Wild Rush: A Bad Boy Romance Page 9

  “Well… I guess I was kind of shocked when you called me a slut.”

  “I thought so. But I didn’t call you a slut, I said you looked like one. And it seemed to turn you on at the time, didn’t it?”

  “Yes. But… I guess it kind of bothered my brain. It turned my body on but my brain off,” I said, not sure if I was making much sense. But Justin seemed to get it.

  “It can be hard to admit that you like that kind of talk. Trust me, I know. It’s still sometimes hard for me to accept that I like talking to women like that—when we’re in that mode, I mean. And that a grown woman, a bright, smart, funny, professional woman can enjoy being treated like that. But many women do.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “The trick is to not focus too much on how your brain thinks you should feel. Just focus on how you react to something. There is absolutely nothing wrong with liking being spoken to that way.”

  Hmm… I didn’t quite think that ‘like’ was the exact right word. But perhaps something close to it. My body, my hormones, my libido had certainly liked it.

  “Just remember, babe, that two consenting adults can do whatever they’d like—as long as it’s mutual. Hell, if we wanted to, we could communicate only in Morse Code in the bedroom. As long as it’s what we both want.”

  I laughed, but I thought about that phrase: what we both want. That’s something I’d have to think about when I wasn’t about to fall asleep in a post-orgasmic bliss. What did I want? Or maybe the question was, what didn’t I want?

  The next day when I got home, I started to bake.

  Chapter Twelve

  “WANNA TRY SOMETHING different on Friday?”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear, looking at as if it could tell me what was on Justin’s mind. “What do you mean by different?”

  “Just different. Something we haven’t tried before. Something fun.”

  And then I knew. He meant something naughty. Some new aspect of BDSM that we hadn’t tried yet. Briefly, I wondered what it was, but there was no way of knowing. The more fiction I read on the subject, the more I understood that there were many, many things kinky couples could do as long as they were both into it. I had no idea about what Justin was planning.

  He must’ve taken my silence as hesitation. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I think you’ll like this. And if you don’t, we’ll stop. You can use your safeword or just tell me you’re not having fun.”

  I thought about that. In the few weeks that we’d been experimenting with dominance and submission, I hadn’t used my safeword. Truthfully, I hadn’t even come close. Usually, Justin seemed to know what I was thinking or feeling. He had a lot of experience doing this.

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  “Good girl. I’ll pick you up from your place at eight. We’re going out. Wear something sexy.”

  “Sexy? How sexy?”

  “Something you might wear to a bar or club.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said, smugly—and unhelpfully.

  “Maybe something black with a short skirt?” I ventured.

  “Can’t… go wrong with that, babe,” he said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “And do your hair differently.”

  Wait, what? “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know—put it up? Flip it over? Do whatever magic you women do to make yourselves look different. Your makeup too. Change things up a little. Sometimes it’s fun to look and act a bit like a different person. A bolder person.”

  “Okay, I’ll try,” I said, a little doubtfully. I supposed that some women would be insulted that their boyfriend said they wanted them to change their look. But for me, it made me curious about what he was planning that would require me to look like someone else. It made me curious… and a little apprehensive.

  * * *

  “Holy shit.”

  Justin stood in my doorway, gaping at me in shock. I had to admit, I’d gotten into playing dress-up. I didn’t blame him all for gawking. My normally sleek hair was teased high on my head, cascading down my shoulders in loose tendrils and curls. I’d gone a bit overboard with the eyeliner and eyeshadow, and my false eyelashes, which had only taken three tries to get right, felt a mile long.

  The sexy lace bra and panties under my dark purple tank top and short, very short, black skirt were the ones I’d bought before. Knowing that my panties barely covered the essentials and that my bra cups were held together with thin little strings made me feel sexy. And I was pretty sure I looked sexy. When I’d taken a last look in the mirror before I heard Justin’s car, I thought I looked like Goth-Punk Barbie, or perhaps Goth-Punk Lily.

  “Jesus, babe,” he said, still looking me up and down, then doing more than looking. In one swift move he pushed me back against the wall, crushing his lips to mine. Lifting one high-heeled foot, I wrapped my leg around his waist as he pressed my hands to the wall. Justin’s kiss was electric and aggressive. He claimed me with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. The hard bulge pressing against my core left me in no doubt of what he thought of my outfit.

  When he finally came up for air, my dark red lipstick was smeared across his mouth. Laughing, I went to get a tissue, putting a little wiggle in my walk as I moved away, knowing he was watching my hips sway as I tottered on the four-inch black heels I’d borrowed from a friend.

  Returning, I dabbed his talented lips.

  “I can’t believe how hot you look,” he said.

  “Right back at you,” I said, and it was true. He was wearing tight black jeans that emphasized his long legs, plus a dark green button down shirt that showcased his impressive upper body. The naughty twinkle in his eyes and the stubble across his jaw line made him look like a sexy bad boy. Which he was. My sexy bad boy.

  As we left my apartment, I felt both brazen and shy at the same time. However, I didn’t want to meet any of my neighbors, and fortunately, we didn’t. I was okay wearing this get-up in front of anonymous strangers at a club, but not around people I knew.

