How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) (18 page)

In-N-Out.

In-N-Out.

In-N-Out.

It was all Aston could freaking talk about in the hours leading up to seeing Vegas’s lights. The boy prattled on and on, waxing poetic about the greatest burger chain in the country.

“Seriously, forget the bikini situation and just let me order,” he said, wiping stray drool from his lips.

“Aston, we’re not even within the city limits yet,” I laughed. “My god, you have a two-track mind.”

We could see a hazy cluster of lights in the distance, signaling how close we were. Vegas, the place where we were about to make our dreams come true.

And for Aston, that dream started with a burger.

“I thought you had a much more sophisticated palate than that,” I said, eyeing him suspiciously. “I mean, you’re all Mister Gourmand and the first food you want to have in Vegas is from a freaking chain?”

Aston glared at me. “It’s not just a chain. It’s fucking In-N-Out.”

“So what separates this place from, say, Burger King?”

He gasped, clutching his hand to his heart comically. “In-N-Out is legendary. They only have chains out west because they never freeze their meat, which they have specially bred for their burgers. They cut their potatoes seconds before frying them. It’s the freshest, tastiest, and goddamned manliest burger you’ll have in your life. I won’t have you besmirch their name again.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh really? You’d piss off your Mistress by barking orders at her, all over a manly burger?”

Hand still over his heart, he hung his head and glanced over at me from the driver’s seat. “You have never tasted one, clearly.”

I giggled in spite of myself. “Fine, I’ll have a half. I could use some protein.”

“I’ve got some protein right here.”

I smacked him. The colors of the lights on the horizon intensified, and soon, we were seeing the twinkle of the Strip itself.

“We’re here!” I yelped, overcome with excitement. Vegas is a city where anything can happen, and despite all the drama Aston and I had gone through on this trip, it was about to pay off. He’d have his meeting with the restaurant guy, and I’d have my pageant. Asshole family and ex-boyfriends be damned. We were in Vegas, baby.

Aston pulled the car over to put the top down. It was night, finally, and while the air was still hot, it had lost that oppressive feeling. The air was fresh and filled with the promise of new opportunities. This was it, what I’d wanted for so long. Freedom. The open road, a new man, then a glittering city. Not a bad start!

We drove toward the lights, and they pulled us in like a million tractor beams. I didn’t know what I wanted to do first—hit up a casino, grab a drink, find a hotel.

“There she is,” Aston whispered. “Beautiful.”

Right. Apparently burgers were first.

When we parked, Aston nearly skipped into the building. I’d never seen him so excited. The line was long, despite the fact that it was past midnight, but he didn’t seem to care. The menu was really straightforward—fries, shakes, burgers. No frills. It didn’t seem to bother anyone, since the throngs of people there seemed hell-bent on getting their food and snarfing it as fast as humanly possible. It was debauchery, but not the type I really expected from Vegas.

After a moment in line, Aston was next.

“What can I get for you?” the small girl behind the counter asked.

“Neapolitan shake, Animal-Style fries, a grilled cheese, and a three-by-three.”

I looked at him like he was insane. None of that was on the menu.

The woman, however, just plugged his order into the computer and asked him for his money. He paid gleefully and we stood off to the side.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

Aston smiled. “It’s the not-so-secret menu of In-N-Out. Stuff only real fans know. Neapolitan is a chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry shake. Animal-Style fries are smothered in special sauce, cheese, the works. A three-by-three is three patties of meat and three slices of cheese.”

He was grinning like an idiot, vibrating with excitement. The food came, and Aston bolted to the counter like his feet were on fire. I found us a table and sipped a water. When he came back with the food, I eyed it. It did look good. Aston made eye contact with me, and it was a familiar expression: begging.

“Dig in,” I said, giving him permission to delve into his other love. The feeding frenzy was ridiculous—he’d eat a bite of burger, cram a fry in, then slurp down a gulp of Neapolitan all in the same breath.

“Try some,” he said.

“I would but I’m afraid I’d lose a finger,” I said. He smirked, sat back to wipe his sauced-up hands, and gave me access.

I tried an Animal-Style fry. It was good—fresh potato for sure and the sauce was nice. I took a bite of his tall burger. A bit too much meat for my taste, but at least it wasn’t nuts. Then finally I had a sip of the shake. Too many flavors. I cut the grilled cheese in half and took one.

“This is more my speed,” I said, enjoying the most reserved part of Aston’s order. I was proud of myself for not freaking out. Food is fuel and food is an experience, and this was both. Aston wanted me to enjoy, so I let myself. While it wasn’t the kind of stuff I’d want on a regular basis, it was definitely a nice treat.

