Protege (9 page)

“Jude?”

He turned and frowned. “I thought I told you to wait for me.”

“I got bored.”

His energy to correct her disobedience abandoned him. She was risking a lot coming here, and he didn't want her to feel as if she were in a prison. This would be her home for the next thirty days and he wanted her to be comfortable. He permitted her disobedience only because he selfishly wanted the distraction from memory lane and it was her first night. Tomorrow he'd be stricter with her.

Excusing her slip with a nod, he appraised her body. She wore a sleek black robe. The satin fit her, but the black didn't; however, he hadn't been specific when he told Lea what to provide.

“Whose room is this?” she asked.

“Just a guest room.” He reached for the knob.

“Whose stuff is that?”

He glanced at the pile of Tiffany's belongings. “That goes to Goodwill. The girls forgot to put it out.”

Ignoring his hand on the door, she stepped into the room and angled her neck to see deeper into the box. “They're women's shoes. Old fetish or old flame?”

He caught her chin with a long finger and turned her face until she was looking at him. “Nosy woman. I sense if I give you an inch you'd take a mile.”

She smirked, her full lips pursing cutely as her rounded cheeks blushed. “Sorry.”

His thumb dragged over her bottom lip. Their gazes locked and he breathed in her familiar fragrance. Her usual scent was slightly hidden by whatever soap she'd used, but he could still pick up traces of her natural musk.

He fingered the soft curls surrounding her face. “Where did you inherit all this hair?” Only the tips were wet, a few thin strands by her neck coiled from the steam of her shower.

Her mouth curved again. “I'm cursed on both sides. My two grandmothers had wild hair.”

“And your mother?”

“She always kept hers trimmed too short to tell.”

“Yet you grew yours out.”

Her smile turned cheeky. “I like a challenge.”

“So do I.” His gaze traveled to the lapels of her robe. “I'd like you to come to my room now.”

She hesitated, then nodded. Good.

As he slid his hand into hers, they left the room together. His bedroom was beside hers with a connecting door that remained locked. He had the only key. When they reached the door, he paused before turning the knob. “Tell me your safe word, Collette.”

Her gaze met his and she whispered, “Penguin.”

“Good. You'll never upset me by using that word. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

His private eagerness triggered an exhilaration he hadn't experienced in some time. Blanking his expression, he turned the knob.

The moment Collette stepped over the threshold into his bedroom, a course of unknown events was set into motion. A strange memory from her childhood came out of nowhere: she, her mom, and her dad, laughing happily at the dining room table while playing the game Mouse Trap. The game was so tedious and when that final trap was sprung and the little marble was set into motion, there was no going back. It was done. For some reason, stepping into Jude Duval's bedroom reminded her of that.

The carpet was plush and the bed was ornate, unlike anything people sold nowadays. “That certainly is a bed,” she stated, unable to look anywhere else.

“It came with the château. It dates back to the seventeen hundreds.”

She swallowed. Five men could fit on that mattress comfortably. The canopy was carved from wood, peaked high with filigree accents singed into the timber. Plush velvet curtains gathered at each thick pillar. The thing was so grand, a chandelier hung with room to spare inside the frame.

“It's like a fort for grown-ups.”

He chuckled. “That's one way to put it.”

Drawing in a steadying breath, she forced herself to look elsewhere. The accent furniture was all very sturdy and masculine. Each end table had a marble surface. Stubbing a toe in this place could be deadly.

Two stout leather chairs faced the fireplace, which was large enough for her to stand under the mantel. It was like visiting a real-life Disney castle—but nothing PG would be happening in this room, that was for sure.

Every masculine piece attested to the owner's virility and strength. Her gaze snagged on the random pieces of art. Were they fertility sculptures?

She frowned, her head tilting as she stared at the antique tapestry on the wall. Were they—Oh! That was definitely an orgy.

“Do you like that?”

Her back stiffened as he spoke softly behind her. She floundered for any sort of appropriate comment, unfamiliar with proper etiquette and praise when regarding someone else's sex art. “Well, whoever made that is certainly handy with a needle and thread.” She winced.

“So you can relate,” he teased, dragging a finger down her arm.

She sent him a sardonic look over her shoulder. “Hardly.”

He winked, smooth and playful. “Well . . . maybe soon.” Her mouth gaped and he chuckled, turning her body to face his. “Come here.”

Her heart raced as he stepped backward, pulling her closer to the bed, an intent glint in his eyes. There went that marble racing down the track again. Soon the mouse would be trapped.

