How to Discipline Your Vampire
Author: Mina Vaughn
Date: 2013-08-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Romance; Bdsm; Paranormal Romance; Paranormal; Erotica; Erotic Romance; Adult; Fantasy; Fan Fiction
Description: In this exciting paranormal erotic romance, a dominant schoolteacher with a serious role-play fetish finds the perfect submissive in an infamous vampire lover. Cerise Norrell, Type A substitute teacher by day, is ready to quit being a domme. Despite her best intentions, none of her partners can keep up with her scene fetish and attention to detail—let alone her demand that they have a costume and set waiting every afternoon by the time she’s home from school. Over a dozen potential subs have left her in the past year, but just when Cerise thinks it’s impossible—that she’ll have to go back to v
Publisher: Pocket Star

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER ONE

Cerise

The band’s performance raged to a climax as I felt around in my bag for the handcuffs.

I hummed with satisfaction when my fingers finally made contact, my mind soothed by the feel of cold metal. I knew the cuffs were in there, but sometimes my compulsions needed to be sated before I made my move.

My ears throbbed from the barrage of guitar solos, and I knew they would be ringing later, but I didn’t care. Eightiesfest played in Portsmouth every year to sellout crowds, and this year’s lineup was the best yet—only half the rockers had been on reality TV shows or in rehab, so the music was pure and unadulterated. I had been listening to my retro playlist for weeks in preparation for tonight’s pleasure.

I felt a vibration in my back pocket, signaling an incoming text. I smirked and slid out the phone, anticipating what was about to go down.

DRESSING ROOM THREE, it read.

I pushed my way through the crowd and headed toward security. The sweaty man crossed his meaty arms in front of himself, guarding his precious backstage. I flashed my all-access pass, and the stoic guard waved me through with a bored look on his face.

The musty hallway looked empty, probably because the opening act hadn’t finished yet. There would be forty minutes until the headliner’s performance.

Just enough time.

I looked over my shoulder and pushed through the door of dressing room three.

The room smelled like hairspray, sweat, and whiskey.

Perfect, so far.

It was carefully trashed—empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s littered the floor, cigarette smoke diffused throughout the room, and a few electric signs illuminated Alex’s muscular pecs in coordinating neon colors. He was sprawled out on the leather couch, palming his crotch in preparation for my clandestine visit.

“Hey, Blondie,” he cooed.

I popped my grape bubblegum loudly and pulled off my ID, spinning it on my finger. “So,” I began, scrunching my crispy frizz and fluffing my temporarily outrageous bangs, “your band won’t be wondering where you are?” I reached behind me and bolted the door with a loud thunk.

He took a long pull from the nearly empty whiskey bottle at his side and grimaced from the burn. “I’ve got it covered, you bodacious babe,” he said, twirling an errant drumstick clumsily between his fingers.

“Watch your grip,” I replied, commenting on the poor handling of his drumstick. I strode confidently toward the couch where he was perched and straddled him. “You ready?”

He tossed his head back and bit his smirking, full bottom lip. “What are you going to do to me? Damn, you look . . . tubular,” he moaned, grinding his leather pants into my miniskirt, trying to properly illustrate the effect I was having on him. I spat out my gum with a wet squirt.

My hot-pink heels dug into the leather couch as I appraised him. He was very attractive—tan skin, big brown eyes, and a very muscular body. My mind was already filing away all the little details of the scene.

“Wouldn’t you like to know. For now, I’d like you and that radical body to stay perfectly still,” I murmured, snatching my handcuffs and flogger from my bag and placing them within arm’s reach. I pulled him close. “Kiss me.”

He licked his lips as I leaned in and tongued his mouth. It was wet and sharp tasting from the alcohol, but soft and pliant enough to keep me turned on. He groaned and craned backward, stretching his arms above his head submissively.

I sneered. “Didn’t I tell you not to move?”

His face fell immediately. “I . . . ,” he stammered. “I just saw the handcuffs and thought . . .”

I lowered my voice and hovered over him. “Don’t think. Just do as you’re told.”

He relaxed slightly and put his hands by his sides and waited for directions.

That’s better, I thought.

“On your knees.”

He complied, and I watched his posture relax into the pose with ease. He was obviously quite used to submission.

“Pull your pants down around your thighs.”

He wiggled out of his rock-star leathers and resumed his position.

“Do traditional safe words work for you?” I asked.

He laughed gruffly. “Green.”

That meant go. I brought my flogger down hard on his ass and he flinched.

“Green.”

“I never assumed you were the kind who liked to be spanked, Mr. Rock Star,” I moaned, immediately regretting how cheesy that sounded. I could hear the opening act’s music pulse through the thick steel doors. I slapped to the beat of the tune.

He grunted. “You have no idea.”

Smack. Grunt.

I gave him a few more quick slaps on each cheek, then flipped him over and began to undo his already half-unbuttoned shirt. A fluorescent green number that matched his bandana. I grabbed the handcuffs and bound his wrists together above his head, like he had hinted earlier. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to cuff him then, it’s just that I wanted to do it at my pace.

I don’t take suggestions from submissives, I wanted to tell him, but that would break the scene. I flicked his nipples and he gasped.

“Strum my strings, baby,” he laughed.

Fuck, not again.

I dropped the flogger and stood up.

“End of scene.”

The handcuffed man protested.

“What, just like that? It’s over?”

I fumed and considered picking up the flogger to actually punish him.

“Do you even have to ask?!”

His long spiky wig shifted to the left and he went from looking insanely sexy to incredibly pathetic. Plus, his eye makeup was starting to smudge.

“Do your research before a scene. You’re pretending to be the drummer. Don’t talk about fucking guitars!”

He fidgeted in his restraints angrily. “Listen, give me another chance. Just let me please you, Mistress Cherry,” he sputtered, frustrated. “I mean, I thought things were going really well.”

I glanced down at his erection, and the fact that my panties were soaked. Yeah, things were going well. Too bad he blew it, I thought.

He continued to whine pleadingly, solidifying my decision. “Do you have any idea how much I bribed the owners of the club to use this room for our scene tonight? Couldn’t you just, I dunno, enjoy the moment instead of getting hung up on the details?”

I snatched the keys from my bag and unlocked the handcuffs with a sad clink.

“When it comes to role-play, it’s all about the details,” I explained, straightening my shoulders. “Dismissed.”

As soon as he was out the door, I grabbed an index card from my purse and began to scrawl out the facts and minutiae of today’s misadventure. When I got home, the scene would be filed away in my dirty little recipe box.

I pushed through the crowd on my way out, texting Erin the news:

STRIKE ONE.

“Is it possible you were overreacting?” Erin asked with a sardonic grumble, and blew into her tea.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s called having standards. And I’m tired of having this conversation.”

She leaned forward, drawing me in with her gravity. I straightened, sorry to have disappointed her. I immediately regretted the eye roll when she began to speak in her harsh Domme tone. “Dial down the scene stuff and maybe you’ll find a match.”

“It’s my fetish,” I scoffed, slightly cowed but strong in my conviction. “Why should I compromise?”

She took my hand gently. “Because you’re limiting your own happiness.”

I decided to try a new angle.

I leaned on my elbow, attempting to look casual and unruffled. “Aren’t we all thinning the herd, so to speak? I mean, we limit ourselves to submissive men. What if you met someone amazing, but he wasn’t into the scene?”

She shrugged. “I can be very convincing.”

“So can I. And I think if a man has submissive tendencies, he’d do anything to be with me. And that includes role-playing to my little heart’s content.”

I fidgeted uncomfortably under her iron gaze. She was one of the only people I knew who could unravel me, and that was why I kept her around.

It’s important to keep it real, I told myself.

“Why don’t you go pro? The girls at the dungeon would love to have you.”

I dismissed her suggestion with a wave of my hand. “I want a role-playing submissive, not a job. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it just doesn’t do it for me.”

“Do you mind doing something for me?” she asked cryptically, snatching her phone out of her bag and texting.

I inhaled. “Sure.” I felt my abs contract with worry. She kept painfully silent for another minute while I waited.

“You’re going to play with one of my friends, Roy. He’s got a thing for green-eyed Dommes and I’ve been meaning to set you up for weeks.”

“This is a favor?” I asked.

She shook her head. “You’re technically doing yourself a favor. Because you’re not going to do a scene with him.”

I whined pathetically. “Not fair.”

She laughed loudly and the baristas behind the counter looked over at us. So much for discretion. “You are going to have some fun, Cerise, whether you like it or not.”

I threw my hands up, splashing some tea as I flailed. “I’m not just going to sleep with your friend because you say so. Or abandon my fetish!”

Now it was her turn to eye roll. “You don’t have to fuck him,” she deadpanned. “Just paddle him. Or tie him up and taunt him, I don’t know. Test out your toy collection if you want. All I’m saying is give it a shot and loosen up. You may just discover you’re a traditional Domme with role-play tendencies, and not the other way around.”

Again, she wore me down. “Fine.”

And then she changed the subject. A lot. She went on and on about her job, her family, and the dog she was thinking about buying. It didn’t dawn on me for a good half hour that she was stalling.

In fact, I didn’t realize she was killing time until a man approached our table. He was tall and skinny with a few piercings and tats. He looked more like the kind of musicians I liked rather than the typical men I was attracted to, but he was undeniably hot. Especially the collar around his neck. I felt my throat tighten nervously.

“I’m Roy,” he said, eyes downcast, bending slightly. Yup, he was a sub, all right.

“Mistress Cherry,” I said coolly.

Erin stood up with a satisfied smirk. “Well, then. I’ve done my job. You two have fun.”

I started to sweat. “Already?” I asked, my voice creaking.

She approached my still-seated form and clasped a hand on my shoulder. “Choke up on the bat, and don’t strike out.”

I giggled nervously. “I only have one strike against me.”

She laughed. “Then let the balls come your way.”

I buried my head in my hands as Roy silently watched our exchange and snickered. I raised my eyebrow at him and he promptly stopped being so amused by my embarrassment.

Salsa breath.

All I could think of while I was making out with Roy was the fact that his mouth tasted like cheap, jarred salsa. New York City–slicker stuff.

I wound my fingers in his hair, pulled his head back, and licked his neck slowly. No more kissing. My tongue swiped over his Adam’s apple, which I felt bob at my touch as he groaned.

He was tied to the chair, and I was grinding myself against him, sprawled across his lap. My fingers traced the tattoos on his collarbone as I desperately tried to forget about the cilantro-laced assault on my nostrils.

Finally I had enough. “Listerine.”

He opened his eyes and looked at me quizzically. “Is that your safe word?”

“No,” I replied, getting up, “you’re going to gargle with it. Your breath smells like leftover chalupas.”

He snickered. “Close. Bean burrito supreme from Whole Foods.”

I gagged and headed toward the bathroom and grabbed a little Dixie of the sharp-smelling green fluid.

“Drink,” I said, shoving it in his face.

He wrinkled his nose as I tipped the cup to his mouth. “Um, do you have anything more organic?”

My teeth clenched so hard, I got lockjaw. “Excuse me?”

“I try to put as few artificial things in my body as possible.”

You can’t really hover over someone when you’re a five-foot Domme, but I tried my best to stand over him menacingly as I berated him and his hippie tendencies. “So, you must use organic ink and metal for your tats and piercings, huh?”

He just stared ahead as I pushed the cup closer to his face. “I guess since I’m not swallowing it, sure, I’ll swish it around.”

I brought my hand back to his mouth forcefully and nudged the little paper cup past his lips. I guess I let the Listerine flow a bit too fast, because before I got to the bottom of the cup, he was spewing it everywhere. My face dripped the minty antiseptic and it pooled on his now not-that-interested crotch.

“Dismissed.”

He left without a word, just waggling his middle finger behind him.

“How dare you!” I barked.

He snorted. “Fuck you, pip-squeak.”

I scampered up to the doorway and pulled on his collar, trying to spin him toward me. “Excuse me?!”

He contorted his mouth into a sneer. “You’re probably the least intimidating Domme I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should invest in some platforms,” he snickered. “Or stilts.”

“GET OUT!”

I stomped my apparently pathetic two-inch heels into the kitchen and scribbled his entry onto a note card, poking through the paper in three places. I put an asterisk at the bottom with a note regarding freshness of breath as a requirement for future submissives.

I felt the immediate need to text Erin, but restrained myself. Which is funny, I thought, because I’m used to restraining others.

I slumped down at my computer and turned it on. Lots of my buddies in the local BDSM community blogged, so I figured I’d peruse some of their websites and maybe find a man that way.

Hey, I had two strikes against me now. Any port in a storm.

Granted, the three-strike rule is self-imposed. I had enough of crappy subs and historically inaccurate scenes. I wanted the real fucking deal, but if I didn’t get it soon, I’d just give up and become a hermit. Meaning I’d date regular guys.

Bleh!

The keys clicked wildly as I explored the blogosphere, which—by the way—was the stupidest term ever. There really wasn’t much of interest. A website about a Portsmouth guy who made custom strap-ons. No thanks. A forum dedicated to the local chapter of Furries. Also gonna opt out of that.

Then I found something on Flog Blog that sounded interesting. A local hotel was hosting a BDSM mixer where you got to meet between fifteen and eighteen potential matches in one sitting.

I leaned back in my chair and mused for a bit. It was tomorrow night. Should I not tell Erin about my most recent failure and just go?

Just then, Bizzy awoke from her slumber. She was the one who begged me to go. I silenced her momentarily with a vibrator and steeled myself for the mixer, ready for anything.

CHAPTER TWO

Cerise

I sat uncomfortably in the hard, maroon banquet chair. I was assigned to seat twenty-one, at a small cocktail table in a hotel ballroom. It was decorated to look like a coffee shop—someplace where you may casually meet someone. Not an event hall rented out by a bunch of horned-up singles with spanking fetishes and the like.

My bum was starting to fall asleep, so I shifted my weight and prayed for some success. I glanced down at my card—only two more guys to go.

Last chance, I told myself again. Then I’m out.

“Um, you’ve got more prerequisites than med school,” the young potential sub said, eyebrows furrowed. Brian something, I read from the card he handed me. It didn’t matter what his name was, since I had already checked NO once he started to tear apart my set of rules. This most definitely wasn’t going to work out.

Another one bites the dust.

“You will address me as Mistress Cherry, and clearly if you have a problem with my requests, then you’re not cut out to be my sub. Next, please,” I said dismissively.

He held out his hand, wanting a minute to explain. “Come on, who makes these kinds of demands?” he said, face turning red, gesturing at my page of requirements. “Must be self-employed? Must be responsible for role-play props and costumes Monday through Thursday? Seriously, you’re out of your mind. Where’s that freaking bell?”

That was probably the most tedious thing about the mixer—the timer.

Every four minutes, the bell would ring, and someone else would come up to my table. Brian was the fifteenth guy to arrive and get frustrated before minute three. That meant I’d have to make small talk with my rejection for another minute before he moved on.

“So, how about them Sox?” I asked.

“I don’t like baseball,” he grumbled.

Neither did I, especially since I was staring down strike three.

However, I’m sure if I counted, I’d really be on strike twenty-five. I’ve only had a handful of subs that could stand up to my rigorous demands for more than a month.

The bell rang and I sipped my drink, preparing for another disgruntled man who couldn’t handle my demands. The last of the night, if my watch was correct.

Then I saw him.

An absolutely beautiful specimen was making his way toward my little table.

I sipped the soda again, careful not to smudge my lipstick. Typically, Dommes were easy to find at mixers—the redder the lipstick, the stricter the rules. Mine was crimson on the border of downright arterial. I had hoped that my selection would weed out the weaklings in the pack. I touched it up just in case it had faded and bent down to put the compact back into my bag. By the time I sat back up, he was in front of me.

“Hello,” he said sheepishly, eyes downcast.

This was a good sign. Subs ought to act their place at events like this—unlike that last jackass. Please, please be up to my challenge.

“Sit,” I said to him, gesturing. His posture was erect, but guarded. This man was very stylish—a corduroy blazer over a graphic tee, paired with perfectly fitted dark jeans. Urban, hip. Thank God no leather—I didn’t care how long I’d been involved in this sort of thing, I would never get into leather. Unless it was required for a scene . . . then it would be acceptable. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, and began the conversation in a surprisingly self-deprecating manner.

“I have something,” he said, eyes still downcast, “I should tell you before we begin.”

I leaned forward, ready to berate him for speaking out of turn, and not letting me begin our conversation. The nerve of these guys.

Then again, this was speed-dating and I didn’t want to waste time with a lecture, so I allowed him to begin.

“I’ve never been kept by a Domme. I have been advised to tell you in advance a few of my qualities that have been turn-offs. Firstly, I can tolerate any kind of pain.”

Odd, but not a deal breaker. I did the “go on” gesture, rolling my pointer finger.

“I flinch at nothing, nor do I bruise or redden. Many women have found this off-putting, if you like that sort of thing.”

“Um, I’m a substitute teacher. I dish out pain all day. I’m not that kind of Domme,” I explained to him, trying to put him somewhat at ease. His posture relaxed somewhat.

I probably shouldn’t have disclosed my occupation to this guy, but what was he going to do? Show up at every secondary school in the Seacoast Region wearing assless chaps?

“I also have very cold hands,” he said, trying to hold back his smirk. “It’s been problematic in nearly every encounter I have had. Here, feel.” I reached out my hands and touched his.

Freezer burn.

I recoiled slightly, but caught myself and steadied my hand. I said nothing. His eyes remained downcast.

He was stunningly handsome, I appraised, examining his face. Strong jaw, straight nose, blue-black tousled hair, and lips full enough to almost be considered feminine.

Almost.

“I don’t mind cold hands. I’m from Nevada—I love to feel the cold compared to the heat I grew up in. It’s refreshing,” I said. Oh boy, here comes the hurt, I told myself as I handed him my list of needs and wants. “I do, however, have a very long list of requirements, and I’m afraid I’ve scared everyone off, too. I’m just as used to rejection as you seem to be,” I laughed. Half the local community thought it was great that I was a strong woman who won’t settle for anything less than what I want, and the other half thought I was an insane bitch. “In fact, they call me the Deal Breaker.” He smirked again, a small dimple forming in his chin.

He was wickedly handsome. If the room was less well-lit, I’d be tonguing his earlobe right now.

“All right,” he said, glancing at the dossier. “Hit me.” He laughed at his choice of words for the situation. I did, too.

I shifted into uber-Domme mode and breathed in deep, ready for my long-winded explanation.

Last chance, Cerise.

“The requests I make of my subs are simple. Show up at my house Monday through Thursday at two PM sharp. On Monday through Wednesday, I will give you role-play prompts. You must come up with the details, props, and costumes. You will e-mail me details about the scenarios while I’m on my lunch break so I can arrive home in character. When I get home at three, you will be in costume and in character. Whatever outfit you may have for me will be hanging in my bathroom. We will perform the scene from three o’clock until whenever I feel it’s over. You will then eat dinner with me and return home. On Thursdays, you will create an original scenario. You have free rein on those days, but please be creative. I may not be a dominatrix in the traditional whips-and-chains sense, but I want your full subservience when you are with me. You will have three-day weekends to yourself.” My voice was strict like a smack on the wrist with a wooden ruler. I hoped he understood that just because he was creating one scene per week, he was not in charge of where it went. I knew my methods were unconventional, but hey, whatever gets you off, right?

He listened intently, head cocked to the side, eyes still not leaving the table.

“Is that all?” he asked.

I gasped to myself. A taker? Usually guys weren’t down with the hours and the financial demands of coming up with new costumes and props four days a week. Then again, judging by this guy’s clothes, he could afford it. Don’t think I didn’t notice the curvy Rs on his Rock & Republic jeans. That cut retailed for $259 at Nordstrom.

And yes, in addition to being a Domme, I was a serious denim whore.

“No, that’s not all,” I said, worried that this would be the deal breaker. “You must come up with our first scenario right now. Don’t let me down.” I expected him to either tell me to fuck off, or to walk away in a daze after spending several minutes blathering his way through a half-assed attempt to come up with something that might excite me.

Of course, when hearing I was a teacher, nearly every potential sub told me the scenario where he was failing my class and wanted extra credit.

And would do “aaaanything” for it.

So, the men who usually made it to this round never made it out. Unoriginal pricks.

“I think I have one you’ll like, if I may,” he said politely.

I must be dreaming. “Proceed,” I said, both anticipating and dreading what was going to come from his lips next. Please don’t be a student scene . . .

“I’m a vampire who has endured decades of loneliness. All I want is a woman who I can worship—who will look past all my flaws. I need a fearless Domme who will punish me for all my past misdeeds.”

This guy was either insane, or a fucking genius.

And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t care.

“Sold,” I said. “I like that kind of originality, and seriously, you’re going to need it with me.” I handed him my card and explained that I’d be checking YES for him on the official tally. The organizers of the mixer would tell me at the end of the session if he picked me as well, in addition to other matches. Which there would be none.

He rose with me, took my card, and looked me in the eyes.

And somehow just got more beautiful.

His eyes were gorgeous. Blue tinged with purple. That elusive indigo color they say is in the rainbow, but I’ve never seen it. Stunning. He smiled and I forgot about everything around us.

The speed-dating for pervs, the interview process, and for a moment—just a moment—my dominant behavior.

“I’m William Gentry,” he said.

No, you’re flawless.

“Cerise by day,” I stumbled out, and straightened my shoulders. “Mistress Cherry by night.”

His small smile spread into a broad grin. “I like the pun.”

My jaw fell even lower. “You know that cerise—” I stumbled.

“Means cherry in French, yes. Clever,” he said, voice lowering dangerously, “and very sexy.”

Pull yourself together and stop ogling him. He’s going to be your sub.

“E-mail me to schedule a time to get acquainted and exchange checklists. I expect us to engage in this scenario tomorrow or the next day,” I said stiffly, trying to maintain my best possible poker face.

“I look forward to serving you,” he said, and walked away.

I politely took the paper coaster from beneath my Coke and dabbed away the drool.

Was I up to this?

Of course, when you are trying to seem nonchalant, that’s when you are the clumsiest, right? There I stood, fumbling with the keys to my meek but eco-friendly hybrid, as William eyed me from across the parking lot. He hopped in his new SUV gracefully, pretending to check his mirrors. He was staring at me pretty obviously, and I began to dampen my skivvies thinking about the things I was going to do to him.

“Um, Chilly Willy?” a tall brunette said to me, appearing out of nowhere, arms crossed beneath her breasts sternly.

“Erin!” I meeped. “You scared the shit out of me!” The keys dropped into a puddle.

“You are scaring the shit out of me, my dear,” she said, waggling her pointer finger at me accusingly. “Did I see you give your card to Chilly Willy back there? What happened with Roy?” She bugged her eyes and her head cocked in William’s direction.

Oh.

I took a deep breath and shrugged my shoulders. “Roy didn’t work out,” I said quickly, and then gestured toward William. “And as for William—have you seen him? He’s gorgeous. Plus, he’s actually agreeing to my terms,” I said casually. Erin was a killer Domme—really stern when she was in the zone, even with her friends. A plain-Jane administrative assistant by day, a fierce conqueror by night. We didn’t really socialize with each other at community functions—normally she and I just shopped and drank tea and talked about tying up men.

Like all girls, right?

Erin continued giving me the evil eye. “That guy has issues, Cerise.”

I leaned against the car, pretending not to care. “Are you going to offer details, or are you just going to give me the creeps?” I took out my lipstick and slicked on another coat of Red Velvet.

She shook her head and looked lost in thought for a moment. She was trying to find the right words. “He,” she began, finally settling on an answer, “he’s just not normal.”

“Hey, Erin, try being more vague. That would help.”

“You really haven’t heard of him?” she asked, uncrossing her arms and placing them on her slim hips. “Look him up on the Flog Blog or FetLife. Before he lived here, he had a few encounters in Philly—I guess he lived there for a while before he moved to Portsmouth. His Dommes all say the same thing—they couldn’t get anywhere with him. His cold hands were such a turn-off.” She lifted her thin eyebrows at me, waiting for some shocked expression.

“Hence the nickname Chilly Willy?”

“I’m not done,” she growled. “He’s also really dodgy—it’s like he chickens out or something once things get steamy. Jennifer said he literally ran out the door after they started messing around.”

I had enough. “Sounds like fun,” I said. “I’ll just wear running shoes instead of fuck-me boots so I can chase him down the street.”

I joked only because I didn’t want her to know how desperate I was to find out if all this was true. I couldn’t let her know I’d be devastated if I didn’t find another sub soon. Most important, I needed to be on equal footing with her.

She was now Brent’s Domme, and I didn’t want her to get too high and mighty just because she was fucking my leftovers. I kicked Brent to the curb about four months ago. Erin played the humanitarian and took him in as her own, but they’re not completely monogamous. Anyways, we hadn’t spoken about it.

“So, what exactly are you doing here?” I asked, remembering she was happily paired.

“I’m running this event. I was the girl who did the tallies at the end.”

I poked her arm playfully. “And you didn’t tell me about it?”

“I thought you and Roy would get along.”

I frowned. “I don’t think I can ever eat salsa again without dry heaving.” I stood on my toes and tried to meet her at eye level. “And am I too short to be a Domme?”

She dismissed my non sequiturs. “Well, let me know if you need any medical assistance when you’ve got frostbite on your nips,” she said smiling. Good, at least we were still on friendly terms. “Up for some tea next Saturday, Shorty?”

I frowned and hesitated as I mentally flipped through my calendar.

“C’mon, you’re gonna need to defrost.”

I nodded. “We have a date with Earl Grey, my dear,” I said, giving her a quick hug. She spun on her heel and walked briskly to her car.

Before she opened the door to the little green coupe, I opened my window and shouted, “Tell Brent I said hi,” and peeled out.

Suck on that!

CHAPTER THREE

Cerise

Strawbery Banke was beautiful at sunset.

The old, historic homes sat on the water comfortably, the way they had for at least a century or more. The gardens glowed luminously at dusk, petals closing slowly as the sun set.

It was a great place to sit on a bench and discuss your sexual limits.

William arrived at seven o’clock on the dot, and I smiled at his punctual nature. He sat next to me and placed his hand on my shoulder and gripped it with sincerity.

“I’m so glad you wanted to meet,” he said, eyes intense and unblinking. He was a lot more confident than when we had first met.

“I just think it’s important to get through the difficult stuff before we get to the goods.”

He rolled his shoulders casually. “I wouldn’t say discussing limits is difficult,” he said smoothly, “especially since I have so few.”

My eyebrows drifted upward. “Only a few hard limits?” I asked incredulously. “You do realize a standard checklist has a few dozen questions? How long have you been in the scene?” He must not have much experience with our subculture if he thought he only had a few.

“My only hard limits are food play, blood play, and multiple partners. That’s it.”

“So you’re looking for monogamy?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Me, too,” I replied, checking his list again. I see he crossed off some of the more off-color hard limits, the ones involving animals and excrement. Guess he didn’t want to get caught talking about that sort of thing in the park.

As I read down the list, my eyebrows came down from their loft and furrowed. “Breath play isn’t even a soft limit?” I asked. Not that I liked it, but most people refused to do something so dangerous.

He shrugged. “It doesn’t get me off, but I don’t mind it.”

I crossed my legs as he talked about getting off. Bizzy, my bossy vag, was nagging me to move in for the kill. I inched closer to him. He didn’t act as though he was going to chicken out, like Erin had said.

“Public servitude?” That wasn’t for the faint of heart, I thought to myself.

“Would you like to collar me now? Here, in front of that tour group?” he asked, gesturing toward the large bunch of elderly folks touring the historic homes.

I gulped and resisted the urge to fan myself. “Some other time. What about canes?” Those hurt.

“I actually really enjoy them.”

He must have buns of steel. I’d never met a guy who didn’t weep when I used a cane.

“You are one tough cookie,” I blurted, then realized you should never call a man a cookie.

He laughed. “I guess. It’s more that I’m open to all experiences, and I’m . . . durable. So, tell me, aside from role-play, what are your turn-ons?” He slid his hand from my shoulder down my back. He kept it chaste, but I swear I could have mounted him on the spot. Which would have entertained that group of blue-hairs a great deal more than the details about Portsmouth’s fishing heritage.

“Well, I suppose it all comes back to the scene. I love attention to detail and originality. If I can truly lose myself in a scene, then you’ve done a good job. I like my men thorough,” I explained, arching my back and pressing my body farther into his hand, “in every way.”

He scooted closer, took his eyes off me, and scanned the horizon. “And your limits?” he asked nervously.

I pulled a paper out of my purse. “Not nearly as fearless as yours, but I’m definitely open to many experiences. Like I said, it’s all about the scene. If you incorporate any of these soft limits into a scene, and do it really well, I’d be interested.” He nodded, taking in my checklist.

“I’m a little traditional,” he explained shyly, “so please don’t be disappointed if I don’t . . . um . . . do some of these things to you at first. I’d like to build up to your soft limits.”

I blushed. “That’s sweet,” I said, nearly gushing. “I mean, as far as bondage stuff goes, it’s sweet.” I remembered the story about Jennifer, and even though I knew Erin was lying through her teeth, I thought I’d be safe and just ask. “So, which Dommes have you served in the Portsmouth area? It’s a small community.”

“None. I thought you were aware of my track record,” he said, combing his fingers through his longish hair. He was one of those guys who looked like he was due for a haircut, but it didn’t matter. It fell straight, nearly into his eyes, but curled slightly at the end. I wanted to grip it in my hands. God, why couldn’t our scene be right now? Bizzy hounded.

“Not even casually? I thought you might have played with my friend Jennifer.”

“No, I’m afraid not. Glad I don’t have to make things awkward between friends.”

“She’s not really a friend, she just tags along when she’s not fucking anyone.”

He nodded and handed me an envelope with more paperwork. “Health records. Clean as a whistle.”

A whistle I’d like to blow.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “The one where you get it four times a year.”

His eyes widened. “That’s a medical miracle,” he joked. He looked somewhat relieved.

We laughed some more, and talked casually about places we had been in the area. I was astounded he had never had brunch at the Friendly Toast. “Can I buy you a drink?” I asked. There were so many great bars in Portsmouth, plus it’s always fun to show off a gorgeous hunk on a weeknight.

“I’m going to politely decline, if I may,” he said. “I planned to check in at work for an hour, and then I’d like to prepare for our scene.”

“So you do work?” I asked, intrigued. “But only for an hour at a time?”

He stood. “I own a chain of nursing homes throughout New England. I pop into the New Hampshire ones from time to time, just to make sure everything’s looking good and the residents are happy.”

“That’s really sweet,” I confessed, not liking the warm feeling this was giving me. He loves old people? I wondered. Does he also rescue puppies from burning buildings?

“I have to do a little planning for a show. I hired a jazz trio to play there tomorrow evening, which is part of the reason I’m going. Actually, I’d love for you to join me—after our scene, of course. They’re always eager for someone new to talk to.”

“I don’t really listen to jazz.”

He pursed his lips. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t like it.”

“I just don’t know anything about it.”

William reached down and picked a flower from the small garden to the right of our bench. “Do you like this flower?”

“Yeah,” I said, appraising the soft pink petals. “It’s pretty. Why?”

“Do you know what kind of flower it is?”

I shook my head. “No clue.”

“See?” he asked. “You can appreciate something without knowing anything about it. Come see the jazz with me.” He took my hand.

My stomach tightened. This was far too normal. “No thanks.” I smiled to soften the blow.

He nodded, unfazed. “I’ll just have to appreciate the beauty of the music since I won’t have you by my side.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, then, William, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tried to keep my cool as my insides began to melt.

He bent and kissed my forehead and began to leave. “I’ll be counting the hours,” he said, walking away. He stopped about three feet from me and turned around. “Mistress Cherry.”

I didn’t waste any time once I got home.

Tomorrow, Mr. Freeze was coming over and the house had to be clean.

So, I put on some punk music and cleaned my house like a motherfucker—it sure as hell was a lot more fun to listen to than jazz. Then again, I probably would just be ogling William if I went to the old folks’ home instead of appreciating the tunes. I tried to put away the thought of the semi-date he proposed, and focused on my music. I bopped along to the beats, dusting, sweeping, and throwing in some sexy moves here and there. Thank God my broom didn’t have eyes; poor guy would be scandalized.

I grabbed a paper towel and lovingly wiped down my recipe box, the little treasure that sat on my counter like an innocuous piece of housekeeping. Sordid details of my sexual past, neatly alphabetized by scene. It fit right into my home, both the outside and the contents.

I lived in a cute town house on a small cul-de-sac. It looked like all the others, and hopefully the neighbors didn’t care about the sporadic men who, for the past two to three years, had been faithfully letting themselves in at two PM. Except for the last few months.

I couldn’t wait to clean the bedroom. My playroom. My pleasure room.

I had a brushed-metallic motif going on. Polished-silver curtains, with flecks of bronze here and there. A gunmetal gray comforter. A few framed black-and-white photographs on the wall. Pretty stark, actually. The point of minimalist décor was so that the room could transform into anything once a scene had started.

My mind was restless—what did William have planned for me this week? The anticipation was killing me; thank God for obsessive-compulsive cleaning routines. I typically did a thorough scrubbing before any new sub came over, just to calm my anxieties. At least I knew a little about tomorrow.

To say I was excited for our first scene would be a gross understatement. I felt like a romance novel was going to come true in my home. Tomorrow, a dark lover would appear. A lonely vampire who desired domination. I could give him what he wanted. And he, oh yes, would give me what I wanted. I wanted that beautiful face to regard me with reverence. I wanted that lovely mouth to tell me filthy, naughty things. And I wanted that notoriously tight-assed form to pleasure me in a thousand different ways.

Granted, the vampire thing was kinda overly trendy lately, but I was definitely still intrigued.

I ran my hand over the cool silk sheets and imagined what his cool body would feel like. If all that were true, I told myself, he may just run a little colder than others. I shook my head to keep the thoughts away as I moved to my toy chest.

As I removed each piece methodically, as I had done dozens of times, I cleaned it with a wipe and thought about how I’d use it on him.

Riding crop—maybe not tomorrow. I definitely planned on spanking him with it at some point this week, if things went well. I loved to use the riding crop to set our pace. I’d ride him, and when I wanted to go faster, I’d smack him with it. Giddyup!

Flogger—hmm, maybe. I wasn’t planning on pleasuring him tomorrow, but who knows, maybe he’d use it on me. Nah, he probably won’t have the guts yet. Most of my subs are shocked when I tell them that, by permission only, they may use floggers and crops on me. Sometimes that was what the scene dictated. I’d had a few flat-out reject the idea of using anything on me that induces the slightest amount of discomfort. I told them that if I asked for it, I got it. That’s what a Domme does.

Then I dismissed them.

Massage oil—definitely not tomorrow. The smell of it still reminded me of that unpleasant night. The scent of the almond oil and red wine still wouldn’t come out of my drapes. The bottoms were still slightly stained from when the glasses smashed and the cabernet went everywhere. There was one part of the hardwood floor that was more maroon than the rest. I put a rug over it.

I think that is enough cleaning for today.

On to happier subjects: He was coming tomorrow.

On several levels, I hoped.

“Dismissed.”

The bell had rung, but I typically punctuated the sound with my own permission to leave. Kids filed out of class frantically, desperate to get to lunch.

But, as always, one or two stragglers remained. It was like this wherever I went.

The punk kids adored me.

“Miss Norrel, did you hear Red Monday’s releasing a box set?” Nevaeh asked, bouncing up and down in her hand-painted Chucks.

I nodded. “Preordered it last week,” I said, giving her friend Lizzie a fist bump.

“I got you these,” Lizzie said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a little tissue paper bundle.

She pushed it into my empty hand and giggled as I peeled off the tape and unfolded the paper.

Pink hair extensions with a Hello Kitty clip to hold them in.

“I saw them on some girl at a concert and asked her where she got them,” Lizzie said as Nev tried to clip them in my long blond hair. “I told her I had a teacher who would love them.”

“Substitute,” I corrected her with a laugh, working the pink part into my own hairdo. I loved extensions, and never shied away from wearing them to work.

“Totally you,” they both said.

I nodded in agreement. “So me.” I smiled brightly at the two little misfits, in their neon socks and multibraceleted forearms.

“I wish you were our real math teacher,” Nevaeh whined. “You explain the homework better than the actual teacher.”

Lizzie nodded. “I hear Mr. Wood’s leaving to teach at SNHU—you should totally apply.”

I shook my head, feeling the artificial pink hairs dangle down my shoulders. “I’m all set. I like being free.”

“Oh I hear you—I wouldn’t want to come back to this place every day, either,” Lizzie said.

I held my hands up in protest. “It’s not like that. I enjoy high schoolers. I just like variety.”

“My friend at Londonderry High said you’re there sometimes.”

“I’m everywhere, my dear. No escaping me!”

The girls picked up their book bags and gave me a quick hug and made their way to lunch.

The rest of the day, however, dragged like RuPaul.

Today I was at Newmarket High, a place I frequently called home. One of their math teachers, Mr. Wessel, was a hypochondriac, so I got calls at least once a week here. I was basically part of the faculty. Work today was more torturous than usual—kids had nitpicky questions, the other teachers wouldn’t stop hounding me about helping plan a colleague’s baby shower, and I was literally doing equations in my head for fun to kill time until lunch.

Lunch meant a break. Lunch hopefully meant an e-mail from him—from Chilly Willy. The anticipation was killing me. I strode toward the teacher’s room purposefully, head in the clouds—or in the gutter.

“Cerise, so do you think we should go with a ducky theme or a clown theme?” Deirdre asked, trying to catch up to me. I threw up a little in my mouth at her suggestion. Maybe because I thought it was a horrible idea, or also maybe it was because Deirdre was a douche-cannon who talked down to substitutes.

“Clowns?” I asked incredulously, screeching to a halt. “Isn’t, like, ninety percent of the population terrified of clowns?”

She pursed her gross, chapped lips at me and pushed her glasses up her nose. “My dad was a clown, thankyouverymuch. I thought it might be cute to have a circus theme for the shower since Katy always does that field trip to the carnival.”

Katy was a history teacher who was eight months pregnant. Deirdre was a science teacher who kept disgusting specimens in her room on display. She even had a dog fetus she called “Pickled Poochie.” Of course she wouldn’t mind clowns, I noted.

“Listen,” I said, trying to maintain my decorum, “do what you want; I’m just a sub. All I know is that most people have a visceral reaction to clowns and circus folk, ’kay?” I just wanted her to leave me alone with my pervy thoughts. I didn’t want to think about baby showers—I was only twenty-nine and the only clock inside me was ticking to the beat of “Let’s Get It On.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Duckies it is.” She walked away, and I noticed that her jeans were from Sears. I shuddered and continued to the break room.

I heated my Lean Cuisine panini—oh and seriously, does anyone else think that word sounds dirty?—and discreetly checked my iPhone.

An e-mail!

I blushed and leaned against the microwave, feeling its slow rotation vibrate against my back. My thoughts drifted again, for the billionth time, to William. I slid my finger against the screen of the phone, opening the e-mail slowly, savoring the anticipation.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Dearest potential Mistress,

I have made all necessary preparations to meet with you today. I made sure my thirst is fully sated, as not to be a threat. The last thing I would want to do is hurt you, but please know that it typically takes extraordinary restraint to control myself. I have been looking forward to our scenario today since we met. Because I do not sleep, my mind has been occupied with thoughts of you and what you would like. I do hope my talents are to your liking, and please know I would do anything you ask, for as long as you will permit.

Do not be afraid; my only thirst now is to please and serve you.

Sincerely,

William, your potential submissive

“Cerise, are you going to leave your lunch in there to marinate or what?” Paul asked me, eyes bulging. Apparently I was holding up the line at the micro. Shit.

Anyone who has teacher-friends knows that we all eat really fast and seldom talk while we dine. That’s because we’re conditioned to wolf down our food as fast as humanly possible. Twenty-six-minute lunches—that was all we got. Factor in five minutes of waiting in line for the microwave, then another two for lunch to cool down, then another three to get back to the classroom, and we were left with virtually no time to eat. Lunch in the teacher’s room was a serious affair, and I was breaking some social faux pas by not removing my panini fast enough.

“Sorry,” I muttered, bringing my hot sandwich to my seat, fanning it with my hands.

I pulled my phone back out and began a response while my ham and cheese cooled.

From: Cerise Norrel

Subject: Re: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: William Gentry

William,

I appreciate your assurance of my health; however, your e-mail was more formal than I’d like. I am henceforth requiring a little more pizzazz in your response. Essentially, please go on about being a bad vampire, and how you’d like me to assist you in your atonement.

Waiting patiently . . . for now,

Mistress Cherry

P.S.—See attached spreadsheet detailing your scenes for the next two weeks, Monday thru Wednesday only. Consider this your homework.

I bit into my sandwich, but quickly tried to disengage when I realized how hot it was. As I pulled it away from my face, the melting cheese drew a long string before snapping back and hitting me in the eye.

“Fuhhh,” I muttered, mouth full of nuclear-hot Swiss and mozzarella. I ran to the barrel and spit out the offending mouthful.

Paul snickered while hovering over the microwave, heating his Chunky soup. Chunky like his ass—gross.

Quickly, I began to swirl some water around in my mouth. The burning subsided and my mouth was left relatively unharmed, aside from the pizza burn. You know, that little flap of burnt skin you get right behind your front teeth when you eat something too hot. I resisted the urge to use my long acrylic fingernails to peel it right off.

I headed into the bathroom to inspect the damage to my eye area from the cheesesplosion . . . ugh. Redness. There was a small streak from my lower eyelid halfway down my cheek—evidence of the dairy attack on my face. The last thing I needed was to look injured in front of a vampire, I giggled to myself. I couldn’t wait for our scene.

Luckily, there was a quick reply e-mail from my dear Chilly Willy that made me wish for another five minutes to my lunch break . . . so I could be alone . . . in the math office . . . just reading it over and over.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Re: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Dear Mistress Cherry, (May I call you this already?)

I am sorry my first e-mail wasn’t to your liking. This is a road we will travel together for a while, I hope, and I’m glad you gave me feedback so soon. From now on, I will make sure my e-mails are more titillating. Additionally, I have read and memorized your spreadsheet. The days that come will be filled with untold pleasures, I assure you.

I had difficulty selecting your outfit today, since our scenario is less costume-driven and more plot-oriented. So, what I did was imagine your beautiful body. Then, I asked myself, what could possibly cover such a lovely form that would do it proper justice? I didn’t want to select something overtly sexual—that would be too cliché, but I also wanted a chance to see my Domme in something befitting of her position over me. And hopefully under me, eventually, should you permit, Mistress. I went to La Perla and, with a basic idea in mind of what I wanted, shopped for you. I thought of your beautiful tan skin tone, and which colors would bring out your lovely blush best. The color is ingrained in my mind. I was torn between pale green silk that reminded me of your eyes, and a lovely midnight navy that would offset your coloring nicely. I bought both sets.

I spent the entire ride home imagining how glorious you would look in my purchases. In all my years on this earth, I have never seen someone as beautiful as you. I hope I am worthy of the kind of worship I will lavish you with. I simply cannot wait for you to do with me what you will. Have you thought of what you would like to do? I’m sure you have plenty of plans for me.

I live to serve, and count the moments until I hear your footsteps through the front door.

I will be, as you have asked, in your bedroom, clad in black.

