“Um . . . yup!” Lauren flashed him her “can’t catch me” smile and ran toward the tent. He easily caught up and wrapped his arm around her.
Night had fallen and the stars were out in all their glory. Lauren looked up. “We miss this view, living in the city.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have much in the way of city lights, and we have plenty of those,” he said, walking her into the tent. “Should I go find Roman?”
She paused, as if wondering if he was testing her. “Whatever you think is best.”
“No, seriously. I’m asking your advice. Even as my submissive, I’d want your input and advice. I’d just—”
“Be the one who made the final call,” she finished for him.
He rubbed his head. “Does that bother you?”
She smirked. “I can handle anything for a week. And the next bet we make, I’ll make sure you lose, and then we’ll see. Sir.”
“I see your paddling has worn off,” he joked. “Please get me a drink, scotch on the rocks, and meet me at our table. I’m going to find Roman.”
Lauren looked temporarily taken aback by the direct order, but she smiled. “Oh, I’ll get you a drink, all right.”
“Uh-oh. Okay, I’ll stop telling you what to do outside the bedroom. You’re going to spit in my drink now, aren’t you?” he asked, feeling the need to tease her into his good graces again.
She glared at him, trying to contain her smile. “Yes. But don’t worry, alcohol will kill the germs, sir.”
“Good to know. And I suppose I’ll be tasting some of your saliva later tonight anyway.”
“Damn it, Marc, you made it not fun to spit in your drink now.” Lauren laughed and turned on her heel. Marc watched the flowing dress swish across her naked ass as she sashayed over to one of the many servers carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres to find where she could get them drinks.
Friends again. Right?
Marc looked around the huge tent for Roman, but couldn’t find him among the other wedding guests, so he snuck out and looked around.
If I were Roman, where would I be?
Marc headed back into the house. The staff knew him and let him head back into Trevor’s den, to his private bar. Sure enough, there he was.
Roman looked up at him from his glass. “Hey man.”
“Hey.”
“Great wedding,” Marc said, hoping to get Roman to start talking. When he said nothing, Marc tried again. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he muttered. “Before tonight, I kept thinking she’d change her mind. That she’d recognize I was the Dom for her, not Trevor. But now . . . there’s no going back. They’re married.”
“I know it’s hard, maybe sounds impossible, but you need to move on for that exact reason. You had your chance with her, and for whatever reason she chose the man who she felt would be best for her. If you really love her, you’ll want her to be happy.”
Roman glared at him. “Says the man who’s trying to turn a Domme into a sub. You think Lauren will ever truly be happy living to serve you, when she’s used to having men follow her around on their hands and knees for a chance to lick her fucking boot?”
“What?” Marc’s stomach flipped. “It was your idea in the first place.”
“Well, I was wrong. You can’t change someone.”
“I don’t want to change her, I want her to be mine. And to be happy, too.” Marc sat on the couch heavily. “I suppose that’s asking too much.” He paused. “What would you do, in my situation?”
Roman swiped the hair out of his eyes. If anything could catch Roman’s interest, it was the topic of How to Train a Sub.
“Well, since you’re asking,” he said, and a small smile finally appeared on his face. “Right now, Lauren still identifies as a Domme only. It’s who she thinks she is. You need to show her that she’s more than that, that she’s multi-dimensional. And that one of those dimensions could be as a submissive. Not just any submissive . . . your submissive. Only you. She can be a Domme to the rest of the world, but around you, that changes.”
“It’s all a game to her, this bet. She’s already talking about the next bet, the one where I lose and end up as her slave,” Marc said.
“Then you have nothing to lose. Go all out. Do everything you ever wanted to do with her while you’ve got her. Because for all you know, she might leave you. She probably will, man.”
Suddenly Marc didn’t think they were talking about Lauren anymore. But Roman would bounce back, he had no doubt.
“You know what, dude?” Marc said. “You’re right. Tonight, we’re gonna play hard. I’m gonna fuck her the way she’d fuck me if I’d lost. Tie her up, whip her, make her come like crazy.”
“And don’t for a second let her revert to being on top,” Roman added.
Marc laughed. “She’ll try, but I’ll give it my best shot. She’s one tough cookie, that girl.” If this was his one shot at being with Lauren, then he had to take it, or the week would go by and things would go back to normal, which had been great for the past five years.
After holding her in his arms as they made love, though, he didn’t think he could ever see her as just a friend again. There was more between them than that, and he wouldn’t be able to simply forget.
“Come on, man,” Marc said, getting up. “You have a toast to give.” He eyed the drink in Roman’s hand, the pent-up emotion in his eyes. “I’d be happy to give it for you if you’d like. Maybe that would be best.”
“No. Trevor and I have been best friends since Yale. He deserves a toast from his best man at his wedding.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.” Marc waited for Roman to grab his scotch, neat, before he followed him back outside to the reception. “What are you going to say?”
“I won’t know until I say it,” Roman answered, and tossed back his drink.
Lauren sat at their table, Marc’s scotch on the rocks slowly gathering condensation. She’d already been through two Diet Cokes waiting for him. No alcohol for her tonight—she needed to keep her wits about her.
