Protege (11 page)

With little time to mentally prepare, he slid in to the hilt, and her body stretched at the sudden intrusion, breath whooshing out of her lungs, as the forgotten feeling of being taken rushed in. So many uniquely human sensations flooded her nervous system—the press of the mattress against her back, the softness of her hair surrounding her face, the rich scent of him, all of him, so strong she swallowed the memory with every breath.

“How is that? Any discomfort from earlier?”

So distracted, it took her a moment to understand what he was asking. Her appointment that morning at the doctor's seemed like a lifetime ago. As the specialist had said, her body had recovered immediately and she felt no different with the IUD than she had without it. It touched her that, for as dispassionate and methodical as this all seemed, he paused to consider her comfort. “I'm just full, Sir. You're very large.”

“Good.”

Unblinking, she stared up at him. It was the most impersonal sex she'd ever had. Yet her body was quivering and slick with arousal. He was awakening something inside her. Perhaps it was the idea that this was solely about his needs and she was somehow meeting them.

Leaning over her, he looked into her eyes. “Do you have something to say?”

He was so thick her tissue stretched to accommodate him. If he touched her clit she'd come. It was unheard of. What did he want her to say? It suddenly seemed imperative that she do everything he asked. He'd told her not to speak unless she needed to use her safe word or . . . “Thank you, Sir.”

He smiled and thrust hard. She moaned with the force of his entry. His grip tightened around her hips, holding her at the edge of the mattress as he proceeded to fuck her at a fixed pace. And then she understood. Him. This was about him. Yet she'd yearned to serve a Dom so deeply, in a strange way it was also about her. He was feeding a starved part of her soul with every greedy advance.

He wasn't gentle, but he also wasn't aggressive. His thrusts were intentional, deep, and his grip was unmoving, but he wasn't assaulting her in anyway. She'd never had a man fill her in such a penetrating and paced manner. It was definitely having a positive effect on her as her heart raced and her tummy tightened with the desire to come.

She moaned as pleasure built steadily. Everything about the way he took her was selfish and precise. It was as if he were purposely trying to make her feel like she wasn't there, but he couldn't do it. His eyes returned to her face, intently watching for any sign of distress. Somehow she knew if she so much as winced he would stop.

Amused by his assumption that consensual sex could be one-sided because the man wills it so, she decided to have some fun of her own. Her neck arched as she purposely parted her lips and let out a long, breathy moan. “Oh, Mr. Duval, you're so powerful and big. I think I might come.”

His rhythm staggered and she smirked as he scowled at her. Teasing seemed something he wasn't accustomed to, so she went on, groping her breasts and sighing with the build of an Academy Award–winning orgasmic performance. She stopped the second he gripped her wrists and ripped them away from her body, pressing them into the bedding and driving his cock deep with a punishing thrust.

The next sigh was genuine, as something dark and unknown took hold of her as he forcefully reclaimed control. Blinking up at him, she understood: While he wasn't immune to a little teasing, he would not be mocked when it came to this. He thrust again and she lost sight of all joking matters.

No one had ever watched her with the acute intensity he was watching her with now. No one had filled her with such promising aggression, every push proving to show her who was in control. His authority penetrated deeper than anything else, deliciously so. It became clear he'd give her no reason to fake anything, but he also would decide when she came.

As his motions continued, each advance sinking deep with reverberating pressure, her muscles contracted, tighter and tighter. Her lungs worked hard to keep up, as her thoughts, no matter how she tried to separate them from the act, continued to spiral. This meant something—something very different from the typical meaning garnered through intimacy. Despite his self-devoted intentions, pleasure shot through her veins, coursing in a steady rush of implication she couldn't simplify.

Gasping, her body contracting around him as he groaned, she trembled, and his pace quickened. Thrusting rapidly, he drilled into her, extending her climax until his muscles visibly locked, his fingers digging into her hips and the heat of his release filling her.

