Protege(41)

Soft keening sighs filled the room and then, the sound he’d been waiting for whispered into the darkness. “Jude . . .”

He growled and closed his lips over her clit, sucking as his fingers parted her folds. Her back arched as her thighs brushed his shoulders. His hands slid under her ass as he held her to his mouth, drinking from her like a holy offering.

“Jude . . .”

Every soft cry was an aphrodisiac to his ears. He could have made her come right away, but something held him back. His lips explored every delicate curve, tasted every bit of dew, drank deeply of her body in a way he’d never typically do in a scene. It was as though he wanted to prolong the moment as long as possible, drag out her ecstasy until it was reed thin.

Her pleasure built, her voice carrying on a crescendo of throaty desire. Her body contracted in a fury of soft flutters and her sex tightened and opened as her release sweetened his tongue.

Humming with satisfaction, he continued to tease her, drawing a deeper climax from her as she arched into him. Her arms never moved, showing exquisite obedience to his command, which only fueled his desire more.

His cock throbbed in his briefs and he desperately wanted to ram it inside her, but a tickle of unease set in the moment he pulled back and reached to remove his shorts. This wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be experiencing this much emotion from an understudy. Supine, she lay on her white coverlet catching her breath.

What the hell was happening here? Yes, he was happy with her behavior, but this was absolutely ridiculous. He was Jude f*cking Duval. His days of falling over a woman were over. Any threat to his control was a threat, period.

Her head turned slowly, her face soft with gratified lust, the pupils of her eyes swallowing the hazel. “You’re amazing.”

He swallowed and took a staggering step back. “You’ll sleep here tonight.”

Her lips parted, a slight divot forming above her brow. Her arms slowly eased to her sides as her shoulders lifted off the mattress. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s late and it’s been a long day. I’ll see you in the morning.” Grabbing the key off her dresser, he left the way he came and locked the door, her scent and unique flavor still on his lips. As he braced his weight against the wall, he vowed this would be the last time she caused his control to slip.





Chapter Six


As Collette tried to recall which room was the library, her stomach knotted. Panic pierced her gut with each step closer to where he waited.

He was sending her home. She could sense it. Something wasn’t right. He’d said he was happy with her last night, but then he’d driven her straight to ecstasy and suddenly left. Which could only mean she’d done something wrong.

As she recognized the double French doors and the faint scent of old books, her pulse pounded. She wouldn’t beg. He’d brought her here and shown her enough to let her know this was in the vicinity of everything she’d yearned for. For that, she could not begrudge him.

She’d only ask that he’d pay her the courtesy of explaining what she’d done wrong. She’d reflect and try again with someone else. Though the thought of someone else seemed debilitating at the moment.

The door was closed so she knocked. “Come in,” he called, and she quietly stepped over the threshold. He hardly glanced at her as he gestured to a chair. “Have a seat.”

She slid into the upholstered chair. Her seat was angled to face his. He steepled his fingers and studied her. She was becoming more tolerant of his lengthy perusals of her body. Mr. Duval liked to stare. Somehow he made it less rude and more unnerving.

“Breakfast was very nice this morning. You’re a good cook, peach.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Although he’d said that several times before, it never stopped filling her with deep satisfaction. His praise was rare, but always genuine, and therefore it deserved to be treasured.

“I’ve asked you here to talk. I think, as we embark on this journey of self-discovery, it’s important to touch down and take some time to reflect. It will also help me when I’m compiling your file.”

Her lashes lifted with stunned relief. “You aren’t asking me to leave?”

He frowned. “Why would you assume I’d ask that?” Not exactly a denial.

“I thought . . .” She shook her head, irritated with her insecure paranoia. “Never mind.”

“Did someone say something to you last night?”

She stilled. That wasn’t her insecurity. It was his. And maybe she wasn’t so paranoid after all. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Complete honesty, Ms. Banks. You gave your word.”

She hated when he reverted to using her last name. It stung like an approaching punishment on his lips and she wasn’t sure what she’d done to deserve the formal label. She much preferred he address her with familiar titles.

“No one said anything to me on the matter. I just had a sense.”

“Very well. Let’s discuss your progress thus far.” That quickly, his disposition shifted, easing her worry. “How are you enjoying your experience?”

That was a loaded question. “I’m enjoying it.”

“Does it bother you having sex with a man you barely know?”

The taboo context of his question triggered the unraveling of something dark inside her, something that should be linked to shame but was actually connected to a sense of rightness. It wasn’t that she didn’t know him. It was that she was getting to know him and liking every new part of him she discovered—most of the time. Her body softened and slowly heated. She purposefully chose her words. “Not for this purpose.”