Servile to only you,

William

My mouth was watering. The last few potentials hadn’t worked out this well from the start—their scenarios were unoriginal or totally awkward, and none of them had a way with words.

I could paraphrase my last sub, Frank, with his first “original scene” e-mail to me.

“U r 2 pretty 4 a guy liek me, so I cant wate for u to smack me around. Well pretend were from the old west and your an indian and im your cowboy lover, only not like those gay guys.”

I was surprised I let him lay a hand on me after that grammatical vomit, but he had a really nice ass. And yes, I did smack him around a little, since that was dictated in the scene. I gave him one more chance, and the next week when his e-mail said, “ok ur a doctor and ima football player with a groin injury,” I was out.

Then there was poor, sweet, harmless Bobby. God, I had no idea why he wanted the things he wanted. He always ended a scene sobbing. I used to just shake my head at him in bewilderment. But, that man ate out every night like he was a food critic, so I didn’t toss him overboard for about a month.

But William seemed different already. Intelligent, mysterious, and even a little old-fashioned, which could be fun. Just to keep him hanging, I didn’t respond. I’d let him wait to see my reaction in person.

And the day from hell just kept getting longer. We had a lockdown during one class so that the police dogs could sniff book bags for weed. The kids in class were all tweaking—they either thought there was a terrorist in the building, or that they’d get caught with their stash.

And I was stuck in the reject room. We have this one shitty classroom that teachers rotate using because nobody wants it for the year. So, once a month, everyone has one class there. It has no windows, no Wi-Fi, and no computer, so I was without any kind of outlet for the last period of the day.

And it was “ice cream sundae Monday,” so the kids were amped up on whatever goodies they had adorned their scoop of Rocky Road with.

Too many cruddy variables for one day—something good had to come my way. Please, God, let there be justice in this world. In the form of a naked man in my bed within an hour.

“Miss Norrel, can we play Hangman?”

“Um, what?” I asked, blushing. I prayed none of my students were telepaths or tech-geeks with mind-reading iPhones. Glancing down at my sub planbook, I saw that I had scrawled a few notes on scenes I’d like to do with William. I folded my personal notebook shut and pretended I was doing legitimate teacher work.

“Hangman.”

“Go for it,” I said, waving my hand at the board. The bell was a good twenty minutes away, and most of them had done their homework, so I went back to picturing William’s body. His abs, his butt, and that glorious V that swimmers have.

I wonder if William was a swimmer, I mused as the kids played Hangman and I managed to keep all my drool in my mouth until the bell rang.

I blew through every yellow light on the way to my house.

And when I arrived home, justice was served in the form of his SUV parked neatly next to my spot. It looked cozy there, like it belonged.

I walked inside and the house was completely quiet. I knew he would be in the bedroom, so I headed into my bathroom to get changed into whatever he had picked out for me. I pushed the door open, and hanging on the shower curtain was an array of some of the loveliest garments I had ever seen.

Green and navy blue silk and satin dripped to the floor in varying degrees. Nighties both long and short hung on shiny fabric hangers. Sinuous robes hung over my towel racks. An arrangement of bras, panties, and hose sat neatly in a white wicker basket. It was nearly an entire store display, right in my home. Why so many items? And how did he know my exact size? Just as I ran my hand down the smooth material, I noticed a note, penned in exquisite handwriting.

“Reveal to me only what you choose. Show me only what I deserve to see. I await.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Cerise

Reveal to me only what you choose. Show me only what I deserve to see. I await.

I smiled at his wording. He was being very careful with me, as he should. Every sub understood that his Domme should set the pace, and even though he knew we were entering a sexual relationship, he didn’t want to assume too much.

Good.

This move empowered me and put me in the right mind-set. I couldn’t be swooning and falling all over him—what kind of message would that send? They say in the teaching world, “Don’t smile until Christmas.” Essentially, if you were a softie from the start, they had full rein to walk all over you.

Remember not to smile, remember not to smile, I kept telling myself as I got into character—Muffy the Vampire Spanker.

I selected the navy bra and panties, and slipped the lacy robe over them. Instead of the slippers provided, I put my black patent leather pumps back on—the ones I wore to school. I unbound my elbow-length hair from its ponytail, and stepped out of the bathroom.

To find dozens of white candles leading to my bedroom. My hallway was lit with an almost supernatural glow. My brow lifted in surprise. My vampire was quick and quiet, since I didn’t hear him do that while I was getting changed. Better not be losing my edge, I wondered, as my shoes clicked along the hardwood leading to today’s pleasure.

He was neither sitting on the bed nor lying on it. He leaned against my wall, looking at me with a grim face. A serious, beautiful, godlike visage. A shiver of fear ran down my spine as I prepared to encounter a vampire.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said, voice low and velvety. “My thirst for punishment outweighs my desire for your blood, but I must say, looking at you is making me hungry.”

He bit down on his lip and my body began to tingle warmly. His eyes absolutely consumed me. I never felt so utterly vulnerable from such a simple stare. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as his eyes followed the curves of my body beneath my robe. It didn’t matter that it was knotted shut—I could sense his eyes under it already. Perhaps he could see beneath it, with his vampire sight.

I went over to my bag of tricks and pulled out a length of rope. “I am aware your thirst is sated, but I’d feel better if you were bound,” I said hungrily.

He nodded in assent, relishing my choice. “Of course, Mistress Cherry. You are a brave Domme indeed to take me into your service. I await your punishment.” He wet his lips in anticipation, and I wet mine, so to speak—only the ones he couldn’t see. Yet. Hee hee.

Get a hold of yourself and go for it, Bizzy nearly shouted at me.

“Shhhh!” I hissed, although I didn’t mean to do it out loud.

William looked at me quizzically. God, I must look completely schizo.

When I was in Domme mode, Bizzy called the shots. Right now, she was mad as hell that I was taking my time.

I pulled the chair out from my desk and motioned for him to sit. He complied easily, even holding his hands behind his back so I could bind them easier. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so unfortunately I didn’t get to feel the icy chill again . . . yet.

“Have you ever punished any of my kind before?”

“Too many times to count,” I replied. “Although I haven’t decided exactly what to do with you yet. I need to know more.”

I wrapped the rope around his wrists, then torso, and stopped there. No need for the legs today. He looked gorgeous sitting in that chair, motionless, completely and utterly at my mercy. His head was tossed back rapturously, enjoying each of my tugs at the rope. God, the things I am going to do to this man.

“Tell me about yourself, vampire.”

“I believe everything you need to know is on your bed right now, but I’d be more than happy to recount the history of my life,” he said, voice still soft and guarded, eyes again downcast.

I looked over at my bed in wonder—I hadn’t noticed anything in the room but him. There, scattered across my comforter, were dozens of leather-bound journals. I rifled through the stacks, amazed.

There was thorough research . . . then there was this. I tried in vain to keep in character. No sub had ever shown this much effort in a first scene.

I looked over at him and he smirked at me, clearly pleased by my reaction. “Do you find my paperwork to be in order, Mistress Cherry?” he asked, almost humorously.

“You must have lived a very lonely life to have written so much,” I said, hiding my initial awe with simple curiosity. I strode over to him and caressed the ropes that bound his muscular chest.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, his eyes burning into me. “Too lonely.”

“How many people have you killed?” I asked, scraping a long fingernail across his jaw.

He hung his head. “Too many,” he said, and looked back up at me desperately. “Please, help me. I need you.” His tone was husky, and his throat was thick with desire. And I was nearly panting.

“I’m thinking these ropes are far too restrictive,” I said. “Mistress wants you to move freely.”

My hands worked busily to get him out. I wanted him, just him. No ropes, no bindings, just his body and his voice and his dark secrets.

“Mistress,” he said, still seated in the chair, hands on his thighs, “would you like to spank me now?”

I stood over my toy box motionlessly, wondering what my next move should be. Should I paddle him for making a suggestion or do I sit on his face? I didn’t want to delay my pleasure, but he did expect punishment.

But, dammit, I wanted to come.

And then, one more time he spoke, low and slow, and his voice was my undoing. “I’ve been very bad.”

My mouth spoke before my mind could object. “Pleasure me now, vampire,” I moaned, hands grazing over the silk robe, unknotting the tie desperately. “I’ll punish you another time.”

He hesitated for a moment. “But, I need to atone.”

“You can atone by giving out pleasure since you’ve dealt so much pain.”

He nodded in understanding, although he did look slightly disappointed. “Well, in that case,” his voice continued to invade me, “I brought a few helpers.” He reached into a small black bag I hadn’t noticed, and pulled out a long white feather quill and moved toward me with need.

William ran the feather down my neck and between my breasts. I shuddered. “I don’t deserve to touch you yet, Mistress,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear.

I licked my lips. “That’s right. You don’t.”

Gripping the bottoms of the sleeves, he slid my robe off, revealing the bra and panties set he had bought me. I had yet to feel his touch.

“Lovely,” he mouthed, almost afraid to spoil the enchantment of the moment that had settled between us. I sat on the bed, and lowered my head to the pillows, rapturously. I was completely in his thrall.

I had read Dracula back in high school; I knew about this sort of thing. Vamps could hypnotize and seduce, and I was so far under his spell, I was in China.

He pulled out one more item from his bag and mounted the bed. I wondered if he had changed his mind about not touching me.

Then the feather was back. The light, flickering touch licked my skin as he traced swirls of desire across my torso. I arched my back, moaning, giving in to the soft feeling. He used it to trace my lips and stroke my jaw and I swore I saw God.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please me, William. That’s why you’re here.”

And that was before I heard the buzz-buzz of item number two—a vibrator.

It was a simple model, just a Magic Bullet, but my eyes lit up at the prospect. I wasn’t just going to get romantic feathery touches—I was going to get buzzed.

His eyes glowed wickedly as he taunted me. “I am amazed you want a creature like me to please you,” he growled. I demanded he continue. Whether or not he could tell, my body and voice were no longer my own; they were slaves to him. My vampire hypnotized me into his dark, velvet grasp.

He slid the quivering object up my thigh, careful not to touch me with his damned flesh. My body writhed, desperate for contact.

“Tell me about your other Dommes, and how they didn’t satisfy your need for redemption,” I said, testing him.

He began drawing on my thighs with the vibrator, almost writing out his answers on my skin. His gaze was intense—I could see he wanted to do his job thoroughly. “I could never call any of those women my Domme,” he said, trying to ignite my body with his eyes. “They never gave me the chance. They weren’t as brave as you.”

“I find it hard to believe your charms didn’t make them melt,” I purred. “You have me rapt. It’s not just your vampire powers, you know.” I arched my back, urging him to proceed with the small vibrating object in his long fingers.

So. Long.

He moved the Bullet to the apex of my legs and I shuddered. He spoke again. “What do you see in me?” he asked. I bit my lip and considered my answer.

He slid the vibrator up and down me like a paintbrush. I could barely keep myself together. He was an artist.

“You’re intelligent and well-spoken,” I said between gasps. “I need a man who can keep up with my voracious intellectual cravings.”

“Do you have any . . . other cravings?” he asked, and made a motion to remove my panties.

Thank God my vagina had only lips and no vocal cords. She would have completely given me away. “Remove my clothing, William. All of it,” I commanded sharply.

Pinching the ribbons on either side of my thong, he unraveled the bows and slid the garment down my legs slowly, eyes memorizing each inch of my skin.

I spread my legs, displaying the prize he was working for. “Make me come, vampire.”

He smiled devilishly, and for a moment, he looked more vamp than human. He was too beautiful, and his indigo eyes were too shadowy and dangerous.

“My pleasure,” he said, and went promptly to work. This time, his left hand used the feather, and his right used the vibrator.

He hovered over me, a dark demigod. He used his instruments on me and made my body positively sing. I bit down hard on my lip as I came, nearly drawing blood. Which would have been a bad idea.

My body shouted William, every part. My mind was utterly consumed by the tickling feather, the impossibly fast vibrations, and the eyes that seared so deep they could leave scorch marks.

My chest heaved for a moment, and I tried futilely to control my breath. I sat up smoothly, and asked him to kneel on the floor.

I stood over him, naked. He looked up at me reverently, but did not speak. Good.

“The scene is over. You have pleased me very much today,” I said, and raked my nails through his hair, gripping the ends slightly as I enjoyed the smooth texture. For a moment, I considered pushing his face between my legs, but I decided to wait. “My good boy deserves a treat,” I teased, still unsmiling. “What would you like from your mistress?”

I was prepared to give him anything he asked for, and Bizzy sure as hell was hoping to see some more of his delicious body. Hell, any of his body.

“I do have one request, Mistress Cherry,” he breathed.

I waited.

“I’d like for you to keep me,” he said quietly, voice somber and almost childlike. His expression had changed. He . . . softened. Suddenly, all the refusals he had faced by other Dommes were physically visible on his face. It was as though they had each tattooed REJECTION across his lovely countenance.

I straightened my posture proudly, and cupped his face in my hand. “As long as you serve me properly, I will take care of you,” I said, dodging his answer slightly, but still praising his performance. He leaned into my gesture.

It was true, though. The laymen out there think that Dommes are just about power—about making men feel lower. Nothing could be further from the truth. A good Domme cares for her submissive—it is a beneficial relationship for both, if done right.

But nobody had been right for me. Every man thus far had been too selfish, or too self-deprecating, or too needy, or simply not what I wanted.

Now here, kneeling in front of me, was a man who desired exactly what I wanted to give.

“Obey me and keep me satisfied and I can give you what you need,” I whispered.

He said nothing, just nodded contentedly. I dressed and offered him dinner.

“I know in your contract that you specify dinner after our scenes,” he said hesitantly, “but I’d rather not eat. I will stay and talk if you like.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t disappointed. There was a part of me that didn’t enjoy the “getting to know you” segment of the day. It had gone too far with Brent, and I didn’t want anything to screw things up with William just yet.

“You may leave,” I said simply. “I look forward to your visit tomorrow. You set the bar high, William.” I praised him, placed my hand on his elbow, and guided him to the front door. I was anxious to fill out a scene card about him. I may very well be doodling stars and happy faces on this one.

He turned to me, appraised my face for a moment, and responded. “I did my homework and began props for this week’s scenes early. I left a preview for tomorrow in today’s props. If you’d like.” He raised his hand and, for the first time since we met, touched me.

He drew one long finger across my collarbone, leaving an icy-hot trail on my skin. “Sleep well and dream,” he said, “since I am unable to do either.”

My jaw dropped and I watched him open the door to leave. He turned around and added, “Although, being with you today was the closest thing to a dream I’ve had in decades.”

My pleasure turned to annoyance in a flash.

“Excuse me?” I seethed.

“Mistress?”

“Never revisit a scene—even moments later. Drop the vampire shit.”

I slammed the door, spun on my heel, and headed toward the note cards, volumes of journals, and a night of sweet, sweet dreams.

CHAPTER FIVE

William

“Read ’em and weep,” Gus said, splaying his cards in front of him with pride. “Straight.”

Jack chuckled, cigar in his mouth wiggling maniacally. “Royal flush, you old fart.”

Three other men at the table folded their cards, disappointed.

“No smoking, Jack,” I lectured jokingly.

“There’s no smoke if there ain’t no fire, young man,” he grunted.

I laughed and gave him a friendly pat on the back. “There’s a concert in the all-purpose room,” I suggested. “Jazz.”

Gus huffed loudly. “When are you going to get some modern stuff in here? Jazz makes me feel eighty.”

“You are eighty,” Hank said.

“I’m seventy-nine in August.”

I protested. “I thought you liked jazz. Gus, you asked me to have this trio back after the last performance.”

“That’s because the redhead playing the upright bass had perky tits.”

I rolled my eyes and snickered. “Well, some of the residents like jazz. If you gentlemen would like to enjoy some music—or perky tits—I’ll be down the hall.”

I turned and began to walk, and on cue, I heard some chairs being dragged and some old men grunting as they rose from their seats.

“That’s more like it,” I said, slowing my pace so we could walk down the hall together.

“Billy-boy, my granddaughter’s coming in next week. You still single?” Hank asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“I think it’s time to give up on our Billy,” Jack joked. “He keeps promising to bring in a nice girl once he meets one, and yet every time we ask him, he’s on a date with a new catch.”

I held my hands up in protest, “Guys, guys—”

“You don’t want your granddaughter with a playboy.”

“I’m not a—”

Gus slapped his hand on my shoulder and lectured. “Down, boys. Our Billy here just hasn’t met the right girl. He’ll settle down once he meets the one.”

“Why would he want to settle down when he could have every cute coed in the Seacoast Region?”

I had to keep the hounds at bay, so I threw them a bone. “I had a date today with a new girl I just met. Not only is she beautiful,” I teased as they leaned in, “but she’s a Leo.”

The boys laughed and taunted. “You and your zodiac, Gentry.”

“That means she’s spunky. I like the spunky girls,” Hank remarked.

I held up my hand and listed the many attractive qualities of a Leo. “They’re charismatic, driven, and loyal.”

“Like I said, spunky.”

As we entered the room, I heard a faint murmur from my compatriots about the redhead’s bustline and we made our way to some empty seats. The band had begun to play just moments before our arrival.

“Ah, Billy, you made it!” Addie creaked, flagging me down. “Sit with us girls—we need something to look at.”

“I’m nearly blind, but he smells good, so that’s fine by me,” Beatrice chimed in, adjusting her thick glasses.

“The boys are being a bit uncouth,” I confessed, “maybe I should sit with a more civilized bunch.”

“Bah,” Addie spat, “they were talking about breasts throughout the entire concert last time. Maybe since you’re here they’ll take it down a notch.”

“I don’t know about that,” I admitted, and tuned in to the show.

They are pretty good, I noted, tapping my foot in time. Part of what made jazz great was the improvisation of it all, and watching a band that had synergy helped. It was hard to improvise if you didn’t know what your partners had in mind. But this trio, they did it right.

Improvisation was something I’d have to become good at.

And for the millionth time in the last few days, my thoughts drifted to Cerise.

While I wasn’t surprised that she turned down the offer to come and listen to the show with me, I was still disappointed. I imagined what it would be like to have her by my side, taking her into my senses while she listened to music. Especially after that scene.

I’d be memorizing the curves of her face, her natural scent mixed with the slightly rosy perfume she spritzes on, the individual cadence of her heartbeat and breaths. And she wouldn’t even know I was paying attention to her.

The thought of taking a Domme into my place of work had never occurred to me before. But Cerise was different already. She had an openness about her personality that wasn’t frightening or off-putting, like many Dommes I had met. The residents would love her because she didn’t try to hijack the conversation at every opportunity to talk about herself.

She listened, and that meant she was attentive. She asked me questions, which meant she was curious about me.

These were good signs. Signs of possible success. And God knows I need a break from failure. I managed to get through today unscathed, so I should get points for that.

Today was incredible. I barely touched her, and yet it was the most sexual experience I could imagine. I couldn’t even fathom what the days ahead could bring.

The boys weren’t wrong—I hadn’t found the one yet. How could you, when you’d faced the kind of rejection I had encountered? Girls that were afraid of me, women who mocked me, others who shunned my attention because of my . . . peculiarities.

But all Cerise wanted was some fantasy. She wanted a knight in shining armor one day, and something different the next.

And if I was anything, I was thorough.

I could be what she needed. And she seemed pretty pleased today.

Addie nudged me in the ribs. “The boys are making some trouble.”

I glanced over and Gus was making groping gestures. I whistled through my teeth and his head snapped around. I frowned at him and he put his hands in his lap and folded them politely.

The music played on, changing from a jaunty tune to a more sultry one.

And again, I pictured her.

Her dimples when she smiled, making her look far more innocent than she was.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when my stare became too intense.

The way she licked her lips when I drove her over the edge.

And her body. That body. I knew once I got home I had to paint. I needed to get my fixation out of my system before I scened with her again tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

The fact that I got to see her again made my body hum with excitement.

I had to get this right, just like today. She was picky, so it had to be perfect. I wrung my hands, searching for answers. She wanted authenticity and fantasy.

At this point, I had begun to lose interest in the show. While the performance wasn’t lacking, it simply couldn’t hold up to the fantasies that were scrolling through my mind.

“Not up your alley today, William?” Beatrice asked as the show came to a close.

“How’d you know?”

“You stopped tapping your feet after the first song.”

I bent down and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got my number, Beatrice.”

She chuckled. “All the girls here want your number.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, and began saying my good-byes to the residents.

The process typically took a half hour, no matter how short my visit was. I chuckled at their perpetual chattiness. I finished my visit, as I always did, in the medical wing with the terminal residents, a large box of IVs in my arms. Fifty, sixty bags. The temporary wing, where they never last more than a month, and they never remember my name when I visit.

Thankfully.

When I got home, Breanna had one of my canvases under her arm.

“Where are you going with that?” I asked.

She stopped midway through the kitchen. “You’ve had your easel in the breakfast nook for two days and haven’t painted a thing. I was doing you a favor.”

“I was mixing colors,” I explained. “I couldn’t get the proper hue.”

She looked at the palette. “Jesus, how long does it take to find the right green?”

“I think I can manage now,” I said. “In fact, the color is pretty much ingrained in my mind.”

Breanna pursed her lips. “So you saw her again?”

Busted. “How do you know?”

“Because you have fifteen greens on this palette, and you made it a point to mention yesterday how green her eyes were. You have no subtlety.”

I walked up to her and grabbed the canvas out of her hands. “I did see her again.”

“A traditional date, or . . .”

“Well, we met at a park yesterday.”

Breanna wrinkled her brow. “Public flogging?”

“Forget it—” I started.

“Hey,” she interrupted, “I’m teasing. Remember, I’m entitled to tease you. Everyone has a pervy uncle, right?”

I growled at her and she feigned fear. “I’m just self-conscious.”

“I just don’t think I like these kinds of girls for you.”

“Here we go again.”

She helped me put my canvas back on my easel. “No, really. They’re mean-spirited.”

“You don’t understand.”

“I do,” she replied. “I know they have an inclination to beat up guys. And, to me, that just sounds like trouble.”

I began mixing the correct green on the palette I had covered in plastic wrap earlier in the day. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh really? Then why are you holed up like a hermit every time you meet with one?”

I looked over my shoulder suspiciously. “Is Steven home yet?”

“He’s on his way. And I don’t mind saying this in front of him.”

“I mind. Your husband is more conservative with his opinions.”

She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t mind. He just doesn’t get it.”

I sneered. “He doesn’t have to. It’s my life.”

“Look,” she said, heading up the stairs, “just be cautious. I want to see you happy.”

I called up after her. “Cerise is different. I can feel it.”

I heard a muffled “Uh-huh” from the top stair.

Just feeling her name on my tongue had an effect on me.

Cerise.

I swirled the paintbrush between several of yesterday’s failures. I could never hope to reproduce that green, I had thought, but now that I’d looked into her eyes again, I knew nothing was impossible.

Not even the absurd notion of someone like her accepting me. I stroked the canvas with my brush a few times, satisfied with the proper hue. Although I had seen her glorious body in its entirety, it was her eyes that had me rapt. Clear, pale green. The color of apples before they ripen.

Wrong fruit, I chuckled to myself, and began mixing reds.

For her cherry lips.

CHAPTER SIX

Cerise

May 14, 1955

Dear Journal,

I saw her again today at school. Georgia was smoking behind the gym, alone. I thought about approaching her, but lost my nerve.

I do not have a crush. A crush is cute and wholesome. A crush typically denotes wanting to get to know someone better.

I just wanted her to hurt me.

I had heard from some boys in the locker room that Georgia was kinky. That she was into things like handcuffs and leather. I had never paid her much mind before this. In fact, I had never crossed paths with her at school. I hated this place, this prison my parents forced me into. They wanted me to have a normal life, with friends and birthday parties and girlfriends.

Georgia was decidedly not the kind of girl you took home, not even to parents like mine.

I didn’t really think she’d be my type, but once I heard the rumors, I began to follow her discreetly. Yesterday I heard her talking to one of my classmates between periods. He was staring at her high heels, and Georgia warned him that she’d punish him with those points if he didn’t man up and take her behind the bleachers.

I stayed in the shadows as he took her, and she punished him anyway. I had seen some sex in my life, but this was different.

She bossed him around. She rode him and called all the shots. She hurt him, taunted him, and she loved it.

Like I said, it isn’t a crush.

I think it’s the beginning of a fetish.

Confused . . . again,

William

Was this his way of recounting his sexual history to me? Was this somehow his preview for tomorrow’s scene? These volumes, sixty-five in total, were filled to the brim with entries—how could he expect me to find a hint about a scene that had nothing to do with vampires? So far, I had read about a half dozen of the journals, cover to cover.

Truthfully, I had no idea where he got them. There was no way, even if he stayed up all night, that he could get all this done. I shook my head and considered giving in for the night. It was midnight, and I had a pain-in-the-ass class first period: Italian. Ugh.

Substituting really isn’t as bad as most people make it out to be. I get to be the hero every day. Kids see me instead of their teacher and cheer; I make their day. Fuck getting a full-time job, one where I actually had to discipline and nag—I just want to be the fun sub who the kids love. No ties, no responsibilities. Subbing for Italian just sucks because it is the kids who flunked out of French and Spanish in middle school. Most of the time is spent just disciplining kids for texting in class, or for taking fifteen-minute bathroom trips and then having to call the nurse to verify their excuses about having bladder issues.

But I needed to know what happened with Georgia, so I had to either finish them tonight or bring the journals in to read in school. I couldn’t just leave the story where I stopped. He said he has faced nothing but rejection, but was she his first?

I began fingering through pages for references to her name. Most entries were about painting and drawing as outlets to feel less anxious. After about fifteen pages—two weeks—I found what I was looking for.

May 28, 1955

Dear Journal,

I decided that I must act in regards to my growing fixation. There was a sock hop on Friday, and originally I was thinking about asking her to it, but then I realized that kind of event was too squeaky clean for her. Too boring. Plus, she’s a senior, and an older one at that. I bet she’s almost twenty from the looks of her. She’s probably flunked a lot.

So, I’m going to follow her to a local juke joint. I know where she goes on weekends—I’ve driven by and watched her lean against the pool tables and smoke. I want her to torture me with a pool cue, or let me fuck her right on the table and dig her pointy heels into my back. I was hoping it would make me feel—something.

I just want to feel something.

I asked my classmate Nathan if I could wear his leather jacket, and I’m going to put some grease in my hair like the older guys use. It sort of makes me look like Elvis, so maybe she’ll be intrigued.

Wish me luck,

William

My mouth hung open. This seemed so . . . real. The voice was consistent and authentic—it truly sounded like a person and not a character. I kept having to suspend my disbelief that I was reading props for a scene and not truly the journals of a lonely and tortured vampire. Vampires typically didn’t age, so how could he have been in high school? That helped me center myself, so I skipped quickly to Friday night. Bizzy asked me to get my vibrator ready, but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to end in something sexy.

May 30, 1955

Dear Journal,

Well, I can safely say I felt something, and I’m still not sure how to register it.

I greased my hair, put on the leather bomber, and headed to Abe’s, the juke joint in Allentown. There she was, looking like Bettie Page herself. Long black hair, short bangs, darkly arched eyebrows, and a high-waisted pencil skirt that begged to be hiked up around her hips.

I never actually fantasized about her—just what she’d do to me. I wouldn’t even say she’s my type. I’m not entirely sure I have a type. Her face could be anyone’s, but what dragged me toward her was what was suggested in her commanding voice.

She smiled as I held out a lighter, igniting her cigarette.

“I’ve been wanting to introduce myself to you,” I said slowly. She feigned inattention, but she definitely took a good long look at me. I smiled inwardly, confident she was checking me out. Still, she didn’t speak.

“My name is William, and I have to say I’m curious about you.”

That got her attention. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, leaving a red ring of lipstick on the brown paper. “Oh yeah?” she asked simply, hand on her hip.

“I heard girls like you are good for guys like me,” I said, not really knowing how to broach the subject, and she frowned. She must have thought I meant that she was loose, so I immediately clarified.

“Guys who like to . . . submit,” I said quietly, using the buzzword I learned.

Her brows flicked up. “Follow me,” she said, and I walked next to her.

“Behind me,” she barked. I complied happily.

She took me out by the Dumpster and asked me to remove my pants. I nearly gasped. I was a virgin, and my first time was about to be behind a dirty juke joint either on or against a Dumpster.

She slid the belt from my pants and took it in her hands. “Turn around,” she said.

My brow furrowed. This was not a sexual position for me, and I didn’t understand what she wanted me to do. I wasn’t even facing her when I heard the sounds.

Whack. Whack.

She brought the leather belt down on me.

Whack. Snap.

She hissed as the buckle flew off and hit her in the neck. She wound up and spanked me with her hand rather than the broken belt.

Then she howled in pain and brought her hand to her chest, cradling it.

Then she asked what the hell was wrong with me. I looked at her, eyes wide, pulling up my pants.

She shook her head and began to walk back inside. She muttered something about freaks and then was gone.

I think I know what I feel, now.

Humiliation.

While this sort of pain is close to what I was hoping to feel, it just leaves me hollow and embarrassed. But I know I can’t stop now. The feeling of that belt and the look in her eyes as she was about to control me is something that I need.

I will continue my search.

Defeated but not broken,

William

I snapped the journal shut and tried desperately to absorb the tear that was threatening to fall down my cheek. It ended up drying in the duct because I told myself this was just a story; it wasn’t real.

It was time to go to bed, so I lifted the books from the gray comforter and toted them over to my bureau. Just as I was putting the last pile down, a CD slipped from one of the journals.

FOR MISTRESS CHERRY it read in William’s cursive script. I had become very familiar with his handwriting in the past few hours.

Oh God, I realized, those really are in his handwriting . . .

I pulled the CD out of the case and placed it in my laptop, which was sitting on my end table. I liked to record my dreams in the morning, so the first thing I usually did when I got up was type. My laptop was a Dell and had a coffee ring in the dead center. Techies would weep at my indiscretion.

Music poured out. Piano. Passion. I listened to the tune with my head in my hand, trying to place it.

It was sad, but beautiful. It was ferociously emotional and bordered on sounding obsessive, but full of longing.

I simply had to ask William about it tomorrow. The prompt for tomorrow was “piano player and his muse,” so while the CD wasn’t a huge surprise, the song was.

I checked my e-mail while the computer was still open, and found a simple note from William: “Hope you’re enjoying listening to your hint.”

Okay, so I have a confession—I brought two things into school today that I probably shouldn’t have.

One—my headphones. I ripped William’s song and had been listening to it on loop during my free periods while I graded some multiple-choice tests the teacher had left for me.

Two—I just lied about grading. During my free periods, I read his journals.

Apparently, finally, after a complete dry spell in the 1960s, William sort of got a taste of what he was looking for in the early seventies. I mean, if this were really William. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been.

January 24, 1972

Dear Journal,

Her name rhymes with pain for a good reason. Today, for the first time, I truly felt the pain of submitting to a sadistic Domme.

She is like me—vampire—and her name is Laine.

I am not attracted to her. Her body was strangely pear-shaped and I didn’t like the smell of her.

Nothing that we did was sexual anyway. The only touches my body received were from sharp fingernails that broke through my skin and tore deep slices in my arms and legs. I’m healed but slightly scarred.

The vampire world is a small one. When I finally confessed to my small group of friends that I was looking for a vampire Domme, my niece Breanna called Laine, who she had met decades ago. I was humiliated, and not just because a family member knew about my shameful secret. I was “out,” and it felt very confining. People close to me looked at me differently.

But if Laine was worth it, I didn’t care.

The next day, I arrived in San Diego for my “date.”

There were no pleasantries. She simply asked me to wear a white linen robe and nothing else.

She smiled like a deranged hyena as she flayed me with her hands and bit me hard on the shoulder. She verbally abused and mocked me. She beat me and cut me and I begged for more, intrigued by this new sensation.

When she felt satisfied by her reign of terror, she walked out and I gathered myself on the cold marble floor.

This was something. I felt it. I felt pain. She dominated me like nobody else had.

And yet, it was not enough.

There was nothing arousing about it. I wasn’t turned on, and it certainly wasn’t an experience I’d use to fantasize about in the future.

No, this wasn’t what I wanted, either.

Resolved to continue my search for pleasure and pain,

William

If they got close enough to me, I wondered if these students would know that I was turned on. Like, could they see that my blush went down into my shirt or something? I felt like I had a sign that said HORNY around my neck.

I wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing William today. Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be getting an e-mail, I was transfixed on his story. Yet, all day, the only thing I could think about was those journals, and I never ever re-created or revisited a scene.

But I wanted to. I wanted to give him exactly what he has been looking for. The idea that I was someone who could bring satisfaction to a man who has had decades of unrequited desires was absolutely captivating.

I steeled my resolve. I wouldn’t mention the scene again, but I would give him exactly what he needed.

I decided to e-mail him.

From: Cerise Norrel

Subject: Angry Mistress

Date: May 4, 2012

To: William Gentry

Submissive,

While yesterday’s scene was very pleasing, I reminded you that you broke a cardinal rule of mine when you mentioned something in the hallway that was related to the day’s “plot.” I have said several times, including in our nondisclosure agreement, that you may not revisit or discuss a scene after it has ended. The scene ends in the bedroom.

When you arrive today at my house, I’d like for you to go to my toy chest. You saw where it was yesterday—I got the ropes from it.

You are to pick the flogger of your choice and give yourself ten lashes across your thighs.

I want to see red. Show me how sorry you feel, and I may spare you an additional ten.

Mistress Cherry

I centered myself and began thinking about today’s scene.

Now, how the hell was I supposed to think about classical music when all I wanted to do was read about the sexual misadventures of a vampire submissive?

By the way, that would make an awesome band name. Ladies and gentlemen, The Sexual Misadventures of a Vampire Submissive!

And the crowd goes wild.

“Sup, slut?” Erin answered.

I sat in my car during lunch break, anxious to talk to Erin. I couldn’t wait to tell her about my exploits with Chilly Willy.

“I’d say a whole lot,” I teased. I should make her work for it, I decided.

“Spill your guts. Chilly Willy. Details. Now.”

I looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was near my car. Couldn’t have a student walking by as I detailed tying up some guy I just met.

“He’s impressive,” I said confidently. “Very creative, intelligent, mysterious. I’d give him a nine out of ten, so far.” I subtracted a point for mentioning the scene after it was over.

“Really?” Erin asked, intrigued. “The highest you ever rated Brent was an eight,” she laughed. “Now that I’m fucking him, I gotta tell you, eight is low.”

“Well, my needs are different from yours,” I clarified. Erin was more of a straightforward Domme, whereas I was a scene fetishist.

I heard a harsh laugh. “Yeah, Brent’s pretty psyched he doesn’t have to do those whacky scenarios anymore, chica. He just gets to be shackled and tortured and pleasured.”

I was silent. Even for Erin, that comment was a little too insensitive for my liking.

“Honey,” she said after a moment, “Brent says nothing but good things about you. He’s mostly kidding about the scenes. He had fun with it, but it was exhausting.”

“I know,” I said, deciding to turn the subject back to William, “and that’s why William is so refreshing. He’s so creative.”

I heard a low whistle. “Yeah, but how is he in bed? Did he freak you out? Did he run?”

Should I divulge details?

I hunched down in the seat, again to make sure no student nearby could hear the naughty details. “Let’s just say he’s masterful with his hands and took care of me in so many ways.” Telling partial truths wasn’t lying, right?

“Hmm,” she said approvingly, “sounds like all those girls were overreacting. I’m proud of you, Cerise. Taking on a real challenge. Good for you.”

I smiled and did a little victory dance. It sort of looked like a seated running man.

“I’ve been thinking about him nonstop. I can’t wait for today,” I said, and as soon as it came out, I knew I had said too much.

“Careful,” she cautioned. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Keep your cool.”

“I will,” I said, attempting to end the call before the bell rang for the next class to start. “Talk to you soon. See you Saturday.” As happy as I was about William, Erin’s comments had set me off. I began thinking of things I shouldn’t.

My last scene with Brent. My mind flashed to the outfit hanging in the bathroom. The unclaimed ring. The fluffy white dress. The long lace veil.

As I walked back to class, I could have sworn I smelled the bittersweet scent of almond massage oil and red wine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cerise

I swear on all that’s holy, the kids were on chat steroids today.

“Miss Norrel, do you shop at Hot Topic?” Dylan asked as I walked in.

I looked down at my Ramones tee shirt. “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

“No, just other teachers are frumpy as hell.”

I pointed at him. “Don’t swear.”

Another kid chimed in. “Hell isn’t a real swear word—it’s like damn or sucks.”

I handed out worksheets, and shushed them with my secret Domme voice. I was imagining William at home, gagged and bound, and they just wouldn’t shut up so I could daydream.

“Miss N, will you take us to a Battle of the Bands in Boston? We need an adult,” Emma begged.

“Sorry, hon, I don’t think they’d allow a substitute to assemble a field trip, and I’d be liable if I drove you anywhere,” I answered. Five of her friends pouted.

“Do you watch American Idol?”

“Enough with the questions! What’s your deal today, guys?” I asked, exasperated.

They laughed a bit, but more than one of them tried to answer.

“You actually talk to us,” one said.

“Like we’re people,” another retorted.

I went up and down the rows, putting checks or zeroes on their homework as I had been asked to. “You are people. And I do like talking to you.”

“Just tell people that Gunderson tried to look up your skirt and replace him.”

“Enough!” I growled, and the snickering continued, but hopefully I didn’t get their hopes up. It was true, I did love these kids, but I really didn’t want to put roots down in any school.

Especially a school with chatty kids who didn’t let me fantasize about my scenes.

Unlike many lifestyle Dommes I knew, I did my scenes during the workweek. All my friends in the community prefer two or three-day weekends with their subs so they could do what they want at their leisure.

Me? I needed those scenes to get me through the workday. No idea why more people didn’t do it this way. Walking into school on a Tuesday knowing I was gonna get my socks rocked off later on? Amazing. Fridays were fine because I knew that once I went home, I wouldn’t change out of my flannel jams for days on end. Ahhhh, comfort. Cotton, the commercials were true—you really are the fabric of our lives.

As I walked out of the building, I realized I didn’t even wear socks today since I knew William was going to rock them off. Plus, socks with high heels was like wearing white after Labor Day. I shuddered at the thought.

I couldn’t get William’s song out of my head. He didn’t reply to the e-mail. I didn’t expect him to. But back to what had tormented me all day—the haunting piano, the passionate notes. Would he have the CD on when I got in? Did he have a choreographed fuck routine ready that went along with the rhythms of the tune?

Then there were the journals. My mind could not discern anything about them—their origin, that story, when he even got time to write them. The list went on. I put it from my mind as I pulled into the driveway. I noted that there were at least fifteen steps from my car to the door, so if he really were a vampire, he would have fried today. The sun was completely unobscured by clouds, so unless I found a pile of charred handsomeness at my doorstep, he was not a vampire.

I checked inside—no ashes, but my ears were delighted to hear that eerily beautiful tune as I walked through my front door. I smiled and my feet nearly danced their way into the bathroom, where I would find today’s outfit hanging.

I gasped audibly and blushed. There, hanging on my shower curtain, was a ball gown fit for the Oscars. It was a deep gold with layer upon layer of diaphanous material. Some sparkle and shimmer, but nothing over the top. Honestly, it looked like something an opera singer would perform in. Something grand and glorious that could be seen from afar. It even came with long, matching gloves. I had to check the tag. Balenciaga? Badgley Mischka? No tag. Did he cut it out? The Vogue reader inside me was desperate to know.

It fit like a dream. The sweetheart neckline accentuated my décolletage, and the flare at the waist gave me an enticing hourglass look. I had always considered my body type to be more of a “ruler” than an “hourglass.” The word ruler kind of turned me on, and I decided I was ready to step out, preparing to debut my role as today’s character—the diva.

I walked slowly toward my bedroom, ready to see his muscular body (reddened thighs and all), but realized the music was coming from my dining room. I followed my ears and was rewarded.

This time I was sure he heard my gasp, which was accompanied by my gloved hand fluttering to my mouth and my eyes widening as far as my lids would stretch. He smiled, and kept playing.

Playing the grand piano that was now sitting in my dining room.

I almost rubbed my eyes like a kid coming down the stairs on Christmas morning to see that instead of getting presents, Santa actually came through and got her a pony.

William was clad in a black-tie tuxedo, gloves and all, playing piano where my dining room table used to be.

I did not care where my table was. I got it cheap on Craigslist from some creepy dude named Hal who lived a town over.

I did care about not looking like an utter fool, drooling over the demigod playing the most beautiful music human ears had ever heard. I assumed my role.

He stopped when he saw me waiting.

“Continue playing for me.”

He put his fingers to the keys for another song, then rose. “Miss Norrel, I’m delighted you accepted my invitation,” he said smoothly, walking over to me. He took my hand and kissed my glove politely. “O, that I were a glove upon that hand,” he said, quoting Romeo and Juliet.

Bizzy said, I’ve got your glove right here, but I told her to get some class or she wouldn’t be seeing any action. As much as I loved her, it was like having a heckler. I was trying to play a role here!

“Your invitation was vague, Mr. Gentry,” I said sharply. “Would you like to clarify?”

He nodded politely. “Of course. As a singer of your caliber, I know you are a busy woman. I brought you here tonight so I could audition for you privately. I know your usual pianist has moved to England, and I was hoping to win you over. Would you kindly come listen to me play for you?” He gestured grandly to the piano.

It was a Steinway. They cost tens of thousands of dollars. Who the hell was William Gentry and why was I lucky enough to have him in my home, ready to please me? He looked older today—not a bad thing, just different. Perhaps it was because the tuxedo made him look sophisticated.

“Please,” I managed to say, as I followed him over to the piano. “Play for me.”

He ran his gloved fingers across the keys deftly, and I nearly salivated. His motions were so graceful, and yet so powerful. As he began to play, I found myself at a loss for words. I simply moved closer to the bench so I could get a better look at my pianist, and listen. I watched his face, enraptured by the music, shaking slowly back and forth to the tune. Sometimes he closed his eyes and threw his head back. I licked my lips. I wanted him now.

“That will be enough,” I said, breathily.

“Miss Norrel,” he said, “are my skills not to your liking?” He attempted to rise, but I held my hand down on his shoulder, indicating that he stay.

“You passed the audition,” I said, scooting between him and the keys. His head was nearly pressed to my breasts and he looked up at me with near-palpable anticipation. “However, I need to see a demonstration of your stamina. I have a very rigorous schedule, Mr. Gentry, and I have to make sure you are up to my standards.”

“Whatever you desire,” he breathed. I felt his exhalation on my chest, and my breath hitched.

“That’s right,” I said, “whatever I desire.”

“Of course. Are you going to punish me?”

“I’m going to fuck you.”

I grabbed him by the bow tie and pulled him to standing as I perched myself upon the piano. I thought I heard a soft growl escape from his throat, and I quickly unzipped his pants and reached into his silk boxers and he gasped. No hesitation—I knew what I wanted, and I wanted it right fucking now. My gloved fingers wrapped around their desired target and I pulled him up against me wordlessly, not even bothering to remove any clothing.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Please, Mistress,” he begged for permission. I nodded, and his hands fluttered through the layers of my full skirt to expose my spread legs.

I pushed aside the fabric of my thong and forced him inside me. Ever since I laid eyes on this man, I wanted him. Why bother kissing or bantering words? I wanted his cock, and now I had it.

