His hand shoots across the table, falling on mine. His movements are brisk and stiff like he’s not one to easily give comfort, but his gaze is reassuring in this moment.
“Don’t ever think that I want to hurt you. I take care of what belongs to me. I’ll take my pleasure and give some back in return. The power may seem to lie in my hands, Bellamy, but it’s really all yours. If you allow me to touch you, to do these things with you, the power is yours.”
Yeah, but it doesn’t feel like it. If I’m tied up and he’s forcing a vibrator between my thighs, who holds the power then?
“I’ll go slow with you,” he says. “I’m not in the habit of baptizing by fire.”
“Appreciated. Thank you.”
Dane slinks back in the chair, his brows coming together as his elbows rest symmetrically on the wooden arms.
“You’re sure you’ve never been trained before?” he asks.
Not in a sexual way and certainly by choice. “Never.”
“Then why do I get the feeling there’s more to you than what you’re telling me? Why do I feel like I’ve barely scratched your surface?”
“Maybe because you’re not a man who trusts easily.”
I’m brazen and ballsy, but I get the feeling Dane’s a man used to having his ass kissed on a daily basis. My fingers cross under the table in hopes that he’ll respect me more for speaking up to him.
“You’d be right, Bellamy. But it doesn’t take a genius to make an assumption like that about a man in a powerful position. The higher I’ve climbed, the more I’ve found that there are very few people left for me to trust. My inner circle is rather small.”
“Am I in your inner circle? As your concierge?”
“No. But you’re in a position of privilege in my life, and you should be grateful for that.”
I roll my eyes on the inside. Dane needs to get over himself. Then again, if I were as rich and powerful and attractive as he is, I might strut around with an aura of arrogance too.
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
Shit. I thought I did that on the inside.
“No?” I ask it, like it’s a question because I don’t know and I didn’t mean to if I did. “I don’t think I did?”
Dane takes a heavy sigh before rocking forward in his chair and rising. He towers above the desk, his jaw set tight.
“Stand,” he orders.
I float above my chair slowly as he wears a calculating glare. “Let me just remind you that I haven’t signed anything yet.”
His fists clench though I get the sense he’s more sexually frustrated than frustrated at me. “You have until the end of the day to officially make up your mind as to whether or not you intend to be my submissive. Your signature on these papers makes it official.”
“Understood.”
“Do you have any questions before I return to my business?”
I have a million of them, but all of them would give away the fact that I’m a flaming virgin, so I shake my head no. A twinge of guilt resides in my chest. I shouldn’t have lied about being a virgin, but he said my job offer was contingent upon my answer, so I panicked.
“Do you have any last confessions or admissions you’d like to share? I’m willing to give you a period of amnesty. Right here. Right now. All confessed will be forgiven. I’m ready to move ahead with you, Bellamy. Anything you’d like to get off your chest?”
I’m a virgin.
My family’s polygamous.
I’m selling myself to you so that I may buy my freedom.
“Nope.” I flash a sweet smile. I’ve just confessed in my head, and that’s good enough for now. Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And like he said, it’s only sex, and he likes his life to be as uncomplicated as possible. I’m doing him a favor by omitting those particular details. “I’ll sign the documents by the close of business today, Dane.”
“Pardon?”
“Master.”
“Good girl.” His words are like the stroke of a hand atop a dog’s head, and he leaves with a wide smile on his face, which I know is as rare as a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that a teeny, tiny part of me almost enjoys making him smile.
I scan the consent form one more time, signing away every part of me and initialing next to the kinds of things I never imagined myself doing in all of my days.
I said I was willing to do whatever it takes, and I meant it.
FIVE
DANE
I hit the pavement with a steady gait, one that leads me to the same bar in which I met Bellamy Miller. The fresh air works like a cold shower, and damn, do I need one. It’s all I can do not to bend her over my knee every time she dares talk back to me.
In all fairness, though, she’s not my sub. Not yet. As it stands now, she’s free to speak to me however she pleases.
This day is going to drag; I can feel it from my clenched jaw to the impatient ache in my cock. Every hour that ticks by until she signs the consent form and N.D.A. will only serve to wind me up. It’s better that I stay away for a few hours. Give her space. Give her time to consider the offer a bit more.
“Mr. Manhattan. Was wondering if I’d see you this week.” Matt, the bartender, greets me the second I step inside.
I slide across a barstool and fix my gaze to a T.V. screen where a commercial advertising some miracle cleaning goop flashes with bright blue and yellow letters. It’s garish and attention seeking, not subtle and inherently elegant.
I like subtle and inherently elegant, and I’ve yet to find a sub with those qualities. I’ve met many subs with daddy issues, subs who crave every kind of abuse, and subs whom I wouldn’t be caught dead with in the light of day. The good ones are always hiding in plain sight.
They’re the sophisticated marketing executive or the wholesome, sweater-wearing kindergarten teacher…
The ingénue drinking champagne on a Tuesday…
I glance to the left, at the very bar stool Bellamy had resided in less than a week ago.
“You want to head back with your drink or you staying up here this time?” Matt nods toward the back room where a plain black door with a glass knocker leads to the Crystal Swan.
Some call it an underground sex club. I call it a secret society, a sanctuary where gentleman of the elite variety can wash away the day’s concerns with a bit of sexual gratification.
A strip club or a brothel it is not.
“Thinking about it,” I say, reaching for the crystal tumbler Matt sits before me. I take a drink and let it sit on my tongue as I contemplate my next move. I could easily head into the club, find a pretty Swan to lose myself with for an hour and retreat back to the office.
But my write up is due for the quarterly stockholders statement by close of business today, and I’ve got a four o’clock phone interview with some solar energy newsletter out of Stockton, California.
Aside from my massive to-do list, I’m not quite feeling the Crystal Swan today.
The same thing happened that day I walked in here. I had every intention of heading back to the club for a bit of escapism, but then I saw her. Long, shapely legs. Fuck me lips. And crystal clear eyes round like two flawless diamonds.
I couldn’t think let alone speak for a solid minute. And when I finally came to my senses, I did what I always do when I need to regain control of a situation.
I became an arrogant asshole.
But then when she mentioned Randy had just hired her, and Randy had told me the week before that he was looking to hire a new submissive sexual concierge, I knew I had to have her. She was all wrong for him and sweet perfection for me.
The crystal tumbler is pressed against my bottom lip before I take another sip. Matt made this one extra strong today as if I walked in here with a big red stamp across my forehead that read, “SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED.”
He knows me well.
“You heading back now?” he asks, pulling the empty tumbler away and tucking it under the bar. “Jenessa’s in today.”