Protege

  “This isn’t a fetish, it’s a desire for a certain dynamic,” he whispered.

  “A fetish is something one links to an abnormal degree of sexual meaningfulness. You have no idea how much gratification I get from taking care of someone. It’s abnormal and equally sexual to some degree.” She stilled, her mind seeming to catch up to her tongue.

  Where had that come from? It came so freely and honestly. She’d never said, let alone thought anything close to what she just confessed, but it was incredibly accurate.

  “Touché. I stand corrected. But still, no shoe obsession?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Sir. I’m on my feet most of the day. I prefer flats or nothing.”

  He was silent.

  Did he have a shoe fetish? “Do you want me to wear heels?”

  “Not if they make you uncomfortable. I’d rather you be comfortable.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” But regardless, she sensed his desire to see her in heels and decided she could wear a pair from time to time over the next month.

  “How do you intend to afford a membership?”

  She sighed. This conversation was not sexy, but it was intimate, being that he was taking an interest in some very personal details about her life.

  “My father signed the house over to me when I was eighteen. I sold it. I have some money in an account.”

  “How long is his sentence?”

  “He’s serving life.”

  “Do you see him?”

  “Occasionally on holidays when I have nowhere else to be.” She hadn’t seen him in three years. The last visit upset her more than comforted. She was coming to believe she’d never be able to balance the man who killed her mother with the man who raised her.

  “Does discussing him upset you?”

  Her brow tightened. “No, it just reminds me of how abnormal my life’s been. I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop since my mom died.”

  “What do you mean by that?” He rolled to his side, giving her his full attention.

  “It’s just . . . what does it mean about me, that my father could murder my mother?”

  He didn’t rush to answer, and she appreciated that. It wasn’t an easy puzzle to solve, and anyone who pretended to have all the answers would only insult her intelligence. “Did he ever say why he did it?”

  Her throat tightened. It was no secret. “She slept with my uncle.”

  “I’m sorry, Collette.”

  She shrugged. “It’s like a faraway memory of someone else’s life. My uncle lives in Arizona and I haven’t seen him since I was a child. My dad never complains about where he is. He admitted to everything and turned himself in. My mom . . .” That emptiness never went away. “I miss her.”

  His lips pressed to her brow. “You’ve grown into a very strong and capable woman. I think your shoes—as flat as they are—are safely on your feet and you can stop expecting one to drop.”

  She turned to her side and searched his face through the shadows. “I might freak out when it comes to sharing, Jude. I’ve always been equally afraid and reverent of monogamy.”

  He sighed, but she saw the shift of his mood, telling her that her warning was not taken lightly. “You didn’t list it as a hard limit.”

  “Part of me wants to push through my fears and embrace the experience.”

  “But you’re afraid it might trigger something?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “It’s good you told me. I won’t let anything happen to you, peach. We’ll tread lightly and see how you do. If it’s a bad trigger we’ll stop.”

  She nodded, appreciating that he’d be there, when the time came, and would be paying close attention to her. It was difficult to imagine him in such a situation, mostly because she had no basis for comparison. “Did you . . .”

  “Did I what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “No, I want to know what you were going to ask.”

  She regretted her slip and wanted to change the subject.

  “Collette.”

  Swallowing, she asked, “Did you share your wife?”

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up your personal life or your past.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” His clipped response filled her with regret.

  After a long moment, he said, “Yes, I shared my wife.” But his answer seemed to leave more unsaid than answered. She let the conversation fade and promised herself never to bring up his ex-wife again.

  Jude placed the plate on the end table. “It’s time for bed. I’ll walk you to your room.”

  She swallowed the telltale gasp of disappointment. She didn’t want to be dismissed. They were sharing such an intimate conversation. To cut it short left her feeling jilted and self-conscious. Worry that she’d upset him weighed heavily as he pulled back her covers and helped her up.

  Words escaped her as panic settled in. He unlocked the connecting door and directed her under the covers of her own bed. Climbing onto the mattress, she reached for his hand. “I’m sorry I asked about your ex, Jude. I won’t do it again.”

  He pinched her chin, his face an unreadable mask. “It’s fine. Sleep well, peach.”

  But his implied forgiveness did nothing to relieve her guilt as she watched him leave. The lock clicked behind him as the door shut.

  He’d said it was fine, but the intense sense of rejection was inescapable. Perhaps he was genuinely tired and she was making too much of things. Or had she upset him and his dismissal was her punishment?

  Biting her lip, she lowered her head to the pillows and frowned at the door. Would he ever leave it open?

  ***

  Over the next several days they fell into a bit of a rhythm. Every morning he’d wake her with a text and ask her to join him. She’d quickly wash up, find the adjoining door unlocked, and slip into his bed, where he tenderly took from her body. She never minded him using her for his gratification. On the contrary, it made her feel necessary and he always expressed how much pleasure she brought him.

