The Dani Collins Erotic Romance Collection: Mastering Her RolePlaying the Master

by Dani Collins

  “Can’t you?” she begged, wanting him to know this same perfection.

  “Yes. Ah, Arianne, I can’t— Ahh, ahh, ahh!”

  She broke at the same time, the expansion within her intensified by the spill of heat, her contractions sharpened by the thick length of his shaft pulsing and moving, the release a hot outpouring of pure love that left her trembling beneath this heaving, quaking man.

  * * *

  “That was not goodbye,” Jason said, lifting onto his elbows to glare from above her.

  Arianne smiled through her tears. “Good.”

  He frowned. “Why do you do that?” he asked, brushing his thumbs beneath each eye. “I was trying not to be so rough this time.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said, closing her hand around his thick wrist. “Sometimes the love just has to come out.”

  He closed his eyes. “Arianne.”

  “No, listen. I’m not trying to obligate you—”

  He swore and moved a hand to cover her mouth. “Arianne,” he said sternly. “I just bought my own passage on this boat because I thought you were going to do your best to throw me overboard if I showed up and tried to stay in here with you. I thought maybe you wanted your pound of flesh over breaking up your marriage. God knows I owe it to you, but I was going to spend the next two weeks doing whatever the hell it took to earn my way into this bed. My hopes are pretty damned high right now that you and I have a future, so damn it, don’t tell me you love me unless you mean it, because I do have some edges you may not be aware of.”

  “What kinds of edges?” she asked behind his hand. “Buying women?”

  “That was a game. I’ve never done that before, and quite enjoyed it, thank you very much.” He set a tender kiss on her smiling lips.

  “I did, too,” she said shyly. “I loved all of it.”

  He pinched her chin. “You knew it was me while it was happening, right? That it was just a game?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He scowled at her, settling his hips deeper into her as his relaxing cock began to recede. “Don’t make light of this. Do you want other men?”

  “I want Carlos,” she admitted softly, running light fingers over the form that had brought her so much pleasure in so many guises. “I want Dominic. That’s a bit of a deal breaker, actually. I want all the men you are, Jason. I’m just afraid I won’t be enough woman for all of them. Are you going to want other women?”

  “My darling Arianne. I barely managed to crawl out of that hotel room yesterday. You damned near killed me, sweetheart.” He graced her upper lip with another tiny kiss. “There’s nothing left for anyone else.”

  “But you and Celine were very…active, but you still—”

  He drew back, his expression turning remote.

  “I encouraged her to proposition your husband because I wanted you. I’m not proud of that. I can’t explain it except to say that my relationships with women had been superficial until then. My relationship with Celine was purely sexual and didn’t involve more than light affection. Your husband was plainly interested in her, so I assumed his emotions were not engaged much, either. But then I saw what his leaving did to your self-confidence, and I was so ashamed.” It took him a second to lift his gaze and meet hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t have much self-confidence before that. I married the first man who seemed to want me and only because I thought I should. But then you and I became friends—you seemed to like my company. I started to think maybe I had something to offer a man, after all. Then Celine told me what kind of tastes you really had, and—” She smiled wryly. “I suffered a bit of a setback, but I think I rallied quite nicely. What do you think?”

  “Very nicely,” he murmured, his warm approval sobering into a small frown of concern. “But I should warn you, I want to make an honest woman of you, sooner than later.” He caught the hand she raised to stroke along his cheekbone, kissing her bunched fingertips. “When I’m certain you know exactly what you’re getting.”

  “What am I getting? A man who buys women’s favors? I intend to use that money to buy some favors of my own, you know.”

  Deep in her sheath, his cock began to reawaken.

  She smiled. “And I know exactly what you are. Easy.”

  “Hard,” he corrected with a grin, and let his weight settle into the cradle of her hips, positioning himself deep in the heart of her. “And I’ll tell you, sweet thing, what you’re going to do with that money. You’re going to gamble it.” He hugged her hips and rolled, pulling her atop him. “You’re going to lose it along with more than you can afford to an Italian gentleman. He’s very understanding, though.”