We sat there for a while, happily noshing, people watching, taking in the sights. The city’s atmosphere was so different from home. There was so much anticipation here, so many hopes that you could smell them on the people.

No, that was just the animal sauce under my nose. I wiped the glob off with a napkin.

“I still like my idea of more interesting burgers,” I said offhandedly. “Like gourmet stuff. Or those Italian burgers we talked about.”

Aston paused midbite. “I remember. Seriously not a bad idea.”

“I mean, I’ve seen blue cheese burger and barbecue burger places, but not a specific burger place that made wacky, funky burgers.” I took a sip of the shake to wash the rest of the grilled cheese down.

Aston wiped his mouth. “So, where should we crash tonight? I think we should probably get a hotel for the rest of the week while we get ready for the show. We can apartment hunt during the week, too.”

I nodded, feeling a blush come to my cheeks. We were going to move in together. I still couldn’t believe it.

Reclining in the hard plastic chair, I laced my hands behind my head and thought. “Well, staying on the Strip is pretty expensive.”

Aston shook his head. “Not everywhere. I still think we should be on-Strip because you’ll be hitting up the Bellagio in prep for the pageant, and I’ll be meeting with the guy from the Pandora Hotel. They’re building it down by Mandalay Bay.” He pointed in a vague direction.

I pulled out my phone. “Okay, so we want something cheap and in between the Bellagio and the Pandora,” I said, watching the app work its search engine magic. What it landed on made me chuckle.

“Oh, you’re never going to go for this,” I said, stifling my laugh with my hand. Aston Delano, playboy extraordinaire and spoiled rich boy. Oh, this was too funny to be true. It was the cheesiest, silliest, most touristy hotel on the Strip. I held the phone up to him, watching his face read the display.

“Excalibur?”

THE GRAND CASTLE
loomed ahead of us as we laughed.

“Seriously,” he said, dazed, “we’re staying here for the rest of the week?”

The doorway acted like a drawbridge, allowing us into the casino fortress that was the cheesefest, Excalibur. It was so hokey it was almost pokey. The décor was unabashedly medieval kitsch—banners, armored knights, the works. They even had a joust on the premises.

An actual joust. I bounced in my heels but Aston rolled his eyes.

We strode in with our scant luggage, assaulted by the casino’s lights and sounds. Bells, whistles, loud crowds. It was absolute sensory overload. I loved it. Aston looked like he smelled shit.

He had a plastic half-smile the whole time we booked our room and went up the elevator. I tried holding his hand, but it was limp in my grasp. I was so annoyed that he wasn’t digging this kitschy, silly ambiance.

“You’ve got some kind of stick up your ass if you can’t enjoy this place,” I grumbled. He said nothing.

We continued down the outdated hallway to our room, which was lacking the delightfully cliché décor of the rest of the place. Part of me was disappointed. “I was hoping the room would have a throne or something,” I said with a pout.

Aston just curled his lip in disgust.

I rolled my eyes at his snobbery and plopped down on the bed. “Should we unpack a bit then hit the slots?” I asked. We were in Vegas, at long last, and I sure as hell didn’t want to go straight to bed. Or straight to sex. For once.

Aston ran his hand through his hair. “I’m tired.”

I pulled him down next to me. “What is your deal?” I asked, trying to get him to make eye contact with me.

“I just,” he began, then trailed off. I patted his hand, encouraging him to continue. “This is fun, don’t get me wrong. Going with the touristy hotel on a road trip, I get it. It’s part of the charm. It’s just so old and dirty, you know? I’m mortified to be staying here.”

My eyes went wide. “What?”

He shrugged, almost defiantly. “It’s embarrassing.”

This was too much. I really didn’t think he was so spoiled that staying here would make him feel mortified. I was the one feeling embarrassed now, and angry and inadequate. “I don’t have the energy for this right now,” I said, suppressing a sob. I didn’t want him to see that he’d made me cry. I put on my brave face and shook my head at him, disappointed.

Deciding I needed time to calm down, I grabbed my purse and key card and headed to the casino.

This was not how I pictured my first night in Vegas. I imagined myself dolled to the max in some sort of wiggle dress with amazing shoes, strutting arm in arm with Aston into a chic little vintage lounge, the kind that the Rat Pack used to attend. Old Vegas, retro stuff, fun and sexy and jazz that went into the early-morning hours.

Instead, I sat in front of a Sex and the City slot machine and cried into my cranberry and vodka. The little magenta drinks were tart, refreshing, and numbing. The machine in front of me had nice shoes for icons and seemed to win a lot, so I bet quarter after quarter on Carrie and her friends. Reaching into my purse, I found a tissue and blotted my eyes. I didn’t have the foresight to put on waterproof eyeliner so I worried my cat eyes were turning into raccoon eyes.

