ARROGANT MASTER

by Winter Renshaw

  DANE

  “What’d you do?”

  Bellamy waits for me outside the elevators first thing Thursday morning.

  I grip my briefcase and step off. “I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

  She’s smiling, so at least there’s that. “I went to Bible study last night. Cortland wouldn’t say a word to me. Literally. Not a single word. He was a freaking mime. I’ve never seen him that way.”

  I square my jaw. “Weird. Maybe he changed his mind about you? People do that, you know. One minute they’re obsessed and the next minute they discard you like yesterday’s trash.”

  “No, no.” She walks in step with me, her words hurried and excited. “Something had to have happened. He wouldn’t just do this.”

  “Are you upset?” I unlock the main doors and let her through first. “Heartbroken?”

  “Hardly.” Her voice has a slight squeal to it, and she hasn’t ceased to smile since the second the doors parted and I saw her standing there in her waist-cinching pencil skirt and the red heels she knows I like on her. “This is the best thing that could’ve possibly happened.”

  “Maybe a bit of an overstatement.” I lead her down the hall to our offices. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

  “I know it was you.”

  I stop, staring ahead at my door, my key pressing an indentation into my fist. If I tell her I helped her, she might get the wrong idea. The last thing I need is for her feeling like I’m some jealous boyfriend when all I ever wanted to do was the proper thing. A woman being harassed and coerced by a jackass like Cortland McGregor called for a slight intervention. The stars aligned. Opportunity knocked. I simply answered.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I slide my key into the lock and twist it.

  “Thank you, Dane.”

  ***

  I don’t trust myself to fuck Bellamy this week.

  Not after last weekend.

  Not after I accidentally made love to her.

  That’s exactly what it was too.

  I could spew all the lies and bullshit about going easy on her and taking her virginity and not wanting to ruin her first time, but the fact of the matter is, I made love to her.

  I tasted her arousal. I caressed her flesh. I claimed those cherry lips. I plunged myself into her with an animalistic hunger I’d only ever experienced once before.

  It can’t happen again.

  End of story.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  BELLAMY

  “Dane’s looking for you.” Brenna peeks her head into the filing room where I’m seated on the ground organizing an enormous stack of paperwork Marlene handed me the second I asked if she needed help with anything.

  Lesson learned.

  “He’s back?” I climb up, heart racing. I’d looked for him earlier, but his office was empty. He must’ve left without saying anything to anyone because even Marlene had no clue where he went. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  I brush the carpet fibers from my knees and strut down the hall, stopping when I see him standing outside my office. His face is twisted, pained almost, like a wince, but not a physical wince, it’s more emotional.

  He opens my door, ushering me in, and locks it behind us.

  Dane lunges for me, his fingers yanking the hem of my blouse out of my skirt. “Who am I to you?”

  I giggle, but not because I’m trying to be cute. “What? Why are you acting like–”

  “Answer the question.” He yanks my top over my head before pressing his mouth into the flesh of my neck. His teeth nip my skin before his lips pull my flesh between them. The fiery sting tells me it’s going to leave a mark.

  Dane spins me around, placing my hands behind my back and wrapping the shirt around them, tying it tight. He bends me over my desk, his hands gripping the back of my hips.

  “Who owns you?” He leans over me, the heat of his words warming my bare back. His fingers tug at my skirt, inching the fabric up until my thong-covered ass is exposed. He snaps the band of my panties, sending a sting rivaled only by the slap he gives my exposed cheek.

  “You,” I say, my cheek pressed against the cool wood of my desk. “You own me.”

  “And what am I?”

  “My master.”

  His hips press into me, and the outline of his erection rubs against my bare flesh. The faint clink of his belt followed by the quick zing of his zipper sends a warmth between my legs before I have time to process what’s happening.

  The crinkle of a foil packet precedes the pressure behind me, as Dane presses his cock into me with one swift insertion. His thrusts are angry. Fast and prompt, like he’s got somewhere to be. With my hands still tied, Dane takes me.

