Protege (12 page)

“You did a magnificent job. I can barely decorate a bedroom.”

“Having the means definitely allows a person more access to creativity. I can't say I would have accepted such an undertaking if I did something else for a living.”

“How old were you when you opened Fernweh?”

His head tipped as he considered. “We just celebrated our ten year anniversary, so twenty-four.” He finished his coffee and placed his napkin on his plate. “Breakfast was delicious, Collette.”

Again, her body heated at his praise. “Thank you, Sir.”

She stood to collect their plates and he caught her wrist. Her breath slowed as she stared at the table, waiting for him to say something. His hold was loose, but enough to keep her still—enough to warn her they were moving out of the casual moment and into something different. “You're very pretty, peach. Very feminine.”

Her breasts pressed against the bodice of the apron. “Thank you, Sir.”

His voice dropped low, in a way that demanded more of her attention. “Place your palms on the table.”

Blinking, she slowly turned, her blood heating as she flattened her hands to the surface. His chair scraped quietly against the floor as the clink of his belt coming undone filled the silence. The skirt of her dress flipped up and his hand coasted softly over her bottom and thighs.

Catching her panties at the hip, he swiftly shifted them down to her knees and tapped her ankles with his foot until her stance widened. The gathered elastic at her knees tightened around her legs as his palm dragged up her spine, lowering her shoulders so she bent over the surface of the table.

Breath jagged, he reached between her thighs and slowly caressed her sex, parting her folds. “You're so responsive to the littlest touch. You're already soaking wet.”

How could she not be? Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. It was surreal. Her breath caught as his touch disappeared and his thighs brushed the backs of hers. He lined his body up with hers, holding her flesh, and filled her in one fluid motion, causing her to rock forward and moan.

He proceeded at a slow pace, thrusting hard. “I've forgotten how nice it is to have a woman take care of my needs. It's been a while. Do you enjoy taking care of me, peach?”

“Yes, Sir.” Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as her body rocked with each deliberate stab of his thick cock.

His grip closed around her hips, drawing her into his thrusts. “And do you enjoy being at my beck and call, there for me to fuck whenever the mood strikes?”

How much she enjoyed it was frightening. “Yes, Sir.”

“That's a good girl.”

Her body tightened as he swiveled his hips, his cock buried deep. “Oh God.” Her palms slickened and she slid a bit lower over the table as he pumped harder without increasing his pace. “Jude . . .” She moaned his name and he growled, deliberately thrusting deep. “Jude!”

The slap of his hips to her backside echoed in the quiet house over their breathing as his pumps quickened. She continued to call out his name as he penetrated deeper and deeper, filling her so profoundly she'd likely feel him inside her for hours.

A fork clattered to the floor and she gasped. His grip loosened on her hip as his arm swept out and cleared the surface, sending dishes crashing to the floor and pitchers shattering. Startled, she tensed, but he gave her no time to react.

Withdrawing, he swatted her ass and she gasped again. “Up on the table.”

Shaking off the shock of his smack and the thrilling result it was having on her desire, she whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

Scurrying to the surface, she posed on her hands and knees as he climbed up behind her. Hitching her hips, he filled her again. His hand slapped down on her behind and she gulped in a sharp breath as heat bloomed along her rear. His hand gathered a hank of her hair, fisting it in a thick ponytail so her face tilted upward.

His rough handling shocked her as much as it excited her. He seemed desperate to have her in a way no man had ever wanted her. His desperation fed the eroticism of their coupling and she was suddenly experiencing sex as someone new, someone fearless in her sexuality.

All inhibitions vanished as she shouted out a litany of words that would make a sailor blush. His hand smacked down on her ass, again and again, patterning her flesh with a delicious burn. It didn't hurt. On the contrary, the slight sting was edging her deeper into a place of hedonistic need. Her climax washed over her in a tumble of shutters and sighs. Her sex fluttered as he pounded into her, fucking right through one orgasm and into another.

