One dark brow raises. “This is new to you, so I’ll cut you slack, but temper tantrums are not smart here.”
“You can’t tell me what to do. We didn’t agree to this.”
“Didn’t we?” While my voice is a screech, his is completely calm.
I throw up my arms. “Of course not!”
He tilts his head to the side. “You said you wanted me to expect something of you, and I told you orgasms are what I expect. Am I mistaken?”
No! Goddamn it, he’s not mistaken! But I’m still furious, and in a fit of temper I can’t seem to control. Which makes him doubly right. And this whole thing more infuriating.
Everything about this…quirk of his makes me uneasy. Uncomfortable and out of sorts, made worse by the composed way he’s standing there, watching me, unimpressed. I stomp over to the kitchen and grab my purse, which happens to be upside down and the contents go flying all over my counter. Frustration, completely out of proportion to the events, storms away inside of me and I grip the counter as sudden defeat sweeps over me, leaving me sad. I hang my head. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
I close my eyes.
He comes up behind me and puts his arm around my waist, before using his free hand to sweep my hair over my shoulder. He plants a wet, open-mouth kiss in the crook of my neck and I shudder, unable to help my response to him. When he speaks, he uses a soothing voice. “You’re scared.”
No, that can’t be. I shake my head.
“Yes, you are. And it’s okay to be scared, Jillian.” Another brush of his lips over my skin. “I don’t know if you’re cut out for this, but we agreed we’re doing this. So, like in any other relationship, all we can do is reveal who we are and see where we land.”
“You seem totally in control. It’s not fair you get to be calm, cool and collected while I’m forced into crazy.” I want him unbalanced, like me. That’s the way it should be.
He squeezes and then turns me around to face him, crooking his finger and lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “Me being in control is the point. It’s not responsible of me to throw you into chaos and not provide an anchor.” His lips quirk into a smile. “Even if you want to punch that anchor in the face a couple of times.”
Some of my unrest, knotting tight in my sternum, eases. “All I want is a normal date, is that too much to ask?”
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We are going on a normal date. With just a little something extra. Like hot fudge and whipped cream on your ice cream.”
I bite my lower lip. “I’m not sure I know how to do this.”
He nods. “That’s why I’m here, to show you.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“I’m not going to force you. It’s ultimately your choice and I’ll never take that away from you.”
“But, what if?” I know it’s unreasonable to expect assurances, but I can’t help myself. It also makes me confront the truth, that even without this domination business, this is stuff I’ve never thought about with him. All this time I’d been so intent on getting Leo that I never thought beyond that single conquest. Now I’m not prepared for the reality, the consequences, or the way he makes me feel.
“Like everything in life, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He steps away, turns to the counter, gathering my belongings and shoving them back into my purse. When he’s done he holds it out to me. “Let’s go.”
I take a deep breath. I’m calmer now. More settled. Less agitated. I nod, take my purse and overnight bag and we leave.
We drove to Leo’s to drop off my stuff, then took the el to avoid having to park downtown and it was a tense ride over. Well, at least for me it was. Leo seemed pretty relaxed and content to let me mull over my feelings as the train jerked down the tracks, as rocky and bumpy as my emotions.
I was sure I wanted Leo. And I responded to him, oh boy did I respond.
I just wasn’t sure about the way I got there. I’ve always had control in my relationships, but then, those men had never captured my interest like Leo. Hadn’t some part of me been attracted to his ironclad control? I must have been. Why else would I have stuck with my infatuation so long?
We walk through the front doors, and as always something calms inside me. It’s why I came here when I got upset, uneasy, or just didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do. All the art and beauty made me peaceful.
I shot a sidelong glance at Leo.
I normally come here alone to stare at pretty things as long as I wanted and think. I bite my lip. I had no idea what today would bring. It could be our demise or our beginning. Both equally terrified me.
When we were next in line Leo pulls out his wallet but I shake my head. “I’m a member.” I slide my card and a guest pass out of my purse.
After we get our tickets and pass through the gates, Leo slips his hand into mine. “Have I given you enough stewing time?”
My brow furrows. “I wasn’t stewing.”
He chuckles. “Where do you want to take me first?”
I take a deep breath. We’re standing in the hallway, overlooking a garden area and there’s a path to the left and a path to the right. It’s silly, but it feels symbolic of my relationship with Leo, like if I don’t choose the correct direction everything I have been dreaming about will evaporate into thin air.
I’m frozen in the spot, unable to decide which way to turn.
Leo squeezes my hand. “It’s just the art museum, Jillian.”
Of course it is. I’m making it huge in my mind. I nod and point right. “Let’s go this way, my favorite collections are down there.”
It’s fairly crowded and we make our way through a religious art collection. I stop at an ancient book and tug him over and point at the artifact. It’s old and beautiful. The pages handwritten and fragile, wrinkled and yellowed with age. “This is one of the oldest Roman Catholic bibles ever found. So you could almost tell your mom you went to church today.”
His hand curves over my hip. “She’ll be pleased to have a day off from praying for my soul.”
