These Damn Suspicions (2 page)

Callum placed a finger on my lips, his deep blue eyes compassionate. “You’re not broken. You pulled yourself back together from shattered pieces years ago, long before we met. Every time I think of what you went through back then, I’m in awe of how well you pulled your life back together. By the time I found you, you just needed…a little extra glue.”

Warmth spread through my chest. One of the reasons I loved this man so much was that he saw me for what I was and stuck by me anyway. He could have taken a large measure of the credit for putting me back together, and I wouldn’t have argued. His assessment of my strength surprised and pleased me.

“I could always use more glue.”

He kissed my lips gently. “Tomorrow night we can see about that. But we have some trust issues we need to work out tonight.”

We hadn’t scened properly in a couple of weeks. Callum’s filming schedule had been too full for him to dedicate enough time to my aftercare needs, which were always pretty heavy. I’d missed our sessions as Dom and sub; maybe that was one of the reasons why I’d taken the story so personally without waiting for his explanation first.

“I guess you’re right,” I murmured.

He stretched out on the bed and pulled me with him, so that we lay face to face, watching each other. I knew his features so well I could have drawn him without a reference, down to tiny imperfections in his skin that the makeup department usually hid. He was considered one of the sexiest men alive, evidenced by countless polls in magazines and blogs, and somehow I was the one he wanted.

His irresistible attractiveness was probably another reason I was insecure.

“You could have anyone. You could have…Elena Sanders. Why would you settle for me?”

“I didn’t settle. I love you. Remember?” He stroked my hair. “If you don’t believe that—“

“I do. It’s just… I don’t think you get how weird it is for me. Your fanbase is filled with legions of drooling women. Only your die-hard fans can even remember my name, and half of
them
probably are wishing for us to break up so they can have their chance to seduce you.”

The tiny frown between Callum’s eyebrows deepened. “Kat…I can’t even find the words to tell you how much I
don’t
care about them.”

“And celebrity women? Tell me you can’t name someone famous you’d sleep with in a heartbeat if she came on to you.”

Callum laughed softly. “Tell me
you
can’t.”

I rolled onto my back, pressing my hands over my face. “
You
were that person for me. You were the only one I fantasised about. You were my go-to guy whenever I needed to get off. Or at least, pictures of you were. And DVDs.”

He nuzzled my neck, sending a tingle to my pussy. “Now you have me. And that’s not changing, little miss.”

“But I wasn’t your unattainable celebrity crush. And now your crushes
are
attainable, because you’re a celebrity too.”

Callum sighed, rising up on an elbow so he could see me better. “Not all celebrities are attainable. Even if I were single, I couldn’t just walk up to Angelina Jolie, sling her over my shoulder and manhandle her into my lair. I think Brad Pitt and their kids would have something to say about that.”

“You’re missing the point on purpose,” I accused.

“A little,” he said. “But not because I don’t want to address what you’re saying. My point is…people can objectify me all they want. They can write fan fiction about me and draw pictures of what they think my cock looks like and put it all on the Internet. Celebrity women can tell interviewers they’d love to spend a night with me. The paparazzi can come up with stories to explain pictures they’ve taken without my knowledge or consent. Nothing I can do to change that, if that’s what they wanna do.”

He laid his hand gently over my throat, then applied the slightest pressure when I tilted back my head. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here with you because that’s where I wanna be. You’re my girl. My submissive. I sure as hell am not letting you go, not unless you say you’ve had enough and walk away.”

I closed my eyes, losing myself in his truth. Callum squeezed my neck just a little tighter, then let go. “You got that, little miss?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

“You trust that I’m telling you the truth?” His expression was intense, serious. Worried. “’Cause I thought we were more solid than this.”

I scowled. “You’re telling me that if you saw pictures of me letting some other guy cup my face that way, you’d be totally calm and reasonable about it? Put yourself in my shoes!”

Callum winced, then nodded. “I get your point.”

“Good.” I put a hand to his chest and shoved, knocking him onto his back. “Jerk.”

Before he could respond, I slid over and kissed him. He pulled me on top of him, wrapping his arms and legs around me so there was absolutely no possibility of me getting away. Then he bit my lower lip lightly before possessing my mouth again.

“We need to talk about me being the guy you’d sleep with in a heartbeat,” he said when we came up for air. “As I recall, it was way longer than a heartbeat before we fucked. I would have taken you right there that first day on the movie set if you’d let me, but you shoved me away for a week.”

“It was a theoretical heartbeat.” I squirmed in his arms, which only made him hold on tighter, as I’d hoped.

He smiled. “Tomorrow night after work, I’m gonna take you somewhere. I have a surprise for you.”

Intrigued, I pressed him for details, but he remained silent and amused until I gave up guessing and told him, “Fine. I’ll just look forward to tomorrow and be surprised.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I guess I should get your punishment out of the way tonight so you can enjoy tomorrow, then.”

I stilled, wary. “A real punishment?”

I’d only been truly punished once before in our relationship, and that hadn’t involved pain. Since my past had been traumatic, I suspected Callum was more lenient with me than he would have been with a different submissive, but I tried not to think about that. I was never sure if I was thankful for it, or uncomfortable with the idea.

Callum sat up, bringing me with him, and looked into my face. “You fucked up, little miss. You could have called me or sent a text when you saw that article. You should have.”

“But—”

“I agree the article looks bad. But you assumed the worst about me without giving me a chance to explain. I won’t have you letting your imagination get away with you where our relationship is concerned.”

