ARROGANT PLAYBOY (49 page)

My mouth cracks wide as I enjoy
another sip. “If I had a share of Apple stock for every time I heard that…”

“I don’t do love or boyfriends
or any of that,” she attempts to reassure me.

“Bellamy, everyone does love.”

Even a cold-hearted asshole
like myself has considered it from time to time.

“It’s so far off my radar.” Her
hands press against the air. “I promise you, Dane, you have absolutely nothing
to worry about.”

Her fingers criss-cross over
her heart, and a coy grin claims her pretty mouth. Her crystal eyes soften, and
she lowers herself to her knees, tucking the fabric of her skirt over them
first.

“Now, can I please service you,
Master? It would make me a very happy woman, and there’s nothing more I’d
rather do right now.”

BELLAMY

“Get up.” His command sends a
rush of foolish warmth through my body. Either he didn’t buy anything I just
told him, or he’s not in the mood. Maybe I didn’t sound genuine enough that
time?

I tried.

I put everything I had into it.

I played Mary once in a church
Christmas play. All I had to do was hold a plastic baby doll wrapped in muslin
and stare at it like it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Three or
four lines were all I had, but everyone came up afterward and told me my
performance gave them chills.

Guess people need to get out of
Whispering Hills more often.

When I rise, I brush my skirt
and pull it straight around my waist. Dane seems to look at me as if he’s got
x-ray vision that goes clear through to my soul.

“As much as I would love for
you to take my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours, I don’t want to rush
this. It wouldn’t be right, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing my
impatience ruined your training.”

That’s a relief.

“So you’ll give me another
chance?” I clasp my hands together in prayer formation though I’m quite certain
God has no intentions of stopping whatever he’s doing right now to ensure Dane
will still keep me as his submissive-in-training.

“Let’s see how the rest of the
week goes.” He sets his empty glass on the bar and slinks toward me, never
releasing me from his stony gaze. “Grab your bag, Angel, we’re getting out of
here for a bit.”

I don’t ask questions. I don’t
think a submissive would do that. I simply scamper out of his double doors and
duck into my office to grab my purse. He waits as I do it, and when I return,
we walk side by side to the elevator.

After a few steps, I slow my
pace, stepping behind him.

“What are you doing?” He stops
short. I nearly pummel into his backside until the rough carpet catches my
heels.

“I thought since you’re the
dominant one that I should be walking behind you?”

His mouth curls halfway and he
reaches for my hand, pulling me next to him once more. “When we’re out
together, whether it’s for work or recreation, you’re to be at my right hand.
You belong next to me unless I indicate otherwise.”

“Oh.”

He leans into my ear once we
approach the elevator. “There are three places in which you will be expected to
submit to me unconditionally: my office, my bedroom, and the Crystal Swan.”

“What’s the Crystal Swan?”

“That’s where I’m taking you
right now.”

When we reach the main floor,
Dane places his hand on the small of my back and escorts me through the
swinging doors to the city sidewalk. I take long strides, matching his and
elongating my posture.

Queen
of England. Okay. I can do that.

We stop a block away, outside
the bar in which we met on that fateful Tuesday last week. I don’t take him to
be a sentimental man, but I’m not sure why else he’d bring me here.

Dane pulls the door open and
ushers me into the cozy space, only the second he brushes past me, he hooks my
elbow with his hand and pulls me toward a black lacquered door in the back. I’m
not sure how I didn’t notice it before. There’s a clear glass knocker below a
peep hole but no other indication that this door leads to some rabbit hole.

He lifts the glass and knocks
it back into the wood in a distinct, five-knock pattern. Seconds later, the
door pulls open.

“Master Townsend, good to see
you.” A man in a tux pulls the door wide. “Ah, I see you’re bringing a guest
this afternoon. Shall we find a suite for you and your swan?”

“She’s not a swan, and we won’t
be staying long.” His fingers press possessively deep into my flesh though I
don’t think he means to hurt me.