Her limbs trembled as her knees slid along the surface of the table, widening her position and lowering her chest closer to the table. He was relentless, folding his body over hers and keeping his rhythm, never letting her go.

His body blanketed hers as his teeth scraped over the damp flesh of her exposed throat, kissing and biting. When he finally finished, his body pinned her in place as his release flooded her.

His breath sawed out of his lungs, echoing in the room. She rested her cheek against the table and panted.

“You please me very much, Collette.”

She exhaled. “Thank you, Sir.”

His body lifted off hers, pulling slowly from the depths of her soul, and she slowly twisted to sit up. Her stocking was bunched around her knee and as she pulled it up she tsked at the run.

“Stay there. Let me find a broom.”

Her shoes were on the floor in a mix of shattered glass and spilled juice. Jude returned and quickly swept the floor, tossing the broken glass into the garbage. He shook out her shoes and slid them on her feet, then paused.

As though the world were suspended in motion, dependent on their next breath, everything stilled as he gave her his first full smile. “I really like you in that apron.”

Her cheeks heated as she blushed. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I think I like when you call me
Jude
,” he said as almost an afterthought to himself.

“Thank you, Jude,” she corrected, a strange warm sensation tunneling through her veins.

His finger traced the pull in her stocking. “We'll get you more.”

“It's okay. There are others in the dresser upstairs.”

His hand closed softly around her thigh. It was an intimate gesture, the kind he hadn't displayed as of yet. The way he held her so delicately, as if her femininity beguiled him, made her very aware of his strength and reserve.

“Go freshen up and I'll take you around Fernweh.”

“Yes . . . Jude.”

His gaze held her a moment longer until he broke their stare. As she took the steps she was short of breath, but not from exertion. There was something about this place that left her out of sorts, as if under a spell. Put a man like Jude Duval in the mix, with his charm and stature and irrefutable authority, and she was done—a puddle of girlish mush.

Her misgivings were slowly fading. It was impressive that such comfort with her surroundings could occur so swiftly. They'd only arrived yesterday afternoon. As much as she wanted to believe it was the beautiful home and charming atmosphere, she knew a large part of her ease was a result of Jude. Though he could be rough, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that drew her in. Somehow he balanced his tender mannerisms with unarguable authority.

When she had replaced her stockings and used the bathroom, she returned downstairs. Jude was on the phone, which gave her enough time to clean up the dishes from breakfast. She reminded herself, again, to ask if pork would be okay for dinner.

“You work fast.”

She spun and laughed. “You snuck up on me.”

“Are you ready?”

Removing the apron, she nodded. “Yes, but before we go, there are pork chops in the fridge. Would you like me to make them for dinner tonight?”

His hand lifted to her chin, his thumb running lightly over her lower lip. “It's very good of you to ask, but I'm afraid I've agreed to have dinner at Ezra's tonight. Lea and some of the other women will be there. They're looking forward to meeting you. You can make the chops tomorrow night.”

“Okay.” The way he stared at her, he could have asked her to serve up her kidneys, and she would have agreed. It made it easier to shelf the twinge of anxiety that came with the expectation of meeting the people she'd briefly been
exposed to
the previous evening.

Breathtaking did not accurately describe the grounds of Fernweh. Lush green lawns carved around stone fixtures and man-made ponds. Jude showed her where the baby geese played, and she hoped to return with a bag of bread for them.

Across the footbridge was a garden. Though nothing was in bloom yet, she hoped she'd catch a glimpse of the perennials during her time there.

She hadn't known what to expect, because everyone was so discreet regarding Fernweh. She was beginning to understand. The château was Jude's and Jude's alone, but the neighboring homes were full of people who lived in accordance with Fernweh's mission.

“Every couple's different. I can't go into detail, because that would breach their privacy. As you come to know them, you'll see what I mean. Some believe in polyamorous marriages, others swing. We're a very tolerant people, which is why we value the sanctuary we've created here.”