We groaned simultaneously and the piano keys whined. He gently put his hands on my hips as I watched his ferociously aroused expression.

Once he was sufficiently settled in position, William began to move.

The man was a fucking jackhammer.

I gripped the piano for dear life as my fully tuxedoed submissive serviced me roughly. “Fuck, William,” I moaned with surprise. I never expected such aggression during our first time, but I wasn’t going to complain.

“Is this what you desired?” he panted, removing one hand to tickle the piano keys softly.

“Just play me.”

He smiled wickedly and placed his free hand between us, working me with his thumb.

“Mmm, I think I can make you hit a high note,” he said, flicking gently as I squealed.

As my grip on the piano tightened, I watched him work. His eyelids fluttered, and his mouth was caught between a smile and a snarl. I clenched my teeth as I rode out the waves of pleasure he dealt. I was beyond feeling, beyond words. I couldn’t tell if he was cold; all I knew was that he was inside me and that was perhaps all I would ever want. Nothing had ever felt this good. Ever.

And we stayed there, fully clothed and fucking, for what seemed like hours.

I called him my toy, my slut, and taunted him.

I stretched my legs and wrapped them around his shoulders. He groaned and watched with a curious smile as our bodies slid apart and back together.

“You feel so good,” he whispered. “So good.” I whimpered at the sound of his low voice, and the vibrations it sent throughout my body.

But I needed more and wanted it deeper, so I sat him on the bench and mounted him, sliding down slowly, inch by inch, teasing him. When I was fully settled, I began to rock back and forth, grinding myself against his hips and pushing down on his shoulders for leverage.

I noticed his eyes settling on my cleavage, so I yanked down the top of the dress, exposing my breasts.

He stroked my chest with his gloved hands gently, and I squirmed beneath the silky touch. He watched my body heave as he gave my nipples a soft pinch, and I ground into him deeper and harder.

And while the entire experience pretty much felt like one long orgasm, I realized I needed something to push me over the edge. One more thing that would do the trick.

I undid the sash of my gown and blindfolded him with it. His eyes closed slowly as I wrapped the luxurious fabric around his temples. “Yes,” he goaded. “More.”

“More?” I asked, undoing his bow tie. “How about this?” I made the tie into a makeshift gag and stuffed it into his open mouth.

And the sight of him beneath me, bound and gagged, was my undoing, and my body unraveled explosively.

“You may come, submissive,” I said to him, and he did as he was told.

Like a good boy.

I needed a moment to calm the fuck down, so I sauntered casually over to the fridge and opened the door.

“I know you won’t eat,” I said passively, “but please stay while I make myself some dinner. I’d love to talk.” Between the journals and the music, I simply had to talk to this man who had just rocked my world.

He approached me, straightening his tux, composed already. “Mistress, would you like me to prepare you dinner while you make yourself more comfortable? As breathtaking as the dress is, I doubt it’s terribly comfy.”

I smirked at his offer and kind gesture. “That’s why I like the weekends,” I explained. “Once I get home from school on a Friday, I wear flannel until Monday,” I laughed, then looked at him seriously. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Gentry?”

His eyes searched me. “I’m sure if pressed, I could find something,” he joked.

“Well, start thinking, because I might just press,” I said, placing my hands on his hard chest. “There are plenty of ingredients to work with in the fridge and cabinets. I’m not picky . . . when it comes to food, that is.”

“I don’t see any recipe books,” he said, eyes scanning my counter, “but I would like to learn your food preferences. May I prepare you something from this?” He began walking toward my recipe box.

No!

“That’s all right. Those are my mom’s recipes, and she’s a real cunt.” He nodded, backing away from the box. “But enough about dinner,” I said, changing the subject. “I would like to see the results of your penance.”

He began assembling ingredients. “Penance?” he asked.

I frowned. “My e-mail,” I grunted through my teeth.

He shook his head, looking very upset with himself. “I hadn’t checked my e-mail today—I was picking up the piano and gown. I won’t make this mistake again, I promise,” he said, defeated.

I felt guilty, but still pushed him.

“Please do as it says when you get home. I’ll send you off tonight with a flogger of my choosing.”

“Of course.”

I decided to take a shower. It gave me a great opportunity to pull myself together. I took my time in the bathroom. I wanted to come out to a cooked dinner, not a meal in progress. So I exfoliated, I conditioned, I buffed, I brushed. When I got out, I moisturized and blew my hair straight and clipped in a few colorful extensions. Since my hair was sort of a boring, dark blond, I liked to mix it up with some funky strips of blue or sometimes pink. And when I’m Domming, red. Lots of it.

Deciding what to wear right then was a challenge for me. I liked wearing black in the presence of my submissives, just to remind them of my position. However, some of the things that William had given me yesterday simply screamed to be worn. I selected the navy blue silk pajamas—the top was a satin and lace camisole and the bottoms were satin drawstring pants. Covered but sexy and casual. And the navy was dark enough to be considered a variation on black. Nice.

I stepped out to otherworldly aromas.

“Tortellini with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes,” he said, and poured me a glass of white wine.

I pulled up a seat, puzzled. “Pesto?” I asked. “I don’t have pesto in the fridge.”

He gestured to the food processor in the sink. “I made it. You had a nice bundle of basil, along with some cheese, olive oil, and pine nuts.”

Holy Jamie Oliver without the lisp—the man made me homemade pesto? Oh, and he fucked the bejeezus out of me, too.

“You are a master of improvisation. Good,” I said. “Please, sit.”

He complied, and watched me eat. Normally that would be quite unnerving, but his attention was fixed solely on giving me what I wanted. And right now, I wanted food.

I savored the first bite. Delicious.

“Is the meal to your liking?” he asked. The oven beeped and he got up. “I had taken a number of cooking classes when I lived in Tuscany with my parents, so I hope I learned enough.”

“Seriously? Yes, it’s perfect,” I said after swallowing. “But what’s in the oven?”

He pulled out a tray. “I made garlic bread.”

Well, there goes the “he’s really a vampire” theory again, I thought. Garlic bread = dead vampire, right? Maybe I should tease him with holy water ice cubes on his nips just to make sure.

I was somewhat deflated by this revelation, then realized I was insane for even considering it. “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Really, you’re so . . . I don’t know . . . worldly. Artsy. I don’t know.”

He shrugged. “I like to learn things. And art comes in many forms. I guess I just wanted to master them all.”

“Tell me about that music,” I said between bites.

“The piece I played today and on the CD?” he asked, smirking, eyes lowered. “That’s an original composition, Mistress Cherry. Did you enjoy it?”

I nodded, mouth full and eyes wide. Original?

“I have been playing the piano for a very long time. I actually prefer guitar, though. I eventually tired of playing the same composers over and over, so whenever I’m inspired, I write music myself.” He ran his fingers across the kitchen table as though there were invisible keys. “I find it soothing. Music is something I truly enjoy.”

I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and motioned for him to go on. All that orgasming made me hungry. “What do you typically listen to?”

“As far as classical composers go, I enjoy Mozart. When it comes to modern stuff, I—” He stopped, and looked sheepish.

I swallowed. “Come on,” I said. “Don’t be shy. After scenes, I’d like you to really be yourself. You make me curious.”

He laughed and covered his face. “Thank you, Mistress. Honestly, I know I’ll sound like a fifteen-year-old kid, but I really love punk. Especially Believers Never Die.”

And I saw God for the second time today. “They are . . . my favorite band . . . of all time,” I said, then became skeptical. “Did you look at my CD collection while you were getting ready, or do you really enjoy them?” I narrowed my eyes menacingly.

He looked shocked, but eager to continue. “No—I genuinely love them. Now, I get in this debate with my niece Breanna all the time—do you think their best work was before or after they got their new drummer? I actually have a soft spot for their most recent CD. Breanna thinks I’m crazy.”

He really does listen to them. “I love A Madness Shared by Two. It was totally panned by critics and hard-core fans, but I think it has some of their best stuff ever.”

He truly grinned for the first time since we’d met. “Favorite song?” he asked.

I shook my head. “While I’d love to do a favorite ten, I’ll think for a moment and come up with one.” My mind mentally inventoried about fifty contenders until settling. “Work the Room,” I said with conviction.

He hopped up and made his way from the kitchen into the dining room to where the piano sat. To my delight, he then began playing the raucous anthem. “Punk on a piano?” I asked incredulously.

Moosh.

Although I was able to keep myself together outwardly, my body and soul turned into a gooey porridgelike substance and I thought I was going to make a mess all over the floor. Luckily, I remained solid and finished eating while he serenaded me with my favorite song.

When he was done, I applauded with sincerity. “My boy is quite a catch. I’m glad you approached me this past weekend,” I confessed. “I’m really looking forward to more—” I stopped, at a loss for words. “More everything,” I finished.

He smiled shyly, looking at the ground. “Thank you, Mistress.” He got up and cleared my plate. “I truly wish to serve you. Role-play is something I’ve never explored, and between your plans and my original scenes, I’m really looking forward to this.”

“Another art for you to master,” I joked.

“In a way,” he said smiling. He stood up and headed to the sink. “Speaking of art, I’m teaching a pottery class tomorrow at work around six—would you like to come?”

Again with the invitations to do normal things.

“Thanks, but no. Tell me about your niece—you sound very close. Is she in high school? I wonder if I know her.”

He shrugged. “She’s actually older than me. It’s a long story. Anyway, since none of our parents are around, she’s pretty much my only family. We live with a couple of friends in a town house complex by Strawbery Banke.”

“I love that part of town. Really nice for taking a run,” I said, trying to sound athletic. I really didn’t go for runs, but by his body, I bet he did.

“We’ve been there for a few years. I used to live in Philly,” he said, washing out the pots and pans he used. “So, are you substituting until you find a permanent position?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I have my certification, and I’ve been offered plenty of full-time jobs. I just don’t like being tied down to one place,” I said, laughing at my choice of words. He just shook his head, smirking. I continued before I forgot what we were talking about. “Plus, I make my own hours—if I don’t feel like going in, I don’t.”

He nodded, interested.

I sipped at the wine, contemplating my next move. I had just given him two precious things—my encouragement, and more important, myself. A glimpse into who his mistress truly was when she wasn’t wearing her high heels. I pulled back a bit.

I went into my bedroom and pulled out a rubber flogger. From what I’d been told, it stung nicely. “You’re excused for the night, William. Thank you.”

I was worried this harsh move—this cutting off of conversation—would unsettle him. I wanted it to, since he shouldn’t get too close to me just yet.

Instead, as he was wont to do, he surprised me again.

He approached me, and lowered to his knees. He bent lower, and gently kissed each of my bare feet.

He looked up with utter submission and reverence.

“I live only to serve you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cerise

Today I was at a local private school and I gritted my teeth as I watched the students interact. I desperately wanted to intervene. I knew what he was doing; I knew his type. I knew he was toying with her, just as my ex, Nick, had toyed with me all those years before.

But we were not supposed to interfere when it came to students’ personal lives.

To me, it was all too personal.

Two juniors, Hannah and Scott, were talking. I didn’t like the direction of the conversation. I was grading tests during a study period, and they were sitting in the front row. I couldn’t help but overhear.

“You have such bad self-esteem,” Scott crooned at her. “Why do you think I’m not being serious?”

Hannah was in defense mode, arms wrapped around herself, as though she were cold.

It was May.

“Because you don’t know me. Why would you be asking me out? You were my lab partner for a year and never said a word to me other than to ask for answers.” She was a smart kid, Hannah. Very plain and mousey, and definitely not Scott’s type—and she knew it. She smelled a rat. Good for her.

I wish I had the same kind of self-awareness as Hannah when I was her age.

“Just give me a chance,” Scott said, as a chorus of boys snickered in the back. “Can I take you to a movie this weekend? Just out for coffee?”

She looked at him skeptically. “You drink coffee?” she asked dryly, pushing the long strawberry-blond hair off her shoulder. “Since when?”

He leaned toward her. “Since I noticed that every day you bring in a large Dunkin’ Donuts hazelnut—cream, two Splenda.”

Her head cocked to the side. Shit. She was falling for it. I almost wanted to hop up and pull the fire alarm just to get her out of this situation.

“You noticed that?” she asked quietly. Hannah—no!

Scott smiled sweetly, the fucker. “I notice a lot of things.” Five kids at the back couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter, and I frowned at them and glared.

“I guess we could have coffee,” she said, pretending not to care. Only she did. Maybe Hannah wasn’t smarter than I was after all.

“I’ll bring you coffee this week in the morning, then this weekend we’ll go to the movies,” he negotiated.

Her resolve broke down like a stale cafeteria cookie. The Otis Spunkmeyer kind. The most absurd brand name in history. “Okay.”

I had nearly bit through my lip with frustration. This kid was just another Nick, and Hannah was just another stupid girl, falling for the oldest trick in the book.

“Silent study—too much chatting,” I said, intervening as minimally as I could. The kids groaned, but assented.

“If anyone needs help, just come on up,” I offered, softening the blow.

I logged on to the computer and sat in silence, jaw clenched angrily.

Thank God an e-mail from William was there to distract me from my painful memories. It looked as if he was off and running with today’s prompt: soldier and nurse. Because he had used his free day on the vampire scenario, I came up with today’s roles.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Report from the field

Date: May 5, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Nurse Norrel,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Nights have been lonely on the battlefield, and writing letters to you has been a welcome distraction from the constant gunfire and cold.

Hopefully you haven’t had to see many casualties, since you’re stationed west of the front. I hate being in the thick of it, but at the same time, I can’t imagine being farther back, like you are. Never knowing if and when the front will crumble, and you’ll be invaded. At least I know my fate.

I hope to God we make it out of this war alive. All I want to do is hold you in my arms and never let you go. I’ve never met a woman like you. Most girls throw themselves at soldiers as thanks for “doing their part.” But you—you made me work for it. You made me court you, hound after you, and chase you until you found me worthy.

Most men would tire of this, but I only crave more. At night, when I look at the picture of you in my breast pocket, I don’t imagine you the way most men picture their sweethearts. I’m not taking advantage of you, or even kissing you.

I’m worshipping at your feet. All I want to do is give you everything you want and more.

When this war is over, that is my goal. Whatever you need, I will supply, whether that be a warm home, or a man to indulge your every fantasy.

Yours always,

Lt. William Gentry

The most sexy and sigh-provoking image came into my head—have mercy on my soul—William in a uniform.

I typed rapidly, fingers aflame.

From: Cerise Norrel

Subject: Re: Report from the field

Date: May 5, 2012

To: William Gentry

William,

Thank you for your kind letters. They remind me daily of why I selected you above all the other officers that tried to court me. You are truly impressive, and I look forward to the next time you may show your appreciation for me.

Tonight may offer you this luxury. A few officials from my troupe are headed in your direction on a routine patrol—I can offer to tag along. They’ll be attending the local pub in your area, and I will have an hour or so to myself before they return.

Have something special planned.

Sincerely,

Nurse Norrel

I licked my lips and pictured what he may have arranged. We may very well be playing doctor tonight.

I wanted another e-mail. After I hit SEND, I wished that I had included some sort of prompt that would get him to respond.

I needed something to distract me from the memories being dug up by the interaction between Hannah and Scott, now sitting together at a table, flirting.

I wished I could erase my sophomore year entirely.

“Hey, Cerise, you know what I’ve always wanted to do?” my new boyfriend, Nick, asked.

“What?” I asked, eyes glazed. I stared at him in his spiky-haired glory. He was a bad boy, and he wanted me. The meek little girl from his history class. He had asked me out last week—completely out of nowhere.

“I’d really love to go ice skating with you. Hold hands. Drink some cocoa together,” he said.

Oh my God, I was so lucky. It’s like he was reading right out of my diary. Ice skating and cocoa was, like, my dream date.

“That sounds great, Nick,” I said, probably looking doe-eyed. I couldn’t help it; there was something so wrong about it. It felt right.

He smiled, and glanced toward the back of the classroom. “You called all the shots on our first date,” he laughed, “now it’s my turn. I want to be the one bossing you around.” He kissed my nose playfully. “Sharpen your skates, little girl.”

My face burned. I was upset that he had noticed my bossy nature. So what, I picked where we went? So what, I was the one to lean in for a kiss? I’m assertive. I’m a modern woman. Still, if he wanted to call the shots, I’d let him.

I’d probably let him do anything. He was so dreamy. And my dad hated him. And I loved it.

And, for the second time that week, his friends started uncontrollably laughing.

William’s timing was impeccable. Just as I was starting to nearly convulse with anger, a reply popped up unexpectedly.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Re: Report from the field

Date: May 5, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Sorry for the “out of character” response, but I wanted you to know I sent you a picture text. I’m not sure if you keep your phone on you during the day.

—W

Well, “W,” it just so happens I kept it on me, just turned off. But now that I knew I’d be getting picture messages . . .

. . . Oh wow.

. . . Wow.

. . . Unffff.

I had always found “taking my picture in the mirror” photos to be very tacky, but this one . . . drool.

Compose yourself, Bizzy.

Okay, this one was decidedly going to be my phone’s wallpaper indefinitely.

William, naked, holding my flogger in front of his boy parts, with the reddest thighs I’d ever seen. His face looked proud and yet subservient. I wanted more than anything to go home sick, but unfortunately, I had to give out a test next period and the other substitute who was in today had the intellect of a carrot.

But, like a trooper, I plodded on for another hour and a half. While proctoring the test, I did a little doodle of William’s . . . well, doodle. Big doodle. Hell, it wasn’t a doodle, it was a dong. A King Kong–sized dong that I was going to hit hard, like a frat boy to a bong. Wow, I was like a horny Domme Dr. Seuss. Then again, the guy wrote Hop on Pop, which sounded pretty dirty itself.

During the drive home, I nearly blew through every red light on the way. My house was only ten minutes from school, but it felt like forever.

I couldn’t wait to see my soldier. My lonely boy, out on the front, whose only thoughts were of me. I shivered, and Bizzy started singing some R. Kelly. I called her a perv and walked inside.

The house was silent. Okay, so no swing music in the background, that was fine, it was his scene.

In the bathroom hung a really impressive costume. William was nothing if not historically accurate. I pictured some white vinyl naughty nurse’s outfit, but apparently Mr. Gentry had a thing for wool and linen. It looked like it belonged in a museum, or on the set of some movie. He even had NURSE NORREL stitched into the uniform. I shook my head, and slipped the nurse outfit on and assumed the guise of a stern but horny-as-fuck field nurse.

A quiet groan echoed in the hallway as I stepped out.

He was pleasuring himself, from the sounds of it.

I wanted to catch him in the act, and maybe watch. And maybe help, I thought to myself as I opened the door and was treated to a different sight altogether.

William lay in my bed, his uniform tattered, his head bandaged.

Groaning in “pain.”

“What happened, Lieutenant?” I asked, approaching him. I sat by his side and clutched his fingers sympathetically.

He looked absolutely delectable . . . and young. The uniform was fitted to his body perfectly, and I could see the outlines of all his muscles under the coarse uniform’s fabric, which was torn and singed in spots. He looked up at me, reverently.

“Thank God you’re here—my angel,” he said quietly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“William, what happened out there?”

“I don’t know—a grenade? I was knocked out, and—” he said, dropping off, head lolling to the side, floating in and out of consciousness.

I put my hand on his smooth, graceful neck and pretended to take his pulse. “Don’t talk, William. Save your strength for me.”

He smiled, wincing. “Anything for you.” His hand reached up to me, and softly stroked my hair.

Then he cupped my cheek and drew me to him.

Only then did it dawn on me that we had never kissed.

“William,” I whispered as his hands guided my face toward his.

“My angel,” he repeated, his breath tickling my nose.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He moaned lightly and parted his mouth to me. Our lips slid against each other, dry at first. He felt like rose petals and tasted like cool mint.

I felt his tongue breach my lips and I sucked on it gently. I leaned farther into his embrace and allowed him access deep into my mouth. It felt so good—now it was my turn to moan.

I felt his body tense, and realized my poor officer needed more than my kisses.

“Let me see your wounds, Lieutenant.”

I began to unbutton the shirt of his dark-green uniform. He tensed, almost afraid.

I opened his shirt and ran my hand down the most perfect chest I had ever seen. Muscular but not bulky. “You seem to have suffered no damage to your torso,” I said slowly. “But I need to make sure you don’t have any other wounds.” I tugged the sleeves down, and pulled the shirt off gingerly. He pretended to wince. I slinked my hands up and down his arms, turning his hands over, checking for injuries. In reality, I was absolutely worshipping his smooth complexion. His skin felt—it’s impossible to describe. William’s skin was silky, like slipping on a satin nightie. But I wanted him to slip me on.

His expression was nearly terrified as I ran my hands all over his skin. “What’s your diagnosis?” he asked wearily.

I smiled, saying, “I’m not done, Lieutenant. Not by a long shot.”

When my fingers rested on his belt buckle, he finally relaxed into a smile. “I’m not worried. I know I’m in expert hands,” he said.

I tightened my grip on the waistband of his pants. “You’re not really in my hands, yet. Trust me . . . ,” I said, leaning in, “you’ll know.”

He threw his head back and watched me work. I unzipped his trousers and slid them around his ankles. First and foremost, I wanted to inspect his actual wound—his flogger-induced redness.

“Oh my,” I said, “I think we finally have an injury.” I ran my hand over the skin, examining the pink patches on his thighs, expecting them to feel warmer to the touch.

They weren’t. The spots were an odd shade of pink—nothing like I had ever seen on a sub. Then again, nothing about William was ordinary. I pressed my finger down hard, expecting him to wince or expecting the spot to further redden.

It didn’t.

I met his gaze. Again, his expression was concerned.

“I think you’ll live,” I said curtly. “These look painful, but in war, these things happen. You’ll barely see the marks tomorrow.”

He sighed, relieved.

I pulled the pants off his legs and removed his socks. God, he even had beautiful feet. My hands traveled back up his muscular legs.

“What the hell is this?” I asked nobody in particular. On my hand was some pink substance. I began to rub it off.

William sat up, out of character. “Ignore it,” he said boldly.

I gritted my teeth. How indignant of him! I opened my mouth to speak when I noticed that his “redness” was peculiarly . . . streaked.

I ran my pointer finger down his left thigh roughly, and sure enough, a little chunk of pink accumulated on my fingertip.

My mouth frowned, and my eyes constricted into slits. “End of scene. Explain,” I growled.

He drew a deep breath and began to speak. “Mistress, I had mentioned to you during our first conversation how I didn’t redden or bruise,” he said, eyes downward and voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to let you down after such a wonderful experience yesterday, so I did whatever I could to please you. I even replaced your blush,” he said, gesturing toward my bathroom.

Apparently, he had used my MAC blush as his “wound.” Expensive taste for costume makeup.

I was furious on so many levels. He lied. He faked an injury. He disobeyed. He used my fucking MAC! Why couldn’t he have used the cheap dollar-store stuff I had in my makeup bag?

I could barely think.

“Dismissed,” my mouth said to the gorgeous, nearly naked man on my bed.

His eyes searched my face, and his mouth moved silently. “Mistress?” he asked, nearly whimpering.

“We’re done for the week. I’ll see you Monday.”

He sat up on his knees, pleading. “If you’re angry, take it out on me, Mistress. Punish me. I’m so sorry. Do with me what you will.”

I shook my head. “I need to actually desire you to do that, William, and right now I’m so upset, I can’t even see straight. Get out of my house, or explain what the hell is going on.”

I laid my cards out on the table, as they say. I was angry, but I required answers. I needed to show him he didn’t deserve to be in my presence, but I also didn’t want to lose him. Once again, I wanted something I didn’t quite have, and I wasn’t ready to compromise myself for him just yet. We had a few incredible scenes, but that wasn’t enough to win my trust or loyalty.

He planted his hands on his thighs, and lifted his head up to me. His voice sounded like it was being sliced with knives. “You already know everything you need to know, Mistress. What I told you, and the words in those diaries . . . they’re all true.”

I breathed in deeply through my nostrils, and spoke with a shaking voice. “Get. Out.”

CHAPTER NINE

Cerise

Of course he was fucking insane. That was my luck, right? Of course the handsomest, most creative and panty-dampening guy I’d met in years was a complete and total whackjob.

A vampire. Great. How long until he tried to “bite” me, or drag me to some Goth club where he and his weirdo friends would drink pig’s blood and wear plastic fangs and cat-eye contact lenses? How long until we were married and had little Goth kids named Caligula and Artery? Fucking weirdo.

And yet he didn’t seem weird-weird. Sure, he had bizarre skin and other peculiar traits. But, in all honesty, I really couldn’t picture him doing any of that Goth stuff. So why the lies? Occam’s razor dictated that the most obvious answer was usually the right one . . .

. . . so he must actually be insane. Most obvious answer, right?

Truthfully, I was the insane one. I declined all substitute calls today. That wasn’t insane . . . the fact that I stayed home for the day to cry my eyes out and read the rest of his journals . . . that was the crazy part.

I sat on my bed, fully flannelled, with a bowl of Häagen-Dazs Dulce de Leche in one hand and a leather-bound journal of an insane “vampire” in the other. I mean, I knew that sexy manpires were all the rage these days, but seriously, to actually try to get me to believe that he is one? Deranged. And yet I still held this journal in front of me.

What the hell was wrong with me? I told myself years ago I’d never let another guy dupe me. I’d never be lied to again.

But was fiction actually lying?

September 22, 2010

Dear Journal,

I think I need to be alone for a while. I am tired of my family and friends trying to set me up.

“William,” my niece says nearly monthly now, “you need a woman.”

What I need, Bree, is a good spanking and I can’t find anyone to give it to me.

Their latest attempt at matchmaking failed miserably. Steve called down his friends from Philly with the intent that I pair off with one of them—Sarah or Melissa. Both sisters were vapid and utterly soulless, even for our kind. Their temperaments were pleasant enough, but they both exhibited personalities that simply were not strong enough for me.

I’m beginning to worry that my friends just want to be rid of me. Their constant efforts and attempts to cheer me up have taken a new turn after my rejection of both women. Now Steve wants me to maybe get younger and go back to school, so I may pour my attention into my work. Find something to live for.

As if I live at all.

I’m tired of changing my age just to find people that are suitable for me. I’ve vacillated between my thirties and teens so many times I can’t count. A vampire’s body can change its age in seconds—it’s part of our ability to adapt as predators. Sometimes the little old man on the bench is a greater threat than the hulking thug on the corner. This talent ought to make life’s journey more fresh, but instead it is always a disappointment. Each time I grow young, I think more opportunities will open themselves to me, but instead it’s just the same trite experiences with different background music and technology. Plus, I’m enjoying my job, and I don’t want to leave the administration to someone else. My life is good right now, just not the loneliness.

So I paint, I sculpt, I dally in museums, and waste my time in a million ways.

Frustrated and tortured . . . as usual,

William

Okay, I thought to myself as I closed the book, definitely insane.

I mean, if the whole purpose of writing these journals was to set a scene where he seduces me, why include all this unnecessary (albeit fascinating) information? Did he think it would turn me on to hear about his nephew-in-law’s aspirations for him? So strange.

Then, I thought about it more. All of these entries were so consistent. They all exhibited the same personality—the desperate yearning of a lonely soul. Maybe he didn’t work because he was a writer. Maybe he was a really fucking good writer who made enough from his first book to be able to afford not to work and to spend all his money on buying me pianos and gowns.

Fuck me.

I realized I was doing it again: self-sabotage. When it comes to S&M, I was both sides of the coin. I loved the feeling of slapping the ever-loving bejeezus out of someone with a leather whip, but I did the same shit to myself mentally. I was a sadistic masochist. What the hell was it about me that tried to undo any potential happiness that came my way?

I flipped through my recipe box. I didn’t really know why. Was it to remind myself why I had this fetish? To show myself all the fun I’d had over the years? Or was it to prove what a bitch I was—reminding myself of all the men whom I threw away?

I held on to one card a bit too long. The title simply read CHOCOLATE DECADENCE.

I fanned myself, remembering that day.

“Ms. Norrel,” Brent crooned, “I hope you’re hungry.”

I walked into my home, and the scent of chocolate and other indulgent sweets filled the air. I smirked, wondering what Brent had concocted for today’s scene. I didn’t eat all day in anticipation of this buffet.

Hot damn, I thought to myself as I walked into the kitchen. Brent was there, shirtless and collared as usual, licking cake batter off his fingers. He reached into the bowl for more and gave the remaining batter a good stir. I watched his tongue curl around the long length of the spoon and nearly fainted.

“Your usual pastry chef cancelled today, sadly, so the chef asked me to fill in,” he explained in a low voice, seemingly not noticing the chocolate dripping onto his abs.

I could barely control myself.

“Are we to have a tasting?” I asked, and bit my lip in anticipation.

He nodded, an impish grin creeping up his face. “Whatever you’d like.” He walked over to the table and I saw what he had been working on. Cupcakes, some parfaits, a whole array of desserts were placed in front of me.

All desserts, I noticed, that are lickable. Not bad, Brent.

“I think I know what I’d like,” I said, pulling him close to me by his dog collar. I could feel the heat off his chest as I yanked him near. I bent low and slowly licked the drip that had nearly reached his hips.

He groaned.

We “ate.”

I spent the next week getting chocolate out of my ropes.

I frowned at myself for reading any recipe cards having to do with Brent, especially that one. It was one of our best times together—before he got too clingy, too needy. I had always tried to keep a professional distance from my subs, and with good reason. They were to submit to me sexually—that is what they were there for. They were not in my home to be my friends or be my boyfriends. They were there for me to tie up and fuck.

But Brent wanted more, and subsequently, he got less. There were times in the last month when I pictured what it would have been like if I did allow him to be closer to me. What the hell would I do with him? I couldn’t imagine going to the movies with him, or out to dinner with him. He was so submissive that it would have bled into every crevice of our relationship. I bet he’d even cut up my steak for me.

Was this me talking, or was it the Unabomber inside me bent on blowing shit up? I needed a hoodie and sunglasses for that, though, right?

No, I decided, I didn’t need a boyfriend. I never imagined having kids, although I was sure I’d be great at bossing them around. What else were guys good for other than banging? I had people to talk to and hang out with. I had TV and movies for when I got bored. Boys were messy and smelly and entirely unnecessary.

What was the use of a man aside from being something to bounce up and down on?

Ding-dong.

I hated my fucking generic doorbell.

Who the hell was at my house at three in the afternoon? It was rainy and gross, so it sure wasn’t someone selling Verizon FiOS.

I hopped up and wiped the caramel ice cream off my top lip and headed to the door. Shit—I hoped it wasn’t one of my principals. Maybe they figured out I’d been avoiding them . . .

“Mistress,” William whispered as I opened the door.

And nearly shut it in his face. His hand shot up, faster than possible, and kept me from slamming it.

“Please, let me in,” he pleaded. “Just hear me out.”

The Unabomber inside me retreated to her little hermit cave, and I allowed him to step inside. I still seethed at his audacity, but at least I’d let him explain. He was holding a garment bag for some reason.

“Do you actually think I’d do a scene with you today?” I asked, pointing to the garment bag.

He shook his head, blue-violet eyes downcast. “No, Mistress, I—”

“I’m not so sure I want you calling me Mistress,” I hissed. “I’m not sure you deserve it. It’s the weekend, and you have the balls to show up at my house, in the middle of the day, like nothing had happened?” I crossed my arms sternly beneath my breasts, which he wasn’t even noticing. Then again, I was wearing flannel pj’s so they weren’t particularly enticing right then.

“I came over to invite you out tonight. I’d like to take you to dinner in Boston, and then to my favorite museum,” he said smoothly, picking his head up.

My mouth fell open, literally. It was like someone had unhinged my jaw and I was utterly gawking at him.

A date?

“What?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

“I’d like to take you out tonight,” he said, still holding the garment bag close to his body.

I laughed in his face. “First off, who the hell do you think you are asking me out on a date? Don’t you know how this thing works? I make the rules—and I don’t go out to dinner with submissives unless I’m eating off them. Secondly, and you seem to have a good memory so I’m not sure why it’s failing you now, it’s officially the weekend. And that means I don’t do subs, and I don’t change out of my pajamas.” That should shut the book on his argument. I realized, however, that the Unabomber was the one speaking, not me. Truthfully, I kind of wanted to take him up on his offer.

So did Bizzy.

“I didn’t forget about your weekend rules when it comes to flannel,” he said, smirking. “That’s why I brought this.”

William unzipped the garment bag and pulled out a cocktail dress. A couture, adorable, little black flannel cocktail dress.

“One of my friends is a fashion designer, and I told him what I needed, so he whipped up this little number. I think it fits your weekend-worthy criteria—it’s completely flannel and jersey, and he says it’s comfortable enough to wear to bed. The only problem is,” he said, grinning, “I think you’ll have to change out of your slippers.”

Could her jaw drop lower? asked gravity. Yes, why, yes it could. I put my hand under my chin and demurely brought it back to my face.

He walked slowly closer to me, and placed the dress in my immobile hands. “I’ll pick you up around six,” he said softly, spun on one heel, and walked out my door.

Then I promptly stabbed my Unabomber in the throat and got ready for my hot date.

CHAPTER TEN

Cerise

If I had roller skates on, you could call me Sex on Wheels. Damn, I looked fine in this little dress. I never thought flannel, the most unsexy and innocuous fabric of all time, could cling this well to my small curves and still suck in the parts of me that need sucking in. It was a matte black halter dress with sort of crisscrossed ruching along the torso that fell into a swishy skirt that stopped at my knees. I paired it with maroon pumps for effect. I wondered if this fashion designer was that Steve fellow his niece is married to. Then again, I wondered if Steve actually existed outside of the vampire journals.

I heard the purr of the car outside my door, so I slicked on some lipstick—MAC’s Full Bodied, a nice wine color, and walked out the door. The air was warm, finally, considering this had been the coolest spring in New Hampshire history. The sun was just starting to turn the sky pink, and I somehow knew tonight would be amazing. The inner cynic inside me had calmed, soothed by the warmth of the air and the sun.

William was standing at the doorstep with a long, blood-red calla lily. He was wearing a suit—surprisingly well fitted, with a trendy plaid handkerchief artfully folded into the pocket.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, taking my hand. He wasn’t timid in his touch. Usually, he recoils somewhat, perhaps ashamed of his cool complexion, but I slipped my hand into his and squeezed in consent. He smiled and opened the car door for me.

For a few minutes, we drove in relative silence, aside from the classical music pouring out of the car’s sound system. Piano, guitar, and even some lilting flute in the background. All perfectly arranged.

“What is this?” I asked about the tune. “Can’t be another original composition,” I said, immediately embarrassed by my assertion. I felt hesitant tonight. I didn’t know how to talk to him in this capacity. Date capacity. Not spanking or role-playing or post-coital dining.

“Yes, it is. I play many instruments, and we have a recording studio in the basement. I use it frequently, and Breanna loves to bring in friends for some high-tech karaoke sometimes,” he said, looking over at me for far too long. Please keep your eyes on the road, William. “I actually composed it after our talk. The only way I could express what I was feeling was through music, so I recorded it for you to hear.”

I listened to the melody. It thrummed in my ears, demanding to be heard. It was more forceful than his other music, but still soft in its own way. The piano begged; the guitar entreated.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s step one in my efforts to win back the attention of my mistress,” he responded plainly.

I smiled at his candor. “It’s a good start,” I said as we pulled into the parking lot.

The date began unceremoniously, which was honestly a relief. The place was relatively empty for a Friday night, which was nice because we could talk in private. The waiter poured some sparkling water, and I sipped it while staring at William for a moment. The candlelight made him seem more ethereal, and less real than I remembered. The way the dark shadows hung over his eyes while the fire’s glow illuminated his smile made me catch my breath.

“Are you all right, Cerise?” he asked.

I gasped. He had used my name. Then again, we were in public. “I’m fine, Mr. Gentry,” I replied formally. He caught my guarded expression and realized his mistake.

I decided to be bold with my ordering. I picked steak tartare as an appetizer to show him I was brave enough to eat raw meat in front of a “vampire.” To show my unashamedly brutal nature, I ordered foie gras, an old standby for me, even though the stuff was banned in a few states. I was not a member of PETA. For dessert, I selected a chocolate crema, since it involved a lot of licking the spoon.

He just ordered a salad and some pasta. I frowned at his generic selections, but kept my demeanor otherwise cheerful. We were, after all, on a date and not in the bedroom. Which freaked me the fuck out.

“Tell me about your roommates.” I cut to the chase—I needed to know about this fashion designer, fictional niece, everything.

He unfolded his napkin and put it in his lap smoothly. “Breanna is my niece, and we’ve been close for ages. She’s my best friend, and quite possibly the best nurse you’d ever meet. She is the head night nurse at one of my homes. Steven, her husband, is studying law at the moment. I own a few units down by Strawbery Banke, and they live above me, but it’s all connected. I like the company. Next door is my dear friend Harvey and his partner, Claude. Above them is a hippie couple that just smokes pot all day. I think Harvey enjoys the contact high.”

I laughed, “Sounds like a full house.”

“It’s a good time. There’s always someone around to talk to. And it’s big enough that we all have our privacy. What about you? Have you lived at your town house long?”

“A few years,” I replied curtly.

“Where did you live before?”

I shrugged, trying to shake the nervous feeling of having to talk about myself. “College and grad school at Boston University. I prefer New Hampshire to Mass, though.”

“I like the Seacoast better than the city,” he agreed.

“Where did you go?” I asked.

Now it was his turn to laugh nervously. “I’ve moved around quite a bit, and transferred programs more than once. Penn State, Villanova, even Columbia for a time. No school ever really gave me anything I could use until I got my MBA. Gave me the practical knowledge I needed to run a business.” His smoky eyes widened with interest when he began to discuss his job.

“You really seem to like what you do. Most people I know don’t smile when they talk about work,” I joked.

“They love visitors, and it’s nice to make someone’s day. Their stories are great, and having someone new to tell usually gets them all revved up. It’s entertaining. Just last week, this spitfire named Viola moved in. She told me stories about how she was the only woman at her art school, and how she’s mastered at least a dozen positions in our Elder Yoga class. It’s nice to just be an audience, sometimes.”

I nodded in agreement. “Kids are like that. They love substitutes. They tell me all about the teacher I’m covering for, who’s dating whom, and the like. People don’t give teenagers much credit—they can be pretty great people. I’ve actually gotten to know a few of them pretty well, despite being a substitute.”

He leaned forward emphatically. “I feel the same way about my residents. Elderly folks get a bad rap in our society, when in most cultures, they are revered. I wonder if it’s fear of age that makes us keep them at arm’s length.”

“And jealousy of teenagers’ youth.”

His expression darkened. “Youth is an illusion.”

I pursed my lips, not knowing what to make of the comment.

“I just mean that people can do what they want at any age, but they fear other people’s judgments. Youth doesn’t mean a thing.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Just last week, I was up at York Beach and there were three or four guys in their late fifties learning to surf for the first time. A few teenage girls walked by and made a joke about the geezers trying to be young and cool. Poor guys just finished their beers and left.”

“So why is youth an illusion?”

“It’s just something that limits people’s behaviors. People should just do what makes them happy.”

I thought about it for a moment. “Sometimes I clip colored extensions in my hair, and other teachers give me the stink eye.”

He gestured with his pointer finger. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Ignore age altogether and you’ll be happy.”

“How old are you? I honestly can’t tell. You’re either really mature for your twenties, or really relaxed for your thirties.”

William leaned forward, indigo irises examining me quietly. “Doesn’t matter.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

The food came out, and William swirled his spaghetti around his plate while peppering me with more questions. A few times he took a bite and slightly grimaced.

“Okay, Mr. Spanish Inquisition, don’t think I didn’t notice that you left your spaghetti mostly untouched,” I said. “My background is part Italian, and we never let someone get away without eating.” I waggled my finger at him, cautioning, but his face grew somber.

“Hard limit, remember?” he said simply.

“Right.” I flushed with embarrassment. I would never push a hard limit, but because we weren’t in a scene, I thought I’d be all right.

“I had a little something before I came to get you,” he confessed. “Had to settle the nerves somehow. Saltines and root beer.”

I nodded. “I get it. No worries.” I rolled my neck, relieving some tension, and confessed. “I don’t date much . . . or ever. So yeah, I’m nervous, too.”

His shoulders dropped. “Good. I’m relieved,” he said, eyeing me from across the table. “And impressed. My buddy Harvey sure knows how to make flannel appealing.” He smiled roguishly.

I smoothed the dress. “It’s so comfy,” I said. “Maybe my weekends will be more interesting now. Can I thank Harvey personally?”

He took the bait. “Absolutely. He’s thrilled you even accepted my offer to wear it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s busily crafting other weekend outfits for you.”

“That’s very sweet of him,” I said, not knowing how to take this information. How much does Harvey know? How much do his other friends know? Do vampires have friends? “Does he always have this much free time for a friend?”

His face brightened. “He sees how happy I’ve been this week, aside from the past two days, and wants to help in any way he can.”

So, the gorilla in the room decided to make his entrance.

What the hell should I do?

“William, let’s talk about our arrangement,” I said. His body stiffened, anticipating my answer. “I’ll agree to finishing the rest of this month with you, and then we’ll see where things stand. I have to admit, it’s been good, but I must demand your complete honesty with me. This is a mutual agreement between us, and truthfulness works both ways,” I explained stiffly, then softened. “I do want to see more of you,” I confessed.

His entire body relaxed. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, handing me a wrapped parcel from beneath the table. “And in the spirit of honesty, I have something for you. This is my most recent journal.”

I looked at him quizzically, my mind bouncing back and forth between anger and fascination. “Your journal?” I asked. Implying not a vampire’s . . .

“My words, my heart, all in the pages.” His eyes were painfully sincere.

“Okay,” I breathed, and took the package as we headed back to the car. “Thank you.”

The museum we were headed to next was near Fenway Park, and I thought back to the days of my childhood when my dad had been my best friend, and how he would take me to baseball games. “Do you like baseball, William?”

He shrugged. “I’ll watch with Steve if it’s on, but I prefer hockey. It’s faster.”

I nodded. “Hockey’s huge here. God, when I was in college, the hockey players were celebrities on campus.”

He opened the door for me politely. “After you, Mis”—he leaned into my ear and finished the rest—“tress.”

I shivered.

We began in the section that held more traditional paintings. Matisse, Renoir, artists who I had heard of. “This is nice,” I remarked, holding his hand.

“You haven’t said much.”

“I don’t really know what to say. This place is beautiful.”

“Do any of the pieces speak to you?”

I frowned. “I like them, but there’s nothing that makes me want to really look at it longer, the way you do.”

“Whatever draws you in,” he said, tracing my spine with his finger. “It’s just preference, as is everything in life.”

“But what are you looking for when you’re staring at a painting for more than—I don’t know—three seconds?”

“A lot of things, I guess,” he answered, weighing his words. “I suppose I think about the artist, what his life was like when he painted the work, and maybe what inspired it, you know? What story is it telling?”

I sucked at art. “Cool.”

He laughed. “I think you may like modern art. There’s an exhibit upstairs. I think you may react more to it.”

We climbed the stairs together, arms locked, and approached the modern exhibit.

“I’ve never seen this particular artist’s work, but apparently he’s huge in Japan.”

