Safeguard (NYC Doms)

by Jane Henry

  But getting closer to Zack scares me. He’s all in with the lifestyle, and I’m not so sure. It’s hot as fucking hell. I love to scene with him. But beyond that? Is it me?

  I sigh, taking in the very manly, fairly utilitarian look of the place. There are no picture frames or even prints on the wall. He doesn’t even have so much as curtains on his window. The walls are a plain cream color, the floors hardwood save a handful of throw rugs in burgundy and hunter green. The large dresser against one wall is simple but sturdy, and he has a variety of things on top, but it doesn’t look cluttered, just practical. I know he took out implements next to his bed, and I want to open that drawer, but it feels like a violation of his privacy.

  Still… He spanks my ass and I wear his collar and crawl to him. I can’t look in his drawers? My hand goes to the handle, and I gently tug it open so it makes no noise. I gasp when I see the contents.

  To one side he has things I’m very familiar with. The flogger, a cane, a variety of paddles and whips, and a sturdy strap. Nipple clamps and lube, and other things he packs and takes with him to Verge. Condoms. But gleaming silver catches my eye, and I push the kinky mountain aside to get a better look. It’s a revolver, a pair of handcuffs, and a lockbox.

  Shit. This drawer’s frigging explosive. Like, literally. I shut it so fast it slams with a bang, and I cringe as I hear the door to his room swing open.

  “Beatrice.”

  “Yes, sir?” Maybe tacking on the sir will help my case. I can’t look at him, but the tone of his voice makes my skin prickle.

  “Were you snooping in my drawers?”

  I turn to him and shake my head. “No, sir. You weren’t wearing any drawers this morning. I fucked you naked and don’t need to snoop since I know every intimate detail of your—”

  “Beatrice.” His voice is the warning tone, the old-man lecture voice. He’s all Stern Dom.

  I sigh. “Yes. I knew you kept the fun play things in there.” My voice drops. “I just… I just didn’t know you kept other things in there, too.”

  I finally hazard a look up at him, and his brown eyes have darkened to nearly black, his jaw tight, hands on his hips. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he’s stern. And really intimidating. I suddenly feel about six years old.

  He reaches me and sits on the edge of the bed. I roll over on my side to face him, tucking my hands beneath my cheek, which was a mistake, since now that he can reach me, he gives my ass a firm swat.

  “Ow! I’m sore you know.”

  “I’m sure,” he says, raising a brow at me. “Which is the only reason I’m not taking you across my lap for snooping. I have nothing to hide from you. Nothing.”

  Guilt gnaws at my gut.

  “But I don’t like that you didn’t just ask me but felt the need to sneak.”

  “You weren’t here.”

  He crosses his arms and his eyes narrow.

  I sigh. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have snooped.”

  He threads his fingers through my hair, and his voice softens a bit. “There are dangerous things in that drawer. Things that could hurt little girls who aren’t careful.”

  “I’m not your little girl,” I say, even though I sort of love when he calls me that.

  “No?” he asks.

  I shake my head but it’s sheer petulance. I love being taken care of. He opens the drawer, reaches in, and takes out something I didn’t see before—a sturdy wooden hairbrush. The breath catches in my throat and I wonder for a moment if he’s going to spank me. I mean, nearly all the other tools in there are implements of ass destruction. But no, instead, he gently draws the brush through my hair. “Sit up,” he instructs gently. I obey, and he pulls me to him, swinging his legs up on the bed so I can lean against his torso, while he brushes my hair. Bending down to whisper in my ear, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t like being my little girl?”

  Oh, I fucking love this.

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.

  He just chuckles. He knows I fight this.

  “Beatrice.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re staying here until further notice. You got that?”

  He isn’t offering or inviting me, but telling me, and at first a spark of anger flares to life in my chest. Who does he think he is? I didn’t tell him I’d move in with him. Is this some sorta power play? But I’ve resisted for so long, and I don’t feel ready at all to go back to my place. No, thank you, not now, not when some kinda shit’s going down. So I swallow my pride and nod.