It takes a bit for my eyes to
adjust when something bright in the center of the room sends a sharp sting to
my gaze. The floors are black and white marble, reminding me of a game of
chess, and a glass swan sculpture rests on a large table in the center of a
circular foyer. It’s lit from below and above with a soft, incandescent glow
that shows off the facets and rainbow glimmers in the angles of the sculpted
creature. It’s not glass it’s crystal.

Of course.

“I’ll be showing her around, and
then we’ll finish in the gallery,” Dane says to the greeter.

“Enjoy.” The man holds up a
white-gloved hand and points down a long corridor.

This place isn’t visible from
the street, and I’m willing to bet money it’s not in any phone book or
directory. My palms moisten, and I pray he doesn’t try to take my hand. He can
never know how intimidating this place is.

Exotic lounge music pipes down
hidden speakers, growing louder as we reach a large room at the end of a hall.
Men’s laughter echoes off the high ceilings.

“Hi, Master Dane.” A woman
slinks by in pure white lingerie wearing an eye mask with white feathers
splaying out from the sides. Her head is held low as she addresses him. Lengthy
white feathers drip down her backside, dragging on the floor while she walks in
five inch, Swarovski-crystal-encrusted stilettos.

“Lauren,” he says, giving her a
nod. He still holds onto me though I’m a half step behind him, and when we
enter the room with the music and the men and the laughter, I finally see why.

All eyes fall on me the second
we stand in the doorway. Dane’s hand slips to my waist, hooking me and pulling
me against him. I breathe him in like he’s the oxygen I need to survive this
warped little world I’ve just set foot in.

“This room is for open play,”
he says. “The Swans in white are submissives and the Swans in black are the
Dominatrices.”

A svelte woman in a shiny
leather bustier with a matching g-string and a whip flashes me a red-lipped
smile. I don’t see her eyes because they’re covered in a black-feathered mask.
She, too, wears a floor-grazing tail.

“Well, well, well.” The drunken
slur of a man’s voice originates from behind us. We turn to see an older patron
with a greasy forehead and a tumbler of gin and tonic staring at me with a
stupid grin on his crooked mouth. “Are we initiating today or what’s the deal
with this one? Is she a free for all or what?”

Dane’s open palm presses into
my hip followed by the dig of his fingertips.

“She’s with me, Donny. Move
along.” The low growl of his words elicits an eyebrow raise from the drunkard.

Donny pushes between us, and
for a second I’m sure he’s going to cop a feel on his way through, but to my
relief he doesn’t. He’s just smashed.

“Did he touch you?” Dane’s lips
reach my ears, his voice throaty.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.” He releases me and
straightens his collar before smoothing his hand down his front breast pocket.
“This is a classy establishment, I can assure you of that, but there are some
who were grandfathered in and given lifetime memberships. And some of them
refuse to adhere to the policies.”

“It’s okay.” I want him to take
my hand. Being protected and watched over, like I matter to someone, is a
foreign sensation that creeps over and under my skin, simmering and settling
like an old friend I never knew I missed. Dane wouldn’t want me reading into
it, though, and I’m sure it’s all part of the package, so I force that warmth
away like it was never there.

We leave the playroom and turn
down another dimly lit hall, stopping before a set of black double doors. Dane
swipes a card from his pocket and the lock on the door clicks.

“What’s this?”

Glass shelves line the walls,
filled with what I can only assume are sexual toys and oddities. It’s set up
like a store, though I’ve yet to see a price tag anywhere. A top-lit glass case
displays a myriad of chokers with fabrics ranging from satins and velvets to
leathers and lace. Some have sharp metal spikes while others have crystals and
gemstones dangling from them.

Dane abandons my side,
whooshing across the room to a shelf of see-through phallic objects. Only when
I step closer, do I see what he’s looking at. He grabs a clear one and inspects
it, for what I’m not sure. He moves to the next shelf, pulling a white package
with some c-shaped object off the shelf. It’s still brand new and wrapped in
cellophane.

These things are all for me.
Obviously. I try to swallow as my nerves get the best of me, but my mouth is
cotton.

