away.”
He’d been so still while she spoke that it was killing her. The longer he sat there quietly watching her, the more she wanted to beg him to understand.
It took a supreme act of will, but she stopped talking. She’d said what she needed to. She’d told him the truth, and here, in the warm sunlight, she’d just have to wait.
He didn’t make her wait long.
Master Raine slid his hands up her thighs, under the pooled black fabric of her top and up her hips until he was touching her bare skin.
“When we met, you said you weren’t my type.”
She swallowed hard.
“Or maybe you said I wasn’t your type. Either way, you were wrong.”
Chastity’s relief escaped as a little laugh. She gathered herself and raised her chin.
“I wasn’t exactly wrong,” she said. “We aren’t each other’s type.”
“Wrong verb tense. We weren’t.”
“Verb tense? Are you a grammar nerd?”
“Trying to earn some more ice cubes in your ass?”
She didn’t bother to hide the happy little moan that threat caused. “Are we going to play today? Do the other items on our list?”
He removed his hands from under her top, then pushed it off her one shoulder. It pooled on her thighs and at her elbows. He cupped and kneaded her breasts, fondling her as he spoke.
“We were partnered for the checklist game, and we still have one item we need to do, but I don’t want to do that today.”
“Oh.”
“Chastity. I’d like to scene with you.”
“But you just said…”
“Not as part of the game. I’m asking you to be my scene partner.”
“You want me to be your submissive.”
“I’m not offering you a collar. I haven’t even known you twenty-four hours.” Was he…blushing? Embarrassed?
Chastity grinned. “You like me.”
“Less right now than I did a minute ago.”
“You want to date me and buy me flowers…”
That might have been a bit too far, because Master Raine grabbed her shoulders, jerked her forward, and kissed her hard. Then he reached around and started smacking her ass.
“Ouch!”
“That didn’t hurt.”
“It did!”
“That’s probably true, but you liked it.”
“I did,” she sighed.
“Answer my question, Chastity.”
“Yes, Master Raine. I want to scene with you. I want to submit to you.”
“Good. And I mean more than just today and tomorrow. I want to be your regular partner.”
“Exclusive, right?”
“I don’t share.”
“Neither do I.”
“Brat. You’re mine. This weekend and next weekend. Well, next weekend I won’t be here but the weekend after that.”
The part of her that was ridiculous and romantic wondered if it would lead to more. First a collar, then they’d be bonded—the club’s term for a permanent coupling. She’d come to Las Palmas looking for something, and she thought she’d found it—the persona of Chastity, the impact play scenes with Master Leo and others.
That had been enough until yesterday, until Master Raine. Until she felt it, she hadn’t known what power there was in a connection between Dom and sub that went deeper than discussing a scene before it started.
There was a simple but powerful magic in finding someone you clicked with, someone you liked, who felt the same way about you.
She had to tune back in to hear what he said next.
“Then for the rest of this weekend we’re going to scene and just ignore the damned game.”
“But we still have one item?”
He grinned. “Interrogation.”
“Ohhh. I can’t believe I agreed to that.”
“You put ‘willing to try’. Luckily for you I’m willing to interrogate you.”
She peered at him, trying to ignore the way his thumbs were flicking and stimulating her nipples. Now that she thought about it, maybe he looked intimidating because he was a spy. “Are you a CIA agent?”
“Not even close. Trust me, you’ll never guess. Want to tell me what you do?”
She was saved from answering because he lifted one breast and bit her nipple. Chastity leaned back, closing her eyes as sweet pain zinged through her.
He licked her, as if in apology. “If it makes you feel better, you said ‘no’ to injections and initiation rites.”
“Dodged a bullet.”
“More like dodged a needle.”
She put one hand on her chest in mock horror. “Did you just make a dad joke?”
He grimaced. “You need a spanking.” He tweaked her nipples hard enough to make her jump.
“Always, Master Raine.” She fluttered her lashes as she said it.
“Alexandre.” Unlike her teasing, his expression was serious. “My name is Alexandre. I want you to call me ‘Alexandre’ when we’re not in the middle of a scene. You call me Sir when you…feel it.”
The command washed over her, firm and comforting. “Yes, Sir.”
“Strip.”
She slid off the divan. The top fell off once she was standing, and in no time, she’d removed the leggings. She was naked and already so, so wet.
Master Raine—Alexandre—leaned back, stacked his hands behind his head, and grinned.
“Go get a bucket of ice.”