I nodded silently and looked at the “art.”

They were just meaningless swipes of color and dots. The paintings meant nothing to me, and I worried that William would think less of me if I said so.

He lingered for more than a minute at one. It was a bunch of red swirls.

“You like this one,” I noted. “Why?”

He grinned at me with a wicked look. “It reminds me of you.”

I looked at the splotches and tried to find some semblance of me. “Ah, I don’t see it,” I laughed.

“It’s so sexual,” he said low and in my ear. “The curves”— he gestured to one in particular—“especially here. They mirror parts of your body.”

My voice caught in my throat. “Tell me more,” I croaked.

“And the red,” he purred, “is cherry red.” He reached his hand out, almost as if to stroke the thick curls of paint.

“I guess it is pretty sexy.”

He flagged for an attendant. “I’d like to buy this.”

“William!” I gasped, looking back and forth between him and the museum employee.

“Of course, Mr. Gentry,” the man said.

“Um, you know him?” I asked.

The young man nodded. “Mr. Gentry is a patron here.”

“I sometimes buy artwork for my facilities,” William confessed.

Those were some spoiled old people.

“Is this for them?” I asked.

He took my chin in his hand. “No, it’s for you. I’m thinking the big, blank wall across from your bed,” he growled softly after the attendant had taken a check.

“Th-thank you,” I stuttered.

He tipped his mouth to my forehead for a soft kiss. “Anything for you. In fact, as penance, I’ve prepared a special scene for you tomorrow. I know it’s the weekend, but—”

“I accept,” I said, feeling giddy. Erin would understand if I had to reschedule our tea for Sunday.

William and I smiled at each other, and prepared to leave. Our departure was nervous and chaste, like we really were on a first date. He took my hand with tentative fingers, as though I would reject him. Like we had never fucked on a piano or anything. But, you know what? The cool, smooth kiss he gave me on my forehead did more to my hormones than the thought of Johnny Depp tied to a mast.

There was no doubt in my mind anymore—I wanted more Chilly Willy.

I knew that no matter what happened, things would get even more interesting from here on.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

William

There’s the last of it, I thought to myself as I hung up the final Christmas decoration. It was a sprig of mistletoe—one long twig of it, scattered with festive leaves and berries.

It was surprisingly easy to find Christmas decorations at this time of the year. I wasn’t going to use the ones belonging to my family because Breanna logs and categorizes every seasonal piece of décor we have, and then puts them away—alphabetized—in plastic tubs that are color-coded according to each holiday.

Needless to say, while our stock of family ornaments and tinsel was tasteful and plentiful, I would rather not disturb my niece’s OCD filing system and instead just hit up the Dollar Tree. Nestled in a mini-mall down the street from the main shopping center, I found a store with a treasure trove of past-season goods. I had never considered shopping here before, but now that I perused the aisles, I found myself intrigued and somewhat disgusted.

Mainly, they sold out-of-date holiday paraphernalia and past-expiration snacks. I grabbed a box of Little Debbie holiday tree cakes, noticing the 2007 date on the back. I shuddered at what these confections may do to my Cerise’s tummy, and put them back.

I left the store with armloads of garland, candy canes, and festive goodies.

I opted out of the Santa costume. I wanted my mistress pleased, not creeped out. I felt my body stir involuntarily at the thought of what my Domme would do to me today. She was out doing her weekend grocery shopping so I could set up the scene alone.

When I arrived at Cerise’s house, I took great care in moving her bedroom furniture to the spare room. I had the routine down now, although at first, cramming two rooms of furniture together seemed like a daunting puzzle. Once her bedroom was again a clean slate for me, I got to work decorating.

Soon, Cerise would arrive home to an office Christmas party, per her lesson plans. I had e-mailed her last night that our scene would involve her playing the part of “the boss’s wife.” I loved the opportunity to improvise with her.

My mistress was an outstanding actress. It pleased me endlessly that she enjoyed the fun prompts, and each time she would find some clever way to control me.

When I told my friend Melissa about my arrangement with Cerise, she was shocked by the workings of our relationship.

“William,” she growled, “how can you submit to someone if you’re dictating parts of the scene? It makes no sense.” Melissa was a submissive, although sometimes I wondered about her aggressive tendencies. Perhaps she would switch if she met the right girl.

“It’s not like that,” I explained coolly. “For Cerise, sceneing is a fetish. In addition to dominating, she gets off on the surprise role-play I provide. She loves thinking on her toes and being challenged creatively,” I said, gushing. “It makes her an even better Domme. To her, it would be no challenge to simply have me do what she wants. Instead, she showcases her talents on the fly. She’s brilliant.”

She gave me a “Yeah, yeah,” and quickly closed the conversation. She didn’t get it.

She didn’t have to.

What Cerise and I had was special, and we didn’t need anyone else’s approval of how our D/s relationship worked. The bottom line was that we were both incredibly satisfied thus far.

And today, my Cerise would be more than satisfied.

I took care with the outfit I selected for her. I picked out a red wrap blouse that would hug her figure in ways that her “teacher wardrobe” would never allow. I paired it with a tight gray pencil skirt with a long slit up the back. Lastly, and this was a gift from me, a pair of sexy black Louboutin pumps, characteristic red underside matching her blouse perfectly. Definitely a boss’s wife outfit, I decided, pulling out some jewelry to highlight just how much her “husband” made. The silver and ruby choker would look especially lovely against her tanned skin.

I waited patiently in the “office conference room” for Cerise to arrive home. It had a little desk with punch and chips, typical of a work party, along with a bar of cocktails and mixers. I even floated some green sherbet in the punch. I was becoming quite domestic—too bad I would never eat or drink my creations.

I heard the purr of her car as she pulled into the driveway, and the soft jingle of keys as she put her purse down on the table. The bathroom door slammed, and I threw on some holiday tunes and a mistletoe tie while I waited.

“Have a holly jolly, Mrs. Norrel,” I said, handing her a cup of punch as she walked into the “office,” looking like sex on legs. I could barely keep my body from pouncing at her. Forget the blouse hugging her, it was sensuously embracing her. Cerise’s cleavage peeked out so amply, I wanted to accent it with some mistletoe, or stick a candy cane in it. I held back my desire as she took the punch wordlessly from my hands and sauntered over to the bar.

“Thanks, William,” she said, sipping casually. “Any plans for the holidays?” She leaned over, décolletage bouncing slightly. I licked my lips and found words.

“Not really. My family’s heading to visit relatives in Pennsylvania, but I have too much work to catch up on. You?” I tried to break eye contact, not wanting “the boss” to walk in and catch me ogling his wife. I suppressed a smirk—I was getting immersed in my own fictional scene.

She made a sour face with her full lips and groaned. “Ugh. Matthew’s taking me on some cruise. I hate cruises,” she said, raking her hand through her long, curled hair. “He always picks vacations where we’re forced to be together twenty-four-seven. I’d rather just travel and sightsee. I prefer being alone,” she purred, biting her lip slightly.

That sent me over the edge. I had to get things moving faster, but without her noticing I was taking too much control.

So, I flirted. “I wouldn’t want you to leave my side, either,” I mused. “Mr. Norrel is a smart man. A lucky man,” I said, my throat going dry. I wanted her so badly. She turned to refill her drink, and I caught a glimpse of her long, luscious legs through the slit of the skirt. I imagined taking the fabric on either side in my hands, and tearing it until it exposed whatever lingerie she was wearing beneath. I was hoping for some lacy boy shorts this afternoon. They were the perfect blend of a thong and bikini panties, and showed lots of cheek.

Now I was the one biting my lip. She noticed.

“Well, if you were on the cruise with me, I don’t think I’d leave the cabin,” she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. I feigned shock. She opened a candy cane and took a long lick.

“Mrs. Norrel,” I said softly, voice hushed and scandalized. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

She grabbed me by the tie and pulled me close. I could smell her sweet scent, blended with the sharp mint of the candy on her breath. “The firm’s partners all went onto the balcony to chat about a case and smoke cigars,” Cerise said softly, and nuzzled my cheek with her nose. “Matthew couldn’t possibly hear me propositioning you right now, don’t worry.”

I pulled away, hesitantly. “I don’t deserve attention from someone like you, Mrs. Norrel,” I said, bashfully. “My job is my life. I’m usually buried in paperwork, I just don’t—” I stuttered.

She leaned against the bar, pulled me against her, and wrapped one long leg around my waist. She radiated heat, and her aroma made my head spin. “I want you buried in something else,” she said huskily, grinding against me, pressing her sharp heel into my back. I moaned, and grazed my thumb along her collarbone.

“I’ll do anything you want,” I panted, as she slid her tongue down my neck, fingers loosening my tie.

She giggled, and asked me to lock the door in case any of the partners came back. I scrambled to her bedroom door, and locked it with a satisfying click.

I spun and faced her, and her expression spoke of impish delight. “He won’t catch us,” she said with a smirk, and slowly began to untie the bow keeping her blouse together. This was one gift I’d like to unwrap myself, I thought, but kept my hands by my sides until she beckoned me over.

She took her time stripping her clothes off for me. I must have pleased her greatly during our little date. Underneath the blouse, she was wearing black. The lacy bra hid nothing from the imagination, and I was glad, because I don’t think I could have waited much longer to ogle her perfect breasts. I loved the way the sheer fabric held them together, doing work that my hands should be doing.

She was wearing lacy boy shorts. I suppressed a yelp of victory.

“Get over here. We’re going to have to make this quick,” she said, and I crossed the room with need.

I ran my hands around her waist and slid down, cupping her exposed cheeks. I knew that some men were ass men, or breast men, but for me it wasn’t that clear. I was just a Cerise man.

I pressed against her roughly, and asked, “How do you want it?” I could tell that my cool breath tickled her ear, and she shivered.

She hopped up onto the bar and spread her legs, pulling me close. “Like this,” she said, arching her back.

I reached around back and grabbed her ass. I palmed her soft, round skin in my hands before running my finger through her wetness. As I began to pull the lacy garment down, Cerise begged, “Keep them on.”

After confirming that yes, there was a God, and he wanted me happy, I pulled the fabric aside and penetrated her in one swift thrust.

Cerise cried out, and gripped the bar with her hands. I could hear fingernails scraping wood as I pushed deeply inside her. She wiggled and squirmed against me, desperate for more.

And I gave her more.

I grabbed her hips with a force that was just short of bruising to her delicate skin, and plunged into her wildly.

“William,” she moaned, and I spread her legs farther apart, dipping her lower, getting a better grip on her ass and a better angle inside her.

She bounced and shook, and held on to the bar for dear life. “Fuck,” she groaned, tightening around me, coming vigorously. I watched her beautiful skin blush as the orgasm’s waves washed over her shaking frame.

“Pull out,” she demanded firmly.

Dammit, what did I do wrong? I wondered.

She sprawled out on a nearby dessert table, pushing the little decorative ornaments and almost all the cupcakes onto the floor. “I want you to give me a Christmas gift,” she said, undoing her silver and ruby choker.

I stood there, half naked, and somewhat confused. “Anything,” I said, wondering what I could possibly come up with on the spot. I was good at improvising, but . . .

“Jewelry,” she said, running her hand along her neck.

“I’d spend my entire salary just to please you,” I said, walking toward her, still aching with unsatisfied need. I stroked myself once to keep sated until we made contact again.

She smirked, and clarified what she wanted. “I want you to give me a pearl necklace,” she said, and grabbed my length roughly between her small, soft hands.

Where was I supposed to come up with—oh.

Oh.

She grabbed a lone cupcake from the edge of the table and looked at it, questioningly. “I wonder,” she mused, and took a lick. She smiled, satisfied. “So smooth,” she said, and lifted her eyebrows at me suggestively.

I didn’t catch on in time, again, but quickly got the drift as she unhooked her bra, loosing her gorgeous breasts. She slid the soft frosting between them and beckoned to me with her finger.

That was all the prompting I needed.

I mounted the table and removed my tie. Wouldn’t want it hitting her in the face.

I situated myself semi-kneeling, grabbed beautiful handfuls of flesh in my hands, and slid myself into the trail of frosting. Cerise moaned, and I pushed her breasts closer together, nestling my cock between them snugly as I thrust. Sometimes, I would push myself far enough up her chest so that my mistress could take little licks of my frosting-coated cock.

I realized quickly that it would not take long to produce my Christmas present for Cerise. The sight of her breasts in my hands, the occasional flicks and swirls of her tongue against my head, and the surprisingly smooth consistency of the butter and sugar confection between our bodies was enough to put me over the edge.

Cerise was ready for it. As soon as I began to come, she arched her back and exposed her long, supple neck. She got her pearl necklace, the white beads decorating her lovely throat. She moaned, and then swirled her finger in one spot and took a lick. She bit her lip, and took another, sucking her whole finger into her mouth greedily.

“Thanks for my present,” she said, her voice sweet and innocent.

I smiled, and pushed myself up. “Your wish,” I said, kissing her lips softly. “My command.” I promptly cleaned up the room, and while she showered off the “evidence” of our illicit affair, I put her bedroom back together. She wanted takeout for dinner, so when I went out to pick it up, I grabbed a little something else.

A little Christmas gift.

“What’s this?” Cerise asked, pointing her chopsticks away from the noodles and toward a small box I had in my hand. It was wrapped in red and green paper, and had a little silver bow on top.

“Open and see,” I said.

She smiled, confused, and unwrapped the tiny package. And pulled out a pearl necklace.

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” she said, blushing. I pushed her long hair away from her neck and clasped the string of pearls neatly in back.

I am a man of my word—whatever my mistress wanted, she got.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cerise

“That is just unacceptable, Cerise,” Erin said, shaking her head.

I threw up my hands. “Can’t you just be happy for me? I had a breakthrough, goddammit.”

Erin took a long sip of her Earl Grey and looked me steadily in the eyes. “How can you have a proper relationship with him if he’s busy taking you out to dinner and calling the shots? It’s like some alternative lifestyle.”

I took an equally long drink, burning my tongue in the process of trying to look cool—just after it had fully healed from the nuclear cheese incident. “I don’t think I need to tell you that most people consider what we do to be quite alternative,” I said, pursing my lips, waiting for her reaction. She just shrugged.

“All I’m saying is that there’s a huge imbalance in the power exchange here. You told him no, and he disobeyed. Listen, I’m all for subs being boyfriends, but this is just out of line. Unless you make him pay dearly in the next scene, you’ve lost ground . . . with him and with me.” It was times like these where I wished Erin had some horrible deformity or speech impediment. I wanted to mock something really, really obvious about her.

I shook my head slowly, and measured my words. “I don’t need ground with you. You are not my Domme; you’re my mentor. Most days I consider you a close friend, but now you’re just being flat-out mean. I think I have a shot at being happy, Erin, and I want your support.”

“If you want my support to be his girlfriend, I wish you all the luck in the world. However, I can’t in good conscience say you will have a great D/s relationship with him. So much has gone wrong so quickly.”

Center yourself, Cerise, I told myself, imagine she’s talking like Daffy Duck. No, still not calm. How about Daffy Duck tripping balls on shrooms? Hmm, that’s better.

“What about all that’s gone right?” I asked. “I have never been so attracted to someone, and he’s fighting so damn hard for me. It makes me feel good, and isn’t that what all this is about? You know I’ve never been traditional.” My tea shook in my hand, spilling out sizzling droplets on my wrist.

Erin took a small, demure bite of her scone and swallowed. “I’ve said my piece. He’s not good for you. Read that last journal he gave you, and find out. You’re being lied to again, Cerise,” she said, taking my hand. “I don’t want to see you fall apart.”

Fuck.

Tears threatened to invade my eyes, so I blinked a few times and went to my happy place—Nordstrom’s denim section. The assault retreated. “We’ll see,” was all I could manage.

Erin decided that now would be the perfect time to change the subject. “Oh, and Brent was wondering if you wanted to do a scene with us at a play party,” she said smoothly. I was about to have another case of spontaneous jaw-dropping syndrome. “The theme is Three’s Company, so instead of dressing like we’re from the seventies, we thought we’d add someone else to the fun.”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to decline that invitation,” I said, rolling my eyes at her audacity.

She shrugged. “It might be good for you,” she said, and threw out the remainder of her scone and tea. I sipped the dregs and got up quickly.

I had to get home to that journal, whether or not I’d read it. I just slept with it under my pillow.

The journal sat in my lap, unopened. I was happy with my decision, and firm in my resolve. I would not read it. If William asked, I would explain my reasoning.

It was Monday morning, and I was thrilled I’d be doing a scene with him later on that day. The few but fabulous memories I had of our last couple of encounters were playing on a constant loop in my brain. The feather, the piano, the forehead kiss. Bizzy was begging for me to strap a discreet butterfly on her for the school day, but I got too nervous. I mean, what if the class fell silent and heard a faint buzzing from the front of the room? I could always blame it on my cell phone, I guess.

Then again, I didn’t keep my cell phone on my crotch. On second thought, better not. Instead, I just kept checking for texts and scrolling through pictures I had taken of him.

“Talking to your boyfriend?” one of the students asked accusingly. Bobby, I think his name was.

“Excuse me?” I asked, eyebrows vaulting toward my hairline.

A few of the boys laughed. “You’re turning red and smirking and biting your lip.”

I slid my phone back in my pocket discreetly. “I read a funny headline,” I bluffed.

“One that made you blush?” a little nugget of a freshman chimed in.

“How about this,” I answered, “if you guys stop asking about my personal life and finish your homework in the next ten minutes, we can play Pictionary on the board? Maybe listen to some tunes?”

They applauded—especially my punk kids—while I checked repeatedly for William’s lunchtime e-mail.

When I got it, I could say I was more than pleased. He was going to do well with today’s scene—geisha and servant.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Confession

Date: May 9, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Dearest Cherry Blossom,

I humble myself before you now, and beg for your forgiveness in advance.

I know I am but a lowly servant, and should never have done something to offend any geisha, let alone the most celebrated one in all Kyoto.

I have become fixated on you to the point of obsession. When I was cleaning your chamber last night, I stole a drop of your perfume. I put it on a handkerchief so that I may inhale your intoxicating scent while you are gone.

It was wrong of me, and I await my penance. I will serve you your tea today, as usual, and you may punish me as you see fit.

Please forgive this unworthy yet enamored heart.

Sincerely,

William

I let out a long sigh. Thank goodness class had just left. This man was going to be my undoing, and I was going to love every minute of it.

Erin’s chastisement yesterday was a faint memory as I ran my hands over the sumptuous fabric of the black and purple kimono hanging in my bathroom. Unreal, I thought to myself while I unraveled each complex piece of the ensemble. I had done my homework on kimono-wearing during my free period earlier that day. There was the obi, the mae-ita, and the obijime, all finally wrapped around my waist. My outfit was now complete. Instead of putting my hair in a geisha-style bun, I decided to flat-iron it so it fell in long sheets around my face. I used my “winter complexion” pressed powder, clipped in a few black extensions, and put on some matte red lipstick to complete the look.

Look out, Kyoto.

I smoothed my clothing and walked as steadily as I could in the high platform sandals William provided. He had put on quite a show the past few scenes, so I knew I would have to hide my shock at whatever he had done this time.

But no amount of preparation could have possibly kept the shock and awe from my expression when I walked into my bedroom.

William had placed lacquered bamboo parquet on top of my hardwoods, giving the room a much brighter feel. There were also about five or six tatami mats in various points in the room. The furniture was gone, as expected, and all that occupied the space was a simple tea set on the floor, and arrangements of fresh cherry boughs and blossoms in every corner. I was breathless at the sight and the smell. It was like a movie set.

But he wasn’t there. I supposed he was planning on serving me, so I arranged my robe carefully as I sat on the tatami mat closest to the tea setup. I took a moment to inhale and exhale slowly, centering myself for what was to come.

Geishas had to be graceful, calm, and subtle while maintaining their aura as the center of attention. William had a tough audience today.

Before I could hear his approach, William stood in front of me, and then bent into a low bow. As he stood, he kept his head and eyes downcast as he poured hot water into the green tea leaves that were in the pot by my feet. I gave his calves a whack with my fan.

“How dare you take from me,” I chastised.

“Cherry Blossom,” he said quietly. “I hope you received my apologetic appeal. Would you allow me to serve you tea today? I understand if you choose to send me away.”

I looked him up and down in approval. He was wearing simple black drawstring pants and a loose black robe. I could see his chest exposed in a long, low V. I was very pleased. “You may serve me tea,” I said simply, and he made me a cup of green tea.

He kneeled by my side, wordlessly, while I sipped in contemplation. “Have you decided my fate, Cherry-san?” he asked after I had placed my cup on the floor.

“I believe I have, servant. You took from me, so today I will take from you.” I gave him another sharp whack with my fan.

His gaze burned, and I had to look away. Focus, focus, I told myself.

“I’d like to look at you. I want to see if you are fit to stay in my home as a piece of artwork for my collection,” I said, standing gracefully. I circled him, examining him closely.

“Take off all your clothes, fold them in the corner, and stand by the window,” I said.

He followed my orders promptly, moving quickly to the designated spot. He opened his black tunic just slowly enough—he wanted to follow my orders, but he also knew he was responsible for putting on a bit of a show. The sunlight poured through the window and spilled onto his muscular chest. Far away from Cherry Blossom’s mind, Cerise noted how William was impervious to the sunlight. Some vampire.

Cherry took control again. “All of it,” I goaded.

He peeled off his pants in one sweep, revealing his naked form. I walked up to him and appraised his body. I opened the fan and used the soft folds to stroke the skin of his back. “Your geisha has decided you are worthy of being kept, if you please her.”

“Anything,” he said.

“Lie down.” I pointed to a spot on the ground near him. I had a few discreet hooks put into the wall and floor, so I knew exactly where I wanted him.

I sauntered over to my toy box, and grabbed a few skeins of Japanese love rope. William wasn’t going anywhere. I watched his naked backside as he bent down over the designated spot. I loved watching his muscles move—he had the grace of a jungle cat.

“Your punishment, servant, will be for me to take pleasure from you without getting any back,” I said. “Tonight is about satisfying me, not you. You are not allowed to come. Are we clear?”

He nodded. “Of course, Cherry Blossom,” he said, holding back the smile that was threatening to form. He was thrilled about being punished. I wasn’t surprised.

“You also won’t be allowed to watch me while I’m taking my satisfaction from you,” I explained, and bound his eyes carefully with a silky black scarf. “I do, however, want you to talk to me, so I will not bind your mouth.”

“Thank you,” he breathed, rapt and naked on the ground.

I circled the ropes around his wrists first, knotting and cinching as I went. I tied some intricately, since I was, after all, a master of fine arts and aesthetics. I used red ropes on his torso, forming a knotty cage around his chest and stomach. The longest stretch of rope I saved for his legs, and bound them together from the ankles to the knees. Once he was fully immobile and prone, I lashed his wrists and ankles to the bolts in the floor and my masterpiece was complete, cocooned in rope.

He was aroused and ready for me, and I couldn’t wait to feel him inside. The thought of just his cock touching me, with the rest of his body lashed to the floor, nearly sent me over the edge as I almost lowered myself down on him.

But I wanted to take my time. I hadn’t spent enough effort on enjoying William’s body. I wanted to savor this man’s fine-ass form.

I kneeled on the tatami mat next to him and ogled to my heart’s delight. He couldn’t see me, so I felt comfortable taking in the view at my leisure. He could wait—he should wait. I’ve seen some fine specimens in my time, but William’s body was absolutely flawless. I ran my hand down his arm and we both shuddered at the electricity between us. I swirled my finger in the crook of his elbow—even parts of him that weren’t sexy were sexy. So I decided to lick the places on him that startled me with their unexpected sensuality.

Starting with his wrists—the part peeking through the rope. Normally, wrists aren’t good for anything aside from watches or shackles, but William’s were pieces of art. His muscles and tendons were taut beneath his smooth, cool skin. I ran my fingers over this beautiful body part, and moved on quickly when my subconscious told me I should feel a pulse beneath that satiny skin. What do I know? I asked myself, I’m a geisha, not a doctor. Ignore it.

I moved on to his calves. Now, once in a while, watching sports, I may or may not notice a man’s calves, but William’s legs were absolutely gorgeous. They were long and lanky, with just enough curve to them. His muscles were well defined without being muscle-bound. He was Nature’s perfection; he was Adam and he was the apple. He was pure temptation.

“I want you to talk to me, William. Tell me about your first fantasy about me,” I said, parting my kimono and preparing to ride him.

“As you wish, sweet Cherry,” he said, voice thick with desire. I smiled at how bad he wanted it. I bit my lip, awaiting his story.

“In my mind, you were wearing a black kimono, as dark as night,” he said, managing to keep his composure as I lowered myself down, down, down, until he was completely inside me. I swirled my hips, adjusting to his hard body.

I started to rock back and forth as he spoke. “I wanted you so badly, it felt wrong. A lowly man such as myself could never have you. The kimono was so sheer, I could almost make out your delicate figure beneath. I wanted to run my fingers over every single curve of your body,” he confessed.

I quickened my pace, desire building fast. Almost too fast. His voice was absolutely hypnotic. “Why didn’t you? It’s your fantasy, servant.” Tell me more, you gorgeous fiend. I gripped the rope at his hips and swirled my hips slowly. He panted.

“I didn’t deserve you, even in my fantasy. All I could bring myself to do at first was to kiss your feet.”

My body was on fire as I writhed in passion on top of him. He was so motionless beneath me, doing exactly as I asked, just being there for me to use.

He was such a good boy; perhaps he could have a reward later.

“Tell me more.”

He drew a ragged breath. “Then I licked your calf all the way to your knee, up and down, and you asked me to move farther up your legs.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” escaped from my mouth. “What else, William? Please, more,” I moaned, nearly thrashing on top of his prone form.

“Yes, geisha,” he said with a labored breath. “In my dream, you opened your robe just enough to allow my eyes to see a thin strip of flesh down the middle of the kimono. You . . . you allowed me a peek at your gorgeous body. You opened the robe a fraction more, showing me an inch of skin that went . . . all the way down.”

I was very, very close. He was completely consuming me from inside, and I could barely take any more pressure. “Did you like what you saw?” I cooed, running my hands over my body, undoing my robe and touching myself since he couldn’t.

“It was nothing compared to seeing your body in the flesh,” he explained, slowly, “but yes.”

I knew he was keeping something from me. “Servant, what did you do to me in your fantasy?” I managed to say.

He groaned, and I sped up. “Something I’m not worthy of, Cherry Blossom,” he said, nearly whimpering.

“What did you want to do to me?” I begged, on the verge of orgasm.

He trembled beneath me, seemingly ready to come, but holding back like I had asked. “I tasted you,” he growled.

Those words sent me over the edge, imagining William with his face between my legs. I ground myself onto him as fiercely as I could, coming violently and biting down hard on my lip to keep from screaming. My body shook from the William-induced earthquake. “Too—fucking—good,” I whined.

My hands scooted the kimono back on my body as I came down from the high. After a moment, I regained my composure, dismounted quickly, and began the task of removing William’s ropes.

He smiled placidly as I untied his wrists. He made a motion to wrap up the discarded rope, but I signaled that I would do it. He laced his hands behind his head and hummed softly, satisfied without satisfaction. He was still very erect, but from his face, I could tell he was still sated just from the experience alone.

“You deserve something for your obedience today, enduring your punishment,” I said to him, red-faced and breathing raggedly. I caressed his jaw and put the coils of ropes to the side.

“Thank you,” he said, without even knowing what he was getting.

I took his long, cold pointer finger and slid it inside me.

“You may have your taste when you get home.”

His gaze challenged me, and I knew there was a part of him that wanted to slide his finger into his mouth right there, and have me watch, but I knew the submissive inside him won. It always did.

Punctual perfectionist to a fault, William stood up immediately after he was freed. I, however, was still panting minutes later, even after I had put away some of the props. “Mistress, I have fresh sushi and sake punch set up in the dining room for you. I’d like to put your furniture back while you eat, if that’s all right. If you’d like something more comfortable to slip into, may I suggest Harvey’s gift of the day?” he asked with a smile.

He opened a small tissue-wrapped garment and held it up for me.

It was a silk bathrobe in the same pattern as the kimono.

I smiled and thanked him, and stepped out into the dining room to have dinner while he cleaned up.

The sushi was impeccable—a nice variety of standard favorites like Negimaki and spicy tuna, along with some creative options with nontraditional fillings and fruit. I inspected the rolls carefully; they were tight and the cuts were clean, as though he had been doing this for years. Is there anything William can’t do? I wondered to myself as I took a bite. Again, perfection. This man understood pleasure on so many levels. He was even thoughtful when making sushi. The pairing of avocado with mango and cucumber matched silky consistencies with contrasting tastes. Sweet and salty, smooth and crunchy. He really thought of everything.

I took a long drink and sighed with satisfaction. The sake punch was refreshingly tart, with just enough spike to loosen my muscles. It was all too good. That seems to be the pattern with him—and I wasn’t complaining.

I heard a small and fast scuffling, and not a minute after I had begun to eat, William was by my side asking how the sushi tasted.

I looked at him, puzzled. “Delicious so far, thanks, but shouldn’t you be getting back to putting my furniture back?” I nagged good-naturedly. I was great at nagging—I’d make a great housewife, aside from the whole wife part.

William’s smile froze on his face. “I’m done, obviously,” he said, slightly puzzled.

“How could you possibly have moved an entire room of furniture in the time I’ve eaten one bite?”

He sighed, frustrated. “You didn’t read it,” he said sorrowfully.

“Read what?”

“If you had read my journal, you wouldn’t have to ask about the furniture.”

I took a long drink of punch and weighed my words. “Please sit, William,” I said. He complied, of course.

“I didn’t read it, but not out of disrespect or disinterest,” I said, taking a long breath before my next statement. “I accept you for whoever you are.”

He stood up, almost angrily. “What do you mean?” I hadn’t expected that reaction.

I gestured for him to sit again, and he did . . . albeit reluctantly.

“William, I like what we have, and where it’s going. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been or what you’ve done. I don’t need to read any more about you. I just want to find it out for myself. No journal necessary.” Truthfully, it was hard for me to say that. I was essentially putting my heart on my sleeve, and I wanted to keep it in my robe. But he had an effect on me that I couldn’t deny.

He looked at me for a long moment, and then spoke. He sounded somewhat detached, or conflicted. “Mistress, I’m moved by your sentiment. I’m thrilled that you want to proceed, and that you are enjoying this experience together as much as I am. I have to admit, however, that I think you need that information if you want to keep seeing me like this. Honesty, remember?”

I found his stubbornness surprising, yet again. I pressed. “Tell me what you need to tell me, William. I’ll listen. Remember, I said I would take care of you, and if you need to get some things off your chest, then do it.”

He stood and grabbed his keys. “You have to see it for yourself. No amount of my explanations would do the story justice. Please,” he entreated, “read it tonight.”

And in a black whirl, he was out of the kitchen and out of the front door. I sprinted to see my bedroom in perfect order. He had removed the parquet floor and refurnished the entire room in the span of a minute.

As I cheerfully filled out today’s scene card, I knew I could no longer suppress the feeling that had been lingering in my mind ever since we met: William was much more than a man.

I supposed I should read that journal now.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cerise

I opened the journal to the first page, and saw that it was dated about six months ago. I flipped to the last entry, making sure I didn’t read any of the actual text, and noticed the date—a few days ago.

This did look like the real deal.

I took a long breath and turned to page one.

November 14, 2011

Dear Journal,

Why did I come back to Philly?

I wish the Pennsylvania coven we were friendly with had just minded their own business instead of meddling with my life. Then again, for a shot at happiness . . . I suppose my decision was justified.

One of the women Steve tried to set me up with—Melissa—had called me a week prior to my visit with some interesting information. She told me that she was friendly with some human women who were Dommes . . . and that she had subbed for one or two members of the Philadelphia BDSM community. I was shocked at her confession, but not completely taken aback. Of the two sisters, Melissa was the most like me—the most submissive. She told me that nobody had a problem with her “peculiar skin” and that there was a chance for some of the Dommes there to do a trial with me.

I was elated.

This was the first real lead I ever had. Perhaps I wouldn’t be judged, or rejected. I had to find out.

I went to a social with Melissa, and hoped for the best. I made a few contacts with several Dommes, but one in particular showed great interest in me. She was a brunette who called herself simply “Mizz” and took me home that night.

Things did not go well. I had excellent restraint and command over my strength, so breaking out of shackles or ropes had never been a problem, but there was one thing that simply wouldn’t work.

As soon as I heard her say the word plug, I knew I was done for. That simply was not going to go there. Physically impossible.

But despite her thirty or so minutes of frustration, she said she would keep me around for something else. I figured that anything could be better than that . . .

So she kept me as her “pretty.” For a few weeks, I’d show up at her house, and she’d just have me stand around and look good. Or she’d dress me up . . . or not at all. Sometimes she’d take me to parties where she would show me off. That was it. Apparently I was good for looks alone. And while I enjoyed the idea of what we were doing, there really wasn’t much else to it. Nothing physical whatsoever, aside from the fact that she sexually assaulted me with her eyes on a daily basis.

After that, I was pretty much attending parties for the chance at an hour or so of play. I’d try to do a scene with some of the other Dommes there that knew Melissa, but the most I ever got accomplished was a little awkward groping or an unsuccessful flogging. It was miserable, being so close to what I wanted and still dealing with rejection. I thanked Melissa for her effort, and was home within a month.

Maybe I need to give up.

William

And then, like a jolt of electricity, a memory shocked and paralyzed my body momentarily. Something Erin said . . . about her friends in Philly. He was a BDSM urban legend down there . . . so this was true. Then again, there was no mention of being an actual vampire, so I didn’t really know what to think. He did use the word coven, and that was pretty creepy.

Um, and don’t forget the fact that he moved an entire room of furniture in one minute, coupled with the fact that everything about him screams “different,” my consciousness taunted me.

Oh well, moving on. I read some more entries that had some family-centered themes, but there was nothing I was really looking for. Nothing of note until relatively recently, when I saw Portsmouth mentioned, so my attention snapped back into place.

February 26, 2012

Dear Journal,

I had always considered this quest for satisfaction to be an act of hunting, but never did I think I would become the hunted. Too bad I wounded the hunter.

Women approach me all the time—this isn’t something new. I just read their body language and instantly make my decision: no. I have to actively look for the type of woman I need, and just because a woman is bold enough to approach me, that doesn’t mean she’s a Domme. And I just can’t imagine sleeping with a woman on equal terms—it’s just not my sexual preference to be on equal footing.

I know what I want, and I’m not ashamed of that inclination.

Well, a Domme approached me last week and saw right through me. Her motions told me her appraisal of me—the way I walked, the way I held myself, even the way I dressed, all told her one thing . . . that I was a single submissive on the prowl.

“I’m Mistress Jenny,” she said, “and I think you and I should get to know each other.” She took my hand and guided me to a small table at the bar. After living in Portsmouth for a few weeks, I found out that the bar Alto was considered a BDSM hotspot, so I went.

“I know your type,” Jenny said before we had even ordered drinks, “and I can see you’re single.”

I didn’t disagree. She seemed very straightforward about what she wanted to do to me. I was in. Within minutes, we were in her car, headed toward her house.

While she wasn’t the prettiest woman I had ever met, I thought for the first time in my life that I was the closest I was going to get to my goal, and that made her attractive. Sort of like what human men call “beer goggles.”

Then, the disaster began.

I’m too ashamed to go into details on paper, but it’s safe to say that was the most humiliating instant of my life. If I ever find a true relationship, I had better take note of when her menstrual cycle begins, to avoid potential disaster.

Tortured . . . not in a good way,

William

The book fell from my hands dramatically, as though I were in a cheesy TV show. My hands had physically lost their ability to grip. It was a good thing I was sitting, or else I’d probably have flounced to the ground dramatically.

Chilly Willy.

Mistress Jenny?

Jennifer.

It was true. Erin hadn’t been trying to scare me off. William hadn’t been lying to me.

I didn’t know if I was happy or terrified. All I knew was I had to continue.

“Ohhhhh, widdle widdle duckie-snoogles on pa-waaaaaade!” I shouted, trying to sound like baby showers appealed to me.

Katy’s baby shower made me gag. The duckies were stacked so high and so close, they looked like they were clusterfucking. Clusterducking? Either way, gross. There were little duckie cupcakes and little duckie napkins to wipe the yellow duckie frosting droppings discreetly smeared on your chin.

Deirdre was in her glory, proud of her shower-throwing skills. She was this school’s version of Angela from The Office—party-planning and party-pooping guru.

Katy rubbed her Buddha belly happily and thanked everyone. My colleagues all patted her tummy in turn, waiting for a kick.

I tried to blend in, but “high-fiving” a baby belly is pretty tactless, apparently. I tried covering up my faux pas by baby-talking again. “Doeshh dis widdle baby-snoogle wanna come out now?” I asked.

I figured that pronouncing things wrong and adding the suffix snoogle to nouns would sound like I knew what the hell I was talking about.

Apparently not.

“Cerise, where did you get that baby voice?” Deirdre asked, pushing her limp hair off her shoulder.

I shrugged. “It’s the voice I’d use with my dog . . . if I had one. I figured it would work for a baby.”

“I don’t think the baby cares, Cerise,” Katy chimed in. “Thanks for trying.”

“You clearly don’t have plans for kids yet,” Deirdre said to me bluntly. She was the most socially retarded person I had ever met.

I decided to make her uncomfortable.

“Let’s see . . . I’m ovulating next Monday, so I better find a man this weekend. Is your ex-boyfriend still in Portsmouth?” I asked loudly. The other teachers snickered only because they like me slightly better than they like Deirdre.

While the kids adored me, I didn’t have a huge fan club among teachers, mainly because I was a substitute and therefore not a permanent fixture they have to get to know. Little did they know I was just as qualified and experienced as they were—I had my teaching certificate, and I’d been doing this for years. I just didn’t want to settle down with a specific school. Or subject. Whatever. My dad was a principal and superintendent for years so I could go wherever the hell I pleased.

Deirdre spun on her Payless BOGO sale heel and walked out of the party. The people around me tittered nervously, and I laughed at myself for thinking of the word titter.

Thank God this party was over so I could get back to that journal.

I gave the class a pop test I made up on the spot so I could read the journal I fell asleep on.

Don’t judge me.

May 1, 2012

Dear Journal,

I had been to one or two Portsmouth munches before, but the scene didn’t appeal to me. This one was sort of a speed-dating scenario. Although many of the women were attracted to me, none had ever stood out, either mentally or physically.

Tonight, I was terrified to see Jenny, so I almost didn’t go in.

But I did, and it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

I never imagined I could be so attracted to someone.

Perhaps I have truly been dead all these years. Perhaps my vampiric existence was hell, and after so much despair, God had finally granted me access to heaven.

I know I was being a bit fantastical and romantic, but I ignored reason.

So I stared at the meaning of life.

She had the most innocent visage, and the most petite but sinful body I had ever seen. Her mouth was pursed in a sweet, full pout, and her pale green eyes searched the room meaningfully. Her hair fell in golden waves around her lovely face, and landed softly on the tops of her more than full breasts. As a function such as this dictates, I’d say she was dressed appropriately.

Dark gray, tailored suit jacket on top of a skin-tight black corset.

My mind could barely form the following thought. It was so outrageous. It was so perfect. We talked for only a few minutes, but I will never forget a moment of it.

She was a single Domme, she was strict, and she wanted to play with me.

I put the book down with a triumphant slap to the counter.

It was me!

He was writing about me in his journal!

“Hey, Miss Norrel, you wore your dancing shoes today, huh?” a student asked. A few of them were laughing.

I looked down and realized I was doing my happy dance. The seated running man.

Shit.

“Too much coffee,” I replied, blushing hard.

“I’d say not enough. Get up and work it!” some redheaded girl shouted, and suddenly there was an impromptu dance party breaking out in class.

Some kid took out his phone and put on some tunes.

I waved my hands. “That’s enough. Maybe if I’m in next week we’ll have a break-dance competition,” I joked.

Back to William, my mind harassed me.

Breathing in deep, I composed myself and prepared to see what he had to say about that encounter.

She was a single Domme. [I reread the line for mental emphasis.]

Her demeanor was firm and demanding. Her eyes saw into my soul. She, thank heavens, accepted my proposal. She didn’t even flinch at my cold hands. I wanted to present my body to her right there in front of everyone and beg for her to use me. Instead, I watched her leave in my rearview mirror and prepared for tomorrow’s date. And I may or may not have attempted to paint a portrait of her likeness.

Delighted,

William

I stood up and discreetly checked my seat for a puddle. I didn’t know if I peed myself, or Bizzy drenched herself while I was reading this, but the bottom line was that William produced startling reactions from my body.

As much as I wanted to read about our first scene together . . . what I really wanted to see about was his description of the first time we had sex.

I don’t think most women get a chance to see firsthand what they are like in bed. So I flipped around until I saw it.

I even scooted down the entry to get to the good stuff. Fuck foreplay, right?

And I had to refrain from gasping as she pulled my erection from my pants and shoved me inside her. I focused solely on the warm feeling. The wet sliding. The desperate crashing of our hips.

She was everything I could have dreamed about. She was tender enough to show her attraction to me, giving my ego the boost it needed for this crucial step. She was domineering enough to make me feel like I was being manipulated by her—pushed around—under her thumb.

This was what a Domme should be. She didn’t have to be the woman with the leather and the whip. All she needed to be was the one in charge, the one doling out either the pleasure or the pain or both.

Cerise consumed me mentally and physically, and dare I say it, spiritually. My entire being was inside her.

Dearest Journal, it was the pinnacle of my existence. My mind was at peace, my body had ascended to new heights, and my senses were burning to a crisp with desire for her.

I never, ever, thought losing my virginity would be like this.

Still reeling,

William

Vir—

Vir—

VIRGINITY!?

My eyes threatened to leave my head, and I think I got lockjaw.

VIRGINITY?

I whipped my iPhone from my pocket like a gun from its holster, and texted him as fast as I could: FORGET WHATEVER SCENE YOU HAVE PLANNED TODAY. SHOW UP AT MY HOUSE AT FOUR INSTEAD OF TWO. BE PREPARED FOR ANYTHING.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Cerise

I walked into an empty house after school—good. I needed some time to process those entries. There was still a lot for me to wrap my head around.

No, not the vampire part—I had been suppressing my gut feeling about that for a while. I’d grill him about all the gory details at a more appropriate point in time, if I really even wanted to know more. My real problem was with the other V word.

Virgin.

He must be joking. I must have read it wrong . . . a hundred times. Maybe I needed glasses and saw “losing my Virginia accent”?

He was a virgin the first time we had sex. I popped his possibly undead cherry on top of my new piano, which, by the way, had found a nice spot in the corner of my living room.

My mind could not understand the enormity of it. He was so skilled, and so sexual. He simply oozed sex—okay, poor word choice—he oozed sex in a nondisgusting or -graphic way.

I had never been with a virgin. Usually submissives have had a decent amount of sex before deciding that they wanted to be dominated.

I thought back on losing my virginity, and shook my head in distaste. Worse than distaste—disdain was more like it. And I didn’t just lose it—he took it and waved it like a flag of shame for all to see. Fucking Nick.

I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and considered the ramifications of taking William’s virginity.

I didn’t do him justice.

