The Submission of Alistair Ingram (6 page)

He
tugged her hair, making Bethany lift her chin. His eyes ran down her neck. She
could watch those fire-lit eyes trace her body all day long. She could
practically feel their path across her skin. “What do you have to give me?” she
asked.

“Like
I said, that is the question.” He met her eyes and studied her, tilted his
head. “This will be something new for both of us.”

Bethany
patted her bag, not breaking their eye contact. “This isn’t new for me.”

“Trust
is new for you. Putting yourself in someone else’s hands. Isn’t it?” He brushed
her cheek with the back of his fingers.

Bethany
grasped his wrist. “Don’t mistake attraction for trust. I don’t know you. I
don’t trust you. You shouldn’t trust me.”

Alistair
let go of her hair and held both hands up in front of him. “Fine.” He grabbed
her bag and hoisted it off the bed. “Grab your stuff. Let’s go.”

Bethany
watched him stride out of her bedroom, heard her duffel bag clank against the
wall as he darted down the stairs. She sighed. She hadn’t meant to piss him
off. Of course she didn’t trust him. They just met! What did he expect?

As
for Alistair trusting her… He’d be an idiot to trust her. She’d never let him
make that mistake.

Her
condo door opened, and she heard him take her duffel bag outside and drop it on
the porch. “Coming?” he called. “Shit! Bethany, the paparazzi are here! Get
your ass moving!”

A
jolt of panic surged through her. “They’re
here
?” She ran into her
bathroom, gathered her toothbrush, razor and everything else she could grab, shoved
them in her suitcase and zipped it up.

Damn,
damn, damn. If they knew where she lived, she’d never get away. Alistair
Fucking Ingram just had to tie his fate to hers last night, didn’t he? He
ruined her life.

Bethany
jogged down the stairs, gave her apartment a glance wishing she had more time
to prepare. Everything in her refrigerator would be rotten. There were a few
dirty dishes in her sink. The mail would pile up in the mailbox.

Why
did this have to happen? She’d been doing so well, for so long, then along
comes Mr. Movie Star and screws everything up. Now what was she going to do?

Her
ex knew where she worked now, and if pictures of her and Alistair leaving her
condo were printed or put online, he’d find out where she lived, too.

Fuck.

“Come
on!” Alistair yelled, storming back inside and grabbing her suitcase. “How much
of a show do you want to give them? Want to tie me up on your porch before we
go? Give them a few good shots?”

Bethany
shrunk under his rage-filled gaze. His tan face turned a dark, reddish-bronze
with anger, eyes narrow and drawn. For an instant, she pictured him standing
over her with a cane as she begged him to stop.

His
eyes went wide, and he stepped back from her. “Whoa,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

She
realized she was pressed against the wall in her foyer, shaking and cowering.
The nightmare would never leave her. The imaginings of a crazy, broken woman.
He’d probably drive her to an institution instead of his house.

“Nothing,”
she said, trying to sound convincing, but her voice wavered.

Alistair
closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I’m in over my head here. Every time
I turn around, I’m doing something that scares you. Why is that?”

“Long
story,” she said, wheeling her suitcase around him. “I thought we had to go.”

He
let out a sharp exhale and grabbed her doorknob, checking to make sure it was
locked. “Do you have an alarm?”

“No.
Just pull it shut, and we’re good to go.” Bethany stepped out onto the porch to
a blur of flashing cameras and jeers from photographers.

“How
long have you been with Alistair?” one of them shouted. “Did you plan to steal
him away from Heather Winston?” another chimed in.

Bethany
was frozen to her porch. Her feet wouldn’t budge, and she couldn’t tear her
eyes away.

“Ignore
them and move,” Alistair said, taking her by the elbow and grabbing the handle
of her suitcase. “Don’t look at them.”

“I
can’t look away,” she whispered.

“I
know. I know,” he said, guiding her to the back driver’s side door in the
S.U.V., “It’s like a train wreck. You can’t help but stop and stare at first.”

She
slid in the backseat, and he closed her in. “Okay?” the driver asked, looking
at her in the rearview mirror.

She
nodded and pressed her palms together in her lap.

Alistair
got in the other side and slammed the door shut. “Let’s go.”

The
driver backed out, not bothering to worry about the paparazzi in her driveway.
They all parted like the Red Sea as the S.U.V.’s bumper swerved toward them.
Bethany watched out the window as her condo disappeared in the distance.

Alistair
picked her hand up out of her lap. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

She
wanted to pull her hand out of his.

She
wanted to keep her hand in his forever.

She
wasn’t sure which she wanted more.

“I
told you,” she said, “it was my fault this happened. Not yours.”

“How
about we both take equal blame and stop worrying about whose fault it was?”

His
expression was so kind, so open and caring, it startled her. “Why are you doing
this for me?”

He
sat back, grinning. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”

She
pinned her eyes to his, determined to get to the real reason.

Alistair
nudged her black duffel bag with his toe. She heard her metal spreader bars
clank together. “Maybe I don’t want to be a nice guy anymore,” he said, his
eyes growing dark and hazy.

He
leaned toward her.

She
held her breath as his lips touched her ear. “Maybe I want you to teach me to
be bad, Ms. Black.” His lips trailed down her cheek to the corner of her lips.
“Maybe I want you to take me into the darkness.”

Stripped
and Bare

Alistair
watched Bethany carefully for her reaction. He’d never spoken those words to
anyone before. Never expressed his desire to explore the dark side of his
sexual fantasies. But with her…it all seemed possible.

