Taming His Teacher

by Tamsen Parker

  It’s been a minute and his wide blue eyes are still running over the titles again and again. Otherwise he’s not moving.

  “Shep?”

  I’ve broken a spell and his eyes shift to mine.

  “Have you read all of these?”

  “Yes.” Some of them repeatedly, but maybe I’ll save that for later.

  “Where do you keep them? Because they sure as hell weren’t on your bookshelf.”

  I smile. No, not on my bookshelf. I’d noticed the two-thirds finished Harry Potter book lying face-down on the armchair in my bedroom where he’s parked himself for the past few days. If I’d known, I could’ve directed him to my other stash of books.

  “Under my bed.”

  “Of course.” There’s another pause and I wait for him to collect his thoughts. “So I’m all tiptoeing around this stuff and you’re the world’s foremost expert?”

  I shake my head, hard, making myself dizzy in the process. “No.”

  “Have you ever— With Will, did you…”

  “No!” Relief washes some of the tension off his face. “Would it matter to you if I had?”

  “No. Christ, no, Erin. That would be insanely hypocritical. No, I just want to know where we’re starting from.”

  Fingers of warmth clutch at my insides. Where we’re starting from? We’re starting something? He wants me?

  “Will you tell me more? Now that you know you’re not going to make me run screaming for the hills?”

  “Yeah, of course. But could you put those away? They’re distracting.”

  I can imagine. Some of the covers are rather…explicit. I gather up my books and bring them back to their hiding place. When I come out, Shep’s got the kettle on for tea.

  “Sit,” he instructs. “On the couch, not on the floor.”

  I do as I’m told, and wrap the blanket around myself before he comes back with two steaming mugs and settles next to me.

  “After a while, some of the members started asking if I was available to play.”

  I’d bet so.

  “At first Mordecai said no, I was new and I was off-limits. But he had a few service tops and bottoms on staff and I thought maybe he’d give me a shot sometime. It took over a year. I’d resigned myself to doing everything but. But then, one night one of our best members showed up—this woman named Lydia, and she wanted to play. One of the club tops had called in sick, the other one was booked solid and Lydia didn’t like to play with other members. She told Mordecai she wanted me or she was walking. He offered to top her himself, and he didn’t usually play with members, but she refused. ‘Give me The Shepherd or I’m gone.’”

  “They called you The Shepherd?” It’s like something out of my books. The guys with the trying-super-hard-to-be-badass names like Whip Cock and Master Ass Daddy make me cringe. But, The Shepherd. It’s silly, but fitting. Controlling but caretaking. I bite my lip so I don’t laugh because he looks embarrassed.

  “Yeah. Mordecai introduced me to the staff as Shepherd and one of the club bottoms liked to give me a hard time about how badly I wanted to top. She called me that as a joke, but it stuck. I guess it could’ve been worse, but, god.”

  “So you played with her? Lydia?”

  “I did. Mordecai asked me first. He wouldn’t have made me if I didn’t want to, even though it would have meant losing her and maybe a couple of her friends who were members, too.”

  “But you wanted to.”

  He shrugs.

  “You did a good job?”

  “Good enough she asked for me the next time she was in the club. Then other members started asking for me. Mordecai had to hire someone else for the door, but I still did the other stuff when I had time.”

  He says it modestly, but I’m sure it was open season. Of course they wanted him.

  “Did you like it?”

  “A lot of it. I liked helping people relax, feel safe, forget about all the crap going on in their lives outside the club. I liked pushing their boundaries, showing them what they were capable of. I liked making them feel good, sending them home at the end of the night knowing I’d made their lives a little better.”

  “You keep saying ‘people.’ Did you play with men, too?”

  “Occasionally. They tended to prefer one of our female tops or this guy Anton. But if they requested me I wouldn’t say no.”

  “Did you have sex with them?”

  “No, no sex. With anyone. Against club rules. We could use whatever house toys and restraints the client okayed, but no sex. And no fingers inside a client.”

  “Wasn’t that…frustrating?”

  He laughs. “Uh, yeah. Very frustrating.”

  “But you had a girlfriend who could help you with that.” I state it as fact so he won’t have to. I’m not that foolish. Ugly, oafish, horrible guys get laid and have partners. Shep is none of those things. He frowns and I wonder if I’ve dredged up some awful breakup story. Maybe he’s still in love with her, maybe that’s why—

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “She didn’t want to play with you?”

  “There was no she, Erin.” What? “Between classes and practice and the club, I didn’t have time for a girlfriend, and one-night stands aren’t my thing.”

  “So…”

  “So I spent a lot of time in the shower, and rubbing one out when my roommate had an early morning class.”

  I clap my hands over my mouth and my cheeks heat with the fire of a thousand burning suns. Shep masturbating? Under a stream of water with a forearm pressed up against the tiles, his eyes closed, and his forehead pressed into his elbow? Or lying on his narrow dorm bed with his boxers shoved far enough down so he could take himself in hand and—

  “God, I’m sorry. That was crass, I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  Embarrassment is not what I’m feeling. Unless you’re going to count embarrassment over how hot that got me. “No, I’m fine. I work here, don’t I? I know what goes on. You guys think you’re all subtle, but…” I widen my eyes and he laughs.

