The Submission of Alistair Ingram (13 page)

Kent
threw his hands in the air. “Publicity! Any media attention is good media
attention. Why can’t I get you to see that?”

“No.
It’s not.” Defeated, Alistair slid in beside Bethany and pulled the door shut.

They
drove back to Alistair’s square, white, monstrosity of a mansion in silence. Kent
pulled in through the gate and turned the engine off. “Listen,” he said, “a lot
has gone on since I’ve been your manager. You need to listen to me more. You
need--”

“Kent,”
Alistair said, opening his door. “You’re fired.”

He
got out and slammed the door. Bethany scrambled to grasp her door handle and
hop out onto the driveway. Alistair waited for her in front of the S.U.V. that
was already backing out, only inches away from her.

“Come
on,” he said, holding out a hand. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a
nap.”

A
nap? “Oh, okay.”

She
figured he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but it was closing in on
evening now anyway, and her stomach was grumbling. “I don’t suppose you have
any Snickers bars?” she asked.

He
looked at her with a grin of confusion. “Snickers bars? No. Sorry. But,” he
said, opening the front door, “I do have some of my grandma’s bananas foster.
It’s the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

“I’ve
never had it.”

He
reached out and brushed her braid back. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get
comfortable, and I’ll bring some up?”

He
brushed his fingers over her cheek and left her to find her way upstairs. She
wasn’t sleeping in his bed and didn’t know which guest bedroom he’d want her
staying in, but for dessert, she figured she’d wait in his room.

Tentatively,
she sat on the side of his bed. Why was she so nervous? She was Black Betty!
Nothing made her nervous or afraid or anxious.

She
supposed Black Betty really was gone. Sitting on the side of Alistair Ingram’s
giant bed in his ugly mansion that looked like a library, a single tear slipped
down Bethany’s face. That was all the mourning she’d allow herself to have for
the dominatrix that had died inside of her today.

This
frail woman inside her skin could be wounded so easily. She felt like a
newborn, vulnerable and needy. How could she live like this? She had to find
herself again.

“Here
we go!” Alistair said, striding in the room with two large bowls brimming with
vanilla ice cream covered in a brown-sugary, banana sauce. He handed her one
and climbed on the bed. Leaning against the headboard, he patted the spot
beside him.

Bethany
settled in next to him and took a bite. The warm sauce oozed over the cold ice
cream and tasted so sweet and rich she let out a little moan of delight.

“I
told you,” he said, licking the back of his spoon. “It’s incredible.”

She
took another bite, savoring it before swallowing. “Did you really fire Kent? Or
is that something you guys do?”

“Oh,
he’s really fired. I don’t need him sabotaging my career for the sake of
publicity. I can’t believe he sent me in there knowing what was going to
happen.” He set his spoon in his bowl and placed it on the nightstand. “I’m
sorry, by the way. I should’ve never let you step inside that building.”

He
slipped the band off the end of her braid and began running his fingers through
the plaits, unwinding them. His fingers rose to the base of her head and
massaged. It felt better than the ice cream tasted, so she set her bowl aside
and leaned into his touch.

Alistair
wrapped an arm around her waist and slid her down the bed, then pulled her over
so her head rested on his chest. He took a deep breath and sighed. She relaxed
into his warmth and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his fingers in her
hair.

Caught On Tape

Alistair
opened his eyes and knew it was early. The light outside his window was dim,
and the woman asleep on his chest was out cold.

She’d
stayed with him.

She
was probably exhausted, so he didn’t consider it a personal feat.

Still.
She hadn’t run from him and demanded to be taken to a hotel, so that was
something.

He
glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand—5:45 A.M.—then his eyes fell on
the bowl of melted ice cream and sugary syrup from the night before. His mind
could only think one thing. He wanted it all over her.

Alistair
picked up the bowl. The melted mess was probably spoiled from being out all
night.

It
would probably give him a terrible stomach ache.

He
probably didn’t care.

He
dipped his finger in and ran a wet, drippy line of melted ice cream along her
index finger. When she didn’t move, he lifted her hand and ran his tongue from
the base to the tip of her fingernail.

She
sighed and bent her finger. He took it in his mouth.

Alistair
watched as her eyes slowly opened, roamed around the room, and came to rest on
his face. “Morning,” he said around her finger.

Before
she had a chance to respond, he had her on her back pinned beneath him. Carefully,
he set the bowl beside her. She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. “What time
is it?” she asked?

“Almost
six.”

“In
the evening?” She tried to sit up, but he held her down.

“No.
Six in the morning.”

Panic
crossed her face. “I have to--”

“You
don’t have to do anything, remember? You’re stuck here with me. Kind of like an
impromptu vacation.” He dipped his finger in the melted ice cream and traced it
over her collarbone down into the deep V of her t-shirt.

“What
is that?” She bent her chin to her chest, straining to see what he was doing.

“Nothing.
Just a little treat for me.” He stuck his sticky finger in her mouth to keep
her from protesting and ran his tongue down the line of her V-neck t-shirt.

She
arched her back and ran her fingers through his hair. “Don’t you have to work
today?”

“No.
I’m supposed to be relaxing and preparing for my wedding this week.” He
chuckled against her skin, his hot breath making her flush.

“Heather
seems nice.”

“Shh…”
he said. Heather was the last thing he wanted in his mind right now.

