ARROGANT PLAYBOY

by Renshaw, Winter

  “Monsieur Townsend is expecting you.” She smiles until her gaze falls to my jeans and t-shirt.

  I follow her to a grand suite where my dress is hanging up against a tri-fold mirror.

  “Anything you may need is in the en suite bath,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’ll wait out here and take you down.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “What was your name again?”

  “Mathilde.”

  “Thank you, Mathilde. I’ll be just a minute.” I shut the door behind her and tear out of my clothes, careful not to unravel the flawless chignon I managed to twist my hair into before I left. A black lace thong and matching strapless bra rest in a pale pink box on a tufted chair in the corner. I slip into those and step into the black evening gown. A final spin in front of the mirror, and I’m ready.

  When I pull the door open, I’m not expecting to see Dane, but there he is.

  “Oh. Hi.” I bite away a smile, feeling my face flush from the way his eyes devour me from where he stands.

  “I heard you were here,” he says, pushing into the dressing room and shutting the door behind him. “I couldn’t wait.”

  “Who’s impatient now?”

  “Watch the way you speak to me, Bellamy.” He reaches behind me, giving my rear a pinch. “Did you forget who’s doing the tying and cuffing tonight?”

  “Are you threatening me, Master?”

  I’m flirting with my Master, and I’m not even sure that’s allowed, but he’s letting me. Something about him feels different lately. Our dynamic has shifted. He’s lighter around me, shedding layers perhaps. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it, but I’m not about to point it out.

  He leans in, nipping my earlobe. The heat of his breath against my neck sends goose bumps down my arm that travel a bit further and exacerbate the warmth that’s resided in my core all week. The gentle scratch of the lace fabric against my cleft is torture, but being pressed against a tuxedoed Dane who looks about three seconds from ripping my dress off is even more so.

  A knock at the door disrupts our private party.

  “Monsieur.” It’s Mathilde. “You’re needed downstairs. The caterers would like a word with you, and Senator Harris would like to say goodbye before he leaves.”

  “A senator?” I ask. “What kind of party is this again?”

  “A charity gala.” He takes my hand in his, leading me down the stairs like a debutant. Before we round the corner to the final set of stairs, he turns to me and stops. “You look beautiful tonight, Bellamy.”

  “Thank you.” I reach for my champagne earrings, twisting them.

  “Tonight you’re my date,” he says. “Stay next to me. You don’t need to walk behind me or hang your head. Tonight you just need to be yourself.”

  Dane brings the top of my hand to his lips, offering a small kiss that only serves to reiterate that I’m a classy lady tonight.

  We float down the stairs hand in hand, all eyes on us the moment we hit the landing. A pianist plays on a polished Steinway in the corner, and I instantly recognize Chopin’s Nocturne 20.

  “Chopin,” I say with a happy sigh.

  “You like Chopin?” A server with a tray of champagne passes, pausing before us long enough for Dane to grab two flutes.

  “I don’t like. I love.” Growing up, our music options were always relegated to classical or Christian. Chopin was my Nirvana. My musical escape.

  Everything about this night has my name on it.

  “Your drink of choice, if I remember correctly,” he teases, handing me a flute.

  “Thank you.” I lift it toward him before taking a sip, my gaze traveling toward the haunting tune coming from the back of the grand piano.

  “Do you play?” he asks.

  “My sister does,” I say. “I took vocal lessons. She took piano.”

  “Dane, thank you for the entertainment tonight.” A burly man with gray-flecked temples pats Dane on the back.

  “Senator Harris,” Dane says. “Thank you for coming. Your donation is much appreciated. As is your support.”

  “He does good work, this one.” Senator Harris grips Dane’s shoulder tight, flashing a politician’s toothy grin and letting his paw fall. A round-faced woman in an emerald evening gown smiles from behind him. She must be his wife. I offer her a knowing wink and a nod, from one date to another, and she returns my gesture with a smile.