Shocked by her effortless climax, such little attention given to her erogenous zones, she blinked up at him. Was it him? Did he have this effect on all women? Or maybe it was her and the emphasis she placed on him, her savior offering to take her into the dark so she might find enlightenment. It simply didn't make sense that she could enjoy any of what just happened, but she did. Her pleasure was undeniable.

His shoulders twitched as he filled her. They hadn't done anything out of the ordinary—simple if not intense missionary—yet she found all prior sexual encounters incomparable. He was a very good lover.

Though her voice trembled through jagged breaths, the words came without thought. “Thank you, Sir.”

He looked into her eyes, a crease forming in his brow. “You're welcome, Collette,” he said, voice gravelly as he slowly withdrew his body from hers. His hand cupped her cheek as he studied her. “I'm very pleased with the way this evening ended. If you'd like to sleep in my bed tonight I'll allow it.”

The sprawling house was still unfamiliar and intimidating. Staying in the same room would be much better than staying alone. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You say those words so prettily, peach.” He silently directed her under the covers. The mattress was soft and the sheets made of the finest silk. He pulled her body against his and she smiled, liking the possessive way he held her.

Slowly, she rested her hand over his where it held her breast. His fingers turned and squeezed hers in a silent, affectionate gesture. Feeling safe in his arms, she closed her eyes and swiftly drifted to sleep.

***

There was the slightest warning before the intrusion woke her. “What—”

“Good morning, Collette,” was all he said as he thrust into her from behind. She gasped as he pulled her thigh to the outside of his as they lay on their sides where they slept. He applied pressure to her shoulder, his voice raspy from sleep. “Bend forward for me, peach. It will be deeper.”

Still processing what was happening, she folded her body and gasped as he pressed very deep.

“That's it.” His hips snapped forward with impressive speed as his finger glided over her clit, rubbing in rapid circles while his mouth pressed hot kisses along her back.

Her orgasm was fast in coming. Her voice pitched as her body pulsed, gripping his pistoning cock. Fingers tightening on her flesh, he groaned and finished in a rush. His arms banded around her as he buried his face in her messy hair. “I said good morning, Collette.”

She blinked, hardly having had a chance to fully awaken. “Good morning, Sir.”

“You're picking up quickly. You better get moving if you want to shower before breakfast.”

Shit. She was responsible for all meals. It was a stipulation in their contract. Typically she wouldn't mind, but she had no idea what was in the pantry. It would have been nice to go grocery shopping first, but she'd manage. She'd ask him to show her where the market was when he took her on a tour later that day.

The thought of touring Fernweh motivated her out of bed. Today was going to be a better day. She paused as she stood by the foot of the bed, her body modestly covered by the satin sheet. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Or do you like tea?”

His gaze softened as he stretched onto his back, folded his arms behind his head, and smiled. Eyes wide, she jerked her attention to the nightstand as he unabashedly put himself on full display. “Cream and sugar is fine. I keep the coffee in the freezer.”

Nodding, she searched for her robe and made a quick dash across the room where he'd left it. As she fumbled with the sleeves and tied it hastily, he chuckled. “Eventually, you'll be unfazed by nudity.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“We'll see.”

His laughter left her smirking as she found her way back to her room. Everything was so enormous at the château. The rooms were cavernous, especially hers and Jude's. It seemed strange to have separate sleeping quarters, but she supposed there would be moments when she'd find such arrangements a relief.

After showering, she sifted through the closet and frowned. Where were the pants? She wasn't against skirts. As a matter of fact she preferred them, but if they were going to be walking the grounds today, pants seemed more appropriate.

Settling on a cobalt sundress and green cardigan, she slid on a pair of stockings and found a coordinating pair of camel flats in the closet. She was now grateful he'd taken her measurements, because everything fit perfectly. Had they gone by her original—fibbed—numbers, she'd be bursting out of the seams.

The kitchen was a delightful surprise, French cabinetry and an old farm table. Nothing fancy but everything a girl could dream of. It was like walking into a Pottery Barn ad.