However, instead of feeling tender toward him, and wanting to rectify the situation by making sweet deflowering love to him, now all this information did was make me angry.

Steaming mad.

And he was going to pay.

“You,” I sneered as William walked into my bedroom at four prompt. “In the corner,” I pointed to the dungeon cross chair by the window, my black-lacquered fingernails shining ominously.

They matched the black vinyl catsuit I was wearing, and that William was apparently ogling.

“Of course, Mistress,” he said quietly. “Shall I disrobe before sitting?” he asked. I nodded sharply.

Once William was deliciously nude and seated, I grabbed the biggest, strongest, widest, and metalist shackles I could find. They should keep a vampire stationary. My mind still slurred mentally over that word. Was he really? I was going to find out very soon.

I snapped the shackles over his wrists and ankles, and collared him with a thick leather band. I attached the band to the back of the cross and he was secure. I checked all the bolts and bindings.

Good.

“William,” I said, voice low, “do you have any idea why I have restrained you so thoroughly today?”

He half smiled in relief. “Mistress, I believe you read my journal,” he said rapturously. “Thank you,” he added.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warned. “Why would I prepare you in such a way? Tell me exactly why?” I said, baiting him.

“Because you are frightened,” he said, “but you shouldn’t be.”

“No, William, that is not the reason I plan on punishing you so severely today,” I said, opening a drawer and pulling out Big Bad—my epic paddle. I wanted to see some sort of fear, or arousal, or some reaction other than what he did then.

He made the saddest face I had ever seen. He looked like I had taken his heart out Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom–style and done the Mexican hat dance on it.

Olé!

“But if you didn’t read it—” he said sullenly, but I cut him off.

“Oh, I read it all right,” I said, seething. “You have been keeping something from me.”

His face turned from sorrow to confusion. “Mistress, I told you about my nature from day one. I am a vampire. Please believe me—I can prove it to you in so many ways, but I have been afraid of frightening you.” He pleaded with his eyes, since the rest of his body was immobile.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer—I had to confront him.

“You were a virgin when we met?” I shrieked, grabbing Big Bad and slapping the broad side against my palm.

And he did the most audacious thing I could imagine.

He laughed.

“You are accepting of my nature as a vampire, but not the fact that I was . . . sexually inexperienced when we met?” he asked incredulously, as an impish smirk threatened to spread into an entire smile.

In response, I lifted my knee and placed the sharp heel of my boot on his seated legs. He made a soft sound, much like a moan, but more angelic. Now that he was unafraid of showing his . . . supernaturalness? . . . I guess he didn’t mind dropping his human façade. “You like my choice in footwear?” I asked, taunting him.

“God, yes, Mistress,” he breathed. I knew at that moment he wanted to be out of the shackles. I smiled in satisfaction. “Lick my boots.”

I threw my foot up over the arm of the chair and brought it to his face. He licked the vinyl, closing his eyes in rapture.

“Suck the heel.”

He took the long point deep into his mouth and opened his eyes.

“I bet you also like my catsuit, William,” I said, unzipping it slowly from the top, exposing an inch of skin, just like in his fantasy, only not a kimono.

He made the angel sound again, and replied, “Yes.”

I slid my hands over the vinyl and path of flesh suggestively. “I’m going to give you a taste,” I said, and he truly moaned this time.

I didn’t tell him what he was going to get a taste of.

“Now, William, I’m surprised I didn’t read anything about drinking blood in your journals. So, is there something you’d like to taste even more than this?” I asked, touching myself intimately and running my wet finger across his lips.

His tongue flicked out hungrily, but the moment he registered my words, his rapture turned to horror.

“Mistress, please, no,” he said, terror creeping its way into his voice.

I grabbed a small penknife from my toy box. It was usually meant to cut rope in case of emergency. Usually.

“What’s the problem, William? You must drink other humans’ blood—why not mine? Doesn’t it tempt you?” I said, twirling the knife between my fingers.

He growled, and frowned, and shook his head violently. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, voice cracking with panic. “You make me feel safe . . . from myself.”

“You won’t hurt me—I’ll make the cut. I understand that most submissives would never hurt their mistress,” I explained, “but this is how I am going to punish you for your . . . less than honest behavior toward me.”

He nearly exploded. “I could break out of these shackles and kill you,” he seethed, in both anger and fear. “I’m completely under your submission, Mistress, to a fault. But what if I don’t notice how much I’ve drunk? You think these can hold me back?” he asked. He flicked his left wrist, and the giant metal shackle fell loose and hit the ground with a foreboding clunk.

My eyes widened.

“Do you dare defy your mistress?” I asked. “Put your hand back and stay still, William,” I challenged.

He placed his wrist back onto the chair and looked at me sternly. “Please, Mistress, allow me to be punished in some other way. Some way that may not threaten your life.” There was sarcasm there, but I knew he was doing it out of concern for me and not out of sassiness.

“No, William,” I said sternly. “You will take the punishment I give you. In fact, your challenging tone has solidified your punishment in my mind. You won’t harm me because I’m your Domme, and it’s in your nature to obey me. You’re a submissive first and a vampire second in my bedroom. Now, take your medicine.”

Okay, this was it. Was he a fuckhot vampire about to make me his snack, or just some whackjob with superb journaling skills? Oddly enough, I preferred the former. I took the small knife and made a tiny incision between my breasts. It was barely a nick—I almost didn’t feel it.

But he did.

The reaction from William was startling. He jolted upright in the chair, shattering the ankle restraints as well as the one remaining wrist shackle.

But he didn’t get up. He simply kept his arms and legs in place, and looked at me levelly. He was shaking, but otherwise unperturbed.

Then I noticed why.

“Breathe, William,” I commanded.

His normally stoic face shook as he drew a ragged breath. “Mistress, please,” he choked. “Yellow.”

Fuck—he was going to safe-word. I had to talk him down.

I walked closer to him. “But I thought you desired this, William. It is your nature,” I said, not sure if I was taunting him, or asking for an actual response. “Don’t you like it?”

His eyes lolled in his head and he took another breath. “Yes, I do,” he said with a struggle. “But I’m afraid.”

I nodded at him. “Good. This is punishment. It should be both pleasurable and uncomfortable. But it will be over soon,” I said, grabbing a tissue. He sighed loudly.

He thought I was going to wipe the blood away. Instead, I blotted a dab on the tissue and brought it to his face.

“You can do this, William,” I said, waggling it under his nose.

He growled and licked his lips. This wasn’t torture, I decided, he wanted it. I stroked his erect length to encourage him.

“You’re doing great,” I said.

He grunted.

“I’m going to let you taste it now,” I said, climbing up on his lap. I sat on my knees, atop his thighs, and brought my breasts level with his face.

He shuddered in either ecstasy or horror or some feeling unknown to humans.

I brought my chest, along with the small trail of blood, to his face and made my demand. “Lick.”

William opened his mouth, looked up at me, and ran his cool tongue down the curve of my half-exposed right breast. I bit my lip, and my eyes rolled back at the sensation.

“Come on, William,” I teased. “I know you’ll be okay. Do it.”

He lapped at my chest again, using his tongue to push the shiny fabric off my nipple, exposing me. He swirled his tongue over it, wetly.

“Don’t distract me, William. Drink,” I said.

He worshipped my breast with his mouth for a minute, and then spoke into my warm flesh. “I think I need a little more distraction, Mistress. Something to take my mind off my impulses, perhaps.” I smiled, knowing exactly what he needed.

I untied the cord on his neck, allowing his head full range of motion, and moved from kneeling position to straddling. I parted my legs widely, and slid him home.

“Ahh, Mistress,” he groaned. I pushed closer to William, swallowing him within me deeply, completely.

“Are you ready?” I asked, grinding my hips against his, slowly.

He didn’t speak, but simply lowered his head to the small streak of blood. His eyes never left mine as I watched him open his mouth, extend his tongue, and do what his kind loved most.

A ripple of pleasure coursed through William’s body as the taste of my blood first hit him. “Thank you,” he groaned loudly, and began to thrust wantonly as his mouth claimed its ultimate prize.

I was amazed at his speed, which he was showing in front of me for the first time. His head bobbed back and forth, consuming every last molecule of blood that had run from my breasts to my navel. He was thorough in every way. Once the little trail was clear, he buried his head in my cleavage and sucked on the small wound.

The thrusting sped up, and I knotted my hands in his hair as I bucked with him wildly. We were both in a frenzy, beyond cognition. He was caressing me from the inside out. I felt the blood being siphoned between the two of us, feeding our mutual lust.

But the sight that made me orgasm explosively was when he sat up, sated, and licked his red lips greedily.

“God, William,” I moaned. For a moment, they were one and the same. God and William. Dark deity of blood and sex.

He smiled, eyes strangely tranquil, and gripped me hard as he came along with me.

I clung to his sleek body and rode out the waves of pleasure. My heartbeat slowly returned to normal, but the smile was permanently fixed on my face. That was far too good.

Moments later, I was still sprawled in his lap, collapsed against his hard chest. I told him he could get up from the dungeon chair, and that his punishment was over. He sat up and carried me to my bed.

“May I grab something in the kitchen, Mistress? I need to make sure you’re not woozy when you get up. You lost a little blood,” he said coyly.

I nodded, still unable to form words.

He returned, still naked, with a plate of fruit along with a glass of milk.

Seriously, did I have the best life ever or what?

I was panting, but pretty hungry. Before I could make a motion to grab a morsel of food, William picked a grape and fed it to me. I savored the momentary touch of his fingers against my lips.

He fed me slowly, lovingly, and occasionally ran his hands through my hair as I chewed. We never broke eye contact.

“This should hold you until dinner,” he said softly. “I’ll go make it for you now.” He moved to get up, but I grabbed his bicep and pulled him closer.

“Stay,” I said.

He smiled. “You fed me something more delicious than I could imagine, Mistress,” he said, “so it’s only fair I prepare something equally enticing for you.”

I didn’t let go of his arm. “You’re enticing,” I said, pulling him back down. “You can make me something yummy for breakfast instead,” I suggested, knowing full well what that implied.

His eyebrows flicked upward, questioning me.

“Stay,” I whispered again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cerise

“I think we went through your entire toy box last night,” William chuckled while stirring the blueberry waffle batter.

I took a long, satisfying swig of my fresh-squeezed orange juice and looked at him levelly. “And broke seventy-five percent of my apparatuses,” I joked sternly. “I’m going to need to know about all the ins and outs of this vampire stuff if I want to keep my collection intact.”

He spun and refilled my glass. “I’ve already placed a replacement order online. Should be arriving by this afternoon,” he said perfunctorily. Always timely and practical, this one. “And I’ll tell you everything you need to know about my kind. Just . . . not all at once, if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” I spoke quietly. And meant it. “Sit with me?” I asked.

He pulled the last steaming waffle from the iron and brought it to me smoothly. “Of course,” he said, pulling out the maple syrup and butter before sitting. Still naked.

“So, give me the SparkNotes version of how to date a vampire.”

He grunted. “Just don’t run for the hills.”

“So, is otherworldly stamina part of your vampire repertoire of tricks?” I asked after swallowing a bite of blueberry-studded heaven.

William laughed, and I smiled at the sound. Otherworldly indeed—how did I ever question it? He could never pass for an ordinary human.

“Yes, Mistress, and I’m going to have to compliment you for keeping up with me. Clearly you go to the gym, or run marathons or something,” he said with a grin.

“Oh sure. I’ve run triathlons, climbed Everest in my skivvies, and am able to fuck vampires for hours on end. That’s how I roll.”

“Maybe we could do a mountain-climbing scene, if that’s how you’ll be dressed. I’m sure all the ropes associated with hiking gear would certainly be advantageous.”

“So, how is it you’re able to come to my house during the day? Sunlight and all?”

He scratched his neck. “It doesn’t kill us—we’re allergic to it.”

“Allergic?”

He pointed to where he had scratched. “If we’re in the sun too long, it gives us a rash. It’s like eczema.”

I buried my face in my hands. “That’s the nerdiest thing I have ever heard.”

He shrugged. “It’s not very cool, but it’s better than being lit on fire every time I leave the house. In fact, pretty much ninety-nine percent of vampire myths aren’t true. We’re just very durable blood drinkers, not magical bat-people, although we do have enhanced sensory abilities.”

“What’s going to happen when I have my . . . visitor?” I asked, cringing.

He paused. “You have regular houseguests?”

“My period.”

William laughed. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing you only get it four times a year.”

“Seasonique, the preferred birth control choice of vampires and their lovers.”

He covered his face with his hands and stifled a laugh. “Any more questions?”

“Is Harvey a vampire? Is that how he makes such wonderful clothes—he just taps into his vampire skill set?”

William shook his head. “No, he’s a human. My niece and her husband are vampires, but we have human friends,” he explained.

“Does Harvey know you’re a vampire?”

“Yes—in fact, the nature of our relationship revolves around it,” William said, slightly cowed. “He donates blood to us in hopes we’ll change him at some point.”

Shit was starting to get real.

“Um, how does that work?”

He waved his hands. “I really don’t want to scare you anymore. Please understand, young American vampires are very progressive in their beliefs. We don’t want to live in a world where we’re predators—we want symbiosis. I’ll tell you about our lifestyle in time. Just know that Harvey is a great guy, a killer designer, and helps keep me alive.”

I nodded, mouth full. “Okay.” Who was I to question whatever supernatural forces gave me this unnatural gift—I didn’t care if he’s from heaven or hell.

“So you’re . . . okay with this?” William asked, gesturing between us. He also looked worriedly at the small nick on my chest, visible only due to my navy La Perla bathrobe slightly slipping downward.

“I was actually disappointed you didn’t have little fangs that popped out,” I joked, swirling my last piece of waffle in the syrup and butter sauce. “Do you have fangs?”

He opened his mouth and showed me his teeth. “Not really, since we all file them down nowadays. Plus, you made the cut yourself,” he said with a shrug. “I have to warn you, Mistress; that was very risky. I wasn’t just saying those things in the heat of the moment—you were truly in danger. Most people who donate to us have been trained in how to behave while we’re feeding,” he said, looking me sincerely in the eyes. I nodded for no real reason—I didn’t know if it meant I understood, or I wouldn’t tempt him again. He continued, and gave me a peck on the lips. “Despite the danger, however, it was probably one of the most incredible experiences of my life. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” I said, and pulled him close. I gave his stomach a few kisses as he stood by my side and stroked my hair.

“Speaking of trust,” he purred coyly, “tell me something.”

I nodded into his embrace. “Sure.”

“What’s in that little recipe box you’re always fussing over?”

I sat up. “Nothing.”

He pouted. “Trust me. I’m just curious.”

“Another time.”

Suddenly, William cleared my plate and gestured to the clock. “What time do you leave for school?”

Shit. “I have a class first period, so I should probably hop in the shower and head out soon,” I groaned.

He looked crestfallen for a moment, but then perked up. “Mistress, my speed could allow for a shorter shower. I’m sure I could do a fast and thorough shampoo job if you’d allow me to accompany you,” he said, again trying to hide his impending smirk.

“A fast and thorough shampoo job, eh?” I asked. “That sounds dirty.” Bizzy chuckled maniacally.

He shook his head. “I assure you, you’ll be quite clean,” he said stoically.

Apparently vampires don’t always catch sarcasm or innuendoes. Oh well, off to the showers. William better not drop the soap . . . Then again, nothing can go “there,” so no use bringing any of my waterproof toys.

“Why do you keep touching your head like that? Does the nurse need to check you for lice?” Deirdre asked. That woman genuinely had no fucking filter.

“No, it’s just tingly,” I said, remembering the vigorous how-do-you-do William gave to my scalp hours earlier. I realized I just came up with a nickname for him—Thoroughbred. Hung like a horse, and thorough as fuck.

Nah, Chilly Willy’s better. My Chilly Willy. Mmmmmmm.

“Are you sure you’re not sick or something? Your eyes just completely glazed over, and a tingly scalp sounds suspicious. Do you use prescription-strength dandruff shampoo or something?”

Why are you the most socially stunted human I’ve ever met? “I’m fine. Now if you’re done nuking your SpaghettiOs, I’d like to heat my lunch,” I replied. Deirdre pulled her disgusting meal out of the microwave and sat with some teachers who didn’t like her while she peppered them with inappropriate questions.

“That’s quite a nice-looking muffin you’ve got there,” said the oil slick of a voice to my right.

Uggggh, Gunderson was back. Wait—you know what, I didn’t care. Today I woke up to a nude wafflefest and I should be nice to this poor guy.

He adjusted his hairpiece and gestured at the blueberry muffin I was warming. Oh yeah, William had some extra batter and decided to improvise.

“It’s nice to see you in the building again, Neil. When did you get back?” I asked, trying to change the subject from my muffin to . . . anything else.

He scratched behind his ear and began telling me about how despite the fact that the incision was still looking scabby, the doctor told him to go back to work.

I fought a dry heave. “Well, take care.” I cradled my warm little muffin in my hands and scooted off to my computer.

I checked my e-mail, and saw that William was able to grab Harvey just long enough to make us some costumes for tonight.

Oh, while we were in the shower, I invited William to the Three’s Company social. I felt like showing him off.

Normally, I didn’t bring my submissives to events. I usually just went to mixers alone, regardless of my relationship status. Brent used to beg me to take him, desperately wanting people to see us together. I told him that sounded too much like a real date to me, and he’d shut his yap.

We only went on one pseudodate once, and it ended with my asshole father calling Brent a real “pussy.” My grandmother was insistent that I bring a date—a male date—to my cousin’s wedding. She had been telling her friends that her granddaughter “knew the love that dare not speak its name.” She found my demeanor particularly unladylike, probably because my mother had been banished years ago by my father’s rigidity and therefore I didn’t have a female role model. So, to prove my raging heterosexuality, I brought Brent to meet the fam. It was a disaster. He never knew how to let down the sub role in front of my dad. Now, ever since my first boyfriend—or “the incident,” as he liked to call it—my father had never met a man he liked for me. With good reason. And he had passed away just after Christmas, so he’d never be able to criticize anyone else I brought home. I shook off the uncomfortable feelings and refocused my mind on what made me happy: William.

Last night showed me a lot about William. Like the fact that he was made for me. Yeah, he was probably born before my great-great-grandparents, and his primary food source was still alive when he ate, but who was I to judge? The man was a freaking miracle. Everything I could ever want. Why shouldn’t I take him and show him to the world?

And honestly, as strange as this was to say, I didn’t think I lost any ground with him as my sub. Regardless of my gushing right now, I was still as firm as ever with him. I even made him loofah my heels in the shower. And he loved it. As he should.

I HOPE YOU LIKE PAISLEY. My phone buzzed and displayed William’s text.

AS LONG AS YOU’RE MY MAIN ACCESSORY, I KNOW WE’LL TURN SOME HEADS, I wrote back.

WITHOUT A DOUBT. ALTHOUGH, I HAVE TO ADMIT, HARVEY CRAFTED ME SOME VERY TIGHT PANTS. I’M A LITTLE CONCERNED.

I needed to meet this man. And sing “Wind Beneath My Wings” to him. Harvey the blood donor was my new hero.

“So, we’ll add feathering my hair to the list of things you’re supremely good at,” I said to William, or should I call him Vamp-dal Sassoon, who was holding the hot curling iron to the last straight strand of hair.

He shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “Don’t forget, I lived through the seventies.”

And as his eyes lowered, I realized he was admiring Harvey’s handiwork as well. On my daisy dukes.

“Did they really wear shorts this skimpy back then?” I spun around to give him a better view.

“I swear, I would have enjoyed the seventies if you were around then, disco and all,” he said affectionately.

“So, do you really own nursing homes, or is that a front for shady vampire business?” I asked.

“No, I really own them.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Because, I originally opened one to take care of my biological parents when they became too old to care for themselves. Their other child—my brother—died in his early thirties, so there was nobody to look after them. I never revealed myself to them, of course, since I was ashamed of my nature, but they graciously accepted spots in the first home of my franchise.”

“Are they . . . gone?”

William nodded. “Yes, they passed. I came to love the job of elder care, however. Had I not changed into a vampire, I would be in my eighties. So the folks at the home are really my contemporaries. We talk for hours—well, they talk and I listen and nod and smile. And enjoy the nostalgia.”

“That’s intense. So you’re not, like, five hundred years old, then, I suppose. Lame.”

“No, but my vampire parents are quite old. They lived through the Renaissance, and so when they raised me, they instilled me with the philosophy of art and aesthetics. They are the reason why I paint, sculpt, and compose,” he explained, then his expression darkened. “They also made me a monster.”

“You are not a monster,” I said, running my fingers across his palm.

“Just don’t offer me your blood again.”

“You did great.”

He recoiled. “Mistress, I’ve made mistakes before. I’ve slipped up.”

I stroked his hair. “You won’t let down your Domme.”

He gulped. “One Domme closed her eyes, leaned in to kiss me, and never opened her eyes again.”

I fought the urge to gasp. “I’m sorry.”

“She had the tiniest cut in her mouth,” he choked. “I—”

“Shh. I know you won’t hurt me.”

“I just don’t want to scare you away. I want you to keep me.”

“William, things are going well, but let’s not rush anything. I’m starting to understand you, and our relationship is moving forward. Actually, startlingly forward,” I said, somewhat surprised at my own words. I didn’t want to hear more about the woman, the girl whom he had killed with a kiss. It hurt him too much. I wanted to help him heal. “Just keep doing what you’re doing and don’t worry about the future,” I encouraged him, and he smiled. It was so nice to see the effect I had on him. He hung on my every word and gesture. Other subs were attentive, but William—William was obsessed.

And that was part of the reason why I wanted to bring him out that night. I wanted to show everyone who had ever rejected him, and everyone who couldn’t live up to my expectations, that we were happy and better off without them. We were enjoying each other, and we looked fucking hot together. Nyah-nyah.

“Your hair kind of defies gravity right now,” I said, pointing out how his coif was now in a winged-out do. He looked like a seventies Ken doll. Paisley shirt, tight-ass mustard-colored bell-bottoms, and platforms to boot. He had to be six-five in them. He touched his hair and did a little Travolta move.

“One more thing to add to your look,” I said, taking him by the chin and pulling his face toward mine. I took a brown leather collar from my purse and clasped it around his neck. He sighed happily.

I held his face in my hands for another second, looking into his eyes, before whispering, “I’ll put the leash on once we get there.”

He moaned softly, and I kissed him gently on the lips. “Thank you, Mistress Cherry,” he said, voice quivering with servitude. I imagine he had dreamed about this day for a long time.

I stroked his jaw with the back of my hand. “Would you like to wear this more often?” I asked. Some submissives loved collars, others felt it was an unnecessary gesture.

“I will never take it off,” he said passionately.

“No,” I explained. “There are still some times when I’d like you to be more at ease. Maybe you can take it off after scenes?” I asked, negotiating.

William’s face moved closer to mine by a fraction. “Mistress. I do not eat, and I do not sleep. I only ever want to serve. If wearing this collar is a symbol of my subservience to you, I want to wear it always.” I placed another soft kiss on the corner of his mouth at his sweet words.

My head cocked to the side slightly as I thought. “I have another idea. This collar is pretty . . . obvious. How about you wear it tonight, and I’ll give you something soon that’s a little more inconspicuous, but means the same symbolically?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Are you ready to wow them?” I asked.

As an answer, he did a Saturday Night Fever split, right on the floor. Bizzy cheered, and I was worried someone may hear her later at the party due to the absurd nature of my short shorts.

“The woman with the brown hair and shirtless submissive is giving you dirty looks,” William whispered in my ear. “I want to hurt her,” he said, and I squeezed his butt a little tighter.

I loved being with a vampire.

Erin was petting Brent’s hair as he kneeled at her side. He was busy keeping his head down while she socialized. He was picking at a pot brownie. They didn’t really look that seventies—they just looked like they shopped at the Salvation Army. Mismatched blouse and ugly-even-for-that-decade skirt, paired with clunky shoes that were clearly two sizes too big. Ugh.

“Erin,” I said smoothly, and confident that my ass and submissive were the hottest things in the room, “I’d like for you to meet William.”

She looked up from her drink, nodded at me, and appraised William. He coughed, clearly unable to keep in his amusement at her expression. “Hello,” she said, suppressing her obvious attraction and shock. “Ah, William, this is Brent,” she said, looking down in disappointment. When Brent didn’t look up, she smacked him on the head and he let out a yelp.

Finally, Brent looked up at us and sneered wordlessly.

I attempted making small talk with Erin, and avoided Brent. William politely chimed in here and there. I made sure to pepper the conversation with the words we and us as much as I could. She needed a clear message about how happy I was, so that next time we met, she’d shut her fucking mouth.

“There’s a paddling demonstration going on upstairs,” she said, nearly shouting over the disco music. “The guy is selling them. Want to test out some of his toys?”

I realized that paddling William in front of anyone was going to cause quite a stir, so I made up a little fib. “William woke up a little sore today,” I said, rubbing his left cheek a bit. “We had a long night last night,” I said, pawing at him a little more. I needed him—soon.

“I think it was technically morning, Mistress,” he said, jokingly. Erin looked like she was going to swallow her tongue, and Brent chose this moment to finally speak.

“He stayed over?” he asked simply. Erin scolded him for joining the conversation so rudely.

I smiled at him. “Of course,” I said, and William fed me an appetizer from the passed hors d’oeuvres.

They excused themselves promptly.

I noticed that at this point in the party some of the guests were in various stages of undress. Breasts here, asses there. It was starting to heat up, which was good, because I didn’t think Bizzy was going to last another minute being strangled by my shorts.

The party was being held in a brand-new condo complex. Apparently, when the place started advertising condos for sale, a lot of people in the BDSM community decided to buy up units all together. Great idea for parties, I must say. The event stretched between a few joining units, with the crowd flowing from one room to the next. I grabbed William’s hand and started to follow the less dressed crowd.

We ended up in a playroom, and it was decked out with a disco ball. The light reflected nicely off the chains on the wall. This kind condo owner was nice enough to allow full use of his toys and room, and despite the copious amounts of antibacterial wipes and gel, it was quite a fun atmosphere.

The room was filled with the sounds of disco and pleasure. “Are you okay with this, William?” I asked. I saw on his checklist that public displays of submission and nudity were not hard limits, but I wanted to check anyway. He was still very new . . . despite being very old. He nodded, eyes alight. I smiled.

I pulled him down to a beanbag chair in a darkened part of the room, and started making out with him. The ambiance was very much like a high school party, and it just felt right. I knew some eyes were on us, and that only fueled my attraction. The way he looked in the multicolored strobe lights, the way his body moved to the music and yet didn’t dance . . . everything about him drew attention. And I wanted to soak in his desirability for myself. I used the leash to pull him closer to me.

My fingers fumbled with the buttons on his broad-collared shirt. He leaned back in the chair, and watched me remove his clothing. His eyes begged to show off, to make me proud, and I nodded at him. In an instant, he had turned his shirt into some sort of rope contraption, and bound his own arms behind him. I saw a Domme in the corner actually lick her lips.

“Good boy,” I told him, and ran my hands down his chest. He threw his head back, loving my touch as much as the thrill of exhibitionism.

There was sex going on in that room, for sure, but much of what was happening was discreet. I noticed that beneath our beanbag chair was a neatly folded, clean blanket. A couple settled down next to us, staring obviously. I loved it.

I used the leash to once again pull him to me. His moves were graceful, even when he was bound. “I am going to fuck you right here,” I said in his ear. I pulled the riding crop from the wall behind us, and told him I’d be setting the pace with it.

And then he did something strange. He whispered that he wanted the blanket to cover me. He didn’t mind anyone seeing him, but he didn’t want anyone seeing me.

That was not a very submissive-type statement, and it took me a minute to shake off the feeling it gave me. The feeling wasn’t bad, in fact, I liked the sentiment behind it.

And that shocked me. William was claiming me, and yet he was collared and leashed and bound beneath me.

And yet I let him have what he wanted.

I pulled him free from his absurdly restricting pants, and even some of the men were staring. That’s right, I thought as my fingers wrapped around him, all this is mine. Luckily, the daisy dukes Harvey made me were surprisingly stretchy, so I draped the blanket discreetly, pushed the shorts aside, and pulled William toward me. I let him penetrate me unseen.

Once we were situated and the blanket was strategically adjusted, I got to work. At that moment, I do believe that every Domme and Dom at that party wanted to be me. William had captured everyone’s attention. His body looked so gorgeous beneath me, and his sinuous movements simply screamed submission. I used the crop gently at first, teasing him, and then faster and more insistently.

“You were an innocent virgin when I first fucked you . . . only a week ago,” I panted in his ear. He grunted loudly. “Now we’re having sex in public. You’re a filthy, dirty, perverted vampire.”

I cracked the crop against William’s hip even harder. I had to have him exactly how I wanted him, and that need grew more desperate by the second. I wanted to tear my shirt off and shove my breasts in his mouth, but I remembered that I was his as much as he was mine, and he didn’t want my body on display.

That thought, along with the throbbing and pounding cold between my legs, made me come explosively. There were a few times where I had some fun in front of others at play parties, but never actual intercourse. I had always thought that my first foray into public sex would have my attention spread between the people watching and the person I was fucking, but there was only William. There was only that angel’s face, and that gracefully muscular body under me, and the sounds of pleasure coming from lips that only an artist could create. And when he whispered, “Mistress, I’m yours,” while coming deep inside me, it was for my ears only.

We left shortly after. I wanted to be alone with him. The car ride home consisted of hands groping bodies and stealing kisses at red lights.

“I’ve never been so happy to be me,” he laughed.

I rubbed his leg. “Mmmmm,” I said, “I was the envy of every man and woman in that room,” I purred. “You were spectacular.”

He stopped his stroking and looked at me strangely. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’ve never been so happy to be me, because I was the envy of everyone at that party. You”—he nearly stuttered—“you captivated everyone. And, when we were . . . together . . .” He paused a moment and collected himself. “When we were together, the way people looked at us—I could see that watching our interaction was the most erotic and gorgeous thing many of them had ever seen. I have never been so happy,” he continued, “to make people jealous.”

I discreetly filled out a note card I had packed in my purse. I pretended to be fidgeting with my phone, but William called me out.

“Is that going in your recipe box?” he asked.

I sunk down into the seat, defeated. “Busted.”

He laughed and stroked my hair. “I’d like to see it.”

“How about we just make some memories I can file away?” I asked, palming his crotch as we pulled into my driveway.

“I think you need a special box for me,” he said.

“And why is that?”

“Because you’ve never had a vampire boyfriend before.”

I grunted at his attempt to reignite the conversation we had earlier about where the relationship was going. “Correction, I’ve never had a vampire submissive before.”

Even though the windows of the car were rolled up, I could swear I heard crickets.

“Ouch,” William said after a moment.

“Yeah, ouch. You’re pushing me. Don’t,” I replied, not backing down from my harsh comment.

He ran his hand up my leg. “I know you’re the only one in this relationship that does any pushing,” he said into my ear. “Or pulling,” he continued, slinking his tongue down my neck. “Or tugging.” His hand was unbuttoning my shorts at this point, and I was ready to sprint inside the house.

The sex after that conversation consisted of naked bodies and a bungee love swing and some warm cherry lube. It took the edge off the whole Chilly Willy situation, considering the fact that last night I think Bizzy got frostbite.

As I drifted off to sleep in his freezing embrace, a thought occurred to me. I had been harsh about the boyfriend thing, but I could give him a little encouragement. “Outside of scenes I want you to call me Cerise,” I said, then dozed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cerise

Okay, so here’s where if I had a BFF, she’d smack some sense into me and tell me I was crazy.

That I’d be a fool to even THINK of abandoning something so rare, and so good.

Then she’d borrow my lipstick and I’d call her my favorite bitch, and we’d go shoe shopping.

But I don’t have a BFF—aside from Erin, who totally doesn’t count—and so therefore there was nobody to talk me down from the ledge I had considered scaling.

Why the hell was I approaching a ledge in the first place?

There was a man out there in the world that literally lived just to please me. Whose every action catered to all my needs. What kind of sicko would reject that kind of adoration?

Me.

This didn’t feel right. For the past few weeks, I didn’t know what to do with myself. When I looked in the mirror after a night with William, I thought I’d see Kate Hudson in the mirror and not me—some bubbly romantic comedy actress who was in love.

All I saw back was a really confused and frightened Domme.

How was I supposed to do this? I knew how to dish out punishment and please the fuck out of a man. I knew how to grade algorithms and how to tie a proper harness. I didn’t know how to love someone.

I didn’t know how to wake up in the arms of a man who now said my name with near-religious reverence, as though the physical act of speaking the name Cerise brought him closer to God.

A man who deserved worship himself.

William.

Feeling his cool hands brush down my back as I woke up and stretched happily. Nuzzling into his chest as I yawned. Strapping his wrists to the headboard to grab a quickie before school. The past few weeks with William had been both spectacular and new, but all these things were so foreign to me.

And according to my late father, who was a Republican, things that are foreign are wrong.

I couldn’t possibly give William everything he needed. I could give him the thrill of my dominance . . . but aside from that, the man clearly needed love. What the hell did I know about that? I had no family now that my dad had passed, and no friends to speak of other than a cranky girl who fucked my ex.

No matter. I had to grade someone else’s tests, so I headed to the office, sullenly contemplating potentially stupid and self-destructive decisions.

Today was a surprise day, a William original, and already I was anxious about opening his e-mail. Would it be something that drew me closer to him, heightening my confusion, or would it be just a clever way to fuck me? Either way, I was screwed on several levels.

With trepidation, I opened my inbox to a peculiar sight. William’s e-mail itself had no subject line, and no contents other than a link to a website. When I clicked on it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Add web designer to my list of things William does superbly.

The website was entitled Last Man on Earth. It was a blog.

The pictures in the sidebar were of William in an abandoned house, with other photographs of street signs and maps. There were links to survival websites along with a brief bio. I shook my head at the screen, not really knowing what to make of it.

There was a big red block of text in the middle of the screen—screaming for attention. “I am seeking survivors—anyone. It’s safe where I live and I promise I have food and provisions for survival. I have staved off several waves of zombies over the past year and have the scars to prove it. If you are still unaffected by the sickness and need a safe place to live, I am actively looking to build a small community. Right now, there is just me. I haven’t seen another healthy human in several months, but I remain hopeful. I’ve posted enough information on this website for any human survivor to find me. Please, come. As treacherous as the journey may be, I promise I can make it worthwhile. We owe it to humanity to continue on.”

I laughed out loud. Oh, this was going to be a hoot.

“What are you so happy about?” Katy asked, rubbing her belly as she saw me heading toward my next class.

“Zombie hunting,” I said, and she just made an amused but perplexed face and moved on.

Throughout the day, I brushed up on zombie lore. The slow ones were called shamblers because of the way they staggered when they walked. They did come out during the day, but their energy was typically much stronger at night. The only way to kill zombies is decapitation and/or dismemberment.

Damn, if vampires existed, did zombies? I hoped William was just being cheeky with this scene, and not warning me about something.

I went home before heading to the abandoned house. I grabbed my backpack and threw some canned goods in there, along with bottled water and some of my cooking knives. My jeans were tattered, as was my dirty tee shirt. A few years ago I participated in a survivor-like retreat with a few fellow Dommes to work on leadership techniques. My jeans were destroyed on one of the hikes, and my shirt was stained beyond recognition by the naughty s’mores-fest that followed. So, I had a perfect ensemble for today, no need for William’s or Harvey’s intervention.

This was almost like a scavenger hunt. I made a note in my mind to recommend more scenes like this in the future.

Gah, I was thinking about the future. Dammit.

I plugged the address into my smartphone and made my way to the last beacon of hope for humanity. I parked a few blocks away so I’d be approaching the house on foot, and possibly out of breath. Seriously, I hadn’t worked out in a while, so it wasn’t a long shot.

The house was an old colonial, and appeared to have been vacated years ago. Some of the shutters were loose and hanging askew, and there were more than a few boarded-up windows.

Just as I started up the walkway, William burst through the door.

“Behind you!” he shouted, beckoning to me. “Run!”

For a moment, I was actually scared. I sprinted toward him and he swept me inside quickly, bolting the door behind him.

He slumped against the wall and peeked over his shoulder out the door’s window.

“It turned around,” he panted, wiping his brow.

“A shambler?” I asked, huffing.

He nodded. “In good shape, too. Could have done some real damage.”

I extended my hand. “I found your website—I’m Cerise.”

He sucked in a long breath. “William.”

“I come bearing gifts.” I unzipped the backpack and spilled its contents on the floor.

He rifled through the cans, amazed. “Thank you so much. I have a lot more in the cupboard, but it’s nice to have some variety,” he said with a smile. “There’s only so many canned carrots and beans a man can eat.”

“I don’t know what you have for weapons, but I brought some knives,” I said, unpacking my wares.

He gestured to the far wall of the sitting room we were in. “A couple of handguns, a rifle, and a fireman’s axe. Not great, but they do the trick.”

I hugged him. “Thank God I found you.”

He squeezed back. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for someone.”

Actually, I had some idea. I blushed at the truth behind his words.

He jumped up suddenly. “Did you hear that?”

I scrambled to get up, and clutched one of my knives. “Yes.”

William hurried to the wall and grabbed a gun. “Downstairs is the safest place in the house,” he said. “We’ve had a couple of groups roaming this part of town for the last week. I think we should head for cover. We can get acquainted once we’re settled.”

I nodded and followed him down the stairs. The panic was totally turning me on.

The basement was dank and gloomy, but William managed to find the pull chain for the lightbulb and turned it on. There was a fridge and a futon, that was it.

“Nothing fancy,” he apologized, “but it’s home. And you’re safe.”

“It’s fine,” I said, sitting on the futon. “I just can’t believe there’s someone else who survived. I’ve been on my own for a while.”

He sat down close to me, and put his hand on mine. “How did you survive?”

I shrugged. “Kept my wits, and stayed on the main roads. I’d stop here and there in small towns, avoiding big cities. I used a few cars, too. Sometimes I’d sleep in them. You?”

“My philosophy was to hunker down in one place and fortify it. I don’t know if you can tell, but I had some alarms rigged outside. That’s why I made the website—this place is safe.”

I gripped his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

He smiled warmly. “Your presence here is thanks enough. I’ve been hoping for someone—anyone—to relieve my loneliness. Who would have thought it would be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

I blushed and hid my smile with my hand. “Oh come on, you’re just saying that because you haven’t seen a woman in ages.”

He brushed his hand along my palm. “No, I mean it.”

I scooted toward him. “You’re not bad to look at, yourself.”

He spread his hands wide. “At least I have all my body parts. Every guy who’s passed by here has been missing at least an arm or a nose.”

I laughed, and snuggled into his shoulder. “You’re funny, too.”

He jumped. “Shit.”

Again, alarm ripped through my body. “What?”

“I need to bolt the door to the basement. It sounds like they got inside.” He raced up the stairs and I watched him move a heavy board over the door.

When he made his way back to the futon, his expression had become grave.

“I’m scared,” I said, pulling him down to me.

He raked both hands through my hair and cupped my face. “I’ll take care of you.”

I swung a leg around his hips and scooted myself into his lap. “I bet you will.”

He gripped my hips and nuzzled my neck, inhaling. “God, it’s been so long,” he whispered, grinding himself against me.

“Fuck,” I moaned, clutching him and squirming against his crotch.

He panted. “We may not have long until they break in,” he said, voice husky, “but I need you right now.”

I pulled my jeans off as he frantically pulled his pants down to his knees. He cupped his hand between my legs and moaned at my wetness.

I threw myself onto the futon and spread my legs for him. He watched me for a moment and stroked himself. I slid my finger inside and pulled it out, goading him. He kneeled between my knees and penetrated me swiftly. We both groaned quietly, trying in vain to control the noises we were making. It was hard to keep quiet, but we had to be safe.

I spread my legs wide on the futon and ground into him, trying to get as deep as I could go. He just kept his hands on my hips and thrust forcefully, desperation making his grim face even more stern. We both needed it so bad, and we were fucking like our lives depended on it.

“Oh—” I moaned, and he covered my mouth with his hand roughly.

Oddly enough, I really liked it. I licked his palm, still clamped over my mouth.

He humped faster as I reached around and spanked his ass. “Faster,” I grunted.

He complied, thrusting into me at an impossible pace. I liked him like this, fast and rough. So much so, that I actually wanted to change it up.

“Get behind me,” I whispered, and bent over the couch, wiggling my ass in the air.

“Fuck, Cerise,” he hissed, running his hands along my cheeks and settling them on my hips.

I felt his length tease me for a second before he entered me from behind. I gripped the arm of the couch and spread my legs a bit, reveling in the sensation. “Come on,” I goaded.

He bucked vigorously, leaning forward and giving it to me hard.

“That’s it,” I moaned, “I want more.”

William clutched my hips tighter and slammed into me, pulling out slowly, then pushing himself back in again. I nearly screamed with pleasure.

After another feral and fast minute, I felt him pull out and grunt, coming on my back. To my surprise, he immediately got on his knees, and buried his face between my legs, lapping with his tongue.

“I’ve missed the taste of a woman,” he said, licking slowly. I pushed his head against me, and scooted around so he was half lying on the couch and I was straddling above him. I rode his face as he gripped my ass, working his tongue in all the right ways.

Pulsing, stroking, wiggling.

“William,” I screamed, his tongue still embedded inside me.

I felt like I was coming apart, unraveling as I listened to the wet sounds of his tongue and fingers penetrating me, caressing me inside and out.

I held his face there for a moment, and he finished kissing my thighs sweetly. I slumped down his chest and into his lap, looking into his clear periwinkle eyes.

“You are too much, Gentry,” I said, collapsing with laughter.

“Me or the zombie idea?” he asked, smoothing my hair.

“Both.”

“I thought it was pretty fun.”

I gave him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s too bad you can’t get a job writing role-play scenarios,” I joked, “because you’d be a millionaire.”

He scooped me into his arms. “Already am.”

I kissed him on the nose. “Show-off.”

“Know anyone who wants to renovate and rent an old house?” he asked with a snicker.

“You didn’t . . .”

“Did too.”

I tapped my lip thoughtfully as he carried me up the stairs. “Maybe we should keep it like this and people can live out their zombie apocalypse fantasies for a small fee?”

“Now you’re thinking.”

We hunkered down in the living room, and I dined on canned peaches and pears. William licked the juice off my chin, and we lit a fire.

Not bad for the end of the world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cerise

To say I’d had a busy month would be an understatement.

Some of the highlights from the past few weeks—photographer and model, prisoner and warden, snowbound in a cabin, the list goes on. Whatever scene I threw at him, he crafted it with gusto and originality. When it was a surprise day, he topped himself each time.

Last week, we used the abandoned house again. No, not another apocalypse. We were fugitives on the run from a bank robbery. William cashed out one of his bank accounts and we fucked on a bed covered in hundred-dollar bills.

Things were good, so I decided to give William a present today.

One he had been waiting for.

I presented the box to him at the kitchen table, after I had eaten my lunch.

“Whatever this is,” he began, “I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do. In fact, you’ve been expecting it.”

He relented, and opened the box with his long, graceful fingers. “Cerise,” he breathed.

“Your collar,” I said proudly.

It wasn’t a collar in a traditional sense—it was a sexy-as-hell leather wrist cuff. This way he could always keep it on without getting unwanted attention. You know, because typically sexy guys don’t walk around town wearing dog collars.