I smile. “See, I’m already improving you.”
He laughs. “She does love you.”
Over the years my path has crossed with Leo’s loving Italian family more than once. I’ve met his mom and all his sisters at least three or four times, usually from department-type events. I even met his grandparents. I’d spent a lovely afternoon with his grandma where she told me stories of Italy and I sat there, captivated. I cock my brow. “Really?”
“Really.” His attention drifts to my lips. “She wants to know why I don’t date nice girls like you.”
It’s my turn to laugh, and I tuck my hair behind my ear and give him a sly, sassy smile. “Not sure my mom’s ever said the same about you.”
His expression fills with amusement. “Must be motherly instinct.”
“Must be.” It’s not entirely true, my mom loves Leo, but Michael has also made enough comments over the years about Leo’s inability to commit she’s never suggested him as a suitable mate. Although, I’m pretty sure she knows about my infatuation. She’s kind enough not to bring it up.
I turn back to stare at the bible, tracing my fingers over the glass. Its sheer age, its beauty quiets all the chaos inside me. This place is like magic and my fear about the day abates and I’m suddenly excited to show Leo this world through my eyes. I look at him, but instead of studying the book his gaze is on me, heavy and intent.
My cheeks heat. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Show me more.”
And I do. Over the next couple of hours I take him through the current exhibits, talking a mile a minute and generally losing myself in my enthusiasm as I show Leo my secret little world that belongs just to me.
We make our way into the wing that holds all the paint collections and I say to Leo, “This is my favorite.”
Leo tugs me over to a bench. “That surprises me.”
“Why’s that?” I sit
down next to him and stretch out my long legs.
“I’d have thought you a modern girl.”
“Nope.” I grin at him, finally relaxed. He’s right; this is like a real date. “I like modern art but it’s the classics I truly love.”
“Tell me why.”
I put my hands on the bench, my fingers curling over the edges behind me. “The technique, it’s amazing. All that fine attention to detail. All that realism in a brush. But more than that, there’s something haunting about it.” I point at the nude, a rubenesque woman stretched out over a couch. Her thighs are thick, her stomach rounded, her breasts full and heavy. “Take her for example. By modern standards she’s not considered beautiful. Her hair’s not glossy, she sags, and she has no thigh gap. There are a thousand women, probably walking right outside, more gorgeous than she is. Yet you will never remember their faces, or their bodies. You will look at them, appreciate their beauty and promptly forget them.” I sweep my hand in the direction of the painting. “But her, there’s something about her that stays with you, she’s stood the test of time. She’s memorable, unique and captivating. After we leave here, at some point, maybe tonight, maybe next week, you’ll think of her. Do you see what I mean?”
He studies the painting, thoughtful and contemplating, and I press on, “I mean, will you ever forget her?”
He turns to look at me. “Nope, I don’t believe I will.”
His expression tells me he’s not just thinking about the painting and I feel something kick up inside me. He runs a hand over my legs. “Jillian, why aren’t you doing something with art?”
My attention skirts away, landing on another portrait of a man in his powder wig, looking regal and otherworldly. I shrug. “What could I do with it?”
“I know from Michael you paint.”
I shrug again. “Sure, I can paint a few lines, but I don’t have real talent. I’m technically good, but that certain thing, that elusive something, I don’t have that.” I give him a smile, hoping for breezy. It’s my greatest tragedy. I have the drive and the love, but not the talent. “Besides, like my dad says, there’s no money in art.”
He tilts his head. “You don’t care about money.”
“How would you know that?”
He shrugs. “If you did, you would have stayed at your dad’s firm, working your way up the ladder.”
I don’t want reminders about my lack of purpose, or that I have no clue what I want to do with my life. “True.”
With narrowed eyes he studies me. “Will you show me some of your paintings?”
A smile curves my lips. “That depends, will you let me paint you?”
“Are we bargaining?”
I drop my voice and repeat his words from last night. “Call it what you’d like, just as long as you give me my way.”
Good natured, he laughs and holds out his palm. “For that, you owe me your panties.”
Surprise rolls through me as my stomach jumps. “What?”
“You’re panties. Go to the restroom, take them off and then come back here and give them to me.”
My gaze dances around the room. “I can’t do that. We’re in public.”
He raises one brow. “Do you think public places are off limits?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Wrong.” He pushes his palm closer to me. “Go take them off and hand them over.”
Despite my very best intentions my belly heats and between my legs gives a deep pulse. “And if I don’t?”
His hand falls to my thigh and he squeezes. “You like to test, and I don’t have a problem with that, but if you don’t desire to obey as well, at some point it will grow tiresome. For both of us.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, hyperaware of the imprint of his hand on my skin. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ll test, because that’s who you are. We know that already, it’s been established over all the years we’ve known each other. But now we’re testing something else, and the only way you can figure out if you like it or not is if you give yourself over to it.” His hold on me tightens, his fingertips pressing hard into my skin and igniting something in me. “I think now would be a good time to take that leap.”
