Page 13 of Submit
Every week he has a new broad on his arm, dying to get ahold of the money they think he has, but I can imagine there’s not much left of it with the way he spends frivolously on the cheap whores. He uses them, abuses them, then tosses them away and moves on to the next one when she can’t take his heavy hand and nasty words anymore and fights back.
He's what we call a fake dom, one who uses the title to attract the ladies with promises of safe submission. What he really is, is a sadist who likes to hurt them physically and mentally just for fun. It’s sickening, and something I can’t fucking stand. More than once I’ve wanted to take his plaything and rescue her, but that in itself in this lifestyle is frowned upon, unless there’s an emergent situation where it’s a necessity. So for now, I just tolerate him, and ignore him as best as I can, unless he’s touching me, like he is, again.
His weaselly fingers brush my shirt sleeve, feeling the soft cotton like he’s sizing it up for his next imitation one.
“Can I help you?” I ask him as I sigh around the rim of my glass.
“Just saying hello, neighbor.”
“Yeah, neighbor. Okay.”
“Oh and I wanted to introduce you to someone.” He says, sitting down next to me on the padded stool to my right. “Although I think you may have already met.”
Chapter Seven
“I doubt…” I begin to say before looking over, but my words freeze in my throat when a familiar and stunning woman sits down in his lap.
It’s her. The beauty from the alley. The one with the long chocolate hair, and emerald eyes. The one who’s been digging through my trash and eating what I’ve discarded. The one who I haven’t been able to forget since the first time I saw her, then watched her flee. The one I fucking chased down last night with my cock hanging out like a crazed lunatic.
My heart skips in my chest, missing a couple beats to the point it makes me cough and rub at my sternum with the heel of my hand. She’s even more beautiful in the light, in a ruby red, halter dress crusted with shimmery sequins. Her hair is in a single thick braid, and her makeup is flawless with blood red lips.
Oh hell no. She can’t be with him. No fucking way.
Her eyes stay downturned, her gaze focused on the top of the bar, looking at nothing. I can see the brokenness in her, and the fear of the man who sits under her shapely ass. It makes sense why someone so clean, well dressed, and pretty was digging through my garbage. He made her. He probably told her to pick mine on purpose. The idea of him using her as a spy, or a pawn makes the pain in my chest increase a thousand-fold, and even worse when I imagine it’s nothing more than to degrade her while fucking with me.
“We’ve met.” I say without looking at her.
Instead, I stare him down. Boring into his little black eyes with my clear blue ones. If he sees the desire I have for her, he’s going to abuse her for it. He’ll beat an imagined confession out of her. He’ll break her just to get to me, and that I can’t have. I’m going to take her from him, by will or by force, however I have to. She’s mine now, all mine, not his. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“You ready to go and play, my dear?” He whispers in her ear loud enough for me to hear, and it makes my skin crawl like it’s infested with insects underneath it.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she stiffens and flinches at his words and touch when he asks her again, rubbing his hands down her bare arms. The pulse in her neck picks up, and I know it’s not wanting or desire, it’s terror.
“You want to go with him, little bunny?” I ask without looking at her, instead keeping my gaze on the liquid in my glass. “You don’t have to, you know.”
She remains speechless, but I can feel the answer radiating from her body that shakes ever so slightly. It’s a resounding no.
“She wants everything her master gives her. Don’t you babygirl?” He hisses in her ear, and I want to reach over and deck him in the stupid fucking face.
When she stays silent, he wraps his hands around her biceps and gives her a squeeze, making her gasp quietly.
“Tyler.” I say his name slowly and low, my single word gravely and threatening, but quiet enough that no one around us can hear except him and her.
“Adrian.” He responds, looking over at me, and sneering silently, curling his upper lip like a fucking twat. “Answer me, my dear.” He says to her, squeezing her harder, his fingertips pressing into her soft skin.
“Yes…yes, Sir. Everything.” She stammers, and her shaky response is even prettier than the sight of her, minus the fear shrouded in it.
She sounds like an angel with soft words that fall from the prettiest lips, and it shoots a visceral need straight to my heart and cock at the same time.
“Good girl.” He says to her, rising from his seat quickly, making her yelp slightly as he lifts her and places her on her feet, before staring at her, and then tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “In case you change your mind.” He says, then swats her ass right in my face.
My knee-jerk response is to fly up off my stool, knocking it backwards, causing a loud clamor that brings the attention of the entire bar onto us. But before I can grab him and strangle the ever living fuck out of him, Max reaches across the bar and gently grabs my arm.
“Mr. Lambert. Adrian.” He says, tugging on my forearm, telling me that I need to calm my shit down.
“Yes. Right, Max. Sorry.” I say to him, shaking his grip from me. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not. Neither am I, but you know the rules.”
