ARROGANT PLAYBOY

by Renshaw, Winter

  She pouts her bottom lip and promptly winces.

  “How do you feel, Angel?”

  “Tender. Sensitive.” Her fingertips trace the plastic clamps lightly. “But in a good way.”

  “Perfect.”

  “You’ll return them to me before you leave for the day,” I say, standing and grabbing a nearby portfolio. “I’m going to run a few errands, and then I’ve got a presentation to give at the local energy co-op.”

  Tugging her bra into place, she stops when the lace cups catch the clamps. Bellamy winces. “You’re just going to leave me all day? Like this?”

  I place the portfolio aside and strut up to her, dragging my hands down the sides of her bare arms to get one last touch before she’s covered up again. My lips warm at the thought of kissing her ruby pout before I go, but I won’t.

  She needs to want it, and she needs to want it now. It’s part of her punishment. I spent the better part of a week and a half craving her, fantasizing about all the things I wanted to do to her. It all came to a peak just before the night I was to finally take her as mine. The rug was swept out.

  My punishments always fit the crime, and in this case. Bellamy is going to want me, no need me, more than she’s ever needed anything in her young adult life…

  Because last weekend, that’s how badly I needed her.

  TWENTY-TWO

  BELLAMY

  They say it’s not the package that counts but what’s inside.

  And that’s precisely why my heart jumps into my throat when I pull out the weird, c-shaped, rubberized toy Dane gifted me on his way out of the office today.

  Monday it was the nipple clamps.

  Tuesday it was an hour in a chastity device while he tickled and teased every part of me without so much as going near the fiery furnace between my thighs.

  Wednesday it was the elaborate restraint system that held me spread eagle while he examined every part of my body, describing it in the most sexually stimulating way he possibly could, and then proceeding to explain, in detail, what he would do to me if I weren’t still on punishment.

  Today, it’s this contraption…

  A wireless vibrator controlled only by him.

  He’s been screwing my mind all week, but this feels like a move in the right direction.

  Finally.

  I’m to insert it the moment I get the text tonight, and he’s going to tease me from wherever he happens to be at that time. The caveat? I’m still not allowed to orgasm.

  I shove the box under my bed and tuck it behind a group of empty shoes boxes. I would absolutely die if anyone in this household happened to see this. My only hope is that the thing is quiet, because this is an old house, and these walls are paper-thin.

  The clock reads seven, which means it’s time to help get the younger kids to bed. I hop down the hall and take the stairs two at a time until I land in the family room and promptly help my mothers pick up puzzle pieces and Legos while the kids pretend like they’re doing the work.

  I know that trick…

  “It’s so weird not seeing Cortland this week.” My mother bends to reach for a stuffed rabbit and tucks it under her arm. “Have you heard from him, Bellamy?”

  “I haven’t. He’s probably busy working.”

  The truth is, I have absolutely no clue what happened.

  It’s bizarre.

  I thought it was odd he wasn’t here after work on Monday, but I let it go thinking he’d text or call me like he always does. And Tuesday, when I came home, I fully expected his car to be parked out front but it wasn’t. By Wednesday, my father was beginning to get worried, so I put on a good face and called Cortland, leaving a sweet voicemail when he didn’t answer. He wasn’t even at Bible study that night.

  But today? Thursday? Still nothing.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  I’m jumping for joy on the inside, praising destiny and karma and whoever else had a role in removing Cortland McGregor from my life.

  “Something’s up. I can feel it.” Summer dumps a handful of Legos into a plastic tote and snaps the lid. She’s always claiming she’s sensitive or something, like she can predict the weather or the outcome of a baseball game. My father would scold her if she ever said she was psychic. We’re not allowed to talk about anything in this house that the Bible condemns. “I mean, a man just doesn’t turn cold. Something happened. Are you sure you two didn’t have a falling out? You seemed a little distant on Saturday when his family was here.”

  Oh, so it’s automatically my fault?

  “Oh, yeah? I thought everything went well. I had a great time,” I lie. “Maybe he’s traveling for work this week. Or maybe he changed his mind or met someone else. It could be anything. I’m not going to stress about it.”

  “I might have your father give Walter a call to find out what’s going on,” Mom says, chucking a velveteen rabbit into a basket of animal stuffed orphans in the corner.

  “That’s not necessary.” My face pinches and I swat her offer away. “We’re adults. We’ll figure it out. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

  Maybe I should be moping around like some heartbroken princess, but I couldn’t hide my relief if I tried so I’m taking the calm and cool approach.

  “You were so crazy about him, Bellamy,” Kath sighs from across the room. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  Trust me, ladies. That’s one thing you will not need to worry about.

  “Can we not talk about this? You guys are stressing me out.” I turn my back to them so they won’t see the enormous grin consuming my face.

  “Yes, yes,” Summer says. “We’ll drop it for now and think positive thoughts. And if he’s not the one for you, I just know we’ll find you someone even better. Your father has all kinds of connections, and you’re a very eligible bachelorette in our ward.”

  “Come on, guys. I’ll help you pick out your pajamas,” I grab two of the younger kids by the hand and take them to the house next door.

