Protege (5 page)

“Ms. Banks?”

Grateful for the interruption, she sat up. “Yes?”

“You're tapping. Please sit still.”

She huffed and sagged into the chair. When he glanced at her she made a contrite face. “Sorry.”

Removing his glasses and folding them, he studied her for a long moment. Maybe it was better when he was reading. “What color panties are you wearing today, Ms. Banks?”

Her eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“Your fidgeting tells me you need attention. Let's have it. What color are they?”

“I don't need attention. I just get impatient—”

“The color.”

“Red.”

His head tipped. “Do they match your bra?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very nice. I'd like to see that. Strip.”

Weight settled in her chest. Still unclear about what actually happened in these meetings, she couldn't decide if his request was progress or an insult to her dignity—or lack thereof.

“I'm waiting, Ms. Banks.”

“I . . . Do you usually ask the women you interview to remove their clothing?”

“The women I know typically offer, but I interview men, too, Ms. Banks. I ask whatever I believe will help me gain a more accurate appraisal of their tastes and needs. Currently, I find the idea of you in red satin panties unexpected, and I would like a visual so my impression of you can find a sort of equilibrium.”

Well, that sounded somewhat scientific. She stood and slowly unraveled the lemon-yellow scarf around her neck.

“Does the idea of undressing for a stranger excite you?”

“Being that you've seen me naked before, I'd hardly consider you a stranger.”

“You weren't naked. You were partially dressed. Stop confusing the two or I'll show you the difference. And answer the question.”

Her fingers stilled over the buttons of her shirt as she appraised him. Sometimes it was very difficult to discern if he was teasing or serious. She considered the damp heat slowly weighing the gusset of her panties. She was undeniably aroused, but she'd been that way since waking that morning, anticipation for this very moment building to a near-climactic point.

“I'm waiting for an answer.”

“I'm aroused, but I was before I got here.”

The leather of his chair creaked as he eased back, his finger sliding over his mouth so his knuckle hid his lips. “Is that so?”

She nodded.

“Finish undressing. I'm going to watch you.”

Her belly fluttered as his words penetrated. She unzipped her pencil skirt and slowly lowered it. Stepping out of the clothes, she shut her eyes for a moment as dizziness took hold. Taking her clothing off had never been anything close to exhilarating, but it was now.

Her thumbs slid beneath the lace of her stockings.

“Leave them.”

She met his gaze and noted a smokiness creeping over his green irises. Slowly, she unfolded her body and stood. Her slip was a full-body one that covered her from her breasts down to her upper thighs.

“There's an antiquated charm to your choice of lingerie, Ms. Banks.”

“Thank you. That's the way I designed it.”

When his face showed surprise she smirked. Making clothing had always been a hobby of hers. Sewing was one of the few memories she had of her mother. As she got older, her talents and tastes evolved. Her favorite creations were intimate apparel. There was something special about wearing undergarments no one else could own.

“I'm impressed.” His finger rubbed over his chin and lips. “Would you object to being touched?”

Her breath caught. Did he usually touch the women he interviewed? He'd touched her during their last meeting, but over the passing days she'd somewhat convinced herself she'd embellished reality. Thinking back, she wasn't sure if he'd done anything outside of gathering her measurements, though she'd been aroused then as well. She was very curious but also afraid to do anything foolish that might jeopardize her chances. “What kind of touching?”

“The sort that stops with the word
stop
.”

Her chest lifted as she considered what his touch might feel like. It had been a long time since she'd had a man's hands on her. The whole reason for her being there was this inescapable desire to surrender and give over. Hopefully, if she figured out a way to manage such submission, the crippling fear inside her would fade.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He slowly stood and her heart steadily picked up the pace, racing so fast she expected it to burst. “Let's go to the couch.” He took her hand, and chills raced over her shoulders.

When she faced the black leather couch, he released her hand and a shaky breath escaped her lungs. She swallowed repeatedly as he slowly circled her. Her eyes closed as his hand gently skimmed the satin covering her hip.

His fingers dragged slowly up her sides as her arms hung lifeless. The closer his touch crept to the underside of her breast, the harder her nipples grew. His palm flattened over her belly against the slip and her breathing turned audible.

Slowly, the fabric lifted as he gathered little ripples of silk in his hands. Ghosting a finger along her arms, he guided her limbs upward as the slip lifted off her body. Awareness took hold, but she shoved it away in an attempt to liberate her confidence in the face of her fears. Cool air tickled her flesh as the fabric of his clothing brushed along the backs of her thighs. He was standing very close.

“I find your body delectable, Ms. Banks.”

“Th-thank you, Mr. Duval.”

“You may call me
Jude
.”

“Jude.”

His finger slipped under the strap of her bra and traveled from her shoulder down to the back panel. “I think this should come off, Collette.”

She nodded. “Yes, Jude.”

Her nipples tightened, puckering into sharp points as he carefully unclasped all eight hooks. “I like the style of bra you wear. Do you make them as well?”

“Yes,” she rasped, shutting her eyes as her insides trembled. The straps slid down her arms and her breasts hung free.

His hand remained anchored at the base of her spine, traveling slowly, never lifting the touch of his finger as he circled her, walking to her front. Her body shivered under the weight of his intense scrutiny. Despite his calm mannerisms, she was certain there was nothing he missed. Not the puckering scar on her knee from where she fell off her bike as a child, not the cluster of freckles on her right shoulder, and not the burn marks on her left forearm. Nothing.

“Your paperwork expresses a desire for a D/s relationship. On a scale of one to ten, how deep is that desire, Collette? And be honest. One is an occasional desire to feel dominated. Ten is a dark, steady desire to be owned and mastered until every personal choice is stripped away.”

This was it. Everything was suddenly very real. The creeping panic came, but she shoved it back. She wanted to satisfy this need burning inside her enough to fight back her demons for a time.

