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

by Dani Collins

  Bringing her damp hand up to brush back her hair, she caught a whiff of her own scent and wondered what Porter would smell like. Taste like.

  What would it really feel like to be fucked by him?

  With a stifled groan, she tried to pull her nightgown into place, but wound up running her hands over her exposed body, rubbing her breasts, digging the heels of her palms into the knot deep in her belly, then rubbing her thighs and fingering into the slick crease that should be pleasantly sated.

  She wasn’t.

  She wanted Porter.

  Delicately parting her wet folds, she imagined him ordering her to let him push his thick finger into her. With a groan, she started all over again.

  Chapter Five

  As she came to the top of the third floor stairs the next morning, Ann heard Cain’s graveled voice raised in outrage.

  “No, it can’t be put off, Navarro. We signed a letter of agreement. Unless you want to pay the withdrawal fee and I’ll find someone else?”

  She was so stunned, she plopped down on the top step, causing a pang of bruised tenderness in her pussy. An insatiable hunger had gripped her last night. It was a little demoralizing, actually, yet also like having the sweetest secret held close to her heart. The weight of her clothing on her sore nipples and the very personal stinging between her legs made her think, Porter. Like she had a lover.

  Like she wasn’t alone in this world, despite being surrounded by voices and eyes and censure.

  Porter’s low voice came to her as a stern tone of indecipherable words. He didn’t lose his temper and shout. It was a tiny detail that made her think, Don’t back out. Please.

  Elbows on thighs, she tried to imagine what would happen if he did. What did it mean that he wanted to? Was he having cold feet about marrying Ann because he was intrigued by Violet?

  A skip of crazy excitement lurched in her chest at the thought, but she was back in her Ann persona, quick to remind herself that no one was interested in such a dull, ignorant girl. Violet had merely been a half-naked version of that docile animal, not one iota less mind-numbing. A dynamic man like Porter wouldn’t be giving Violet a second thought. He was having second thoughts about tying himself down at all.

  Why that thought put a ball of nausea in her stomach, she didn’t know, but it did. Her fertile imagination quickly rolled along to conclude Cain would soon sell her to some other man and—no. Today she would—

  “Mademoiselle,” the servant said from the second floor. “You are unwell? I should bring your breakfast up to you?”

  Ann shook her head and quickly stood, but the floor creaked and both Cain and Porter left the room Porter used as an office. They stared up at her, Cain with contempt, Porter with dismay.

  Subtly shifting her weight, Ann prepared to run, already knowing where in this house she might stay hidden longest from Cain. At least until he’d cooled off.

  “You hear that?” Cain snarled. “He doesn’t want you. I thought you were cleaning yourself up yesterday, but you still look like hell.”

  * * *

  All Porter had thought about for the past twelve hours had been Violet. Acute carnal hunger held him in its grip. None of Eloisa’s providers, no patron or even the owner of the club herself, had interested him. It had to be the leggy, dark-haired sub. He wanted her so much he’d started looking at ways he could put off his written-in-stone obligations to Ann and Cain and make time for Violet.

  Make time with her.

  Now, however, as Porter watched his betrothed shrink in upon herself, a sense of purpose returned to his otherwise self-interested and dissolute life. She averted her face as she stared at the wall, the curve of her cheek pallid. Her mouth was pinched into a tiny line, her hands closed into fists of endurance. She hunched her shoulders self-protectively…

  He saw Tomas’s silhouette doing the same thing. Yes, Mama. I’ll do better, Papa.

  His gut tightened in a combination of savage guilt and anguished grief. He couldn’t let himself forget that marrying Ann would give him controlling interest in the family conglomerate. He’d finally have the upper hand over his father in a way the conscienceless prick would understand. He’d be able to avenge his brother’s lifetime of cringes. At the very least, he couldn’t allow it to happen to Ann, right before his eyes. He tore his attention from her and glared at Cain.

