Protege

  “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.”

  Appreciating his attempt to ease her reservations, she smiled. “Thank you.” She scanned the long list of his expectations. It was quite a list. “Why do I have to exercise for an hour a day?”

  “Because your health will be important to any good Dom, which Jude is.”

  “What kind of exercise?” They were already going to be having sex frequently. She was going to exhaust herself with this agreement.

  “That’s for him to decide. Your application said you had no physical health limits. Is that incorrect?”

  “No, but once I hired a trainer and I didn’t like him very much. I don’t much care for people bossing me around.”

  He stilled, the incredulous look on his face giving her pause. “Right. Are you sure this is the sort of relationship you’re interested in?”

  She scanned over the ongoing list provided by Mr. Duval, turning the page under the detailed explanation of how she was expected to always be prepared for his attention and what she was and wasn’t permitted to wear to bed. On the next page she found her list and a warm sense of longing stole through her.

  Her Dom would listen and talk to her. He would take a genuine interest in the moments of her day with a common goal to find vicarious pleasure in each other’s experiences. He would be mannerly and patient, never violent and always tolerant of her inexperience, assisting her to better understand her personal sexuality without judgment. He would put her safety first in all things and protect her from harm.

  After reading such a list and imagining those requests being met, the rest seemed inconsequential. “Yes. This is what I want.” It was thirty days. She could do anything for thirty days when it encompassed such care and attention.

  “Okay.” He turned another page. “Section four is what we refer to as the submissive’s creed. It states that you will communicate honestly at all times regarding your limits, desires, and concerns. You will not attempt to top from the bottom, meaning you will not use tactics of manipulation. You will do your best to fulfill his wishes, and in the chance that your relationship sours or a scene fails, you will not place total blame on your Dom. You understand that he is human and also doing his best to fulfill your desires and needs. You will do your Dom honor by behaving as his sub proudly. And finally, you will be obedient, knowing he has a purpose behind every order and your obedience will lead to a deeper shared bond.”

  Her nose scrunched at the term obedient. “Can we remove the word obedient?”

  He laughed. “And what would we replace it with?”

  She shrugged. “Respectful should suffice.”

  He tapped the top of the page with his pen. “Respect is already required. Obedience is a cornerstone of a Dominant/submissive relationship, Ms. Banks. I’m afraid if you can’t obey your Dom, this entire contract is a waste of time.”

  “But what if he asks me to do something I don’t want to do?”

  “That’s why we have a contract. You’ve listed your hard limits and selected a safe word. Is there more you’d like to add? You’re allowed to write as many limits as you want.”

  How was she supposed to know what she should exclude without knowing what he might ask? “What if he thinks of something I haven’t?”

  “You’ll recall the section about not putting you in harm’s way. I assure you, while Jude might push you emotionally, he’d only do so with a healthy goal in mind. He’d never physically harm or abuse you, Collette. You have my word on it.”

  But she didn’t know him any better than she knew Jude Duval.

  He folded his hands. “You have the right to stop at any time. Did you select a safe word?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned the page and smirked. “Good one. My wife’s is spider monkey.”

  She drew back. Why had it not occurred to her that he lived in a similar fashion to the life on which she was embarking? “Oh.”

  “You’ll meet her eventually. She’s readying the château for you and Jude.”

  She frowned. What did that mean, readying it? “Is your wife . . . obedient?”

  He chuckled. “Usually. Though she can be a brat when she’s looking for attention.”

  Her brow tightened, recalling when Jude called her such a thing. Shaking off the distraction, she asked, “What if I forget something?”

  “You will, but that’s when the fun part starts and you get to experience all the wonderful tricks your Dom has to help you remember.”

  “Such as?”

  “Not my place to tell you. I’m sure you’ll find out.”

  “If he hits me, I’ll hit him back.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure he’ll love that. You have a note here about the overnight bag. Could you explain that?”

  “Oh. I’m renting a room right now. I don’t have a lot of things with me, but it didn’t make sense to continue to rent a room I won’t be occupy
ing. I’d like to bring the remainder of my items. It’s a little over three suitcases.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Jude will see to all your expenses. We suggest subs bring a bag in cases like this so they don’t feel empty-handed. Chances are you won’t need those belongings during your stay. It’s just a courtesy. And your room will remain paid for by the company. We like to leave everything as it was during trial periods.”

  They seemed to have thought of everything. “And what happens on the last day?”

  “Your Dom relinquishes your services and you return to your home. Your application is completed and we add you to the system. After that, the members will have access to your stats and can put in a request for more information. If someone’s truly interested, we run your compatibility scores and possibly arrange a meeting from there.”

  “What about Mr. Duval?”

  He frowned and folded his hands. “I want to be perfectly clear on this, Ms. Banks. Jude Duval is here to run a business. He doesn’t involve himself with clients on a personal level. Ever. You are his protégé, an honor not every submissive gets and one you should certainly appreciate. Do not read more into this than there actually is. He’s doing this to help you find a match, but that match isn’t him. I promise you.”

  She nodded, unclear how anyone could make such a claim. Life had taught her anything was possible. However, it also taught her not to underestimate how painful loss could be, which was why she forced herself to view this agreement as a temporary situation, nothing more. “I understand.”

  “Good, now we just have to follow up with the clinic and once your blood work comes through as clear and you’re implanted, we can—”

  “Stop.” She shook her head. “What?”

  His expression turned hesitant. “Didn’t you read the section about contraceptives?”

  She thought she’d read all of it, but she must have missed that part. “I assumed we’d use something safer, like condoms.”

  “Typically that would be fine, but under the conditions and being that this contract will likely entail sexual acts several times a day for the next thirty days, Jude has requested you get fitted with an IUD. His blood work is clean and if yours is as well, there shouldn’t be an issue.”