Chapter 7

The short walk back to the café seemed to take hours, each step another angry breath as Veronica tried to calm down.

Smug asshole. How dare he try to preach to me about running a business. How dare he try to tell me to back off and let someone else run my life.

She settled herself back at the outside table. The smoky smell had lessened thanks to the huge fans spinning wildly nearby, the long cords plugged into a short fat generator that chugged along enthusiastically.

The empty espresso cup was there along with the remains of the scone.

Veronica rubbed her cheek where he’d touched her.

Rich boy playing with family toys.

She picked up a large crumb and squeezed it between her fingers. The granules fell to the ground and were swallowed up by the water.

He might be cute, but he doesn’t know anything about what it takes to keep a business running. He doesn’t have to worry about every dollar, every dime. He can’t lecture me about relinquishing control.

Even if he is a Dom.

The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach argued against her, but she didn’t have the time to dispute it.

Dan came out of the store smiling, and she relaxed slightly.

Maybe it’s not so bad.

In the end, it was technically that bad and worse. The next few days spun by in a flurry of phone calls to workmen and insurance companies, furloughed employees and city workers as she tried to get Java Jive open again.

The referral from Oliver had proven to be a bright spot in the chaos. The disaster recovery company raced over to assess the damage and delivered a lower estimate for the full cleanup than she’d expected—dropping Oliver Greenwood’s name had some benefits, it seemed.

By Saturday she was on her last nerve, the others frayed and ripped to shreds by a bureaucracy that didn’t care how much money she lost every hour, every day the café stayed closed. Her goal of having Java Jive back open in a few days was nothing but a wisp in the wind.

When she arrived at Oliver’s mansion, she was in a foul mood and didn’t give a crap.

She’d intentionally worn the leather jacket again and arrived early, telling the cabbie to let her off at the end of the driveway so she could walk up and somehow work off the anger simmering under the surface.

Telling me to calm the hell down. Not his bookstore almost up in flames. Rich spoiled boy.

Veronica jabbed at the door buzzer, mentally preparing her speech.

I don’t have time for this. I have a business to run and I need to get back to the café.

Just sign off on this damned fiasco and—

He opened the door and smiled, catching her off guard.

“You’re early.” There was no condemnation in his voice.

“Yeah.” She wanted to stay angry at him and at the whole world.

The gentle grin wasn’t helping.

“Please come in.” Oliver gestured her inside. He wore the same outfit from last week, the black shirt and leather pants continuing to set her pulse ablaze.

Damn he looks good in that—

She stepped in and heard the door close behind her.

“Listen, I—”

The hand gripping the back of her neck froze her in place, cutting off her words.

“I don’t have a lot of rules,” he murmured in her ear. “But I demand obedience for those I do set up.”

His left hand came up in front of her face. It held a leather collar with a small metal ring at the front of it. The thick buckle was a standard type, one she’d seen many times before.

“Each time you come here, I’m going to put this on you. For the duration of our session, it’ll be on your neck, and you’ll be mine.” A slight pause. “Usually I put a lock on it, but I’m going to forgo it for the time being. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

Her mouth went dry, and for a second, she felt faint.

The grip intensified.

“Do you understand me?” There was no rage in his voice, only a soft insistent demand. “Roni?”

“My name is Veronica,” she protested, unable to raise her voice over a whisper.

“Here with me, it’s Roni.” He released her neck and stepped behind her.

The leather band settled around her neck, the smell clogging her senses. She felt him buckling it up with the cool metal pressing against her skin.

“I’m not a submissive.” The weak protest fell from her lips.

“When you’re here, you are. Until I take this collar off, you are.” Oliver stepped back around to face her. He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” Her right hand flew up to feel the leather, her nails digging into it. “I can’t wear this.”

“Yes, you can. And you will.” He gently pulled her hand free and down, keeping hold of it. “Come on.”

He led her to the same room as before, their steps echoing on the wooden floor.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked, desperate to say something, anything to delay the inevitable.

