Interview With the Dom

by Rylee Swann

  For a man with so much success, he’s led such a lonely existence. It makes me sad. It makes me grateful. It gives us much to explore together.

  Xavier turns onto his side, pulling me tightly in his embrace. I listen to him breathe. Feel his body twitch as he surrenders to unconsciousness.

  I think about my article, and how I know it will be much different than I originally thought it would be. Less judgmental for sure. More open.

  I think about Pete, and wonder if I should kick his prickly ass to the curb. No. He’ll be the reminder of what I don’t want in my life.

  Xavier stirs, and I turn in his arms, pressing my lips to his chest.

  And just before I fall asleep too, I have one last thought.

  Neither of us will ever be lonely again.

  EPILOGUE

  Caroline

  “It’s so beautiful,” I murmur to no one.

  The steel of the balcony handrail is cool beneath my hand as I look down over the dance floor below me. It’s empty now, at least for the next few hours. The white marble floor gleams in the reflection of the overhead chandeliers. The stage ready for tonight’s entertainment.

  Club X in Nice opens its door tonight. Thirteen months after Club X in New York changed my life. Thirteen bliss filled months from the time Master X looked down at me from a VIP balcony exactly like this one.

  So much has changed.

  I never wrote the article for Glam. I got a better offer instead.

  I smile, remembering walking into Jules’ office the Monday after meeting Xavier, resignation letter in hand. In hindsight, it was a foolish thing to do. It was also brave, and right. I hadn’t fit in there. I’d known it from the start. It had only been in desperation that I’d taken the job in the first place.

  Jules had given me a glacial stare with her plastic face after reading my letter. “Most older women aren’t quitters.”

  It hadn’t even hurt my feelings. “I’m not quitting. I’m course correcting. And I wish you tremendous success with Glam.” I’d turned to the door, then spite had turned me back around. “Oh, and Jules, you’ve got a little something on your nose.” She was swiping at her face as I left without a glance back.

  I hadn’t regretted that decision for a second.

  Xavier had been waiting for me outside, Thomas at the wheel of his car. We’d driven to Club X, and Xavier had shown me my new office. How he’d gotten the signage up so quickly, I’ll never know, but the door had said:

  Caroline Murphy

  Editor in Chief

  X-perience Magazine

  Xavier told me that he’d always been interested in publishing a magazine about the lifestyle, and when he offered me the job, I’d jumped with surprisingly little thought. Which was unusual for me, but I’d been inspired to step into bravery. If things fell apart, I’d deal. Better, I knew that I could.

  Now, I spend my days writing about topics I choose. Yes, there are sexy sections on the latest sex toys and such. There are also in-depth reviews on couple resorts, of which, Xavier and I visit. There’s also a column called “No Pricks Allowed” in which Pete is the star, and I offer advice to women on surviving abusive relationships by interviewing top psychologists around the globe.

  Am I happy?

  Yeah.

  A door opens downstairs, and Xavier walks in. I smile. His beard has grown in beautifully.

  As if he can feel my gaze on him, he looks up.

  My toes curl.

  They always do when I first see him.

  Moving to the stairs, I walk down to join him, the heat of his gaze on me all the way. When I’m only a few feet away, I turn, showing off the back of my new dress. We’d gone shopping in Paris when we visited the Club X there, and I’d never worn anything that made me feel more beautiful.

  “Does my ass look big in this?” I tease.

  He grins. “Hell, yes. Ripe and juicy.”

  I laugh, grateful that big asses are the current trend. The laughter stops when he pulls me into his arms, his hands hot against my bare skin. He kisses me, our mouths sliding over the others, our tongues tangling in a dance.

  “We have a few hours before opening,” he says against my lips.

  My stomach tightens, and I lift my hands to stroke his beard. “I’d like that very much… Master X.”

  His pupils flare and I yelp as he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, his hand coming down on my ass. I’m giggling like crazy by the time he’s rushed me into a private room.

  But the giggling stops once he puts me on my feet and turns me around.

  There are roses everywhere.

  “Each rose represents one of the greatest days in my life,” he says, pulling me to his chest. “Four hundred of them. Because of you. And now we’re in Nice, one of the most romantic cities in the world, and if you’ll say one word, I’ll be the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

  My heart begins to pound as Xavier removes a tiny black box from his pocket and sinks to one knee.

  “Say yes, Caroline. Yes, to our future. Yes, to our hopes and dreams. Yes—”

  I tackle him, knocking him to the floor, sprawling on top of him in a pile of tuxedo and fancy dress.

  I don’t need a speech. I don’t need a pretty proposal. All I need is him.

  I’m laughing and crying as I press my lips to his. “Yes.”

  Yes, to our future.

  Yes, to our hopes and dreams.

  Just yes.

  THE END

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  And now, continue on for that promised Sneak Peek!

  A SNEAK PEEK

  Interview with the Bad Boy

  CHAPTER ONE

  Becca

  Pain roars through my body before exploding into an eruption of pleasure.

