How to Punish Your Playboy (DommeNation #3) by Mina Vaughn

Author:Mina Vaughn [Vaughn, Mina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00LD1OQE6
Publisher: Pocket Star
Published: 2015-04-05T23:00:00+00:00

We pulled into Chicago’s city limits around nine PM. We were tired from a long day of driving, even though our bodies were mostly idle.

Key word being mostly.

Despite the radio’s music and the occasional brush of Aston’s hand on my leg, there was a pervading uneasiness that had settled in my chest. Namely, the threat of Derek’s subpoena—something I’d pushed to the back of my mind but had lodged there like a thorn. I didn’t know if he was bluffing or not—I mean, he was full of shit most of the time—but if he really wanted to sue me, that was a legitimate threat. If he got what he wanted, I’d be owing money instead of having just over a hundred grand. And that’s not even counting the lawyer fees. Part of me was desperate to tell Aston what was going through my mind, but the idea that he’d be upset that he bought a car that may not have been legitimate was enough to make me keep my mouth shut. So we just drove along, alternating who took the wheel, and made pleasant small talk.

What I really wanted was another Aston-made meal, but because it was so late, he said we’d order room service once we got to the hotel. I was too tired to argue. Right now a warm meal in bed sounded pretty perfect.

“Let’s check into any one of these,” I said as we drove through town. I covered my yawning mouth. I wasn’t interested in where the place was located—as long as it didn’t look like it had bed bugs, I was in.

“It’s not far,” he said, checking his phone. Aston had taken the wheel after our little excursion.

“What’s not far?” I asked, looking around. “There have got to be ten hotels on this block.”

Aston shifted uncomfortably. “I, um, already made reservations.”

“What?”

“It was before we had all these talks,” he said, adjusting his collar. “My family always stays at Conrad Hotels wherever we are in the world. We belong to their points program, so it won’t be as pricey as it looks. Consider it something like frequent flyer miles.”

I stretched my neck, which was exhausted from looking out the passenger window half the day. “Fine,” I relented. “But only because of your special rewards card.”

Aston’s shoulders relaxed and we soon pulled up to the Conrad. It was certainly glitzy looking, and the cars parked in the valet spots out front were quite impressive. A vintage Jaguar, a concept-style Maserati, and a really sweet BMW M series. I hoped Johnny would be parked by them. He’d be a nice addition to the hotel’s collection.

The valet opened my door and a bellhop quickly loaded our belongings into the luggage cart and waited beside us expectantly. The Aston that exited Johnny wasn’t the one who had entered. His posture was solid and erect, and the suave way he nodded at me from across the length of the car said he was a consummate rich boy. He was in his element—a young, dashing millionaire at home in a five-star luxury hotel.

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