  “I can earn it back if I’m very, very accommodating?” she guessed, smiling against his neck while smoothly rocking her well-oiled pussy on the piston of his cock.

  “If you accommodate his traveling companion, actually. The young man has led a sheltered life. He’s very shy but deserves to be taught exactly how to please a woman.” His fingertips stroked down her spine, making her arch in reaction to the tickle.

  “Young men can be impatient. Impulsive even. I may have to tie him up,” she warned.

  “You may, my love, you may.” Stroking her with sure hands, he held her to a gentle rhythm. “You may do anything you like.”

  “Do you mean that?” She pushed up to sit and his cock drove deeper, making her shiver with the sharp pleasure-pain sensation. Wriggling, she rocked herself into a more comfortable seat upon him, then smiled at the indulgent way he watched her.

  “Of course I mean it. What do you want?” he asked.

  “It’s just, if we ever do get out of this room, when we meet people, I’d like it if you called me Dominique.”

  “Oh, Arianne. I love you.”

  * * *

  Five years later…

  Jason entered from the garage to the scent of steamed sweet potato. His daughter banged on the tray of her high chair, gummy food on her cheek and in her hair.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” he greeted, kissing the matted mess.

  Arianne turned from the stove with a smile, a cookie sheet of finger foods clasped in her oven mitts. “I thought I’d be ready by the time you got home, but I’m running late.”

  “Where are you going?” He didn’t recall her mentioning a showing this evening.

  “Dominic called. He’s in town tonight and wants to use the cottage.” She used a what-can-you-do tone, laying it on thick.

  “Did he,” Jason said, amused. Instantly turned on. “Got the Chancellor listing, did you?” She was obviously in a mood to celebrate.

  “Uh-huh. I phoned Paula to babysit, told her we’d be over there having a drink, entertaining. One of us has to wait for her. I assume you want me to do that.” She slid a knowing gaze to the tight bulge growing behind his fly.

  “Please.” He accepted the damp cloth she handed him as she scooped up the baby.

  She grinned and kissed him, a lingering, suggestive meeting of lips that he reluctantly let her end when she said, “I have to bathe Megan, but Paula’s on her way. Do you want to take the pastries over and have a drink?”

  “Love to.” He cleaned up the high chair then carried the hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of wine across the lawn to the cottage, leaving the door open to air out rooms that had grown stuffy on such a warm day.

  Uncorking the wine and leaving it to breathe, he strolled to the bedroom and stood facing the closet, looking first at Arianne’s wardrobe, rubbing the spot on his chin where he would apply his goatee once he’d decided what she would wear.

  One of her stylish business suits caught his eye, hung there when she’d changed in here for him a month ago. He remembered that afternoon quite vividly. A showing had canceled and she hadn’t been due to pick up Megan from daycare for a few hours. It had turned into a messy, bawdy sex-fest. Arianne had worn the bitch boots and he’d worn a smile when he had collected their girl from daycare at the appointed time, leaving his wife
asleep on the bed behind him.

  Hmm. The suit wasn’t as conservative as the suits she’d once worn. She allowed him a certain veto right these days where all her clothes were concerned, but the narrow skirt and fitted jacket would do. He left it on the bed for her, closed the blinds and fetched the blue sheet from the stack in the linen closet.

  When he emerged from the other bedroom half an hour later, costumed and aroused, he found her in the suit he’d left for her. She had closed the doors and drapes and now perched on the barstool under the blue sheet in the center of the lounge.

  From somewhere among her old possessions she’d dug up a pair of the ugly granny shoes she’d once worn and had found a turtleneck to wear under the jacket. He hated both on sight and particularly loathed the way she’d skinned back her hair and knotted it in a bun at the back of her neck.

  She knew exactly how to provoke him, the minx.

  “Hello, Arianne.” He halted with the toes of his boots at the edge of the sheet. “I understand you wanted to see me this evening.”

