“That’s how it works. Congratulations.” I smirk. “You figured it out in a fraction of the time it takes the others.”
“I don’t even know why I like you.” A palm flies toward my face before clenching into a tight fist. “And when I say that I like you, I don’t mean it romantically. I know you’re terrified of that word. I mean, like I think underneath this outrageous façade of yours, I’m pretty sure there’s a halfway decent human being in there. I’ve caught glimpses of him here and there, but I’ve yet to meet him because I’m pretty sure you dominate him too. He’s probably terrified to make an appearance because of you.”
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?” I stifle a laugh as her narrowed gaze attempts to pin me to the window. “You’re implying there are two sides to me, and that I bully my nice side into hiding. Listen to yourself, Bellamy, but I’m done. I’ve heard all I need to hear. I’ve allowed you to say your peace, and now you need to go.”
With her chest jutting out and her chin held high, she says, “Fine. I’ll go.”
That’s all?
For reasons inexplicable, I’m almost disappointed that she’s lowering her dukes and ending her fight. I quite liked her feisty side because while she was spewing her craziness, I was having my way with her in my head. Pinning her to the wall, ripping her dress off, pushing my fingers as deep inside of her as they would go, and fucking her until she’s a crumpled heap on the floor begging for one more round.
It was an entertaining way to bide the time.
“Before you go,” I say, stopping her in her tracks. “Just tell me why.”
Jenessa’s reason at least made sense though it didn’t make it excusable.
“Why what?”
“Why you would sub for me when you belong to another man?”
Her jaw falls, but she picks it up quickly. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
Bellamy’s words are shortened with emphasis on each syllable.
“You’re lying.”
Her bottom lip quivers. “I don’t belong to anyone but you.”
“Yes, Bellamy. I heard you the first time.”
A thin mist clouds her clear eyes. “You think I ditched you on Saturday to be with another man?”
“In my experience, Bellamy, and I have a world of it,” I say, “the only reason a submissive would ever disobey her Dom is if she had another.”
Her head shakes with a fervor, ruffling her blonde strands until they’re splayed across her pale shoulders. Words reside behind her pinched lips, but I’m not finished speaking to her yet.
“But in your case, you’re extremely green, so I have no reason to think you have another Dom, but I’ve every reason to believe you have another man.” I check my watch and hum faintly. “If I had to guess, and I’m just throwing out a guess here, I’d say it was that fellow who drove you to work the other morning.”
“It’s not like that.” Her hand rubs against her chest like she’s physically pained by this accusation. “If you took two seconds to try and get to know me, you’d know about my situation at home.”
“I’m well aware of your situation at home.” I can’t resist. Opportunity knocked, and I had to answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Your family,” I say. “You’re AUB.”
She hesitates, her lips pressing into a fine line as her brows scrunch. “How’d you know?”
I refuse to explain that we live in the digital age, where anything about anyone can be discovered after a few clicks and the exchanging of money between hands.
“Obviously it’s not an issue,” I state. “Despite the fact that I am vehemently against the idea of polygamous relationships, and I won’t even get into the religious aspect of it, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“Oh?”
“I respect that it’s not something that would’ve come up in conversation,” I say. “I’m not holding that against you, for the record.”
I give myself a silent pat-on-the-back for saving my lawyer some trouble with that one. Wrongful termination suits based on religious beliefs can be a goldmine for the accusing party.
“For the record, I don’t believe in polygamy either,” she says, her eyes darting into mine. We hold our gazes for a second beyond what feels natural to me. “I’m trying to get away, not that you care. Not that it matters to you.”
“How do you know what does and does not matter to me?”
“Okay, fine. Not that I matter to you. There. Fixed it.” Her arms cross and her fingers dig into the flesh of her arms until her knuckles whiten.
“Are you being held prisoner right now? Against your will?”
“It’s complicated, Dane. And if you’re just asking because you’re curious and not because you’re interested in helping get me out of this situation, then please don’t make me waste my breath.”
“What if I said I was interested in helping you?”
“Then I’d tell you to start by un-firing me.”
“Not so fast.”
Bellamy tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s about to cling to what I have to say next.
“I’ll need some time to think about this,” I say, straightening my jacket. “Naturally.”
What good would it do to teach her she could throw a tantrum, call me names, give me some sob story and get what she wants? I’d be doing both of us zero favors by allowing that.
“How much time?” Her pretty eyes widen.
“As much time as I need, Bellamy.” I fold my arms and narrow my gaze in her direction.
“How long would that be?”
“I don’t know? Weeks? Months?”
Her fingers snake up to her neck, gripping just under her jaw as she blinks away tears. “You don’t understand.”
Bellamy falls to her knees once again, like a woman who’s exercised all options and has nothing more to lose. There’s nothing sexy about this stance, and her shoulders rise and fall as her head smashes against the palms of her hands.
Sniffling fills the voids between soft cries.
I’m not good at this.
I’m not good at soothing people when it’s not immediately following an intense sexual scene.
“Stop.” I rake my hand along my jaw, my gaze flicking up. “Stop crying, Bellamy. Stand up. Have a little more respect for yourself. Show me the girl I met. The one drinking champagne on a Tuesday and ignoring the handsome stranger who dared to ask her name. Give me her. I want her.”
Her shoulders shake, harder now, and her palms slick away against her wet cheeks until she drags her eyes to meet mine. She takes a moment and pulls in a long drag of cool air to quell the crying.
“She was a lie.” She focuses on my shoes, refusing to make eye contact. “She never existed.”
TWENTY
BELLAMY
I’m in my office, but I don’t remember how I got here. I think I bolted away from Dane before he had a chance to say another word. I’ve tangled myself into a web of lies, and there’s no one else to blame but myself.
Dane’s an arrogant, pretentious asshole, and all things considered, I don’t even deserve him. He deserves better than some wanna-be sophisticate who’s nothing like the girl she pretends to be.
I walk up to the mirror and grab a tissue, smearing off the Chanel lipstick I’d slicked on for him this morning.
I’m a humiliated fool, no doubt. I thought I could waltz into his office, fall on my knees, take him in my mouth, and redeem myself, but clearly that’s not how he operates.
All the pretty things hanging in my closet will stay there. The makeup. The jewelry. The car. None of it was mine, but it was pretty amazing to step into someone else’s shoes for a change. I take one final look at them, running my hands along the intricate beading of a silk chiffon camisole in twenty shades of ivory I never had a chance to wear.
I shut the closet. It’s not the fancy things I’m going to miss the most. It’s the way I felt when I was his for one whole week of my hopeless life. For a week, I was treasured, lavished, ravished, and needed.