Prince of Darkness vs Prom Queen 02

Donovan was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Victor and Marian were getting married. Marian? Victor? Married? Somehow those words didn't seem like they all belonged in the same sentence.

He'd grown up with Marian. She was strong, smart, independent; she didn't need anyone or anything. Like Donovan, she had no time for any of their self-absorbed, pleasure glutton relatives. She didn't need to work, but she loved the challenge and being in control of her own life. It was probably why she and Donovan had always gotten along so well and why she understood his need to be in control.

And Victor?

He had been Donovan's right-hand man, confidant, assistant, occasional psychologist, and friend for years. Donovan couldn't remember a time when Victor wasn't there to anticipate his needs and listen to his grumblings. Then Laci came along, and started to anticipate needs and listen to grumbles, freeing Victor up to indulge in tying privileges while defrosting with Marian. It was all Laci's fault.

Morning in the garden was especially quiet. Everything was quiet. Victor had taken one of his rare days off to take Marian somewhere. He wouldn't be back until the following morning. And Laci...who knew where the hell she was? A couple of days, she said. She'd be gone a couple of days. Right. It had been four days since the morning she'd gotten mad and left him tied, naked, to his own bed and gone off with Trent Nichols. By now they had probably fucked under every letter of the Hollywood sign.

How had the entrance of Laci Grace into his world managed to cause such chaos? She looked harmless enough. She probably didn't stand much over five feet tall, and she had long, silky-soft blonde hair, and the biggest, roundest, cornflower bluest eyes he'd ever seen. She slept with a stuffed unicorn, when she wasn't sleeping with Donovan. She knew how to make the best damned cookies in the universe. She was a sweet and lovely Prom Queen. She was smart and sensible, but she was also trusting and guileless.

Of course she was. Yeah. Right. She was more like the damned devil in disguise who caused destruction wherever she went and had the nerve to call him the Prince of Darkness. And he really missed her.

Victor said Donovan never listened to her. Victor said Donovan never listened to anybody about anything. Victor said Donovan should stop trying to control everything. Victor said Donovan wanted everyone to follow his schedule and routine. Victor said Donovan didn't appreciate her. Victor said having her around, made Donovan's house, a home. Victor said she liked Trent Nichols better. Victor talked too fucking much.

So what if he didn't always listen. He had a lot on his mind. He was running two businesses. Of course he had to be in control. Trainers and business owners had to be in control, they had to follow schedules and routines. Control and organization were the key to any successful operation. That was what helped make them successful. Being successful was important. Without success he wouldn't have as much money, or have houses all over the world. He wouldn't have all his big, isolated, depressing, cold, stone mausoleums that were very empty and lonely.

Why the hell would she want to work for Trent Nichols? She wanted to be a writer. The only thing she'd be writing was the list of things she'd have to do every day for him. And what about the ranch?

She loved going to the ranch. How was she going to do that if she was living in California? Maybe Trent Nichols would buy her a ranch of her very own. Maybe he'd buy her the ranch in Tennessee and move it to California. Maybe he'd buy the whole damned state of Tennessee and fucking move it to California.

It wasn't like he was anything special. So what if he was a famous, good looking, wealthy movie star who had a plane? He was probably also self-centered, spoiled, and demanding. He probably couldn't do a damned thing for himself and was going to expect her to do everything for him. She'd work all day making sure every aspect of his life ran smoothly. Then she'd bake cookies for him. Just wait until she found out he was going to eat those cookies in bed and get crumbs all over the place. She'd hate that and it would be her own fault. If she hadn't run off to work for the fucking idiot, she wouldn't have crumbs all over her bed. Her bed. The one she'd be sharing with a stuffed unicorn, and a stupid actor who would hog all the cookies and make crumbs everywhere.

So, Laci would be eating cookies in the California sunshine and Victor would be next door, tying Marian to the bed. Or she'd be tying him. Or they'd be tying each other. Victor probably had the damned cookie recipe and he'd be baking them for Marian, and they'd be getting crumbs everywhere, too. Everyone was going to have a crumb filled bed...except the Prince of Darkness.

