ARROGANT PLAYBOY (52 page)

“Still here,” I bark. “Next
item. Corporate sponsorships…”

BELLAMY

I never once swallowed with
Cortland.

My hands smooth along the
bustier, stopping momentarily to hoist my breasts up. I can’t deny how sexy
this thing makes me feel. It’s a power trip disguised in crushed velvet. The
girl in the bathroom mirror stares back at me, and I catch her grinning like she
carries the biggest secret in the whole world.

Dane’s aftertaste lingers on my
tongue. It’s slightly sweet and deliciously sinful. A part of him resides in me
now.

Literally.

If that’s not a trust building
exercise, I don’t know what is.
 

I reach back, unzipping the
garment and freeing myself. The bones of the corset have left marks across my
ribs, but they’ll fade soon enough. A small, reddish bruise just below my
collarbone pulls my attention.

My fingertips rake across the
spot where Dane kissed me, bit me, then called me his. For some reason, it’s
different with him than it ever was with Cortland. He’s opened up this brave
new world for me. Despite my initial reservations and skittishness, so far I
feel remarkably safe with him.

Shit. I’m safer with Dane than
I am with Cortland. At least Dane prefers his conquests in a consensual state
of mind.

I slip the panties off and fold
everything neatly along the counter before changing back into my skirt and
blouse. Delightful soreness claims my swollen lips, and I run my fingertips
across them before heading back out.

Dane hangs up the phone the
second I emerge, spinning his chair to face me.

“I didn’t give you permission
to change yet, Angel.”

I look for a smile or some kind
of tell that he’s joking, but I find none. My hand threatens to fly to my
mouth, and then I remember what happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to flinch
or retreat or so much as hint that I’m afraid of his retributions.

“You disappointed me. How do we
resolve this?”

My shoulders pull straight.
“You should punish me, Master. I disobeyed you, and I deserve to be punished.
Please.”

“Good girl.” He rises, his
pants long-since refastened.

There’s a lump in my throat
when I realize I never fully appreciated the size and girth of his, ahem, appendage.
I was in the moment, focused on pleasuring him as best I could, and it never
occurred to me that someday soon, I’m going to be impaled with that monster.

A ball of anxious anticipation
resides smack dab in the middle of my chest as he approaches me. His hand lifts
to my chin, drawing my face up to meet his gaze. His cold eyes crinkle and
relax.

“I’m not sure what I should do
with you,” he says. “I’m not sure whether to bend you over my knee or pleasure
you until you can hardly stand it anymore.”

I can’t breathe thanks to the
rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

His hands pull at the fabric of
my skirt, lifting it until the hem is against my hips, exposing my panties. His
fingers run the length of my inner thigh until he reaches my sex, where he
wastes no time slipping a finger beneath the soaked fabric.

This was supposed to be an act.
I was supposed to hate every minute of it with an agreeable smile on my face.
None of this was supposed to physically turn me on, but my body betrays me with
his every touch.

Dane’s finger slips between my
folds, massaging my clit with slow circles and just enough pressure to leave me
wanting a tiny bit more. Now I know why foreplay is the gateway drug of sex.
It’s just enough to get you going, but not enough to leave you fully satisfied.

“How does this feel, Angel?”

My cheek presses against the
dark gray silk-blend of his suit jacket, and I breathe him in while his finger
slides inside me.

“It feels incredible.” My
cheeks blush, but I don’t care. His jacket soaks in the heat, and I’m thankful
he can’t see my face. I never spoke this openly with Cortland, and we never
discussed what we were doing while we were doing it. There was never dirty
talk, only exhilarating shame.
 

His hand pulls away from my
wetness, and I’m certain that is my punishment. He’s teasing me, leaving me
wanting more, and then pulling away.

It’s a difficult punishment,
but one I have to accept.

“Come over here,” he says
motioning to his desk chair. His hands pat his lap. “Face down, Angel. It’s
time for your punishment.”

That
wasn’t it?

I follow his orders, finding it
difficult to swallow as I’m face down, staring at the tightly woven cream
carpet beneath his desk. He’s moving around, shifting, opening drawers, but I
can’t see any of it. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening. I don’t like
being bent over someone’s knee, staring at the carpet fibers with every sense
of mine on high alert.

From the corner of my eye, I
notice him slipping on a pair of leather driving gloves.

His hand tugs the back of my
panties until he pulls them all the way off, and then he lifts my skirt until
it’s hiked all the way to my low back.

“Forty,” he says. “Count.”

WHACK!

I haven’t been spanked since I
was a little girl. It doesn’t hurt as much as I remember.

“Count, Bellamy. That was one.”

WHACK!

“Two,” I say, my legs splaying
out below me as my knees lock.

He smacks my ass once again,
only harder this time. Quicker. It’s more of a slap, and it half-stings,
half-burns whenever his hand comes up for air.

“Three,” I say.

Again and again he smacks, and
again and again I count.

My cheeks are on fire, and a
blush of warmth spreads throughout my lower body before settling between my
thighs and transforming into liquid arousal. My bare flesh burns after each
smack, but by the time it starts to subside for even a split second, I find
myself craving another.

Equal parts dread and
anticipation fill the space between the smacks.

It hurts.

It hurts
so
good.

“…thirty-seven, thirty-eight,
thirty-nine…forty.” It’s over. I’m not sure how I’m going to sit after this.

Dane peels the glove from his
hand and helps me up, positioning me in front of him. “I’m not sure what I’m
going to do with you, Angel.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“I’ve never had a sub make me
want to simultaneously punish her and devour her quite like you.” He sighs as
if this is the most pressing issue in his life right now. I highly doubt it is.
“I think I’m going to have to do both. Climb onto my desk.”