  By the time the house is asleep, I settle into my room and lock the door, paging through a contraband copy of Cosmo magazine while I wait for my text.

  Fifty-Three Ways to Please Your Man Tonight…

  How to Have Multiple Orgasms…

  Be the Best He’s Ever Had…

  I check my phone and ensure I haven’t missed any text messages. Releasing a yawn, I type up a text.

  I’M GETTING TIRED. ARE WE STILL ON FOR TONIGHT?

  The phone rests face down on my chest as I wait for his response and return to the pages of my magazine and learn about moves and positions I never knew were possible.

  My phone buzzes, though it may as well send an electric shock straight through to my heart.

  YOU SOUND IMPATIENT.

  I smile and fire one back.

  IMPATIENT. NEEDY. DESPERATE. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

  He replies ten seconds later.

  MORE THAN YOU COULD POSSIBLY KNOW.

  I zip a quick “What are you waiting for?” back and wait. A moment later, something begins to vibrate, but it’s not my phone. It sounds muffled. Distant.

  Oh, yeah.

  It’s under my bed.

  I fly off, practically landing on my knees and yanking out boxes until I get to the one containing my happy little friend, but by the time I pull it out, it stops vibrating.

  I fire off a text.

  THAT’S NOT FAIR. YOU DIDN’T TELL ME TO START YET.

  My phone lights up. He’s calling.

  He never calls.

  He knows not to.

  I press the green ‘answer’ button and duck under two blankets and a pillow.

  “Why are you calling?” I whisper.

  “To see if you’d answer.”

  “You know I can’t talk,” I whisper again.

  “Fine. Don’t talk. But I want to listen so I can be sure.”

  “Sure about what?”

  “That you don’t come without permission.”

  “You don’t trust me yet,
do you?” I roll to my side and slip the c-shaped toy between my folds and slip the tip inside. I could release myself right now if I tried. Everything he’s done to me all week has stacked up, layers upon layers, building with an unbearable intensity.

  “Of course not,” he replies. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Master.” I giggle and then clamp my hand over my mouth. If anyone catches me, I’ll be a dead woman. Thick, cherry heat warms my cheeks at the mere thought of getting caught. I whisper, “I’m not talking again after this. I can’t, Dane. I really can’t.”

  “Quiet,” he purrs. The gadget vibrates on low, slowly teasing me. A quick pulse on high is all I get before it simmers back down again. “Did you like that, Angel?”

  I don’t answer. I don’t need to.

  He ramps it up higher. Two seconds. Then it stops completely.

  My lower back arches, bucking against the nothingness I wish so desperately was something substantial. I’m positive if I humped my sheets right now I’d come.

  “Here we go, Bellamy.” His low voice tickles my eardrum through the phone and lights my nerve-endings on fire. The device buzzes inside me, steady, constant, just enough but not nearly enough at the same time.

  I want more.

  I need more.

  The gadget makes a soft buzzing sound under my blankets. The wall behind me is the bathroom and the wall in front of me is my parents’ room. My desperation temporarily renders the fear of getting caught null and void.

  My legs part, separating wide and grinding against thin air. I offer him not a single moan, and I fight each and every whimper. All he gets to hear is my breathing, which I’m quite sure he’s using to gauge how close I am. Knowing Dane, he wants to take me to that place just before the edge and then bring me right back just as tortured and unsatisfied as I was when we started.

  The bottom of my tongue slides across my lower lip as the build-up intensifies. If he doesn’t stop soon, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control this…

  Dane blows a satisfied breath into the phone. “And we’re done now. Goodnight, Bellamy.”

  The device stops cold, and the call ends.

  I can’t take another day of this. It ends tomorrow. No more edge play.

  I’m desperate to come, and I’ll do whatever it takes.

  TWENTY-THREE

  DANE

  “Sleep well last night?” I bump into Bellamy outside the elevator bay Friday morning.

  “You’re cruel.”

  She pushes past me, hoisting her bag over her shoulder, but I take her by the wrist and pull her back. It’s early yet. We’re the only ones here.

  “You’re brave to speak to me in that tone. You’re lucky I don’t take you over my knee right here.”

  I pull her into me, locking her into a hold.

  And then everything changes.

  She’s smiling.

  Wearing the stupid grin of a happy girl with sparkling eyes and looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her. I release her, and her pretty beam fades.

  “Have I redeemed myself yet?” Her blue eyes widen, and she tugs her lower lip between her teeth.

  She needs that sweet release, the one I’ve been withholding all week. Her body begs for it as she wriggles before me, hardly able to contain her fidgeting in my presence. I’m staring at the human version of a cat in heat, and I’m the only one who can help her.

  Like I said before, sex is power.

  I take her hand and lead her to my office, and she locks the door behind us like a good sub.

  “Tomorrow.” I release her and take a seat on top of my desk, my hands gripping the ledge of the wood in order to deter myself from gripping every womanly curve of her sinfully delicious body. “Tomorrow, I’m hosting a party at Golden Oak. You’re to be at my side the entire time.”

  “What…kind of party?”

  My arms cross, and I smirk. “Don’t worry. It’s not a kink party it’s a gala. You’ll be dressed in an evening gown and nothing that won’t reveal anything I’m not willing to share with the rest of the world.”

