Cortland and my father exchange glances and share a light chuckle together like they’re a couple of old pals bonding.
“Your father said as a child you were addicted to chocolate ice cream. Said you wouldn’t do anything unless they bribed you with it,” my khaki-outfitted suitor says.
“Oh. Yes. That’s right,” I exhale my words along with a handful of relief. “As a small child, yes.”
Dad sits up and dabs his napkin across his mouth. “You two have been courting now for, what, a couple of months?”
“Seven weeks,” Cortland says.
My mothers all grin and tilt their heads like he’s some romantic dreamboat.
“I think it’s time you two spent a little one on one time together,” Dad says. “Why don’t Jane and I run you down to the local ice cream shop. We’ll keep our distance, but this will at least give you two a bit more time to talk.”
Wonderful.
“That would be great, Mr. Miller,” Cortland says. “I’d love that. Bellamy?”
“Can’t say no to that.” I force another smile and drop my fork against my plate. This night needs to end. If I could blink and be in my bed alone right now, that’d be amazing.
Aside from seeing him at Bible study each Wednesday, Cortland comes over on Saturdays. He usually dotes on me for a little while and then ends up helping my father with things around the house. After that we finish the evening with a board game in the family room.
He hasn’t had an opportunity to touch me or kiss me or pin me in weeks, and he wears the expression of a sexually frustrated man aching for a chance to take me to bed and have his way with me once and for all.
That is, after all, his ultimate goal.
That also explains his territory switch at work. He wants to spend more time here. He wants to fast-track the courtship.
“Shall we head out?” My father’s plate is empty, and he motions for my mother to grab the keys to the car. “Cortland and Bellamy?”
Waverly, Kath, and Summer rise up, clearing dishes and starting dinner clean up. I’d give anything to be washing dishes right now.
***
The backseat of the car is dark, and Cortland’s hand twitches on his knee. His stare is penetrating, and I’d give anything for my father to turn around for a second and see the way he looks at me when he doesn’t think anyone will notice.
My father pulls up to the ice cream emporium and shifts his Buick into park. “All right. I’ll let you two skip ahead. It’ll be like we’re not even here.”
Yeah.
Right.
He’ll be watching our every move like some crazy, stalker dad.
Cortland walks me straight up to the cash register where he orders a scoop of chocolate ice cream in a dish for me and a scoop of mint chocolate chip for himself. He doesn’t even give me a chance to browse the fifty other available flavors, and I hate that he ordered for me.
He declines waffle bowls, which are only a fifty-cent upcharge. I’m not sure if he’s cheap, or he doesn’t think I need the extra calories. Either way, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to eat ice cream, and I don’t want to be with him.
“Here you are,” he hands me a pink spoon and a small dish of chocolate ice cream. We find a spot in the corner, a little table for two with two connected swivel chairs. The hard plastic is just as uncomfortable as the turmoil boiling beneath my faux-façade. “Chocolate. Your favorite.”
Chocolate was my favorite when I was, like, five.
“Thank you.”
“This was kind of your father,” he says, using his skilled tongue to lick green ice cream from his spoon. His tongue used to be pure magic. Now it’s a dangerous weapon. “Maybe this’ll open up more opportunities for us to hang out solo? Like really solo.”
I shake my head. “Never. He won’t allow that.”
“Psh.” Cortland scoffs, as if to say, “I’ve got this. I can handle Mark Miller.”
“You don’t know my father very well. He’s crazy protective of his daughters’ virtues and the family reputation.”
I realize how utterly ridiculous I sound considering months ago I had no problem hopping in the backseat of a car with a random guy from church and doing everything but…
And the only reason I never had sex with Cortland was because neither of us had condoms, and I’m not on the pill, and we weren’t about to risk being seen trying to obtain such things.
I stare at deceptively handsome Cortland and can’t help but wonder if he’d be relentlessly pursuing me if I’d given it up already.
He probably wants to screw me just as bad as I want freedom.
Only one of us will win.
“This is my way of protecting your virtue, Bellamy.”
“What are you talking about?”
The door jingles and we both crank our necks to see my father walk in and head up to the counter. Mom is still out in the car. This whole thing is bizarre. He doesn’t make eye contact with us, which I’m sure is his warped way of doing us a favor by pretending we’re strangers.
He’s here, but he’s not.
We wait for my father to walk out with two banana splits before another word is spoken.
“What were you saying a minute ago?” I refuse to drop it. I want to know how the hell he thinks he’s protecting my virtue.
“Because you’re damaged goods.” He says it like he’s stating a scientific fact.
I shove my spoon in the center of the melting mound of ice cream in front of me and shove the cup away. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Bellamy.” He cocks his head, flashing a perfect smile. “You know what I mean. You’ve…you’ve been touched. You’ve done stuff.”
“Yeah. With you.”
“Yeah, but if another guy knew? I don’t think he’d be cool with it. A guy might get the impression that you’re a loose girl.”
What is this, the 1950s?!
“What about you?” I cross my arms over my chest. “What does that make you?”