  Justin drove to an area of town that had a lot of nightlife, and I recognized the name of the club he pointed out as we drove by, though I’d never been in it. I was relieved that it looked like a fairly normal place. Crowded, though. Loud pulsating music could be heard from the street and people were milling around the front and side doors.

  Justin parked, and then came around and opened my door. Afraid I might be a bit unsteady in my heels, I took his hand and got to my feet—and into a warm embrace. He pulled me against him, grinding his hips against mine, his hands firm on my ass, holding me close. His lips grazed my neck, teasing, tickling. “You look so fucking hot. I’m so glad you’re mine.”

  Moaning, I was completely overwhelmed with the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his hands and lips all over me. Were it not for the fact that we were standing in a public parking place, I would have wrapped my legs around him and guided him into me.

  Finally, he let me go, but he tucked my hand around his sizable bicep, keeping me close. We walked along the dark street toward the noise and music.

  Justin squeezed my hand, and said, “Are you going to be a good girl for me tonight, babe?”

  “Yes,” I said, uncertain of what all that would entail but willing to try.

  “We’re going to do some playing, but we’ll be discreet. If I tell you to do something, I expect you to answer me respectfully. Not with sir,” he continued on, well of aware of the jolt of surprise that had rippled through my body. “Just say ‘Yes, Justin,’ or ‘No, Justin.’ Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said automatically, and then I laughed sheepishly, realizing what I’d said.

  Justin laughed too. “Good to know that your training is kicking in, but tonight you’ll be a submissive in stealth mode.”

  Hmm. Secret submission.

  It sounded sexy.

  It sounded scary.

  It sounded fun.

  The club was even more crowde
d than it had looked from the outside. Even with Justin’s strong arm wrapped around me, I was jostled from all sides by the weaving, gyrating dancers. My skimpy skirt and tank top offered little protection, and I was constantly aware of skin-on-skin contact as I passed by other revelers dressed similarly.

  Finally making it through the dance area, Justin led me past a very crowded bar, then another, until we reached a back room with a smaller bar that was a little quieter, relatively speaking. It would be possible to hold a conversation in here by speaking loudly—unlike some of the other rooms where discussion would have required a megaphone.

  Justin ordered a screwdriver for me and a beer for him. After some strategic maneuvering, he got us a little elbow room at a high table off in the corner. Three other people were already there, a couple who was kissing, and another girl. She stood close enough to seem as if she knew the embracing couple, and she looked jealous as hell. I drank my orange juice and vodka while pretending I didn’t see the love triangle unfolding in front of my eyes—and pretending that Justin wasn’t whispering all kinds of naughty things in my ear.

  He got himself another beer, and when he came back, he looked me in the eye. “We passed the ladies’ room back that way. Do you need to use it?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “I think you need to use it,” he said, eyeing me significantly. “I think you need to go there, and return with something in your hand.”

  Oh. And just in case I hadn’t gotten what he meant—which I had—he said, “I’ll hold your purse.”

  “Yes, Justin,” I said, remembering our “stealth submission” arrangement.

  He winked at me. “Be back in five minutes, babe.”

  That caught my attention. “Five minutes? I probably won’t even get through the door in that time.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said, with a smirk. “I have faith in you. Now be a good girl and get going.”

  Hurrying back in the direction we came from, I wondered what I was going to do if the line was out the door. Justin was used to men’s rooms in which there was rarely a line. Men had it so much easier. They could use a tree. We women didn’t have that option—not that I wanted to.

  Making my way through the crowd, I was again hyper aware of people passing me, brushing against me. My tank top, skirt, and barely there bra and panties were the only thing separating my skin from them. And on the way back, I’d be wearing one less item of clothing.

  Or maybe not. I found the line, and it was long. Women in clusters talked, texted, and drank… clearly they’d been in this long line for a while. There was no way I would get in and out in five minutes.

  I looked around in dismay, wondering if there was another women’s room. But it was likely to be the same way. Squeezing past some women by the door, I said loudly that I only needed to look in the mirror. Luckily, they let me through. But once inside, my scant hope of finding a private corner in which to shimmy out of my panties was immediately dashed. I couldn’t even get near the mirror. Or the stalls. There were just so many people. What was I going to do?

  I forced my way out of the restroom. I wandered down one hall, then another, trying to find a dark space, but it was no use. There were people everywhere.

  Defeated, I made my way back to Justin. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? I thought he would. But I felt disappointed that I hadn’t been able to carry out his order. Not just because I was afraid that he’d be disappointed… but because I’d truly wanted to please him. I’d been having so much fun exploring BDSM with him. I wanted to do a good job.

  Back at the table, Justin looked so damn handsome, I had to catch my breath. So tall, so strong. He was pretty much every tall, dark, and handsome fantasy I’d ever had. I really wished I could say I’d been successful.

  His arm went around me, but I didn’t look at him until he lifted my chin with his free hand. “I take it you don’t have anything for me?”

  “No, Si—I mean, no Justin,” I said. “The line was just too long. I looked and looked for some place private, and there just wasn’t anywhere.”