She
wouldn’t judge him. She knew his desires weren’t depraved. Or maybe they were,
but she understood them just the same. He could allow her to see him stripped
down and bare, raw with primal needs.

“Will
you teach me?” he whispered in her ear.

Bethany
turned her head. Her nose touched his. She ran the tip of it over his cheek.
“Do you know what you’re asking me?” she said. “If I teach you, you’ll be my
submissive.”

“I
know, Mistress.” Their eyes met, and instinctively, he lowered his. “And when
you’ve taught me everything you know, you can be mine.”

She
shifted away from him putting space between them on the seat. “That’s not how
it works.”

Alistair
gripped her thigh and slid her back across the seat, flush against him. “That’s
how
we’ll
work.”

“You’ll
be pretending to be submissive just so you can take over. I can’t let that
happen.” She tried in vain to pry his fingers from her leg.

“I
told you, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you.” He was
desperate to convince her. Desperate for her to know how good he could make her
feel if she’d let him.

“Two
Doms don’t make a right,” she said, turning her face away from him.

“Is
that anything like penis love?” He chuckled. “You made that up, too, didn’t
you?”

Her
eyes flashed to his. “It won’t work. Two people can’t top at the same time. Someone
has to bottom.”

Alistair
shrugged. “We’ll trade off like normal people do.”

Bethany
shook her head adamantly. “This isn’t about normal people. If you want vanilla,
this isn’t your game, Mr. Ingram.”

“What
if I want vanilla with chocolate sauce? A sprinkle of nuts?” He ran his hand
all the way up her thigh under her sundress. His fingers stroked her center. He
expected her to shove him away, to jump across the seat. She didn’t budge.
“Some whipped cream with a cherry on top.”

Bethany’s
hand darted across his leg, and she gripped his cock through is pants—hard.
Shocked, he stiffened and froze, not even daring to breathe. “What you’re
asking for is Rocky Road sprinkled with shards of glass. Got it?”

Alistair
exhaled slowly. “Are you trying to turn me on, Ms. Black? Because you are.”

Her
hand tightened around him even more. “I feel that, Mr. Ingram.”

His
eyes darted to the rearview mirror to see if the driver was watching. He could
take her right here, right now, and it would be insane. Explosive—in more ways
than one. “Let’s practice,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and hoisting
her up onto his lap. “You top this time. Maybe you’ll let me next.”

“That’s
not how it--”

Alistair
grabbed her by the back of her neck and crushed his lips to hers. There could
be no more talking. No more wallowing in the details of who was and who wasn’t
in control. It didn’t matter. He had to have this woman.

She
was nothing like the women he was used to being with. She wasn’t an actress or
a model. She wasn’t someone his publicist or manager would approve of him being
seen with, let alone sleeping with.

Black
Betty was a Dominatrix in Vegas, and the paparazzi were going to set their
trash tabloids ablaze with photos and rumors of them. It was too late to turn
back even if he wanted to. And he didn’t.

Alistair
teased her tongue with his and ground his hips against hers. He had to know
what made this woman tick. What would get
her
to submit to
him
.
If she ever even would.

He
let his hand run down the side of her neck, down over her collarbone. His
fingers snuck into the top of her dress and found a rock-hard nipple.

She
bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He
pinched her nipple until she whimpered.

Right
then he knew. Alistair knew what they would be like together. He and Black
Betty would tear each other to pieces. Once unleashed, their desire for each
other would be like a battle to the death.

She
was right. Two Doms don’t make a right.

Good
thing he didn’t want to be right. This was all about being wrong. Wrong for his
career. Wrong for his very public love life. Hell, wrong for his mental
stability. This woman would drive him to the edge and shove him right over
before she’d save him.

What
she didn’t know was he’d grab on to her and take her down with him. Break her
apart and piece by beautiful piece, put her back together. Then he’d own her.

He’d
possess her.

Alistair
would be the Dom, and Black Betty would be his Doll.

Mommy
Issues

Bethany
knew this game. She lived this fucking game. Alistair Ingram was a little puppy
who needed smacked on the ass with a newspaper. He craved attention, that was
obvious by his career choice. He loved a challenge, loved being refused. It
only made getting what he wanted that much sweeter.

She
bit him again, his tongue this time. His fingers clenched her ass, and he
groaned in pain.

Oh
yeah, she was on to him. It didn’t take a doctorate in psychology to crack his
shallow and severely inflated head open and sift through his motivation. He was
an attention whore with dominance issues. Probably mommy issues if she had to
guess.

They
all had mommy issues, just like most of the women had daddy issues. It was so
cliché, but true ninety-nine percent of the time. Even in her own case.

Bethany
shoved that thought out of her mind as she reached up Alistair’s shirt and
clawed his back. She didn’t draw blood, but she knew it hurt by the way he
sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth.

Before
she knew it, she was flat on her back on the seat with Alistair glaring down at
her. His eyes were ravenous and raging. He dipped his head and bit her
shoulder. She grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back.

“Never.
Bite. Me.” She shoved her foot between his legs, bringing her knee up between
them and resting her heel on his balls. “This spike will tear right through your
pants. Don’t push me.”

Alistair
cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “I don’t think you’d do it.” He lowered his
mouth to her shoulder, hesitated for only a second and nibbled her skin.

Bethany
wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t a bite…and she liked it. It was sexy,
sensual. It made her skin hum.