ARROGANT PLAYBOY (56 page)

BELLAMY

I clasp the gold chain around
my neck and flip the visor up before turning the engine off. It’s not tight by
any means, but a constricted sensation creeps around me.

I’m not an animal.

And I fully understand that
physically I belong to him. I know what I agreed to. But I didn’t know I’d have
to wear something twenty-four seven to remind me.

It’s almost worse than Cortland
proclaiming at Bible study last night that he’d spent the afternoon looking at
promise rings for me. It took every ounce of strength in my body to give him my
ring size with a smile on my face.

When I climb out of the Land
Rover, I click the button twice just to hear the sonar beep an extra time then
stand back and admire how sleek and sexy my new ride is. I worried about
explaining this beautiful beast to my family, but my father took it
exceptionally well. I think he was just relieved he wouldn’t have to buy me a
new car. The Chrysler should be out of the shop next week, but I’m going to
tell my father to sell it. By the time I’m done working for Dane in a few
months, I’ll be able to afford something one-hundred-percent mine.

“Dane’s not in today,” Marlene
says when I walk past her desk that morning.

I stop short, cocking my head.
“Is everything okay?”

“Death in the family.” She
presses her hand across her heart. “He might be in later today, but we’re not
sure. He’s with Beckham right now. Private burial on Saturday. That’s all I
know.”

My heart aches for the man with
the ice-block heart who’s probably suffering in silence, not allowing anyone to
comfort him. I wish he’d let me be with him. Granted, I’m not his girlfriend,
but still. I could at least
serve
him
by offering my support.

Then again, he made it clear
earlier in the week that I’m not in his “inner circle.”

I slip the diamond necklace off
when I get to my desk and place it in an organizer tray in my top drawer. If
he’s not here, there’s no sense in me wearing this. Pulling out my phone, I
send him a text.

SORRY
FOR YOUR LOSS, DANE. I’M HERE IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.

Send
.

He doesn’t respond, and like
some spineless pushover, I can’t help wanting to do something more to please
him. I yank the drawer out and fish around for the necklace, slipping it around
my neck and taking a selfie. It’s just my décolletage, the photo centered on my
necklace. I leave out my face and cleavage, as I’m not about to make his day of
mourning about sex or teasing.

I examine the photo and send it
to him without a caption before taking the necklace off once again and tucking
my phone back in my purse. He can do with it what he wants, but I refuse to
take it personally if he doesn’t respond. He’s busy, and I know family comes
first.

My morning consists of playing
solitaire and making too many trips to the break room for some Earl Grey tea
from the Keurig machine. My afternoon consists of way too many bathroom trips
thanks to said tea, and a little light Internet browsing. I’ve never actually
shopped online, but I type in any store name I can think of and add a
dot com
to the end and squeal like a
schoolgirl when the website pops up. I’m not sure why my father needed to block
all these websites. It’s not like looking at shoes or bags would be some
gateway to the darkest corners of the World Wide Web, but try telling him that.

When it’s time to go, I grab my
necklace and then check the doorknob of Dane’s office, making sure he didn’t
sneak in at some point in the day.

Locked.

I check my phone for the
millionth time that day to see if he got my texts. They show as received, but
he still hasn’t responded.

I just hope he’s okay because I
know he’d never admit it if he weren’t.

***

“I never see you anymore.” My
sister, Waverly, comes into my room that night and throws herself across my
bed. “You’re always working or with Cortland.”

“It’s called being an adult,” I
say, picking at my nails. I need to paint them again before work tomorrow.

“Cortland’s been coming over
almost every night this week,” she laments.

Though we were spared tonight.
He had to help a cousin move into a house. Thank God for small favors.

I lift my gaze in her
direction. “You don’t like him?”

Please
say you don’t like him.

She rolls her eyes. “No, it’s
not that. I mean, he’s
perfect
for
you. And dad loves him. Mom too. Everyone really. It’ll just be weird when
you’re married, and you won’t be here anymore.”