  “I said I wanted more time, not that I didn’t want her. If you’re ready to offer details instead of excuses, we can make headway on the contract right now.” It was what he had to do. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d acted as a savior of sorts for a woman in a bad situation, but his mind leapt rather desperately to Violet. Where would she be in a week? How quickly could he end this marriage he hadn’t even started?

  “Do something with yourself before dinner tonight,” Cain warned with a pointed finger.

  Porter glared his displeasure at Cain, then glanced up, willing Ann to look at him so she could be reassured that he didn’t disapprove of her. Her cowed body language told him all she wanted was to disappear. It really was Tomas all over again.

  He fell back on his old strategy of pulling the attention onto himself. “I won’t be here for dinner,” he stated flatly and gestured Cain to leave her alone and take this into his office.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Ann was searching online for a women’s shelter when the communication window popped up.

  Do you miss KSA? Porter asked.

  No, she replied swiftly.

  What was your life like there?

  She considered how to answer, wondering if he was asking about Cain’s treatment of her. Her stepfather’s remarks this morning had made her feel small and horrid. She wished Porter hadn’t seen it. She certainly didn’t want to draw more attention to that humiliating scene.

  Boring, she replied, which was very true. Then asked, Haven’t you been?

  A few times. 2-3 days each. Why still dress like that if you didn’t like it?

  She was cross-legged on her bed, but pushed a pillow into her headboard and pulled the computer onto her lap as she debated how to answer. Was he judging her?

  Habit, she typed. And comfort, she added, but it was more the emotional comfort of hiding behind a shield, which he didn’t need to know. I don’t have anything else, she allowed. New clothes had been squeezed out of the grocery budget by Raina, not handed over by Cain.

  No answer.

  She chewed her lip. Obviously he’d grown bored waiting for her answer and moved on to other things.

  Order whatever you need. He provided a link.

  She automatically clicked and lost a few minutes in some truly gorgeous outfits from basic day wear to evening gowns to lingerie.

  This is your authorization code. He provided a number-letter combo.

  There aren’t any prices, she pointed out.

  They’ll notify me when you’re approaching the limit I set. Don’t be shy.

  Ha. That was like telling Fonzo not to be a poodle. And this generous gesture weighed on her heart like a boot heel.

  You’re embarrassed by what I wear? She held her finger over the return key then closed her eyes and hit Send.

  It’s a bribe, was his prompt and surprising reply. This deal is important to me. Your cooperation is appreciated.

  She stroked light fingers over the mouse pad, rather mystified by the concept that she was not being forced, but persuaded. Seduced even.

  Maybe marrying him would be okay.

  That thought brought Eloisa to mind and made her scowl at the way she’d been ordered not to tell Porter who she was. To leave him when the time comes. And taunt him until she did.

  Her. Tempt him. What a joke.

  Still, a needy part of her wondered if she really could attract and hold his interest. That, more than anything, propelled her to return to Eloisa’s dark world and even darker motives late that afternoon.

  As she hugged a robe over herself, however, feeling rather violated, she regretted coming here.
The waxing of her brows hadn’t bothered her. Her legs and pits had been uncomfortable swaths, but bearable. The bikini line was downright painful and went too far. She didn’t care how many creams they’d rubbed into her skin to soothe her, she still felt hypersensitive and stark naked.

  Now Tsitsi held what looked like a black-lace bathing suit and expected her to step into it.

  “Keeping him waiting will get you the worst kind of attention,” Eloisa advised.

  “Porter?” She practically leapt out of her skin with ecstatic trepidation. “He’s here?”

  “He didn’t want you to leave last night. Of course he’s here to see you again.”

  But why? His marriage to Ann was important to him. Did he really want to see Violet that badly?

  Deep inside herself, Violet sat up, excited as a child who’d awoken to a Christmas tree buried in gifts.

  “I don’t need to remind you there will be consequences if you tell him who you really are?” Eloisa said.

  She shook her head, preferring he saw her as the person she’d rather be. She stepped into the scrap of clothing Tsitsi held for her and, as the lace climbed up her legs, she let herself take on Violet’s persona, opening her robe voluntarily, then setting it aside and looping her arms into the bodysuit.