Where was he? The toasts had already started, and Trevor’s father was well over his five-minute time limit. At least he was amusing, even if he was looking at his notecards as he spoke. Already Lauren had learned that Trevor used to “marry” every little girl on the playground so he could “kiss the bride.”
Mr. Brooks Senior even acknowledged the elephant in the room—that this was Trevor’s second marriage.
“I can tell by looking at Elisabeth and Trevor together, the connection they have between them . . . that this one is going to stick,” Mr. Brooks said. “You two are meant for each other, and I think I speak for everyone when I wish you all the happiness in the world.” He raised his glass. “To second chances at true love.”
Lauren lifted her glass, smiling. Where was Marc, and more importantly, where was Roman, since he was supposed to give his toast? She turned in her chair, hoping to find them in another part of the tent, and the butt-plug shifted inside her.
Oh my. Marc really was an evil genius. She was totally going to do this to her next sub.
Finally! Marc walked slowly behind Roman, who took Mr. Brooks’s place at the microphone and looked out over the wedding guests. He didn’t look drunk, but the gleam in his eyes made Lauren wonder what he’d just been doing. Had he had a chance to talk with Marc?
Please, Roman, just tell a story about the good ol’ days at Yale and wish them the best and sit down. Please.
“For those of you who don’t know me,” he started, and there was a ripple of laughter throughout the room, since Roman Chase was one of the most eligible billionaire bachelors in the tri-state area, and everyone knew him. “I’m Roman, and Trevor and I have been friends and business partners ever since we were kids at Yale.”
Okay, this was sounding good. Thank God.
“S
o, this is my best man toast. Unlike Mr. Brooks, I unfortunately did not bring notes, so bear with me if I go off on a tangent.”
This brought a full-on roar of laughter, and even Mr. Brooks laughed.
“Trevor,” Roman said, looking right at him. “You win. You got the girl—” he said it in a joking way, but Lauren saw him glance at Elisabeth, who had a deer-frozen-in-the-headlights look on her face, although at least her face had a wide fake smile plastered on.
Roman quickly changed tacks.
“I remember the first time I met Trevor, on his first day at Yale. He seemed like a total nerd. Don’t rich nerds always get the hottest wives?”
At this, there were a few uneasy chuckles in the room, as if maybe Roman was teasing. Gregory, Elisabeth’s former master, was staring daggers at Roman, and if looks could kill, Roman would be dead right about . . . now.
“Well, I took you under my wing, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that you may be smart, but you’re not actually a nerd, per se,” Roman continued. The wedding tent was silent. Crickets.
“I think what I’m trying to say is that I probably should have brought notes after all.”
Now the crowd laughed. Finally. Lauren didn’t, though. She was too nervous about what might come out of Roman’s mouth next.
“So.” Roman cleared his throat. “Trevor, you’re my family. You’re my brother . . .” He said nothing about Elisabeth, or about the marriage. The pause went on too long, and the guests looked around, as if wondering where he was going with the toast.
Lauren shook her head, ready to grab jump up and grab the microphone from him, but Marc was closer and did it first.
Marc laughed as if Roman had just given an awesome toast, even though it was clear to Lauren and everyone else that he hadn’t.
“Cheers,” Roman said, although without the microphone only the guests in front heard. He didn’t wait for anyone to lift their glass before drinking his.
“Cheers! We love you guys so much,” Marc said, quickly covering. “We’re thrilled you’re together and there is no doubt that Elisabeth and Trevor are perfect for each other.”
Roman glared at Marc for hijacking his toast and took a step back.
“To the happy couple!” Marc took a glass of champagne off a tray as one of the servers hovered nearby, and lifted his glass. The guests cheered and lifted their glasses again, and clinked the glass with their knives, making a tinkling sound to encourage Trevor and Elisabeth to kiss.
Lauren flashed Marc the thumbs-up sign as the newly wedded couple gave each other a chaste kiss that quickly turned into something more intimate.
Marc handed the microphone over to Elisabeth’s maid-of-honor and whispered something in Roman’s ear before going to sit down next to Lauren.
“Good save,” she said, and winced when she realized Roman was right behind Marc, following them to the table.
“I didn’t need saving. I was doing fine on my own,” Roman said.
Marc looked at Lauren with a warning glance, as if to say Don’t start anything, let it go. So she did. Tonight was about Trevor and Elisabeth, anyway. No reason to start shit with Roman.
“Holy moly. Please pass me my spit-scotch,” Marc said.
“No spit—this time—but the ice seems to have melted. Shall I get you a fresh one?”
Marc smiled at her. “Yes, thank you.”
“Always watering down the fucking scotch,” Roman muttered.
“Coke Mafia,” Marc murmured, and took a sip of her soda. “Told you we’d swap spit tonight.”
Lauren smacked his arm playfully and stood, grateful for a chance to get off her sore ass. But as she walked, the plug inside her rocked with every step. Would Marc take her anally tonight? Was this preparation for that?
Flagging down a server, she ordered another scotch on ice and a glass of white wine for herself. One little glass wouldn’t hurt. She’d need it if Roman was going to sit with them and sulk all night.
