How to Punish Your Playboy Publication Date: April 6th 2015 Goodreads
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In this saucy and funny domination romance, pin-up model Veronika Kane meets sexy, arrogant Aston Delano and decides to teach this playboy a lesson he’ll never forget.
When Veronika Kane hears that she’s up for Miss Pin Up Las Vegas, she auctions off her classic hot-rod and decides to head out west. But when the man who bought her car, hot restaurateur Aston Delano, asks her to “show him the ropes,” his not-so-innocent question takes them down a surprising, sexy road. And as they travel cross-country as Domme/sub, their chemistry sizzles—as do the luscious meals Aston creates.
Torn between the rediscovered pleasure of food and worry about staying in competition shape, Mistress Veronika unexpectedly finds herself as much a pupil as a teacher. Throw in long-distance trouble from her ex and from Aston’s family, and it’s a potential recipe for disaster. A road trip can be hard on any relationship—will this drive them apart, or will they buckle in for the long haul?
We cruised along in silence for about a minute before I decided to speak. I figured I should try to let the tension mount, make him wonder. I also tried to figure out what the fuck I was going to say.
I smiled, hands on the leather of the wheel, imagining how I’d take this wealthy boy down a notch. Sarah had suggested I make up some sort of slightly demeaning but cute nickname for him.
What would I call him? Little boy? No, that was gross. My little fuck toy? Sounded too much like My Little Pony. How about Dirty Playboy? The more quick looks I stole at him, the more I found myself nearly veering off the road. He was gorgeous. Really gorgeous, and he knew it. Was he the sub type, or was I delusional about this whole little escapade? He looked far too cocky to be dominated, but dammit I was going to try.
This time when I glanced at him, my eyes thankfully disguised by my sunglasses, I saw him admiring the car’s leather interior, stroking it with his long, tan fingers. Two emotions zipped through me—desire and, oddly enough, defense. Part of me suddenly wanted to go back to the auction and call the deal off.
People always said I was born to drive this car, with my stoplight red hair and creamy skin. We were a perfect match, Johnny and me; we looked good together. Then again, Aston looked . . . good in general. I wanted to swipe his neatly combed bangs into his eyes, rough him up, and give him a long kiss on that full mouth.
Then slap the smirk off his face that would likely follow. All this Domme stuff made me feel so empowered. But after the stunt I pulled today, of course I felt empowered! I gave Derek the most epic fuck off of all time, aside from the little cards I sent out after we broke our engagement a month ago. Chose the wrong guy, gave him the wrong finger. Thanks for your support.
“Everything okay?” Aston asked. I must have been frowning.
Or possibly drooling like a post-lobotomy patient. Keep it together, Veronika!
“You’re getting a little handsy with my car,” I snapped. “But don’t worry, you’ll get your share of leather before the night’s through.” I did notice his Adam’s apple bob, so maybe he liked my harsh tone.
He snickered and leaned toward me. “So it’s still your car?
Then it seems I just paid a half million dollars for this ride. Oh wait, you’re calling the shots, I forgot.” He pulled his hands off the interior and placed one on the stick shift. My stomach clenched and if I wasn’t driving, I’d have crossed my legs at the gesture.
“What are your plans for me?”
Goose bumps started at my legs and slinked farther north. I had to mentally douse myself with cold water before answering. My voice always rose an octave when I was turned on, and I didn’t want to sound like a soprano yet. I didn’t really know if he was into me, into the car, or just into kink. I could have some fun combining all three.
“You wanted me to show you the ropes,” I said slowly, emphasizing the key word. “I’m going to grab a couple of things at my apartment. You have a lot to learn.”
He was still facing me, eyes obscured by his dark glasses.
“Can’t wait.”
“Such an eager boy. Are you sure?” I clenched and unclenched a fist, eager to get my hands on one of Sarah’s floggers she kept in the little dungeon room of our apartment. I’d never gone in there, but she’d mentioned her giant chest of treasures once or twice, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about her model-size A cups. I wanted to message all my fellow dirty-book lovers and squee that I was finally about to make use of the absurd amount of unused BDSM knowledge I had stored in my brain.