He arched an eyebrow as he settled her on the love seat again. “I have a housekeeper and a chef, a gardener and a driver. All of whom are gone for this afternoon, as I’ve arranged.” Oliver tugged at her leather jacket. “Why did you wear this again?”

Her mouth went dry as he pulled it down off her arms and out from behind her. “I—”

“You wanted to annoy me.” He grinned. “I’m not totally stupid.” He laid it carefully on the ground. “But that’s three strikes against you already in the short time you’ve been here.” Oliver ticked the offenses off on his fingers in front of her. “Speaking out of turn. Wearing the leather jacket again. And being early.” He cocked his head to one side. “Are you intentionally baiting me?”

“Yes. N—no.” The words felt like cotton in her mouth.

“What do you want from me?” Oliver asked. “Be honest.”

“I want you to sign the form and let me go back to the club.”

She touched the collar with shaking fingers.

Don’t make me do this.

You’re going to do this.

Oliver locked eyes with her.

Even if I have to fight with you for the next two hours.

“That’s an honest answer. But you’re not going to get me to do it by making me angry.” He wagged his finger in front of her. “I’m not easy to manipulate, and you’re not the woman to do it. On your knees.”

She hesitated, long enough to stir his ire.

“I wasn’t asking.” Oliver pointed at the carpeted floor. “Kneel here in front of me, or I’ll make you.” He paused. “Don’t even think of pushing me today. I have no problem tanning your ass to the point you won’t sit properly for a week. Imagine how that’s going to work when you go back to your café.”

Veronica’s eyes flared with anger, but she settled herself at his feet.

“This”—he walked around her—“for the record is position four. Hands on your knees and eyes down.” Oliver stopped. His hand landed on the back of her neck and pressed the leather buckle into her skin, pushing her head down.

“Eyes. Down. I won’t say it again.”

She tensed under his touch, and for a second, he thought she’d turn and lunge at him, punching and wailing at her supposed abuse.

Veronica lowered her head with a soft grunt. Her hands slid over her jeans as she rubbed her palms.

It’s a start.

“I’m assuming you don’t know or use these positions much.” Oliver continued his orbit around her. “They’re extremely useful to help your submissive relax. The routine is soothing once you get into it.”

The answering snort sent his blood racing through his veins.

He grabbed the back of her neck again, sliding his fingers under the collar. “Position one.”

He pushed her forward. Her hands instinctively went out to break her fall, and she was on her hands and knees.

“This is position one. You can call it anything you want, but for our purposes, we’ll call it that.” Oliver felt her shake under his hand. “Stop. Fighting. Me.”

Veronica whipped her head to one side and glared at him but said nothing. She turned back to look at the floor.

“Good. Get up.” He watched her rise slowly. “Position three is simple—standing up, hands behind your back.”

Oliver waited.

Her hands slowly cruised along her hips and slid out of sight.

“Position four.”

Nothing happened.

She stared at the floor.

“I don’t have to be this nice.” Oliver growled. “Do you really want to push your luck?” He pointed at the door. “Safe-word out and go if you’re not willing to at least try this. I expected more from a woman of your intelligence.”

Veronica looked at him, locking eyes in a fight he knew was long overdue.

Oliver smiled inside, relishing the challenge.

The battle of wills lasted a full minute.

She let out an annoyed huff and sank to her knees, head down.

The sense of accomplishment made his blood sing.

Yes.

He cleared his throat, not wanting to show her how pleased he was with both of them. “Position two is your nose to the floor and your ass high in the air.”

Veronica slid into place at a leisurely pace.

Still fighting. But I’d expect nothing less.

He reached down and ran his hand over her butt before delivering a short, harsh slap.

Her cry of surprise rang true.

“We’re going to practice this.” Oliver kept his voice as level as he could, trying not to display his happiness. “We’re going to go back and forth until you have these memorized. And then add more to your repertoire.”

She was going to fight him all the way.

He loved a challenge.

“Position three.”

I’m going to kill him. I’m going to strip the skin from his hide slowly with a sharp knife and—

“Wrong position. I told you Fourth and you’re in Third.” The heated whisper in her ear startled her into immobility. “What are you thinking about?”