His lips pucker as he stifles a laugh. “It’s different for guys. You know that.”
I rise, unwilling to tolerate another minute across from that imbecile.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“Throwing this away.” I grab the melting cup of chocolate grossness and trudge to the nearest trash receptacle, chucking it just hard enough not to cause a scene.
Cortland stands up and walks over to me placing his hands on my shoulders and turning us so our faces are away from the watchful eyes of my parents. “Keep sweet, Bellamy. Don’t make a scene. Remember, they’re watching us.”
He turns behind us before glancing around the small ice cream shop.
“Follow me.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He says nothing, but I follow him to a small alcove behind the front of the shop because what other choice do I have?
“I’ve been dying to get you alone for weeks,” he says, the second we’re hidden from view. His lips press into the flesh below my jaws, and his greedy hands slip over my breasts taking squeezing handfuls.
“What are you doing?” I push him off me with what little resistance I have against his sturdy build.
He pushes his whole body into me again, ignoring my obvious discontentment with his behavior. “Don’t you miss this, Bellamy? You, me, backseat of my car. I miss your taste, your scent, those lips wrapped around the best part of me.”
Cortland’s hips jut into mine, and I feel his hardness through the fabric that separates us.
“You’re so addictive,” he moans.
I inhale a mixture of frigid air, dairy smells, and Cortland’s cheap aftershave, but right now I’d give anything for a whiff of Dane’s cologne. He smells like fine soap and expensive leather and top shelf whiskey and the kinds of things I’d never dreamed about until I met him.
“Soon,” he breathes into my ear. “Soon, we’ll be married, and I can have all of you, all the time.”
That’s what you t
hink.
“We’ve only been courting for seven weeks officially,” I say. “I’m not on some fast track to getting married. I still need to decide if you’re right for me.”
“The decision’s been made, sweetheart.” His hand runs from my right breast down the s-curve of my hip before settling on my backside where he gives it a commanding squeeze.
I fight the wave of tears that threaten to consume me. Powerlessness has never been a good look for me.
“We should get going. My dad’s going to wonder where we went.”
Cortland nods toward a drinking fountain. “Just tell him we went to get some water, and you had to use the restroom and I waited for you out here like a gentleman would do.”
“You’ve got an answer for everything.”
He thinks I’m teasing, and he smiles like he considers himself some brilliant bastard.
***
“Goodnight, Bellamy.” Cortland stands a careful distance from me in the driveway of the main house. “I’ll be over again tomorrow.” He glances at my parents. “Of course, if that’s okay with Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”
Mom claps her hands against her heart, her face twisting into a ridiculously pleased expression.
“Absolutely, Cortland.” Dad stands with his hands on his hips, nonchalantly asserting his dominance over the entire situation the way he always does. “You know, it’s about time we meet your folks. Why don’t we plan a big dinner this Saturday afternoon? Weather should be good. We can grill out. Eat outside. Would be fun.”
“Oh, yes,” Mom agrees. “I’d love to meet your mothers.”
“Sure,” Cortland says. “My parents have met Bellamy at Bible study, but I know they’d love to be able to sit down with you all and forge a closer bond.”
He speaks my father’s language better than anyone else I know.
The three of them all turn to me, like they all share one brain.
“Yes,” I say, offering up a fake yawn. “That sounds wonderful. Well, I don’t know about you all, but I’m beat. Going to head up now. Goodnight, Cortland.”
I give a quick wave, since we’re not allowed to touch or kiss or hug, and head inside with a grateful heart: grateful that this night is finally over.
EIGHT
DANE
“How was your evening?” I bump into her, of all places, outside the elevator. She’s early today. Thirty minutes.
She grips the straps of her shoulder bag tight, and I motion for her to go on first. I am, all things considered, a gentleman.
“It was good.” Her words have no flavor to them at all. They’re blanched and bland. She stares straight ahead like she’s in a fog. “Yours?”
“My night was wonderful. Thank you.” I press the button to the fifteenth floor and lean against the railing. A faint perfume fills the small box we share, and I drag her scent into my lungs without her so much as noticing. Gardenia. That’s what it is. Only it’s not as heavy. It’s mixed with something else a bit lighter and complementary.
I love it. It’s subtle and elegant and doesn’t scream for attention like so many of the obnoxious fragrances women wear these days.
The doors ding and separate, and I motion for her to leave first. When she exits, she waits for me to walk next to her.
“I take it you did some thinking last night?” I state the obvious because obviously she wouldn’t be here today if she changed her mind. I slip my key into the double doors that lead into the reception area. It’s just us two for at least the next twenty minutes. I normally use this time to clear my head and prep for the day, but today I’ll make an exception.
Besides, she was extra early today.
For me.
To please me.
Her master.
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’m fired up now more than ever.”
I lick the curve of my lower lip as I try not to show the intense amount of pleasure I get from hearing her say such a thing.
“Excellent. I’ve got a conference call at eight-fifteen, but after that, I’ll make sure Marlene blocks out my schedule so we can continue your training.”