The night wound on this way. Ooh, I won five dollars. Great. Another drink? Why, yes. Until finally, a hand on my shoulder shook me out of my slotty funk.

“Are you here for the pageant?” a voice behind me asked.

I turned around and in front of me was an absolute doll. A pinup for the ages. She was wheat blond and had soft pin-curl waves around her face. Her lipstick was racer red, and her eyeliner reached far beyond the corners of her eyes, as if they were stretching after a long nap.

“Yes,” I said, continuing to assess her. She was wearing sailor shorts, a red bandeau top, and had the cutest polka dot espadrilles I’d ever seen. I wanted to be her best friend.

She sat down at the slot next to me and extended her hand. “I’m Flora. I was last year’s winner, and I’m on the judges panel this year.”

“Veronika Kane,” I said, suddenly intimidated. “Nice to meet you.” Were my eyes still running? Did it look like I’d been crying? Was I one too many cranberry and vodkas in?

Flora cocked her head and looked at me, concerned. “Nervous?” she asked, flicking her eyes to the tissue and my drink.

I shrugged. “A little. Just drove for over a week to get here and I’m just sort of blowing off some steam.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Wow, driving for a week. Well, at least you won’t have to tease your rolls too much,” she joked. “Convertible?”

“Of course,” I replied, patting my hair.

She crossed her legs and leaned in. “Some of the girls who competed last year are going out. You look like you need a friend and a good time. Want to come?”

I sighed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. Let me just—” I reached for my phone to text Aston where I was going to be and then realized my phone was dead. Whatever. He was brooding and we could talk later. I didn’t have to explain myself to him.

“Let’s go,” I said to Flora. She smiled, took my elbow, and we sashayed through the hotel toward the entrance. Once we were outside, the hot air hit us like a hairdryer in the face. Flora hailed a cab and we hopped in and sailed toward the Beauty Lounge.

This place was a pinup’s dream. It was decorated like a 1950s hair salon, complete with a black-and-white tile floor and big wacky hairdryers. We fit right in. A gaggle of pinups waved to Flora from a corner booth. I smiled, taking in the sight of all the girls. I could already tell they were my people. One was a curvy, black-haired pinup with a Monroe piercing and huge bumper bangs. Another was a more lounge singer–looking siren, auburn hair falling in long waves, held in place with a large exotic flower. The third girl at the table was a stick-thin, doll-like waif with huge eyes and horn-rimmed glasses. They were the cutest bunch of girls I’d ever seen, and my heart rejoiced that I was with people who would understand me. The best part? They were a diverse bunch, of all various shapes and sizes, so the last of my weight worries slipped away.

And when I sat down, I was greeted by warm smiles and hugs. No cattiness, no dirty looks. My fears about the actual contest fell away when the bartender brought me over their signature shot, the Bombshell. The girls cheered as I took the shot and joined their little club.

“I’m Sally,” said the one with the big, dark bangs.

“Johanna,” the amber siren said. “That’s Mellie. She’s not drunk enough to get chatty yet.” The waif giggled shyly, and the group erupted in boisterous conversation after Flora and I got settled.

The night went on in much the same way, a little chatter, rounds of drinks, and lots of laughter. We shared stories about how many people don’t understand why we look the way we do—that we weren’t stuck in the past or born into the wrong generation—just that we’d finally found a look and feel that felt right on our skin. It was validating, hearing these women share their experiences.

“Let’s compare ink,” I said, hoping to see some nice artwork. So far, I hadn’t noticed much more than a sleeve on Sally.

Johanna shook her head. “Nothing to show,” she shrugged.

Mellie stood and showed off a tiny pair of cherries she had right above her butt cheek. “That’s all I’ve got.” Sally let me examine her sleeve—which was a beautiful depiction of koi fish and Japanese woodblock art—and Flora spread her hands in apology.

I swallowed. “Are tatts uncommon in this pageant?” I asked. Lots of pinups I knew at home had plenty of ink. Was I in the minority?

“Some,” Flora said with a conciliatory tone. “It’s not a big deal if you have them, though. There are other big pageants that are more alt-centric.”

A bit of self-consciousness resurfaced, but I tried to dismiss it. I was learning to trust myself and couldn’t let this get in the way. “Let’s have another round,” I offered, deflecting the conversation. Someone brought up some new backcombing techniques and we were all engrossed. I learned a lot from these girls—a couple of tricks regarding fabric tape and boobs, some info on which swimsuit cuts looked best onstage when there was no object on which to pose. This was helpful because I normally posed on cars or seated, rarely just standing. Then the girls and I talked about our favorite rockabilly bands, the best songs, and the most fun shoots we’d ever been on. It was really nice having them to bounce ideas off of. It made the contest feel much less nerve-racking and more just like a good time I was ready to embark on. When I got back to the hotel, I’d try to patch things up with Aston and share my enthusiasm about the girls.