  She bit lips painted a modest pink and brushed at a crease in her skirt. “I was hoping you would help me. I, um, well, I’ve been trying and failing to lose a few pounds. I feel frumpy and undesirable, not sexy at all. I’m pretty sure my husband’s losing interest.”

  A flick of defensive went through him. He found himself having to bite back a protest that every couple with a new baby and two jobs between them found it hard to keep the flames crackling 24/7. They were doing really well, all things considered. They were here, weren’t they?

  The leather gloves that stretched tightly over his knuckles as he clenched his hands into fists reminded him to keep his booted feet planted. Everything in him longed to step forward, yank her to her feet and show her he was every bit as enthralled as he had been the day they’d met. More. He regularly thought he couldn’t possibly love her any more deeply than he already did, only to have her sink him a few more fathoms over his head.

  But his little actress was playing her part well. Her head hung dejectedly, making this game real enough he knew she was planning to test him to his very limits. Anticipation pierced his scrotum as his dick fought the laces he’d knotted so tightly.

  “I’m shocked that a woman as sexually enticing as you are wouldn’t be aware of her attractions, but of course I’ll offer some pointers and encouragement if you need it. Given that you’re married, I couldn’t possibly overstep into physical contact, though.”

  He watched her closely, saw the quiver in her down-swept lashes and the flood of excited color that flushed into her cheeks. A similar rush of anticipation washed through him. This was gonna be good.

  “I’ll have to see these extra pounds and judge for myself. But one step at a time. Why don’t you start by letting your hair down while we talk? And tell me how it feels.”

  THE END

  Playing the Master

  Chapter One

  Removing her glasses so their yellow lenses wouldn’t interfere, Ann peered through the crack in the mirrored bifold door and watched the couple against the wall of the bedroom. The man’s hat was knocked to the floor and his pants hung loose around his thighs. The woman’s skirt was bunched to her waist, revealing her coffee-cream leg hitched on to the man’s thrusting hip.

  They were doing it.

  And watching them made Ann feel…hmm. Nervous, but not in the fearful way some of her observations made her feel. Excited.

  She saw a lot doing this, standing quietly in a spot no one would think to look. Places like a closet with a door ajar were dismissed as empty, and she became a part of the room, like the furniture, silently witnessing all that went on.

  She had learned a lot this way—how people really thought and felt. Whether they stole or simply admired beautiful things. Why they gave their loyalty to a man like her stepfather, Cain.

  Despite the reason he’d brought her here, she liked Paris. The servants in this mansion weren’t on guard against her habit, and Cain was very distracted. More had gone on in the twenty-four hours she’d been here than had happened in the Al-Zahra mansion in a given year.

  The woman seemed to like coupling with this man. In Al-Zahra, Ann had rarely seen men at all, mostly just Fonzo, the chauffeur. He’d been married to her best friend, Raina, the housekeeper. They’d been private people, especially about sex, but Raina had explained certain things when Ann asked. Like how it worked. Ann was deeply curious about the whole process. Did it feel better with someone else than it did alone?

  This couple seemed to think so. They had stepped into the room, loosened and collided with urgency and subdued moaning. Their hips were locked together and grinding. What did that feel like?

  A rush of heat pooled between her legs. Ann fought the sensation, tightening against it, but that only pulsed a sweet pleasure through her loins. It took all her concentration to stand very still and modulate her breathing.

  She swallowed, glad the hushed noise of hands running over clothing and ragged gasps covered her own hitching breaths. The woman’s nails were scraping over the back of the man’s shirt. She arched her neck so her bright red curls bunched on her shoulder and met his thrusts with lifting motions of her hips. The man had his knees bent, his head dipped so his mouth was against her neck. His pale buttocks tensed as he pushed his groin into the woman’s again and again. Their pace grew fevered, their soughs of air sharper.

  Ann burned all over. It was so much more exciting and visceral than the pornography Cain watched. That was very Tab A into Slot B, the actors’ faces never this expressive even when they were shown.