I lean against his polished
desk, carefully displacing his pewter clock, his cup of silver bullet pens, and
moving his phone out of the way. Dane blows an impatient breath past his lips
and lowers himself though he’s certainly not on his knees.

“Exquisite. Really.” His final
words send a thrill up and down my spine seconds before his tongue glides into
my most tender parts, swirling and licking, owning me deeper and harder with
each flick.

I look for something to grab,
something to ground me, but there’s nothing but cool, smooth wood and a
fourteen karat gold stapler. His tongue abandons me for a moment, skimming my
thighs before returning.

Tease
.

“Are you enjoying yourself,
Angel?” he asks.

I want to tell him not to stop,
to keep going. I was getting close. But I can’t say any of that because he’s in
control. Even if I wanted to come right now, it isn’t allowed.

My arousal begins to mix with
anger, and without warning Cortland’s face flashes in my mind.

No!!

His hands press my legs apart
wider, and his face between my thighs and that thing he’s doing with his tongue
and the circles makes my body fearful of moving for fear it all might end.

I love this.

But I also hate that being
objectified and controlled, the very thing I’m fleeing from at home gets me so
hot and bothered I can hardly stand it.

“You can come now,” he says,
blowing hot breath on my swollen sex before returning to devour me a final
moment.

But it’s too late.

I’ve lost it.

The build up threatened to
leave the second I realized I wasn’t allowed to come without his permission,
and it packed its bags the second I saw Cortland’s face and started thinking
about everything else.

What
do I do?!

I draw in a full breath and do
what any other woman would do in my situation.

I fake it.

“Mm, yes…” I moan softly,
pounding my fist against the desktop. My hips buck and writhe, and he gives my
clit a final suck before my movements settle and stop. I have no idea how long
a typical orgasm lasts. I’ve never timed myself, so I just do what feels
natural.

My eyes search his when he
comes up for air, and I immediately love the fact that he doesn’t wear a dopey
smile after getting some. He’s a man. He’s all man. He can pleasure a woman
with dignity and respect and class, and that’s an art.

“You may clean up now, Angel.”
He nods toward the bathroom before swiping the ground and picking up my
crumpled panties.

“Thank you.”

Dane leans over his desk,
grabbing the satin ribbon off the box in which my lingerie was packaged. He
winds it up and shoves it in his desk drawer, a treat for another time I
suppose.

I scamper off and change quickly,
anxious to ask him what else I might be doing to occupy my time in the office,
but when I emerge he’s nowhere to be found. His communication leaves much to be
desired, but I’m not exactly in a position to complain.

When I slink back into my
office, I’m overwhelmed once again by the amount of boxes and gifts and bags
filling every foot of my space. There’s a small path in which I can walk, but
that’s it. A small coat closet in the back of my room boasts wooden hangers,
and I get to work hanging up my new wardrobe. There’s no way my parents will
let me walk in or out of the house in any of this stuff. I might be able to
sneak a dress in with my purse, but not the rest of this stuff.

“Chanel.” I examine the tags of
a pink blazer and shake my head, fighting a smile. “He’s out of his mind.
Certifiably insane. Yep.”

I remove tissue paper from a
Gucci box and examine the candy apple red bag that emerges. The hardware is
heavy and solid, and the zippers run smooth.

“Dane,” I whisper, loving the
way his name feels when I say it. I wish I could say it more. Calling him
Master feels contrived and awkward. Silly.

I yank out a Fendi belt and
slip it around my waist.

Perfect
.

I am an actress, and this is a
role I’m playing. I can be this girl. I can be the girl who wears fancy things
and graces his presence like I’m some elegant socialite.

With an armful of things that
cost more than what my father makes in one year, I head over to the closet and
carefully unload. A small ledge below a mirror will house the cosmetics he
provided.

I’m not a girl who normally
wears much makeup, but I know my way around a makeup kit, especially for
special occasions.

As soon as everything is
properly stowed, I fold up the boxes and bags and tuck them all into one
another. I assume he’ll want all of this back when he’s done with me.

I am an actress. This is my
part. These are my costumes.

It’s that simple.

***

My check engine light comes on
halfway through my commute home and a burning odor wafts through my air vents.
I’m not sure why Waverly got the shiny new Jetta, and I got stuck with the
family’s old Chrysler, but I figured this was going to happen one of these
days.

I buzz past a green sign that
tells me Whispering Hills is twenty-three miles from here. My palms sweat
against the steering wheel as my mind dithers. If I pull over and call my
father to get me, he’ll wonder where I got my phone. If I drive with this light
on and something goes wrong mechanically, I’m not sure my father will pay to
fix or replace my car. Money’s tight at home. I heard him saying so the other
night to Mom.

But without a car, I won’t have
a way to get to Salt Lake City, and I’ll lose my position with Dane.

Wisps of pale smoke escape the
front of my hood and graze over my windshield.

I can’t win. Ever.

I smack my hazard light buttons
and pull over to a nearby rest stop. One nickel, two dimes and a penny are all
I see in my cup holder, so I climb out and begin feeling around between seat
cushions and under floor mats until I find two more quarters.

There’s a payphone inside. I’ll
use that to call Dad and go from there. I still haven’t quite figured out how
to tell him I have a cell phone for work. I’ll get around to it, but I’m not
ready yet. If he takes it away, I’m not sure how I’ll explain to Dane that I
won’t be reachable 24/7 like he requires.