And that was just fine. He didn't need any of them. He could find submissives who would actually submit. He would find submissives who understood what submitting was all about. He could fill every one of his houses with submissives. He could have people submitting to him in every room of every house he owned. Maybe he'd buy a few more houses just so he could have extra submissives submitting.

And he could hire a cookie baker. He could hire five hundred cookie bakers. He could hire enough cookie bakers to make sure every bed in Georgia was full of crumbs. He could bake his own damned cookies. He'd start his own cookie company. He started and ran two incredibly successful businesses. If he could do that, he could certainly make a few fucking cookies. How hard could it be? He could take care of himself and didn't need any of them for anything. He'd show them all.

It was mid-afternoon when the car pulled up in front of the house. The driver helped retrieve her bag and Laci started up the path leading to the guesthouse.

California had been great. Trent Nichols had been great. She'd never been to a movie studio before and he'd taken her around, shown her everything, introduced her to everyone. Even though he was a movie star, he was also a really nice guy and unbelievably generous. The trip had taken a little longer than she originally expected, but the end result was worth it. Trent said he was used to answering all the usual mundane questions, but her questions were the best he'd ever been asked. The magazine issue with his interview was going to sell hundreds of copies. Marian was going to be thrilled.

The cobblestone path leading to the guesthouse ran alongside of the main house and was shaded with willow and magnolia trees. Usually the air was filled with the aroma of magnolia blossoms and garden flowers, but as she approached the back of the main house, she was sure she smelled something burning. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen.

Laci dropped her bag on one of the garden seats and headed for the kitchen, only to find the door bolted. That was odd. The backdoor of the kitchen led straight to the guesthouse. She was usually in and out of the kitchen all day and it was never locked, much less bolted.

She made her way back to the front door and let herself in. "Donovan?" There was no answer. "Victor?" Still no one answered.

Continuing down the hall toward the kitchen, she passed the open door of Donovan's study. The Prince of Darkness was sitting, casually reading the newspaper, a drink on the table next to him. He never drank in the middle of the day. "Donovan?"

He glanced up at the sound of her voice. "Oh, you're back already. Thought you'd be gone longer.

"I just got back. Is something burning?"

"Have a good trip? How was the weather?"

"Yes. Thank you, and the weather was fine. What's burning?"

He turned back to his paper. "Good. Meet any movie stars?"

"I was with a movie star. Donovan? Where's Victor? What's burning?"

"Right. I forgot you went with that actor. Victor? He took Marian someplace. Won't be back 'til tomorrow morning. So it was a good trip?"

"Donovan, did something happen?"

"How about going out to dinner? We can celebrate your homecoming."

"It's too early for dinner. It's the middle of the afternoon. Now, what happened and what is, or was, burning? Did something happen in the kitchen?"

"Too early for dinner? How about lunch? A late lunch? An early dinner?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you seriously just going to sit there and pretend you don't smell anything burning? Something in the house could be on fire." When he continued to stare blankly at her, she turned toward the kitchen. "Never mind. I'll go see for myself."

"Laci! Wait!"

"Wait for what? For you to go whittle a couple of sticks and get your marshmallows? The whole place could be a pile of ashes by then. I'll go......."

She pushed open the door to the kitchen. Silence followed as she stood in shock and gazed around. To say the room was a disaster was, quite possibly, the understatement of the year.

Every surface was covered with something. All the cupboards and drawers were open wide and it looked as if every dish, pot, pitcher, bowl, and spoon was sitting out. There was brown goop and tan goop, and some kind of white, sticky goop dripping off the side of the table and onto the floor. Something had spattered onto most of the walls. It seemed like a bag, or canister, or maybe an entire silo of flour had exploded, judging from the amount of white powder that had snowed around the room. The dishwasher had exploded as well, and a small ocean of suds was bubbling across the floor. The burned smell was coming from several pots and pans that, at one time, had probably been holding some of the brown, tan, and white goop. She couldn't be sure, because at the moment, those same pots and pans were filled with something that looked like solidified charcoal and ash. Laci took a single step into the room, and she grimaced when the floor actually crunched under her shoes.