  Rather than the squirmy mixture of repulsion and curiosity she felt when she glanced at that stuff, this sent flutters of real arousal into her abdomen. Her skin prickled under her loose abaya. Transfixed by the struggle, she held her breath, practically with them as she sensed their crisis looming.

  “I’m coming, oh fuck, I’m coming,” the man ground out, thrusting hard into the blue evening gown bunched against the woman’s stomach.

  The woman made noises between anxiety and approval, taut and tall as she accepted the pin of the man’s hips into her own. They held the position of stasis for a long minute, the woman’s face frozen in an expression of joyful anguish.

  Is that what I look like when I fondle in the dark? When she was coming? Ann’s stinging blush turned to one of discomfiture, but she couldn’t wait for this interminable night to end so she could seek the privacy of her room and relive this experience.

  Releasing pleasure-filled sighs, the couple relaxed and slowly disengaged from each other. The man stepped back to tug his pants up his hairy backside. Ann caught a flash of the woman’s mound before she worked her skirt down. Hairless?

  As the man closed his fly and buckled his belt, he said, “Gracias,” but in the way of a sarcastic American.

  “Mon bijou, thank you.” The woman’s breathless English carried an accent that was French, but she pronounced thank as “zank.” She wasn’t blue-black or tall like the Ethiopian maid they’d left in KSA, but her cadence sounded a little like her.

  “Why did you want me to bring you here? Looking for new clients?” the man asked.

  “I don’t troll, you know that. Invitations are strictly by referral. If you breathe a word of the club to anyone, I’ll bar you for life. No, this is lurid curiosity.”

  “Uh-huh.” He sounded skeptical as he picked up his Stetson and positioned it on his ruffled hair. Glancing around the small dressing room, from its plush, round bench in the center to the closets that lined it, to the vanity table with its delicate lamp, he shrugged as though to say, Nothing left to do here. “Feel free to give ol’ Trev a call if you find yourself locked out of any more parties. That was a pleasant little knee trembler, Eloisa. Take care now.”

  He pronounced her name with that same thick drawl. El-oo-ee-sa. Without even a kiss, he left, closing the door behind him.

  Eloisa smoothed her satin gown into place. It hugged lovingly at her wa
ist and across her round hips then revealed one smooth brown thigh through its high slit as she walked forward. Coming to the mirrors, she inspected her reflection for flaws, finger-combing her shiny red locks before cupping each breast to ensure the upper swells sat high over her sweetheart bodice. Removing a lipstick from her bag, she ran it over her capricious smile, eyelids drooped in smug satisfaction.

  Ann’s heart pounded so loud she was sure the sound filled the room. She held her breath, counting the seconds as she willed the woman to finish grooming and leave.

  Instead, Eloisa made one of those tiny shifts of posture and Ann couldn’t even blink. They were staring at one another.

  She can’t see me. It’s dark in here—

  Eloisa pressed the door open and their similar heights put them face-to-face.

  Ann’s stomach plummeted into her knees. She dropped her gaze and fumbled her glasses onto her face. The lenses were greased by her clammy grip and caught, refusing to slide against the caked dryness of her face powder. She left them smudged and crooked.

  Did Eloisa recognize her? Ann had made only the briefest of appearances downstairs when the guests had first arrived. Since then she’d been sidling into alcoves and stairwells, not comfortable being the focus of interest after so many years of being locked away and ignored. She definitely had not wanted to be noticed climbing the back stairs to this room.

  “Quelle surprise,” Eloisa said in a facetious undertone.

  Ann didn’t dare look into her eyes. People who were angry were cruel. You didn’t provoke them by being defiant.

  A noise at the door lifted her startled gaze, but the bifold doors unexpectedly blocked her vision as they were thrown back into their rails. Enclosed in darkness once again, she had the barest sliver to view who entered the room.

  Oh. Porter Navarro.

  Her heart took a further tumbling drop to somewhere in the foyer two stories below. This would be bad. Now her stepfather would find out. If Porter backed out of marrying her, Cain would kill her. Literally. He’d told her so.