ARROGANT MASTER (7 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.