  “Did you find out anything about the flowers dropped off?”

  “All anonymous, and it was a fake name and cash at the ordering place. No records.”

  “Well, that just sucks monkey balls.” I frown.

  I can feel him shaking with laughter. “It isn’t funny, but sometimes, the shit you say—”

  My phone rings, and I reach for it. “It’s Diana,” I explain, before I pick it up.

  “Make it quick because we’ve got to talk.”

  I nod, and answer the phone. “Yeah, babe?”

  “Hey, how are you?”

  “Doing great,” I say, still feeling the residual euphoria from subspace the night before.

  She giggles. “Well, then. We need a girl chat later, methinks.”

  “Pfft. Like I kiss and tell.”

  She laughs out loud. “So it’s totally fine for me to give you every juicy detail of my sex life and kinky adventures, but suddenly you’re all quiet? Yeah, chickie, I don’t think so.”

  Zack makes a grumbly noise from where he’s sitting, and he has the nerve to take the brush in his hand and smack the back of it against his palm. I may not be fully trained but that’s enough to make me snap into shape.

  “Hey, Zack needs to talk to me, I have to make this quick. What’s up?”

  “Gotta test out cake samples later but Tobias has some meeting or something and he says he doesn’t like cake anyway.”

  “Who doesn’t like cake?”

  Another smack on Zack’s palm has me stuttering. “Ok, ok, when and where?” I get the details from her. “I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, babe. Later.”

  We disconnect.

  I’m proud of myself for hanging up so quickly when conversations with Diana can sometimes be epic, and we haven’t had a really good gab in a while. So I take a minute to swipe at the notifications on my phone, and don’t look at Zack, but then I jump when the phone is taken right out of my hand and when I look up in surprise, he’s glaring at me.

  “Dude. What?”

  “Let’s try sir again,” he bites out.

  What?

  “Excuse me?”

  He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “You want your phone back today? Then watch your fucking attitude and tell me why you just made plans without discussing it with me? When I want to fucking keep you here and lock you in a cage to keep you away from whoever wants to hurt you? Just, yeah, go buy shoes or whatever with Diana? Jesus, if you weren’t already marked I’d spank your ass.”

  My temper flares and I want to mouth off. Buy shoes? Cage? What the hell has crawled up his ass? But I reach down deep, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I don’t want to fight him. I know I can keep my temper in check, and I sure as hell don’t want to be punished.

  “Yes, sir.” It’s barely meek, and it isn’t snarky, but swallowing my anger makes me emotional. Tears cloud my vision. I blink them back, and my voice is shaky, my nose tingling when I ask in a voice barely above a whisper, “Why are you angry with me?”

  It’s my kryptonite, the chink in my armor.

  I hate when I’m the bad girl. I fuck everything up.

  Can’t you do anything right? The inner voice in my head chides me. I turn my head away from him since I don’t want him to see me cry.

  “Fuck, baby.” His voice is tortured, and then he’s got me in his arms, pulling me to his chest, and shit, I’m crying.

  “I did
n’t mean to mess anything up,” I sniffle. “God, Zack, I don’t want you mad at me. I just didn’t think. And I know you want me safe, but I—”

  “No, babe, Shhh. God, I’m a dick.”

  He holds me tight and I do my best to get my shit together. I take a deep breath and let it out, but wetness dampens my cheeks and his chest. We say nothing at first, and then I lift my head. “So I should’ve asked you first. I just wasn’t thinking, honest.”

  His arms tighten around me. “I just want to keep you safe. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, Beatrice. But it isn’t fair for me to take that out on you. And I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

  He’s as demanding as they come but has the balls to swallow his pride and apologize.

  “Of course, I forgive you,” I sniffle, and he holds me quietly for a moment. “But you may have to make it up to me.”

  “Yeah?” There’s humor in his voice, which pleases me. “Jesus, I could fuck you all day and make you come a thousand times til Sunday and you’ll still want more.”

  “Is sex all you think about?” I tease.

