Protege (15 page)

As Collette tried to recall which room was the library, her stomach knotted. Panic pierced her gut with each step closer to where he waited.

He was sending her home. She could sense it. Something wasn't right. He'd said he was happy with her last night, but then he'd driven her straight to ecstasy and suddenly left. Which could only mean she'd done something wrong.

As she recognized the double French doors and the faint scent of old books, her pulse pounded. She wouldn't beg. He'd brought her here and shown her enough to let her know this was in the vicinity of everything she'd yearned for. For that, she could not begrudge him.

She'd only ask that he'd pay her the courtesy of explaining what she'd done wrong. She'd reflect and try again with someone else. Though the thought of someone else seemed debilitating at the moment.

The door was closed so she knocked. “Come in,” he called, and she quietly stepped over the threshold. He hardly glanced at her as he gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

She slid into the upholstered chair. Her seat was angled to face his. He steepled his fingers and studied her. She was becoming more tolerant of his lengthy perusals of her body. Mr. Duval liked to stare. Somehow he made it less rude and more unnerving.

“Breakfast was very nice this morning. You're a good cook, peach.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Although he'd said that several times before, it never stopped filling her with deep satisfaction. His praise was rare, but always genuine, and therefore it deserved to be treasured.

“I've asked you here to talk. I think, as we embark on this journey of self-discovery, it's important to touch down and take some time to reflect. It will also help me when I'm compiling your file.”

Her lashes lifted with stunned relief. “You aren't asking me to leave?”

He frowned. “Why would you assume I'd ask that?” Not exactly a denial.

“I thought . . .” She shook her head, irritated with her insecure paranoia. “Never mind.”

“Did someone say something to you last night?”

She stilled. That wasn't her insecurity. It was his. And maybe she wasn't so paranoid after all. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Complete honesty, Ms. Banks. You gave your word.”

She hated when he reverted to using her last name. It stung like an approaching punishment on his lips and she wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve the formal label. She much preferred he address her with familiar titles.

“No one said anything to me on the matter. I just had a sense.”

“Very well. Let's discuss your progress thus far.” That quickly, his disposition shifted, easing her worry. “How are you enjoying your experience?”

That was a loaded question. “I'm enjoying it.”

“Does it bother you having sex with a man you barely know?”

The taboo context of his question triggered the unraveling of something dark inside her, something that should be linked to shame but was actually connected to a sense of rightness. It wasn't that she didn't know him. It was that she was getting to know him and liking every new part of him she discovered—most of the time. Her body softened and slowly heated. She purposefully chose her words. “Not for this purpose.”

“Your cheeks are flushing, Collette. Did my question arouse you?”

Recalling his demand for absolute honesty, she rasped, “Yes.”

“Stand.”

Her legs trembled as she rose.

“Remove your clothes and fold them neatly. You may place them on the seat of your chair. You won't be sitting there anymore.”

Carefully, she lowered the zipper of her dress and slid it down her back.

“There are many paradoxes to a Dominant/submissive relationship, Ms. Banks.” She hid her wince at her formal name again. “Anxiety stems from lack of control or the sense of losing control. You're likely sensing that I'm about to assert my authority on you in a way some might consider demeaning. You, of course, have the use of your safe word, but unless you intend to use that, I do not expect to hear a single objection from your mouth. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” She placed her shoes neatly under the chair and rolled her stockings down, curling them into the shoes for safekeeping.

“Many submissives find they have triggers. For some, it's being told to kneel. For others it's being forced to their knees. Triggers vary for each person. I know a sub who falls immediately into submissive mode when his master comes home each day and he greets him with forced oral sex.”

The word
forced
settled over her like heavy chain mail. There was something erotic about being taken within the confines of what they were doing—with a safe word at the tip of her tongue if needed. But
forced
was something entirely different. She wasn't sure how she felt about that and struggled to imagine it.

“Today we're going to identify some triggers for you, peach. We'll try several and see which you respond to best. Later we'll discuss your reactions and you'll know which one serves as the most potent switch. Kneel.”

She awkwardly lowered to her hands and knees and waited. Sitting back on her heels, she toyed with various positions, hoping to see a response in his expression, telling her which one was best. She settled with her hands resting palms down over her knees.

“You'll get used to kneeling. Your future partner might expect it often. For our purposes, I'm going to start your training with the highest expectations. This will allow you the exposure you need to determine which behaviors you crave and which you loathe. Do not assume you can outmaneuver a request, however. If it isn't a hard limit, it's fair game.”

The blood settled in her feet as she tried to hold the position, shifting slightly to better endure the pose.

“You're what we consider a baby girl submissive. While this is merely an apprenticeship, it will prepare you better if we work under the theory of Master/sub for the moment. It will be more realistic and allow an easier transition for you.”

He reached for a small box on the table beside him. “That being said, you'll require an item that signifies my ownership. Come here.”

She made to stand, but he stilled her with the cock of a brow. Slowly, she crawled the short distance between them and sat back on her heels.

“Good girl. Hold out your wrist.”

The box creaked open and she blinked at the thick white-gold bangle. He slid the bangle over her fingers and onto her wrist. It had two layers of metal and once the loose bracelet was on, he tightened the band and produced a diamond H lock, which held the bracelet in place. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it also wasn't something discreet. The box snapped closed and he sat back.

“You will not take that off. If you leave the château, you'll do so with my mark on you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What do you say when someone gives you a gift, peach?”

“Thank you, Sir. It's beautiful.”