  He doesn’t speak.

  He barely breathes and he certainly doesn’t touch me more than he has to.

  This is nothing like Saturday night.

  Pressure builds between my legs thanks to the hot friction, but I know he’s going to finish soon. This isn’t about me. This is about him. And I get it. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m here to serve him, to pleasure him. I’m on the payroll solely for that purpose.

  I just thought…maybe…things would be different after that first night.

  Dane lets out a bottled groan and falls over me, pinning me to the desk for a moment before pulling out. He unties my wrists and places my shirt on the chair beside us.

  He made his point.

  It’s just sex. That’s all it was ever supposed to be.

  ***

  “I’ve been asked to do some traveling for work,” I say Saturday morning as I help my mothers prep breakfast.

  “What kind of traveling?” Mom asks.

  “Overnight traveling. Mostly going to different conferences in different cities to help set up or man booths and tables. Represent the company. Stuff like that,” I say, whisking a dozen eggs in a mammoth bowl.

  “You’ll have to take that up with your father,” Summer says. “Now that Cortland’s out of the picture, he might think of you as a woman on the prowl.”

  I laugh. On the inside. On the outside I pout. “Can we not talk about him?”

  I’ve been pretending to be sad since Wednesday when I returned from Bible study and promptly informed my parents that Cortland had officially ended our courtship for reasons I refused to discuss. When Waverly attempted to come to my rescue later that night, she came armed with a box of tissues and a mug of hot cocoa. I thanked her and made her swear up, down, and sideways never to breathe his name around me so long as she lives. I convinced her I was so heartbroken that his name should never be spoken around me, and I asked her to spread the word to the rest of the Miller clan.

  “Yes, Bellamy,” Mom says. “That’s the last you’ll hear us mention him. I promise. But you will need to discuss the work travel situation with your dad.”

  “Where’s Kath?” I glance around, making sure she wasn’t standing quietly in a corner somewhere. She has a tendency to blend in like wallpaper sometimes.

  Mom takes a break from chopping green peppers, her eyes lowering. “She’s dealing with a bit of an issue right now.”

  Summer shoots her a look. “I thought we weren’t going to say anything until we had all the details?”

  Mom swats her away. “The cat’s out of the bag, Summer.”

  “Is someone going to tell me?”

  “Kath has a son,” Mom says. “His name is Jensen. He’s eighteen. He’d been living in Arizona with his father for the last decade or so, and he’s gotten into a bit of trouble. Apparently there was a physical altercation between Jensen and his father, and now Jensen’s coming to live with us so he can finish out his senior year.”

  “He’s coming tomorrow,” Summer says. “Kath’s a nervous wreck about it, so don’t say anything. We’re going to help her get her house in order and talk her down from the ledge.”

  “Why’s she so nervous? He’s her son?” I ask.

  “Asking why Kath is ne
rvous about something is like asking why the sky is blue. It just is.” Mom shakes her head, chopping peppers with satisfying cracks of her knife and exchanging knowing smiles with Summer.

  “You’ll meet him at breakfast Monday,” Summer says. “Just make him feel at home, Bellamy. He’s family.”

  ***

  “I guess he was beaten up pretty badly,” I say to Waverly the following Monday as I stir scrambled eggs over the stove. “Don’t stare or anything.”

  “What happened?” she asks, placing a pitcher of orange juice on the table.

  “It’s none of our concern,” Mom says.

  “You’re going to burn those,” Waverly says. “You know how Dad gets about his eggs not being fluffy.”

  I sigh, clicking off the stove. I suppose my mind is elsewhere today. Maybe there was a time when I might be excited to see some fresh blood around here, but not now. My foot’s already halfway out the door. Pretty soon, none of this will concern me. I’ll be one-hundred percent independent. Making it on my own. Answering to no one.

  Dane lingers in the forefront of my mind, where he seems to spend a lot of time lately. I’m enjoying my secret second life more than I ever thought I would. It doesn’t even feel like work anymore.