  It amounted to very little. Black rose patterns clung like a second skin in front, dipping low at the neckline and cutting high on her hips. The narrow band that arrowed between her legs revealed the freshly waxed edges of her mound.

  The netting in the lace didn’t hide her nipples, especially when they poked against the fabric with edgy anticipation. The back was a crisscross of red silk ribbon above a thong strap that disappeared between her cheeks.

  At first glance in the three-way mirror, the red lines looked like whip lashings against the yellowing of her bruises. Tsitsi had bared her back by rolling her hair atop her head and pinning it with a pair of long chopsticks. The weight made her feel as though she balanced a book on her head.

  She studied the effect of the red ribbons, stomach curdling, while Tsitsi buttoned a sheer skirt around her waist.

  The skirt wasn’t much either, just a flare of plain black sheer that was cut higher on one side and rippled at the hem. A slit fell open below the button, baring her thigh as she stepped down from the dais. Glancing back, she saw her butt cheeks accentuated by the shadow of the small black triangle at the top of the thong strap. It made her ass resemble a heart-shaped pair of bumps that the fabric gracefully draped, but didn’t hide at all.

  “Eloisa,” she murmured in apprehension, still staring backward at herself while Tsitsi strapped her into a fresh pair of stilts. The black shoes had a thick band across her toes and another belted around her ankle with a big square buckle. An odd silver link was sewn into the leather on the narrow strip that followed the tendon down the back of her ankle to her heel.

  “That’s for restraint,” Eloisa provided, following her gaze to the links.

  “No, I meant—what?” Her knees went weak, but at the same time a vision flashed in her mind of having her feet tied open, unable to stop Porter from looking. Touching. Fucking.

  She swallowed and brushed the edge of her thumb along her damp brow, trying to vocalize a protest, but her throat closed. What was wrong with her that she was so thrilled by the idea of being forced to expose herself to Porter? Not any man, just him.

  In one way or another, her life had revolved around not being seen for years. She still wasn’t comfortable like this, without the cloak of her abaya and hijab. The idea of being subjugated any further infuriated her, but somehow the idea of Porter demanding to see her made her clench against a rush of liquid heat between her thighs.

  “Don’t worry. He shouldn’t even touch you before asking for your safe word—” Eloisa paused and dipped her chin in mild exasperation when Violet only stared at her. “You don’t know what a safe word is.”

  She shook her head, at a loss. “And you don’t want him to touch me anyway,” she reminded. “I don’t understand why you’re throwing me in front of him if it bothers you to think of him being attracted to anyone but you.”

  “True,” Eloisa said with a chilly lift of the corners of her mouth. “But Porter breaks hearts like matchsticks, without even trying. Mine, for instance.”

  Eloisa turned to regard her own reflection, her three-piece suit tailored to her figure and very commanding despite her lack of a shirt. After adjusting the angle of her fedora and smoothing her red tie, she dabbed at the corner of her scarlet lips.

  “I thought we meant something to each other, but he set me aside without conscience. He swore it wasn’t me he was rejecting, but matrimony. He would never marry, he said. Yet here we are.”

  She swung around to confront Ann.

  “Here you are. Someone he wants. And wants to marry. He needs to understand how hurtful it is to be refused when you want someone badly. And you don’t want to marry him. That will become obvious to you, Ann. Even if you are attracted to him right now. Whether Ann rejects him or Violet does, it will happen and he will feel the sting.”

  “And you’ll be happy,” Ann murmured.

  Eloisa’s faint smile, her decisive nod, was a cold lick along Ann’s spine.

  Run away, run away, pulsed in her ears, but Eloisa was speaking again.

  “Now, as I said, he shouldn’t touch you at all, but I will explain that a safe word is something people who play use to halt a scene…. I’m still talking above you, aren’t I? Give me a word, ma bichette. Something you wouldn’t forget if you were hurt or scared. Something you would remember in an emergency. Say the first thing you think of.”