“About how I’m going to kill you,” Veronica rasped.

“Good. I can work with that.” Oliver smiled. “And now for every time you screw up your position, you’re going to lose a piece of clothing. We’ll start with your left boot.”

Son of a—

She toed the boot off and wobbled in place.

“Position one.”

Forty-five minutes later, she’d managed to keep some of her clothing on.

Some.

Her mind was a blur as she waited for his next command, her T-shirt soaked with sweat and her bra clinging to her skin. Her panties were the only thing standing between her and indecent exposure, her jeans and boots neatly stacked to the side courtesy of three errors.

The anger she’d started out with had turned to a stunned haze as Oliver snapped out the positions.

She couldn’t afford to be slow either.

Once the jeans had come off, he slapped the back of her legs if she hesitated a fraction of a second.

“Good.” He strolled around her like a proud drill sergeant. “Position four.”

Veronica dropped to her knees.

“Excellent.” Oliver stroked her hair. A shiver went through her at the unexpectedly gentle touch. “Now it’s time for your spanking.”

“Wh-what?”

Oliver strolled over to the couch. He settled on the cushions. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with all that insubordination. I counted three attempts before we even got started, and I could add a dozen more since then. But I’m going to give you a break. Fifteen strokes times three. Come here.” He waited a fraction of a second before continuing. “Hesitate any more, and I’ll add five extra for each minute. And I’ll get the cane. It’ll hurt more than my hand will.”

The soft tone was underlaid with steel.

This was no joke.

She swallowed hard, feeling the leather collar against her skin.

This is not who I am.

Veronica resisted the urge to touch it again.

This can’t be who I am.

She got to her feet and paused, a bit wobbly from the exercises.

“You don’t want—” She touched her panties.

“No.” The calm tone smoothed over her frazzled nerves. “I don’t need you to be naked. At least not yet.” He patted his lap. “And I won’t add on more strokes for speaking out of turn, considering you’re asking a valid question. Come here.” Oliver stared at her. “I won’t ask again. My patience is almost at an end.”

She stumbled forward.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

She settled over his legs and stared down at the floor. The metal ring on her collar clinked as she shifted her weight to keep her feet on the ground.

“No.” He took hold of her hips and pushed her forward. Her toes now only brushed the carpet, her balance warped out of control.

His warm hand stroked her ass, circular motions on each cheek. She felt the blood rushing to her head as she stretched her hands out against the floor.

“Forty-five. And while I’d love to say this’ll hurt me as much as it will you, I doubt it.”

The first slap startled her even though she’d been expecting it.

“Do you remember your safe-word?” he asked.

She staggered through her memories. “Chai.”

“Correct. Use it if you feel you need to.” His hand landed on her again, and she gasped as he continued, counting out loud.

The warmth from her burning skin traveled over her body, sending her senses afire. Already light-headed from her head-down position Veronica let out a moan as the spanking continued.

She shifted her hips as the need between her legs increased, the pressure growing in her inner core.

I can’t—

I can’t be enjoying this.

She whimpered as he hit a sensitive spot on her upper thigh, the pain flashing up inside her and twisting into desire.

Touch—

He stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Touch—” She writhed on his lap, not caring he’d heard her. “Touch me.”

“I am touching you.” The humor in his voice annoyed her to no end. His hand landed on her ass again, caressing the thin cotton fabric.

“I mean,” she panted, unable to find the right words without a concentrated effort, “put your fingers inside me. Make me come.”

He stopped.

Veronica waited for a few seconds to what Oliver was going to do.

Nothing.

She writhed on his lap. “Come on, do something.”

The tingling in her thighs increased to a dull throb, and she knew it’d take just a touch, just a brush of his hand to send her over the edge. The embarrassment of being over his knee like an errant schoolgirl disappeared as desire turned into a raging want overriding every clear thought.

Nothing.

She pulled one hand up to wipe her tears away. “Please.”

Still nothing.

