Protege(60)

She placed her neatly folded clothes on the counter and selected a chair, dragging it slowly to what she decided was the center of the room. Looking around, she wondered how long he would be and sighed, bending her body forward to place her palms on the seat of the chair.

It took all of thirty seconds for the position to become tedious. Her legs shifted impatiently and her shoulders worked to find a more comfortable way to rest. There wasn’t one. Her neck began to ache and by the end of the first minute she truly wanted to stand and say to hell with it, consequences be damned.

But she didn’t move. She stayed, squirming and shifting her feet as she waited somewhere close to twenty minutes. When he finally appeared she was furious, a plethora of accusations resting on her tongue as her back and neck insisted she stand erect and remove the pressure from her arms, feet, and spine.

He stood in front of her, freshly showered and in a clean pair of gym pants. “Do you have something you’d like to say to me, Collette?”

Her breath accelerated as her words collided in her mind and came out as, “I’m sorry, Sir.” It was the unburdening she needed but didn’t want to allow. Damn him and his mind games.

“Why are you sorry?”

Her mouth compressed. She just wanted to stand up straight. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish my hour in the gym and I’m sorry I took an attitude with you.”

“Sit down.”

She sighed and eagerly stood, the relief to her muscles and spine immediate. She hesitated to sit, glancing at him, and seeing she’d better do as he instructed, she lowered herself into the chair and waited.

“We must discuss punishment, peach. Your tone was disrespectful and that’s unacceptable. You also agreed to these terms, which I expect you to honor unless you’re physically ill and incapable. Now, your cycle should start this week, so perhaps you aren’t feeling your best, but that doesn’t justify lashing out or shirking your responsibilities.”

She was getting her period. The urge to smack herself in the head was hard to ignore. No wonder she was so irritable. She had PMS. How would that affect their schedule? The new worry became a major concern, making it difficult to focus on what Jude was saying. Above all, she was impressed he was so aware of her cycle. Of course she’d written the dates in her paperwork, so it wasn’t like he was psychic.

“. . . It is my duty to correct any misbehavior I see, Collette, and you’ve expressed a need for a certain kind of relationship that applies various levels of consequence. Your actions today were an infraction of the rules we agreed upon. Do you agree?”

She didn’t know if all of this was necessary since she’d apologized. “Yes, Sir.”

“Misbehavior introduces unwanted feelings that cloud our judgment. Those feelings must be addressed, corrected, and forgiven so they can be expelled. Harboring negative feelings stirs resentment. I’d rather not revisit this topic again, so let’s discuss the cause of your behavior.”

He paced and she frowned. “I think I’m just dealing with PMS.”

Shaking his head, he said, “If a man were to blame a woman’s behavior on such symptoms, she’d be offended. While you might be more irritated around this time of the month, that doesn’t define the source of your irritation. Go deeper.”

Every aggravated thought she had in the gym came back to her, but she lacked the courage to utter a sound.

When she remained silent, he asked, “Don’t you want my forgiveness, peach? I can’t grant you forgiveness until you’ve confessed what you’ve done. Come now, out with it.”

A lump formed in her throat as she lowered her gaze to the floor. He tipped her chin up, bending her neck as far as it could go. “You’re trying my patience, peach.”

“I was mad at you,” she huffed.

Not letting go of her chin, he asked. “Why?”

She shrugged, unable to vocalize her confusing emotions, and he released her.

“Very well. On your feet.”

She stood and he paced in front of her. “The issue with harboring resentments, Collette, is they fester and turn into unmanageable cancers within a relationship. You’ve given your word to communicate honestly with me, yet you’re hiding something.”

She really wasn’t. It was just her own issues ganging up on her because she was in a pissy mood. Her eyes followed him as he walked to the counter and opened a drawer, removing a wooden utensil of sorts. He held it where she couldn’t completely see and she—her eyes widened. Not a utensil. A paddle.

Taking a step back, she stared at the wide, wooden oar and panted.

“Now, do you want a relationship with secrets?”

“No,” she croaked.

His head tilted, his eyes showing a flash of exasperation. “No . . .”

“Sir.”

“Because when a sub doesn’t communicate honestly and openly about her feelings, what can happen?”

“Resentment develops.”

“I’m a lot of things, peach, but I’m not a mind reader. Are you ready to share your feelings?”

No. She swallowed and remained silent.

He stood in front of her, his eyes searching hers. “Peach, there’s nothing you could say that I probably haven’t heard before. Don’t be afraid of your feelings. Express them and let out your frustration. I’ll help you. But you have to open yourself up and be honest with me.”