  I lift the flute to my lips, pulling in a careful sip that doesn’t smudge my lipstick. “So what’s this charity? What kind of work do you do?”

  He studies my expression and lowers his drink. “I sponsor lost boys.”

  “Lost boys…” I glance around the grand hall. “Like the boys who get kicked out of FLDS compounds when they’re teenagers?”

  I’ve heard a handful of tragic stories, mostly involving teenage boys being edged out of fundamentalist communities by corrupt elders bent on skewing the male to female ratio.

  “Exactly.” He places his hand on the small of my back.

  “That’s an interesting charity to adopt,” I say. “What made you want to get involved with lost boys?”

  He clears his throat, his gaze scanning the room before returning to me.

  “Because I was one.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  DANE

  I don’t make a habit of opening myself up personally. I’m not fond of feeling or looking weak, and I absolutely abhor the way people look at me when I tell them.

  “You were a lost boy?” Her eyes mist, and I hate that she’s feeling sorry for me.

  “Don’t,” I say.

  “Don’t what?” Her hand covers my forearm.

  “Don’t look at me like that, like I’m some lost soul you feel sorry for.”

  “What those FLDS communities do to those young boys is awful. Of course I’m going to feel sorry for them. For you. You were a victim.”

  I need something stronger than this Moet and Chandon, but right now it’s all I have. I toss it back and pull in a deep breath, wishing I could go back to the moment right before I told her and change course.

  “I don’t feel sorry for myself, and I’ll be extremely displeased with you if you ever look at me like that again.” I set my empty flute on a passing tray, forcing her to release her hold on me.

  “It’s okay to be vulnerable once in a while.”

  “Not for me, and we’re done discussing it.” I adjust the knot of my tie. “Let’s make a final round before guests start leaving in droves. This party’s about to end, and a new one will be starting shortly.”

  I extend my elbow, and her delicate hand hooks my arm as we veer toward a group of bishops mingling with a handful of lobbyists sponsored by wealthy benefactors. We’re all here raising money to fight the good fight.

  No young man should ever be driven to a dirt road ten miles from the nearest town with no more than twenty dollars in his pocket and a sack lunch. Watching the red tail lights of the compound’s seventeenth Suburban disappear in a cloud of gravel dust was a defining moment for me.

  I’d like to think that was the moment I first died inside. Discovering Jenessa’s secret was the second. I know for a fact, I’ll never meet death again because I’m already dead on the inside. I’m not capable of love, and I have no business fantasizing about such a fleeting, temporary thing.

  “Dane, thank you so much for hosting this evening.” Margaret Hollingsworth floats up to my side, placing her hand on my shoulder. She has a mother’s touch and delivery of a ball-busting church elder’s wife. “We had a marvelous time. Do let us know if there’s anything you need from us.”

  “You’re most welcome, Margaret. I have your number.”

  We greet my leaving guests in a makeshift reception line, and after we’ve said the final goodbye of the evening, I turn to Bellamy.

  “You’re quiet,” I say, eyeing the curved staircase that leads to the north wing of the estate. “Are you ready?”

  Bellamy’s eyes close and slowly reopen
before she releases a sweet sigh. “I’m ready.”

  Caterers swirl around us, and the pianist packs up his sheet music. The cleaning crew sweeps, and spritzes, and runs about with bags of trash.

  But right now, it’s just us.

  No one else exists.

  No one else matters.

  I take her hand, leading her upstairs, and she trembles. Warmth radiates from her tender cheek the second I stroke my hand across it and cup her face. The moment we’re around the corner, I press her body against the closest wall and claim her mouth with mine.

  Her tongue is champagne and velvet. The kiss is deep. Needy. I’m not sure who needs it more, but I’m not about to ruin this moment by giving two fucks. All that matters is this is happening.

  I grab the back of her dress, yanking it apart in two pieces straight down the back. She gasps, pulling away from me for a second.

