Protege (6 page)

***

He frowned. She was withdrawing again. He had two options. He could push her and demand she explain, or he could coax it out of her carefully. Tender would probably be best, but she was known to bend the truth when she assumed control.

Taking her wrists in his hands, he pulled her arms from her chest and pressed her palms to the leather of the sofa. “Tell me what changed for you, Ms. Banks.” She turned away like a child who believed that not looking made them invisible. “Eyes on me.”

Her gaze narrowed as it returned to his. He didn't mind the fire in her eyes, preferred it to the fear he sometimes glimpsed. “I'm not sure I can give my body to a stranger for a month. I was hoping there'd be an emotional connection first.”

“Your trepidation's understandable, but your sponsor isn't your placement. The emotional connection will come once we have ample information about your character. Fernweh doesn't find platonic companions, though many partners are very emotionally attached. We find suitable matches based on
all
appetites, with high regard to the sexual ones. That, Ms. Banks, is how one finds Fernweh.”

Her mouth tightened. Her breasts lifted with each uneasy breath, her flesh exposed. Her nipples were now soft and the most delicate shade of caramel. “Then maybe I should go.”

She sat up and he tightened his grip, pinning her wrists to the sofa. “You'd quit now?” he murmured, irritated after he'd made an exception to the rules on her behalf. “Why now, after coming this far and opening yourself to such possibility?”

Her glare was a poor impression for temper, when he spotted the endless vulnerability in her eyes. “I came here because I wanted to find a husband, or at least something I could depend on. Nowhere in my research did I read about agreeing to be a random man's whore.”

“Not his whore,” he hissed, frustrated with society's shortsighted, prudent appraisal of such things. “His protégé.” The term didn't bring her notable relief, so he clarified, “
My
protégé.”

Her expression softened, lips slowly parting as she blinked. “You?”

“Yes, me. I would be your sponsor.”

Her gaze skittered away as she seemed to consider this. Perhaps their slight familiarity would help her accept the process. In actuality, he wasn't any different than any other man. It wasn't as though they had a history. They shared one other meeting and the common knowledge that he liked her underwear. “Does this make the idea more tolerable?”

“Well . . . yes.”

Keeping his expression blank, he wondered if she found him attractive or if she somehow mistook him as nonthreatening. “I'm not an easy person to please, Ms. Banks. You require a D/s experience and I plan to give you one.”

“I understand.” Her tension seemed to ease as her body relaxed.

“I plan to push you. You'll experience everything on that list by the end of the month.”

Her gaze sharpened, a touch of panic creasing her brow. “My hard limits?”

“Are off limits.” And he was pleased with her choices, finding no pleasure in choking or slapping a woman.

“When would we start?”

Taking her question as enthusiasm, he assumed her reservations were momentarily put to rest. “As soon as all our ducks are in a row. My attorney will put together a temporary contract and you'll have time to review it and make any changes you see fit. You'll visit our in-house clinic and pack an overnight bag.”

“Where am I going?”

He reminded himself she was an outsider and didn't have any relatives on the inside explaining how the process worked. “You're going to Fernweh. We'll be living at my château.”

“I thought you said it wasn't a place.”

“Necessarily. I said it's a society of like-minded people. We have too many members across the globe to squeeze into one town, but the founders, myself included, occupy a secluded patch of land that allows for the desired level of privacy.”

“So there'll be others around?”

He sensed this made her nervous. “Yes, but they're also members of Fernweh, Collette. They aren't there to judge. I promise their presence will be minimal and their only commentary will be courteous.”

She let out a long breath. “This is a lot.”

“It is. You have time to decide.” He stood and her gaze followed him in a way that heated his flesh.

“When do I pay you?”

“You don't. Yet. This is a prerequisite. Your application's incomplete until we verify your proclivities. Once that's done, and I've compiled all my data, your application will be complete and you'll pay for your membership at my personal endorsement.”

Her coloring slightly paled. “Do you do this with a lot of the members?”

“No. Most members are experienced enough to know their likes and dislikes. They also come with a referral so they don't require the amount of backing you do. Make no mistake, Ms. Banks, you will be in Fernweh as my guest. I expect your behavior to reflect such a privilege. As the founder, I'm expected to proceed with a level of knowledge, ability, and attention to detail.”

“I'll do my best not to embarrass you.”

“I imagine you will.”

***

When she returned to her temporary home, her body cried out in ways she wasn't used to. A soreness set in throughout her lower half, its mild throbbing a constant reminder of his ruthless handling and how fast he caused her sex to react.

She wasn't offended by the way he touched her. On the contrary, she was fascinated. He took hold of her with such knowledge, such precision. It was like falling under the spell of an expert magician. Before she knew it her soul was shattering and she was catching glimpses of effervescent light under the blindness of pleasure. It made the idea of a month with him completely frightening and exhilarating at the same time.

She was one hundred ten percent sure she was making the right decision until the contract was delivered, served to her like a cold set of divorce papers. The messenger merely verified her name, then passed her the thick envelope and disappeared.

It was heavier than she expected. By the time she was sitting on the bed in her rented room, her palms were sweating. Carefully, she broke the seal and slid the thick sheaf onto the covers.

The first page was a liability statement, removing Jude Duval, who would from then on be referred to as
Sir
or
the Dom
, of all accountability should she claim emotional distress or seek legal counsel, which would be available to her at any time. Her anticipation chilled with the overwhelming sense that she was out of her league, and by page two of the contract, she thought about calling him.

She hadn't expected all this legal jargon to interfere but supposed that was naïve, being that this was a binding contract and she was entrusting a stranger with her well-being for the next thirty days. By page three, she decided to call.