“Maybe
a little manipulative,” she continued. “She--”

“Alistair
has a bad temper,” Heather Winston’s voice said, clear and loud from the alarm
clock he’d forgotten not to set this week. “He scares me sometimes. I hope
Bethany Stavars knows what she’s getting into.”

Alistair
bolted up in bed. “What the fuck?”

“The
viral video shot in
The Hollywood Harpy
offices yesterday is up on our
website,” the morning DJ said. “It looks like Heather Winston might have just
dodged a bullet by not marrying Ingram.”

“I
always thought he was a loose cannon,” the DJ’s female sidekick said. “Remember
when he first came on the scene, there was that rumor about him dragging some
girl out of a club by her hair?”

Alistair’s
blood ran hot and pulsed through is veins like a run-away freight train. His
hand smacked down on top of the alarm clock so hard, it began making an odd,
muffled beeping. He picked it up, yanked the cord from the wall, and let it fly
across the room.

He
sat there for a few minutes staring at the busted clock on his floor, wondering
where he’d derailed his life.

It
wasn’t Bethany. Everything was already off the tracks before he walked into
Dolls & Doms that fateful night.

He’d
let them control him. Them. The industry. After his disastrous start in
Hollywood, he’d become their puppet. Their play-toy.

Defeated,
he leaned back against the headboard and shut his eyes. He couldn’t look at
Bethany. She was probably cowering under the blankets ready to make a run for
it again. “I never dragged anyone from a club by the hair.”

To
his utter astonishment, she laughed. “I have.”

He
jerked his head in her direction so fast, his neck kinked. The smile on her
face, and her deep, silky laugh had him joining in. One minute, his life was
over, the next, he was in practical hysterics. That’s what this woman did to
him.

“Why
doesn’t that surprise me?” he asked, sliding back down beside her. “I’m
guessing they asked for it though.”

She
shrugged. “You can’t imagine the requests I’ve gotten over the years.”

Alistair
looped a strand of her hair around his finger. “I don’t think I want to
imagine.”

These
protective, territorial feelings he was developing for her unnerved him. She
was the most vulnerable person he’d ever met, hiding behind a black corset and
a whip. He wondered how many other people saw through her act.

Maybe
only him. Because he’d been hiding behind an act for so long too.

“So
what are you going to do now?” she asked. “No Kent for damage control, and the
video from yesterday going viral.” Bethany ran a fingernail down his chest.
“What’s your next move?”

He
flipped her to her back and held himself over her. “I’m thinking about dragging
you into the shower, Ms. Black. I’ve made you a sticky mess.” Alistair kissed
her neck and whispered in her ear, “Then I can think of a lot of ways to pass
the time.”

He
kissed her lips softly, testing to see what this new day brought, if she was
open to him, or if she’d become a challenge again. He hoped the day came that
he stopped wondering and second-guessing.

She
kissed him back, her sweet mouth molded with his. He felt a shifting within
her, a giving in, and knew it was what happened when he kissed her in the rest
stop. She couldn’t stop herself from being pulled to him anymore than he could
stop from being pulled to her.

He
rose above her on his elbows, looking down into the pale blue eyes of this
angel-devil. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

She
gazed into his eyes for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

“What
made you trust me?” If he knew, he’d do it every damn day, twenty times a day.

She
blinked slowly, aroused. “You stood up for me yesterday in the interview.”

He
would’ve stood up for any of his friends. Hadn’t she ever had anyone to protect
her? Alistair lowered himself beside her and gathered her in his arms, needing
to make her feel her worth to him. “You kill me, do you know that? You absolutely
slay me inside.”

Wash Away My Sins

The
feeling surrounding Bethany was as unfamiliar as letting go of her fears. She
knew what it was, had felt it only once before, and it had turned on her.

It
was safety.

She
felt safe in Alistair’s arms. She wanted to trust the feeling, like she trusted
him, but it would take time. The blanket that nestled around her could be torn
back in a second, leaving her bare and unprotected.

If
she could’ve eased into this, she would have. Of course, being left without a
choice and having to leave Vegas, there really was no easy or slow way into
things with Alistair.

If
there had been, she would’ve never let it happen. She’d been ambushed, and now
here she was, feeling safe and cared for, completely open and vulnerable.

“Don’t
hurt me,” she whispered against his chest.

He
didn’t hear her.

He
wasn’t meant to. It was a plea to the universe, not the man holding her.

Don’t
hurt me.

“Come
on. I was serious about that shower.” Alistair sat up and guided her out of bed
and into the bathroom.

She
couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered with a man. Her last husband
didn’t like showing her intimacy that didn’t involve pain of some sort. Her first
husband had showered with her a handful of times, but it was part of him being
her Dom. She was instructed to wash and worship him during those few times.
Bethany wasn’t sure what to expect with Alistair, but she knew it wouldn’t be
like that unless she wanted it to be.

He
turned the shower on and the bathroom began to fill with steam. Turning to her,
he gathered the hem of her shirt in his hands and slowly lifted it up over her
head. She slipped her arms out, and his soft lips touched her shoulder as his
fingers unhooked her bra.

With
his eyes locked on hers, he pushed her shorts and panties down and helped her
step out of them. “I’m going to brush your hair,” he said, picking up a
hairbrush from the vanity.

He
spun her around to face the mirror, and she watched as he stoked her hair with
the soft bristles, letting his fingers run through it. It was one of the most
sensual experiences of her life.