  “I’ve been dying to do that to you.” I flash a crooked grin before smashing her lips once again. We let the dress fall to a heap on the hallway rug, and my hands slide down her back before cupping the underside of her cherry ass. She climbs me, her legs hooking around my hips, and I carry her to the last room at the end of the hall.

  I kick the door shut with the bottom of my dress shoe and deposit Bellamy on the center of my four-poster bed. The lace lingerie she dons looks amazing, but I know for a fact, a naked Bellamy would look even better.

  She kicks her heels off and pushes herself back against a mountain of pillows, her chest rising and falling as she watches me loosen my tie. I remove it with one fluid pull and work my buttons. My cock throbs, pressing against my pants and aching to be inside the beautiful ingénue who belongs only to me.

  I’m not insensitive to the fact that this will be her first time knowing what a real cock feels like inside her. As much as I’d love to push her limits and fuck her seven ways from Sunday, I’m going to have to find some satisfactory middle ground.

  “You’re on my bed, Bellamy, but I’m slightly confused as to why you’re not naked yet?” My pants fall to the floor, and I climb across the bed, delighting when I catch the faint scent of her arousal.

  “Waiting for your command.”

  “Good.” I reach toward her breasts, feeling the peaked nipple protruding from her lace bra. My palm rakes against it, pressing the fabric against her sensitive buds until her head falls back into the pillows. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes,” she breathes. “Please don’t stop.”

  I pull away, reminding her I call the shots, and I’m still very much in control here. The drawer in the left bedside table contains a few items I intended to use tonight, so I reach across and slide it out.

  Restraints. A blindfold. Some toys. A condom. Since it’s her first time, we’re going back to basics.

  I slip the red satin blindfold over her eyes and graze my lips across hers just enough to tease her with the false promise of a kiss. Restricting her vision will make every touch, every lick, every graze, a thousand times more potent.

  “Give me your wrists,” I say. She doesn’t hesitate, and she doesn’t say a single word as I secure the black straps to the bedposts and tighten them. “Ankles.”

  Her shapely legs drag up the bed cover, finding my hands in the dimly lit room. After securing her to all four posts, I retrieve a feather tickler. I skim her full lips before softly dragging it down her neck between her breasts and swirling it over top of her mound.

  “Would you like me to undress you all the way?” I offer.

  “Yes,” she heaves. “Please. I’m ready.”

  I yank her panties off, dragging them across her constricting belly before unhooking her bra. Her breasts react to the cool evening air, swollen and pert. My mouth takes a nipple, swirling and sucking before releasing it.

  My fingers trail down her stomach again, and it caves in response. I stop at her mound, forcing her to wait a few extra seconds because I can, and then I slip a single finger between her wet folds.

  “God, you’re so wet.” I push a finger inside her, followed by a second, as my thumb circles her clit. “Every part of you is extremely turned on right now.”

  “All week,” she pants. “You knew what you were doing.”

  “Of course I did,” I smirk. “It was your punishment. You withheld yourself from me that first weekend, this week I returned the favor.”

  I retract my hand and lean down, running my tongue along her seam and barely grazing her clit. Her hips buck from the tiniest level of sensation I gifted her, and she whimpers.

  “You want that release, don’t you, Angel?” I rest my hand on her inner thigh, feeling it shake and tremble. “You’ve been waiting all week for this, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” She pushes her back into the pillows and tugs on the restraints. “I’ve been so good. I’ve waited, just like you said.”

  I massage her again, just enough that she bucks her hips.

  “Fight it,” I direct. “Not yet.”

  Her knees fight against the restraints, wanting to buckle together, but I pin them flat, giving her inner thighs a light slap. “No, no, Angel. You’re giving yourself to me tonight, just like you wanted. Do you still want to be with me?”

  “I do.” Her tongue glides across her bottom lip. “Please don’t make me wait. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

  “You can and you will.”

  I climb between her spread legs, lowering my tongue a bit more. As much as I’d love to devour her all night, the struggle is real. A few more licks and she’ll come all over my tongue.

