Protege(26)
“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.