A disaster? The kitchen could probably be declared a state of emergency and qualify for federal aid.

Without saying a word, she turned to look at Donovan, who did his best to look as innocent as possible. "That sweater looks great with your eyes. Really brings out the blue. It'll be perfect to wear to our late lunch. Want to try that new Mediterranean place?"

"Donovan, what happened?"

"The French place is good and I know you like the bisque. Maybe we should go to the French place."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." He continued to maintain his look of innocence, hoping that perhaps she would start to think she was hallucinating.

"Donovan, what did you do?"

"What?" He thought about making a run for it. "Oh, you mean the kitchen? It was just an experiment. Victor will take care of it when he gets back. I'm starving. French or Mediterranean?"

"An experiment? What the hell were you trying to do? Make a volcano for the science fair?"

"I'll have you know the entire procedure was very successful and my hypothesis was 100% correct. Now how about lunch?"

"Did the hypothesis have anything to do with prohibiting your access to a kitchen?"

If he had to describe the look he got from her, he could appropriately liken it to a recipe:

Take a cup of disbelief mixed with a slight bit of baleful and a liberal amount of skepticism. Add some bewilderment, then stir in a touch of impatience and a little sprinkle of ominous to spice things up, then garnish with an eye-narrowed and icy glare.

"Donovan, you are going to get changed out of your designer clothes, and I'm going to get changed, then you are going to meet me back here in ten minutes and we are going to clean this up."

Instantly his own eyes narrowed. His stance turned threatening and intimidating, while his voice deepened enough to be thunderous. "May I remind you that this is my house and I decide what we do?"

She drew herself up to her slightly over five foot height and glared at him. "Consider it anarchy, but today the submissive is in charge and I'm overthrowing the domineering, dictatorial dominant."

"You can't do that!"

"Oh, yes I can. You do it all the time and you've explained it to me thoroughly. Donovan Corbett, this is a hostile takeover." She hadn't stopped glaring. "You've got ten minutes." She turned and started towards the front door.

He really was going to have to explain the whole Dom/sub thing to her again. She seemed to be missing the entire point. She was exceptionally smart and the concept wasn't that difficult. She really should have grasped it by now. Maybe he could get a book on tape to explain it again. He could run out right now and get it, and pick up some lunch and by the time he got back, she'd have the entire mess cleaned up. He'd be gone before she even realized it.

"Donovan, don't you dare try to sneak out, or so help me, I'll have no problem introducing that paddle of yours to your own ass. It's about time the two of them met, and trust me, you'll be sitting on a pillow for the rest of the month."

Great.

Laci Grace, beautiful, blue-eyed angel and Prom Queen who slept with a stuffed unicorn, could handle a whip like no one he'd ever known, and baked the best damn cookies in the universe, had suddenly blossomed. Just before she revolted and turned into a dominant.

Great. Just great.

What the hell had happened to his perfect arrangement?

Chapter 8 Tying Privileges part III

He had never worked so hard in his entire life. Dominant? Bullshit. She was no dominant. She was a fucking tyrant. For the remainder of the afternoon, Mistress Laci barked orders at him like a damned drill sergeant. The list of topics for further discussion and explanation was growing rapidly, since she also had no understanding of labor laws and was completely unfamiliar with the term 'coffee break'. If he ever decided to trace her family history, he wouldn't have been shocked to discover she was a direct descendant of Ivan the Terrible. He actually sympathized for the cattle on the ranch where she used to work. Poor things probably hid behind hay bales when they heard her coming.

Still, he had to admit to a certain sense of accomplishment when the kitchen was sparkling. He wasn't quite sure how he was going to explain to Victor why the kitchen was cleaner than it was before he had taken the day off, but maybe he'd just let Victor puzzle it out for himself. Would serve him right.

He also had to admit, the tyrant gave him several pieces of very useful information. Who knew one didn't put metal in the microwave? In fairness, though, he hadn't exactly known it was the microwave, although, after scrubbing it, inside and out, he was far more familiar with the damn thing than he had ever wanted to be. He also became friends with the dishwasher, after learning how to precisely align items so they actually got clean, and that one should not misread the label on the soap and put in one CUP-full of detergent when only a CAP-full was required. She was an excellent teacher and it all made perfect sense and would be extremely useful...if he was planning to ever step foot in the kitchen again.