Jude was not an easy man to reach. After expressing a self-determined right to speak to him and a true belief that he would take her call, his secretary finally patched her through.

His voice was level, not translating concern or frustration for that matter. “Collette, is there a problem?”

She tsked, discouraged by the number of hoops she had to jump through just to reach him. “Well, yeah. I'm a highly educated woman, Mr. Duval, but this contract is a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo and permissible hoo-hah. I can barely understand it and I'm smart enough not to sign my name to something that's as clotted up with—pardon my French—bullshit as this.”

He chuckled. “That wasn't French.”

“Would you like me to translate?”

His tone turned amused. “That won't be necessary. Did the attorney not leave you his number?”

“Well . . . it's here, but I just figured I'd go to the source.”

“Understandable, but I'm afraid this is the one area where I must decline to assist you, Ms. Banks. It could be mistaken for coercion if I explain the contract to you. That's why we provide legal counsel to all our members.”

“But I'm not a member yet.”

“You're an honorary one in this instance. Would you like me to set up an appointment for you with our attorney? He'd be more than happy to advise you.”

She frowned and whispered, “It's rather private information. I mean, the legal stuff was confusing, but I understood some of the other pages. I couldn't possibly show that to someone else.”

A smug sort of laughter left his throat. “Who do you think drew up the conditions? It will be fine. Can you be here in an hour?”

“I . . . guess, but—”

“Good. He'll be expecting you.”

An hour later she was sitting outside the office of Mr. Ezra O'Hanlon, Esquire.

Her eyes widened as he stepped out of the office and greeted her. “You must be the little Georgia peach I heard so much about. I'm Ezra. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Most men wore suits in a business setting, but this man was dressed in dark jeans and a soft T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. And what was this “Georgia peach” nonsense?

She stood and shook his hand, trying to pretend this wasn't a meeting about a sex contract. “I'm Collette Banks. Thank you for meeting with me.”

As he shook her hand, his other hand held it captive. He grinned as if taking much more than a handshake from their connection. Moving a slow pace back, she withdrew her fingers, and he chuckled. “Let's head into my office.”

His office was as nice as Jude's but decorated differently. There were more windows and his furniture was white leather, where Jude's was mostly dark shades of onyx.

“Can I interest you in a drink? Champagne? Water?”

“Water's fine.” Their liquor bill must be phenomenal.

They settled in at a long table and he filled her glass from a pitcher; flashbacks of her first meeting with Jude filled her mind. “Jude tells me the legal jargon's tripping you up.”

Again, taken aback by his casual manner, she struggled to find steady ground. “Yes, it's a bit overwhelming.”

He nodded and flipped open a file. She should have expected him to have his own copy. “Well, page one basically explains that this is your decision and you're consenting to this arrangement for thirty days with the right to dissolve the contract at any time should you change your mind. However, when the contract's fulfilled, you may not hold Mr. Duval responsible for any emotional damage.”

“What does that mean, emotional damage?”

“It means that this is a business agreement, not a love affair, and he has no responsibility to you after the thirty days. Should you develop feelings for him on a personal level, you cannot, at any time, hold him or Fernweh liable. It absolves Mr. Duval and his company from future legal issue resulting from the time specified in the contract.”

Her brow creased. What if
he
fell in love with
her
? She wasn't expecting that, but it seemed a bit arrogant of them to leave the possibility out. Regardless, she didn't see it as much of an issue. “I'm not the type to sue. Clearly, I don't even have my own attorney, which is why I required your services.”

“Good. And for the record, over the next thirty days you may consider yourself armed with an attorney.” He grinned. “I'll assist you as much as possible during your stay, and our meetings are confidential.” He didn't seem too concerned with the arrangement, but perhaps that was because he wasn't the one signing his life away to a complete stranger.

“Now, section two details the domestic roles he expects you to fulfill. Did you have any questions about that?”

“I was a little lost when it started talking about the scope of our roles.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, let's say you're making breakfast for him and he tells you to remove your clothes. The scope of the role he's selected for you places that request within his rights.”

“But what if I'm cooking bacon?”

He paused and suddenly laughed. “Oh, I think you're going to be a joy for Jude.” He picked up a pen and made a quick note. “Not while working over a spattering, hot stove,” he commented, as he wrote. “How's that?”

She shrugged. “I suppose that's fine, but I'm not sure Mr. Duval will ask such a thing of me.”

He smirked and turned the page. “In section three we address expectations. Now, these are gathered from Mr. Duval personally and based on your application. I've noted your desire to assign the male as HOH—”

“HOH?”

“Head of the household. The HOH role is universally dominant but dictates a slightly old-fashioned approach to the practiced leadership . . . liberties. The way I interpreted your application, you have a strong need to be taken in hand should your behavior merit correction. Have I misunderstood, Ms. Banks?”

There was no censure in his expression, but her gaze lowered anyway. She
did
feel a pull toward such a dynamic, yet admitting so filled her with shame and fear that there was something wrong with her for wanting such a thing. However, as shameful as admitting that unnatural desire for domestic discipline might be, it was nothing compared to the feeling of rightness it brought. Teetering on the brink of a lie, she let out a harsh exhalation and whispered, “You're correct. I want that sort of relationship.”

This was the time to be honest. It might be the only time such an offer was on the table. She couldn't let the opportunity slip away.

“There's no shame in wanting such a thing. Less than a century ago it was the norm. Some of my favorite episodes of
I Love Lucy
are the ones where Ricky takes Lucy over his knee and spanks her for doing something he specifically told her she was not to do.” He smiled. “I guess it was a simpler time then.”

He sighed and shuffled the papers, stacking them neatly once more. “If there's anything you'd like to add or remove, now's the time to do so. We want this experience to be an honest telling of your desires. Don't be afraid to speak up.”