“Polyamorous, as in—”

“More than one partner.”

“Oh my.”

“It's not for everyone.”

Was it for him? She stepped under the brush of a willow tree as he held a gate open. “Have you ever been in a relationship like that?”

“No. I'm not one to share what's mine.”

“Oh.” She couldn't decide if this detail was a relief or a disappointment.

“You'll still be shared; however, I'm merely sponsoring you. It's important you experience it to determine how it makes you feel. I'm aware it was checked off in your application, so don't worry that my preferences will hinder your experiences in any way.”

Because she wasn't truly his. Strange, how much that reminder was starting to bother her. How did he remove himself like that? “But you don't like it.”

What if she didn't like it? The idea of being touched by more than one man, worshipped, had undeniable erotic appeal. But when she and Jude were progressing as intimately as they were now, it seemed wrong to entertain such fantasies. They were temporary, so it was silly to deny herself an experience on his account, especially when he had no issue with seeing her with another man. Clearly, she was only his protégé, nothing more.

“This isn't about me. It's about determining your sexual preferences.” And the point was driven home—she was merely a temporary blip on his radar.

She disliked feeling like she was a job to be checked off, but she also appreciated him doing something that typically went against his nature in order to enlighten her. The actuality of doing such a thing, however, was overwhelming. She blew out a long breath. “I can't think about that right now.”

“Does it excite you, the thought of having multiple men pleasuring you at once?”

His curiosity struck her as genuine, and she wondered why he was asking. Was he keeping some sort of personal score? Estimating their compatibility?

No matter how much she tried to entertain the fantasy in that peaceful moment, she couldn't think in terms of multiples. Her mind didn't work past two. Yet there was that twinge of temptation pulling her toward something universally taboo. “Yes, but mostly because it scares me.”

“I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, peach.”

She was growing fond of the nickname he'd chosen for her, liked the sense of closeness it provoked—imagined or otherwise. “Thank you, Jude. I believe you.” After a brief pause, she brazenly slipped her hand into his, relieved when he allowed the contact.

They walked a bit farther, as the day was warm and the skies were clear. “Tell me your thoughts on women,” he said as the house came into view.

“What do you mean?”

“Does the thought of touching a woman excite you?” He had no difficulty speaking of such things.

She, on the other hand, suffered a touch of juvenile embarrassment. “I wouldn't really know what to do.”

“You'd do what you like. You have the advantage of knowing exactly how various attention feels.”

“I'd try anything once.”

He chuckled. “Which is why your application is the conundrum it is. What about letting a woman touch you?”

She shrugged. “That could be nice. Delicate. But in the end, I think I'd still feel like something was missing. I'm pretty sure I'm playing for the right team.”

“But you're willing to switch from time to time if the mood strikes.”

“Either a mood shift or alcohol,” she joked. He laughed, and a thought crossed her mind. “Does the idea of watching me with a woman excite you?”

“In a sense. You're very innocent and I'm intrigued by your reactions. Everyone should have at least one experience with a partner of the same sex. I think it's closed-minded to automatically assume we're born unanimously heterosexual.”

His words surprised her. “Have you ever . . .”

“Been with a man? Yes.”

Her lips parted. She couldn't imagine it. “Do you enjoy it?”

He shrugged. “I've enjoyed some partners more than others. Sometimes it's the setting of the scene rather than the players that make it exciting. However, I find monogamy to be the most satisfying.”

“But you're not involved with anyone at the moment.” Clarification was key. Who knew what these people could abide? She, however, was very uncomfortable sleeping with another person's man.

His smile was reserved, not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes, at the moment I'm unattached, because I choose to be.”

His answer was vague, telling her he didn't want to discuss the details of his personal life. She respected his privacy and let the subject drop, despite her growing curiosity. Why wasn't he married if he'd been doing this for ten years? One would think he'd test his theories on himself.