“You’re going to college in the
fall, right? You don’t plan on sticking around?”

“Dad said I could go if I got a
scholarship and if I’m on my best behavior the rest of the school year.”

“When are you
not
on your best behavior? You’re the
golden child. I don’t think it’s possible for you to be any more perfect than
you already are.”

She draws her knees up to her
chest and rests her chin on top of them. “Try telling Dad that. It seems like
no matter what I do, he thinks I can do better. One of these days, I’m going to
snap.”

“Don’t.” I place my hand up.
“Don’t give Dad any reason to do anything extreme. We both know what happened
to Libby Conover from the 2
^nd
Ward.”

“Libby…?”

“Remember? Her father thought
she got too
spirited
and married her
off to some old geezer in Arizona. She was fresh out of high school. Don’t
think it can’t happen to one of us.”

My phone dings in my purse, and
I spring for it without hesitation.

“You’re on that thing all the
time now.” Waverly stands up and crosses her arms.

“I’ve only had it a few days.
How can I be on it all the time?” I call out as she leaves. I press the green
icon on my screen and only after I read his text do I realize I’m holding my
breath and that I smiled the entire time.

SATURDAY
CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH
, he says.

If he were my boyfriend, I
might reply with one of those cute heart emojis or the one with the red lips. I
force the smile off my face though an intense amount of butterflies remain in
my belly. I’m certainly not falling in love with Dane, but I am falling in love
with the escape. The rush. The thrill.

The build up and excitement and
anticipation.

The prospect of freedom.

I type a reply.

DO
YOU NEED ME TO DO ANYTHING SPECIAL TOMORROW? WILL YOU BE IN?

A minute later, he responds.

I
WON’T BE IN. SENDING A CAR TO PICK YOU UP AT ONE FOR LUNCH AT HARBOR BLEU. WEAR
THE BLACK HERVE LEGER DRESS, RED HEELS, GOLD NECKLACE AND NOTHING ELSE. YOU
HAVE AN APPOINTMENT AT NINE AT BELLISIMA DAY SPA ON FORREST AVENUE.

The man needs a distraction,
and I certainly won’t fault him for that.

YES,
MASTER. GOODNIGHT.

DANE

Harbor Bleu is a classy
establishment, but it’s not going to deter me from keeping my hands off Bellamy
as soon as I see her. I’d been planning to treat her to a decent lunch all
week, even before Uncle Leo passed, and I wasn’t about to trash my reservations
in lieu of sitting around Golden Oak moping with Beck and Odessa. Uncle Leo
wouldn’t have liked that. He’d much rather me be out getting pussy and
celebrating the colorful life that old bastard lived until fucking cancer stole
his last fighting breath.

“Right this way, Ms. Miller.”
The maître-d escorts a stunning blonde in sky-high red stilettos my way. Her
hair bounces as she walks, and her breasts peek from the top of the skintight
bandage dress that hugs her curves. She glows. Her skin is luminous like that
of a woman who’s spent all morning at a spa getting waxed, polished, scrubbed,
massaged and moisturized.

I stand to greet her, leaning
over the small candlelit table to kiss her cheek. She slides into the half-moon
booth I’ve reserved in the back of the restaurant and takes the spot next to
me.

“You look beautiful.” I reach
for the diamond necklace and straighten it. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

Not that she had a choice.

“Thank you for the spa
appointment,” she says, running her fingertips along the length of her bare,
soft arm.

“May I offer you a sample?
Trimbach Riesling. Two thousand seven.” A member of the wait staff approaches
us with an open bottle and two pieces of stemware.

Bellamy looks at me, but I’m
more focused on the way the server is looking at her. I’ll deduct one percent
from his tip for each second he feasts on her cleavage.

“Yes, please.” I reach beneath
the tablecloth and squeeze her knee before inching my way up her inner thighs
and way past the hem of her tight dress.