He wrapped it around his wrist and clicked it shut. “I’m never taking it off.”

I stroked his forearm. “Looks good on you.”

He appraised me for a moment, nodding.

“What?”

“Generous beneath your brash exterior. You’re such a Leo,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“You don’t know your own Zodiac sign?” he asked, appalled.

I shook my head. “Superstitious nonsense.”

He waggled his finger at me. “Oh, not at all. I’ve got your number, Cerise. You’re a Leo to a T.”

“Oh really. Go on.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, waiting for his silly esoteric explanation.

“Domineering, for starters,” he grinned. “Confident and encouraging.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “You only see what you want to see in those descriptions. I bet there are ten other adjectives that wouldn’t describe me at all.”

“Melodramatic and stubborn?”

I grimaced.

He laughed.

“Okay, so what are you?” I asked.

“A Virgo.”

“Oh, you were a Virgo when we met, all right.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, the irony doesn’t escape me.”

I cracked my knuckles and leaned in, intensely. “Tell me about Virgos,” I said, placating him.

“Successful, structured, creative,” he droned, patting himself on the back. “We’re very reflective.”

I nodded. “Spot on, Gentry. Anything else?”

“We are givers, who only want love in return.”

My throat tightened. “Interesting.”

He sighed and turned away from me. “Leos often hide their feelings. Isn’t that right, my little lioness?”

“Oh, so now I’m a lioness? Wanna see my claws?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He ran his fingers through my hair. “No, but I quite like your mane.”

“Rawr.”

“Down, girl.”

“Too bad lion tamers use chairs and whips, and not lionesses.”

He gave my forehead a small kiss. “Speaking of, may I take the liberty of setting up today’s scene?”

My muscles relaxed, remembering what day it was. It felt like the weekend, but it was really Thursday. The teachers had a professional day, but substitutes didn’t have to go.

“Go ahead,” I said, slightly more glum than I expected. I realized I was disappointed that I didn’t have to go into school today. I sort of wanted to know what workshops they did.

Suddenly a full-time position didn’t seem so terrible. I shrugged it off and watched some TV while William set up.

He knocked on the door to indicate he was ready for me to get changed. In the bathroom hung one of my school outfits. I prayed he wasn’t doing a student scene.

I was quite relieved, however, to find my bedroom turned into an office, complete with a cubicle and stacks of incorrect TPS reports, like from the movie Office Space. I laughed and was relieved that William at least had some taste in comedies.

“Are you done with those reports yet?” I asked, rifling through the papers. “You interns never get anything done on time.”

William pushed his glasses up his nose and acted flustered. “Ma’am, I’m swamped. Could you possibly get your assistant to take the load off? At this rate, I’ll be here all night.” He looked so stinking cute in a shirt and tie.

I leaned over his desk and looked at him sternly. “Then you’ll stay all night.”

He raked his long, cool fingers through his messy hair and yanked. “You can’t expect me to work all night! I’m not a machine,” he complained.

“I bet you are a machine,” I purred, and popped a button open on my blouse. He tried not to look down.

His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Ma’am, is there anything I can do to get out of this workload?” he asked, finally allowing himself a good peek at my décolletage.

I let my hair out of the ribbon that had been restraining it all day. “I think you could do a few things for me, and if you do them well, I’ll let you go home early. With a raise,” I said, and flicked my eyebrows up.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, sitting back in his chair, clearly aroused. Someone William’s size would have a hard time hiding that.

I pushed his chair away, allowing room for me to sit on his desk and spread my legs. “I want you to use your mouth to pleasure me,” I said, snatching his tie in my fingers and yanking him forward.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said shyly, yet making no move toward me.

He was playing coy.

I was wearing his favorite pair of tie-on-the-side panties, and I grabbed his hands and wrapped his fingers around the ribbons, watching him unravel the tiny pink bows.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

I pushed my skirt up to my hips, and leaned back. “Do your job.”

He spread my legs farther apart, and I watched the straitlaced intern boy work my body with his tongue and lips.

He pulled away from my thighs for a moment with a satisfied smile on his face. He simply couldn’t hide how much he enjoyed it. And by the way my chest was heaving and my legs were shaking, I didn’t think I could hide it, either.

“Back to work,” I barked, and he complied happily.

“I think I’ll excuse you from these reports,” I said to him after I finished . . . again, “but I think you’ll definitely have to work all night. Unzip.” I pointed to his pants, which were promptly thrown across the room. He loosened his tie, and undid the buttons on his shirt.

“No, no,” I said, and he froze. “Keep the shirt buttoned and the tie on.”

I slipped off the desk, and leaned over it, facing away from him. My elbows were down on the stack of papers, and I was ready for William to take me from behind again.

“You’re still working for me like this, intern,” I encouraged. “Now, go rig the mirror so I can watch, and then get behind me. I’ll give you more inst—” I was about to say instructions, but by then William had already moved the mirror and was back behind me, pressing himself against me suggestively. I moaned.

“As I was saying,” I said, nearly begging for it at this point, “you’re still serving your boss. Here are the rules: You’ll keep your hands on top of your head, as though you’re tied up, and you’ll give it to me hard and fast. Are we clear, young man?” I asked.

As an answer, he jammed himself into me forcefully. Like I asked. I couldn’t hold back my primal grunt, and he knew he had done it right. I looked in the mirror in front of us, and watched and felt the scene unfold. There I was, shirt unbuttoned and breasts bouncing nearly out of my pink, lacy bra. He was behind me, fingers intertwined and placed atop his head. I loved getting to watch his face as he serviced me. And when he smiled, it was never smug, just grateful. It was like I was the secret ingredient to his beauty—he was a gorgeous man, but when he was inside me, his expressions displayed perfection beyond my imagination.

“Talk to me,” I begged. Sometimes all I needed to be pushed over the edge (for the hundredth time) was to hear his voice, or listen to his thoughts.

“I’m thinking about how hard it is keeping my hands on my head, ma’am,” he said gruffly.

I pushed back against him, lowering my torso and changing our angle pleasantly. “And why is that?” I asked.

“Because,” he grunted softly, “all I want to do is grab your hips, Cerise.”

“Fuck, William,” I said after a few moments of just grasping at each other after he pulled out. “End of scene—damn, that was good.”

Thank God I didn’t chicken out once I learned he was a vampire. Now that he was comfortable with our arrangement, William loved showing off what he could do with his speed and dexterity.

No man on earth could do what William could do with his tongue. Or fingers. Or pelvis.

They say once you go black, you never go back. Well, honey, once you go vamp, you become a fucking tramp.

Sexually, I couldn’t get enough of him—all of him. The thought of a warm, soft human tongue worshipping Bizzy did absolutely nothing for me now. Oral sex should be cool and lightning fast. I loved the way his hands gripped my hips as he made me come over and over, sometimes by teasing, other times by sheer force.

I rearranged my hair and straightened my rumpled clothing. I took a seat in the office chair as he put my room back in order. “How do you always know just what to say?”

“I say what I feel,” he said. “And obviously, it resonates with what you feel.”

Ehhhhh, he was talking about feelings again. That weird squishy sensation started to come back, and I had a hankering to listen to country music and bake cookies. What the hell was happening to me?

I shrugged, shook it off, and unceremoniously left the room to shower while he made dinner.

Tonight he was making seafood risotto.

I hated feeling so conflicted—so satisfied and yet frightened. I liked predictability—hell, I was a math major. If I wanted ambiguity, I’d major in English.

As I stepped out, I noticed a different towel from the one I had brought in. I picked it up and exhaled loudly. It was warm. William had warmed a towel for me while I showered.

I want more Chilly Willy, Bizzy exclaimed, and I wondered if she ever got tired. I was exhausted—mentally, physically. I just wanted to eat my exquisite gourmet meal and go to sleep.

William understood. “Ah, human needs. Food and sleep,” he teased. “How I miss hunger and exhaustion.” He tucked me in softly and planted a kiss on my forehead.

“Why not my lips?” I asked, nodding off.

“Seafood risotto breath,” he joked, kissing my mouth playfully.

“I’ll be dreaming of that kiss,” I said.

“I hope so. There’s more to come whenever you wake.”

Apparently my subconscious had other plans. I woke up the next morning shivering and sobbing. William stroked my hair and didn’t ask about it, he just mentioned how he wanted me to meet his family and friends. Maybe he didn’t ask about my nightmare because he was afraid of what he’d hear.

He should be.

I couldn’t shake the dream, or the memory that surfaced inside it.

“So, maybe the mall?” Katie asked. I had just gotten out of French class and was headed to lunch.

I looked at the ridiculously popular girl in front of me questioningly. Why the hell was she asking me to go to the mall? I looked down at the 89 on my test and tried to formulate a response.

“I’m not a huge shopper,” I explained truthfully. Just because she was popular didn’t mean I had to pander to her.

She looked troubled. “How about a sleepover, then?”

My eyes bulged. “I don’t even know you,” I said, and crossed my arms. This didn’t smell right. “You’ve never said a word to me before today. What do you want, answers on the math test or something?”

She shrugged. “Relax, okay? Look, you’re with Nick and so now you’re in our circle of friends. I’d like to get to know you. Maybe come over your house or something. All he does is talk about how cool you are, and how much we’d like you if we got to know you.”

It seemed honest enough. Nick was very social, and even though we had only been going out for a few days, I felt the need to please him. If they were on my turf, if worse came to worst, there was a limit to how much they could do to me.

“Maybe, I guess. I don’t think we have a whole lot in common,” I answered honestly. She was an athlete and I was a klutz. Her family was wealthy and mine was middle class.

Just then, two more girls I didn’t know joined the conversation. “Hey, Katie, hey, Cerise,” Janine said cheerfully.

The last thing I wanted was for Nick to be mad, or to have an awkward moment, so I agreed to have the girls over to my house to watch a movie.

“Should we bring something to drink?” Janine asked, winking at Katie.

“I have Coke,” I answered.

“Sweet,” Katie said greedily, “I haven’t had a bump in weeks.”

Janine slapped her hand on Katie’s shoulder. “She meant Coke as in cola . . .”

“Lame. Whatever. See you at eight.”

I never noticed my diary went missing until it was too late.

So yeah, I had trust issues.

Which was unfortunate when William decided to tell me a few stories from the nursing home this morning before work.

He sure got chatty when he was talking about his old people. Sometimes it was hard for me to listen because I pictured him as an old person because technically, he was.

“Harry started a group with some of the other war vets. I think it’s really good for them. Some of the guys never really talk to anyone other than their family and the nurses. Swapping battle stories around the card table is like therapy for them now.”

“What about you? Is there part of you that wants something like that? Vampire group therapy?”

“Why do you ask?”

I sighed. “Because I think you need more than just your family and your old people. It can’t be easy hiding your nature from ninety-nine percent of the people you meet. I mean, I know Breanna and Steven are close to you, but you must want more friends that are vampires.”

“Harvey’s a friend, and Claude to some extent. Plus, I have you.”

“I’m not a vampire.”

“Doesn’t matter—you know what I am, and you’re accepting of it. I told Viola about you,” he said sheepishly as he finished grilling the English muffin for my breakfast sandwich.

“Are you telling dirty stories to your old people?” I asked incredulously. “You realize you could give them a heart attack.”

He laughed. “Of course. It helps them get limbered up before their fitness classes.”

“No, I mean it,” I continued. “Picture sweet little Viola listening to you go on and on about how you like to be tied up and spanked. How tomorrow you’ll be role-playing as a crooked cop. Could you imagine what her nearly dried-up hormones would be going through? It’s just wrong.”

He stroked my hair. “Viola had mentioned that I looked different. Happy,” he said with pride. “And I told her it was because of a girl.”

I felt slightly nauseous at this revelation. “Aww,” was all I could manage for a response.

“I told her I had the most beautiful, intense girlfriend in the world,” he said, assembling the sandwich. “And that I had fallen in love with her.”

I gulped down the orange juice and wrapped breakfast in a napkin. “That’s nice.”

I snatched my keys and headed out the door to work.

“I think I might need some time alone this weekend,” I said. “Maybe you should hang with your fam.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

William

Yesterday was one of the strangest days of my long life.

She has been acting strangely standoffish lately, and when she told me she needed the weekend to herself, the truth hit me hard.

Cerise was thinking about leaving me.

I could see it in her eyes every time we parted—she knew soon it would be for the last time. I feared she wasn’t ready for a long-term relationship, especially from what she had told me about her past . . . which was nothing.

I knew about her likes and dislikes, I knew about her sexual preferences, but as for the real details, I was ignorant. I didn’t know about her family. I’d only met one of her friends, and she had never told me anything about previous relationships.

But I did know this: I could fix it. She had given me confidence that I was worthy and that I was good at what I did. So, I must win her back.

Tonight.

Most women seriously read into things that may or may not be there. A song coming on the radio at a certain time. The name of a new martini at her favorite bar. And, even though Cerise would scoff at it, a line in a horoscope that just had to be true.

So I grabbed a few items around town, and headed to Cerise’s to do what the kids call a ding-dong ditch.

I quietly strode to her door, hung the dress on the knob, and tacked two things next to the hanger. On a book of matches from Gypsy, a chic bar in town, I wrote SEVEN PM. Underneath, I placed a Leo horoscope that read, among other things, “You will meet a handsome stranger,” and highlighted that line.

Then I rang the bell and hid behind the bushes, waiting for my little lioness to appear.

She came to the door in a baggy tee shirt and yoga pants. Her hair hadn’t been brushed, and her eyes looked tired. Something was clearly bothering her. I feared it was my confession: I loved her.

Her beautiful face, however, brightened as she looked at the dress and the notes. She didn’t break into a complete smile, mind you, but I could see that my little surprise had intrigued her. She ran her fingers down the cotton dress, and I caught her looking around for my car. I had run here, of course, so as to be inconspicuous.

The effort I usually put into a scene showed just how much I was committed to pleasing Cerise. I selected the décor and props with care, and I picked out the costumes with equal attention to detail. I wanted her to be consumed by my vision and flattered by my attention.

Tonight, however, I couldn’t redecorate the bar, and I couldn’t come up with precontrived notions of what was going to happen. All I knew was that I had to be a handsome stranger and try my best to “pick her up.”

So I took care with my appearance, since it was the only thing I could control. Instead of leaving my hair in its usual state of trendy “flow,” I combed it back in a sophisticated manner. I wore a polished, gunmetal gray suit and monochromatic tie. Tonight I’d play the part of a businessman away at a conference. I printed up some phony business cards, and I programmed my BlackBerry with some stock apps to check when Cerise was seemingly not looking. I usually never wore cologne, but this evening I walked by the perfume counter at the local Neiman Marcus and sprayed myself with some Burberry Brit. I looked in the mirror and smiled.

I could do this.

Cerise was the only thing that mattered to me, and I was going to fight to keep her. Not because I couldn’t live without her, but because I deserved to live with her.

I deserved this. I’d earned some happiness.

This was my mantra during the painfully slow traffic in Portsmouth. My nerves were threatening to get the better of me, but I shook them off and told myself this was best for both of us. She just needed me to show her.

Tonight I took my Corvette, and was glad when the valet parked it right out front. I hoped to be able to chauffeur Cerise to the “hotel where I was staying.” She had seen only my SUV until now, and I presumed she’d enjoy my sports car’s flashy looks. After all, I was a successful businessman.

I didn’t want to see Cerise yet. I wanted her to see me first. I strode to the bar with confidence, and ordered a single-malt Scotch on the rocks. I stretched out, checked my stocks, and nearly snickered at how uncharacteristic I was acting, and took a sip of the drink the bartender poured for me.

I didn’t know how people drank this stuff. It tasted like paint thinner.

I took another sip of Scotch, and then my eyes caught sight of her.

God, she was stunning.

Cerise was wearing Harvey’s black minidress—emphasis on the mini—and a pair of strappy sandals that crisscrossed up her shapely legs. Her long blond hair rippled down her back in cascading curls with a shock of red here and there, and her face was adorned with the tiniest bit of blush and mascara, although she didn’t need a drop of it.

She was a vision.

And the most difficult thing about my situation was that I couldn’t let her know it immediately. I waited for her to speak to me.

I checked my stocks again, and she leaned over to see what I was doing.

“I have an insider tip, you know,” she said to me, and hailed the bartender.

I looked over at her, and tried not to betray my feral attraction. “Oh yeah?”

She nodded, and crossed her legs toward me. The body language, so far, was working in my favor. “Don’t order Scotch if you’re going to make that face when you drink it,” she joked, and ordered two sidecars.

I drank the rest of the Scotch as a shot, and regretted how it would be sloshing, unused, in my stomach for hours. “In my business, if you don’t drink Scotch, you’re not invited into the boys’ club,” I explained. “I’m trying to get used to the taste, but it’s just not working for me.”

She took a sip of the sidecar and smiled. “Taste this; it’s better.”

I put the drink to my lips, and she watched in awe as I drank. She was probably wondering why I could drink something other than blood. I can drink alcohol; it just has no effect on me, so that must be why she’s gawking. Or she was so into the scene that she forgot I was a vampire and not a businessman.

“Much improved,” I said and held out my hand. “I’m Will.”

She shook my hand and said, “CeeCee.” I smirked at the different twist on Cerise.

I took her hand and planted a soft kiss on her wrist. “Pleased to meet you,” I said smoothly.

I heard her heartbeat increase and watched a small bead of sweat form just under her ear. “It’s mutual,” she purred.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” she said, adjusting the hem of her dress and leaning closer to me. “Are you from Portsmouth?” Cerise ran her fingers through her curls idly, flirting.

I took another excruciating sip of the drink, but this time pretended it was refreshing. “Chicago,” I answered. “I’m here on business. Staying at the Four Seasons for a conference.”

She smirked, and I knew she was imagining going back and seeing what the suites there looked like. “Really? What sort of business are you in?” she asked, intrigued.

Darn. I hadn’t got that far in my head. I just knew there were stocks involved. “Trade,” I answered vaguely, and tried to add on. “Mostly international. Imports and exports,” I clarified, albeit poorly.

“Like Art Vandelay?” she asked with a laugh.

I smiled. “A Seinfeld fan, eh?” I answered, somewhat embarrassed that she was making fun of my scene.

“Absolutely,” she said. “So sad when it ended. Do you ever watch Curb Your Enthusiasm?” she asked, and I nodded vigorously.

“It’s physically painful to watch,” I said truthfully. “I just hate seeing people embarrass themselves, and Larry David is the King of all Assholes.”

I was really, really surprised at where this night was going, but I honestly didn’t mind. I thought I was going to have to use lame pickup lines and act all suave. Another plus was that I was able to drop the pretense of actually imbibing alcohol, and let Cerise order as she pleased.

We talked for hours. Within another drink or two or three, we had dropped the Will and CeeCee personas and were just talking personally about our favorite shows, movies, books—everything we hadn’t gotten around to yet. I knew we’d be moving on to more intimate topics soon.

A few more drinks in, and we were talking about things we truly love and things we hate. About our passions and our aspirations and the meaning of life.

After yet another drink down, Cerise’s hand was creeping up my thigh. Her nose was in my ear and she was breathing heavy, passionate words. My hands were in her hair and then our bodies were in my car, zipping as fast as possible toward the Four Seasons.

And a Corvette zips very, very fast.

Her lips were on my neck in the elevator, and my hands were up her dress.

If only I knew she wasn’t wearing underwear all night, I wouldn’t have worried so much about how she’d respond to me.

She wanted tonight as much as I did.

But I didn’t get too ahead of myself. I wanted to really connect with her, and even though she was interested in me now, what was to keep her from leaving me tomorrow, or next week?

I wanted to take care of her, to have her open up to me, to just go with the flow.

But right now, the flow seemed to be straight into bed.

The elevator dinged, and we groped our way to the suite. And that was when I noticed Cerise stumbling. She held on to my arm desperately as we walked. I asked her if her shoes were bothering her, and her answer was slurred.

Shit.

I hadn’t noticed just how much Cerise had to drink tonight.

And as aroused as we both were, I simply couldn’t take advantage of her drunk. How could I possibly avoid disaster tonight?

I unlocked the door, and escorted Cerise chastely inside. I had to start cooling things down before she got mad.

“Let me get you some water,” I said, and grabbed a bottle from the mini fridge and poured it into a glass for her.

She took it gladly and gulped it down. “Thanks,” she panted, and sunk back on the couch. “Now get over here,” she said, words blurring together.

I stood in front of her, obligingly, and she ran her hands down my chest. “Kiss me,” she demanded.

I, of course, obeyed.

Her mouth tasted sharp, and her tongue was thick and heavy, but it still thrilled me. I tried to slow the pace myself, and she complied. What began as a passionate, openmouthed kiss transformed into a tender embrace. Our mouths touched one last time as I scooped up her limp form and brought her to the bed.

I lay down next to her and smoothed her curls away from her face. She was sweating. “I don’t feel well, William,” she said, her lovely tan complexion looking more green by the minute.

I called room service and ordered ginger ale and saltine crackers, then returned to her side.

Cerise’s eyes were glazed and far away, and she looked distraught.

“You’ll feel better soon,” I said, cupping her face in my hands.

“The cold feels good,” was all she could manage. I placed one palm on her forehead and she sighed with relief.

And with a knock on the door, aid was delivered in the form of soda and a snack. I fed her the crackers and she took small sips of her drink. Soon, Cerise was curled up in a semi-senseless heap in my lap.

“How do you feel now?” I asked, distraught that she still seemed off.

She picked up her head, and began to attempt to explain herself. “Stomach’s better, but . . . ,” she trailed off. I placed my hand on her forehead again, and wondered out loud if I should get her to a doctor.

And then she began to cry.

My eyes went wide with panic, and then I realized it was my chance to get her to open up.

Go with the flow.

I put my arms around her, and coaxed her head to my shoulder. She found a spot in the crook of my neck, and sobbed violently. I tied her hair back with the little elastic she always kept on her right wrist.

“What can I do for you?” I asked. “Do you want to talk, or just go to sleep? A massage?”

She spent another minute nestled in my embrace before she spoke. And when she did, her words were slurred and barely coherent.

“Just please be real,” she cried, and looked up at my face. She put her tiny hands to my temples, as if to examine me.

I looked deeply into her green eyes, and said, “I’m real, and I’m here for you.” I didn’t know what it was she wanted—how could I prove I was real? Was this about being a vampire?

“I’ve had enough fake to last a lifetime,” she cried, returning to her sobbing position. I rubbed her back in small circles, and reassured her that I was always honest with her.

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, wiping her nose with her wrist. She covered her face with her hands, and attempted to regain composure. However, like most drunken girls, she couldn’t quite gain back her coherence. “I’ve been lied to, William, and I’ve been used,” she sobbed.

I sighed loudly, and pulled her closer. “How could anyone ever use you? You’re so strong, and smart,” I confessed.

She made a half-assed effort at pushing me away. “Don’t you dare sweet-talk me. That’s what he did, and look what happened,” she said, heavy tongue getting in the way of most of her syllables.

“Who did, and what happened?” I asked. I shocked myself with the question. It seemed out of character for me to be gathering information rather than comforting her, but I had a feeling that perhaps this was something she didn’t tell people about. Something bottled up. I prayed that this was the secret that had been eating her up, and if she could tell it to me, then she would be rid of it and we could move on.

She laughed bitterly. “I wasn’t always so harsh, you know,” she said, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand. “Actually, I was a pretty sweet girl until I was ruined.” She wiped her eyes and laughed bitterly. “At least, that’s how my dad explained it. Ruined.”

I caressed her face with the back of my hand. “Nothing about you is ruined,” I said, suddenly hating her father and whatever role he had played in this. I wondered about Cerise’s mother; was she chased away by her father’s cruelty? Why hadn’t they reconnected? Cerise could use a mother’s love.

She threw up her arms. “You know what?” she asked. “I don’t even think I can get away with saying he was my boyfriend. It was all a charade.” She shook her head and her mouth puckered miserably. “He didn’t want anything other than revenge. And he got it. And I paid the fucking price—my heart, my dignity, my relationship with the only parent I have, and my virginity.”

Oh no.

Perhaps this was why she was so upset that she took mine so . . . unconventionally.

“I don’t understand,” I said. And I didn’t—how did revenge and sex go together? And her dignity?

She pushed away the soggy stray hairs that had slipped out of the ponytail, and spoke in a voice so distant, it almost wasn’t her own. “To put it simply, a boy went out with me just to get even with the school principal—my dad—the one who suspended him and kept him from getting a college scholarship. He wanted to publicly humiliate my dad, and in the process, I was ruined.” At this statement, she began to cry so hard she was hyperventilating.

She’d sob, then inhale sharply, desperately trying to catch her breath. I had to stop this interrogation.

I helped her to the edge of the bed, and had her breathe with her head down. I rubbed her back, smoothed her hair, and told her repeatedly that she was not ruined, and had nothing to fear from me.

“Cerise, I have no ulterior motives. I’m happy when I’m making you happy,” I explained, honestly. When her breathing steadied, I took her small chin in my hand and asked, “Can’t we just keep making each other happy? Isn’t the future more important than the past?”

Still woozy from the drinks, she smiled the innocent grin of a child. She looked so . . . fragile, and so vulnerable. She pulled herself from my seated embrace, and drew me down into the bed with her.

And she told me her story.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cerise

“Nick, are you sure it’s private back here?” I had asked him, scanning the parking lot warily. The lot was behind the main building, and it was where kids parked only if they were coming into school late.

“Shh, baby,” he said, smoothing my hair. “Nobody’s gonna see us. You know my sister’s always home, and I’d be scared shitless to do it at your house. I mean, you never know when your dad’s gonna be back, with all his school-board meetings and stuff.” Nick made a convincing argument, especially while fiddling between my legs. We had started messing around a few weeks ago, and I was pretty sure today was going to be “it.” We were cutting study, and since they rarely take attendance there, I figured we wouldn’t be missed.

He pulled my underpants down from beneath my skirt. I spread my legs, and enjoyed the sensation mostly disarmed. “But there are some cars in the lot—” I began to say, and he slid a finger inside and cut me off sharply.

“They won’t just come up to our car,” he said, and added, “Plus, it’s after lunch, so nobody’s coming back here to smoke. Your dad’s in a meeting—one of my buddies got busted for pot, and you know how long suspensions take.” He gave me a long, tonguey kiss, and unfastened my bra.

“Let’s get in the back,” Nick said, peeking out the windows. I was glad he was trying to make sure there were no onlookers.

Once we had settled in the backseat, Nick wasted no time removing my shirt. I sat there as he fondled and ogled my breasts, while alternately looking out the window and checking the time. I wanted his full attention, so I grabbed him between the legs.

It was just the cue he needed.

In no time, I was naked and Nick had his pants down. The petting got heavier and heavier, as he continued groping and fingering me roughly.

He started edging his “parts” closer to my “parts” and soon enough, I realized it was about to happen. Granted, it wasn’t the most romantic setting, but my body was ready. The things Nick did to me with his fingers and mouth left me wanting and empty, and I knew what had to happen next.

I leaned back against the window and spread my legs. He opened a condom.

“No, baby, get on your hands and knees,” he said.

I was sure some surprise registered on my face, but he quickly responded to my reaction. “I just,” he said, touching me intimately, “heard it hurts less that way.”

Well, that was sweet of him . . . I guessed.

Although I had always pictured looking into his eyes as I lost my virginity to him. I imagined him holding me close, and telling me he loved me.

Instead, I awkwardly crawled into doggy style position as he took me quickly and loudly. He grunted like a tennis pro.

I didn’t feel any pain, really—my first tampon did that trick years ago—and I didn’t think he was big enough to hurt me. It was just weird and uncomfortable.

“Keep your head down,” was the first thing he said. Nothing sweet, or even anything horny.

“Why?” I asked, as he grabbed my hips, pulling me toward him again and again. I squirmed and tried to make it feel good.

“I think I hear something.”

I tried to plop down lower in the seat, so that nobody would see me, but Nick assured me that as long as my head was down, we were fine.

At this point, I was pretty sure my instincts had led me astray. It would only take another minute to pass by for me to realize just how poor my judgment was.

We continued like that a little longer, grunting and awkwardly humping, when the door in front of me was swung open, and a horrified face glared down at us.

I lifted my head, and several things happened at once.

First was Nick’s laughter.

Then came the shrieking and hooting from a group of teens that had camped two cars down. All to catch one reaction.

The reaction on Principal Norrel’s face when he realized that the “indecent exposure in the parking lot” phone call was about his daughter.

“Who’s your daddy, Cerise?!” Nick shouted, and relentlessly thrust into me as I tried to struggle from his hold. “And who’s fucking your daughter, Mr. Principal? Payback’s a bitch, and so is your little slut,” he taunted, as I watched my father’s face crumble.

“Daddy!” I sobbed, desperate to cover myself, desperate to get away from the ugliness.

“You like that? Your daddy watching?” Nick said, as he sunk his awful dick inside me one last time and pulled out as my father attacked him, yanking him out of the car by his collar.

The laughter kept coming from Nick’s friends on the sidelines, the ones who made the prearranged call to the principal. I fumbled to get dressed, and it dawned on me that yes, my life could be ruined in one moment.

I awoke with a gasp and a cold shudder that left my heart aching and raw. Before I even opened my eyes, I knew I was hungover. That much was obvious—the headache, the empty yet rolling stomach pains. The taste in my mouth wasn’t as unpleasant as I had expected, but where was the bitter cottonmouth from too many drinks and not enough water?

I rolled over and saw William, eyeing me from mere inches away. My hands acted involuntarily and I pulled him into my embrace. A moment later, the only taste in my mouth was his tongue. What a way to wake up. I felt his hands on the sides of my face, and the gentle pressure of his weight as he roused me with a passionate kiss. My mouth came alive at the sensation. I was never one for making out, but I swear if everyone kissed like William, it would replace baseball as the national pastime. His lips, smooth as chocolate, gently sucked on my tongue as it slipped into his refreshingly chilled mouth.

My hands locked in his black hair, and I pulled his body closer to mine for more friction. I was still in my cocktail dress, and he was still—unfortunately—in his suit from last night. We hadn’t—fuck.

Remembering what I said last night was the last thing I wanted to think of right now. What I wanted to think about was using his tie as a gag and strapping him roughly to these thousand-thread-count sheets. Four Seasons—nice choice of hotel, by the way. I bet the little soaps in the bathroom cost more than the contents of my entire medicine cabinet, I mused.

He noticed that I had stopped tongue-fucking his face.

“Cerise?” he asked warily, looking into my soul with his otherworldly indigo eyes. He really needed to stop disarming me like that.

I took a deep breath, and measured my words carefully. “Thank you for taking care of me last night,” I said bashfully, and sat up. I needed to acknowledge what he did—not only did he show me a great time, talk me down from my ledge, and put my drunk ass to bed . . . but he also listened to me. He comforted me, and he didn’t take advantage of my inebriated and horny state. “I’m beginning to wonder if vampires are a species of angel.”

He smiled sweetly, and smoothed my bedhead. “Of course I’d take care of you,” he said, as though he did nothing extraordinary. Maybe he didn’t even know how special he was.

“William,” I said, realizing I needed to clarify, “you, uhh, really went above and beyond the call of duty.”

He frowned slightly, and explained. “I was taking care of your needs. Whatever you require, I give happily. A shoulder to cry on, or a hangover remedy—anything you need, I will take care of. Please don’t question my devotion,” he said, burying his head in my hair. “Thank you for sharing your past with me last night,” he whispered. “It feels good when you open up to me.”

Honestly, it was true. Despite my embarrassment, I thought last night’s episode was cathartic for both of us. Slowly but surely, William was removing the bricks I had walled up around myself for years. At first, he merely beat his fists against them, but now, I believe he may have been dismantling my defenses.

And I think I may be okay with it.

“Well,” I said, cradling his head against me, “your journals showed me a lot about you, so I suppose it was only right for me to share as well.”

“Can we talk more about it?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. I didn’t want to relive that nightmare again. Another time, another day, perhaps.

“Then may I suggest an activity for today?” William asked politely, pulling himself out of the little cocoon he had made from my hair.

I nodded, not knowing what to expect.

He strode over to the closet, and pulled out a cute and casual skirt and blouse—both crafted from former pajamas, of course—and tossed them to me lightly. “We’re going to the movies,” he said.

I raised my brows at him, and he retracted and rephrased. “Er, I mean, would you like me to accompany you to the movies, Mistress?” he asked.

I nodded. “That’s better.”

The theater was empty, but that was to be expected. I mean, really, who went to go see classic films at eleven AM on the weekend?

A vampire and his girlfriend, that’s who.

OH MY GOD—did I just think the word girlfriend?

I mean Mistress. Right. MISTRESS.

We found our seats, right in the middle, up toward the front, and William graciously bought me popcorn and ginger ale. My stomach was still a bit tender from the sidecar bender.

“Casablanca,” I said as the screen sprung to life. “You know, it’s a shame I have never seen this. Guess I just never got around to it.”

William smiled and put his arm around me. We looked like any regular couple. “I’ve lived through all of this,” he said, gesturing at the screen with his free hand. “This is a Sunday series,” he explained. “They do a classic movie from every decade. If you want to come back, you can see more of what my life has been like.”

“Sounds great.”

We both fell silent, cuddled up, and began watching the classic love story.

I was entranced by the beauty of it all. The dialogue was well written, the costumes were simply gorgeous, and the plot had me intrigued. As I stared at the screen, I imagined William sitting in Rick’s café, just as lonely as the proprietor. I put my head on his shoulder.

He kissed my ear and whispered, “We’re alone, you know, Mistress.”

Bizzy stirred from the movie-induced slumber. She said Casablanca wasn’t smutty enough, so she had been quiet for some time. “How do you know?” I asked.

“The silence,” he sighed, cool breath tickling my ear. “All I can hear is the movie and your heartbeat.” And speaking of my heartbeat, I’m sure he heard it just skip a beat. I’m also sure he heard my breath hitch in my throat.

“And what are you implying, William?” I asked, voice stern but teasing.

He squirmed in his seat, and I liked it.

“Well,” he said, voice nearly breaking, “I left you a little surprise in your purse.”

Another surprise? Hmm, this should be interesting, I thought as I fumbled through my larger than necessary Coach bag.

And my fingers touched cold, slick metal.

Two sets of handcuffs.

“William,” I said incredulously, “did you set this up as a scene?” I dangled the two pairs of cuffs in front of his face accusingly.

“Maybe,” he said, looking down sheepishly. I reminded myself that he couldn’t blush, although I swear I could see color creeping into his lovely visage.

I clicked the cuffs so that his wrists were strapped to the armrests. He was blissfully immobile. “This one’s all for you, my creative submissive,” I said into his ear, and began to lower myself to a kneeling position.

And then, using his ridiculous speed, William slipped his jacket from under his seat . . . hands still cuffed . . . and made sure I wasn’t kneeling on the cold theater floor. A gentleman to the end, this vampire.

Though the theater was dark, I could make out the shapes that were necessary. For instance, the very obvious bulge in William’s slacks. I pulled him out slowly, and he writhed in his seat. I heard the delicious sound of the handcuffs clinking as he squirmed.

“Don’t move, William,” I warned. “I know those cuffs can’t hold you,” I said, pausing to flick his tip with my tongue, “so you’ll have to show me your restraint in another way. Don’t move your body and don’t let me hear a sound.”

He sat in compliance, mute, already obeying my directives.

And then, my popcorn-buttered hands greased his long length, and I took a delicious lick. I hummed, increasing the sensation for him, and placed him deeply down my throat. I half-expected to hear him break the rules, but he sat stoically as I deep-throated him. His eyes, however, gave him away.

It was amazing how so much emotion and feeling could be expressed through his eyes. Sometimes they were soft, inviting me to let down my guard and just lose myself. Other times, like now, they sizzled, intense. I felt my face burn as he looked down on me with ferocious passion.

And damn, if he didn’t taste delicious. I couldn’t get enough—if only they made ice cream in William flavor. Just like William, however, it would go straight to my thighs. Heh. I can’t take credit for that one—that was all Bizzy. Maybe I’d let it go straight to my ass, I wondered, then pulled my head from the gutter.

Oh wait, I was giving a BJ, of course my head was in the gutter. And by the gutter I mean his lap, bobbing up and down like a sexy buoy.

I knew he wanted to groan and grunt, and grab my hair. It was a shame I wasn’t letting him. But, however, I would offer a consolation.

I looked up, and tried my best to read his mind. “William,” I said, temporarily removing my mouth, “you have my permission, you know,” I hinted, and went back to work.

He waited until he was all the way inside before coming silently. While he didn’t move or speak, I could tell from the faint tremors in his hips and from the sensation in my esophagus that I had brought him ultimate pleasure.

I sat up, uncuffed him, and told him he did a wonderful job.

“I think you’re the one who did a wonderful job,” he joked.

I shook my head in dismay. “William, did you just make a funny?” I asked, stunned.

He smirked. “I think I’m capable of anything when I’m with you,” he said, chuckling. “But honestly, that wasn’t an easy assignment, Mistress,” he said, giving me a peck on the mouth. “But I loved the challenge.”

I nodded with satisfaction. “So did I,” I said. And that was the truth.

After he dropped me off at my house, I found myself sniffing his jacket, which I had thrown over my shoulders in the cold theater after we had our fun.

And I really do mean fun on several levels. Sexually, we were having a blast, but also, we were starting to laugh together. To go to the movies together. That was fun.

But the other hesitation I was having didn’t go away, and I didn’t imagine it would. Yes, William was able to assuage my fears of being rejected and fooled. I now understood his sincerity, unquestioningly. He wasn’t lying to me, and he wasn’t tricking me. He wanted to be with me and I truly did believe him.

But, with every scene and every physical experience we had, one thing became more and more clear to me: We were not equals. I was a Domme—a Domme craved things and her submissive provided them. Now, William was an epic provider. Sexually, I was beyond satisfied, and creatively, he stimulated my craving for role-play. That should be enough, right?

But, he was faking the physical restraints, and that was hard for me to swallow. Heh. No, really. I know that no matter how many ropes, chains, and shackles I threw at him, he could tear through them as if they were made of paper. Physically, he was more than my match, and much more than any other man. He was faster, smarter, stronger, and simply better than me. How could I delude myself into thinking I was dominating him, even for a second?

I hated that he put on a façade when I bound him. He did it because that’s what was expected of him, and because it was what I “wanted,” but I didn’t want an illusion of dominating him—I wanted to actually be able to restrain and give him that delicious blend of pleasure and pain that I was very good at doling out. There was an illusion going on in my bedroom, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

How could I ever truly get the upper hand? Sure, he did what I asked, but there is a visceral feeling inside me that comes alive when I tie someone up and spank him. And with William, well, it may look like I was feeling that, but I knew I was really just putting on a flimsy show. He was supernatural, and I was weak.

And I hated feeling weak.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cerise

CAN WE TALK? William texted me an hour after he left.

OF COURSE, I replied and started to make myself dinner. Within minutes, he was at my doorstep.

“Back for more?” I asked devilishly. He dropped his keys on my coffee table and walked toward me with that needy yet submissive manner.

“I have a request. I want to talk,” he said with a jaunty wag of one eyebrow.

I hugged him tightly and gave him a peck on the mouth as I stood on my tiptoes. “You did seem a little quiet today. This had better be good, Gentry.”

He tongued my neck, and swirled lightly on my earlobe. “That goes without saying.”

I groaned and writhed against him. “I think I want to make a request first,” I panted.

His mouth moved south down my neck and his tongue flicked open the buttons on my shirt. “You’re distracting me.”

I gripped his silky black hair as he finished unbuttoning my shirt. As he kissed my navel, I pulled his head back sharply. He looked up at me with those endless indigo eyes.

My hands ran from the top of his head, down his cheeks, and grabbed his jaw. “Now, what could make my dirty boy come back so soon?”

He grimaced and hesitated before he spoke. “You said something in your sleep last night. I need to know if you were serious.”

“What?” I said, raising my voice an octave. “I say a lot of stupid shit in my sleep. What was it?” Did I call him by someone else’s name? Did I cry for my mommy? Did I sing show tunes?

He sighed. “You asked to become a vampire.”

I gasped. “No. Way.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget I even mentioned it. What girl in her right mind would want to be a monster?”

I made a sound of disgust in my throat, annoyed by his self-pity. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just . . .” I trailed off, trying to pinpoint why this question made me so queasy. Did I say that? More important, did I want to?

“So was it just a fantasy you were having in your sleep? Wanting to be together long-term, without the commitment fears when you’re awake?”

“First off,” I said with a warning tone, “our relationship revolves around me calling the shots, not you. If I want something to change about our relationship, like, whether or not I was alive or dead, I’d say so.”

William’s shoulders sagged. “Good.”

Wait, good? He didn’t want to change me? Or did he want me to change for his own purposes? I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you asking about this?”

“I just thought . . .”

“What? That I’d finally be able to spank you harder?”

His face fell. He had lost an inch in the last minute. “Don’t push me, Cerise.”

“You seem to want to push conversations that I don’t want to push,” I exploded.

He laughed bitterly. “And that’s part of it, too.”

“How?”

“Why would you want to become a vampire when you won’t even admit your feelings for me?” he finished quietly.

“This relationship is working fine as it is. Why would you want it to be different? That’s why you asked if I was serious or not. You’re trying to get me to commit by becoming a vampire.”

He crossed his arms. “Is it so horrible that I’d like to think of our relationship in terms of decades of sharing our love, and not years? I know it makes me sound weak, Cerise, but I need it. Love.”

“Your journals never spoke of a need for love,” I hissed. “Just a good spanking. This is because you think I’m the weak one. I’m not enough for you the way I am.”

His head sunk. He looked cowed. “Of course you’re enough for me, Cerise. And yes, I said love and I meant it. Everyone needs love, even a creature like me.”

“Oh don’t drop that bullshit on me now. That vampire self-loathing crap. We were doing just fine before you said those words, and we’re doing fine now. Except in the spanking department.”

He took a step away from me, and tore his eyes from mine. “You really think this is about inadequacy? If only you’d open up to me more, we could talk about things like this without you flying off the handle. Let me in.”

I threw my hands in the air. “I’ve given you what you’ve wanted up until now—can’t you just let things happen naturally?” Part of me wanted to go along with it, to discuss becoming a vampire, but how could I do that without losing the upper hand?

He pointed his finger at me. “This is what I’m saying, Cerise! Just let things happen naturally! Let our relationship evolve. If you’re so thrilled with what we’ve got going, why won’t you consider taking the next step? Let’s start to talk more. Maybe once you’ve buried your demons you’ll be fine with yourself and we can discuss the long term.”

That stopped my breath.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘be fine with yourself’?”

He met my eyes once more. “You have baggage, Cerise. Make things right in your life. Unburden yourself from your past. Enjoy life. Then, if what your subconscious told me last night is true, then I can help you enjoy death.”

I blinked at his words.

William uncrossed his arms, opening his posture boldly. He meant business.

“My life is fine, thank you. Now will you come down from that high horse and talk to me for real? What is this really about?”

He groaned and plopped into a chair. “You make no move to commit in any way toward me aside from our Domme/sub relationship, and I know you want more. I can feel it in every touch, every conversation. What’s more is that you won’t share more of your past with me, not even that silly recipe box. I’ve shared the journals from my entire life with you, and you won’t even let me peek into your past scenes. You know you can trust me, right?”