  “Lily, it’s okay. Don’t be upset,” he said, wrapping his other arm around me and pulling me close. “It wasn’t an easy thing I asked you to do. Not like it was at the restaurant. The important thing is that you tried.”

  “I really did,” I said, relaxing into his embrace.

  “I know.” He patted my back. “A good sub—er, subcontractor always tries her best.” He held me closer, brushing my hair out of the way so he could whisper in my ear again. “And when she tries and succeeds, she gets rewarded. Do you know what happens when she tries and fails?”

  I gulped. “I… I guess there is some kind of detrimental effect,” I said, trying to be discreet even as I was disappointed that I was now in the ‘bad sub’ category. “I really tried, Justin.”

  “I know. Don’t think of it as a bad thing. It’s just a part of this scene. And sometimes it can be fun.”

  “It can?”

  “Sometimes,” he repeated. “Like when I know that the subcontractor in question tried her best.” His hand slid up between us, trapped between our bodies at stomach level. “Here’s what I think is fair. Since you were supposed to return with certain body parts a little less constricted, maybe we can improvise. Are you wearing that bra with the little bows on the cups?”

  I nodded, though I was fairly sure that with his height, he’d been able to see down the front of my shirt a time or two tonight.

  “Good,” he breathed back. He moved his hand higher, cupping my breast, squeezing gently. I looked around in alarm, but no one was paying us any attention. And his hand was mostly obscured between our bodies. Besides, the people on the other side of the table were practically having a three-way, and no one cared.

  I gasped as he reached inside of my shirt, finding the tie holding the top of the cup together. One quick tug, and my nipple was bare, still concealed by my tank top, but no longer covered by my bra.

  Still holding me close, he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making me moan as I leaned against his strong chest. His hand shifted and the other nipple got the same treatment. Then Justin kissed me and took a half step back, grinning. “Let’s see how that looks.”

  We both looked down. I was still covered, but well… wow. The bra was still supporting my breasts, pushing them up and creating more cleavage than usual, but that was about all it did. My hard nipples were pressed up against the thin material of my tank top. It would be clear to anyone who bothered to look that I—or at least parts of me—were feeling rather perky at the moment.

  I looked up at Justin with a wordless plea, but he just smirked. “You do the crime, you gotta do the time, babe,” he said, sounding like he was only half joking. “Besides, no one’s paying any attention. Look at them,” he said, jerking his hand sideways where our tablemates were still mostly fully clothed but appeared to be enacting a scene from the Kama Sutra. So I guess I was okay though I kept my chest angled toward him.

  He must have seen my look of acceptance. “Good girl,” he said softly. Amazing how those two simple words were starting to feel like high praise. I was getting to the point where I craved hearing them.

  I smiled up at him and he winked. Then he reached for his wallet and pulled out some bills. Handing them to me, he said, “Now go get us some drinks.”

  “What?” I yelped, louder than I meant to, but no one looked around. The music from the dance floor was more than loud enough to cover our conversation. “By myself?”

  “By yourself,” he confirmed.

  But he always was the one who ordered the drinks. At bars and at restaurants. I’d only been old enough to go to bars for two years, and the few times I’d gone, someone else had always ordered. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d ever actually spoken to a real bartender.

  Justin put his hands on my upper arms, steadying me. “You got this, babe. Just go up to the bar, get the bartender’s attention, and
get us two more drinks.” He looked down at the tops of my breasts, and grinned. “I guarantee you won’t have any trouble getting his attention.”

  I blushed and started to fold my hands across my chest. “And none of that,” he said, catching my wrists. “No covering your breasts. Hold your head high. Back arched. Chest out. Like a good… subcontractor.”

  “Justin, please…”

  “C’mon, babe. I’m here with the hottest woman in the joint. What fun is it if only I get to see how amazing she looks? It’s just a quick trip to the bar. You’ll be fine.”

  Looking into his eyes, I could see he really wanted me to do this. “Okay,” I said faintly.

  “Good girl. Remember, no folding your arms. Head held high. You’re my subcontractor, and you should be proud of that.”

  “Yes, Justin.” I took a deep breath, feeling my mostly bare breasts straining against my tank top as I did so, and turned to go.

  “One more thing, babe. Anyone talks to you, you respond clearly. Politely. No blushing and stammering.”

  “Yes, Justin,” I said again, feeling a little offended that he thought I was the blushing and stammering type. Okay, maybe I was, but I didn’t want him to think so. Turning to go, I let out a short yip as he smacked me on my ass. Skittering forward a few feet, I laughed at myself. I was acting like a nervous child. That was stupid. I could do this. I was a grown woman. I could order some drinks at a bar—even if I did look like a sexy, slutty, practically bra-less Goth-Punk Lily.

  Fortunately, just as I got to the bar, a man moved away, and I was able to squeeze right up to it. The bartender, a cute blond crew-cutted guy who looked like a college football player was mixing drinks at the other end. Not sure what to do, I leaned against the bar, trying to catch his eye, but he didn’t seem to notice. Was I supposed to raise my hand or something?

  He brought a drink to a girl a few stools away from me, and I gave a half-hearted wave of my hand, but just then someone took her spot and blocked my view. Frustrated, I shifted forward.