Her chin dips low, and a
curtain of blonde wisps hide her face as she squirms. I wait for the server to
finish pouring our samples and scram before I push her hair away.

“I want to see your face,” I
whisper, my fingers aching to be inside her, though not nearly as much as my
growing cock right now. “I want to see the way you fight it when I…”

Well, well, well.

I was going to fuck her with my
fingers right here over dinner since there’s no finer way to enjoy a medium
rare filet than sitting across from a beautiful woman with an orgasmic flush.

But she’s wearing fucking
panties.

I pull my hand away and lean
into her, nipping her earlobe between my teeth. “I thought I gave you explicit
instructions not to wear anything else besides the dress, the heels, and the
necklace.”

Her gaze narrows.

“The panties, Angel.” I roll my
eyes and lean back. “Go to the ladies’ room, remove them, and bring them back
to me.”

Her jaw drops as her cheeks
flush. “I can’t do that.”

“Pardon?”

“This dress is so short. I
can’t. I’ll be exposed.”

“If it’s that big of a deal,
use your safeword.” I’m challenging her. “But this is an extremely minor, basic
thing, of that you can be sure. I suppose now you’re going to pretend to be all
virtuous.”

I toss back the Riesling sample
and gaze around the restaurant, waiting for her to make up her mind.

“Fine.” She slides out of the
booth, tugging her dress down as she saunters to the restroom, returning five
long minutes later.

“Let me see them.”

Bellamy’s fist is balled, and
she extends it my way, dropping a crumpled lace panty in my lap. I tuck them in
my inner jacket pocket and wait for her to take her spot once again.

My hand wastes no time gliding
back up under her dress, and my cock hardens the second I feel the slickness
between her thighs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” I moan
into her ear, breathing in her salon-scented hair. Two fingers slide between
her folds, pushing inside her and eliciting a soft gasp while my thumb massages
her clit.

“Are we ready to order?” Our
server returns and my fingers have no intention of leaving Bellamy’s pussy
anytime soon.

“Yes, please, I’ll take the
filet. Medium rare. House salad. She’ll have the same.” I hand him our menus
with my free hand.

“Would you two like any bread
with fresh olive oil and parm–”

“No,” I cut him off, my fingers
wriggling inside her clenched walls as her fingers dig into my forearm.

She sighs the second he walks
off and tugs her bottom lip between her perfect teeth.

“Are you waiting for
permission, Angel?” I whisper.

She nods.

“Good girl,” I say. “Come like
no one’s watching. It’s just you and me. We’re the only ones here.”

My thumb presses harder against
her clit as my fingers push deeper, faster. Her chest heaves as her lips smash
together, stifling the moans she refuses to release. Her hips buck against my
fingers until her eyes roll back, and she collapses against my arm.

Her thighs go limp, and I
retract my arm, studying the sweet flush of release that floods her glowing
face.

“Thank you for not faking it
that time.” I scoot slightly and place my napkin over my lap.

Bellamy tilts her head. “What
are you talking about?”

“I highly recommend you not lie
about it.” I tip up my empty glass and set it back down. “That wouldn’t be good
for you at all right now.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is hushed.
“I was nervous.”

I don’t believe her, but I’m
too mentally exhausted to psychoanalyze why she felt the need to do a poor
rendition of a screaming porno orgasm.

“Whatever the reason, I don’t
particularly care. Just don’t fake one again or I’ll ensure you have five in a
row that you absolutely will not be able to fake.”

Forced masturbation isn’t a
kink of mine, but in this case it might serve as a rational deterrent.

Our food arrives piping hot and
on time, and per my calculations our server is now looking at a three percent
tip based on the seventeen times he’s taken liberties at checking out my sub.

“Did you grow up around here?”
She saws gracefully into her filet and forks a small sliver, bringing it to her
rosebud lips.

“No,” I say.

“Where are you from? Or how did
you wind up in Salt Lake City?”

