Ana Adored: Mistress of the Castle (Masters of the Castle) Read online

  But this was all wistful thinking. In another thirty minutes or so, Peyton would come home from work and when she did, Ana would have to be off her computer without leaving any trace of Miranda where it could be found. If not, she risked yet another fight.

  Ana's smile dimmed as she checked the time. She still had half an hour. Cuddling down into her messy bed, she pulled her laptop closer and tried to make the most of what few moments they had left.

  * * * * *

  So you've killed the peace lily? Miranda hated to do it, but for her own mental peace of mind, she had to reroute the conversation back to safer ground. Heaven in Horticulture had been her near-daily escape for almost two years and was the only non-BDSM contact she'd had with the real world (apart from the hospital) for months. She cherished it. It was her haven, if only online, and she had built a name for herself within that plant-loving community. She was a moderator who tossed trolls, defused arguments, and shared all her tips and tricks for how a newbie could keep houseplants alive. No one on Heaven in Horticulture knew CasMisMir's real name except Ana, and not even she knew the full version or occupation hidden within that innocent moniker. Castle Mistress Miranda had to remain anonymous, or risk losing their friendship.

  You never know, she typed. There might be life left at the root.

  Nope, Ana returned. I put it on the windowsill like you said, but there's not much direct sunlight and half the leaves turned brown. Maybe because I set my tea cup too close, but only once! I moved the plant to the kitchen window where it's sunnier, but I tripped over a shoe and, well. I shoved the dirt and everything back into the pot, but it croaked anyway. Death by misadventure.

  Smiling, loving her sass, Miranda shook her head. Did you talk to it?

  Yes! Every day. 'Grow, you stupid plant, or else I'm turning you into fertilizer for my next one.' Ungrateful dying plants have no right to demand kindness.

  Miranda tsked. I told you to give your plants a name. You have to love them.

  If the silly things want love, they shouldn't die.

  Miranda laughed. Why should they bother living without a name? Photosynthesis is hard, after all. You try making food from sunlight. Slyly, she added, You might call one Miranda.

  You want me to kill you by plant proxy? Yeah, I don't think so.

  "I'll give you good," Miranda chuckled. For a vanilla, Ana had a knack for pre-spanking banter that made her want to reach across the internet lines and touch her… maybe a half dozen times. Love your plants, and you won't kill them.

  Ha! Seven dead and counting. Forget to water them for two or three weeks… dead. Knock one out a two-story window… dead. And I babied that one afterward. It gave up.

  It was discouraged! You need to encourage it.

  It's a dumb ponytail plant that the Lowe's guy picked for me and promised wouldn't die. I can't handle getting attached to things that die.

  Trust me. Name your plant, and call your plant by name. Often. It will make a big difference.

  I can't do that in front of Peyton.

  Peyton. Just the mention of Ana's live-in boyfriend killed Miranda's good humor. Ana rarely mentioned him except to explain why she couldn't do something. 'Peyton wouldn't like it.' 'Peyton doesn't want me to do that.' They sounded like an old married couple rather than two young adults fresh out of college and supposedly in love. Worse, Peyton seemed to make more than his fair share of what should have been joint decisions. Sure, Miranda practiced power exchange, but she didn't like unbalanced relationships. What did Ana get out of being bossed around all the time?

  Sure you can. Don't use him as an excuse, Miranda countered. She hadn't met Peyton, but she found it hard to think kindly about anyone who dominated Ana. As if Miranda had a right to occupy that role with a woman she'd never met face-to-face. Eight months of talking to someone on a plant forum… she shook her head at herself. It was hardly the same.

  A pause. Him?

  Peyton, Miranda specified. Your boyfriend.

  Another pause. Peyton's not a him, she's a her.

  Startled, Miranda stared at her laptop. Her hands tightened on her tea cup as she stared at that word for a long time. Like electricity on a cattle-fence wire, a strange buzzing sensation ran right up her spine and into the back of her head. Setting her cup aside, she typed, She's your girlfriend?

  She knew she must sound slow on the uptake, maybe even judgmental, but her brain couldn't get past the revelation. She couldn't possibly be this lucky.

  You have a problem with girls having girlfriends?