She slips into her office, and I head to mine and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
My fingers drum the wood top of my desk, reaching distance from my phone, and when it finally rings, I clear my throat, let it ring three more times and answer.
“Yes, Bellamy?”
“What is all of this?” She’s breathless, and my only regret is not being there in person to see her face.
The effect wouldn’t have been the same, though.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” I tease.
“The boxes, Dane.” Her words are rushed, jumbling into one another. “These, these things. Are they all for me?”
“Every last item in those packages was hand-selected for you by my personal shopper.”
My subs only have the best. Red-bottomed shoes. Designer jeans. Red-carpet worthy party dresses. French-tailored suits for the office. Italian leather purses and belts. A collection of high-end cosmetics that would make a makeup artist jealous.
“These things, they’re too expensive for me,” she says. “I-I can’t take these. I can’t accept these…”
“You can and you will. Now stop blathering and come to my office. I’d much rather you show me how excited you are.” I go to hang up, but instead pull the phone back to my ear. “Oh, and Bellamy. Bring the pale pink box with the black satin ribbon.”
A minute later she raps on the door.
“Come in.”
That’s good. She’s learning fast.
Bellamy carries the pale pink box and curious expression on her pretty face.
“Go ahead. Open it.” I fold my hands across my stomach and sit back as she takes a seat across from me.
She sets the box across her thighs and tugs on the end of a ribbon until the knot loosens. When she pulls the lid off, her eyes trail from the neatly folded velvet negligee to me and back.
“What’s this?” She lifts it up like it’s made out of china and not crushed velvet the color of a lustrous midnight. Her cheeks flush instantaneously. “You want me to wear this for you sometime?”
“I want you to wear this for me now.”
Spreading it across her lap, she runs her hand along the tickling texture while biting her lower lip.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy about your body.” I sit up, my eyes departing the fullness of her lower lip and scaling the length of her luscious curves.
She glances up at me. “I’m not shy about my body; I’m just trying to picture how this is going to look on me.”
“That’s not for you to worry about, Angel,” I say. “I’m the only one who’ll ever see you in this, and I know for a fact you’re going to look sexy as sin.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“You can thank me by putting it on.” I motion toward my private en suite bath.
After the longest ten minutes of my twenty-eight-year-old life, Bellamy emerges in the crushed velvet ensemble. The bones of the bustier hug her rib cage and push her breasts high, creating two soft mounds that instantly illicit swelling in my cock.
“Don’t be modest, Bellamy.” I head across the room to where she’s anchored in the doorway. My hands rest on her hips, and I pull her against me. She sucks in a quick breath and flashes an awkward smile that makes me think she feels silly. “You look fucking incredible.”
Her clear eyes search mine though I’m not sure for what. If she’s looking for my approval, I’m not sure what more I can do besides press her against my hard cock. That’s my endorsement right there.
“And you’re going to look even more amazing on all fours sucking my cock while I take my conference call this morning.” I make this about sex, because that’s what it’s about, and the last thing I need is for her confusing palpable lust with romance.
Big difference.
Romance implies love, and I’m not a man capab
le of such a thing. You can’t give something you’ve never received, and I’m not about to start now.
I grip her wrist lightly and spin her around, biting my lip when her perfect ass comes into view. My free hand takes a generous handful before slicking around her hips to her front side. My fingers tap the fabric just above her mound, and she quivers against me.
“How does it make you feel knowing there’s only a thin piece of fabric dividing my fingers and your most private place?” I breathe into her ear.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, her head falls back against my shoulder, and I press my fingers against her, feeling the outline of her lips through the crotch of the panties. My fingers massage with just enough pressure to elicit the faintest moan from her pretty mouth.
And then I stop.
“Your pleasure is in my hands,” I say, turning her to face me. “Literally and otherwise. Do you understand, Angel?”
“Yes, Master,” she pants.
“You will come when I tell you. You will only pleasure yourself under my command. And no other man can so much as touch or taste any part of you. Is that also understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You belong to me.” My hands hook the side of her hips. Unable to go another moment without touching her in some way, my mouth finds a soft spot just below dip of her collarbone. First I kiss, and then I suck, pulling her between my teeth and then letting go. She’ll have a mark, but it’ll be the first of many, and it won’t hurt. “You are mine, Bellamy.”
Her eyelids flutter closed. She stands glued in place, waiting for my next command when the phone rings.
“On your knees, Angel.”
She follows me back to my chair where I sink down and recline back slowly. Bellamy drops to her knees, positioning herself on the floor between my thighs.
My cock throbs, fighting the confines of my Italian silk boxers.
“Dane speaking,” I answer.
Bellamy reaches for my belt, running her hand along the outline of my cock in the process. Her delicate hands work steadily. First a faint click of the belt, then the silent pop of a button, and finally the slow unzipping of my suit pants.
She tugs on the waistband of my boxers until I’m fully exposed, and she rises slightly, though still very much on her knees, and presses the head of my cock just enough against her lips that I feel their heat.
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