The shower they took together could have been fun, although he couldn't help but believe she was simply attempting to be environmentally conscientious and conserve water, especially judging by the way she continued to glare at him. The glare certainly wasn't as a result of his acerbically sardonic question asking if she wanted him to scrub her, since he had so recently become an expert scrubber.

The garden was tranquil in the early evening hours. Usually it was Donovan's favorite time of the day. He would have finished his work and Laci would be waiting with his drink, and to listen to his stories about how exhausted he was and how much he had accomplished, while sitting in one of his offices, running his empire, delegating tasks to underlings, or having another suit tailored to his specifications.

That evening, as he sank down in one of the garden chairs, the word exhausted took on an entirely new meaning. His back, neck, and shoulders ached from his earlier kitchen exertions, and he glowered at Laci who continued to flutter around between the kitchen and guesthouse, as energetic as ever, beams of sunshine radiating from her. How the hell did she do it? Obviously, tired was another word that was going to need explanation, although this might not be the best time to explain anything. If he did, she was likely to have him start washing light bulbs or polishing the driveway. Damn, she was bossy.

He was going to offer to take her to dinner, but she seemed to have that covered as well. He watched in weary silence as she set out plates and napkins, then opened and poured red wine into two glasses, before disappearing back into the kitchen. A few moments later she was back, plopping a box in the middle of the table. She opened it and helped herself to a slice of pizza.

"Pizza? You expect me to have pizza for dinner?"

"You can do whatever you want, but I wanted pizza, so I ordered pizza" she stated, a slight chill in her voice. "And I charged it to your credit card. And I gave the delivery person a very generous tip."

"Pizza is not a balanced meal."

"Certainly it is. Grains, dairy, protein, fruit, – it's totally balanced."

"Fruit? You mean vegetables."

"Donovan, I may not be as worldly as you, but I do know the difference between fruit and vegetables. Technically, tomatoes are fruit. Pineapples are also fruit. Pineapple on pizza is delicious."

"Pineapple? On pizza? Individuals with discriminating palates do not put pineapple on pizza," he told her haughtily.

"No they don't. They eat things like frog's legs, sweetbreads, snails, and lobster."

"All of which happen to be delicious and what's wrong with lobster? I've seen you eat it."

"Well, it may taste good, but it looks like a big bug. You have to give credit to the first person who decided to try it, though. They find this giant, ugly greenish-blackish bug and decide to throw it in some boiling water, and upon doing so, it turns bright red. Do they panic? Do they think it's going to poison them? No. They just go ahead and eat it anyway. Pretty brave thing to do."

"Damn it! Stop spending so much time with Victor. I don't eat pizza and I certainly don't eat pineapple with pizza. There are pizza occasions and there are pineapple occasions. One comes from Italy. One comes from Hawaii. There's about 8000 miles in between. The two never should have even met."

"Maybe the guy who was crawling around the ocean during a big bug occasion introduced them." Her glare had returned. "You can eat it or not, but it's about time you broke through that Master Donovan, Prince of Darkness, dominant, trainer, control freak bubble you live in, and joined the rest of the regular people in the world."

The tyrant was calling him a control freak? Still, he had to admit the pizza looked really good and smelled even better, and since he was starving and didn't have the energy to argue with her, he sighed and took a slice. It was delicious, even the pineapple part. Another revelation. He couldn't remember the last time he ate something as simple as pizza.

Laci sat across from him, happily curled up on one of the chairs, munching on her pizza as she flipped through some papers, almost oblivious to the fact that he was sitting just a few feet away. "I suppose I should thank you for helping clean everything up," he grumbled at her, "although Victor could have taken care of it when he got back."

"Only you would be inconsiderate enough to leave that mess for Victor." Her evil glare was back. "If we hadn't cleaned and it was left sitting all night, the kitchen would have needed sandblasting to get all that stuff off the walls. You still haven't given me a satisfactory explanation for what you were trying to do, but the rule is when you make a mess, you clean it up."