I sat next to him, measuring my anger and tempering it with sympathy. I really hadn’t given much in this relationship. “I’m commitment shy in the traditional sense. I’ve never had a good rapport with either parent, and they hated each other. Let’s just say I have no role models in the healthy relationship department. So no, I don’t want to bring that into this.”

He looked at the floor. “Then we have different ideas about where this is going.”

I swallowed hard. “I guess so,” I whispered.

“I’m going into work for a bit,” he said, and left without another word.

As I sat on the couch, flipping through magazines, I thought about my fear of commitment.

How tight a ring would feel around my finger. The fear of shedding my last name, part of my identity.

And ultimately, these thoughts led back to Brent.

Brent Sorenson and I were together for a long time.

He had put together countless scenes for me, and while they weren’t as extravagant as William’s, they were certainly impressive.

His last scene, however, was the deal breaker.

I came home to the entire house lit by a dozen paper lanterns. Bouquets of white gardenias and roses filled the house and made it smell like a spring garden.

I was a little worried that night. He had been really mushy and sentimental all week, saying words like love and commitment and even babies. I blew off the conversation every time.

No lie, though—my submissive was begging for my babies. I told him my uterus was off-limits. And, as the gatekeeper, Bizzy agreed.

He had said over the phone that tonight would be special. To block off the next day, and take off from work. I should have known what he had planned.

In the bathroom hung a white wedding gown, complete with a veil. It was beautiful—halter top, mermaid fit, glitter and glam to a minimum. Classy. The shoes that went with it were tiny, dainty little kitten-heel pumps. He put a lot of care into it, and even though the idea of a honeymoon scene squicked me, I gave in and put it on grudgingly.

He walked out of my bedroom in a tux. His super-cut body looked really nice in a tailored suit, as opposed to his usual attire of wifebeater and jeans.

“Mrs. Sorenson,” he said with reverence as I walked out of the bathroom completely mortified over the scene.

I nodded at him, and tried to avoid his eyes. His glare was so intense and so full of longing. I was embarrassed for him.

He scooped me up over the threshold of my bedroom, and into our “honeymoon suite.” He had placed little hotel-room items everywhere. Even a room service menu.

“I know you don’t like champagne, darling, so how about a little red wine?” he asked roguishly, handing me a glass.

I took it and gulped it down in three swigs. It was more than obvious that I was nervous. He looked at me warily, but refilled anyway.

“So, I know wine is relaxing enough as it is, but how would my new bride like a massage on her honeymoon night?” he asked, rubbing some almond-scented oil between his palms.

Brent was a master of massage. I was a sucker for his back rub, so I just smiled politely and lay down on my stomach.

He undid the halter, unzipped the white gown to the waist, and slipped the sides off my body. I felt his hot breath on my neck, and he got to work on my shoulders.

I groaned, and let my worries drop to the floor as Brent massaged my back softly. Every few minutes or so, I’d take another long sip of my wine, and let myself be pampered. This wasn’t as bad as I had thought . . . at first.

Once Brent had finished on my back, I wanted more. I wanted legs, I wanted arms, and Bizzy wanted a “deep-tissue” massage. So I flipped over preemptively.

And caught him off guard.

With a ring box in his hand.

“Uhh,” he stuttered. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

I frowned and said, “Of course I’ve seen it, silly, we’re married.” I tried desperately to keep him in the scene, and to prevent him from doing what I thought he was going to do.

“Cerise,” he said, “I want this to be real.”

I pulled the halter back up. “This is real,” I said, grabbing his hands. “That massage was real, and from my estimation, you weren’t done with it yet.” I put his hands on my thighs, and indicated what I wanted.

“No,” he said, quietly.

I gritted my teeth. “Excuse me?” I asked.

He pulled the ring from the box, and got down on his knee. “Please, will you marry me?” he asked.

“No, Brent.” I looked at him squarely. “The scene is over. Get dressed. We’ve danced around this subject enough, and you know not to question your Domme.”

He frowned deeply, and said, “But you’re not just my Domme, you’re my girlfriend, and I want to marry you.” He pulled out an envelope.

And handed me two plane tickets to Aruba. Dated the next day. “We could have a private ceremony on the beach.”

“You are not my boyfriend. You are my submissive. And I said no.”

He waved the tickets and ring in my face. “Do you really think I’d do all this just for a spanking? Seriously, Cerise—I love you. Not your whips and your cuffs, but you. Your mind, your soul. I fucking love you and I’m starting to think you don’t even care.”

That’s when the tears started. Tears for him, tears for me. “I’m not made of stone, Brent,” I explained. “And I do care. Really. Why else would I be with you for so long?” I cried. “But the truth is, I don’t see that kind of life with you.” The last part came out as a near whisper.

He looked at me, bewildered. “What do you mean, ‘that kind of life’? Normalcy?” he barked angrily.

“Babies, marriage, a white dress. It’s not me, and it’s not going to be my life. I never wanted that,” I said.

He approached me and looked me in the eyes. “I know you’ve been hurt. Now, I don’t know why, but I can assure you that I would never, ever hurt you.”

I shoved him away, knocking over the red wine. I scooted my feet away from the broken glass and resisted the urge to command him to clean it up. “This isn’t about me being damaged, Brent—I just know what I want. And what I don’t want,” I nearly shrieked. “How dare you question my values? Not everyone in the world wants needy little brats running around and breaking shit. I don’t need that kind of life to be happy.”

He picked the broken glass off the floor, but not before knocking the almond oil down into the already growing pool of liquid on the floor. “Then I guess you don’t need me. You just need a sub.”

I was hurt, and spoke with equal sting. “I guess so.”

And he left.

And I found other men to temporarily satisfy my needs. And he found Erin.

Then I found William.

Who rocked my world. Who shattered my preconceived notions of what my life could be. Brent just wasn’t right for me. He couldn’t see the happy medium between submissive and boyfriend. He could see only his cookie-cutter version of the future, and I’ll be damned if anyone were to decide to shape my future but myself. And if that future involved blood, well maybe I’d entertain it.

When William gets home, I think I’ll have a word with him.

He came back in the house looking slightly happier than when he left.

“William, I want to talk.”

His shoulders slumped. “I just spent the last hour trying to get over our last conversation, Cerise. I’m not ready for another letdown.”

I took his chin in my fingers. “I want to compromise.”

He tensed and averted his eyes from me. “I don’t really see how there can be a compromise.”

“Hear me out?” I asked. “If you won’t, I’ll strap you to the bed and nag in your ear until you listen.”

He laughed and pulled me down onto the couch. “Fine,” he chuckled. “Although the alternative kind of sounds like fun.”

“Listen. I can’t be someone I’m not, so don’t push me. I’ll move forward at my own pace. Maybe I am a little interested in being like you, but it’s not something I’m ready to even wrap my head around right now. As a concession, how about you move in with me?” I said, saying the words before I really thought them out. I was busted. Bizzy had already started picking out china patterns for us.

His eyes widened comically.

“It’s just for convenience, you know? We’d be together more, and I do want that. Plus, I mean, you don’t, like, need anything. No sleeping, no eating, so you don’t have to . . . I don’t know. Just get your clothes, and, um, toiletries, and put them here,” I said, brow furrowed, rambling like an asshole.

Did I just seriously ask him to move in with me?

Do you even need a toothbrush? I wondered randomly.

He took my hand and smirked before answering. “If you think inviting me to move in with you is the best way to throw me off your scent, you’re wrong. But then again, this is a significant step. Thank you,” he said.

“You still need to admit that at least part of this desire to change me is about pain.” I began the talk I was dreading worse than the one about love. “William, no offense, but it’s really clear that we have an imbalance of power in our relationship,” I said, voice on the verge of quavering. “As a Domme, I have needs,” I said, and as soon as the words left my mouth, his face fell.

I tried to recover. “Needs that include physically dominating you, not just asking you to keep your hands still, or to test your restraint.” He perked up, albeit slightly. “I have thought once or twice about becoming a vampire and being stronger, but for now I do want to tie you up so tight that you can’t move, and then spank the hell out of you. I want you to struggle and mean it. And, the worst part is, I know you want that, too. There has to be a part of you that’s slightly disappointed that I can’t bring you pain with pleasure. I read your journals—I know what you want.”

His face told me he agreed, but his words betrayed that sentiment. “I swear to you, as appealing as all that sounds, it’s not why I would want you to change. I’m still not sure if I want you to. It would be painful, but then again, if it would give you satisfaction . . .”

I groaned. “I’m satisfied, don’t get me wrong, but really—think about it. You have all the power in the relationship,” I said glumly. It was hard to say, but my pride pushed my fears aside and I said it.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered, got out of his chair, and knelt at my feet. “Have you listened to a word I’ve said this whole time? Have you read a word I’ve written?” His voice trembled with fervor. “From the moment we met, you have had me in your grasp.” He clutched my face in his hands, almost roughly. “You are the one with the power. The power to grant me happiness or punish me with loneliness. I think only about you. My every move is motivated by how you will react. You’re virtually God to me, Mistress.” His body quaked with obsession. He shook his head in dismay, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t you see the power you have over me? My strength is nothing in comparison to the hold you have.” He let go of me, and backed away, slowly, embarrassed by his outburst.

I tried to process everything he had said. It did seem true—I had a hold over him that was perhaps stronger than shackles and more torturous than a good flogging. But that didn’t change what I wanted.

“So this isn’t about being squeamish about years down the line, serving a Domme who’s sixty-five years old? I’m sure you won’t be as thrilled with my boobs when they’re sagging,” I said with a pout. As silly as it sounded, I meant it. I was self-conscious about aging.

He laughed.

“I love every inch of your body,” he purred. “Plus, I can age along with you.”

“What about when I’m eighty-seven and I still won’t change for you?” I asked smugly. Surely he wouldn’t have an answer for that.

“Then I’ll serve you your toast and tea—while naked, of course—and make sure you’re satisfied well into your later years. You’ll be the happiest octogenarian on earth.” He smiled broadly. He stopped to think, then added, “I’m thrilled you’d want me that long.” His smile nearly reached his ears.

I shrugged. “I did just invite you to live with me,” I said truthfully.

His face was peaceful. “You did, didn’t you?” he asked softly. “Shall I go get my things?” he asked.

I nodded. “Anything else you’d like to add, since we’re in catharsis mode?”

“Let’s start really living your life. I want you to go after a full-time teaching position, because you talk about it in your sleep you want it so bad. Let’s clean up your past, the things you talk about that are holding you back. I think you may end up looking at my offer differently,” he said, voice nearly bursting with affection.

I blushed, embarrassed. I thought I was doing such a good job at keeping the skeletons neatly arranged in my closet, but in reality they were bursting out when I looked away.

“Ready to shake on that, Gentry?” I asked, reluctant.

He positively glowed. “Yes, Mistress,” he said, pulling me in for a soft kiss. “You know I have a hard time telling you no.”

“I like giving you a hard time,” I said, giving him a swift spank to the bum. “Fresh boy. Go get your things.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Cerise

He plopped the single box in the center of my living room floor.

“That’s it?”

He shrugged. “That’s it.”

“You own an entire complex down the Banke and all you’re bringing here is this single box of stuff? No artwork or anything?”

“Breanna and Steven can keep the rest. I don’t hang on to things long. If I had kept everything I had ever bought, I’d need a home the size of Buckingham Palace. All I need is right here,” he said, taking my hand and planting a soft, cool kiss on my wrist. “And as for the art, I’d like to maybe make the guest room into a studio, considering how often you inspire me.”

I walked up to the box out of curiosity and sifted around. A few clothes, some books, and a garden spade. I held that last item up. “Planning on digging up the petunias?”

He laughed and took it from me carefully. “That is the only item I have that belonged to my parents,” he explained gently. “They were very simple people. Maybe that’s why I don’t need more than a box of worldly goods.”

“I thought your parents were Renaissance vampires. Paintings, extravagance, and the like. Or did they have some crazy over-the-top garden?”

“My biological parents were farmers,” he said, fingering the garden tool with reverence. “They sold me to vampires.”

I clamped my mouth with my hand and sunk down to the couch, horrified by this revelation. And horrified at his reaction to it. “How,” I asked, eyes watering, “how can you speak of them kindly after they did something like that?”

His gaze clouded and his expression was unreadable. “They were only looking out for me,” he explained. “It was the beginning of the Great Depression, and caring for a precocious—and ravenous—five-year-old boy was too much of a burden. And nothing was left of their farms but dust.”

I shook my head. “But to sell you to vampires!?”

“I spoke too strongly. A rich couple passed them one day. My parents were on the side of the road, begging for food for me. The couple explained how they were unable to have a child of their own, and despite all the luxuries the world had provided them, the only thing they wanted was impossible.”

“Which was true,” I whispered, understanding.

“My parents thought it was in my best interest,” he said, eyes downcast. “Here were wealthy people who could take care of me. Who wouldn’t let me starve. Who would love me.”

I gripped his hand. “They didn’t hurt you, did they? The vampires?”

“They never fed from me,” he said softly, “but the restraint was quite difficult. They loved me from afar. We never cuddled like most parents and children do. I was never kissed for getting high marks at school. But they did give me a great deal. They gave me a world-class education, trotting the globe in search of the finest things in life. They gave me companionship, which was what they always wanted. And they gave me this,” he said, gesturing to himself. “Eternal youth. Undeath.”

“You were never held?” I asked, running my hands up his arms.

“Not until you.”

I examined his face, searching for more than what he told me. “Do you love them or hate them?”

He sighed and paused for a long time. “I love that they saved my parents from a life of poverty, and saved me from painful starvation. I love the intellectual gifts they gave me, and the support I needed during my young life. But once they changed me when I was fifteen, that was when I began to hate them.”

I sat back and exhaled. I was fifteen when I started to hate my parents, too. My too-strict father and the milquetoast mother he scared away. Who sends a Christmas card every year in smaller and smaller writing that I worried she’d disappear one day. Not that I saw her.

“I’m sorry this subject matter is unsettling,” William said with a wave of his hands. “I shouldn’t have said so much.”

“No,” I protested. “It’s just reminding me that I haven’t talked to my mom in a long time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I just want ice cream,” I said, standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “But I do want to hear the rest of this story, so sit tight.”

A hefty carton of salted caramel and fudge ripple sat on the freezer shelf, begging me to drown my sorrows in cold sweetness. Maybe that was why I liked William so much, I mused. Cold and sweet like ice cream.

I pulled him down to the couch with me and prompted him to continue. “What did they do when you were fifteen?”

“They turned me into a killer. They were very traditional vampires, my parents. I always knew what was going on in the lower chambers of my house when I slept in my four-poster bed. I knew they fed off the humans who came inside and never left. And when they changed me, they taught me to do as they did—feed from the living, so I could continue to exist.”

“But you don’t do that now,” I replied. “You’re . . . progressive.”

He swirled his finger in the bowl and held a creamy finger to my mouth. “See how you opened for it? Because you craved that taste.”

I giggled.

“It’s not exactly the same, but close. I wanted it. For a while, I drank from humans because my thirst compelled me to. I wasn’t old enough or wise enough to learn self-restraint while feeding. And the humans they provided were untrained in vampire feedings. In my coven we train and feed from willing donors, like Harvey. They learn to stay still, make no sudden movements, and slow their breathing. When you’re a new vampire, you can break a neck as easily as a twig on a dry tree. You can siphon the life from a person before they even know what’s happening. I did what my nature told me to.”

I nodded. “I know teenagers. They aren’t very good with self-restraint. I get it.”

He stroked my hair. “You’re too willing to forgive. I killed, Cerise. And then I left. I found other vampires who existed through donors and other nontraditional means, and that was that.”

I was mesmerized by his story, but had to know more. “Do you ever see them?”

“Occasionally I’ll visit—they’re normally in France, where they’re from. They are always happy to see me, but never satisfied with my lifestyle.”

I nodded. “So, you feed on only Harvey and others like him?”

He froze. “Not exactly, Cerise.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my breath hitching in my chest.

He took my hand back and looked at my face with fear. “Please, don’t judge me too harshly for this.”

“You’re home,” I said simply. “You shouldn’t fear anything you say here.”

He continued, stiltedly but determined to explain. “Harvey isn’t enough for Breanna, Steven, and myself. For this reason, I often feed at the nursing homes. I use IVs on the terminal patients and order blood supplies from the local hospitals.”

I made no sound. I simply listened.

“The folks there love me. Even the ones with severe dementia, who have seen me countless times and never remember my face. Those are the ones I visit in the night. I please them with my presence and my eager ear, and when they fall asleep, I slip in the needle so gently they don’t even feel it. They get an extra vitamin in the morning, per Nurse Breanna’s orders, and they don’t remember what happened.” He turned away from me.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be ashamed of that.”

He looked back at me. “I’m dealing with it. We don’t have to be bad.”

“I know, William. You are a good soul. You could be out there killing people, instead—”

He interrupted me. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s worse; I prey on the weak and vulnerable. I siphon blood from old people and drink it out of little pouches. Even for a vampire, I’m a coward.”

“You’re a miracle,” I said, the reality of my nature hitting me in the face. “And I’m a woman who uses you. I’m the coward.”

“Wrong again,” he said, coming closer to me and whispering into my hair. “You’ve given me something to live for.” We kissed, and I pulled away, realizing the depth of his fears.

The fact that he never got the love he needed.

The fact that he used people.

“Is this why you’re a submissive?”

He nodded, mouth stiff. “I don’t deserve you.” His body trembled slightly, and the words sprung from his lips, as though his heart couldn’t contain them any longer. “I love you. I love you so much,” he said, nearly gasping for air. He ran his thumb down my cheek, and I kissed his fingers when they reached my mouth.

Words failed me. I didn’t know what to say—hell, I didn’t even know what to think. I was giving him the punishment he wanted, but I disagreed with his reasonings. He wanted affection tinged with retaliation for what he had done. Right now, I realized, he should have something else.

He should have more.

“Then,” I said, trying to express my emotions and confusion to him, the man who had just laid bare his soul to me. “Let’s make love,” I said, searching for what he really needed, but what I couldn’t give. “Just us. No rules,” I whispered, my body reacting to being so close to him. “No scenes, no props,” I continued, staring into his eyes. His breath caught visibly in his throat.

“Are you sure?” he asked, unsure. He ran his hands skittishly through his hair. “I . . . I don’t know how.”

“Of course you do. Use your feelings for your instincts, not your desire for punishment. Don’t just give,” I explained, gripping his shirt in my hands. “But take, too.”

Wordlessly, William scooped me into his arms and took me into our bed as his lover and equal.

We undressed each other slowly, renewed thrill in the revelation of bare skin. Each article of clothing fell off with meaning, and I soaked in the electricity of the moment.

I took my time tasting his body as each new expanse of flesh became visible. Tight forearms. The hollow of his hips where his pants sat. Somehow, I didn’t know how it was possible, I found more parts of him to enjoy. The smooth muscles between his back and chest. The dimples where his lower back met his behind. And my God, the man had positively elegant ankles.

William took his time with me as well, and more confidently than usual. I liked it. When we kissed, I felt his strong, corded arms press me roughly to him. He wanted me like this, and I was so proud of him for it. And, more significantly, he tore—tore—my panties off. This was indeed a man—virile, strong, and territorial. His body was designed for me alone. My match, my partner. From his eyes I knew: All he would ever want and desire hinged upon me.

And I gave myself to him fully. He entered me with desperation, but not out of weakness—out of strength of feeling. I understood him now. With every stroke of his hands, and with every thrust of his hips, William showed me what it was to make love. What it was to be someone’s everything. I clung to his body, arms and legs both clutching him with need. I buried my head in the crook of his neck as he took me over and over, countless ways, in innumerable positions and pleasures.

No words. Grunts, gasps, sighs, whimpers. The only words mates needed for each other in the heat of love.

I was moved by him tonight. His gentle strength. His burningly cold, silken touch. His fearful and yet courageous honesty. As we lay together after our hours-long tryst, I marveled at him. He was a wonder.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after a while, watching me watch him.

I ran my fingers along his motionless mouth, touching his smooth lips. “That was my first time,” I said sleepily. “Making love.”

He smiled into my hand, placing soft kisses on my palm. “It won’t be your last,” he said, eyes scorching.

“I hope not,” I said, wriggling into my sleeping position, “now that I have a live-in boyfriend.”

Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was smiling.

He pulled me closer and nuzzled my ear. “Can I change the subject for a moment?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Can I ask about your past now? You talk in your sleep, you know. And a question has been haunting me for weeks now,” he whispered, and I squirmed in his arms.

“Oh God,” I whimpered, worried about what I may have said. “What sort of things do I talk about?”

He snickered, then answered, “Mostly things about your day, and about us . . . nothing too embarrassing.”

I felt another long pause again, so I asked, “Too embarrassing? William—spill the beans.”

He chuckled again, and asked, “I just want to know—who’s Bizzy?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cerise

“Bizzy is . . . ,” I said, pausing to collect my thoughts. “Bizzy is my Domme, so to speak.”

William’s eyes went wide. “You’re a switch?” he asked, completely perplexed. “And Bizzy’s a woman?” He held up his hands. “Not that I’m judging . . .”

I laughed, and replied, “Oh, she’s all woman.” I snickered. “Bizzy’s my nickname for my very bossy vagina. She calls all the shots.”

“Like, your busy beaver?”

“Oh God, not busy, B-I-Z-Z-Y.”

William seemed stunned for a second, then doubled over laughing. He shook his head. “Well, I suppose some of your dialogue with Bizzy makes sense, then. Although I’m a bit weirded out that she talks in such a high-pitched voice.”

Oh—my—God, Bizzy has a voice?

I just smiled and pretended I knew that.

“So, do you have a name for my . . . business?” he asked shyly.

I bit my lip and decided whether or not to tell him what Bizzy had dubbed his junk.

“Ahh,” I began, “are you sure you want to know? This name was Bizzy’s call, not mine,” I said defensively.

He smiled and approached me slowly. “Tell me,” he cooed, “please.”

I ground my teeth and reluctantly answered, “Apollo.”

One eyebrow flew up. “Like the Greek god?” he asked, smirking.

I nodded. “And like the space shuttle. Worthy of worship, and takes me to the moon.”

William scooped me up and planted a not-so-sweet kiss on my lips, whispering, “How about I formally introduce Apollo to Bizzy, then?”

I nodded so hard I got a crick in my neck. Luckily, William was able to work out all the kinks.

Literally.

Emphasis on the word KINK.

Rawr.

“Sup, bitch?”

“What’s new?” I asked, trying not to look annoyed.

Erin took a long swig of her tea, eyes never leaving mine. “Oh nothing with me,” she droned, “except I heard an interesting rumor about you,” she said cryptically.

“It’s true,” I said, “I did swipe all the good jeans at Nordstrom.” I smiled and held up my bag, triumphantly. “Fifty percent off!”

Erin flicked her eyebrows up at me, and blew into her hot drink. I realized our routine was beginning to get a little stale. I took no pleasure in our long, tea-soaked talks anymore. “No, I heard your submissive is moving in with you.”

“William moved in last week,” I said, grinning broadly. “He’s just about unpacked.” I snickered to myself at the private joke.

“Lemme guess: You’re already having vanilla sex with him, aren’t you?”

My face completely gave me away. I made a mental note to never, ever play poker. “We have plenty of flavors at our house,” I said with enthusiasm, “and vanilla can be very tasty.”

She crossed her arms so forcefully, her boobs squished up to her neck. “And what’s next? Sex in those awful flannel pajamas on weekends? Or, better yet, rushing through sex so you can watch your favorite TV shows together?”

I just rolled my eyes and tried to ignore the barrage of bitch she was throwing at me.

She pursed her lips and spoke again, condescendingly. “And I suppose I won’t see you at any more munches or play parties now that you’ve settled down.”

“Oh no,” I clarified, “you’ll probably see us more. Just because I’m committed, doesn’t mean we won’t be having fun. Lots of it.” I smiled again, broadly, and slurped down the rest of my Frappuccino, since Erin’s mood had sapped some of my positive energy.

She just grunted and rolled her eyes, then looked at her phone. It had buzzed, nearly knocking her drink over with the force of the vibration.

Her face became vacant as she read the text message. “No, ah, good for you guys . . . ,” Erin said, shoving her phone in her bag and blinking back tears. “I need another Splenda.”

She rushed over to the little beverage cart and fiddled with the napkins, sugar, and little stirring sticks for a solid minute while I stared at her back, wondering what the fuck was going on.

“What’s new with work?” I asked once she had settled back down.

“Ah, new boss. Douchebaggy-dude whose dad owns shares in the company. It’s fucking horrendous. How about you? Getting ready for summer vacation?”

I nodded wordlessly. I didn’t want to tell her how William wanted me to get a full-time position. And I certainly didn’t tell her how much that prospect terrified and nauseated me.

“How’d you hear we had moved in together?” I asked, changing the subject, curious that something so recent and so personal had gotten around to Erin without my telling her.

She blinked furiously again, “Actually it was, Br—” she started to say, then sobbed, “Brent.”

I leaned in, confused. “Erin?”

She pulled her phone back out, and showed me the message that had dismayed and upset her.

It was from Brent.

IT’S OVER.

“Everything okay?” William asked as I walked in.

I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the drama from the tea date. “Erin’s going through a rough patch. It’s fine. She just needs to work some things out.”

“You want to talk?”

I huffed loudly. “I don’t even share my dirty laundry. Why should I share Erin’s?”

He held his hands up defensively. “You just look ruffled.”

“I’m fine. Actually, I want to spank the hell out of something, so it may as well be you.”

He dropped his drawers and shuffled silently toward the bedroom, snickering softly.

Truth was, I did indeed feel ruffled. I felt like Erin’s breakup was somehow my fault, although I have no idea why. I hadn’t been with Brent in months, and the fact that I had moved in with someone should cement our nonrelationship even more. Still, there was something unsettling about the timing of it all.

And even though she was a stone-cold bitch, I felt bad for Erin. She was happy with Brent. Maybe he pulled the commitment stuff with her, and she shot him down, too.

Whatever. It was not my business.

And speaking of business, by the time I got to the bedroom, William was naked and prone on the bed.

“Get on the spreader bar rack instead,” I said, pointing to my newest toy.

I guess toy is a bit of an understatement.

William suggested I invest in some high-end bondage furniture, so I figured go big or go home.

The rack was perched in the corner of our bedroom by the closet. We had used it once or twice in the last week because I liked how immobile it kept him. He didn’t appear to be able to break out of it, so it gave more of an illusion of control.

I pulled on a vinyl red catsuit with a black racing stripe down each side, and laced up my baddest boots. He watched from the apparatus, licking his lips.

“I said I wanted to spank. Strap yourself facing inwards.”

He made the adjustment quickly. “Sorry, Mistress Cherry. My humblest apolo—”

Crack went the paddle on his ass. I held back slightly so I wouldn’t break yet another piece. This one was wood with leather stretched over the entire thing. I think the slight stretch in the leather helped keep it together.

Whack.

“Green.”

Whack-whack. The paddle grazed both cheeks.

“Mistress,” he grunted, “may I be honest?”

“Yes.”

“Please use the cane,” William moaned, “I want to feel it.”

Whack.

“You can’t feel this?”

I saw him tense. “It’s very light. I think the cane may actually sting.”

I trudged toward the toy box with a heavy heart. This wasn’t really working, was it? The illusion of domination, the remote semblance of punishment. I drew the cane out from its sheath and smacked it against my palm.

Sting it did.

“Tell me how this feels, William.” I brought the cane down hard against the backs of his thighs.

“Green.”

I smacked him again, harder. “That’s not how you feel, William. It’s what you want. Now tell me how it feels.” Smack-smack.

“Good.”

I knew by the brevity and tone that he was lying.

“Get down.”

“Mistress—”

“Actually, don’t get down,” I said, teeth clenched painfully. “Break out of it.”

“You don’t want that.”

I smacked the cane fruitlessly against his buttocks and it snapped in half. “Don’t tell me what I want.”

With an angry grunt, William snapped the shackles around his hands and feet. The bolts and all tore right out of the rack, and he stood before me naked and broken-cuffed.

And steaming mad.

He took a small step toward me, face grim. “Was that necessary, Mistress?”

I picked the pieces of the cane up from the floor. “Are you questioning me?”

“Yes. Why couldn’t we just play like we always do?”

I pointed my finger into his chest, pushing against his skin. “Because you basically told me I wasn’t doing it right.”

Still, he remained immobile and looming over me. “I was just being honest. You told me to tell you what I want. And what I wanted was to feel more than a light brush.”

I scoffed. “And what I wanted was a piece of furniture that could actually hold you.”

“You made me break out.”

“I had to dispel the illusion of what we were doing. Face it, William, the power exchange will always be this way. You being fucking supernaturally strong, and me pretending to be what you need.”

Finally, his grim expression fell. “You are what I need.”

“Exactly what you need, or the closest thing you could find?”

He stroked my face and I looked away. He let his hand drop. “Exactly.”

“But I can’t punish you.”

“Not in the traditional way, I guess, but we could always try other ways. We’ve done a few things that would qualify,” he said with a small smirk.

“William, we may be happy, but neither of us are getting our needs completely met.”

He sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

I staggered back, expecting him to tell me once more how wrong I was. “I—I could try to punish you harder. I could work out at the gym.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’ve told you twice now that I love you, and you don’t reciprocate the sentiment.”

“I asked you to move in with me,” I said incredulously. “And you’re my boyfriend now.”

He walked out into the kitchen. He stood by the counter. “You hide yourself from me in plain sight. You won’t even let me look through your recipe box.”

I snatched it away before he could make a move toward it. “It’s private.”

“And my journals aren’t?”

“It doesn’t work that way. You asked me to read them. I’m asking you not to read these. Stop being so fucking nosy.”

“Nosy? I want to read them so I don’t repeat a scene. It’s not like I want to read about your sexploits with ex-boyfriends.”

I swear he used the word on purpose. “They weren’t boyfriends and you know that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Then why do you only tell me about your past when you’re drunk?”

I slapped him across the face.

“Green,” he said with a smile.

“I told you what you need to know—that I was traumatized by a high school prank and it caused me to lose my relationship with my dad. What do you need, a diagram?”

He moved toward me. He didn’t touch me, but his demeanor softened. “Just let me in, Cerise.”

“I did. You live in my house.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He pushed his black hair out of his eyes, and I could see he was hurt.

“I’m going out for a run.”

I nodded, and he dressed and left.

Was I right to keep some distance between us? I had already taken a huge step with him, couldn’t he just be happy with that? I thought back to his past and his fears of abandonment, and chastised myself.

What was going on in that head of his? I need to stop hurting my poor, broken vampire.

When he got in, we’d talk. He deserved more from me.

He deserved love. And perhaps I was ready to give it.

I spent some time on the couch, reading more of his recent journals and swooning. Good thing I was lying down, otherwise I probably would have ended up on the floor, passed out from arousal.

Or love. My mind skimmed over the word, so I thought about it again.

Love.

Love.

What I felt for William was love, and it was glorious.

I heard the door open and close softly, and William gently padded into the bedroom. I assumed he went in to see me, but when he didn’t emerge for ten minutes, I wondered what was going on.

“William?” I asked loudly. “Come here, I want to talk.”

He emerged from our room with my planbooks in his hands. “So do I.”

Shit.

He tossed five of the books onto the couch. “Care to tell me about these, Cerise?”

I shrugged, pretending to feel nonchalant about his discovery. “That’s where I write out our scenes. Well, not our scenes, necessarily, just the role-play ideas that come into my mind.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “That’s an understatement.” He fingered the pages, flipping wildly. “Cerise, there are ten years’ worth of scenes in these books.”

“Well, some are past scenes,” I huffed. “But yes, I do have plans that go into the future. What’s the problem?”

“The problem?” he asked, voice raising awkwardly. “Cerise, this is fanatical. You have planned out role-play scenes for three days a week, fifty-two weeks of the year, for ten years. I know you have your quirks, but this is just . . .”—he trailed off—“insane.”

“How dare you,” I spat. “You have journals detailing your miserable whining for much longer than that. What’s the difference?”

He dropped the rest of the stack. “The difference is that the journals are real. You have clearly spent entire months of your life planning out things that never even happened. Cerise,” he said passionately, “what happened to make you do this?”

I crossed my arms and backed away from him.

“Oh, so this is clearly a product of some psychosis? What if I’m just a creative and organized person who borders on OCD?”

His tone softened. “Honey, this isn’t normal.”

“You’re not normal—you’re a vampire! We’re not normal,” I said, shaking my head, mortified. “Fuck normal.”

“Why don’t we shelve these for a while? Spend a month just being spontaneous.” He picked the books off the floor and put them protectively under his arm.

I snatched them back. “No.”

“No?”

“But I’ll let you keep this one, since that’s the one we’re on. You can get a jump on this month. I expect to do the fan scene on Monday.”

He took a deep breath and spun on his heel. “I’ll start my homework, then,” he grunted and disappeared.

I forgot to tell him I loved him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

William

Dear Miss Norrel,

I’m so excited to have won the “Date with Cerise Norrel” contest from E! News. You have been my favorite actress for years, and to finally get to meet you is a dream come true. I loved your comedic side in Work It, Girl, and truly, Running Out was a nonstop thriller. Your acting is so versatile, and you’ve never chosen a bad role. I really hope that the next year is an Oscar year for you, Cerise. Anyway, I just wanted to say again how much I’m looking forward to finally meeting you and getting a chance to know you. I promise I won’t be a weird creepy stalker fan, haha.

Sincerely,

William Gentry

Luckiest Contest Winner on Earth

I sat back and smiled at my handiwork. Sometimes I took my scene responsibilities too seriously, so today’s lighthearted theme should be fun. After our little spat, I figured I should do a scene that was on the less serious side, just to loosen her up. Show her I wasn’t mad.

Aside from small arguments, things have been . . . wonderful. I was still in awe of all that has transpired. I really couldn’t be happier. Aside from the strange text messages she’s been receiving for the last few days—ones she refuses to talk about, I might add—things have never been better.

Cerise fit into my life like a puzzle piece that’s been under the couch for years.

I sent the “fan mail” off to Cerise during her lunch break—she had told me how much faster the day goes by because of my correspondences, so I made sure to send her at least a little note every day, even on surprise days. Today, instead of an e-mail, I had flowers delivered with that little card.

They were, however, exceptionally steamy and sensual. I was getting quite good at writing smut.

Today I set up our bedroom like an intimate café, a quaint Italian bistro. I had baked fresh bread earlier, and was working on a good recipe for gelato when someone left a package at the door. I ignored it for the time being and poured the silky mixture into the ice cream machine to freeze.

The plaid tablecloth was set, the silverware polished to a perfect shine, and I was dressed in my most casual of outfits—a concert tee paired with some ripped jeans and a camera around my neck. I wanted to look the part of a fanboy, and I think I managed to nail the look. I even threw on—heaven forbid Harvey ever saw this—a baseball cap. Today I was a member of Red Sox Nation.

Soon the truck pulled in and I held the camera to my eyes, ready to snap some photos of my favorite actress.

“Miss Norrel! Miss Norrel!” I shouted as I clicked the camera wildly. I ran up to her and shook her hand vigorously. “You’re even more beautiful in person!” I exploded, gushing compliments at this goddess of an actress.

Cerise’s face bloomed with a scarlet blush and she lowered her eyes. Even though this was just a scene, I loved the effect my compliments had on her. It was like she had no idea how beautiful she was.

“William, a pleasure,” she said, holding out her hand for me to escort her inside. “I’m glad my publicist set up this contest,” she purred, lowering her dark sunglasses and looking me up and down. “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

I smiled, escorting her to the “café.” “You’re more than I expected,” I breathed. “Please, sit.”

She sat demurely at the table and placed the folded napkin in her lap. Her dinner sat under a large silver dome and I removed it with gusto. “The chef sent over his finest dish for you, Miss Norrel,” I stammered, “Kobe beef meatballs and homemade pasta in a Barolo wine sauce.”

She licked her lips not so subtly, and corrected me. “Please, call me Cerise.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Wow,” I said, grinning. “Cerise.”

“Tell me a little about yourself, William,” she asked, daintily cutting into a meatball and tasting. Her face spoke of culinary pleasure as I told her about my life as a perpetual graduate student.

“How about you?” I asked, leaning over the table, eager to hear her answer. “What projects are you working on? Any role you’re trying to get?” I asked.

She shrugged, and speculated on a few roles she’d like. “I got turned down for the role of a pierced, tattooed crime solver, which was a disappointment.”

“You’re too delicate to play such a harsh woman,” I chided. “Your features are too gentle—and I couldn’t imagine that face of yours with all those piercings.”

She smiled, and said, “You’d be surprised at just how edgy I can be. I’m actually quite harsh myself. Commanding.”

I cleared her empty plate, and headed toward the kitchen to grab dessert. “You? Commanding? I can’t picture it,” I said, quickly returning with our black raspberry gelato.

“Would you like me to prove it to you?” she asked with a sinister smile, and pulled my chair next to hers. We were same-siders now—and despite my usual hatred for same-siders, I complied happily.

She smirked as I placed the dessert in front of her and took my seat. “Now,” she said, voice lower and decidedly sexier, “feed me my gelato, William.”

“With pleasure,” I said, dipping my spoon into the soft confection and raising it to her perfect, full lips. She parted them with rapture, and I slid the gelato into her mouth smoothly, her tongue lapping up the residue. I reminded myself to refrain from coming in my pants.

“Good?” I asked, barely able to form words while watching her reaction to the dessert’s flavor.

“Unreal,” she said. “More, now.” She opened her mouth again, and her eyes rolled back as she tasted my creation.

“I wouldn’t say that having me feed you is terribly harsh, Cerise. You’re being too hard on yourself.” I smiled, and continued to feed her.

She paused before the next bite to speak. “I want you to check outside the door and make sure the chef is busy,” she whispered, eyes shifty. I complied and smirked.

When I returned to the table, she had another surprise command for me. “I want you to touch me under the table,” she breathed. “Make sure nobody comes into our private dining room,” she said, and I locked the door behind me.

I sat in my chair, reached under the tablecloth, and found her spread thighs easily. I moaned as she pushed her legs wider apart, my fingers gliding up slowly. I watched her chest heave as the fingers of my right hand found their way inside her. She had kicked off her panties while I was “checking on the chef,” and I felt a moment of surprise when my fingers met warm wetness instead of lacy fabric.

“I love how cold your fingers are,” she whimpered as I rubbed and pleasured her. She threw her head back rapturously and watched with half-closed eyes.

“Yes,” she grunted, thrusting her hips at me, meeting my dexterous fingers. I bit my lip, barely able to keep my pants on.

“Can you believe you’re doing this?” she asked, breathing heavily. “Can you believe you’re fingering the Cerise Norrel in the middle of a restaurant?” I pulled my fingers out, licked them slowly, and plunged them back inside her.

“Thank you,” I responded simply.

“You’re letting that camera of yours go to waste, you realize,” she taunted. My eyes widened.

I picked it up, tentatively. “You’d let me . . . ,” I said, trailing off.

“I’ll even sign them,” she said, winking.

I pulled the chair out a little so that the tablecloth was no longer covering our exploits. She sat there, spread out beautifully, with my fingers pulsing inside her. Her dress was hiked above her waist, bunched in the sexiest way. I took a picture of her rapt face first.

“You can go lower,” she said, thrusting slowly as I photographed our intimate moment. She groaned.

She unbuttoned the first three buttons of her belted shirt dress, exposing her impressive décolletage. “Or here,” she said, now pulling the shoulders of the dress down until she was just in a cream-colored satin bra. One I gave her recently. I snapped away, unable to pull my eyes from her.

She cupped her breasts in both hands, pinching her nipples through the fabric. Click.

“The paparazzi would probably pay nearly a million dollars for these photos,” she said, unhooking her bra and spilling her gorgeous nude flesh for the camera. “But I trust you, William.”

Click. Click. Click. This woman was a natural.

Finally, she pulled the entire dress off and sprawled out on the table, a fucking vixen for my greedy camera. I couldn’t click fast enough.

“How about you put that camera on video mode and fuck me. We can watch later,” she panted, and within seconds, I was pantsless and inside her.

“Oh,” she grunted, feigning surprise at my speed. She gripped my ass as I let my passions out. Cerise knew how to draw out a scene. She knew how to make me work for her. By the time she was usually ready for penetration, I was usually at my breaking point.

I loved it.

My mistress owned me completely.

The tablecloth bunched beneath her as I held her hips and pushed rhythmically. I knew just how fast she liked it, and always kept that pace unless she asked me to slow down or speed up.

“Faster,” she begged, and I knew today was a day where she wanted it rough. So I roughed it up and ground into her deeply.

“More,” she insisted, and I pushed myself to the limit. I knew that any faster or harder might hurt her, so I let myself get as rough as I could without crossing that line. It was working, clearly, because beneath me she spasmed and grunted and came hard.

“Come now,” she ordered, and I was happy to obey as usual.

She sat up and rolled her shoulders, stretching. “I think this may be a role I’d like to reprise, William,” she said, gesturing to the camera. “How was my performance?”

I smiled, and tugged my pants back up. “Your best yet.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cerise

After I had dressed and showered, I remembered William had mentioned there was a package waiting. I brought it inside and helped myself to a second serving of gelato. We sat down at the table together, chatting about the day’s events, as I peeled back the tape on the brown package and reached inside.

And gasped.

There was a ring box. “William!” I exclaimed, and opened it, revealing a small diamond ring. I dropped it as though it were burning hot.

Then I recognized the diamond and the setting. I had seen this before.

My breath shuddered, and I pulled the other contents out of the box.

Pictures and a letter.

The pictures on top were of me in a bridal gown. William grabbed them, took one look, and grimaced with disgust.

“What haven’t you told me?” he growled helplessly. The fear, sadness, and anger in his voice melted together into a discordant low whine. He was in pain.

He snatched all the contents out of my hands and flipped through the other pictures, and I wanted to cover his eyes. There were pictures of me, naked, dominating another man.

Brent.

Lastly was a note. He slid it across the table.

I took it gingerly, and winced at the pictures. I read the note silently and crumpled it.

“Motherfucker,” I spat.

He folded his arms and spoke. “Oh, so your husband was fucking your mother in those pictures?”

“He was not my husband,” I said through my teeth. “He was my sub. That was a scene.”

He threw his hands up. “If that was a scene, then why did he mail you this package? This DIAMOND? I thought you broke up a long time ago,” he said. “Or divorced. Whichever.”

I sighed, and answered, “It was a scene, William. He did it because he wanted it to be real. He wanted a commitment. Somehow he heard that you moved in with me, and thinks that he should come back now that I’m ready to settle down.”

He made a low whistle. “This is settling down? Moving in with your submissive? You don’t even love me.”

“That’s not true.”

He held up his hands. “I don’t even know you. You were fucking married and I didn’t even know.”

“I said that was a scene!”

“Why should I believe you? For all I know, you were hiding your past because of your ex-husband. Or, he could be your estranged husband. You could still be married for all I know.”

I seized his shoulders. “William, it was just a scene. I was never married.”

“Did you love him?” he asked, eyes searching my face.

I breathed in deeply and exhaled the truest words I had ever spoken. “You are the only man I have ever loved.”