She licked her lips. “I don't like the responsibility of choice.”

“But there's always choice. A submissive chooses to grant her partner's wishes. He in turn fulfills her needs. Is that a choice you're willing to make? We're not talking about a night or a weekend, Collette. We're talking long term. Life, perhaps.”

She swallowed. “I guess I won't know until I've tried it. I can only start at the bottom and work my way to the top.”

“You're not meant to be on top. Which brings us to the next part of our interview. As I mentioned before, Fernweh is a closed group. Members are acquired by referrals of our existing clients. You seem to have slipped through our cracks and come without such credentials. This is a problem.”

His finger grazed her nipple and she sucked in. Her panties were soaked and her body was shaking with such intense need it was becoming difficult to stand. However, she wasn't sure what she needed. Could be a seat. Could be his body against hers.

“There are ways around your situation, however,” he continued, now teasing his fingers up and down her thigh. “You could garner the endorsement of a client who holds an outstanding record and has worked with the company for several years. But then comes the issue of your inexperience.”

She wasn't a virgin, but as far as kink went, she was rather clueless. She wasn't overly concerned with the sexual tone of Fernweh. She was more interested in the arranged relationships. She just wanted to belong to something or someone. She wanted a dependable love, unlike what she'd found via online dating or the limited social situations her life produced. Unlike the love her parents offered that was suddenly stripped away, leaving her stricken and desolate. And unlike the adoration she earned from colleagues and students who cycled in and out of her career per calendar year.

She wanted permanent, and he was right. She had no experience with such things, though that wasn't the area he was necessarily referring to. “I'm open to new experiences,” she confessed, truthfully.

His fingers continued to trace the geography of her curves. “You'll need to be a bit more . . . tried in order for us to accurately pair your tastes with another member's. Do you understand what I'm suggesting, Collette?”

His touch, though subtle, fractured her train of thought. “Not really.”

He stepped in front of her. “Eyes on me.” When she met his gaze, he said, “You'll need someone to attempt all the practices within your hard limits in order to validate that you possess a true inclination for such acts.”

She frowned, disappointed that sexual preference might take precedence over emotional need. “You mean . . . I'd have to do all those things before you can match me with someone?”

“Correct. You will be assigned a sponsor.”

Her frown turned to a full scowl. Sex was sex. It never became more until an emotional connection was established. She didn't believe one could reach the same conclusions working backward. Her optimism deflated. “I don't think so, Mr. Duval. My body isn't a playground.”

He stepped closer and she sucked in a slow breath. His fingers fit between her thighs, rubbing slowly over the damp front of her panties. “Oh, I think it is, Ms. Banks.”

She whimpered, knowing she should step away, but his eyes held her in place. His finger slid the satin aside and teased her wet folds. It had been so long since a hand other than her own had touched her there. Self-indulgence derailed her rational thinking as her shoulders sagged and she leaned slightly into him.

“Ask me to put my fingers inside you.”

The uppity southern girl inside her wanted to slap him, but she wasn't in charge at the moment. Swallowing back her shame, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Put your fingers in me.”

“Beg.”

Her jaw locked. She wasn't begging him for a single thing—she whimpered as the tip of his finger rimmed her wet sex. “Please.”

His finger sunk deep, twisting in a way that made her gasp and arch. He touched her in a way no one ever had, as though he had a doctorate in female anatomy. Her knees buckled and his arm banded around her back, catching her weight.

His finger deep inside her, he twisted and lowered her to the couch, spreading her thighs wide. His touch was not gentle, but she couldn't formulate the words to tell him to slow down. Sensation bombarded her as he shoved another finger into her, the sound of his knuckles slapping down on her wet folds filling the room over her harsh breathing and the scent of her arousal.

Her head tipped back as her spine stiffened, pulling every muscle taut. Cries of shock and pleasure fell from her lips in nonsensical syllables as he ravaged her needy body faster than any encounter she'd experienced before. It happened so fast, as if he were merely solving a puzzle he'd completed a million times before, but she'd never felt anything like it. Trembling, she caught her breath and looked up at him, unsure if her body had ever suffered such a rapid, extreme climax. Her eyes widened as her gaze dropped to his glistening knuckles.

Before she had a chance to formulate words, he jarred her senses once more, the sound of pumping fingers accompanying her startled gasp. “Again,” he demanded, now holding her folds wide as he fit his fingers deeper.

“I can't.”

“You will.” He probed and her body released again, equally if not stronger than the first time, shocking her.

His fingers withdrew, but he continued to touch her in a sexual manner that wasn't anything she was used to. His wet hand slapped her sex, sending shocks of pleasure reverberating through her body. She gasped with each quick swat over her clit as he rubbed her arousal between her legs, touching her everywhere until everything inside her stiffened and his finger wedged into her ass.

The room grew silent as a tomb as she held her breath, her eyes wide. He grinned slowly. “My finger fits perfectly inside your ass, Collette. But I think my cock will have its work cut out. You're tight.”

Breath sawed out of her in a rush as she watched him. He didn't move his hand or press any deeper. He simply held her supine body to his and appraised her.

“Do you see how you're waiting for my direction, Collette? I like that very much. I also like how quickly your body reacted to my touch. We'll have to change your answer about your last vaginal orgasm. You're quite capable.”

“That never happened before.”

The side of his mouth hooked upward. His hair was no longer combed into sleek order. Several pieces had flipped over his brow, showing auburn highlights. “I think you would do well habituating with a sponsor for one month. It would be enlightening for you.”

Her body chilled as air blew silently from the vent above. “Could you please remove your finger?”

His head tilted and his touch was immediately gone. “Are you in pain?”

She sat up and scooted off his lap, crossing her arms over her bare chest. “No.”