Chapter 12
“What if my teacher says that I can’t have pink things?”
Alexandre considered the question, knowing that, however silly it sounded to him, for his four-year-old daughter, this was a real concern.
“Your teacher will help you learn.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Petunia was strapped into her car
seat, her little feet dangling. She had a delicate face with the bone structure that promised she’d be gorgeous like her mother, but with his dark coloring. “Sometimes your teacher will tell you not to do things, and you should listen to her, but I don’t think they’ll say you can’t have anything pink.”
Petunia’s wrinkled brow smoothed out, but only for a second. “What if…”
As they drove towards her new preschool, she listed off one concern after another. Alexandre knew her anxiety was his fault. His and her mother’s. He hadn’t married Evelyn Flure—a now-famous actress—but they’d been together for five years, breaking up a year after Petunia was born, when Evelyn had fallen in love with a co-star.
Evelyn had primary custody of their daughter until six months ago, when they’d stopped their back and forth custody disputes after Petunia’s therapist called both of them in to let them know their sweet little girl was internalizing the stress of their bickering.
That moment had changed his life and, since then, he’d spent every waking moment either working or focused on Petunia. The only time he took for himself was the very occasional weekend—when Evelyn had visitation—at Las Palmas for stress relief. If the club overseers hadn’t made attendance last weekend mandatory, he wouldn’t have been there.
Wouldn’t have met Chastity.
“What if one of my other teachers thinks I’m naughty?”
“There are no naughty children, but all children do naughty things sometimes.” Petunia’s therapist, Elrita, had taught him that expression.
Petunia looked out the window, her little face still pensive.
She would be okay. He’d move heaven and earth to make sure his sweet little girl—the only person who could make him laugh—had a great, happy life. He’d failed her before, but no longer.
Chastity made you laugh.
Taking his daughter to her first day of preschool was not the time to be thinking about his new submissive.
“I don’t know the names of the children in my class.”
Her little voice was so sorrowful that he had to bite his cheek to hold back the smile.
“That’s okay. You’re not supposed to know their names before you meet them.”
In order to get primary physical custody, Alexandre had stopped taking on stunt work—which was too high-risk to make him a good primary caregiver—and promised never to travel for more than three days at a time. One of the things Petunia needed was stability. She’d been going to movie sets with her mother and living out of rented houses and hotels, for most of her young life.
Because of the business he built, he had the option to stay and run Raine Stunts from the headquarters in Studio City, so that’s what he was doing.
He and Evelyn had fought about Petunia’s education—governesses were popular in Hollywood right now, and Petunia spent most of her time with either her au pair or governess while Evelyn worked. Evelyn had wanted to continue with the governess, but a normal, happy life meant school.
He’d held firm and gotten Petunia into a great private preschool in Century City where lots of entertainment people had their kids. In order to smooth the transition, the governess had moved in to his hastily bought house when Petunia did, then slowly transitioned out. He’d done unholy things to get Petunia jumped up on the waiting list and, finally, after months, she was starting school.
He was as nervous as she was, though better at hiding it.
The place had good security, top-notch academics, and, best of all, the primary teacher in the classroom Petunia would be in—the ladybug room—was an older lady with a maternal air that he had a feeling his sweet, anxious little girl would respond to.
On Monday, after all his paperwork was approved, Alexandre had met with Miss Hills. She’d walked him through everything they’d need, and how to best transition Petunia into her new environment. That had given him parameters to form a plan, a strategy for getting Petunia transitioned into school.
He ran through the mental list.
Nap-time blanket? In the bag. Water bottle? New, washed, labeled with her name. Extra clothes? In a carefully labeled bag. Emergency contact card? Completed and in the bag. Lunch preference sheet for the rest of this week and next week? Done.
He wondered what his own mother, a hardworking immigrant, would say if she knew her granddaughter got to preselect her school lunches from a printed menu a week in advance—and all the food was organic, locally sourced, and prepared by a trained chef. She’d died many years ago and that hurt, because he knew Petunia would have loved to have a babushka.
He pulled in to the driveway and checked in at the security hut. Once he was cleared, he drove through the freshly resurfaced lot and parked. Petunia, despite her anxious questions, eagerly jumped out of the car. She clung to his hand as they crossed the lot.
He looked down at his sweet girl and noticed her hair was a bit messy. Fuck. Her selecting an outfit, laying it out and planning how she wanted her hair done was part of his plan.