  “Fair.”

  So if Shep didn’t have a girlfriend at Northwestern, didn’t want to go the whole wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am route, and I’m almost positive he didn’t date anyone his senior year… “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask me whatever you want. I want you to have all the information before you decide anything.”

  “When’s the last time you had sex?”

  I’ve surprised him. He probably thought I was going to ask what his favorite kind of nipple clamps are or something. His brows crease and he scrapes both hands through his hair before he looks at me. “You really want me to answer that?”

  The thought of Will and Lana comes into my head unbidden. What if Shep’s been sleeping with someone here? How is it going to make me feel if he says last week? At least it hasn’t been in the past three days, unless that’s what he was doing while Aunt Tilly was here. Oh my god, it is, isn’t it? I shouldn’t have asked, but now that I have… “Yes?”

  He shakes his head and raises his eyes to the ceiling, sliding his tongue along his teeth. I can’t help my rapid blinking and my hands clutching my blanket, waiting for him to say something awful because that’s what my head defaults to. Or does now, anyway, after Will.

  “Never,” he says, his eyes on the ground. “Never.”

  I would’ve been less surprised if he said yesterday. “Never?”

  “Never.”

  Shep

  Could I crawl under Erin’s coffee table and die? I’m guessing it’s always rough to tell a girl you’re a virgin. Probably you always worry she’s going to point and laugh or whatever, even when you’re a teenager and odds are she’s a virgin, too. But I’m twenty-two. I worked at a fetish club. That’s right: I’m twenty-two, kinky as fuck, and I’ve never gotten laid. It’s ridiculous. Erin’s not going to laugh. At least, not a lot. And it wouldn’t be nasty. But I still don’t want to look at her. Let her get it out of her syst
em before I look at her.

  When I finally sac up, her face is pinched and sadness is tugging down the corners of her pretty mouth.

  “Is that why you didn’t want to be with me? Because of Will? Because I’m not… Because I’m…ruined?”

  Rage bubbles up inside of me. Who made her—? For fuck’s sake. “No, Erin. I wasn’t trying to keep myself pure or whatever. It just, never seemed right. I don’t care how many guys you’ve been with. That doesn’t matter to me. I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?”

  She nods and bites her lip, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “The only reason I wanted you to stay away from me, the only way I could keep myself from hauling up these steps and pounding on your door the second I stepped foot on campus and knew you and Will were over, was that I don’t think I could be happy in a completely vanilla relationship. I liked what I did at the club. It turned me on in a way nothing else has and I don’t want to live without it.”

  Her teeth are sinking into her lip so hard she might break the skin. I want to tell her to stop, smooth the pad of my thumb over her mouth to make the mark go away, but instead I finish.

  “I didn’t want to scare you. I’ve always wanted more than anything to protect you. And I didn’t want you looking at me like I was some sick freak. I didn’t think you’d be into it and I couldn’t stand the idea that you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore. It’s not for everyone and I respect that. But it is for me, and the occasional spanking and fur-lined novelty cuffs aren’t going to do it. You’ve told me you read that stuff, but reading it and living it aren’t the same. But that is the only reason. There’s nothing wrong with you. I know people say it all the time—it’s not you, it’s me—but in this case that is the absolute truth. Are we clear?”

  I’ve slipped inadvertently into my Dom voice, but when she’s sitting there all adrift, how could I not? And because I’m in that headspace, when she bursts into tears, I’m not confused or at a loss. She’s relieved, because she was terrified of what I was going to say, that I thought she was dirty or used up. I should’ve punched Will Chase while I had the chance.

  “Come here, lamb.”

  She scrambles into my lap, blanket and all, and buries her head in my shoulder. I hold her tight but it’s not long before she’s pulling away. Is this too much?

  “I shouldn’t be—crying. I’m—sorry.” Her sobs are terrible, halting. They’re choking her and she’s trying to swallow them.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry. You cry all you need to, I’m not afraid of some tears.” I’ve watched enough scenes go down for tears of all sorts to be commonplace, and to know how cathartic they can be. One woman I’d played with cried every single time. At first it had freaked me out, but Mordecai had assured me I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I’d seen her use her safeword—she wasn’t shy with it—so she wasn’t afraid. It was a release. Whoever made Erin ashamed for crying… I take a deep breath. “I mean it.”

  She looks up for a brief questioning moment and because she needs more reassurance, I give it to her. “I do.”

  That’s when the floodgates open, and she clutches at me like a jungle vine keeping her from drowning in quicksand. It takes her a while to wear herself out. When was the last time anyone held her while she cried? When she’s quieted, I let myself enjoy the warm weight of her in my lap, the sweet flowery smell of her hair, the way her hand rests on my chest now that she’s not clinging to a fistful of my shirt. When I look down, I’m not surprised she’s fallen asleep. She’s not a hundred percent better and a crying jag can really take it out of you.

  I slide my arm under her knees and stand up, trying to be as smooth as possible, but I shouldn’t worry. Even when I almost trip over her blanket halfway down the hall she doesn’t stir. I lay her down on the bed and make sure she’s covered up before I drop back into the chair.