  He loosens his grip and tickles me, making me scream and giggle. “No. God, no!” I gasp. “I want a caramel latte with the foamy stuff on top and sprinkles.”

  “Foamy stuffy?” He shakes. “Tell you what. I can make you one right here.”

  I pull away from him and look at him quizzically.

  “Who can make caramel lattes with foamy stuff and sprinkles by themselves?”

  He grins, and God, my insides melt. So. Damn. Hot.

  “Okay,” he allows. “Maybe not the sprinkles.” His brow furrows, and it’s adorable. “But I love making coffee stuff at home. I’ve got all the equipment and machines, and don’t like buying them because they don’t make them the way I like them when I do.”

  Leave it to Zack to Dom his coffee.

  “This I’ve gotta see.”

  “Whoa, now, doll,” he says, grabbing my legs as the swing off the bed, and placing them gently back on the bed. “First, we talk. I have questions for you, but some will wait. All I need to know for now is what your plans are for the next few days. Work hours. Classes you’re teaching. Plans with Diana?”

  I nod. “Yes, sir, but I’ll need my phone.” Now it feels nice to call him sir again, and I need to if I’m asking permission for my phone back.

  He hands it to me silently, and I swipe my calendar open. “Well I know I don’t have to teach yoga this week, because the studio’s being renovated. Bonus, I get paid anyway.” I frown and look at him. “I need to get my exercise in, though.”

  “Got plenty of stuff here for you to work out.” A corner of his mouth tips up. “And I can work you out good, too.”

  I shift on my ass and feel the burn. “That you do, sir.” God, I want to go back to the club. “Can we go to Verge this weekend?”

  His eyes burn. “Hell yeah. But back to your schedule.”

  “Okay, I have to go with Diana to taste test cake.” I pause and amend, “if that’s okay with you?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Work?”

  “No more shifts until next week.”

  “Perfect.” He smiles. “Then I’ve got you to myself this weekend.” He gives my hair a little tug. “Up and at ‘em. Go get ready, and I’ll make you your fancy pants coffee, then I’ll escort you to meet Diana. There’s a bag in my living room with clothes I had one of my guys pick up for you.”

  He leans down and gently kisses my temple, then stands up and gives my ass a smack so hard the noise rings in my ears. I squeal, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

  Chapter 12

  I make her coffee while she showers, adding the caramel and swirls and foam like she wants. I normally like my coffee made from freshly-ground beans, straight up with cream, but I’ve got a sweet tooth and sometimes I want it all doctored up. I don’t think I have sprinkles, but then I remember in the summer, Tia came over with her daughter for her birthday and for dessert we had all the sundae fixings. Were there sprinkles or some shit like that? I rifle through my cabinets and boom. Chocolate sprinkles. I smirk.

  God, what I do for this girl.

  But as I swirl her coffee and tap the sprinkles on top, guilt tugs at my conscience. I just lectured the hell outta her and brought her to tears for not being straight with me, and just this morning while she still laid in bed, I put plans in place to have a man on her in my absence. She doesn’t know she’s going to be tailed. Doesn’t know I’ve got her phone tapped. I don’t want to freak her out, but I’m not totally at ease with what some might call a double standard.

  “Oh that looks awesome,” she says, practically skipping over to me. She looks like a little sprite, her blonde hair damp and a little crazy, wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans that hug her ass, paired with a light blue tank-top, her bare feet revealing bright pink toenails. Her skin is pink and fresh, no makeup yet.

  “Where you going, looking so good?” I ask, not bothering to temper my growl.

  She starts to roll her eyes but stops and composes herself. “Sweetie,” she says with patience, “I’m wearing jeans and a tank top. Like, I don’t even have makeup on.”

  I push her cappuccino to her on the counter, reach for her, and drag her over to me, tucking my fingers around her neck just before I claim her with my mouth. She rises into me on the tips of her toes and I don’t let her go until she’s breathless.

  She blinks at me, a little dazzled, and I leave her to go get ready. After I’m showered and dressed, I reach for my drawer and take out my Colt, the smallest handgun I carry with me when there’s imminent danger. Beatrice walks in.