  Even through the typing, Miranda could hear the same fear she had felt when coming out so many years ago. The raised eyebrows, the under-the-breath comments, the pointed references to Biblical verses calling her nature a sin.

  No, she quickly typed back. That live wire kept right on buzzing inside her head. One minute ago, she'd been talking to a woman safely out of her reach, and now? Her hands shook. No, of course that's not a problem.

  Good. Because I get enough of those kinds of comments from my parents.

  I wasn't expecting you to say that, is all, Miranda rushed to reassure her. For all these months, I had Peyton in my head as a man. American names are strange, but I was sure that was a man's name.

  Oh no, Peyton can be a girl's name, too. Why? Does it matter if I like girls?

  Miranda had never revealed so much of her private life to anyone online and yet, her conscience wasn't going to let this slide without comment. Because she might not like you talking to another girl who likes girls, too.

  There was another long pause from Ana. Man, my gaydar sucks. I thought you were about to tell me politely to get lost.

  Her brain was busily issuing warning after warning, but Miranda was beyond listening. So Peyton won't mind my chatting you up? Older woman scouring the internet to pick up a naïve girl?

  Lol! You're not.

  Despite the assurance, something didn't feel right. Miranda had dealt with enough jealous partners to be wary of triggering another one's territorial instincts. You're not lying to me to make me feel better, are you?

  No! I promise!

  Good, because I'd hate to hunt you down and turn you over my knee.

  You'd never dare!

  And just like that, they were back to teasing.

  You think not? Miranda typed. Believe me, little girl. When I decide you need one, you'll find out how fast I'll dare. I don't tolerate lying.

  The silence made Miranda wonder if she'd gone too far, but then a 'Really?' popped into the chat box. I mean, all kidding aside, really? Ana added.

  Miranda stared at that line for so long it made her eyes hurt. Could it actually be, in the one place as far removed from Castle life as she could find, that she had actually found not only a woman who loved as she did, but someone who craved the physical discipline that Miranda herself loved to give? Again, maybe it was wishful thinking, but her heart leaped beneath her breast all the same.

  If you deserved it, Miranda cautiously replied. Yes, I would.

  More silence. What would it be like? Would it hurt?

  That live wire in the back of Miranda's head became a heated throb low down in her belly. That's rather the point, don't you think? But I wouldn't truly hurt you, just give you a hot, sore bottom to help you reconsider your behavior. Miranda hesitated, but she had come too far already. To borrow from her brother's gambling vernacular, she may as well go all in. Is that something you think you'd like?

  I don't know. I tried to get Peyton to do it once, but she says that sort of thing is perverse and disgusting.

  Miranda tsked, liking Peyton even less. Well, she's wrong. There is nothing wrong about a smack on the bottom between two consenting adults.

  Not even if you find it sexy?

  Not even then.

  There was another long pause, and then a hesitant confession popped into the chat box. Sometimes I take a ruler or use my hand to give myself a smack, just to see what it feels like.

  "Oh, how I would love to mee
t you in real life," Miranda whispered, her smile softening as she studied the screen. How does it feel when you do that?

  I feel kind of stupid, to be honest. But as soon as it starts hurting, I stop.

  It's hard to give yourself what you really need, Miranda typed. The whole time, her brain kept warning her, 'Don't do it!' Spanking had always been a strong personal draw for Miranda, although she'd never been much for the receiving end of it. She liked the other parts, though. Holding a squirming bottom across her knee. Taking a submissive from sassy and defiant to sweetly repentant with just a few well-placed slaps. Watching as the curves of a woman's pale and writhing flesh blushed hotter and brighter. It was such an intimate act, and not one that Miranda often chose to discuss with people she didn't know well. But when it came to Ana, oh how quickly her brain and common sense seemed to desert her. It's easier with someone else there to help you. I could talk you through it, if you want.

  Spanking myself?

  Yes. Admittedly, it's not quite the same, but it would give you a taste of whether you might like to experience the real thing later on. I have a feeling you've needed a sound spanking for quite some time now, haven't you?

  Another long pause, followed by an even more hesitant, You don't think I'm sick?

