The Complete Arrogant Series (30 page)

I haven’t given her permission to change, but there she
goes.

I can’t feel my face, and I can hardly feel my body. I don’t
feel anything but a potent mix of pleasure and power.

“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.