She smiled as she opened the pantry, surprised again to find it stocked with root vegetables, grains, and mason jars packed with nuts. Everything was fresh and raw. Someone had really taken care when stocking his kitchen.

Her enchantment was complete when she found a delicately sewn apron hanging on the wall. Sliding the ruffled straps over her arms she tied the strings and unleashed her inner Suzy Homemaker.

She wasn't a seasoned chef by any means. Everything she knew how to cook came from someone else's recipe. However, she had a mind for cuisine and once she made something she never forgot how.

In the fridge she found some fresh cut meats. Two pork chops beckoned to be marinated, but she'd check with him first. There was something incredibly satisfying about pleasing a man with a well-cooked meal.

Love and care went into every ingredient and soon she was whisking up a fluffy batch of buttermilk pancakes. The six-burner stove was so luxurious and modern, a gem hidden in the antiquated kitchen along with the dishwasher disguised with the wood of the cabinets much like the enormous double-door refrigerator. She'd never had the joy of cooking in such a state-of-the-art kitchen.

“Smells incredible.”

Though he startled her, she recovered quickly and smiled. “Your
kitchen
is incredible.”

“I'm glad you like it. It's yours for the next twenty-nine days, so if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask.”

Perhaps she was too impressed by the room, but knowing this would become her domain over the next month gave her domestic self a thrill. “Thank you, Sir.”

He paused, his eyes finding hers in a glance that stopped the world from spinning for a split second. Intensity built, as something pulled tight between them, like a thread that would eventually snap or bring them closer. Sucking in a breath, she escaped the moment and said, “Breakfast will be ready in a minute. If you have a seat I'll bring you your coffee.”

He blinked, the moment broken, and nodded. Occupying the chair at the end of the farm table, he unfolded a paper as she placed his coffee on a saucer to his right. Everything was so picture perfect, so calming. The orchestrated rhythm was timeless, something she craved and never came close to finding. Even if it was all make-believe, the effect was fulfilling.

He sipped his coffee. “This is perfect. Thank you, Collette.”

Her breath caught at his praise and she smiled softly. “You're welcome, Sir.”

Though the formality bothered her last night, today she found their courteous dialogue refreshing and polite. She carried a plate of pancakes to the table and returned a moment later with a sliced grapefruit and a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

“This looks delicious. Have a seat.”

“I just wanted to rinse the batter out of—”

He caught her hand. “Sit. That can wait.”

His command was gentle, yet left no room for argument. She sat and he placed two pancakes on each plate. “Syrup?”

She hadn't expected him to serve. “Yes, please.”

He poured a swirl of amber maple syrup on her cakes, and she waited for him to take the first bite. When he did, he nodded his approval and she joined him.

There wasn't much to talk about, being that they were still getting to know each other. However, that left lots to discuss. She just wasn't sure how much she was allowed to say or ask.

His brow arched as he sipped his coffee, amusement dancing in his green eyes. “You're quiet this morning. Is everything okay?”

She wiped her mouth on the napkin and folded her hands on her lap. “I wasn't sure what the rules were.”

His gaze held hers. “There are no rules against talking over a meal.”

“I just assumed, after last night . . .”

“Last night was different. When we're involved in a sexual moment and I give you explicit instructions, I expect you to follow my direction without question, because we're carrying out acts within the guidelines of our agreement. I've given you no direction other than to make breakfast. You can speak freely, Collette. I want you to be comfortable. Just be yourself.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders. “I'm in love with your kitchen,” she said, trying to break the ice. “Did you have it designed or was some of it original to the house when you bought it?”

“Well, the house was renovated in the late eighteen hundreds but had fallen into ill repair. That's part of the reason I could afford the place. It took years to finish. This was the original servants' kitchen, but the layout's shifted over the years. The only thing original is the brick oven and the glass in the cabinets. See how it's marbleized? Age does that. We preserved as many pieces as we could.”