“You doing okay?” he asks, his
eyes scrunched as he scans the rest of the room.

“Of course.”

I stand idle as he crouches
down to a glass case, his eyes running the length of the shelves until they
hone in on a choker made with black velvet and a prism heart.

“I’ll take that one, Geoffrey,”
he says to the attendant, whom I didn’t notice until now. A burly, clean-cut
man steps out of the shadows and begins examining the items, making notes in a
small ledger book.

“I’ll put these on your tab,
Master Townsend,” Geoffrey says. Everything about him is discreet, and I can
only imagine the secrets he knows. To anyone else, he’s a cashier in an
underground sex toy shop, but his real job is much more important. He’s a
keeper of secrets.

Geoffrey pulls out a large
white bag, wraps the items in white tissue paper, and ties the bag shut with
silky black ribbon. Discreet and elegant.

I’m in a strange land with its
own set of cultures and traditions. I’m taking in every detail from the veins
in the marble tile to the velvet patterns in the wallpaper. The pretty “swans”
who strut around this place are faceless thanks to their masks, and most of the
men stagger around like drunken lost souls filled with secrets and longing and
deep-seeded needs.

I’d never imagine Dane in a
place like this.

Dane takes the bag and juts his
elbow out, nodding for me to take his arm. “We have one more stop before we
go.”

He leads us back down the dark
hall until we stop at the third door on the right. Dane knocks, and a moment
later, a beautiful girl dressed in white pulls the door open. Velvet lined
walls and a crystal chandelier draw us in. A three-fold mirror rests against
the far wall, and a small changing curtain resides next to it.

“Welcome to the dressing room.
Please, come in.” She addresses Dane, but her gaze holds the floor.

“We’re only here for
measurements,” Dane says, nodding my way. I lift my gaze to the white swan. She
reaches for my arm, ushering me to a platform in the middle of the room. A
small measuring tape resides on a nearby table, and she whips it out and slips
it around my bust.

“Arms up, lovely,” she says
with a baby doll voice. “There we go.”

She measures my bust, waist,
and hips, all in front of Dane. Her touch isn’t shy.

“What’s your shoe size,
sweetie?” Her honeyed tone is more for his benefit than mine.

“Seven and a half,” I say.

She struts to the corner of the
room where a small desk is illuminated by a fringed, Victorian lamp that gives
off a warm, burgundy glow.

“I think I’ve got all I need,”
she says. “Master Townsend, I’ll send these measurements to Elisabeth, and
she’ll pull the items once you tell her what you’d like.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Being the quick learner that I
am, I take Dane’s arm and follow him out of the dressing room.

“Everyone knows you here.” I
slap my hand across my mouth, realizing I’ve just spoken out of turn. My body
flinches when his gaze snaps toward me.

Dane reaches for my hand,
slowly pulling it off my mouth. He glances up and down the hall and then
presses me against the wall by way of stepping into me.

“Bellamy.” He leans in, his
mouth grazing my ear. The racing of my heart has nothing on my inability to
catch my breath. I wait for him to speak, only I hear him pull in a breath and
stop, backing off of me with no explanation as to what that just was.

I get the feeling I’m wearing
his patience to the bone.

“Let’s get out of here.” He
doesn’t stick his arm out this time, and I make sure I’m walking at least three
strides behind him.

When we emerge among the
living, the blinding afternoon light sears my eyes. I want to ask if he’s mad
at me, but I can’t say a word. We walk in total silence back to Townsend Tower,
and when we reach the end of our hallway, I refuse to let him walk away without
at least telling me where I stand.

With my hand on the door to my
office, I inhale, and say, “If I’m not right for you, tell me now.”

Only he doesn’t answer, and by
the time I turn around, he’s gone and his door is shut. I’m not sure he heard
me, and I’m not sure I have the courage to march into his office and ask that
question one more time.

I plop down in my chair and
rest my head in my hand before reaching for a pen. It’s the silver bullet pen I
signed the consent form with. I spin it around as fast as I can like I’m
playing spin the bottle.