“I know the rules, but—” She grabbed at his ankle and dug in her nails, the anger flashing through her. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Of course I can,” the calm voice replied. “I’m your Dom.”

Suddenly, the world spun around her as he lifted her off his lap and placed her on her knees, facing him.

Veronica let out a peep of surprise, her arousal dampened by the sudden movement.

Oliver held her shoulders. “That was thirty-five. I’ll let the other ten go as I don’t think you have the self-control to take them. Yet.”

Her cheeks burned now with rage, not arousal.

“I’m in control of myself,” she snapped. “I’m always in control.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Which is why you were pleading for me to get you off only a few seconds ago.” He held up his right hand. “You’re truly a handful.”

The skin was bright red from the spanking, his palm and fingers swelling as she watched.

She shifted on her knees, feeling another surge of desire at seeing the weapon of her destruction.

“Just a—”

“No.”

The single word response caught her off guard. Flustered, she struggled to find the right words.

“What good is a Dom if not to help me get off? Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

His soft smile brought her up short, her rant pinched off at the base.

Oliver leaned forward and placed a long leisurely kiss on her forehead.

“My darling Roni. That’s not what it’s about. Not at all.”

He was drenched in sweat, and his right hand ached.

It didn’t help that he had a raging hard-on, his cock begging for release. Each time Veronica had twisted on his lap either into or away from his slap, she had rubbed against him, the wet heat of her arousal pushing him quickly toward the point of no return. It was only because she was confused and disoriented, focused on herself and her own desires that she didn’t realize what effect she’d had on him.

Speaking of control—he was doing a piss-poor job today.

Oliver leaned back and stripped off his shirt. The wet fabric clung to him, and he struggled for a second before tossing it aside.

Judging from Veronica’s wide-eyed stare, he’d gotten her full attention again.

He shifted his hips in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure on his cock. It pressed against his leather pants, aching for someone’s touch.

“I see you liked this as well,” she purred and placed her hand on his knee. “Why don’t we take care of each other?” She tilted her head to one side and licked her lips. “I won’t tell.”

And here I thought you’d learned something.

He allowed himself a secret smile.

Fighting right to the very end.

“No.” Oliver grunted. “That’s not how this is going to work. You’re not going to top from the bottom, take control of this scene because you want to be in charge.”

Her lower lip jutted out in a pout, and he wanted nothing else than to lean over and grab it with his teeth, bend her to his will and start in on an earth-shattering lovemaking session right here on the floor.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.

He ground his teeth together and forced his voice to what he hoped was a calm, in-control tone.

“Getting off, as you so phrased it, isn’t what a relationship between a submissive and a Dominant is all about. Well, not a good one.” He flashed back to some of the scenes he’d witnessed at Boots ’n’ Chains. “While sex is an important component, it’s not the end game. Not always.”

“But—” She put her other hand on his empty knee, the confusion evident in her stare. “You want this too. So why not?”

“Because that’s not what you’re here for.” He was near the end of his rope and needed to start scrambling back. “You don’t need me to get off. I bet you’ve got a box of toys back at your flat ready and willing to do the job for you.”

Her deep blush made him care for her even more.

“This is about control. Self-control and being able to read others. Giving control to someone you trust to not abuse it. Someone who knows when to stop.” Oliver took hold of her wrists and placed them on her knees, pushing her back into a submissive position.

Position four.

Veronica didn’t fight him. She drew a shallow breath that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle.

She wasn’t used to not getting what she wanted.

He leaned in. “A good Dom knows where the edge is. A good submissive isn’t afraid to give the Dom control, knowing he or she will take them so far and stop without a safe-word needed.” He continued, seeing her inner battle. “You watch others at work all the time, or claim to. Why can’t you read when you’re pushing a sub too far, when you’re knocking him out of subspace and into plain old pain? Why do you think you can’t do what I did?”

Confess it, he mentally pleaded with her.

Tell me you’re really a submissive. Say it. Accept it. Please.

Tears flooded her eyes as the tenuous emotional thread snapped. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

He pulled her into his lap and cradled her as she sobbed.

“I don’t know.”