Protege(15)

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.