How to Discipline Your Vampire (7 page)

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.