His expression was unmoved. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Are you kidding me? You’ve been baiting me into this conversation for weeks! You’ve been pushing a commitment on me! Now you’re telling me you don’t believe me when I tell you I love you?”

He began to back away toward the door. “This whole thing just makes me realize how much I don’t know about you. Your past. Your exes. Hell, finding those planbooks was certainly an eye-opener.”

“Give me time.”

“What progress have you made since we had that serious talk about our future, Cerise? Have you applied for jobs?”

I crossed my arms sternly. “No.”

“Then how can I take you seriously? How can I trust you?”

I took his hands. “Because you submit to me. You show me your most vulnerable side and I take care of your needs. You lay yourself at my feet and you love it.”

He slipped his cool hands out of my grasp and turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

I made no move toward him. He was angry and had to blow off some steam—fine.

“When will you be back?” I asked, mentally planning ahead if he wasn’t able to make tomorrow’s scene. Maybe he’d go into work, or hang out with his niece for a while.

He sighed loudly and turned back to look at me. His expression spoke of his decades of loneliness. “Never.”

My hand flew to my mouth to muffle the strangled cry.

“Dominance and submission are just fine for the body, but not for the heart. I just don’t trust you with mine anymore.” His speed propelled him out my door and out of sight as I sunk against the wall in utter shock and despair.

William was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Cerise

For a while, I couldn’t move.

My heart was angry at my mind, and so my body simply shut down, revolting against my poor decision.

I pushed him away. There was part of me that knew it was inevitable, since I was a confirmed self-saboteur. Then there was the part of me that tried to save me from myself.

But she failed.

I did tell William I was going to change—and trust me, I planned on it. Just, every time I got around to checking for full-time jobs, I just wussed out. I assumed they’d hire some alum who just got out of school, or some friend of a friend who was owed a favor.

I didn’t think I was worthy. Technically, I was right about that. I wasn’t worthy of what William wanted me to be.

I was chickenshit about changing my life, and he was right to leave.

My body nearly convulsed at the realization. He was gone. He had sped out my door so fast I couldn’t chase him. I was left breathless, stunned, and heartbroken.

What do I even do now? I can’t imagine sceneing with anyone else. Nobody will have the kind of attention to detail William possesses. And as for physicality, God, the idea of someone soft and warm touching me made my stomach curdle.

William had ruined me for other men.

It’s not that I thought he was bluffing about the importance of changing my life; I just thought I had time to get used to the idea. Sometimes I was a bit of a procrastinator.

Fuck, after seeing my detailed plans for the next ten years, I’d imagine he got it in his head that I was always that thorough. I headed over to the pile of planbooks and thumbed through my sexual future. Lifelong best friends who finally fell for each other—William would have been fantastic at that one. A fashion designer and a model—I couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of outfits he’d have Harvey whip up for that.

I put the books back down with a sad thump. Those scenes would remain in those books forever, and never get checked off. They would never get a recipe card.

And then, an idea dawned on me.

I could win William back. I just had to prove myself to him.

I threw on some workout clothes and headed to the gym.

As I hopped onto the elliptical, I opened my phone’s little electronic notepad and started jotting down ideas. I bobbed up and down on the machine and took inventory of my life.

Job: I needed a steady one. I downloaded an app that showed only teacher positions. Fantastic. When I got home, I’d send out as many applications as I could find.

Relationships: I needed to tie up some loose ends. One thing I remembered about my mother was that she loved recipe books but she never cooked. Maybe I’d hit the bookstore and mail her one with a note, and maybe bake some cookies and send those along, too.

Mental health: I needed to talk to a professional. My forays into psychiatrists’ offices usually ended with an angry doctor telling me my fetish was destructive. So as the elliptical cranked up to level three, I logged on to the Flog Blog and researched kink-friendly therapists. Found four names before I stepped off the machine.

I wiped my sweaty brow with a towel and opened up my calendar. I was going to give myself a month to get my shit together. For William, and for me. We were worth the work.

“What is your approach to discipline?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and examining my reaction. It was one month to the day of my decision, and from where I sat, things looked pretty good.

I folded my hands placidly in front of me and went on about my philosophy. “I’m a strong believer in the firm-but-fair approach. I will not tolerate disobedience of any kind, but in return, I reciprocate with enthusiastic approval. I prefer solving problems together on the spot. I also think that this approach requires mutual respect, so I give as much as I receive.”

He tapped his pen against the table. “Good. How do you feel about planning? Are you very structured, or do you improvise?”

Another answer I was confident about. “I think there is room for both, but I’m a planner. It actually, to me at least, makes improvisation easier. If you have detailed short-term plans, and a little looser long-term goals, it’s easy to see the direction you’re headed. This way also lends itself to troubleshooting any problems along the way.” I smiled brightly, and my smile was reciprocated.

“I like that.” He shuffled the papers in front of him, stacking them neatly to his side. “Miss Norrel, I think you are perfect for the position. All we really need is for the superintendent to approve it, but since he was such good friends with your father, I’m assuming we can move forward soon. Congratulations, Cerise. I’m proud to have you on my staff.”

I positively beamed. I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to maintain composure as I asked him about my schedule. “What classes and levels would I be picking up?”

“Looks like two sections of junior honors trigonometry, one class of senior college prep calculus, and two groups of elective personal finance.”

“Perfect.”

He handed me some paperwork. “You don’t have to fill this out now, just get it to me by September. We’ll have a new staff orientation the week before classes begin, but I’m assuming you know most of the staff by now. You’re everyone’s favorite sub, Miss Norrel.”

My throat tightened at the words favorite sub, but the feeling actually empowered me. I was doing this for William. “Thank you, sir.”

“Enjoy the rest of your summer,” the principal said, shaking my hand vigorously and politely seeing me out.

All the steps of project “Win Back the Vamp” were complete.

I rifled through some old Christmas cards and found my mom’s address. Then I mailed her some cookies and a recipe book, and she called as soon as she got it, gushing. I booked a flight to go see her next month, a week before school started.

The third therapist I called, Joan Macintosh, sounded perfect for me—she was a teacher for years, lived in a D/s relationship as a full-time sub with her husband, and she had availabilities once a week. I was finally ready for William.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Cerise

The box of supplies was packed and I carried it carefully out to my car. The gesture was so symbolic, and I truly hoped that William would understand the gravity of my sacrifices.

All for him. I would do anything to win back his approval and his love.

The drive to Strawbery Banke was short, but it took forever. The sun was going down, creating an ungodly glare that stalled traffic and caused at least two small fender benders. The air was overly warm, pushing people out of their comfort zone. It wasn’t the nicest night in Portsmouth, which cranked my anxiety further up the emotional Richter scale. I perfected the bow in back of my halter sundress and smoothed the skirt nervously. I hoped I looked good.

I had been to William’s town house only once before. One night shortly after we moved in together, he brought me there to introduce me to Breanna, Steven, and Harvey. They were playing Scrabble. I don’t know what I expected—some dark ritual that involved the married couple mutually feeding on their human host, perhaps? Instead, I saw three normal folks sitting around a coffee table, listening to jazz, and playing board games.

“You must be Cerise,” a tall brunette had said, approaching me with a warm smile. “I’m Breanna. This is my husband, Steven,” she said, gesturing to the stocky blond man seated on the right. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“I’m thrilled to finally meet you all,” I had said after shaking everyone’s hands. Now that I knew what vampires were like, it wasn’t hard to discern Breanna and Steven’s supernatural nature. They both had eye colors that were slightly more interesting than a human’s—Breanna with her dark-green eyes and Steven with his steely gray ones. Their handshakes were also firm and cool.

And then there was Harvey. He didn’t shake my hand—he took me into a warm embrace, rubbing my back like an old friend. “Oh, honey,” he said, pulling back and looking at me, “you have done so much for our boy.” He shot a devilish look at William, and returned his gaze to me. He was around forty years old and dressed to the laces. I had a feeling he had coached William with his denim selection on more than one occasion.

“Harvey, you are destined for greatness,” I said, in awe of my new favorite designer. “Every single item of clothing William has given me has been absolutely stunning and unique. Do you have plans to open a store, or maybe start your own line?”

He nodded. “Once I’m a vamp and don’t have to sleep, I’ll be cranking it out, sweetheart. Don’t worry, you can have first dibs on anything you like.”

I chuckled. “Thanks.”

We were originally going to be there for an hour, just so I could officially meet the family, but we ended up staying until two AM. When Harvey had passed out on the couch, we decided to finally leave.

Now, pulling up to that place, I felt even more apprehensive than I had the first time I went. I wasn’t necessarily going to be welcomed. I was an ex. Hopefully, I would just be talking to William, but how would I be able to explain things to him if his niece was glaring at me for being a horrible girlfriend?

I pulled in and noticed one car—William’s SUV. The four surrounding parking spots were completely empty. I inhaled deeply; it was go time.

I had an elaborate display planned for William. To win back someone like him—a once-in-an-eternity kind of guy—it had to be a grand gesture.

I stacked the planbooks together and tied them with a bow.

Inside the bow, I tucked a book of matches. In my other hand was my recipe box, full of entries ready to be perused.

The last item, which I tied on to a ribbon, was the key to my toy box. It was locked at home and there were no duplicates.

I steeled myself and knocked confidently on his door.

He appeared within a fraction of a second. At seeing his face again, my body nearly went slack with relief. It had been a long month of deprivation. My ears perked, desperate for the sound of his voice, and my hands twitched with the need for his touch.

“Cerise,” he said simply. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” While his words were bland and straightforward, his expression looked relieved. Almost pleased, but not quite.

“I have—” I stumbled, “I have some things for you.”

“Come in,” he said, holding the door for me.

I walked back into his home, stunned at the sight. It was barren.

“Are you moving?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. What if he was leaving New England?

“No. I just have no need for . . . anything right now.” And there it was. His voice betrayed his loneliness, but I heard something else there that worried me. Hurt. He was wounded by the experience.

“I have what you need.” I placed the items on his table and began to explain.

He looked at me quizzically, but did not push. He simply listened.

“Here are my planbooks, and that’s a book of matches. I want you to burn them.” I pointed toward his fireplace. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Cerise,” he sighed, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” I stepped closer to him. “No, I need to.”

“Show me what else you have first,” he said warily. I could tell he needed more than just the act of burning my books to see that I had changed.

I picked up the recipe box and opened it wide, exposing the hundreds of entries inside. “All yours. You could read them, or burn them, too. They are yours to do with as you please.”

He took it graciously, nodded, and shut the lid. “This is a big deal, Cerise. Are you sure?”

“Positive.” I finally worked up the nerve to touch him. I took his free hand in mine and squeezed it tight. I felt an exhalation of relief in my body, thrilled to be touching him again. I could see his posture relax as well.

“There’s more, William.” I handed him the key. He knew what it was. He held it between his fingers gently, as though it were precious.

“Too much,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do all this.”

I took the ribbon and draped it around his neck. “I don’t have to, I need to. For you, and for me.”

He tucked the key into his shirt and held his hand over it. “Cerise.”

“And the final piece,” I said, gushing with pride as I reached into my purse, “is this.”

He opened the folded paper. “A contract?”

“I’ve been hired by the Newmarket school district. I’ll be teaching trig, calc, and personal finance in the fall.”

“A permanent position?” he asked with wonder.

I nodded, grinning widely. “Yes. I’m officially faculty.”

It was only then he swept me into his arms with a flourish. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into my hair. His cool breath ruffled the strands I had tucked behind my ear and they fell into my face. He brushed my hair aside and kissed me on the cheek.

“So is my mom.”

“Your mom?”

I nodded with a grin. “I’m flying out to see her next month. My therapist thinks it’s a good idea, too.”

“Therapist?” William asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m working on myself,” I answered.

“You certainly are. Let’s light that fire,” he said, prepping the logs and tinder. “But I’ll put on the air conditioner for you,” he said, noting the hot weather. We sat down cross-legged on the rug and began to tear the pages out of my planbooks.

“Do you want to keep a few of these?” he asked. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy them, it’s just—”

“Burn, baby, burn,” I said, tossing my contents into the budding flame. “If we want to scene, we can improvise.”

He ran his finger across my palm. “Anything you desire.”

I caught his hand in mine. “So does this mean you’ll take me back?”

He made a half-gasping, half-choking sound. “I’m shocked you’re taking me back,” he said. “The fact that I broke your rules, and disrespected you like that. I mean, the fact alone that you even wanted to make up shows me your commitment. You truly have changed, and not just for me.”

I smiled, and felt pride for the first time in a while.

“You were right. I needed to change my life for myself. And it feels good,” I said, throwing more sheets into the fire. “I’m happy I have a permanent job. I am actually relieved to be getting rid of some obsessions.” My eyes fell on the recipe box and my stomach turned cold. “Are you going to read them? They’re yours.”

He looked at the box carefully and my body stiffened. I didn’t like the idea of him reading my sexual exploits, but I knew that I couldn’t keep these trophies if I truly wanted to be comfortable in my life. They would always be reminding me of my baggage, and right now I wanted to be free.

He shook his head. “They’re going in the fire.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He dumped the box into the flames, and the cards scattered and quickly ignited. “Trust, Cerise. I never wanted to read them out of jealousy, I just wanted your trust. Now I have that.”

We clasped hands for a moment and looked into the fire. “Will you move back in with me?”

He nodded. “I don’t even have to pack.”

I curled up in his lap and just looked at him for a few minutes. Firelight flickered on his ageless face, and his eyes glowed with an intensity all their own. “I love you.”

He took my chin in his hand. “I love you.”

William rubbed my shoulders and back, easing the tension that had been present in my muscles since his absence.

“I love you so much,” I gushed.

He smiled unashamedly, positively grinning. “I’m so glad you said that,” he said, sweeping me closer to him, into his full embrace, and placing a ferocious kiss on my mouth. “The only thing is,” he said with a devilish expression, “can moving wait until tomorrow? I need you desperately, Cerise.”

I grunted my assent, language abandoning me in place of raw instinct.

He slinked his hands up my sundress and pulled my panties off in one grand swipe. We kissed deeply, tongues desperate to find home in each other’s mouths after being apart so long. It was magnetic. Closer and closer our bodies propelled themselves at each other.

Greedy.

I groped for his zipper, undoing his fly as fast as my human fingers would allow. He strained to get out of his pants, and as soon as he was free from their constraints, he wasted no time lifting me into the air and lowering me onto him.

I straddled his lap in front of the fire, luxuriating in the moment, feeling him pulse beneath me. He took control of our rhythm, grabbing my hips and pushing me up and down. Sliding, crashing. I ground against him, possessed. I had missed his body with the most primal of urges. We were made for each other and, until now, my flesh was in withdrawal.

But I had him now, and I took full advantage. I let myself go completely, screaming his name, pushing myself onto him harder and faster.

And he showed me what he wanted as well, instead of acquiescing to my needs like we usually did. He undid the halter of my dress and pulled it down rapturously, freeing my breasts from the fabric. William grabbed them both in his hands and groped me lustily. He pinched, he kneaded, he pulled back and caressed them. He removed his hands and stared as they bounced. He leaned in and licked, tongued, and sucked forcefully. He took what he wanted and I loved every minute of it.

“William, fuck,” I grunted, coming hard and fast and long. He gripped me tighter and orgasmed with me, letting out a low whine as he clenched his eyes and shook between my legs.

He lifted me off him and carried me to his couch, one of the only items in his almost barren living room.

“The décor here is almost as bare as our apocalypse house,” I joked.

“Well, it was the end of the world, for me.”

“Me, too.”

I lay my head against the pillow and closed my eyes happily, sighing.

He settled behind me, arms clutching me gently but with conviction. “Just tell me when you’re ready to go home,” he said softly. I could tell that despite coming down from our high, he was anxious to settle in.

He couldn’t wait to be a couple again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cerise

WILLIAM, CANCEL WHATEVER SCENE YOU HAVE PLANNED. I WANT TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING. COME HOME AT FOUR, BECAUSE I NEED SOME TIME TO PREP.

ANYTHING YOU DESIRE, MY LOVE, he wrote back instantly.

So, yeah, William and I were in love. Love! Not just lust, not just like-like, but actual love. He turned my guts into pudding every time he said it, and he said it a lot.

And today I’d be showing him a side of me he had never seen. A side of me he probably never dreamed existed.

Truthfully, today would test us both.

Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled with the relationship at this point—ubersatisfied and superhappy. The thing was, essentially, that my TRUE Domming was on hold. Ordering him around and “faking” restraining him was only getting my inner perv frustrated.

So, I asked myself, what’s something William and I haven’t explored yet? What will my newfound “love” allow me to do without feeling squicked or just flat-out wrong?

Then the idea hit me. I’d order him to do a little something different today.

I’d show him I truly meant I had changed. Not just for him, but for us.

I sat on my knees on the floor of my bedroom, clad only in a flowing sheer-white nightgown that fell all the way to my feet. I had curled my hair and applied a simple blush and gloss. I looked angelic.

I never hear William get home, so I just waited in anticipation for his arrival, knowing that any second he would find me. Bizzy got drenched at the thought.

Suddenly, he was in the doorway of our bedroom, looking at me with a charming yet puzzled expression. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, approaching me. “You look so innocent in that,” he said, smiling at my heavenly, sweet appearance.

“Thank you, Master,” I said, lifting my head and baring my naked throat to him. I held out a piece of studded leather. “I know how you like it when you put this on me,” I said, essentially starting the scene.

Yup, I went there. I was going to have William Dom today. I had to show him I was serious about changing.

He must know I would do anything for him. Including be more flexible in my nature.

His jaw dropped. It was like something out of a cartoon. William was usually excellent at keeping his emotions to himself, and not wearing his heart on his sleeve, but right now, I swore I’d never seen him so surprised.

“No,” he whispered, and nearly recoiled.

“I wanted to prove to you how I’ve changed. It’s not just the job stuff, William. I’ve changed inside. Let me show you what you mean to me. Take me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he said, voice low, quiet, and tense, “but I can’t do this.”

“Vent your frustrations through the character. Prove your submission through domination.” I imagined William as the predator he was, and I felt my body clench. I was afraid I was going to pull a groin muscle just thinking of how hot he looks when he is serious.

“I just don’t think I could do that to you,” he said, softening, approaching me. “You’re the boss around here, and you know it.” He stroked my hair, and said, “You’re too good—I would be embarrassed to dominate you.”

I just smiled sweetly. “Well, if it bothers you that much, think about it this way,” I purred. “Technically, I am dominating you. I’m telling you the scene, and you’re going to do it. If I can’t spank you till you’re red in the ass cheeks, I’m going to push your limits till you blush.”

Understanding dawned on his face, and he saw my point. “So you really want me . . . like that?” he asked tentatively.

“It can’t hurt to try,” I said, “and if you have a hard time with it, remind yourself that you never drop character, and it would be a shame to drop this one. I just think this kind of change could be good for us.” I smiled again, and winked.

He took a deep breath. “Can I have a moment to compose myself before we begin? It’s not a mind-set I’m used to,” he said, more relaxed but still somewhat uneasy.

I nodded. “One minute until the scene.” He walked out and shut the door.

The man entered a minute later, transformed.

His face, normally composed of a self-assured smile and warm, inviting eyes, had been replaced with a firm mask. His face, now grim with determination, spoke of control and of need.

“Cerise,” he said, voice thwacking the air like a whip, “hand me your collar before we begin.” My arm shot out of its own accord and gave him the piece of leather.

He tipped my head up by the chin and fastened the collar around my throat, examining me harshly.

“Have you been thinking of me today, Cerise?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Have you thought about what your punishment should be? Your stubbornness pushed me away from you, and I have been deprived of your touch. You’re going to pay for my . . . displeasure.”

I shuddered and lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Master William. It will never happen again.”

“Who do you serve?” he asked, brows low over his predatory eyes. Bizzy hummed the 1812 Overture and warned me about the impending fireworks show.

“You, Master. Only you,” I whispered, secretly loving switching places.

His grip on my chin tightened, and he lowered his face level with mine. “Understand this,” he murmured, eyes searching my face, “you are mine.”

My voice found itself after a moment, and I echoed his sentiments. “I am yours.”

“Rise,” he said, “and lay down on your back.” He pointed to the bed, and headed to my toy chest where he pulled out four six-foot lengths of rope. Black.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, and proceeded to tie my arms and legs to all four bedposts. I was sprawled and immobile and couldn’t possibly struggle if I wanted to.

The rope felt smooth against my skin—he was good. No knotting or overlapping to cut my circulation, just perfectly tied bindings. It took all the effort I had in me to keep from panting like I had run a marathon.

This was way hotter than I had expected.

“I’m going to do some things to you, girl, and I don’t want to hear you make a sound until I say so. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded.

“Open,” he said, and tied a pair of my black stockings around my mouth, balling them up a little to slightly gag me. He held his ear to my mouth to hear if I had made a noise and nodded. “Good girl.” William ran his finger over my wide-open mouth and murmured his approval.

He spun and returned to the toy chest with a disappointed face as he rifled through my chest of whips and floggers and vibrating friends. “You have a poor selection for me, Cerise,” he grunted, and slammed the lid shut. “Nothing I could truly punish you with, and certainly nothing I can really pleasure with. I suppose I’ll just have to use the tools I have at hand.” He wiggled his fingers at me, and my body shuddered with anticipation.

He skulked around the bed, planning his attack. He sat on the edge, examining me, finalizing his strategy.

“I like you like this, Cerise,” he purred, and crawled toward me like a mountain cat. He hiked up the long white nightgown, bunching it around my shoulders, exposing my white thong and naked breasts. I stifled a moan.

“You couldn’t stop me if you wanted to,” he taunted. “I could do anything to you right now.” He raised an eyebrow and used a thin fingernail to take apart my thong slowly, occasionally bending his head down to circle his tongue around my nipples. “Anything.”

I writhed, desperate for him. Bizzy started bitching about how I should have tried this long ago. The Domme inside me wriggled as well—this was strangely uncomfortable, but in a good way. I was stretching, mentally.

He lowered his face toward mine, almost menacingly. “I could drink from you if I wanted,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

I lost what little control I had over my body. I tried to fling myself at him, but I was too restrained by the ropes. He chuckled, then placed a slim blindfold over my eyes as he disrobed. “If you please me, I’ll let you watch,” he said, as I heard his clothes slide from his exquisite body. Slowly, I felt the familiar, cool hands exploring my flesh. Keeping quiet was proving to be difficult, but I managed.

For him, I could do anything.

“So soft, Cerise,” he whispered, as his vibrating fingers stroked me intimately. “And even wetter than usual. You like when Master takes his time, don’t you?” he asked, swirling one long pointer around artfully. The only incentive I had for not screaming his name was the threat of not being able to watch him fuck me, so I kept quiet, miraculously.

Subbing was hard work.

“I wonder if you’d like this,” he said, and slickly trailed his finger lower to a place he had never gone. Again, my eyes flew open at the new sensation. He teased me a bit, pleased with my body’s reaction. He smiled, and breathed into my ear, “Perhaps another time, as a reward. Now that I know you like it.” He pinched my left cheek. “Naughty girl.”

Now, this was something I would definitely take William up on, but Bizzy had mixed feelings about this—she didn’t want to be ignored.

William quickly remedied Bizzy’s disappointed sentiment as he started to play with me in other ways. He shifted his body and I could feel the tip of him just barely grazing my entrance; I tried to wiggle so it would go in a little more.

“Not yet,” he said, voice stern. “I haven’t fed yet. I will fuck you when I’m ready.”

I felt his fingers at my throat, and his cool breath on my neck coming in quick blasts. “Are you scared?” he asked, and I shook my head no.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” he growled. “I’m taking your blood and then I’m taking your body.”

He removed my diamond earrings, and I felt a small pinprick right at the crook of my shoulder.

Several things happened at once. A warm trickle, a deep and cold thrust, and light flooding my eyes.

Finally, I could see him and take him in completely. He hovered over me, pulsing in and out between my legs, lapping blood from my neck. Our eyes met, and his bloodred mouth spoke one word over and over.

“Mine,” he growled as he thrust into my immobile form. “Mine,” he cried as he siphoned the blood from my body.

“All fucking mine,” he sighed, and pulled the gag from my mouth and kissed me deeply as we both came, bodies shuddering at the experience.

I was his.

It took some time before we came down from the high. William untied me gently, and pulled my gown back down politely. I nearly laughed at his chivalry. He licked the wound on my throat, and held me close until I was able to speak again.

“Wow. That was . . . ,” I said, trailing off, “something else.”

He nodded, eyebrows raised. “That’s an understatement,” he said.

I frowned, annoyed with his noncommittal phrasing. “So?” I asked, wondering if he enjoyed it.

“Each and every experience with you is something special, memorable, and mind-blowingly hot,” he answered, kissing me on the forehead. “And the sentiment behind this was truly moving. I know it must have been very difficult for you to relinquish dominance like that, Cerise. I’m proud of you.”

He was being evasive.

“But?” I asked, clearly noticing his silence.

He smiled sheepishly. “But,” he said, taking my chin in his hand. “I’m just not a switch.”

I opened my mouth, searching for words. “You enjoyed it, though, right?” I asked, feeling somewhat self-conscious.

He shrugged. “How could I not?” he said, kissing my collarbone. “All I’m saying is I’m not born to lead. That was a role—not me.”

I nodded. “I had a difficult time controlling my Domme instincts, that’s for sure,” I said, trying to find where he was coming from. I would certainly do that again. “But it was worth it to prove my point. Was it hard for you to control me?”

He let out a long breath. “God, yes. The only thing keeping me in the scene was the command that I not drop character. Sure, it was hot, but the entire time I was berating myself for speaking to you that way. It’s just not me,” William said, and traced my lips with his finger. “Vanilla sex is more normal to me than that.”

“Okay,” I said, “then we’ll store away Master William for a long time. But can I keep him on the shelf for some point down the road?” I asked, clearly indicating it was something I’d like to try again.

“Whatever you wish,” he answered, “but keep in mind how hard it is for me to do something like that to you.”

I sat up in bed, determined to get him to see the situation clearly. “Even though the point of it was for me to submit to you, if you look carefully, you actually showed your submission to me at an even deeper level today,” I explained. “The fact alone that dominating was difficult for you and pushed your limits shows that. By dominating, you were submitting even more than you ever had. We’re challenging each other in new ways, William. With our situation, we need to get creative.”

He pursed his lips as realization dawned on him. “I guess you’re right.”

I laughed. “My favorite words in the English language—you’re right.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Cerise

The Following April

“I can’t believe you’re not changing your name, Miss Norrel,” Colby said. “At least the class won’t be screwing it up for the next few months.”

“We’re living in the twenty-first century, Colby. Times change,” I answered with a smirk. She didn’t know that it was William who would be taking my name tomorrow.

“Show us a picture of your dress again!” Allie shouted.

I did the “calm the fuck down” gesture to the class. My class. The kids I’d come to know over the past seven months and who made me smile every day. “Guys, I’ll show you pictures after April vacation, okay?”

“Come on,” Allie pushed. “At least tell us how you’re doing your hair!”

“Up.”

A chorus of booing ensued. “Fine, I’ll wear it down,” I acquiesced.

“Any fun colors?” Jimmy asked, joking about my penchant for extensions.

“Um, I believe we were going over last night’s homework, guys,” I pushed. They loved trying to distract me, and most of the time I won. Today, I gave in a bit.

Hell, today was my last day as a single woman.

This weekend, William and I were getting married. The last few months have been absolute heaven on earth. My mom and I spoke on the phone once a week. My therapist was helping me make real progress with my trust issues so much that I decided to have her officiate the wedding. My new job was fantastic—the faculty was really fun now that they’d accepted me into their inner sanctum, and the kids were sweet as usual. My days no longer needed tempting e-mails to motivate me through the drudgery.

But I still got them.

Today William was abstaining, however, since we were to be married so soon, and he thought a day or two off might be fun.

If you called sexual tension fun, which I didn’t.

So I told him he had to send me one naughty picture text per hour.

Which reminded me, it was almost one o’clock.

I snatched my phone out from behind my desk while the kids were in pairs doing some equations.

Yup, new text.

I opened the picture, and—

“HOLY F—”

The class looked up at once. “Miss Norrel?” Julie asked.

“I’m . . . practicing my prayers for the service tomorrow. Holy Father, you know.”

Colby scrunched up her face. “I thought you were an atheist.”

“Sometimes.”

That shut them up.

I texted William back.

YOU NAUGHTY VAMPIRE, YOU. HOW DARE YOU TEXT SOMETHING SO TEMPTING.

I THOUGHT YOU’D LIKE IT, he replied.

HOW AM I POSSIBLY GOING TO FIT INTO THAT DRESS WHEN YOU TEMPT ME WITH ALL THOSE CUPCAKES STACKED ON YOUR STOMACH?

IT’S A CORSET BACK. AND I’LL BE DOING THE LACING AND UNLACING.

FUCK ABSTINENCE. WHEN I GET HOME, I’M GOING TO ABSOLUTELY DEFILE YOU. I HOPE FROSTING WORKS AS LUBE, I responded.

The class began to scuttle about awkwardly, and I surmised they were up to no good. “What’s going on?” I asked, flushed from William’s “sweet” picture.

“Nothing,” they said, clearly hiding something.

“Come on,” I said, waggling my finger at them. “What’s behind your back, Jim?”

“A present.”

They moved away from the back table and presented me with a little buffet and a wrapped gift. “We decided we’d throw you a bridal shower!”

“Guys!” I said. “That’s so nice of you!”

They dug into the ice cream first, however, and by the time I got there, there was none left. Just a few slices of cake. So the party was for them. I just grabbed my bottle of water and sipped and chatted with them for a while. It was nice to let my guard down with them. I really was able to translate my lessons with William into every facet of my life.

I was firm, but fair, and sometimes fun.

I could discipline them when they needed it, but also loosen up and go with the flow.

William had changed me in so many positive ways. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

And now he was going to be my husband.

I packed up my things and was mentally preparing myself for the long and exciting week ahead when Deirdre accosted me.

“Scooting out early?” she accused.

I frowned in distaste at her mom jeans and collared shirt. Tucked in, mind you. It boggled the mind. “Just heading out since I don’t have class last period. Lots to do before the big day.”

“Did you forget about the faculty meeting in the teachers’ room?” she continued.

Argh, couldn’t I just leave early? It was my freaking wedding weekend, for Chrissakes. “Nope. Headed there now.” Please don’t follow me, please don’t follow me.

“Good,” she said, “I’ll walk with you.”

Fuck.

“Have some Funfetti cake,” I said, passing her a plate I was going to take home. “The kids made me this.” I’d rather forgo cake tonight than have Deirdre talk to me for a full minute. Luckily, she started stuffing her stupid face and I didn’t have to have any kind of inane conversation with her. All I did was stare at the butt of her mom jeans and wonder why any designer, even for Sears, would put the pockets so high up.

“Surprise!” the teachers shouted as we walked through the door.

They, too, had streamers and cake. Although they ordered theirs from the local bakery that puts grainy and unflattering pictures on their cakes, so on the front of this confection was my school ID photo. The one where the photographer snapped me midsneeze and I looked like I was crying. There were piped frosting wedding bells next to my sneezing face.

“Wow, thank you,” I said, sincerely touched that they liked me enough to eat cake in honor of my nuptials.

Deirdre gave me a sweaty hug that made me wish for a chemical shower like the ones they had in the labs in the science wing. A couple of people made polite conversation about how lovely my private little ceremony sounded. “Oh, just the two of you and some friends? That’s intimate.” I know they were thinking it was cheap—little did they know that William and his cronies were big spenders.

I walked out of school that day realizing I had everything I ever wanted—a great job, a great man, and an exciting life ahead of me.

Or unlife, depending on when I made a certain decision.

Last night, William and I talked seriously about my becoming a vampire.

“How does it work?” I had asked, feet up on the couch with a bowl of ice cream in my hands. I shoved a mouthful inside so he couldn’t read my expression as he explained.

He leaned forward and put his hands on my knees. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked. “We can delay this decision all you want. Things are good right now. We don’t have to.”

I swallowed the fudgy mouthful and cringed at the brain freeze. “It will help me get a better idea of what we’re in for.”

He nodded. “Okay, just so you know, I have a donor lined up for you. Her name is Sarah, and she’s a sweetheart. And a submissive who just relocated from Atlanta. You won’t have to worry about being hungry or killing anyone. She’s donated several times to some friends of mine down South.”

“Ask them if she tastes as good as Chocolate Explosion,” I said, pointing my spoon at my bowl. “I’ll only request the tastiest of humans.”

“Be serious.”

I wiped my mouth. “I am! If you’re asking me to give up food and drinks, blood better taste like fucking Nutella.”

He chuckled. “Do you still want me to explain the rest?”

I nodded, mouth full of dessert. Eat while you can, my stomach said.

William stretched out next to me and put his feet up on the ottoman. “Well, it’s basically an exchanging of blood. We’d cut each other’s wrists and drink. You’d take in as much vampire blood as you could, and I would drain you of your human blood.”

I inhaled. “Until I’m dead?”

“You would die, yes. Just not for long.”

My spoon scraped the bowl. Damn. I was out. “How long?”

He smoothed my hair. “I would stay with you like that, mouth to wrist, until my blood took hold inside you. I’d be essentially re-sanguinating you with my own blood. Once the transfer was complete, you’d wake up the following sunset.”

I licked the remaining chocolate off the spoon and avoided his eyes. “And I could still go out in the sun? Just not too long or else I’d be itchy?”

“We’ll stock up on antihistamines. My first sun rash was nasty. I looked like I used poison ivy as an exfoliant.”

My skin prickled. “Okay, and what about fangs? You’ve never shown me yours. I thought they were supposed to shoot out and stuff.”

He shrugged. “We’d be filing yours down pretty soon after the change. No need to inflict large puncture wounds, right? The vampires of today are much kinder and more discreet than our predecessors.”

I handed him the bowl. “I think you may have convinced me. We’ll get around to it eventually. For now, just give me another scoop.”

He bowed, low and graceful. “Anything you desire.”

“Then just take the carton into the bedroom.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Cerise

Before I headed out the door, I fought the impulse to look in the mirror one last time. It wouldn’t be any different from how I looked before, so I stopped my compulsive nitpicking and just allowed myself to be fabulous. My hair was done in simple blond waves that fell in round swirls down past my shoulders. My dress was a mermaid-cut satin sheath with thin red piping around the edges that laced up my back with a sexy matching scarlet ribbon. The last hint of kinky color in this typically pristine look were my white Louboutins, with their slinky red underside.

Instead of a limousine, William hired a classic Bentley to pick me up at my doorstep. Our select little group of guests were already at the venue. They were all waiting for me. I preferred to take this ride on my own. I didn’t need anyone fussing over me any more than I was doing already. I needed quiet right now. I smoothed the dress over and over, feeling the satin’s calming whisper against my skin. Cool and silky, it reminded me of the man I was about to marry.

The chauffeur opened the door with a bow and flourish, and made way for me to step onto the dock. It was sunset, and the Portsmouth Harbor sky and sea were the colors of birthday-cake buttercream roses, pink and purple and white smeared across the horizon. Docked at the end of the long, petal-strewn pier was a large luxury yacht. I could make out the name, Sea Bound, from where I stood. I snickered at William’s little joke. Well, big joke. Big luxury joke. I swallowed and centered myself before taking the first step down the broad wooden walkway.

I felt the soft flowers squish slightly under my pointy heels, and part of me worried I’d take a nosedive and end up facedown on the dock while William and our friends looked on from the deck of the ship. Instead of panicking, I just put one foot in front of the other and assured myself I had nothing to worry about. I was only about to make an eternal commitment to a vampire. Breathe in, breathe out, Cerise. Left foot, right foot.

Once I had hit my stride, I was able to make out the shapes that were waiting for me at the end of the dock. William stood at the entrance to the yacht, hand stretched toward me, beckoning me to marriage. A few steps farther, I made out the figure of Erin, hands on her hips in a sassy pose, wearing a tight fuchsia dress that wrapped around her figure and wound around one shoulder. Then there was Harvey, who blinked and blotted his eyes as he saw me approach, and Claude, his partner, clasping Harvey’s free hand. Breanna rested her head on Steven’s broad shoulder and smiled at me with a dreamy expression. I was thrilled I had earned their approval. Joan, wearing a simple black dress and blazer, nodded at me as I continued my promenade down the dock. Then, a small figure came into view, a woman in pale green, the color of our eyes. Mom.

“You look stunning,” William said, slipping his cool hand into mine. I was shaking. He was not. He smiled at me so broadly that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “My beautiful bride.”

We ascended the stairs to the ship’s outdoor patio, where William had set up a dozen tall heat lamps, which stood over us like warm palm trees, allowing the guests to enjoy the beautiful April sunset without its blustery breeze. Several intimate cocktail tables dotted the deck, decorated in a nautical theme with white rope trim wrapped around the napkins and candles. Oh, William, you scamp, I thought.

Joan led us across the gleaming cherrywood deck toward the bow of the yacht, where she had a small book set up on a table, and several candles. Erin, Harvey, Claude, Breanna, Steven, and my mother sat in a semicircle, facing the sea behind me and William.

“Friends, we are here to show our love and support for Cerise and William as they embark on the journey of marriage. The couple has elected to speak their own vows, so I’m going to step aside and allow them to speak their words of love. William?”

He nodded to Joan, then focused completely on me. His eyes, blue and glimmering in the light of dusk, held my gaze for a moment before he began. “Cerise. The love I have waited a lifetime for. Today I bind myself to you.”

My mouth nearly unhinged at his wording. How cheeky! He was going to get a spanking before the night was out, that’s for sure. I clamped my lips shut and allowed him to continue his vows.

“I vow to fasten my life to yours, and weave the strands of our fates together. I want the future we have together to be trussed with the cords of respect, compassion, and love.”

I glanced sideways at Erin, who had covered her smirking mouth.

“Today, Cerise, I ask for your name, your commitment, and your permission to allow me to submit my very soul to your keeping.”

I blinked slowly, allowing the tears to brew inside my eyes. This was so perfect.

Joan handed him a ring. A lovely diamond and ruby band that matched my engagement ring—a pear-shaped diamond with pavé rubies encircling the center. “Cerise Norrel, with this ring, I promise to love and cherish you for all eternity.” He slid it down my finger and it felt like a caress. The little platinum circle didn’t strangle my finger, it hugged it. I exhaled at the feeling.

“Cerise?” Joan prompted.

I closed my eyes and pictured the words before I spoke them. I could do this. “William, you are my every fantasy. Each day, I find new ways to love you.”

Now it was his turn to hide a chuckle. I watched the corners of his mouth waver.

“You’re my prince, my knight, my Romeo. My everything. You have taught me to love, to risk, to challenge, all while being able to stay myself. You bring out the best in me even when you’re not by my side. Because of you, I’m proud of who I am and who we will become together. Here’s to a lifetime of dreams coming true.”

William smiled at me again and wiped a tear from his eye. “I love you.”

“It’s not your turn,” I whispered back through clenched teeth. Harvey guffawed and Joan snickered.

“Today I ask for your company, William. Come with me, be my companion and my everything. Take my name, be my husband.” I took his hand in mine and pushed the ring down his finger with a little twist. He winked at me. The pattern on the ring was Irish knots.

“Do you, William, take Cerise to be your wife?” Joan asked.

“I do,” he replied, again blinking back tears. Which, of course, triggered my own waterworks and a fat teardrop snuck down my cheek.

“Do you, Cerise, take William to be your husband?”

“I certainly do.”

“Friends, I now present to you, Mrs. and Mr. Cerise Norrel!”

Our guests clapped and hooted and William pulled me into a gentle embrace.

“We can kiss now, right?” I asked.

“Of course,” Joan replied. “Please do.”

I slid my hand into William’s silky black hair and pulled his face to mine. “You’re gonna get it, Mr. Norrel,” I whispered into his mouth as I leaned in for the kiss.

“Good,” he breathed, and met my lips with a fierce kiss. “Mistress Wifey.”

“Cerise,” he said, “I thought we were past these little delusions.” William laughed and joked as I held the long rope between my hands. “You know those can’t hold me,” he said, smiling, and flexed his muscles cartoonishly. Even though he was being cocky and silly, it was still hot. I glanced toward the door, even though I knew the guests had left long ago. The yacht’s quarters were perfect for what I had planned tonight. On open water, nobody could hear William’s cries.

“Is that what you think, my husband?” I asked teasingly.

“Are you really going to try to be fresh with me on our wedding night?” he asked, sitting up in bed, pretending to be shocked. “I thought this was supposed to be the most tender night of our marriage!” He raked his hand through his bedhead and I wanted to ravage him right there. But I delayed. This was going to be priceless.

I sneered at him in jest. “Last night was technically our wedding night,” I explained. “We woke up for a quickie, so technically it’s the next day.” Dawn was starting to peek in through the windows, so fair game.

“Of course, darling.”

“Mmm, I love the sound of those words,” I said, as his eyes scanned the rope with skepticism.

I approached him slowly, pulling the rope between my hands suggestively. “So you think you can get out of this?” I asked, indicating that he hold his wrists out for me. I had asked William to bring several bags of mine onto the yacht for our honeymoon cruise, and luckily he hadn’t peeked inside.

He looked at me audaciously. “Yes, I can get out—MISTRESS.” He shook his head to himself and muttered the word rope and made the pssssh sound.

I snickered wickedly, and before he could even wipe the smug look off his face, bound his hands together quickly with a two-column tie. “Okay, try.”

His expression was completely and utterly priceless.

His hands wiggled futilely, and he looked at me with sheer confusion.

“What the—” he muttered, desperately trying to free his wrists.

I laughed, then used another length of the stuff to wrap around his feet. When I finished, he struggled wildly, desperately trying to figure out what was going on.

After a few minutes of watching him squirm around on our bed and swear—which is always hysterical, considering what a tight-ass he can be about the English language—I told him:

“Werewolf-hair rope,” I said triumphantly.

His eyes bugged, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “What?” he asked.

I nodded, still smirking. “I thought back to your journals,” I said slowly, pacing the room, enjoying each moment of his distress. “You mentioned a really strict vampire Domme named Laine. I had Breanna get her number, and I gave her a call.”

Again, priceless face. Good thing I was recording the entire honeymoon. Some people record their weddings from start to finish. Why waste all the good honeymoon sex?

“Laine gave me a lot of tips,” I crooned, approaching William slyly, bending toward his bound form and stroking the ropes on his wrists with my finger. “Including where I could buy some . . . interesting props.”

He shook his head in amazement. “You never cease to inspire me, Mistress,” he said, now reveling in his restrained position. “I hope you bought a lot of the stuff.”

I smiled. “A lot of werewolves are running around hairless because of my purchases,” I said, and proceeded to completely anchor my loving husband to the bed.

He wiggled; he writhed. He pulled, tugged, and even bit at the ropes with his teeth.

“Just imagine how difficult this is all going to be once you change me. Now, now, love, do you really want to get out so badly?”

He shook his head no.

“Then why are you trying so hard?”

He shrugged as much as the ropes allowed. “Curiosity.”

“Oh, my husband, I’ll satisfy every curiosity you have in that gorgeous body of yours.” I slipped off my robe and put on my wedding heels.

He tossed his head back rapturously. “Good thing we have eternity . . . Mistress.”

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Mina Vaughn

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ISBN 978-1-4767-4352-3