She was gorgeous and had been from the moment she was born, but that ponytail didn’t look the way he knew she liked it.
He’d watched hours of YouTube videos on doing little girls’ hair, but Petunia’s was so fine that it was like trying to tame spider silk. He’d put in the white bow clip on top of the hair tie. She’d solemnly told him it matched the trim on her black and white dress. Hopefully, the cuteness of the outfit and bow offset the badly-constructed ponytail.
Evelyn was in charge of Petunia’s wardrobe, and her assistant regularly dropped over bags from children’s boutiques. As absolutely infuriating as he found his ex, he was glad to not be in charge of shopping for a four-year-old. The hair was difficult enough.
He checked in with security as Petunia clung to his leg while also looking around avidly.
The front desk person escorted them to the playground for the three-to-four-year-old classes. At Miss Hills’s suggestion, they were starting midweek and arriving during midmorning recess. After this, the children in the ladybug room went into circle and sharing time, then lunch and nap. That would give Petunia time to get used to everyone before the afternoon’s “self-guided learning stations.”
He still wasn’t sure what that meant.
The fact that he kept running through the details, rehashing the plan, was a very good indication of how nervous he was.
There seemed to be approximately 100 small children running, shrieking, and climbing on the brightly colored and impeccably maintained playground. He knew there were actually only forty kids—twenty in each of two classes—but in a group they seemed exponentially more abundant.
He thought the noise and sheer number of strangers would be too much for Petunia, but she walked beside him, still holding his hand, but not clinging to his leg.
Miss Hills met them by the gate in the fence and let them in. Petunia was introduced to Miss Hills and the two other teachers in the ladybug room.
Miss Hills stroked Petunia’s wisps of hair back from her face. “Would you like to go play, dear one?”
“Yes, please.”
“What excellent manners. You go on, and your daddy and I will stay here.”
Petunia took two steps and paused. Alexandre was braced, ready for her to run back to him. Fuck it. Who needed school? He’d take her into the office with him and they could sit on the floor behind his desk and read stories and play that stupid app where you got to put makeup on kittens. She loved that thing, she always laughed when she played it, and her laughter was the best sound in the world.
With a war whoop, Petunia took off running.
Alexandre blinked.
Miss Hills patted his shoulder. “She’ll be fine. Can you stay for a bit, until we head inside?”
“My baby…”
Miss Hills patted him again.
One of the other teachers—one he hadn’t met yet, so she must have been from the caterpillar room—was pushing kids on the swings. She had on a bright yellow skirt with pictures of apples around
the hem, a blue top, and a red headband on her short, pale-blonde hair. She looked like an unimaginative casting director’s idea of what a preschool teacher should be.
When Petunia slid up to her, the young woman stepped back so they were out of range of flying feet. She crouched, tucking her skirt around her legs as she did so, to speak to Petunia eye to eye. A moment later, one of the kids got off their swing and Petunia jumped on. The blonde woman gave Petunia a push, and soon his baby was happily soaring through the air.
Whatever the trees were they had lining the property, they must have been producing a ton of pollen. His eyes were watering.
Petunia jumped off the swings, and her bow wobbled and fell out. She snatched up the hair decoration, clutching it while looking around, and he could tell from the way her little body hunched that she was upset. Alexandre started towards the swings.
The blonde teacher pulled Petunia out of the way and, with a quick swipe, had the elastic out of Petunia’s hair. She quickly pulled it up into a perfectly centered and neat tail, retied it with quick fingers and popped the bow on.
His daughter smiled, hugged the woman, and then ran off.
The teacher turned, eyes scanning the playground, a warm smile on her face.
Alexandre stopped so abruptly he had to take a half step back or risk falling on his ass.
The blonde teacher—with her chin-length hair held back from her face by the sweet little headband, and bright blue eyes—was Chastity.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
Oh god. Oh GOD.
Master Raine. Alexandre.
Was here. At her job.
Had he tracked her down? Was he going to get her fired and then she’d be jobless and end up homeless and then he’d offer to let her live in his basement as she agreed to become his nameless sex pet?
“Hi, Daddy!”
The dark-haired little girl whose ponytail she’d fixed—who had to be the new student joining the ladybug classroom—waved at him as she ran past.
“Hi, baby,” Alexandre said, though it sounded strangled.
He was a parent. Of a child at her school. Oh god, that was almost worse.
Miss Hills walked up, her too-shrewd gaze flipping back and forth between them.