  Is it possible Erin is even more perfect than I thought? I’ve had these delusions, fantasies, about her and her mildness. Wondered what it would be like to have her at my mercy, and her loving every second of being there. She’s not perfect, perfect. No one is. But she might be perfect for me.

  I let my curiosity get the better of me and hike up the ruffly thing at the bottom of her bed. There they are. Those books. Piles of them. Maybe I could be the one to turn Erin’s fantasies into reality.

  Chapter 16

  Erin

  We barely leave my apartment for the next several days. We watch TV, and we eat peanut butter and jelly, and macaroni and cheese because that’s what I keep on hand in my apartment. No need to cook much since I eat in the dining hall all the time. Cooking’s never been my strong suit anyway, and I will not be making gnocchi ever again. Shep doesn’t seem to mind my kindergarten culinary skills, nor does he remark on my plates and glasses that have animals on them. Will made me put them away.

  I’m still sleeping off what’s left of my cold or whatever that was, and Shep has me rest a lot. But sometimes resting means being tucked under his arm on the couch and I don’t mind. It’s my own slice of heaven. Though I try to stay awake to enjoy it, the heavy comfort of his arm around me is better than a shot of melatonin, and it never takes me long to fall asleep.

  Sometimes I lie on my back with my head in his lap and ask him more questions about the club: the things he did there, things he saw, what he liked, what he didn’t. He plays with my hair while he answers, studying my reaction to every word.

  We’re eating more oatmeal this morning and after we’ve tangled feet a few times under the table, Shep says, “So, I’ve answered your questions. How would you feel about answering some of mine?”

  “That sounds fair. What do you want to know?”

  “You haven’t experimented with BDSM, but you’ve read a lot. You must have some idea of things you’d like to try or things you definitely don’t want to do. That’s what I want to know.”

  My eyes bug at the potential for embarrassment. I don’t know that I could say those things out loud. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Why not? I’m not going to make fun of you, Erin. I promise.”

  “I don’t think you would. But what if you think what I want is gross? What if you don’t want those things, too?”

  So much of what he’d talked about made me so weak in the knees I’d been glad I was lying down. He was matter-of-fact about it, professional almost, which shouldn’t be surprising. It was his job, for goodness sake. But it made me want to be ravished, made specific areas of my body ache for him. Can’t I say “Me, too” and be done with it?

  “What we want isn’t going to match up perfectly, but I’m willing to bet there’s some overlap. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a huge perv and I’ve hung out with a lot of other pervs. Mordecai is one of the filthiest people on the planet, and he’s told me all about his exploits, whether I wanted to hear about them or not. It’s pretty hard to shock me or gross me out. In fact, I challenge you to do your worst.”

  That makes me giggle. “No. But even the things I might like to do, I don’t have the words to talk about it.”

  He sucks the last bite of oatmeal off his spoon, mouthing it thoughtfully, and I can’t take my eyes off his lips. I would give anything in a bucket to be that spoon. When it clatters into the bowl, I’m shocked back to attention. “Yes, you do.”

  I shake my head, pressing my lips together.

  “Look. Communication, talking about this, is huge. It won’t work if we can’t talk to each other. It’s the only way to keep you safe, and I want to keep you safe. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do, and the only way I’ll know is if you tell me. I pay attention to your body language and your responses, but I’m not a mind reader. I know it’s hard. It’s not something that comes naturally. It’ll take time. I’ll wait as long as I need to. But while you get comfortable using your own words, maybe we can talk about this by borrowing someone else’s.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got
a whole stack of dirty words under your bed.” Right. All those times I’d wished I could give Will an annotated copy of one of my books and here Shep is asking for exactly that. “You must’ve gotten some ideas from there, right? How would you feel about showing me?”

  “Now?”

  He shrugs. “If you want. There’s no rush. I’ve waited for you for four years, I don’t mind waiting longer. But now works, if you’re ready.”

  I’ve already started compiling a list of my favorite scenes in my head, so while some of me is shouting to play coy, I don’t want to. I want to share this with someone; someone who wants to know, someone who might want the same things I think I do. The thought makes me stumble. I think I want this. “What if we talk and what if we try, but then…what if I don’t actually like it?”

  His features that have been so relaxed tighten like I’ve pulled a rubber band. His chest expands with an inhale and the line I want to soothe away with my thumb forms between his brows. “Honestly?”

  I nod even though I’m not sure if I want the answer. Maybe I should plug my ears with my fingers and sing at the top of my lungs with my eyes scrunched closed, pretend that’s not a possibility.

  “I don’t know. But you know I’m in the same boat, right? I’ve never done any of this with a partner, for real.”

  His uncertainty should make me panic and there’s an unmistakable flutter in my stomach, but of course he doesn’t know. I’ve always liked his rock solidness but the fact that he’s human, not perfect, soapstone instead of granite, somehow makes this more real, more possible instead of less. He’s told me the truth. If there’s anything Will taught me, it’s that I don’t want lies. Even when the truth isn’t pretty.