  I groan, wanting more.

  Needing more.

  Craving everything.

  I lay draped over strong thighs, inhaling a raw, manly scent as a callused palm soothes the flesh he just spanked. A small sound escapes my throat as the hand lifts, and I wait… wait. I can’t see, and only my ragged breathing fills my ears. The silk covering my eyes is a blessing and a curse as I anticipate his next move.

  Thwap.

  Sound and sensation are my entire world as his palm comes down once more, the pain morphing into a pleasure that heats my skin. I cry out as the furnace building inside me rises to meet the sting.

  “What do you want, Becca?” he growls, the low, masculine tone of his voice causing something low in my belly to twist.

  The hand comes down again, quick and sharp when I don’t answer fast enough.

  “More, Sir,” I pant, the words tearing from my throat. “Please, more.”

  Silence stretches out as I wait to discover if he will honor my request. He owns me, body and soul. I’m his to do with however he pleases.

  Thwap.

  My teeth sink into my bottom lip as beautiful pain gives me my answer. Then I smile. He wants to please
me too.

  I gasp when his fingers sink into my hair, and he wraps the long strands around his fist. He pulls, arching me, bending me backward until his lips are at my ear. Bound from wrist to elbow, my arms give me no leverage as I’m suspended at his mercy.

  “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me between your legs for days. Every time you move or even breathe, you’ll think of me.”

  Even as the harsh whisper fills my awareness, his hand creeps up my thigh, the calluses scraping over sensitive skin. I whimper.

  “Is that what you want, Becca?”

  I don’t. I do.

  “Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.”

  I open my legs more, inviting him in. Pain shatters through me as his palm connects with my sore ass.

  “Did I say you can move?”

  “N-no, S—”

  I wail as two fingers plunge inside me, twisting and curling, the knuckles sliding across my inner walls. The assault is so fast, so unexpected, so carnal and raw, I detonate, my orgasm hitting with such intensity that white explodes behind my eyes.

  Then I’m up and on my feet, but not for long. As if I weigh no more than a child, he positions me on the bed, the hand in my hair shoving me down until my face hits the silk of the duvet.

  “Mine,” he growls, his hand coming down again. “Understand?”

  “Only yours, Sir.”

  “Good girl,” he murmurs, and I smile at his praise. “Time for your reward, I believe.”

  I sigh in relief as a finger trails down my slit, not stopping until he circles my aching clitoris. Pinching it between his thumb and index finger, he squeezes the swollen bud, tugging and twisting until I start to lose my mind. I’m no longer in control of my body as it spasms, and I buck and writhe, my hands digging into the mattress, the sheets balled in my fists. It’s the only thing I can hold on to with my arms bound as they are.

  “So wet for me.”

  I moan again, writhing face down on the bed, lifting my ass a little higher for him. He’s right. I’m always wet for him. I can feel my desire leaking down my thigh in a hot little river.

  Please touch me, I silently beg. Please give me release.

  He does.

  Growling, he fills me with one long, hard stroke, his hips crashing into my still smarting ass as he stretches me wide, each thrust sending a new form of pain along my nervous system.

  It’s everything he promised. Hard. Fast. Possessive. Passion in its purest form.

  Our bodies slam together, filling the room with the brutal drum beat of our sounds. He leans over me, his sweat-slicked chest gliding over my back. Hands slide up my ribcage, then around to cup my breasts. He doesn’t break his pounding rhythm, even as he pulls and tugs my hardened nipples, twisting them until I cry out.

  All I can do is grip the sheets and blindly follow where he leads me. The cliff of another orgasm approaches, and I’m powerless to do anything but fall.

  “Is this what you want, Becca?”

  I try to make my mouth work, try to answer, to tell him what he needs to hear.

  “Becca?”

  I’m falling… exploding…

  “Becca!”

  Needing him to…

  “Becca!!”

  I jerk upright, lost as the images before me dissipate, blow apart like the florets of a dandelion. Where am I? Startled, I whirl around as my name is shouted again.

  Reality hits, and I’m face to face with my ex-boyfriend.

  “Are you okay?” Rob asks, and I’m torn out of my daydream as suddenly as if cold water has been dumped on my head.

  Daydream?

  Holy shit.

  Where had it come from? Me… tied up, being spanked. No, abused. And liking it. Loving it. Craving it.

  I press my thighs together. Craving it even now.

  “Are you okay?” Rob asks again, and I blink, forcing myself to focus on him. My ex-boyfriend. My boss. The editor of our college newspaper, a man who is looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

  “Sorry,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment, “totally zoned out for a few minutes.”

  He smirks, his handsome face twisting in scorn. “Zoned out, huh. Is that what that was?”

  God, how I wish this jerk had never seen me naked.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I attempt to pull us back to neutral territory. “What do you need?”

  His eyes flick down to my breasts but meet mine again just as quickly. I don’t allow my expression to change, just sit patiently waiting.