“Here in Utah. And it’s just
the way it happened, Bellamy. How is your steak?”

“Amazing,” she says. “Where’d
you go to school?”

“This isn’t a Q and A session
nor is it a getting-to-know-you date,” I remind her before remembering to
soften my delivery. I slid my hand across the tablecloth, covering hers. “Let’s
just enjoy our meal, shall we? The chef who prepared this meal is co-owner of a
Michelin star restaurant in Chicago.”

The questions stop, and as I
requested, we enjoy our meal together in silence. After paying the check and
escorting her to the chauffeured town car I reserved just for her, I lean over
and kiss her cheek. It’s the second time I’ve done it this afternoon, and I
normally don’t make a habit of showing many displays of affection if any at
all, but she’s been awfully quiet since I nixed her benign interrogation. And
while it wasn’t a sexual act of any kind, I’ll offer her a small amount of
aftercare in the form of a kiss and some reassurance.

“I had fun with you this
afternoon. I needed this.” I brush her arm. “You did well in there.”

“We didn’t do anything for
you,” she says, her clear blue eyes match the sky this afternoon.

“Everything in there was for
me.”

My driver pulls up behind her
waiting car.

“Tomorrow night,” I say. “Press
the home button on the GPS of the Discovery. It’ll take you to Golden Oak. Call
me when you pull up to the gate, and bring your overnight bag.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was an
overnight thing.” She places a pointed finger in the air as if to stop me from
going quite yet.

“Oh? I thought I’d made it
clear before?” I widen my stance, unwilling to accept her refusal.

“I can still stop over, I might
just need to leave in the middle of the night to get home before the sun comes
up.”

“Bellamy, you’re not going to
have the strength to drive home after I’m done with you. And you’ll be sleeping
with me that night. My room is being prepared, and I’m having several items
delivered to make your stay especially enjoyable.”

“It’s not that I don’t want
to.” Her gaze lands on the sidewalk.

For a moment, I’m hit with a
Jenessa flashback. I’m punched in the gut all over again, but I refuse to believe
sweet, sultry Bellamy is half the devil incarnate she was.

“This is not up for debate. You
belong to me. You’ll do what I say. End of discussion. I’ll see you Saturday
night.”

I climb into the back of my
Town Car and instruct the driver to take me back to the funeral home so I can
finish planning my uncle’s burial with Beckham. After a whirlwind of a shitty
week, the only thing I have to look forward to is being balls deep in Bellamy’s
sweet as sin pussy tomorrow night.

Dare I say I’m impressed with
myself for waiting? The old me would’ve wasted no time plunging my cock into
that tightness. Something told me she’d be worth the wait.

As we head across town, I take
my phone out to check my email. A call comes in when I’m halfway done scrolling
through a quarterly statement from my accountant, and for a second, I debate
pressing the ignore button, but then I realize it’s my guy.

My background guy.

“That was quick,” I say when I
answer. “Please tell me she’s clean as a whistle.”

“Describe clean as a whistle,”
he says.

My heart stops for a second and
restarts when we hit a pothole in the road. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

Last time, he alluded to
digging up some dirt on Jenessa, but I never imagined just how dirty it would be.

“Well, she is who she says she
is, so that’s good. No known aliases. Graduated from Whispering Hills High five
years ago. Birthdate checks out. Social security number. All the basics are
fine and good.” He stops for a second and pulls in a sigh. “Had to go pretty
deep with this one, check out some of her family members.”

“And?”

“Well, turns out her father is
a card-carrying member of the Apostolic United Brethren. She comes from a poly
family, Dane. Looks like there are three wives. Several children. But they’re
shacking up Main Street style, hiding in plain sight from the rest of the
world. Her dad’s a pharmacist...”

I set the phone down as he
yammers on about mundane details. I tuned everything out after he mentioned the
AUB.

“Dane?” he calls. “Dane, you
still there? You okay?”