  What surprised her was the deep satisfaction she got from this dynamic. It was an understanding that she would be sexually available to him unless ill. She’d imagined this would be a chore at times, but it wasn’t at all.

  There were some embarrassing moments when her body needed a bit of coaxing. Typically, foreplay could be the necessary bridge, but these moments were about her being available to him, and he would simply compensate with a touch of oil and it would be smooth sailing.

  In the end, her body always responded. Though she didn’t always climax, she did reach pivotal points of arousal. It was an expectation she wanted to meet and one he appreciated. There was little intimacy during these early-morning visits, but something crossed between them, something personal and satisfying that she had no label for.

  After their morning coupling, they’d part to shower and she’d make breakfast. Breakfast was followed by a meeting in the library, where Jude educated her on theory versus reality in the world of BDSM. She was coming to understand just how much was exaggerated and how achievable the D/s lifestyle could be if one found a trustworthy partner with similar views.

  She was also coming to understand that BDSM was different in every relationship, as was the D/s dynamic. It motivated her to apply herself more and vindicated how much she truly wanted that future.

  Some form of business that didn’t concern her typically interrupted their afternoons. Jude often directed her to see to lunch or rest at this time, depending on how fatiguing their morning had been.

  She loved the opportunities to take care of him, be it sexual relief or bringing him a cool glass of sun tea. There was a deep-seated need inside her to nurture, and the chance to take care of someone as authoritative as Jude Duval was a thrilling honor.

  Jude helped h
er understand this desire to serve. Understanding that any demands or expected slave practices were not stimulating to her, there seemed a very fine, but real line between the kind of submissive she desired to be and the labels available. She appreciated his attention to detail when helping her recognize the multiple variations.

  Basically, she took great pleasure in making his life calmer and happier. It was empowering, without the exploitation of needed recognition. Seeing to his comforts put her at ease. She was a nurturer at heart, but in the past, when she doted over a boyfriend, her intentions were often suspect and sometimes taken for granted. Jude let nothing go unnoticed, which made her care a labor of love. But she assured herself it was the behavior, not the man, that made it so.

  If there was some sort of exchange at play, she believed it was his dependable kindness and consideration of her personal needs. Sure that some feminists would tremble with objections to her behavior, she once again was grateful she’d found a place like Fernweh, a place where she was free to be the person she needed to be, without worrying about the judgment of others.

  There also came a great satisfaction every time she discovered something new—something about Jude. Knowing he liked his sweet tea with lemon but not mint seemed a defining moment. More defining was the moment he recognized that she’d noticed his preference without having to be told.

  She’d also noticed that he ignored the towel hooks on the bathroom door and always tossed his towels in the corner. The day she placed a small wicker basket in the corner, he’d kissed her and called her thoughtful. Same as he didn’t take her service for granted, she never took his recognition for granted. It meant something to her, something monumental.

  Jude was a very gentle Dom, she was coming to see. It amazed her that other, much more rigid Doms deferred to him. Perhaps that was because he created the world that provided the life they desired, but she believed it had more to do with his endless tolerance and the fact that he was nonjudgmental.

  They’d visited another couple’s house for dinner one evening, which seemed a common rotation in the village. Collette worried about her menu and when it would be their turn to entertain. The variety of relationships at Fernweh fascinated her as much as the adoration fawned upon the subs mesmerized her.

  The Doms were not short on attention either. The subs, both men and women, were almost flawless in their ability to read and please their Doms. It made Collette envious for such a partner, one she understood well enough to anticipate his needs and provide each one without prompting.

  She glanced at Jude, who was currently working up a sweat on the speed bag she could barely reach. His back was corded with muscle, and the little bit of pudgy belly fat he’d had when they met was now eradicated.

  It was dangerous to believe she might be affecting him the way he affected her. For all she knew, he was this meticulous with every woman. She didn’t like the thought, but it was naïve to believe she was different from anyone else.

  Look at how meticulous he is with himself.

  Jude was an exceptional lover, the best she’d ever had. He was thorough and attentive when he chose to be. Even when he was taking his own pleasure, he was careful with her, always making sure she was not in any pain and tending to her aftercare with a delicate touch. She understood how much he, too, needed someone to care for, but as a Dom, he also needed that sense of control, the power exchange she also enjoyed, but from a different angle. She trusted him in the superior role.

  However, he would object to the term superior. Jude was adamant that subs and Doms were equally important, both dependent on one another. To say one role was superior would upset him. She grinned, imagining him lecturing her, hearing his gentle yet stern voice.

  Peach, superiority indicates value. One role is no more valuable than the other. Yin could not exist without yang.

  So maybe the word she was searching for was control or authority. He needed to nurture but remain in control. She had no issue deferring to him, because she desperately wanted to be the elasticity to his rigidness, the softening touch to all his intensity and hardness. But she wasn’t.

  No matter what, at the end of the evening, Jude always said good night and put her to bed in her own room. Some nights she was too tired to care, but other nights she resented the locked door between them.

