The Dominator (The Dominator 1)

“I know it’s all unconventional,” she whispered, lifting her chin toward the heart-shaped box on the dresser, “but I’m so happy to see him settling down. I’m here for you and at your service. If there are changes you want to make after the wedding I’m happy to be accommodating. Don’t hesitate to come to me for anything, okay? We must talk but we’ll do it later.” She had a mild Latino accent and her tone was conspiratory. She winked at me.

I nodded slowly, not sure what to make of her. If she knew the circumstances under which I was here and knew how this family operated and still chose to work here she couldn’t possibly be a good person. I couldn’t trust her. I wouldn’t trust her.

“Come; breakfast is waiting.”

I stood up. She linked arms with me like we were bosom buddies and led me downstairs, saying, “All those rooms are bedrooms. There are five and each has an adjoining bathroom, except the room that’ll be the nursery. That has a door adjoining to the master suite in through the walk-in closet.” She gave me a squeeze. What the heck?

She led me through a big modern kitchen and then out some patio doors onto a patio area where Tommy was sitting, reading the newspaper with coffee in front of him.

He tucked his phone in his jeans pocket. He was dressed now, I guess he’d come back in while I showered. He was Mr. Casual today, dressed in a pair of button-fly faded jeans and a tight black t-shirt. His still damp hair was pushed back with his sunglasses. He was barefoot. How could he be so attractive and yet be willing to be put in an arranged marriage? I suspected with his family being criminals he couldn’t get a woman to agree to marry him. Either that or he was so ugly on the inside that no one cared how good he looked on the outside.

“Sit.” Ms. Martinez told me, “I’ll bring you coffee. Or tea? What do you prefer?”

“Um, coffee, please. Milk with 3 sugars.”

“Three? Oh, that’s bad.” She waved her hand dismissively, “I’ll wean you off.”

Tommy glanced up from his paper at me, “She’s a sugar hater. She weaned me off a few months ago. Didn’t tell me until 2 weeks after I’d been drinking it with no sugar.”

“Sugar is evil!” she replied, waving her finger at him. He rolled his eyes at her.

I sat across the table from him. He was smiling, staring at the paper with what looked like not a care in the world. No, no cares. He had a prisoner here and had tricked me into giving him sex this morning by starting something when I was asleep and already sleeping on top of him, because that’s where he’d made me sleep, but now he didn’t have a care in the world. Too bad I didn’t have it as easy.

Ms. Martinez brought me a coffee. When I sipped it, it tasted sugary enough. She winked at me, “I gave you 3 today but bit by bit, I’ll cut back and then you won’t even miss it.”

How poetic. Tommy had promised me that I wouldn’t have my favorite vanilla after today and she was promising to wean me off sugar. Obviously, by his statement and by the way he’d spanked me and pulled my hair, he was a kinky son of a bitch so vanilla sex was off the menu. Would I soon stop missing my freedom and everything else I loved because I’d be weaned off? Would I ever stop missing vanilla ice cream? Freedom was something I was missing already.

There was the illusion of freedom in front of me. The patio area was nice. Spanish themed, mosaic tiles, big infinity pool that overlooked a lush-looking forest. I wondered what the drop was like on the other side of the pool. Could I escape through the forest? I was in a big giant cell. A ginormous cell with an infinity pool and servants.

“Tia?” Tommy’s voice broke my daze.

My attention snapped to him. Ms. Martinez was putting a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit in front of me. Then she went back inside.

“I’m leaving. I’ve got work. You’ll behave?”

I think I nodded a little, I wasn’t even sure. I could hardly look at him, after what he’d just done to me upstairs. After how I’d participated. I knew my face was red, I could feel it. And I could feel his eyes on me.

“Uh, you want your things picked up at your old place or are we starting over?”

I was shocked at the question, “I, um… I have to talk to them, tell them, uh…” tell them what?

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll have your things brought here. Then whatever else you need, I’ll arrange.” He got up, pulled me up to standing and took me into his arms, “Be a good girl,” he said and poked me gently on the nose, “No phone calls yet and no attempts to run.” I caught sight of his hand; it was covered in scratches from our scuffle last night. He saw that I’d noticed and smiled devilishly at me and then touched his lips to mine. His tongue darted in and his arms pulled me closer. I didn’t react, I didn’t respond. I guess was in shock. He let go of me and then said, “Watch her.” I glanced behind him and the Michael Clarke Duncan guy was standing in the doorway. I guess I had a babysitte

r.

I robotically dropped back to sitting and stared at my plate. Ms. Martinez sat down with a cup of coffee,

“Shoo Earl!” she said him, annoyed. He backed away. She sat down and put her coffee in front of herself, “He can go. Leave us girls to talk. Food not okay?”

“I---I uh, haven’t tried it.”

“Eat! I’ll keep you company,” she took a sip of her coffee, “Are you okay?”

I stared, dumbfounded at her, then finally answered, “Not really.”

“Tell. Tell me everything,” she leaned forward and propped her chin on her palm, her elbow on the table and stared at me with big brown doe eyes.

I winced.