  She moans through tightened lips, her hands gripping and pulling at the restraints.

  I’m hard as a rock, literally aching. This demonstration in self-control is just as much mine as it is hers.

  “Please, Dane.”

  My activity pauses.

  She called me Dane.

  Not Master.

  Eyeing her writhing body, I know damn well it’s too late to stop any of this. She wants me, and God, do I want her. But we’re not Dane and Bellamy. This isn’t some sensual, erotic romance filled evening.

  It’s just sex.

  “You will address me as Master,” I remind her, lightly slapping her inner thigh. She flinches and nods.

  “Yes, Master. I’m so sorry.”

  Perhaps she’s too distracted by the intense physical reaction she’s fighting to worry about proper protocol. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt but only because my impatience is beginning to get the best of me.

  I reach across the bed for the condom, tearing the packet with my teeth and gripping the base of my cock as I slide it down. Positioning myself between her wriggling hips, I press the tip against her clit, rubbing it back and forth, up and down.

  “We’re getting close, Angel.” I plunge the head into her soft, wet entrance. The muscles in her stomach ripple and she tugs against the restraints once more. I push myself in another inch, focusing on the way her body shakes in response. When I reach for her nipple and twist it between my fingers, I plunge myself in all at once.

  Bellamy moans through pursed lips, her body tensing and releasing. I pull out and reinsert slowly, feeling her tightness as she clamps around me. Even her body refuses to let me go. My thrusts are soft at first, gentle. I gauge her arousal, ensuring I’m not going to hurt her and pick up in intensity.

  Harder. Deeper. Faster.

  Her pussy is unspoiled. Pristine. Perfect in every way.

  “How does it feel?” I reach my hand behind her ass, cupping it and pushing her into me as I thrust deeper.

  “Amazing.” Her lips part, and I lower mine to them to steal a brief kiss. “Please don’t stop.”

  “Don’t stop what? Kissing you or fucking you?”

  “Both.”

  A slow smile takes up my face, and I’m grateful she can’t see it. I’d hate for her to know exactly how much I’m enjoying taking her innocence and having her wrapped around my throbbing cock.

  I can say with absol
ute certainty, without even blowing my load yet, she was worth the wait.

  She bucks against me as best she can, considering she’s pretty tight, and I know she’s getting close.

  But fuck, so am I.

  I sink myself into her over and over, slipping faster against her slickness and creating a hot friction building up to the moment I’ve been waiting for since the day we met.

  “You can come now.”

  My final thrusts are powerhouses, and the build up from the base of my shaft travels up until I explode inside her clenched walls. Bellamy squeals and her chin juts forward as her mouth forms a locked circle. I keep pumping until I’m completely spent and the muscles in her face have finally relaxed.

  “Dane,” she sighs.

  I pull out and drag my fingertips along her legs, un-cuffing her ankles and then traveling to her wrists. When she’s free, she pulls off her blindfold and offers me the most delirious smile.

  “You’re not to call me Dane.” I shouldn’t have to remind her twice. Sure, the woman is coming down from the most intense orgasm she’s ever experienced in her life, but it’s no excuse. “Not in bed. In bed, I’m your master.”

  She climbs off the bed. “You just screwed me. I can’t call you by your first name?”

  Her arms fold across her chest, indicating the wind has suddenly changed directions. Lucky for us, I’m a skilled sailor who’s met more storms than smooth seas.

  “Don’t,” I walk around the bed toward her, running my palms down her arms. “Don’t ruin this beautiful moment with a tantrum.”

  “It’s not a tantrum. I just don’t understand. We’re both adults. You had your cock inside me. I can’t call you Dane?”

  “Not during sex.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I’m still your Dom. You’re still my sub. It makes perfect sense. Did you think something was going to change because I took you home with me?”

  She refuses to look at me now. The sliver of moonlight peeking in through the break in the curtains paints a picture of a girl with a chip on her shoulder. I pull her into my embrace. I’ve given aftercare a million times, but never because of this.