  “I’d ask why you’re springing this on me at the last minute, but I’m sure it’s just another one of your tests.”

  “You know me well.”

  “I’ll be there. I’m going to have to sneak out. And I can’t stay the night.”

  “You have to stay the night.”

  Her jaw hangs. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I’d love to.”

  “I won’t pretend to completely understand your particular situation at home, but I will say that overnight travel will be a required part of this job in the very near future. At some point, you’ll need to figure out a way to make it work.”

  “I’ll plant the seed with my parents next chance I get. You understand I can’t just spring something like that on them.”

  I reach for her and pull her close, inhaling the scent of her clean hair. I’m not sure why I’m doing it. I’m not an affectionate man, and I’m certainly not one to offer up romantic gestures willy-nilly. Maybe it’s the tension I’ve created, and maybe in tormenting her, I’ve tormented myself as well, but she’s fucking irresistible, and I can’t help myself not to touch her.

  In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll get my sweet release, and if she’s a good girl, she’ll get hers. I’ve dreamt of plunging my cock deep into her pussy on a nightly basis since the day I first saw her, and I’ll move Heaven and Earth to ensure it happens.

  “I’m having a dress delivered for you this afternoon,” I say.

  “Is it small enough to slip into my weekend bag?”

  “No.” My palm rakes against her back, falling lower and lower still until it reaches the gentle curve of her ass and fills my hand with a firm squeeze. “I’ll bring it to Golden Oak. You take care of your hair and makeup, and then you can slip into it as soon as you arrive.”

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  “I told you, you’d never have to worry about a thing, did I not?”

  I leave her side and wander to the other end of my desk, pulling out a drawer and handing her a red Cartier box.

  “Here,” I say. “A replacement for the necklace you broke.”

  She holds my gaze, frozen.

  She hated that necklace. I’ve never seen a woman tear off a Cartier diamond necklace like that before. And amidst all the word vomit happening that particular day, I distinctly recall her comparing it to an animal collar, which she heavily resented.

  I crack open the box and present a pair of champagne diamond earrings. Two warm, golden stones set in rose gold dance in the natural sunlight. “Try them on.”

  Bellamy’s hand glides over her chest. “They’re beautiful, Dane. Thank you.”

  “I know you hated the necklace.”

  “I did.”

  She takes the box and removes a diamond earring, cupping it in her palm and examining the facets and the way they dance in her hand.

  “These are still an item of ownership,” I remind her. “But I hope this one will make you a little more comfortable.”

  “These I can do.” There she goes with that smile again, the one that gives her rosy cheeks a faint glow and sends a shimmer to her sky blues.

  This isn’t good.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  BELLAMY

  My heart pounds hard in my ears, the same ears donning an exquisite pair of champagne diamond earrings.

  The house is asleep. It’s just past ten. My father is sleeping at Kath’s tonight, and my sister and mother are out cold. A soft glow from the light above the kitchen stove lights the path down the stairs, and my keys are clenched tight in my hand, ensuring they don’t make as much as a jingle.

  I’m a vision of mascara and lipstick, hair-sprayed hair, and Dane’s favorite perfume. Jeans and a t-shirt hug my body now, but they’re only temporary. Within an hour, I’ll be squeezing myself into the most elegant Italian silk dress I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  I take th
e steps one at a time and in slow motion, my sweaty palm slicking down the oak railing. When I make it to the landing, I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the front door, pressing my body weight into the lock in an attempt to muffle any clicking sound that might echo through the quiet house.

  A gentle snap and the careful twisting of the knob precede my freedom, and I pull the door closed behind me soft and slow. My heels click loud against the concrete of the front porch, and I waste no time yanking them off and sprinting barefoot in the grass until I get to the Land Rover.

  As soon as I’m in, I press the ignition, and it comes to life, purring like a sleepy kitten. I glance up at the house one final time, ensuring it’s still as pitch black as it was when I left it and press the HOME button on the GPS.

  “Forty-six minutes until you reach your destination,” the robotic woman’s voice informs me.

  ***

  His road is dark and lined with a canopy of thick, ancient oaks and smack dab in the middle of nowhere. I spotted his estate from down the road, shining like some sort of beacon. A lavish party is happening behind those walls, the kind of event I never would’ve dreamt of being a part of in a million years.

  I stop at the gate and press the call button.

  “Golden Oak,” a man says through the speaker. “Name please?”

  “Bellamy Miller.”

  The black metal gates clink and part, and I drive forward, pulling up to a two-story porte-cochere and parking behind a white limo. A young man in a tuxedo runs to my door, opening it and doing a double take when he sees I’m in jeans.

  My cheeks flush hot. I don’t think I’m supposed to come in this way.

  “Is there another entrance?”

  “Mademoiselle?” An older French woman in a gray dress comes out of the shadows. “Mademoiselle Miller?”

  “Y-yes.” I point at myself.

  “This way, please.”

  She takes me by the crook of my arm and pulls me to a side door, whisking me up a private set of stairs. The faint lull of conversation mixed with laughter travels up the winding stairs.