ARROGANT MASTER by Winter Renshaw Page B

worthy party dresses. French-tailored suits for the office. Italian
leather purses and belts. A collection of high-end
cosmetics that would make a makeup artist jealous.
    “These things, they’re too expensive for me,” she says. “I-I
can’t take these. I can’t accept these…”
    “You can and you will . Now stop blathering and come to my
office. I’d much rather you show me how excited you are.” I go to hang up, but
instead pull the phone back to my ear. “Oh, and Bellamy. Bring the pale pink
box with the black satin ribbon.”
    A minute later she raps on the door.
    “Come in.”
    That’s good. She’s learning fast.
    Bellamy carries the pale pink box and curious expression on
her pretty face.
    “Go ahead. Open it.” I fold my hands across my stomach and
sit back as she takes a seat across from me.
    She sets the box across her thighs and tugs on the end of a
ribbon until the knot loosens. When she pulls the lid off, her eyes trail from
the neatly folded velvet negligee to me and back.
    “What’s this?” She lifts it up like it’s made out of china
and not crushed velvet the color of a lustrous midnight. Her cheeks flush
instantaneously. “You want me to wear this for you sometime?”
    “I want you to wear this for me now .”
    Spreading it across her lap, she runs her hand along the
tickling texture while biting her lower lip.
    “Don’t tell me you’re shy about your body.” I sit up, my
eyes departing the fullness of her lower lip and scaling the length of her
luscious curves.
    She glances up at me. “I’m not shy about my body; I’m just trying
to picture how this is going to look on me.”
    “That’s not for you to worry about, Angel,” I say. “I’m the
only one who’ll ever see you in this, and I know for a fact you’re going to
look sexy as sin.”
    “Thank you, Master.”
    “You can thank me by putting it on.” I motion toward my
private en suite bath.
    After the longest ten minutes of my twenty-eight-year-old
life, Bellamy emerges in the crushed velvet ensemble. The bones of the bustier
hug her rib cage and push her breasts high, creating two soft mounds that
instantly illicit swelling in my cock.
    “Don’t be modest, Bellamy.” I head across the room to wear
she’s anchored in the doorway. My hands rest on her hips, and I pull her against
me. She sucks in a quick breath and flashes an awkward smile that makes me
think she feels silly. “You look fucking incredible.”
    Her clear eyes search mine though I’m not sure for what. If
she’s looking for my approval, I’m not sure what more I can do besides press
her against my hard cock. That’s my endorsement right there.
    “And you’re going to look even more amazing on all fours
sucking my cock while I take my conference call this morning.” I make this
about sex, because that’s what it’s about, and the last thing I need is for her
confusing palpable lust with romance.
    Big difference.
    Romance implies love, and I’m not a man capable of such a
thing. You can’t give something you’ve never received, and I’m not about to
start now.
    I grip her wrist lightly and spin her around, biting my lip
when her perfect ass comes into view. My free hand takes a generous handful
before slicking around her hips to her front side. My fingers tap the fabric
just above her mound, and she quivers against me.
    “How does it make you feel knowing there’s only a thin piece
of fabric dividing my fingers and your most private place?” I breathe into her
ear.
    She doesn’t answer. Instead, her head falls back against my
shoulder, and I press my fingers against her, feeling the outline of her lips
through the crotch of the panties. My fingers massage with just enough pressure
to elicit the faintest moan from her pretty mouth.
    And then I stop.
    “Your pleasure is in my hands,” I say, turning her to face
me. “Literally and otherwise. Do you understand, Angel?”
    “Yes, Master,” she pants.
    “You will come when I tell