Then again, maybe she could get Roman’s mind off of Elisabeth by asking for his expertise in surviving the next week as Marc’s sub.
She returned to the table with their drinks, and poured a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the table for Roman. He should probably lay off the liquor and hydrate.
“Sir,” she said grandly, setting Marc’s drink in front of him. “And for you, Roman.”
Sitting hurt, but she followed Marc’s rule of not letting it show. Damn, he was good with a paddle. What else was he good at?
And what did it say about her that she was rather curious to find out?
“Hey Roman, I need some advice about how to be a good sub. I’m pretty sure I suck at it.”
Marc raised his eyebrows as if in surprise and laughed. “You don’t suck.”
“Sometimes I suck,” she teased, remembering the blow job she’d given him. “Or was that not memorable enough for you?”
Roman smiled, a real smile. “I’m honored you’d ask, Mistress Lauren.” He emphasized the word Mistress, as if to test her.
“Not a Mistress this week, you know that. I belong to Marc right now, but . . .” She glanced at Marc, hoping not to offend him. “It’s not easy for me.”
“Well,” Roman said, “you need to pretend it is.”
“Pretend?” That wasn’t the answer she was expecting.
“Yes. Pretend you are already the perfect submissive, and behave accordingly.”
Marc laughed. “I think that means no more rolling on top of me and holding me down.”
Lauren flushed. “Old habits die hard.”
“Not anymore they don’t,” Roman said. “You’re a Domme, you know how you’d want your own sub to act, so act like that.”
“But you don’t have to lick my boot,” Marc added.
“Thank goodness. I have no idea where those boots have been,” she teased. It felt good to be able to have a semi-normal conversation again, almost as if they were sitting at their booth at WhipperSnapper discussing someone else.
With the toasts over, Trevor and Elisabeth were doing their first dance to a lively waltz. Lauren looked over at them, admiring the ease with which Trevor led Elisabeth on the dance floor and how easy she made it look to follow. Why couldn’t Lauren do that too?
“Oh, by the way, I arranged for a surprise performance,” Marc whispered.
“You didn’t!”
“You know I couldn’t help it. Just for one song.”
The MC took the microphone and said, “We have a special wedding present from Marc Wilde for the couple. This song is for you, Trevor. Your . . .” he coughed, as if unsure of himself. “Favorite boy band?”
Elisabeth shrieked with laughter as the boy band that adorned every tween’s bedroom walls burst in and started in on a lively rendition of their latest hit single.
Trevor looked at Marc and shook his head, smiling, and mouthed Wait till it’s your turn.
Marc couldn’t stop laughing, which made Lauren laugh too. It was the sort of thing that would get Trevor teased about for years, but at least the boys were actually quite good, and extremely entertaining.
“Let’s dance!” one of the boys (well, he was probably in his early twenties but looked about fifteen) yelled, and everyone took to the dance floor, bopping along to the silly beat. It completely broke the ice and got the party started.
“You and your pranks,” Lauren said, shaking her head. “You’re lucky Elisabeth likes your sense of humor, after all the work she put into planning this wedding.”
“I am certainly lucky. But what do you get the guy who has everything, other than a boy band, really?”
“You make a good point.”
She danced in her seat, hoping Marc would invite her to dance. If she wasn’t trying to be in sub mode, she’d already be out on the floor.
“All right, let�
��s do this.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her out on the dance floor, and soon they were bopping and clapping along with the rest of the party-goers.
“You make everything fun,” she said, nearly yelling over the music.
“You too, baby, you too.” He swirled her around under his arm, and Lauren was pleased to see that following Marc wasn’t as hard as she’d have guessed. “Have I told you how gorgeous you look in that dress?”
“Not in the last twenty minutes, at least,” she said, twirling in toward him until her hand pressed against his hard, muscular chest.
He laughed, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her, but he didn’t.
“You might not want to look at the bill for it, though,” she said. “Just a thought.”
“Anything for you,” He grinned and pushed her gently so that she’d twirl back out.
“Of course anything for me, I deserve it,” she reminded him, and shimmied her hips until he groaned and pulled her in close again.
“You’re killing me here.”
“Balls match my dress?” she asked innocently.
“Just you wait, Lauren.” He dipped her, and she kicked up her foot. “Hey, you’re a good dancer.”
“You’re easy to follow.”
Hopefully that would translate to the bedroom that night. She’d take Roman’s words to heart, because his advice was good.
Just pretend.
And if pretending turned into the real thing, she’d worry about everything else when their week together was over. Laughing and dancing with her best friend, though, and now her lover and temporary Dom, made her wonder if she ever wanted their week together to end.
Tonight, she was going to pretend her heart out . . . and this time, she had a feeling she’d enjoy it. A lot.
The wedding lasted late into the night, but there was an after-party for the kinksters at WhipperSnapper in the city. Trevor, Elisabeth, Marc and Lauren, and Elisabeth’s ex-Dom, now happily with his collared sub Andrew—who used to be the bartender at the BDSM club (if pouring overpriced soda and lemonade counted as being a bartender)—were all riding in the same limo. So was Roman.
Enamored Page 7
