Protege

by Lydia Michaels

  As though the world were suspended in motion, dependent on their next breath, everything stilled as he gave her his first full smile. “I really like you in that apron.”

  Her cheeks heated as she blushed. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “I think I like when you call me Jude,” he said as almost an afterthought to himself.

  “Thank you, Jude,” she corrected, a strange warm sensation tunneling through her veins.

  His finger traced the pull in her stocking. “We’ll get you more.”

  “It’s okay. There are others in the dresser upstairs.”

  His hand closed softly around her thigh. It was an intimate gesture, the kind he hadn’t displayed as of yet. The way he held her so delicately, as if her femininity beguiled him, made her very aware of his strength and reserve.

  “Go freshen up and I’ll take you around Fernweh.”

  “Yes . . . Jude.”

  His gaze held her a moment longer until he broke their stare. As she took the steps she was short of breath, but not from exertion. There was something about this place that left her out of sorts, as if under a spell. Put a man like Jude Duval in the mix, with his charm and stature and irrefutable authority, and she was done—a puddle of girlish mush.

  Her misgivings were slowly fading. It was impressive that such comfort with her surroundings could occur so swiftly. They’d only arrived yesterday afternoon. As much as she wanted to believe it was the beautiful home and charming atmosphere, she knew a large part of her ease was a result of Jude. Though he could be rough, there was an undeniable gentleness about him that drew her in. Somehow he balanced his tender mannerisms with unarguable authority.

  When she had replaced her stockings and used the bathroom, she returned downstairs. Jude was on the phone, which gave her enough time to clean up the dishes from breakfast. She reminded herself, again, to ask if pork would be okay for dinner.

  “You work fast.”

  She spun and laughed. “You snuck up on me.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Removing the apron, she nodded. “Yes, but before we go, there are pork chops in the fridge. Would you like me to make them for dinner tonight?”

  His hand lifted to her chin, his thumb running lightly over her lower lip. “It’s very good of you to ask, but I’m afraid I’ve agreed to have dinner at Ezra’s tonight. Lea and some of the other women will be there. They’re looking forward to meeting you. You can make the chops tomorrow night.”

  “Okay.” The way he stared at her, he could have asked her to serve up her kidneys, and she would have agreed. It made it easier to shelf the twinge of anxiety that came with the expectation of meeting the people she’d briefly been exposed to the previous evening.

  Breathtaking did not accurately describe the grounds of Fernweh. Lush green lawns carved around stone fixtures and man-made ponds. Jude showed her where the baby geese played, and she hoped to return with a bag of bread for them.

  Across the footbridge was a garden. Though nothing was in bloom yet, she hoped she’d catch a glimpse of the perennials during her time there.

  She hadn’t known what to expect, because everyone was so discreet regarding Fernweh. She was beginning to understand. The château was Jude’s and Jude’s alone, but the neighboring homes were full of people who lived in accordance with Fernweh’s mission.

  “Every couple’s different. I can’t go into detail, because that would breach their privacy. As you come to know them, you’ll see what I mean. Some believe in polyamorous marriages, others swing. We’re a very tolerant people, which is why we value the sanctuary we’ve created here.”

  “Polyamorous, as in—”

  “More than one partner.”

  “Oh my.”

  “It’s not for everyone.”

  Was it for him? She stepped under the brush of a willow tree as he held a gate open. “Have you ever been in a relationship like that?”

  “No. I’m not one to share what’s mine.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t decide if this detail was a relief or a disappointment.

  “You’ll still be shared; however, I’m merely sponsoring you. It’s important you experience it to determine how it makes you feel. I’m aware it was checked off in your application, so don’t worry that my preferences will hinder your experiences in any way.”

  Because she wasn’t truly his. Strange, how much that reminder was starting to bother her. How did he remove himself like that? “But you don’t like it.”

  What if she didn’t like it? The idea of being touched by more than one man, worshipped, had undeniable erotic appeal. But when she and Jude were progressing as intimately as they were now, it seemed wrong to entertain such fantasies. They were temporary, so it was silly to deny herself an experience on his account, especially when he had no issue with seeing her with another man. Clearly, she was only his protégé, nothing more.

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about determining your sexual preferences.” And the point was driven home—she was merely a temporary blip on his radar.

  She disliked feeling like she was a job to be checked off, but she also appreciated him doing something that typically went against his nature in order to enlighten her. The actuality of doing such a thing, however, was overwhelming. She blew out a long breath. “I can’t think about that right now.”

  “Does it excite you, the thought of having multiple men pleasuring you at once?”

  His curiosity struck her as genuine, and she wondered why he was asking. Was he keeping some sort of personal score? Estimating their compatibility?

  No matter how much she tried to entertain the fantasy in that peaceful moment, she couldn’t think in terms of multiples. Her mind didn’t work past two. Yet there was that twinge of temptation pulling her toward something universally taboo. “Yes, but mostly because it scares me.”