  Dane Townsend is quite possibly the only man on earth who can make the act of submitting intensely pleasurable.

  I sprinkle some dill into the eggs and scrape them into a serving bowl while Waverly sets the table. Dad’s at the head of the table, squinting at the fine print of the newspaper in his hand. He’s a willful forty-eight-year-old man, refusing to wear reading glasses despite three wives who gently nag him about it.

  Mom squeezes an extra chair at the end of the table for Jensen.

  “Sorry we’re late.” Kath ushers her twins in. “Everyone, this is Jensen.”

  Jensen looks nothing like Kath. He’s dark. Brooding. His muscles press against his tight t-shirt and his left eye is black and blue. He’s not the kind of guy I’d ever want to cross, but the way the corners of his mouth seem to be permanently upturned in the shape of a half-smirk make him slightly less intimidating.

  He zeroes in on Waverly, and I catch her squirm. She’s super inexperienced in the dating department, naturally, and she’s not used to being around many other guys our age.

  Especially dark, handsome ones with muscles for days and a “don’t give a fuck” attitude.

  Jensen grabs a chair and plops down, still watching Waverly. I think he likes the way he makes her squirm from across the table.

  Dad folds his paper. “Good morning, Jensen.”

  Jensen nods, not returning my father’s greeting which I have to admit is ballsy. I take my phone from my pocket and check it under the table, half-ignoring Waverly fumbling with her empty orange juice cup and Jensen topping it off. The guy oozes sex, which is a bit disconcerting for an eighteen-year-old. He could be bad for Waverly, but I have faith that she’ll remember he’s our stepbrother and not some prospective distraction.

  She’s done so well. Graduation is weeks away. College is in three months. There’s no way she’s going to risk any of that for a bad boy with frivolous intentions.

  I tune out the conversation, typing up a quick text to Dane, asking how New York was despite the fact that I’ll see him in an hour. Part of me doesn’t expect him to respond. We’re not friends. I have no business sending casual texts like this. But the other part of me genuinely cares about what he’s doing right now.

  I wish I could’ve gone with him. I’m sure he’s stayed at some fancy hotel with a balcony that overlooks the Hudson River. He could’ve bent me over that railing, and I’d have loved every second of it.

  My cheeks redden as I realize I’m thinking about screwing my boss while my family is eating breakfast and discussing benign topics. My thoughts don’t have a place in the here and now, but I’m not quite sure how to turn them off.

  Besides, even if I could turn them off, I don’t think I’d want to.

  Dane Townsend is my escape in every sense of the word.

  TWENTY-NINE

  DANE

  Six weeks.

  That’s how long Bellamy has been my submissive now.

  I haven’t made love to her since the first night, but I’ve fucked the hell out of her on a weekly basis since then. She’s usually tied up, facing away from me. I can’t look into her eyes when I’m plunging inside her. It messes me up. Makes the whole thing feel deeper than it should.

  The discipline is waning as she learns exactly how to maneuver around me, what to say, and ways to anticipate my needs.

  Bellamy Miller officially lives to serve me, and I should feel guilty handcrafting my perfect sub out of someone so green and naïve, but when I hear that exquisite, peaked breath as I gift her a sweet release, I know she’s just as satisfied with this arrangement as I am.

  And so it shall continue.

  “You’re coming to Nashville with me.” I stay to her that particular Monday, leaning in her doorway.

  She glances away from her computer where she’s actually doing work now. I give her assignments, tedious, mind-numbing assignments everyone else claims to be too busy to complete, and she does them without so much as a single complaint. She even thanks me for the work and finishes most tasks on time if not exceptionally early.

  I couldn’t have asked for a better hybrid employee.

  “Nashville?” she glances at her calendar. “Oh, the conference. It’s next weekend.”

  “Yes.”

  Her jaw slacks. “Oh. Um. I’ll have to figure out a way to tell my parents, but yeah. Okay. I’ll go.”

