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

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