All humor left his face as he untied her robe, every gentle tug of his fingers a show of unapologetic entitlement that had her sex contracting. “Breathe, Collette. This is what you asked for, correct? You wanted to learn what it was to belong to a man, a Dom, satisfy his every need with your mind and body.”

The robe slid from her shoulders, and she drew in a long breath, but nothing could steady her nerves with him so close. That was exactly what she wanted, but now that the offer was right in front of her, she found herself tensing. The satin whispered down her back and puddled at her feet.

She shivered and rasped, “Yes, sir.”

“Eyes open, Collette.”

It took more effort than she expected to open her eyes, but she somehow managed. She'd never stood naked before. Of course she'd
been
naked and done things naked, but just standing with nothing shielding her body while someone flagrantly studied her was a new experience. The fact that he was fully clothed in a power suit didn't help matters. The vast difference in their status here at the château was evident, and she assumed he intended it so.

The warmth of his fingertips grazed the underside of her breast. Her body turned heavy as shallow breaths drew inside her lungs and she trembled. “Are you nervous?”

She nodded, thinking honesty was best in her current situation.

He cupped her but barely touched her, his caress moving slowly but switching locations swiftly as he casually appraised her body. “You have nothing to fear. It's okay to be nervous. This is new. But I assure you I take my position as your Dom very seriously. I want to teach you, give you a true experience, and help you determine your likes and dislikes. I don't want you to fear me. I only want your surrender, your trust, and”—he smirked—“your obedience.”

Her laughter was slightly hollow. “I'm not the best with obeying.” He raised a brow and she tacked on, “Sir.”

“You'll learn.” As he stepped back and removed his jacket, her stomach dropped and her nerves jangled. His voice and motions were very gentle, but he had a natural quality that intimidated the crap out of her. She was still trying to decide if it intimidated her in a good way or a bad way. His fingers, strong yet agile, slowly unbuttoned his shirt, unveiling a V of tanned flesh and hard muscle.

He was in extremely good shape. His arms were thick with muscle and his abdomen was tapered in an effortless way that attested to a healthy lifestyle, easily a few bench presses away from being a model. When her gaze landed on his cut hips she had to look away. Men shouldn't be that pretty. It just made women feel like dowdy old heifers. Her gaze drifted to the floor.

“Some Doms prefer their subs to keep their gazes down. I do not. I want your eyes on me. Shoulders straight. Chin up.”

Her brow tightened.

“Don't frown.”

She scoffed.

“And lose the attitude.”

Her mouth opened. “Would you like me to stop blinking as well? I can't help—”

“Watch it, Collette. Think about everything you read. This isn't a game. You will not talk back to me.” He walked behind her and pulled her shoulders back, applying pressure to the base of her spine. Her breasts jutted forward. “Better.”

His breath trailed along the sensitive curve of her shoulders as he slowly swept her hair to the side. His lips pressed to her back as he whispered, “You have very soft skin.”

Her nipples pulled into tight points as his touch chased chills over her chest and down her belly. Her mind struggled to acclimate. “Thank you.”

His hand glided under her jaw and lifted her chin, which had dropped again. “Eyes forward, peach. Good girl.”

Pursing her lips, she focused on the tapestry on the wall.

“Thirty days may seem like an eternity today, but I assure you it will be over before you know it. I want you to ask any questions that cross your mind and we'll spend time every day discussing and reflecting on your journey. But it's important we jump right in so you have experiences on which to reflect. Do you understand?”

The heat of his skin, though he was standing several inches behind her, warmed her back. “Yes, Sir.”

“Are you ready to begin?”

Her body tightened as her breath caught. Now or never. “Yes, Sir.”

“Then let's begin.” He tapped her ankle with his foot. “Step out.” Startled by the sudden shift in his tone, she snapped her tongue against the back of her teeth, ready to spin on him and kick
his
ankles. But she did as he asked and managed to keep quiet. He patted her ass. “Good girl.”

There should have been a slight sting to his patronizing praise, yet whenever he called her
good girl
, something inside her—something fully female and that of a woman—stretched and preened. No matter how much his abrupt instruction jolted her reflexive responses to assert her own independence, that
good girl
in her wanted to please him.

His hands sized up her hips, sliding to her sides and drawing her shoulders back once more. “Poise is important, Ms. Banks.”

She shook her head, stunned by the way he touched her with such privilege, and completely boggled by how much she liked it. She'd imagined he would be demanding, but not quite this way, moderate yet challenging, full of authority in a way that made her hungry for the slightest praise.

There seemed to be a lingering guilt that needed to be addressed. Women didn't bend just because a man said so. They should hold a level of self-respect, right? What did this desire to please an absolute stranger say about her dignity? He was touching her as though they had a history, but they didn't, which gave each caress an undertone of militant expectation.

