Dane peels the glove from his hand and helps me up, positioning me in front of him. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you, Angel.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“I’ve never had a sub make me want to simultaneously punish her and devour her quite like you.” He sighs as if this is the most pressing issue in his life right now. I highly doubt it is. “I think I’m going to have to do both. Climb onto my desk.”

I lean against his polished desk, carefully displacing his pewter clock, his cup of silver bullet pens, and moving his phone out of the way. Dane blows an impatient breath past his lips and lowers himself though he’s certainly not on his knees.

“Exquisite. Really.” His final words send a thrill up and down my spine seconds before his tongue glides into my most tender parts, swirling and licking, owning me deeper and harder with each flick.

I look for something to grab, something to ground me, but there’s nothing but cool, smooth wood and a fourteen karat gold stapler. His tongue abandons me for a moment, skimming my thighs before returning.

Tease.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Angel?” he asks.

I want to tell him not to stop, to keep going. I was getting close. But I can’t say any of that because he’s in control. Even if I wanted to come right now, it isn’t allowed.

My arousal begins to mix with anger, and without warning Cortland’s face flashes in my mind.

No!!

His hands press my legs apart wider, and his face between my thighs and that thing he’s doing with his tongue and the circles makes my body fearful of moving for fear it all might end.

I love this.

But I also hate that being objectified and controlled, the very thing I’m fleeing from at home gets me so hot and bothered I can hardly stand it.

“You can come now,” he says, blowing hot breath on my swollen sex before returning to devour me a final moment.

But it’s too late.

I’ve lost it.

The build up threatened to leave the second I realized I wasn’t allowed to come without his permission, and it packed its bags the second I saw Cortland’s face and started thinking about everything else.

What do I do?!

I draw in a full breath and do what any other woman would do in my situation.

I fake it.

“Mm, yes…” I moan softly, pounding my fist against the desktop. My hips buck and writhe, and he gives my clit a final suck before my movements settle and stop. I have no idea how long a typical orgasm lasts. I’ve never timed myself, so I just do what feels natural.

My eyes search his when he comes up for air, and I immediately love the fact that he doesn’t wear a dopey smile after getting some. He’s a man. He’s all man. He can pleasure a woman with dignity and respect and class, and that’s an art.

“You may clean up now, Angel.” He nods toward the bathroom before swiping the ground and picking up my crumpled panties.

“Thank you.”

Dane leans over his desk, grabbing the satin ribbon off the box in which my lingerie was packaged. He winds it up and shoves it in his desk drawer, a treat for another time I suppose.

I scamper off and change quickly, anxious to ask him what else I might be doing to occupy my time in the office, but when I emerge he’s nowhere to be found. His communication leaves much to be desired, but I’m not exactly in a position to complain.

When I slink back into my office, I’m overwhelmed once again by the amount of boxes and gifts and bags filling every foot of my space. There’s a small path in which I can walk, but that’s it. A small coat closet in the back of my room boasts wooden hangers, and I get to work hanging up my new wardrobe. There’s no way my parents will let me walk in or out of the house in any of this stuff. I might be able to sneak a dress in with my purse, but not the rest of this stuff.

“Chanel.” I examine the tags of a pink blazer and shake my head, fighting a smile. “He’s out of his mind. Certifiably insane. Yep.”

I remove tissue paper from a Gucci box and examine the candy apple red bag that emerges. The hardware is heavy and solid, and the zippers run smooth.

“Dane,” I whisper, loving the way his name feels when I say it. I wish I could say it more. Calling him Master feels contrived and awkward. Silly.

I yank out a Fendi belt and slip it around my waist.

Perfect.

I am an actress, and this is a role I’m playing. I can be this girl. I can be the girl who wears fancy things and graces his presence like I’m some elegant socialite.

With an armful of things that cost more than what my father makes in one year, I head over to the closet and carefully unload. A small ledge below a mirror will house the cosmetics he provided.

I’m not a girl who normally wears much makeup, but I know my way around a makeup kit, especially for special occasions.

As soon as everything is properly stowed, I fold up the boxes and bags and tuck them all into one another. I assume he’ll want all of this back when he’s done with me.

I am an actress. This is my part. These are my costumes.

It’s that simple.

***

My check engine light comes on halfway through my commute home and a burning odor wafts through my air vents. I’m not sure why Waverly got the shiny new Jetta, and I got stuck with the family’s old Chrysler, but I figured this was going to happen one of these days.

I buzz past a green sign that tells me Whispering Hills is twenty-three miles from here. My palms sweat against the steering wheel as my mind dithers. If I pull over and call my father to get me, he’ll wonder where I got my phone. If I drive with this light on and something goes wrong mechanically, I’m not sure my father will pay to fix or replace my car. Money’s tight at home. I heard him saying so the other night to Mom.

But without a car, I won’t have a way to get to Salt Lake City, and I’ll lose my position with Dane.

Wisps of pale smoke escape the front of my hood and graze over my windshield.

I can’t win. Ever.

I smack my hazard light buttons and pull over to a nearby rest stop. One nickel, two dimes and a penny are all I see in my cup holder, so I climb out and begin feeling around between seat cushions and under floor mats until I find two more quarters.

There’s a payphone inside. I’ll use that to call Dad and go from there. I still haven’t quite figured out how to tell him I have a cell phone for work. I’ll get around to it, but I’m not ready yet. If he takes it away, I’m not sure how I’ll explain to Dane that I won’t be reachable 24/7 like he requires.

Shit.

My toes pinch as I walk, reminding me that I’m still wearing the Christian Louboutin heels I’d slipped into per Dane’s request earlier. I changed into a little black dress by some designer I couldn’t pronounce and pranced around in these bad boys the rest of the afternoon. Before I left, I changed back into my old outfit but forgot to switch shoes.

Hopefully, no one at home will notice. I doubt any of them have ever heard of red-bottomed shoes, and I can always say they’re from Target. No one will question me because the truth would seem more preposterous than a lie.

I slip some coins into the phone and dial my dad’s number.

“Mark Miller,” he answers halfway through the first ring. For someone so anti-cell phones, he’s got that thing glued to his hand most of the time.

“Dad, it’s me,” I say.

“Bellamy?”

“Yeah, I’m calling you from a pay phone.” I press my forehead against my balled up fist. “My check engine light came on, so I pulled over.”

Muffled voices come through the other end like my father has covered up the phone and is talking to someone else.

“I’m here with Cortland, and he says his uncle has a towing business. I’ll send Cortland out to pick you up, and someone will come for the car later tonight.”

A sick twist of relief and dread swirl in my belly.