  Hordes of patrons spent thousands of dollars trying to satisfy this very need at the Castle every single month. No, Miranda replied. I don't think you're sick.

  Can we do it now?

  It was a moment of supreme selfishness for Miranda. On the one hand, this was Ana, a woman she had had an intellectual crush on for almost a year. On the other, she was already attached, and Miranda never had been the sort to be anyone's 'other woman'. She had to steel herself to give the right answer. I wish I could, but I think we need to step back.

  Why?

  You need to talk to Peyton.

  About what?

  Miranda tsked. "Because you're young and inexperienced, and I need you to think about this first." She needed time to think about this first, too. Online, however, what she typed was, Go. Name your plants and think this over. We won't do anything unless Peyton says it's all right.

  * * * * *

  You need to talk to Peyton.

  Ana logged off, her whole body tingling as she re-read that last line. The wincing didn't come until sometime later. What had possessed her to lie like that? Not that her lie had fooled anyone. Miranda might not know how Peyton hit the roof whenever Ana talked to other women, but she must have guessed. Miranda was right to pull back, but Ana hated the rightness.

  All right. She'd tell Peyton. Sooner, rather than later. And then Peyton would… what? Yell? Threaten to break her computer? Hit her again? In all likelihood, it would be all three.

  Ana recoiled from consequences that hadn't even happened yet, but already she felt guilty. In the back of her mind, she could hear her kindergarten teacher, Miss Stott, exhorting, "Truth always, lies never."

  Ana stifled a groan and rubbed her face. Fine. She would tell Peyton about Miranda, but tomorrow was soon enough for her to have to face the ugly argument she knew was coming.

  No… no, she'd do it tonight. Waiting always made things worse.

  Abandoning her laptop, she crawled off the end of her bed. She hugged herself, hating the paralyzing indecision creeping through her at the thought of what was coming. Maybe she could diminish the inevitable ugliness somehow. Maybe if she fixed Peyton's favorite supper, she could soften her and then the consequences she feared might not be as bad.

  Wandering into the kitchen, she pulled a package of ground beef from the freezer and set it to thaw in a bowl of warm water on the counter. She wrinkled her nose. Meat, especially raw meat, made her sick to her stomach. Peyton loved the stuff though, and Ana loved it when she was in a good mood. So she put on three layers of gloves—medical latex, plastic tight-fitting ones, the kind she wore while working in the school cafeteria. She could hardly bend her fingers, but at least she wouldn't have to suffer the disgusting feel of raw beef on her skin.

  Opening a fresh package of Kaiser rolls, she sliced them in half. Melting butter, garlic, and rosemary into a ramekin, she spread the beef over the halved rolls and turned the oven to broil. She slid the tray in to cook, and by the time the telltale turning of a key in the front door lock announced Peyton's arrival home, Ana had the table spread with burger fixings: assorted sliced vegetables, potato chips, meat patties for Peyton, and a microwaved veggie burger for herself.

  When Peyton strolled in, unknotting her tie and growling into her earpiece, she took one look at the kitchen table and stopped in surprise. "Wow, honey! What's the occasion?"

  "Just wanted to make you happy," Ana said, setting out napkins. "Are you hungry?"

  "Am I! Let me get changed." Peyton disappeared into the bedroom and emerged wearing a silver and blue number 18 jersey emblazoned with 'Manning' on the back. Ana could barely stand the jersey—much less the sport, but being named for a star player had given Peyton a perverse desire to embrace everything related to football. Frankly, if the real Peyton Manning ate the way he played, then that was one more thing they shared. Peyton dropped into the seat at the head of the table and before Ana could do more than sit beside her, she'd gulped down half her burger. "What a killer day this has been. I had to fire the new girl for stealing from the cash register, and—"

  "Sexy," Ana quipped, trying to keep her tone light despite her growing irritation. It was such a stupid thing to get hung up on, but the football jersey made Peyton look sloppy and mannish. Peyton knew it too, but every morning she left for work in proper business attire, and when she dressed up to go schmoozing with co-workers, she donned her best little black dress. For Ana, she hadn't bothered to dress up since their dating days.

