How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) Read Free

knows that name.” Delano’s Steakhouse, Delano’s Trattoria, Ristorante Delano—pretty much every high-end restaurant in Providence was owned by the Delano family. As I looked at him, despite his light calico hazel eyes, outlined with dark lashes, he definitely looked like a rich Italian prince. His nose was long and Roman, and I could even say he looked like a young Marlon Brando.
    “You know you overpaid, right?” I said, stunned by my sudden boldness. Hell, the last five minutes had been bolder than the last five years of my life.
    “The car’s gorgeous, but I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure how to handle this bad boy. I need you to come along. Show me the ropes, if you know what I mean,” he said, licking his lower lip. “Plus, I could use that date tonight.”
    This time it was my eyebrows that drifted into the atmosphere.
    Ropes?
    I bit my lip. I had been begging Derek to let me get a little kinky with him, ever since Sarah had introduced me to the Domme/sub lifestyle she lived. Part of me yearned to don one of her vinyl catsuits and make a man worship me. Here was someone who just bought a date with me, mentioned ropes, and then did something absurdly suggestive with his tongue—it must be my lucky day. I looked him up and down. There was definitely a nice body under that fitted suit. His arms strained against the tight gray fabric of the jacket, and I wanted to rip the buttons off the teasing vest beneath. His bottom lip was far thicker than his top and it simply begged to be bit.
    And yes, it would be nice to teach this handsome playboy some manners. The set of micro-tools I kept in the car would double nicely as weaponry in case he was actually a psycho instead of a striking, possibly submissive, rich socialite in need of some discipline. Sarah wouldn’t be home until midnight—I had more than enough time to raid her stash and grab a few goodies. I’d just have to figure out how to use them.
    “Oh, I can definitely help you with ropes,” I said, gauging his body’s response. I watched as his face flushed, his throat bobbed. Inside, I was fist-pumping. Outside, I maintained my suggestive smile.
    But what if it was obvious I was a novice? He couldn’t sign up for ropes and end up with a newb and some duct tape. I channeled my inner smut reader and mentally flipped through the books I had devoured on bondage for some inspiration. Domme or die time, Veronika.
    He smirked and got into the car when I realized I definitely needed more than just my imagination. “Give me a moment, I have to make a call,” I said, waltzing away without looking back over my shoulder at him. I whipped out my phone and dialed Sarah’s number.
    “Tell me you’re coming to my blast-your-ass sesh today.”
    “Um, does that involve strap-ons, ’cause no.”
    “It’s a bike-centric buns workout and it’s fierce,” she answered.
    “No, my buns are all set. Um, I called because I have to ask you a few questions.”
    “Oh,” she said, sounding deflated. “What’s up?”
    I glanced over my shoulder at Aston in the passenger seat, caressing the car’s white leather, and licked my lips. “Uh, could you give me a quick crash course in something?”
    “I’m so glad you finally want to commit to fitness! What do you want to do? CrossFit? Mixed Martial Arts? Tell me!”
    I grumbled. “No, it’s not fitness related. Well, I guess it—”
    “Spit it out, chica!”
    I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and blurted, “I need you to teach me to be a Domme.”
    Sarah squealed. “You can sit in on tonight’s session. Tom would love it. He gets off on—”
    “I need you to do it over the phone, right now.”
    As she screeched, I held the phone away from my ear. My eyes watered from the pitch, and when she was done, I gingerly brought it back. “You okay?”
    She gasped.
    “Listen, there’s a hot man in my car who wants me to show him the ropes, okay? So what do I do?”
    I could almost hear the gears in her head