It would be. But I might have mentioned I’m stubborn and his request makes me feel impossibly self-conscious and on display. “You didn’t answer my question, about consequences. Isn’t it only fair if I know them?”
“It is fair, but that’s not what’s important here, or even the real question.”
I can’t deny something about this works me up, but I’m also aware it’s only the tip of the iceberg, and I’m frightened of what’s under the surface. I wet my bottom lip. “And what’s the real question?”
His fingers release, move up my thigh, before tightening again on my leg. “Tell me, Jillian, in that overactive mind of yours, what are you hoping for? What reaction are you looking to get from me? Do you want me to exact some consequence? Or are you hoping I’ll just let it go?”
I blink, my breath catching before I can help it. Oh no. I’ve tricked myself, talked myself right into a corner. Because until he said those words I had no idea some hidden, buried part of me is looking for exactly that. It’s like some part of me is standing here, wanting him to do…something to me. What? I don’t know, but I’m baiting and prodding, hoping he’ll show me what he’ll dish out.
It scares me, that I’m doing this and don’t even realize it. Fear only increases my stubbornness. Or my stupidity, I’m not sure which. I brush my hair over my shoulder and say in a flippant tone, “Let it go, of course, what else could it be?”
I barely breathe as I wait for his response, nerves and emotions I can’t name churning away.
With those dark, narrowed eyes he studies me until I start to shift under his scrutiny. Suddenly, his expression clears. He nods and stands, holding out his hand to me. “Fair enough, forget it. Show me the next room.”
I take it and rise to my feet, trying not to think about the disappointment sitting like a weight in my chest.
Leo
Forty-five minutes pass and Jillian has become increasingly out of sorts, which I ignore.
There’s a preconception that being a Dom is easy because you have the control and are pulling all the strings, but they’d be wrong.
It takes patience and discipline. And nobody on this earth tests those things more than Jillian.
She doesn’t understand, but I’m probably as on edge as she is. After wanting her forever, touching her, and making her come, all I want is to take. These desires pounding away at me are made worse because I know that’s what she needs.
Only she needs these other things more, even though she can’t admit to them, or even understand them yet.
So I tap down all my instincts and primal urges.
Jaw tight, she shoots me an annoyed glance. “Do you want to go to the miniatures room?”
“Sure.” I keep my voice mild mannered, which earns me another irritated glare.
She is begging for it. And I itch to give it to her. A few times my palm actually twitched, but the worst thing I can do here is give in to what she’s so clearly angling for.
We are in a standoff, our first official battle, and it’s trying my fucking patience. She most likely isn’t even aware of the dynamic playing out between us, but I’ve found experience is the best teacher. Even if it kills me to get there.
It makes me nervous, that it’s this hard. That I want her this much. I’ve become so practiced at keeping myself emotionally distant from women that it’s become easy. I can work a girl over and not even break a sweat. To find Jillian such a struggle shakes me in a way I don’t want to think about.
Right now I’m telling myself it’s because it’s new and the sexual tension we’ve been suppressing between us for years is finally gaining an outlet. I’m not sure I buy it though and it sits in the pit of my stomach.
But I’ll think about it later, because now I have to put all that asi
de and focus on Jillian.
We walk through tiny dollhouse replicas of times gone by. In silence, we stare into each room before we move on. Next to me, her body is rigid and all her tension is coiled tight, ready to release.
And I just have to bide my time and let it come. Act of fucking god.
We’re looking at a dollhouse-sized bedroom from the eighteenth century when she finally breaks.
She darts a glance at me, licks her fuckable lips, tucks her hair behind her ear and stares into the miniature room with intent. “I lied.”
The amount of satisfaction I experience is out of proportion to her admission, but I play it completely cool. “I know.”
Another skittish glance. “You do?”
I move to stand in back of her, putting my hand on the wood frame and leaning close, pleased at how her breathing kicks up by my mere presence. A testimony to my effect on her that manages to both enflame my lust and calm me down. I drop my mouth to the shell of her ear. “Sometimes the best punishment you can dole out is to give a girl exactly what she says she wants.”
A tiny gasp that makes me hard escapes her lips. She presses her fingers to the glass. “I don’t have any experience with this, but you’re very good.”
“I can be even better if you give an inch.” I crowd her, pressing my chest against her back. “So much better.”
“All right.” Stuttery, nervous words.
I scrape my teeth over her fleshy earlobe. “Your panties, Jillian.”
There are long, torturous moments of silence where the air grows humid and time seems to suspend. Then her spine seems to strengthen. “I’ll be right back.”
Dominance is not about scenes, it’s not about going to some club and putting a girl on a Saint Andrew’s Cross, it’s about the little things.
Jillian is about to find that out.
She goes to move away but my other arm comes up, trapping her. My lips brush her ear. “I don’t think so, girl.”
The muscles in her throat work as she swallows. She cranes her neck, looking back at me with her big hazel cat eyes full of questions. “But.”
“You still have to pay for being stubborn, so I have no choice but to teach you a lesson, now do I?”
Sinful (Undone) Page 13
