Page 25 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

It’s not like I set out to pick on him in the beginning. It’s just, he was so big, and mean looking. He wouldn’t hold back. He’d beat me until I cried, and laugh at me for it, that was for damn sure. And I hated myself for practically begging for his attention because I’d already sworn off Doms. Yet here I was, making a fool of myself for a man’s hands around my throat.

My brain and body were still buzzing from the excitement and I knew I’d have a hell of a crash later, but the look on his face of horror at my glitter-water-bomb would hopefully be enough to get me through the worst of it.

“Give me a good reason to let you in,” I laughed.

“Alice...” he groaned. He sounded tired.

Well that wasn’t at all what I wanted. I wanted him mad enough to slap me in the face, not upset. I stood up and unlocked the door, and cracked it open, leaving the chain lock on so it wouldn’t open more than two inches.

He leaned against the door frame, his eyes closed, panting from his sprint up the stairs. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

There was a monster in there, just begging to be let out.

Come and get me, big boy.

“You’re making me want to break the rules, little girl,” he growled quietly under his breath. At his tone, goosebumps rose on my flesh.

“You’d better make it worth it,” I whispered back.

He closed his eyes and let his head drop into his arm. “You...” he laughed once, but it was more like a choking cough. “You really are destroying me, you know that?”

“Maybe you should get me back for it.”

“Maybe you shouldaskfor what you want,” he snapped back, straightening and scowling down at me. “Maybe you’ll actually get it.”

“Boring!”I sang. And, in my experience, completely moot. Doms did whattheywanted, not what youaskedfor. The hack? Trick them into it.

He unbuttoned his shirt quickly, his large fingers flying nimbly over the tiny buttons. He yanked the shirt off, leaving a thin tank top and his blazer over his arm. I could see thick dark curly hair on his chest through the soaked tank top and I bit my lip at the sight.

He bundled up the glitter-soaked shirt and shoved it through the crack in my door. “I expect that clean by next Thursday’s party, or there will be consequences you won’t enjoy suffering through.” Then he buttoned his blazer jacket all the way up and walked briskly down the hallway.

“What kind of consequences?” I yelled back.

He shouted back over his shoulder. “Destruction of property, assault, harassment, and a restraining order.”

I doubted very seriously that Reuben Weston would go to the police about a glitter-bombed shirt, but then again... he seemed to have connections and a name that meant something.

I slammed the door shut, put the shirt in my bathtub, and got to work.

Ididn’t see Reubenon Sunday, but I knew I’d see him on Thursday for our Holiday party. The church celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas at the same time so the students could participate. On Thanksgiving, the team and I decorated the downstairs with white and green painted pumpkins, Christmas trees and wreaths, lights, and glittery ribbons all throughout the public areas. We opened up the collapsible walls between the fellowship hall and dining area, turning it into one large room. The buffet line took up a whole wall and featured turkey, ham, roasted lamb, every side imaginable, and enough dessert to put a small army into diabetic shock.

It was nine in the morning when Mister Weston arrived with his four girls. They were a range of ages, and looked a little intimidated to be here. They were all dressed for the party.

Sophie had warned me they were coming.

“I don’t think they’re his submissives,” she’d told me, “but he’s bringing some girls from DC to help with the party. I guess they like to help with stuff like that, and they want a chance to get out of the state and meet some new people.”

“I thought he let all his subs go,” I said.

She practically danced around the kitchen, checking temperatures, switching pots from one burner to another, and shuffling casseroles in and out of the oven in a perfectly-choreographed routine, talking while she did so. “He did, about six, maybe seven years ago. It was before I met him. He won’t talk about what happened... but he still works with submissives in DC, and I think he works with battered women too. Some of the girls he’s bringing today are rescued from yucky situations.”

“Hey,” I said softly, coming up beside her. “I heard what you said in that meeting with the social workers... I didn’t know that about you.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m in a much better place now. And Mark and I are both seeing a woman who specializes in sexual trauma, and it’s helped me a lot. It’s really sweet of you to say.” She smiled at me.

So I’d been mentally prepared to see his four “girls” when they arrived. I was glad Sophie warned me, because they didn’t look like what I’d expected battered women from “yucky situations” to look like. They looked hopeful, excited, shy but confident, and had beautiful perfect smiles, flawless posture, and elegant body language. They looked like princesses.

I greeted them and memorized their names, and brought them back to Sophie. I ran off to help Alex and Mrs. Greenwood make sure everybody got something nice from the gift exchange.

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