Hell, I was going to need some hashtags for this encounter: #tyingupmisterfancypants #breakingthestallion #sayhellotomylittlecrop.
He nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Very well, Dirty Playboy, we’ll start your lessons by having you open up the glove box.” For a moment, a jolt of fear shot through me. Sarah didn’t say what it was in the glove box. I assumed it was a skein of rope, but what if it was a butt plug or some sort of two-ended dildo?! Well, I suppose we’d have to make do, but still—yowza!
He grumbled something about not needing an instruction manual, when a pair of pink fuzzy cuffs fell into his hands. “Well, hello there,” he crooned, picking up the handcuffs and holding them in the air. “Shouldn’t these be dangling from the mirror or something?” he asked and slid his sunglasses down his nose.
It could have been the sun glare, but I thought he may have winked at me. Wink at me? Oh, Aston, you’re in for a whole lot of discipline. He was positively shimmering with amusement.
I pretended he was incorrect in his assessment. “Do you know how to use those?” I asked. “Because they’re not for dangling.”
I looked his way again and saw his half-open mouth and blinking eyes and felt a pang of concern. Why was he so surprised?
“I want you to cuff your hands together.”
This time he wasn’t chuckling, he was downright guffawing.
“Shall I take that as a yes?” I asked, putting the blinker on and taking a hard right turn toward the complex. Sarah had mentioned the room was always open, but I wondered if she’d started locking it since I never took her up on her offers to check it out.
I supposed I should have been paying more attention to my charge, since I was driving like a maniac. Aston was pressed against the door, arm flailing for an “oh shit” bar and finding none. He gripped the seat and looked at me like I was crazy, chuckling with a nervous intake of air.
“Is this some sort of kidnapping attempt?” he asked, wiping his eye. Was that a tear? “Because if you need money, I can offer you personally another hundred grand and you can keep your fuzzy cuffs.” He ran his hand through his hair, fixing what the wind had done to those long bangs, and leaned back in his seat. I was disappointed; I preferred them in his eyes. The way the wind had mussed his hair, he looked much more punk than J. Crew. Maybe I’d order him to wear it like that later. Listen to me, imagining myself ordering him to do something. I nearly giggled.
“You said you wanted me to show you the ropes,” I said.
“These are handcuffs! Do you want me to learn to drive the car with my knees?” he asked.
“Who’s calling the shots? I’m your Mistress and you’re my Dirty Playboy,” I reminded him with a stern wag of my finger. His smirk fell and his cheeks reddened. There you go, I wanted to say. I watched as he silently placed one cuff around his wrist and fumbled with the other. “Fine, but once I’m behind the wheel, no Cirque du Soleil–type acrobatics. There’s no way I can drive like this without killing us.” He seemed to be having some trouble with the second hand.
“Do you need me to put the other cuff on you?” I asked, already hot under the hood from watching one of his wrists wiggle around in the fuzzy restraint.
“I don’t know why I’m doing this, but sure,” he said, shrugging.
“This might be the weirdest day of my life, just so you know.” I was thinking the same thing. One hand on the wheel, I leaned over and slipped my fingers around his wrist and felt his pulse jump at my touch. I saw him glance down my blouse and swallow hard. I should probably slow down. I clicked the cuff closed and he placed his hands in his lap. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“So, seriously,” he asked, leaning his head back and relaxing into his new position, “are you kidnapping me?”
I snickered, driving into my parking space. The lot was empty, as it normally was on weekends—everyone in our complex was the outdoorsy type once the weather got nice. “No. I like my victims willing,” I joked, stealing the line from one of my favorite books. I was becoming such a badass.
I put the car in park, unbuckled, and hopped out, giving him a little peek at my short shorts as I exited.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asked, glancing around frantically.
I leaned over the hood of the car and put my chin in my hands. “To get my ropes,” I said, giving him a wink, then standing. He shook his head as I headed to the apartment door, walking with a slow swagger. I opened the door, blew him a kiss, and stepped inside.
I dropped my confidence at the threshold and ran toward the naughty room. I put my hand on the doorknob and half expected it to feel hot to the touch. I closed my fingers around it, twisted, and took a step inside.
