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.”

My mouth curls up halfway, but only for a split second. I’m sure as fuck not smiling because of Jenessa.

“You know, I think I’ll pass.”

 “No prob.”

I hand Matt a twenty and duck out of the bar, opting for a brisk walk before returning to Townsend Tower.

When I’m back to my desk, I scroll over my email, sorting through them in order of importance and ensuring that the ones marked as high are moved to the bottom. I’ll deal with those last. Only pompous assholes have the nerve to use a little red exclamation point.

My phone rings and the extension allocated to Bellamy’s office flashes on my caller ID.

I cock the phone against my shoulder as I type a response to an email from my brother’s assistant. “Yes?”

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern.”

“I finished the consent form.”

I send the email and sit upright. It’s barely past lunch now, and unrelenting excitement flows through me at the realization that we have the rest of the afternoon to begin our training.

“Bring me the form, Bellamy. And the N.D.A.”

“Now?”

I sigh. “Yes. Now.”

She hangs up, and the ticking of the clock fills the silence that consumes my office until the door flies open. I rise, fastening the button of my jacket and taking careful strides toward where she stands in front of the door. Paperwork rests between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’ll take that.” I place the papers on a nearby console, next to the Baccarat crystal swan I received after completing initiation years ago at the club. “Are you ready to begin training?”

“Yes.” Her lips press together as she tucks a strand of hair behind her right ear. Her ears are bare. I’ll have to fix that. My eyes trail down her long neck, the one I’ll be tasting sooner than later. In a past life, Bellamy had to have been a royal, I’m sure of it. Long neck. High cheekbones. Sparkling gaze.

“Pardon?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Very good.”

I circle around her as if I’m assessing her. And I am. I listen as she pulls in a slow breath.

“Do you have any questions for me, Angel?”

“Not yet, Master.”

I can’t see her face, but if I so much as detect a smile or a hint of laughter in her tone when she speaks to me, I’ll take great pleasure in correcting her the best way I see fit.

“You’ll have a myriad of duties, Bellamy. Behind closed doors, you will submit to me sexually. Professionally, you’ll act as a right-hand associate. And socially, you’ll accompany me to events, dinners, and parties.” I pull her hair from her neck and gather it in my hand, tugging it just enough that her chin lifts. “You’ll carry yourself as if you’re the Queen of England at all times. Head held high. A pleasant expression on your face. The epitome of grace and elegance. You have it in you, Bellamy. I noticed it right away. You just need to own it. And I will help you.”

I release her flaxen locks from my grasp and turn her to face me. The gentle curve of her shoulders under my palms could easily become my new favorite addiction.

“The sexual things you consented to are just a small part of this arrangement. You should know that. I’m a man with a very particular sexual appetite, but it doesn’t define me. And this shouldn’t define you either.”

“It’s just sex. I know.”

“Do not speak out of turn, Angel.”

“I’m sorry.” She holds her shoulders straight though her gaze falls to the floor. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“I’m training you now, breaking you in, but after that, there will be no room for mistakes on your part. Is that understood?”

Her full lips part and then seam together. Instead of speaking, she nods.

“I don’t want you afraid of me. Please. I would feel like a monster if you were terrified of me.” I graze my hand along her collarbone. Her neck is bare, but she belongs in diamonds. “You are mine. It’s my job to spoil you. Care for you. Ensure you have everything you need. The world is your oyster now, Bellamy. You won’t need to ask for a single thing because everything will be provided for you.”

My hand cups the underside of her sophisticated jawline, and I lead her face toward mine, inhaling her in like a full-bodied wine.

“I’m going to kiss you, Bellamy, because I want you to trust me. Are you ready?”