Page 1 of Ends of Being

Prologue

Toni

“You’renotbadboyenough to handle me…”

Though these words were said in jest, sometimes the joke misses the mark, and instead of laughter, you get…total mutiny.

And really, that must have been the beginning of the end.

The final nail in my coffin.

The last straw that broke the resolve of the man behind the curtain.

In complete fairness to myself, I had no idea he had it in him. I had no idea that sweet-man Clark Kent was a real-life beast under his starched white shirts and khaki pants. I guess I never even considered the possibility that he would have that much pent-up aggression built up inside him to pull off this kind of feat. Hindsight being what it is, maybe I should have known better.

Because that’s what I do: I wind people up, drive them insane, make them become unhinged to the point they either step up and make me pay, or they high-tail it out of dodge. The vast majority run for the hills; however, occasionally, I’m pleasantly surprised.

Like, right now. I’m almost certain that this is how I ended up in my current predicament.

Tied up.

In a trunk.

I know, I know—who could possibly be happy about being tied up in a trunk, right? Well, I suppose it depends on how you ended up there, how you plan on getting out, and who put you in there.

You see, I’m a brat.

Now, I don’t mean I’m a bratty toddler, a spoiled princess, or anything like that. No, my bratty attitude stems from something darker and a bit more sinister. I’m a smart-mouthed, snarky shit-talker who borders on blatantly disobedient. I yearn for a man who can handle me and has the power to control me, to make me want to submit to him and his will without a second thought, but I seem to lack the appropriate kink boundaries to make this a feasible reality.

Because I also have the added bonus of having an Alpha personality that overrides my brat side more often than it should. So instead of reaching the point where my brat will lay down and take her punishment as intended, my Alpha comes charging in, rearing her ugly bitch face and screaming variations of “bring it on.”

And I fucking love it.

Obviously, this is an overly complicated situation that has no easy remedy. Because what man has the mental and physical fortitude to constantly be battling for domination in and out of the bedroom? So far, a big, fat giant nobody. Not one of the countless Dominant men I set my bratty sights on has had the mental and physical stamina needed to force my submission.

The process is almost agonizing enough that I’m starting to think that maybe I should just give up and release myself into the Dominatrix side of the kink world. If only having someone be subservient to me was my thing. Maybe there’s something to be said about it that I’m unaware of? Was I wrong not to give them a chance? Was the quiet broody man the right man, after all?

I guess this is a question I get to ponder on my frigid, dark ride to the unknown. Is it the ones you least expect who will bring the biggest and most satisfying surprises? In all my years of searching for the perfect match to my insanity, I never once thought to look for the closet Alpha. Now, stuck here trussed up beautifully in the trunk of a car, the error of my ways is right in front of me.

Really, the clarity of hindsight is the most infuriating bedmate there is. All the obvious signs that were previously missed flash through my brain in slow motion. It’s a kaleidoscope of missed opportunities, a decade worth of potential kink anarchy that I will never get back but could quite possibly make up for in future antics.

I’m replaying all those moments of quiet intensity where I thought he was praying I would leave him alone. The glaring looks that indicated he was picturing me being fired and removed from his presence for good. All the groans I thought were annoyance, the huffs I thought were exasperation, the growls I thought were his prelude to finally reporting me to human resources for my blatant outwardly unprofessional harassment of my coworker.

I had it all wrong this entire time. Sweet Little Dare wasn’t glaring, groaning, huffing, and growling because he wanted me to leave him alone. He elicited these intense looks and primal sounds because he was actively controlling his baser nature to break me and bend me to his will. He was using phenomenal self-control to torture me. For fucking ages.

That sneaky motherfucker!

I giggle behind the gag in my mouth and squeeze my thighs together in anticipation. A small tear of giddy happiness soaks into the blindfold over my eyes as I picture my future with a man who will happily force me to my knees at any given moment without an ounce of hesitation on my part.

Seems wee Clark Kent has grown into a real-life superhero, after all.

I just hope he is ready for me.

Chapter One

Toni

I’munbelievablybored.

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