At first glance, it seemed like a workout studio. Mirrors, hardwood floors, bars along the walls and vertical poles placed sporadically around the room. Then I began to notice the hooks in the floor and walls. The suspension gear on the ceiling. Yup, Sarah liked to let her freak flag fly.
Across the room was a piece of furniture akin to a treasure chest. While I was curious about the paneled doors along the room that looked like a row of closets, I knew the chest was where
I’d find some more goodies. I knelt low, opened the box, and I could swear I heard the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
Dozens of skeins of colorful rope, floggers, crops, and bondage tape winked at me from inside. I smiled, marveling at the kinky motherload. Not wanting to keep Aston waiting, I grabbed a number of items and shoved them into a bag, then darted to my room to change.
Looking in the mirror that hung over my closet door, I assessed myself and smiled. My bright red hair was curled, my cat-eye makeup was on point, and if I do say so myself, my bod looked slammin’. I checked the clock and popped my pill. Good timing. This should do, I thought as I slipped out of my tight denim shorts and into a breezy white skirt.
I walked back to the car and the laid-back, smarmy look he had since the beginning of the trip was replaced with a rigid mask. “What the fuck is going on?”
I laughed, tossing the bag over my shoulder.
“I wasn’t going to let you just drive off in my car without showing you the ins and outs of this bad boy,” I said slowly, opening the driver’s side door and facing him on my knees. “And now we’re here, and so are my tools.” I held up the goody bag and pulled out a long red cord, checking over my shoulder to make sure we were truly alone.
I watched his chest rise and fall. It didn’t matter that I had never done this—my body knew what to do. My instincts would guide me.
“What are you?” he whispered. I noticed his body no longer tensed. He sat there like a good boy, for once.
“I’m a Domme,” I said, unraveling the rope. I was surprised at how easily the word had fallen off my tongue. Yes, I may be inexperienced, but deep down I knew it was true. Maybe I’d been taking mental notes from Sarah this whole time.
He licked his lips, and a look of panic flashed across his face.
“Shit, I swear, my family is not connected. If this is about the restaurants—”
“I’m a Domme, not a Don.”
His wide hazel eyes held mine for a moment, then he blinked.
“I still don’t understand.” The snarky tone in his voice had transformed into something much more basic—innocence.
Now it was my turn to panic. Did I interpret his suggestion wrong? Could I have misread the entire situation? I decided that I was committed at this point, and I should hold my course. No stopping now. The way he looked at me right then, a combination of trepidation, desire, and confusion, urged me forward. I wanted more. And by the looks of his posture, so did he.
I put my hands on my knees and leaned over in a full-on sex kitten pose. “I’m kinky. I’m into bondage. I like to tie men like you up and have them for dinner,” I said into his ear. Part of me contemplated adding, Not, like, literally, since this boy was skittish. Again with the ragged breaths. This one was going to drive me crazy. I undid those tempting buttons on his vest first. Jeez, a jacket, vest, and shirt just to get to this guy’s skin? What a tease.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Um, what do I do?” His eyes were still full of fear and questions, but I knew he was game. His body was telling me more by the second. His open, wet mouth and the stiffening in his pants betrayed his real interest.
I smiled. “All you have to do is obey. Submit.”
“Okay, but I don’t think I’ve ever done either of those things in my life,” he admitted, his roguish expression returning. I knew he was too cocky for this. “What happens if I don’t?” He narrowed his eyes and pouted his lips.
Instead of dropping my smile, it widened. “You get punished.”
It was go big or go home time with my Dirty Playboy, and he had lessons to learn.
His tan skin blanched slightly and he forced a nod. “Yes . . . Mistress?”
I tapped his cheek with my fingers. “You’re a fast learner. Good boy.” And apparently I was a fast learner, too, because I was even convincing myself I was up for this. Part of me considered FaceTiming Sarah for tips, but I knew I needed to do this on my own.
Swinging my legs over the center console, I planted myself firmly in his lap with my bag of tricks to my right. I unlocked the cuffs for a moment so I could get that stifling jacket off him.
