Protege(52)
Tiffany had asked for more than he felt safe giving her. While some desired an element of danger in their scenes, he simply could not, in good conscience, put the woman he loved at risk. The man she was currently with was rumored to dabble in breath and knife play.
Tiffany had scars from her youth, moments when a blade pressed slowly into her soft skin, piercing the swell of delicate flesh until a pearl of crimson bloomed against the metal. She’d talk about her cutting so eloquently when they were in private, sometimes she’d even trace a finger along one of her scars the way a lover might caress lips, recalling a passionate kiss.
As the years went on, it wasn’t uncommon to find her holding the hilt of a knife too long at the counter and catch the far-off glint in her eye as though lost in a fantasy, one he’d never be able to deliver. She tried to snuff out her affinity for pain, but in the end it became a beckoning affair she longed to return to.
His body disguised a shiver as his lips pressed to the warm body filling his arms. “I never want you to hesitate if you need to use your safe word, Collette. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” She twisted, her hazel eyes gazing into his. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“May I touch you? Everything you said was so poignant, I find myself . . .” She frowned as though searching for the right words. “Full of desire. I want to kiss you.”
Her request was so honest and flattering, yet his instinct to pull back from the intimacy rode hard. As much as he needed the distraction from his darker thoughts, he needed to make one more thing clear.
He cleared his throat. “There’s something else we should discuss, Collette.” Lifting her off his lap, he waved a hand at the chair opposite the couch.
She nodded and moved to the distant seat, hiding her disappointment well.
“It can be confusing, all these emotions stimulated by this dynamic we’re applying,” he explained, hoping to bring them both some clarity. “You’re placing yourself in a very vulnerable position and trusting me to take care of you. I will, because I’ve agreed to show you a glimpse of this lifestyle so you might better know yourself.” He met her gaze and spoke clearly. “Do not confuse my dedication to teaching you these things with love.”
Her lashes lowered, a smart smirk crossing her lips as a silent breath of laughter escaped her in a soft exhalation. “You flatter yourself, Sir.”
He drew back, and his expression dropped. He appraised her quick response, not expecting the barb. The prick to his ego smarted immediately. Perhaps he needed to heed his own advice.
Her lashes lifted as she stared at him with hard certainty, all playfulness in her expression gone. “May I be excused?”
He frowned, disliking the shift that just took place. “No.”
Her jaw twitched, but she remained still and silent. Was she embarrassed? Angry? There was definitely some poignant emotion tumbling through her in that very moment.
“Have I upset you, peach?”
“No, but I find your arrogance disappointing.”
His brow lifted—again shocked by her directness. Regaining his composure, he smirked. “Do you now?”
She held his stare. “Yes, Sir, I do. I was only asking for intimacy, not a grand gesture of your devoted affection. I’m not an idiot. But bless your heart for clarifying your intensions.”
Her southern twang grew thick as she laid out the disguised insult.
Leaning close, he dropped his voice in a way that demanded her complete attention. “I, too, am not an idiot, peach. I’ve been all over this world, to each continent and through most states. You underestimate my intelligence if you think you’re the first southerner I’ve met. It’s a plain insult to use a phrase like bless your heart and assume I don’t know the translation.” Everyone knew that phrase was a polite way to call someone an idiot. His eyes narrowed. “Your Dom is now a very pissed-off Yankee, peach.”
The hardness in her jaw slackened as her eyes slowly widened. And there was the shift he’d been referring to, back in place the way it was meant to be.
Keeping his voice even, he said, “Get up stairs and freshen up. In ten minutes I expect to find you bent over the foot of your bed, ass in the air. You asked for intimacy and you’ll have it. Perhaps a little lesson on brattiness as well.” When she didn’t immediately move, he snapped, “Go.”
She quickly rose and left the room. Grinding his teeth he sat back. Looked like they were going to cross off a few objectives tonight.
Chapter Eight
“Well, isn’t that a lovely sight.”
Collette’s body trembled as Jude stepped into the room, his presence pronouncing an attentiveness inside her that seemed consistently linked to his mood. Sometimes the awareness was a dull throb he produced by merely being close. Other times, it was a thrumming, racing through her pulsing veins as his intentions slowly unraveled and she accepted his decisions the second they were communicated. There was no balance when he had her blood pumping like that, much like it did now.
The soft whisper of his clothing being stripped away was a welcome interlude. Her fingers massaged the comforter as her cheek pressed into the mattress. Her body quivered with anticipation, her mind certain he would fill her soon.
“The trouble,” he stated softly as he opened and closed a drawer, “with not saying exactly what we mean, is that it can lead to not getting exactly what we want. Downstairs you expressed a desire for intimacy and I took a moment to clarify my emotional investment to our association. You then called me an idiot.”