  Ana looked down at herself—t-shirt, men's shorts. She winced at her own hypocrisy. People should be allowed to get comfortable in their homes, she told herself, striving to swallow her disgruntlement. When had she become the shrewish housewife, anyway? Rather than diminish her annoyance, that stern scolding amplified it. When had Peyton become the boorish work spouse? Why couldn't they fight about important things, like Peyton's anger issues or Ana's career frustrations? Instead, they sniped about inconsequential details in a futile, never-ending cycle that made the distance between them grow more cavernous. Over the past few months, Miranda had shown her how grown-ups discussed difficult issues. Ana wanted to talk to Peyton the way she could talk to Miranda, and yet here she was, starting the sniping off tonight by not letting Peyton talk about her day.

  And, in true Peyton fashion, her girlfriend wasted no time in sniping back. "It's nice to eat together for a change. Of course, it'd be nicer if you put the rabbit food away and gave real food a try. Here, take a bite of my hamburger. There's too much onion, but you'll like it if you have a taste."

  "No, thanks," Ana muttered, wishing she'd kept her silly mouth shut. So much for softening her for the real argument slated to be tonight's entertainment. Disappointment sharpened her voice to a bicker. "It makes me sick. You know that."

  "It's in your head," Peyton countered. "You won't eat meat, but you wear leather shoes and—"

  "That's not the point," Ana interrupted. Stop talking, she ordered herself. She was digging in, and that was going to make everything worse when she finally broke down and just said, I've been flirting with a woman online and never told you about it, please don't be mad at me. Instead, she slapped her napkin against her untouched plate and yanked the ketchup bottle out of Peyton's reach. Stupid. She was stupid to provoke. It only ever ended one way, but Ana couldn't stop herself. People like her really did ask to get hit, she thought, ashamed. "I don't care if you eat meat, so why do you care if I don't?"

  "You do it to inconvenience me." Sniffing, Peyton picked a pickle slice off her burger and ate it. "I'd like to take you out sometimes and share an appetizer. But no… I want chicken wings, you want jalapeno poppers. I want beefy nachos and you want hummus and pita chips. That shit's not even edible."r />
  So far, Peyton's jawline remained loose and her legs lolled against the chair rungs. Ana had lost the chance to keep Peyton happy, but they hadn't entered the danger zone yet. She changed the subject. "I found some new tips online. Maybe I won't keep killing plants."

  Popping the last bite of her burger into her mouth, Peyton speared a patty with her fork and plopped it onto the now-cold Kaiser roll. She snapped her fingers, and biting back a fresh new swell of irritation, Ana handed the ketchup over so Peyton could slather it on as she continued, "I thought you were going to give that up. We talked about this already." She piled lettuce and tomato slices on top of the ketchup. "Between work and home responsibilities, you don't have a lot of time for extra hobbies. We never do anything together anymore."

  Right now, Ana could barely remember a time before every word and action of Peyton's set her teeth on edge. She looked at her live-in girlfriend, trying to see again the girl from the coffee shop she'd fallen head over heels for so long ago. Maybe it had all been the magic of the moment, but back then, when Ana dropped in for a quick drink on the Pride parade route, Peyton's sparkling rainbow-tipped pentacle ring had stopped her in her tracks. It had been goodbye Pride, hello lust. In that one instant, Ana had decided to marry Peyton and live happily ever after.

  That was then though, and this was a far different now. Instead of gazing at her with the same hungry physical need of their first meeting, Peyton stared Ana down with cool expectation. Ana should just agree with her, the way she always agreed, but she couldn't do it today. Not even to keep the peace.

  "I found this plant expert online," she said instead. "She's given me a lot of advice."

  "Advice?" Peyton echoed, a subtle shift creeping into her expression, hardening into an all-too-familiar stony mask. "What kind of advice?"

  "About plants. We've been talking for a while now."

  "How long?" Peyton asked through gritted teeth.

  "She's nice," Ana said, willing Peyton to lean toward her the way she had on their first date. You brushed against my hand. Ana had pretended to pick up the check as an excuse to trail the tip of her pinky across the baby-soft skin. Peyton had sucked in her breath, startled and fearful at the same time. Breaking Ana's lease would have cost six months' rent, so Peyton and her U-Haul had arrived soon after. Not for their second date, but not long afterward.