I sighed. He was right, sort of. “I was willing to hear your side of the story.”

“If you’d curled up in
our
bed to wait for me, I might have let you off easier.” Callum’s tone didn’t change in the wake of my protests. He was quiet, stern but not angry.

I looked around at the guest room and accepted his criticism. No matter how quickly I’d changed my mind once I’d heard his version of events, I’d still been angry enough with him that I hadn’t wanted to wait in our room. I’d let my insecurities get the better of me.

“How will you punish me, Sir?”

Callum kissed my forehead. “Safewords are still an option, but only if you’re about to panic.”

I nodded my understanding, the slight queasiness of anxiety coalescing in my stomach.

“Stand up.”

I got to my feet with reluctance.

“Go downstairs into the kitchen, sit at the table and wait for me.”

I went immediately, wanting to get this over with—whatever he had planned. As I descended the stairs, my brain treated me to a flashback of one of the many things that had happened in a very different kitchen, years ago. I slammed down on the memory.
Callum isn’t
him.
He knows my limits. He doesn’t have a cage or a hook. Calm the fuck down.

Still, I hesitated in the kitchen doorway. I didn’t usually have a problem with entering this room, but knowing it would be the location of a punishment made me freeze. All of my worst experiences with my abuser had taken place in a kitchen.
Can’t…

Callum’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I swallowed hard. “Yellow, Sir.”

He reached me and enfolded me in his arms, no irritation or judgement in his demeanour. “What do you need, little miss?”

“The kitchen is…a problem.”

Callum took a moment to register the words, then groaned. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

He scooped me up in his arms and carried me into the living room, where he brought me back into his lap on the couch. We sat quietly together while I focused on his heartbeat and breathing to calm myself. I could tell he was mentally berating himself, though.

“It’s okay, Callum.” I used his real name to make sure he knew I wasn’t just deferring to him as a submissive, but also forgiving him as my vanilla self.

He sighed and held me tighter. “I promise not to make that mistake twice. New rule: no punishments in the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” I kissed his hand, calmer now he knew the problem. “And I’m sor—”

He kissed the apology softly from my lips. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

After a moment of looking me over, assessing my mental state, he asked, “Are you ready to continue?”

I nodded and slipped down from his lap onto the floor.

He stood up, squeezed my shoulder on the way past me. “Wait there.”

I linked my fingers behind my back and waited, wondering what my punishment would entail. Last time it had been intense sexual stimulation followed by being forbidden to come for the rest of the day. This seemed to be something different.

When Callum returned, he was holding a small plate. He sat down, but kept it held up high enough that I couldn’t tell what was on it whilst kneeling. I had a bad feeling about this…

“You’re going to hate this, but it’s a punishment, so you’re meant to.” Was there a twinkle in his eye? I didn’t like that at all.

He lowered the plate onto his knees, and I covered my face with my hands. “Oh, God, Sir! Are you serious?”

“Put your hands behind your back,” he commanded.

Swallowing a curse, I resumed my position as a good little submissive, but kept my eyes closed.

“Open them.”

I stared in distaste at the plate. Two dried figs, each one cut into four pieces. Eight mouthfuls of nastiness. “Sirrrrr…”

“Little Miss Badass…” His voice held a warning. I didn’t dare look up at him in case he was trying not to smile; I didn’t trust myself not to yell at him if he was finding this funny.

I kept quiet, trying not to imagine the way the figs would taste. They were my very least favourite food, and I’d somehow let this slip to Callum at some point in our relationship. I hadn’t even known there were figs in the
house
, let alone that I’d be required to eat them if I needed punishment.

Callum took hold of the first section of dried fig. “Open your mouth.”

I wrinkled my nose at the plate, but made myself do as he’d said.

My Dom placed the horrible, dehydrated ‘treat’ on my tongue. “Chew and swallow.”

I closed my mouth and rolled the sweet, gummy thing in my mouth, manoeuvring it to the back of my tongue. It wouldn’t really start tasting like shit until I chewed it. If I could just swallow it without chewing…

It felt huge, but I managed to gulp it down without chewing it. Success! Maybe this would be bearable.

Callum cleared his throat. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that, little miss.”

Busted.
I gave him a pleading look, and damn it, the bastard was finding this way too amusing. My puppy dog eyes weren’t going to change a damn thing.

“Open.” He picked up a second piece of fig.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?”

“After you’ve eaten a whole fig. Now open your mouth.”

I suppressed a groan and parted my lips obediently.

He placed the food on my tongue. “Chew.”

By withholding the order to swallow, he’d doubled the torment. I shifted the fig to one side of my mouth and tentatively bit down. The overly sweet flavour curled my tongue. I could deal with the gumminess of the dried fruit, but then…

Crunch
.

The disgusted sound that came from my throat was completely involuntary. The grittiness of the seeds combined with the gummy sweetness was so off-putting that I cringed.

“How many times do I have to chew, Sir?” I mumbled around the mouthful of ick.

“At least three times per piece before you swallow.”

I chomped down exaggeratedly twice more before swallowing the sticky, seed-laden mouthful as fast as I could. “Ugh.”

“Well done. Six more to go.” Callum held out piece number three.

“Can I please get some water, Sir?”

“After two more pieces.” He pressed the third mouthful against my lips in a clear order to get on with it.

I focused on my task after that, to get it over with as fast as possible.
Open, chew, chew, chew, swallow. Ugh! Open, chew, chew, chew, swallow…