  “Fonzo.” She regretted it immediately, but the dog was at the forefront of her mind as she contemplated running and realized she would be abandoning him to an uncertain fate.

  “Perfect.” Eloisa smiled stiffly. “It sounds like a man’s name. He’ll hate it.”

  “Porter? I don’t want him to be angry.” Her blurt was the closest she’d come to insolence with Eloisa.

  “Oh, but you do, chèrie. Test his control. He likes it.”

  Closing her fists would reveal her anxiety and frustration so she didn’t do it. At the same time, nervous excitement swung back and forth in her like a pendulum, making her stomach feel like it swayed in her empty abdomen.

  From the second Porter had closed off their online conversation today, she’d been like Fonzo, alert for another sighting. Despite Eloisa’s nasty game, she ached to see Porter again, like this, to know if he genuinely found her attractive. If he found Violet attractive.

  Nevertheless, she was terrified by everything that was happening to her. A sane part of her urged her to concentrate on escaping that mausoleum Porter called a home. The less rational part fixed her gaze on the heels of Eloisa’s shoes as she followed the woman through the maze of halls to the same loft where she’d met Porter yesterday.

  He wore the same black pants and black shirt with a faint sheen he’d been wearing when she had glimpsed him with Cain this morning. Since then he’d rolled back the sleeves and opened the collar as if he was hot. Or preparing for sweaty work. Her stomach took another dip.

  He waited for her to come to him, heeled behind Eloisa like a dog. She could feel the power and assertiveness radiating off him, but couldn’t find the courage to look into his face and read his expression. What if he wasn’t pleased by her?

  What if he recognized her?

  “Her safe word is Fonzo,” was Eloisa’s first comment after lifting onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

  Mental note, Violet thought. Don’t call the dog by his name.

  “You have two hours to show her around.” As Eloisa stroked her hand appreciatively down the front of his shirt, she added, “Educate her on the possibilities, but don’t touch her.”

  “What if she wants me to touch her?” The smoky timbre of his voice told Violet he was staring right at her. Practically thinking for her.

  She controlled a start of surprise,
refusing to fidget, but her breath came in with the urge to speak up.

  “I’m sure she does, but she’ll be punished if she invites you to.”

  “Perhaps she’ll think it’s worth the consequences to disobey.” Porter suggested in an even more ominous tone.

  A whooshing sensation accosted her. Like she rode in an elevator that had snapped a cable.

  “Perhaps,” Eloisa said as she walked away. “But I think she’s more afraid of me than she is of you.”

  “Are you?” he asked as Eloisa left them.

  Discovering her gaze fixed on the button above Porter’s belt buckle, she forced herself to remember she was Violet. She told herself to lift her head, not just wait for whatever happened next.

  As soon as she did, he snared her gaze with his own.

  Despite the fact it was afternoon, very little light penetrated from the coated windows she’d sat next to last night. The loft had a late-night atmosphere with its dark decor and averted lighting. His eyes might have been brown, but right now they looked black.

  As she stared into them, a vision came to her of her behavior last night. The way she’d repeatedly penetrated herself as she tried to manifest him into her bedroom. Into her body.

  Her blood burned, setting her face alight with acute embarrassment.

  A slow smile expanded across his face. “That’s a lot of guilt. You did as I asked, didn’t you? I’m pleased. Very pleased.”

  The mixture of approval and satisfaction that warmed his gaze made the tight bud of her heart soften and swell even as her cheeks continued to ache with self-consciousness.

  His expression faded to serious. “Does he know? Did he punish you?”

  How did she answer that? At this point, if she belonged to anyone, it was him. Her wicked alter ego took over. “I was sent here for instruction. I was doing as I was told. How could I be punished for that?”

  His arms folded across his wide chest. He tried to look stern, but a snort of amusement left him.

  She kept her gaze on the light pattern of flattened hairs along his forearms and the way his shirtsleeves bulged under tense muscles. He was so strong. That should scare her, but something feminine in her responded more primitively. Strength like that could offer immense protection.