“Don’t worry, those are going back on,” I said. He nodded.
“But first, I’m going to bind your chest.” I slid his jacket off his shoulders and tossed it behind us. A stiff piece of paper dropped beside the seat, probably a business card. I clicked the furry cuffs back into place and his arms were immobile again. Damn, he looked so good. Even though he had the stereotypical rich brat look about him, there was an edge to the way he dressed and with his hair a mess, it made me want to reveal the bad boy inside who was dying to get out. But those diamond cufflinks winked at me, telling me exactly how much I needed to know about Aston. He was loaded and spoiled rotten. And I was a girl from the rough side of town.
A smile inched halfway up his cheek. I knotted the end of the rope to one of the seat belt anchors and wound it around the back of the seat. My chest pressed full up against his as my arms worked to feed the rope to the other side. He smelled like pine and sugar and I wanted to moan right there, straddling him, flush against his hard body. I clenched my teeth to keep the sounds inside and eased back, winding the rope around his chest and then back around the seat. We sat like this, close then apart, for nearly a minute. I felt him harden and squirm with each rotation until I finally reached the end of the skein. I knotted it with a pretty bow and sat back to examine my handiwork. Pretty decent for a first-timer.
“Not bad,” I said, leaning back, putting my arms on the dashboard behind me. I was still straddling him and he could probably see up my skirt, but he wasn’t looking. His eyes were fixed on the anchor tattoo on my forearm. Here we go. All those times Derek had told me I looked too tough to take out to a fancy place came flooding back, and I felt my face redden.
“I . . . like your tattoo,” he said awkwardly, as though he didn’t know if he liked it or not. He wasn’t exactly the type that went after rockabilly chicks. The only tattoo I bet he ever saw was your run of the mill butterfly tramp stamp.
“I’m glad,” I replied, pleased with his reaction, “because if you’re a good boy, I’ll let you see all of them.”
His breath hitched. “How many do you have?” he asked with an arch of an eyebrow.
“Just the right amount,” I replied, leaning forward, inhaling the sweet, woodsy smell again.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “I didn’t expect to like this.” Aston wiggled under the ropes, rolling his shoulders. I did, I wanted to say.
I sat up and slinked my hands up my skirt, hooking my thumbs under my panties. “You talk too much,” I said, sliding them off my legs and balling them into a wad.
His mouth made an “ooh” shape, but he kept the sound inside. It was too late; I still wanted to stifle him. Probably not his fault at all, it was mainly leftover from all the times I had fantasized about shutting Derek up. For the first time in a long time, I pushed the thought of him from my head in favor of someone else. I didn’t want to think about Derek anymore . . . or ever again. I was a new woman now. A woman in control.
“Open up,” I said, and stuffed the lacy garment into his mouth.
His eyes widened for a moment, then fell half-hidden behind his lids. He lifted his hips toward me and groaned softly, the noise escaping through the silky scrap.
“Easy there,” I lectured, fingering his gold chain, which was tipped with a horn charm at the end. I turned my attention back to Aston. “Don’t make me blindfold you, too.” I slid fully onto his lap and felt his legs tremble beneath mine. I bit my lip and squirmed. This was going to be fun. I leaned toward my bag to grab another rope, my chest mere inches from his wide eyes, when a sharp piece of cardboard poked my wrist.
“Ow!” I squeaked, grabbing the sharp paper. “Is this yours?”
He nodded as I looked down. It was larger than a business card. I read the words and gasped.
“Wait, this is a wedding invitation, marked for today at four,” I noted. It was three thirty.
He made a muffled sound and tried to speak. I pulled my panties out of his mouth.
“I told you before—I wanted you to show me the ropes, and I also could use a date.”
“I thought you meant,” I stammered, looking at the clock, then him all tied up and hard, and then back at the invitation. “This looks fancy. And so do you. I need a dress!”
I hopped out of his lap and moved to run back upstairs to the apartment.
“You’re just going to leave me like this?” he yelped.
I tapped my forehead. “Silly me. I suppose you can watch,” I said, moving to untie him, then headed to the apartment.
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