Protege (20 page)

His breathing turned labored. Cupping her jaw, he turned her face and slammed his lips to hers, driving his tongue deep into her mouth as his body thrust into her. “You . . .” He whispered over her lips as he continued to hold her face and kiss her. “Why do you always know what to say?”

He seemed angry yet pleased. His touch was intense, but anything less would have been superficial. It seemed that being inside her like this unleashed a part of him she'd yet to witness. It called to her compliant nature and had her bending to his every touch, a malleable body from which he could take his pleasure.

Her mind spun as he thrust harder and harder, his hips slamming into her ass. He released her face, and her mouth opened as she called out his name. The harder he pounded, the more she wanted. It seemed her ass could take a much harder fucking than her pussy, and this act seemed to be freeing demons caged long ago.

“Who owns this ass?”

“You do, Sir.”

“And what do you say when I give you my cock like this?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Faster, he drilled into her, and suddenly something deep in her sex connected with her unraveling mind as her breasts pressed into the bedding. He possessed her mind, her body, and—she was pretty certain—a part of her soul no other would ever claim. Quickly, like a lit fuse chasing a powder line, her body tensed and flooded with unprecedented pleasure. “Sir, may I . . .” God, there would be no stopping it.

He drove into her harder. “You have my permission. Come.”

Her mouth opened on a cry as her toes curled and her body ignited. He groaned and withdrew. Heat streaked her back in pulsing jets as her legs trembled and her mind blanked. There was only the space in between, no lines dividing, no him, no her, only them, only energy and sensation, dark and throbbing.

Warmth spread inside her as her body burned, and everything seemed different, as if she'd been initiated into a world of carnality she'd never visited. Cool pressure gently prodded her behind and she grumbled, her body too oversensitive to tolerate the slightest touch.

“Be still.”

The pressure disappeared and her body was lifted and folded, pulled into a cozy niche that smelled incredible, like male ego and authority. He rocked her in his arms, laying kisses on her eyelashes and cheeks. “You did very well, Collette. Very well as always.” His voice turned hoarse. “Good girl.”

Her mind tried to hold on to his words, but they slipped away as she floated off on a dream, safe and secure. There had never been a more peaceful place to rest than in his arms.

***

Collette awoke in what felt like the middle of the night surrounded by pitch black. Heat surrounded her as Jude held her close to his body, his leg wrapped around her and grounding her in place. Carefully, she shifted his weight off her. They were definitely in his bed now, the curtains on the frame closed around them.

“Where are you sneaking off to?”

She stilled and smiled. “I'm starving. What time is it?”

“Probably close to eight.”

“Do you mind if I go find food? I can bring a tray up.”

He stretched in the darkness, his hand sliding over hers and squeezing in such a tender and evocative way that it rendered her shocked for a moment. For someone who thought it imperative they not lose sight of the nature of their association, he sure had a strange way of showing it.

“Go ahead. I'm going to shower.”

She leaned close and he stilled. Brazenly, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Sir.”

His hand hovered over her hair for a moment, then gently feathered down. “Go before I eat
you
.”

She giggled and slipped out of the bed. Outside the curtain, dusk flooded the room with deep purples tinged in gold. The house was chilly and she didn't know the trick for using the locked door to her room, so she grabbed one of his shirts on the chair and slipped it over her shoulders.

Her body demanded attention before anything else. Taking a quick detour to her private bathroom, she cleaned up. There wasn't much to take care of, being that he'd tended to her when they had finished. Still, she wanted to be at her best for him. With her hair pinned high in a clip, she quickly washed off in the shower.

As she dried her body, her gaze snagged on the mirror. She'd been quick, so the room had barely steamed. Her hand fluttered to her chest as she stared at her reflection, a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.

It was likely imagined, but her eyes appeared wiser and her skin held a healthy glow. Her gaze drifted to the locked charm dangling from her wrist, and she sighed. “Take it easy, girl. Don't get ahead of yourself.”

In the kitchen, she used a small platter and filled it with grapes, cheese, and some almonds. Swiping an open bottle of wine and two glasses, she returned to his bedroom.

The spatter of the shower told her it was still occupied. The soft sloshing sounds of water, different from the steady drizzle a vacant shower sang, sending her mind on a carnal fantasy as she imagined his hard body slick with soap and flexing under the stream of hot water. How breathtaking his naked form was. She briefly considered joining him, but as she placed the tray on the nightstand the water shut off.
Damn.

She stole a grape and removed his shirt, then slipped onto his bed and waited. On a whim, she shifted to her knees, wanting to present her gifts in a proper manner. He appeared with a damp towel slung low around his defined hips and stilled as he caught sight of her. “Pretty peach.”

She grinned. “I brought you some snacks to nibble.”

He walked slowly to the bed, never taking his eyes off her. “I see that.” Leaning close, he brushed his lips over hers and pulled back as she tried to meet him halfway. “I think I'll nibble this peach for a moment.”

Nudging her backward, he climbed onto the bed. His towel fell to the mattress, damp and cool. Sliding her knees apart, he kissed down her belly and slowly licked her.

Lifting her arms over her head, she sighed and stared at the chandelier as he slowly pleasured her. His touch was gentle, a delicate massage that built and cooled like a slow summer breeze.

His tongue slid between her folds, skillfully sipping from her. No one had ever done that so carefully without the urgent rush to make her climax. His fingers never entered her. He used only his mouth, and used it in the tenderest way possible.

Slowly, her pleasure peaked. Soft moans broke the silence, buffered by the drapes partially surrounding the bed. Everywhere he touched took her further along this sensual journey. Her skin seemed to awaken as his palm glided up and down the bottom of her thigh.