  Perhaps he needed privacy, but she’d slept beside him once in the beginning and they’d fallen asleep together throughout the days from time to time. He was separating them intentionally, and no matter how much she pretended to be indifferent about their teacher-pupil association, it pissed her off. Didn’t he feel any difference toward her since they started almost two weeks ago?

  It was inevitable that her emotions changed. She was learning his idiosyncrasies, knew how he liked his steak cooked, his coffee sweetened, and his dick sucked. Wasn’t he learning the same weird characteristics about her to some degree? Maybe he was and they simply didn’t appeal to him. She was greedy to learn every detail about Jude, but maybe he didn’t covet the details of her personality the same way. Perhaps he found her annoying and was counting down the days until the end of her apprenticeship.

  Perhaps she was being overly sensitive and critical of herself. He surely didn’t give the impression that her presence in his home was remotely tedious, but why did he never waver when the day closed? Why was she always left with such insecurities as that door locked?

  It made it difficult to embrace their circumstances full-heartedly. Ingrained was the knowledge that this was a temporary learning experience, and she could never quite lose herself or trust what they shared completely—no matter how much her heart begged to give over that last inch to him. It was an irritating wall that got in the way quite often when trying to build a relationship founded on trust.

  The barrier that separated them, a shared wall of sorts, was not hers but his. He’d put it there. He’d insisted she acknowledge his all-powerful declaration that this was not personal.

  I’m going to shine this bright light into your canal as I place this clamp on your clit and insert this anal plug, but remember . . . nothing personal.

  The longer she dwelled on his implacable aloofness the more irritated she got. Glaring at him from her treadmill, she watched as he grunted and now exerted himself on the rowing machine.

  Oh, look at all my fancy back muscle.

  Disgusted, she shut off the machine. She’d had enough.

  Releasing the oars, he glanced at her. “Where are you going?”

  “To shower,” she said, grabbing a towel from the pile and disappearing into the open bathroom.

  Her skin was slick with sweat and her clothes were damp. Usually, she liked puttering around the gym. She never gave her workout the effort Jude gave his, but he made for nice entertainment. Today, however, her body was achy, she felt fat, and the mere sight of him teased her every insecurity.

  “Collette.”

  She frowned when he followed her into the open shower room. “Yes?”

  “It hasn’t been an hour. You’ve barely been on the machines. Get your ass back out there.”

  Gritting her teeth, she said, “I don’t feel like it.”

  “Are you sick?”

  She knew that was the only way he’d let her quit early, but she couldn’t lie to him. “No.”

  “Then I don’t care what you feel like. I expect you to exercise for an hour and you have over thirty minutes left.”

  She huffed and pivoted, tossing her towel on the counter. Making her way back to the gym, she stepped onto the treadmill and hit quick start. The pace was sloth speed, and she folded her arms as she glared forward. Stupid, bossy, emotionally shortsighted—

  The button beeped and the treadmill jerked to a stop. “Off the machine.”

  She scoffed. “I thought you wanted me to finish the hour.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Get off. The machine.”
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  Noting the hard edge of his jaw and the way his mouth was devoid of anything close to a smile, she shrank into herself. He was suddenly in full-blown Dom mode. She stepped off the treadmill and lowered her chin to her chest, her eyes apprehensively gazing up at him.

  He appeared taller, larger, as though he sucked all the air out of the room to fill his broad, bare chest. “Go to the kitchen, remove your clothes, move a chair to the center of the room, and stand with your palms flat on the seat while you wait for me.”

  At least a dozen responses went through her head, but she’d been trained enough not to utter a single one. “Yes, Sir.”

  She made her way to the kitchen, guilt gnawing at her as anticipation built. She’d definitely had an attitude, and exercising was part of their contract, something she’d signed off on. She could have finished the hour, but she was in a crap mood and she wanted to be away from him.

  You’re a liar.

  Okay, so maybe she was poking him because of her frustration. Sometimes women needed a little extra attention and she wanted him to give it to her. However, this did not seem like it was going to end the way she wanted.

  She placed her neatly folded clothes on the counter and selected a chair, dragging it slowly to what she decided was the center of the room. Looking around, she wondered how long he would be and sighed, bending her body forward to place her palms on the seat of the chair.

  It took all of thirty seconds for the position to become tedious. Her legs shifted impatiently and her shoulders worked to find a more comfortable way to rest. There wasn’t one. Her neck began to ache and by the end of the first minute she truly wanted to stand and say to hell with it, consequences be damned.

  But she didn’t move. She stayed, squirming and shifting her feet as she waited somewhere close to twenty minutes. When he finally appeared she was furious, a plethora of accusations resting on her tongue as her back and neck insisted she stand erect and remove the pressure from her arms, feet, and spine.

  He stood in front of her, freshly showered and in a clean pair of gym pants. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me, Collette?”