  “Um, oh… I’m just dropping by to see if you got my email about the new story.”

  I turn to my laptop and tap the mouse pad, bringing it to life. Clicking my email, I find the message from Rob.

  “Football?” I murmur as I read it. Slowly, I turn to him. “You want me to do a feature on our football team?”

  The smirk returns as Rob leans his shoulder against my office door. Well, office is being generous for the six-by-six-foot cubby I use to research articles for my college’s newspaper. The janitors’ supply closet is bigger than my office.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks, ogling my breasts again. “Or are you suddenly too important to cover our football team’s winning streak?” The way he phrases the question makes it not really a question at all. He knows this isn’t the sort of assignment I want.

  I stare up at Rob, my thoughts churning. Sure, it’s stupid to sleep with my boss; dangerous for my future too. His father owns the big paper in town I want to work for when I graduate. Fat chance of that after I broke up with Daddy’s little boy. In addition to sabotaging my career, our breakup makes the job I once loved a living hell. Where I used to write thought provoking editorials and front-page stories for my college, I’m now relegated to fluff pieces and lifestyle articles on where to get the best mani-pedi. I’m not dumb. I know it’s because we aren’t together anymore.

  But football?

  I sigh. In reality, it isn’t that bad of a story, and I know it’ll end up at least on the second page, maybe even the front. The students love their football heroes, after all. Sure, it beats covering the cat show that’s coming to town next week, but I don’t relish talking to some meathead jock, not when I’m passionate about politics and in-depth investigative reporting.

  I pick up my pencil. “Well, tell me about this quote-unquote winning streak.”

  As Rob rattles off percentages and win-loss averages, I take notes, but most of what he’s saying means nothing to me. And the bastard knows it. He knows I don’t like sports. He knows I don’t like arrogant players. This entire assignment is motivated by childish revenge, I’m sure of it.

  “On top of that,” he continues, “the quarterback is on track to break some records this year. He has a .628 completion percentage so far this season with nineteen completions per game.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  “On top of that, he passes almost two-hundred yards per game, and the mother can run, rushing close to seventy-five yards most games.”

  That doesn’t seem like much. And where is he rushing to?

  “The guy’s a beast, scoring nearly two touchdowns per game himself.”

  Isn’t that what he’s supposed to do?

  Rob barks out a sound that could have been a laugh. “Why am I telling you all this, Bec? It’s your story. You research it. I can’t hand feed you everything.”

  I stifle the growl burning in my throat, swallowing it down to answer in my sweetest voice, “Yes, I’m an excellent researcher and an excellent investigative reporter, if you’ll remember from the time I was actually assigned anything newsworthy.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, another reminder of why I had to end our relationship. His arrogance.

  Our breakup took place a few months ago, after a year-long relationship. It wasn’t ugly, but I could tell he was pissed and disappointed, and that he clearly didn’t understand. Rob not understanding things is a big part of the reason the breakup happened in the first place. At
least, it’s part of the reason. There’s more I just couldn’t tell him. A lot more. Things I couldn’t admit to myself. The breakup took him by surprise, but for me, it had been a long time coming.

  I break eye contact with him and stare back at the email, feeling dread and annoyance squeeze around me, tighten my throat. Rob even used his old pet name for me. Bec. It doesn’t matter that I’ve asked him to refer to me as Becca now that we’re no longer we. Rob does what he wants. I just wish he wanted to assign me a really important story.

  Rob shrugs and pulls on the sleeves of a preppy-assed sweater that probably cost more than I make in a week. Good looking and clean cut, he comes from a wealthy family. Beside him, I’ve always felt second class, and he never seems to take me seriously.

  “I’d like this by the end of next week so that it comes out a week before homecoming.” With that, he walks away, leaving the spicy scent of his expensive cologne in his leather loafered wake.

  Slumping in my desk chair, I sigh loudly and try to think of how I can turn this article into something more important than fluffing the team’s ego, which is clearly what this is. Sure, even if it makes the front-page and is better than the fluff I’ve been writing, this is how these stories usually go. I don’t expect to get any hard-hitting, political articles in my small university paper, but I want to at least feel like I’m being challenged.

  I shoot off a quick email, thanking Rob for the story as I’d forgotten to do that while he was standing at my door. I try not to roll my eyes too hard. I hate being disingenuous, but again, it isn’t a story I can turn down. And I refuse to let his bad manners affect mine. Closing my eyes, I rub my temples. He’s testing me.

  I go to my Friday morning classes, jogging across Syracuse’s sprawling campus, and try to put my failed relationship and story deadline out of my mind. I need to focus. I have some big tests coming up, but all I can think about is how annoyed I am. I don’t have an angle for the story, and it’s eating at me.

  The rest of the day slips out of my fingers like smoke as I think about it all. I’m about to cave and ask Rob if he has a specific angle he wants for the story when an idea comes to me.