Delicately, his thumb strummed her clit as his hand caressed her legs, knees, and feet. His mouth took over as the fingers of his other hand pulled gently on her nipple. Like the waves born in the middle of the sea, her pleasure formed and grew. Her cries picked up pace as the intrepid beat of her heart fled into a steady gallop.

When the wave finally crested and broke, she felt as though every part of her shattered and skittered away, only to pull back into itself—whole again.

He collapsed next to her and reached for a cluster of grapes. “I've developed a fondness for peaches.”

She grinned, her fingertips following the rapid pulse of her heart as she caught her breath. “You're very good at that, Sir.”

He held the grapes over her lips and she bit one plump ball off the offering. Juice filled her mouth as she sank her teeth into the fruit.

“I'd say we're equally talented in terms of oral sex.”

They munched in silence, Jude holding the plate on his chest and feeding her a morsel of whatever he fed himself.

“How do you support yourself, Collette?”

Her mind shifted at the question. “I've been single a long time. A girl only needs so much beyond a cell phone and an apartment.”

“No shoe fetishes to feed?”

She grinned. “No. I have other fetishes to worry about.”

He turned and studied her. “Such as?”

She shrugged. “Look where I am.”

How perfectly he'd named Fernweh. When she first discovered its existence she'd looked into the name but found no English translation. He must have picked up the term during one of his trips overseas. The German word, as she understood, indicated a longing, a deep desire, strong enough to push a person toward the unknown and pull them away from the world they'd always lived within.

She had such a yearning—
fernweh
. The unquenched yearning only subsided to a tolerable ache once she'd met Jude, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

“This isn't a fetish, it's a desire for a certain dynamic,” he whispered.

“A fetish is something one links to an abnormal degree of sexual meaningfulness. You have no idea how much gratification I get from taking care of someone. It's abnormal and equally sexual to some degree.” She stilled, her mind seeming to catch up to her tongue.

Where had that come from? It came so freely and honestly. She'd never said, let alone thought anything close to what she just confessed, but it was incredibly accurate.

“Touché. I stand corrected. But still, no shoe obsession?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sir. I'm on my feet most of the day. I prefer flats or nothing.”

He was silent.

Did he have a shoe fetish? “Do you want me to wear heels?”

“Not if they make you uncomfortable. I'd rather you be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Sir.” But regardless, she sensed his desire to see her in heels and decided she could wear a pair from time to time over the next month.

“How do you intend to afford a membership?”

She sighed. This conversation was not sexy, but it was intimate, being that he was taking an interest in some very personal details about her life.

“My father signed the house over to me when I was eighteen. I sold it. I have some money in an account.”

“How long is his sentence?”

“He's serving life.”

“Do you see him?”

“Occasionally on holidays when I have nowhere else to be.” She hadn't seen him in three years. The last visit upset her more than comforted. She was coming to believe she'd never be able to balance the man who killed her mother with the man who raised her.

“Does discussing him upset you?”

Her brow tightened. “No, it just reminds me of how abnormal my life's been. I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop since my mom died.”

“What do you mean by that?” He rolled to his side, giving her his full attention.

“It's just . . . what does it mean about me, that my father could murder my mother?”

He didn't rush to answer, and she appreciated that. It wasn't an easy puzzle to solve, and anyone who pretended to have all the answers would only insult her intelligence. “Did he ever say why he did it?”

Her throat tightened. It was no secret. “She slept with my uncle.”

“I'm sorry, Collette.”

She shrugged. “It's like a faraway memory of someone else's life. My uncle lives in Arizona and I haven't seen him since I was a child. My dad never complains about where he is. He admitted to everything and turned himself in. My mom . . .” That emptiness
never
went away. “I miss her.”

His lips pressed to her brow. “You've grown into a very strong and capable woman. I think your shoes—as flat as they are—are safely on your feet and you can stop expecting one to drop.”

She turned to her side and searched his face through the shadows. “I might freak out when it comes to sharing, Jude. I've always been equally afraid and reverent of monogamy.”

He sighed, but she saw the shift of his mood, telling her that her warning was not taken lightly. “You didn't list it as a hard limit.”

“Part of me wants to push through my fears and embrace the experience.”

“But you're afraid it might trigger something?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“It's good you told me. I won't let anything happen to you, peach. We'll tread lightly and see how you do. If it's a bad trigger we'll stop.”

She nodded, appreciating that he'd be there, when the time came, and would be paying close attention to her. It was difficult to imagine him in such a situation, mostly because she had no basis for comparison. “Did you . . .”

“Did I what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I want to know what you were going to ask.”

She regretted her slip and wanted to change the subject.

“Collette.”

Swallowing, she asked, “Did you share your wife?”

Silence.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up your personal life or your past.”

“No, you shouldn't have.” His clipped response filled her with regret.

After a long moment, he said, “Yes, I shared my wife.” But his answer seemed to leave more unsaid than answered. She let the conversation fade and promised herself never to bring up his ex-wife again.

Jude placed the plate on the end table. “It's time for bed. I'll walk you to your room.”

She swallowed the telltale gasp of disappointment. She didn't want to be dismissed. They were sharing such an intimate conversation. To cut it short left her feeling jilted and self-conscious. Worry that she'd upset him weighed heavily as he pulled back her covers and helped her up.

Words escaped her as panic settled in. He unlocked the connecting door and directed her under the covers of her own bed. Climbing onto the mattress, she reached for his hand. “I'm sorry I asked about your ex, Jude. I won't do it again.”

He pinched her chin, his face an unreadable mask. “It's fine. Sleep well, peach.”

But his implied forgiveness did nothing to relieve her guilt as she watched him leave. The lock clicked behind him as the door shut.

He'd said it was fine, but the intense sense of rejection was inescapable. Perhaps he was genuinely tired and she was making too much of things. Or had she upset him and his dismissal was her punishment?