It unsettled her, made her worry what would happen if she said
no
or
stop
. What if she was bending too much and—

“Problem?” he asked, gaze keenly studying her every move yet directly focused on her eyes. “You're frowning again.”

How did he do that, watch her so acutely yet so completely? She swallowed thickly, shoving back any reservations. That was it. Her natural instincts sought a sense of autonomy that had no place in this setting. She was going to think herself into a full-blown panic.

His fingers brushed down her stomach and her heart sped into a thundering gallop, each beat needling her anxiety. This was what she wanted.

“Chin up.”

It was happening—or going to. In a matter of minutes he'd be inside her—dizziness stole over her, leaving her skin covered in a damp chill.
Oh God . . .
“Penguin.”

His expression unreadable, he moved in front of her and waited.

She didn't know how to explain everything she was feeling, so she focused on the physical examples she could see. “I feel like I'm in boot camp.”

There went his brow again. “This is nothing. I merely instructed you not to slouch. We haven't even broached kneeling.”

Her lips tightened. “I don't like it.” Or did she? She was so confused and every passing second, every purposeful touch increased the sense of vulnerability.

“This is what you asked for, Collette.”

“I know, but . . . can't we just . . .” There seemed so much formality and purpose behind every motion; the entire act of intimacy was second to all else. “Can't we just have sex without all the formality? It seems so forced.” His touch was sweet, but the expectation that she stand stiff and still exposed too much that she preferred to keep hidden.

“That's not how a D/s relationship works. Procedure is important.”

“Who says?” she argued, irritated that he didn't even hint at budging. “I don't mind you giving me direction, but all this posing feels artificial. That's not what I wanted.”

“You haven't given it a chance.”

Frustrated, she glanced down. “Fine.”

He was silent for a long moment, so she shifted her feet again, trying to put them back where he'd instructed. All this thinking was killing any sexual thrill.

He stepped behind her and she waited. Maybe she'd insulted him. The man had orgy tapestries and fertility statues decorating his bedroom. Traditional sex was probably out of the question.

When he still didn't speak or touch her, she scrunched her nose and lifted her gaze. It was so much harder to keep her head up when everything about what they were doing made her instinctively want to turn shy. Yet it also made her feel delicate, as though he were trying to lend her bravery.

The level of emotion and thought he injected into one teeny brush of his finger and the sparse words he'd used to direct her wasn't anything she'd expected. There was undeniable authority banked in this man. Something she now realized she'd drastically underestimated.

When his hands brushed her shoulders she jumped. “We can try it without the formality for tonight, so long as you remember I'm in charge.”

She exhaled, her shoulders slightly drooping with relief. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me yet.”

Uh-oh.

He brazenly cupped her breast. “I understand shyness, Ms. Banks, but you signed up for something unique, something quite different from an ordinary relationship, and I intend to deliver. Starting tonight. The formality will come, but the authority doesn't shift. I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Words, please.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl. If you need to use your safe word I expect you to, without hesitating. Tell me what your safe word is.”

“It's
penguin
, Sir.”

“Shall we move on?”

It seemed silly, but the reminder of that word brought courage. It gave her a safety net she very much needed in case things got out of hand. Nodding, she whispered, “Yes, Sir. I'm ready now.”

He didn't respond verbally, but something shifted in his gaze as all the authority slid back into place. It wasn't as if he stole control from her, but in some unspoken way he borrowed it and a sense of delicate ease took hold. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was definitely unfamiliar, which might be why her instinct was to shrug it off.

His hands slid down to her hips and jerked her back to his front. She gasped as his fingers crawled over her tummy and combed through the hair at her apex. “This will be waxed tomorrow.”

“Waxed?”

“Yes.”

She was prepared to argue for a less painful approach, but all thought fled as he found her clit and slowly teased her sex, still holding her tight to his front. He was a desirable man, and something inside her called to him. When he touched her like this, a bit of her anxiety drifted away. Her shoulders relaxed into him as her knees softened and her head rested against his chest. In that split second of leaning into him, feeling him physically catch her weight as though it were his duty, a calm settled over her. It was incredible to be touched by a man, but there was something spectacular about being touched by a man like Jude Duval.

His mouth closed over her shoulder and she shivered. He had yet to kiss her and she wanted his mouth on hers more than anything else. Turning, she rose to her toes and frowned as he stepped out of reach.

His fingers caught her wrists, trapping them in a strong hold. “You don't decide, Collette. That's not how this works. I can be a little less formal, but you will never be the aggressor in my bed. Do you understand?”