  “God, Zack!”

  I turn to look at her, but her eyes are on the assortment of guns I’ve got laid out on the bed. Before I chose the one I needed I inspected a few that have been there a while, making sure they are in good condition and loaded.

  “Why do you have so many? Why don’t you just need one?”

  I shrug. “You only have one hair comb?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Only got one pair of scissors?”

  She shakes her head. “No, and I know where you’re going with this, but that isn’t the same. Scissors don’t kill people. I mean they can,” she says with a cringe, looking as if she’s just eaten something rotten, like in that episode in Sons of Anarchy when she just rammed—Oh, God, I can’t even. That was horrific.”

  “Beatrice.” She stops and blinks, but I give her no further instructions, just calling her name in the voice that gets her attention. I inhale deeply. She’s adorable but needs to listen to me. I’ve stepped things up at the club, and she obeys me, but when we’re not there, she loses her focus. It’s not a command to kneel, this time. It’s a command to focus. I crook a finger to have her come near. She walks over to me on unsteady feet, as if wondering what I’ll do to her when she’s near, but when she does, I just take her by the chin and lift her eyes to mine.

  “This is who I am. I’m the guy that protects people. I carry weapons. I try my damndest not to use them, but babe, if I need to, I will.”

  She swallows and tries to nod but it’s hard with my grip on her chin. “Okay,” she whispers. “But I really hope you don’t need to.”

  I let her chin go and finish getting dressed. She surprises me when she snickers so I look over her.

  “I don’t know, officer,” she says with the goofiest voice. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just—”

  I tug her hair affectionately. Shit, I love this girl.

  Maybe if she knows how much she means to me, she’ll forgive me for what I’m doing.

  The bakery is teaming with customers by the time we get there, and I’m grateful we could be here for Diana. I wouldn’t want Beatrice navigating these crowds alone. Jesus. How hard can this be? Chocolate, or vanilla?

  An hour later, Diana’s narrowed it down to seven different options, and my mind is literally jumbled with words like fondant and buttercream. The only one that re
ally gets my attention is when the saleslady calls a cake “naked.” The girls snort at my reaction until the saleslady explains it means a cake with scant frosting on it that still reveals swaths of plain cake beneath.

  “What the hell use is a cake without frosting?” I ask, genuinely confused, which for some reason makes them both giggle harder. I’m losing patience and need to get out of here. I pick up my phone and text Tobias.

  You so fucking owe me for this. My balls are shrinking just from sitting in this little pink chair, douchebag.

  But before he responds a call comes in. I recognize Patel’s number, and I hold up a finger to the girls, walking to the door of the shop. My eyes automatically scan, making sure all’s in place, no one suspicious sitting in cars idling outside, nothing out of the ordinary. I can’t help it. It’s as natural to me as breathing.

  “Yeah?” I answer.

  “Dude, the only prints we found were yours and your girl’s. Sorry, man. Whoever it was had to of worn gloves.” Of course they did. I swear softly to myself. “Gotta say there were quite a few of your girl’s on the backseat, though,” he says with a chuckle. “Wonder how they got there?”

  “Fuck you,” I say, and he laughs.

  “Man in place?”

  “He’s outside the bakery now, ready to tail her when you come in. Will let you know the second anything surfaces.”

  “Appreciated, man.” I hang up the phone and go back in the shop. I’m not going to think about the fact that I’ve got someone essentially spying on her. That’s not why I’m doing it. I’ve got a helluva lot more to worry about than that.

  When I reenter the shop, Beatrice is on her phone and weirdly, she looks guilty. She shoots a furtive look at me, whispers into the phone, then shuts it off and shoves it in her pocket. What the hell? I wait until she joins us and take her by the hand. “Hey, you girls decided yet?”

  “Vanilla buttercream with raspberry filling and dark chocolate ganache,” Diana says triumphantly.

  “Sounds delicious.” Thank God. Now we can get out of here. I turn to Beatrice. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”