  “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, peach.”

  She was growing fond of the nickname he’d chosen for her, liked the sense of closeness it provoked—imagined or otherwise. “Thank you, Jude. I believe you.” After a brief pause, she brazenly slipped her hand into his, relieved when he allowed the contact.

  They walked a bit farther, as the day was warm and the skies were clear. “Tell me your thoughts on women,” he said as the house came into view.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does the thought of touching a woman excite you?” He had no difficulty speaking of such things.

  She, on the other hand, suffered a touch of juvenile embarrassment. “I wouldn’t really know what to do.”

  “You’d do what you like. You have the advantage of knowing exactly how various attention feels.”

  “I’d try anything once.”

  He chuckled. “Which is why your application is the conundrum it is. What about letting a woman touch you?”

  She shrugged. “That could be nice. Delicate. But in the end, I think I’d still feel like something was missing. I’m pretty sure I’m playing for the right team.”

  “But you’re willing to switch from time to time if the mood strikes.”

  “Either a mood shift or alcohol,” she joked. He laughed, and a thought crossed her mind. “Does the idea of watching me with a woman excite you?”

  “In a sense. You’re very innocent and I’m intrigued by your reactions. Everyone should have at least one experience with a partner of the same sex. I think it’s closed-minded to automatically assume we’re born unanimously heterosexual.”

  His words surprised her. “Have you ever . . .”

  “Been with a man? Yes.”

  Her lips parted. She couldn’t imagine it. “Do you enjoy it?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve enjoyed some partners more than others. Sometimes it’s the setting of the scene rather than the players that make it exciting. However, I find monogamy to be the most satisfyi
ng.”

  “But you’re not involved with anyone at the moment.” Clarification was key. Who knew what these people could abide? She, however, was very uncomfortable sleeping with another person’s man.

  His smile was reserved, not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes, at the moment I’m unattached, because I choose to be.”

  His answer was vague, telling her he didn’t want to discuss the details of his personal life. She respected his privacy and let the subject drop, despite her growing curiosity. Why wasn’t he married if he’d been doing this for ten years? One would think he’d test his theories on himself.

  Gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way across the drive. She shivered as the shadow of the château fell over them. He glanced at her. “Cold?”

  “No, just a chill.” As he held the door he released her hand, and she was sad to let the intimate connection go. “Thank you for showing me around.”

  He nodded. “I have some work to do. I think lunch on the veranda would be nice.”

  That was her cue. Nodding, she smiled, wishing for an excuse to stay in his presence a moment longer. “Any special requests?”

  “Lea usually cooks Italian, so something light would be appropriate.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She turned and he caught her wrist. He’d done that a couple of times and she wasn’t sure what the expectant look in his eyes implied, because it wasn’t always sexual, but it was definitely intimate. On impulse, she lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw.

  His thumb rubbed over her wrist and he let her go. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the office.

  The materials at her disposal added to how grounded Fernweh made her feel. Every opportunity to meet his needs left her with a sense of self so different from the drifting life she’d been leading. She hadn’t had the urge to hide a single time since arriving. It was as though feeling needed somehow pulled her out of her shell and dissolved some of her fears.

  For lunch she prepared a Cobb salad with a batch of sweet tea. It was absurd how much joy she derived from setting an outdoor table with linen napkins and dishes different from the ones they used at breakfast. So far she’d counted three hutches full of china.

  During lunch, Jude comfortably eased his posture on a patio chair. In the direct sunlight the red highlights hidden in his dark hair were particularly beautiful. The only drawback was his sunglasses hid his eyes. They were his most expressive trait.

  “At three o’clock we’ll use the gym. After that, I want you to shower and meet me in the room behind the library.”

  “Where’s the gym?”

  He pointed across the lawn. “In that building there. There’s a dressing room where you’ll find the proper attire.”

  Ah, pants. “And what’s behind the library?”

  “That’s where I’m going to wax your pussy.”

  She choked on a sip of tea and placed her glass on the table, the ice rattling. “Wouldn’t a salon be better for that?”

  “Why would I give someone else the pleasure? My pussy. My job.”

  She laughed, but her face remained unmoved and devoid of sensation.

  “I suspect you’ve never been waxed before, Brazilian or otherwise.”

  “Using a razor makes me nervous. Hot wax terrifies me.”

  He wiped his mouth. “Lunch was delicious. You’re quite the little chef, Collette.” Folding his napkin on his plate, he said, “There was nothing on your application about a fear of wax.”

  “I didn’t know slathering it on my genitals was in my future.”

  He stood. “Now, that’s just mean. You haven’t even seen my skill with hot wax. I do not slather.” His mouth curled in a wicked grin. “I do love the sound of tearing back the cloth, though, that sharp moment of heat and slight pain tingling under your delicate flesh as the blood rises to the surface in a sweet blush. Such a pretty sight.”