By the time we’d left the place, it was around four-thirty
AM
. Not late by Vegas standards, but certainly late by mine. Good thing there were taxis, because I didn’t want to stumble all the way back to the Strip. I exchanged numbers with Flora, who offered to consult with me before the show, and I ambled my way back into the Excalibur.

I walked along the casino floor, wondering if I was ready to go back upstairs. My heart wanted to see Aston, but I didn’t know if he was mad at me for leaving without giving him time to defend himself. I’d just bailed, which was pretty shitty on my part. He may be spoiled, and he may be my sub, but I should have had the foresight to let him air out his grievances and vent about his “embarrassment,” as entitled as it was.

I put one more dollar in a slot with a flower motif, since Flora had been the person to successfully recover my evening, but sadly I lost. Oh well, at least I was only betting with a dollar instead of a ten or a twenty. I can’t imagine the kind of money it takes to enter those big poker contests, or to be one of those people with stacks and stacks of chips at the roulette table.

By the time I made it to the elevator, I’d recovered most of my senses. I was a bit shaky before we left the club, but the girls and I had a strong cup of coffee before our cabs came and I had a little something to eat at an all-night food truck outside the hotel. I was feeling much better, much more prepared to talk.

I slid the key card in the door once I’d made it there and walked in. The room was dark; he must be sleeping.

But I didn’t want to go to bed like this, worrying that in the morning we’d be at odds. I have always believed you should never go to bed angry. Clearly, Aston didn’t have the same upbringing, but I doubt he’d be that mad if I woke him now if I was just going to try to make up. Hey, making up often leads to sex, so I consoled myself with that as I made my way across the dark suite to the bed.

“Aston,” I whispered, fumbling for the light.

He didn’t answer. Deep sleeper. I knew that for sure since there was one night he slept tied to the bed. We’d dozed after the sex, and when I woke an hour later to try to untie him, he was completely sound asleep, spread-eagle, looking blissful among the ropes and the blindfold. I guessed the blindfold kept the light out, but I was shocked at how he was able to sleep without a blanket to snuggle.
I suppose my body is enough
, I thought with a smile. I couldn’t wait to make up with him—he may be a brat, but he was my brat and I missed him already. Loved him, in fact, and I didn’t care anymore how long it had been or how different we were. Now if I could only hear his loud snore, I’d be able to find his lips and kiss them. Or find a lamp.

Finally, my fingers found the light switch and I flicked it on, illuminating the pitch-black room.

Aston was gone.

I pulled at my hair, shocked. Did he go down to have a drink? To gamble at some other casino and feel all fancy since he was stuck here in this shitty room? Of course he’d want to leave. He’d just told me how below him this place was, so he probably took a walk to the monorail that connected the hotel with nicer ones and planted himself at a blackjack table. Hell, I didn’t even know what game he played, but I was sure it wasn’t slots. It was probably Texas hold ’em, one with a big buy-in that would stroke his ego. Damn him.

I was about to just tuck myself in and actually go to bed angry when I noticed something conspicuously missing from the room.

Aston’s bags.

I blinked, realizing the enormity of the situation. Aston hadn’t just gone to another casino for a card game and a drink—he took his stuff.

He moved out before we even moved in together.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my head in my hands. I was too harsh on him. The Domme thing, was it too much? Had it gone to my head like a power trip, making me push him away instead of pulling him closer to me? My eyes watered as I realized the best thing that has happened to me was gone. He kept talking about how I’d changed his life, but in reality, he’d changed mine just as much.

I fell backward onto the pillows, feeling the tears slide down my face and into my hair. I didn’t need this right now. I had so many other things to deal with that being heartbroken wasn’t an option.

It couldn’t be an option.

It took all the strength in me to push myself up off that bed. I walked up to the mirror, slicked on some lipstick, and adjusted my hair. He may not have left all that long ago. I could look for him. I had to get him back, at least to apologize. If he didn’t want to set things right, I’d understand, but he deserved to be heard and I should be the bigger person and admit wrongdoing.

So I left the suite for the second time, this time on a mission.

I got to the first floor completely reenergized. The doors opened and I walked into the casino with fresh eyes, ready to find Aston and talk.

Instead a hand caught my shoulder and pulled me roughly.

“Welcome to Vegas,” a gruff voice said.

I spun toward the voice, one I knew all too well.

Derek.