  “Like you had a choice.”

  She smiles, dipping her chin but keeping her focus on me. She’s looking at me like that again. There may not be love between us, but she’s smitten. I know that much.

  All I have to do is keep her at a distance. That should prevent this perfect arrangement from becoming null and void, ruined and soiled. With equal parts sex and love-free commitment and dedication, we should be able to keep this going for as long as we both would like.

  “I’ve never flown before,” she says.

  “I’ll ensure the private jet is stocked with champagne.”

  She tilts her head, smiling.

  “This Friday, Bellamy, I’m taking you out on the town.” A spark ignites in her eyes though I pretend not to notice. “I’ll have a dress sent sometime this week, and I’ll have Marlene book your appointments at Bellisima Spa.”

  “Thank you.” Her fingers trace her lips, camouflaging a smile. “Looking forward to it.”

  It might be dangerous to take her out on a date at this point when we’re dancing along the razor’s edge. But she deserves it. She’s a good sub who doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for anything, and rarely steps out of line.

  Rewarding her good behavior is just as important as reprimanding her when she misbehaves.

  “Dane?” she calls after me as I step away.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want to get lunch today? I always eat alone, and it’d be fun to get out of the office for a change.”

  This is going to hurt me just as much as it’s going to hurt her, but it’s just the way it has to be.

  “It’s not a good idea, Bellamy.”

  I leave before I have a chance to watch her face fall.

  THIRTY

  BELLAMY

  “We’re having company over for dinner tonight,” Mom announces Friday morning during breakfast prep. “Please wear your Sunday best.”

  “Can’t make it tonight,” I say dryly. “Work thing.”

  I’ve been drooling over the intricately beaded peach and gold dress Dane had sent earlier in the week, and my check-in time at Bellisima is at ten o’clock this morning. I’ve waited all week for this.

  “You didn’t mention that before, and it’s not on the family calendar. You’ll have to reschedule it.” There’s a finality in my mother’s words that send a thick dread to the pit of my stomach. “Our
guest is coming from out of town. Your attendance is mandatory, and Waverly, why on earth do you look so tired this morning? You feeling okay?”

  My sister wears dark circles beneath her clear blue eyes. This house creaks and moans, and I’ve woken up several times in the dead of night to the sound of doors shutting and footsteps trekking down the hall.

  At first I refused to believe it.

  My sister, the golden child, sneaking off in the middle of the night to spend time alone with our stepbrother?

  It didn’t make sense, and it was so unlike her and obscenely far-fetched that I laughed it off.

  And then it happened again.

  And again.

  And then I heard my father talking to our mom in his study one night. I only caught bits and pieces of the conversation, but it went something along the lines of he was worried about Waverly’s virtue, and he wasn’t comfortable sending her off to college in the fall. He even intercepted her acceptance letter to Utah.

  Waverly doesn’t know yet, and I don’t have the heart to tell her. I’m still figuring everything out, piecing what I know together, and waiting for the right time to get out of here.

  I’m taking her with me. She won’t have a life if I don’t.

  “Are you going to tell us who’s coming?” Waverly asks, massaging her temples.

  “Your father will talk to you about it this evening,” Mom says.

  ***

  My stomach sinks as I knock on Dane’s door.

  “Come in,” he calls through the thick wood.

  I step in, taking small, hesitant steps in his direction.

  “What’s with you?” he asks.

  “We’re going to have to postpone our night out.” I soften my gaze, hoping he’ll show mercy toward me.

  His jaw sets, his eyes narrowing. “And why would that be?”

  “I have a mandatory family dinner tonight.” My head hangs, and my eyes wince as I await his response. I’ve been doing so well lately with not disappointing him.

  “You’re almost twenty-fucking-three for Christ’s sake.” He rises, hunching over his desk with clenched fists. “When is it going to end? When are you going to get the hell out of there? Let me help you, Bellamy. I’ll put you up in an apartment downtown. You’ll be free once and for all. What are you waiting for?”