  She stared at him and whispered, “You’re a sadist.”

  “Hardly. I’ll introduce you to Damien and you’ll see the difference,” he teased. She at least hoped he was teasing.

  “No, thank you.”

  He smirked. “I’ll meet you in the gym in an hour. Thank you for lunch, peach.”

  “You’re welcome.” Please don’t hurt my lady parts.

  Chapter Five

  By definition, an erotic fantasy was anything that stirred a person’s sexuality. Fantasy had always been a fascination of Jude’s since he was a pubescent, horny preteen. While imagining the breasts of a peer had been entertaining, there was nothing equivalent to catching a peek down his teacher’s blouse and masturbating to that image. The taboo spoke to him and carried an erotic potency other fantasies did not.

  That was how he discovered he was a voyeur. Initially, he lacked the label, not knowing the terminology or even the wisdom that other people had the same curious obsessions, enough people for the proclivity to have a title.

  His first visit to a strip club was interesting, but not what he hoped it would be. Watching a woman voluntarily perform was always pleasant, but not to the degree observing a woman in private was, especially when she was a touch uncomfortable.

  However, he was loath to see a woman suffer a sense of danger. The appeal was in watching a female slowly become aroused, that subtle change of voice and skin tone as her body shifted and heated. He could watch that dance forever.

  As a college student, he learned that sexual fantasies were a universal phenomenon and immediately changed his major to business with a minor in human sexuality. Realizing the limits of higher education, he conducted his own research, venturing to uncountable hidden places, some enlightening and some regretful. It was during those years that he met Ezra.

  Together, they compiled countless hours of research, fucked and plucked everything that consented, and took an extreme interest in the variation of personal sexuality paralleled with an overwhelming desire for acceptance. People ultimately wanted to find a partner to share sexual exploits and counter their needs. For every Dom there should be a submissive and for every sadist there should be a masochist and so on.

  After their senior year, they spent the summer abroad and, while passing through Germany, they first heard the term Fernweh. There was no English translation for the term, but its meaning was everything they’d been trying to convey during their early twenties.

  Fernweh was a longing, a sense of homesickness that pulled and caused a yearning inside someone for something they had yet to discover. It was the simple draw to something more and the instinct that, whatever more was, it had to exist, because they felt it. Fernweh drove people to search out the unnamable thing they yearned for. And so their business was born.

  They’d met enough eclectic people over the years to build a small clientele. After years on the BDSM scene, many of their initial clients expressed disillusionment with life. Sexual release was one thing, but the desire for love and companionship never disappeared.

  Their first marriage took place between a mistress they connected with in Minneapolis and a delicate male sub they found in Prague. The couple had just celebrated their tenth anniversary.

  In the passing years, he’d seen it all. The scope of his personal preferences had been narrowed to a very manageable list that didn’t often bend. First and foremost, he required absolute surrender and trust, something he once could parallel. Such trust with Collette was not necessary, as he was merely providing her with a service. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t take pleasure in the task.

  Which brought him to their present situation. Jude forced his smirk into a straight line and entered the room, which had been designed to mimic the look of a clinic; the walls were faded mauve and the counters were immaculate and white. Drawers held various tools from speculums to piercing guns. He wouldn’t be using anything so invasive today, but he would be enjoying himself.
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  “How are you, peach?”

  She eyed him with cautious reserve as he shut the door: wearing only a white cotton robe, her feet dangling over the edge of the exam table, her hands folded tightly in her lap. “I’m wondering what sort of man has a room like this in his house.”

  He grinned. “A meticulous one. Lie back.”

  She eased back slowly, her motions jagged and her hands slightly trembling. “Good girl.” He pulled the metal stirrups from the side of the table and guided her heels into the cradles. “Place your feet here. Relax.”

  Her soft exhale whispered past her lips as her eyes screwed shut. The wax had been warming for several hours and was the perfect consistency. He took his time selecting various sizes of fabric strips. “Are you nervous?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes a little heat can be fun. There’s nothing to fear.”

  “This room is intimidating.”

  Flipping on a bright overhead light, he rolled the stool to the foot of the table. “Are you comfortable?”

  “I’m on an exam table. What do you think?”

  He straddled the stool and sat. “I think you should watch your attitude, peach. Scoot forward.” With her knees buckled as they were, he could see her bare ass. “A little more.”

  She scooted forward again. At this pace they’d be there for days. “Let me help you.” He adjusted the stirrups, spreading her thighs wide and raising the suspension height.

  “Oh God.”

  “There we go.” He took a moment to study her anatomy. Her flesh was pale pink with a dusting of hair over her labia. Very natural. Very pretty. “Are you aroused, Collette? I’ll clean you up before we begin.”

  Leaning forward, he dragged his tongue through her folds and savored her taste. “Mmm. Very sweet. A true Georgia peach.”

  “Oh God.” It seemed to be the only thing she was capable of saying at the moment.