He nodded. “Routine is a valuable thing in this sort of relationship. Every morning you'll hear from me by seven a.m. in some manner of communication, be it a text or my cock waking you up. The same will happen each night before bed. I expect a response every time I communicate with you.

“There will be days I have to leave for business. If I'm not here and you plan to go out, you will text me a picture of yourself and what you're wearing. Rarely will I ask you to change. This is merely so I can have the pleasant reminder of your beauty and what is mine.”

Her chest heated at the mention of her beauty. He didn't have to find her beautiful to take her on as a protégé. When he gave the impression he found her so, it touched deep, filling voids she hadn't known were empty.

“You'll be responsible for contacting me at noon every day, unless we're together. I'll expect your text and I'll be highly disappointed if you're late. Every day at three o'clock I expect you to spend an hour in the gym. I'll allow you to choose your routine, but if I feel you aren't choosing wisely, I'll intervene. I don't expect you to change your body. I only want you to have a healthy outlet for daily activity. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” There was a lot to remember. She already decided to write her schedule down when she was next alone.

“You will not masturbate without my explicit instructions to do so. If I share you with others, you will not kiss on the mouth. Your mouth belongs to me and your kisses are reserved for my lips alone. No other man or woman will have anal sex with you. That's an intimate act, which will be shared only with your Dom. You will
not
share yourself with other men when I am not present. My presence is required for your personal safety. You may share yourself with other women when I'm not present
if
and only if I have instructed you to do so.”

Her heart raced with mixed emotion over being shared. “Yes, Sir.”

He shifted, resting his palms on the arm of his chair and studied her silently for a moment. “Do you recall losing your virginity, peach?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me how it happened.”

Her mind traveled back, picturing that long-forgotten day. “I was fifteen. He was my neighbor at the time. I'd met him the first day I moved in with that family and he seemed to always convince me to come into his house, even though my foster parents at the time thought I was visiting his little sister. We would kiss and then as time went on we did more.”

“Describe more.”

“He wanted to see my breasts.”

“So you showed him?”

She'd never been a small-chested girl. It seemed the year her breasts developed, her body changed overnight. Boys started looking at her differently and she liked the attention, always hoped it would develop into affection, but it never did. Time and time again, boys would ask her to show her breasts, and like an unteachable glutton for attention, she eventually did. As she got older, she became more brazen, and turned the single request into a game of tit for tat.

“Yes, but only when he agreed to show me his penis.”

He chuckled. “Curious little thing you were. Did you suck his cock when he showed you?”

“No. He asked me to, but I said no.”

“Why?”

“It intimidated me. I could barely touch it, but then . . . I couldn't stop thinking about it. For weeks I wondered why I didn't do what he asked.”

“Did you eventually?”

She swallowed, recalling that day. “Yes.”

“And what happened?”

“We were in his basement playing video games. He went to get something when it was my turn. I was playing and all the sudden he came up behind me and grabbed my breast. When I turned, his penis was out. He told me to open my mouth and . . . I did.”

“Do you like being told what to do?”

Her sex throbbed, wakening with need. “Yes, Sir. I suppose I do.”

“Did you like sucking his cock?”

“Yes. I did it every day after school for a long time.”

“Until he fucked you.”

Her inflated bravado was pierced by the cold conclusion that never changed. “Yes. And then I became the conquest he subjugated, and he never asked me over anymore.”

“Never?”

Her gaze lowered to the floor. “Once in a while he'd stop by, talk for a minute or two, and then ask for oral sex.” But it was never the same once she'd given him everything. The attention she savored had fractured into a portion of what it once was. Like everything else in her life, once she had something, it eventually faded away.

“What changed?”

Lingering shame and confusion dwelled inside her as she tried to make sense of the memory for the little girl who never quite understood why it had to end. “I think I started to care for him and he only cared about the pleasure. Eventually I was placed with a different family, so it didn't matter anyway.”

Jude was silent as her confession settled in. It hurt to hear the truth she'd carried around for so many years. After a while, he asked, “How much time passed before you had sex again?”

“About a year. He was my high school boyfriend.”

“Why did you break up?”

She shrugged. “We were getting older, but not growing as a couple. It always felt like we were attending functions, but sitting perfectly still. I don't know if that makes sense.”

“Did he ever tell you to open your mouth and force his cock down your throat?”

Her sex twitched. “No.”

“Was he a gentle lover, Collette?”

Her eyes met his, a warm sense of understanding stealing over her, as he seemed to accept why her past relationship failed and recognize it as an acceptable reason. “Yes, painfully so.”

“Interesting term you use—painfully. He was so gentle it pained you.” He rephrased the statement to himself, tapping his chin as he let the summation sink in. “Has anyone ever held you down and fucked you hard?”

Her cheeks heated. “You did, Sir.”

He chuckled. “That wasn't hard, sweetheart, but good to know where we stand on perspective. Take out my cock.”

Her sex contracted, a chain reaction of need and desire colliding low in her belly as she slowly rose to her knees. The white-gold bracelet jangled like a small bell on a kitten collar as she carefully unclasped his belt. He made no move to grant her easy access. His elbows rested on the chair, his jaw balancing in the cradle of his fingers.

Parting his pants, she considered his briefs and the obstacle they posed. If he stood, this would be easier. Finding the seam of his black shorts, she slid her fingers inside and found him semierect and warm. She carefully guided him out of his briefs and looked up for instruction.

“Open your mouth.”

Her pussy gushed as her jaw widened. His hand slid behind her neck and brought her mouth down on his thick cock, not letting her up as he filled her, pressing his cock to the back of her throat.