The Gentleman Mentor

by Kendall Ryan

  I remain still, just standing there in her darkened bedroom, trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing. I should just leave. Grab my pants, my wallet, my keys, and go home. But I don’t. I release a heavy sigh, and when Brielle smiles and reaches out to me, I take her hand and let her pull me back into bed.

  “What do you want?” I whisper.

  “More.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Very,” she says, her tone cheeky and her mouth tugged up in a smirk.

  My hand slides between her legs, and her knees automatically fall open for me. She’s learned to embrace her sexuality, and the knowledge that I’ve been the one to lead her there…it’s very satisfying. But it’s the look in her eyes that nearly undoes me. Complete trust. Trust I don’t deserve, but she gives me—freely.

  As my emotions roil inside me, I struggle to temper them. I can’t show her everything right now; I don’t want to. Instead I want to savor all of this, save some things that I can show her later so there will be new things to discover years from now. Where the fuck that thought came from, I don’t know, but it’s the honest-to-God truth.

  We make love. Slowly. My mouth fuses to hers, capturing every breath, every moan while my body moves intimately above her.

  When she whispers in the darkness and asks me what the lesson is, I quiet her with another kiss.

  My silence is answer enough.

  • • •

  It’s the middle of the night, dark and cool outside. When I finally get up to leave, Brielle doesn’t even stir. I slide into my car and the engine roars to life.

  The entire drive home, I can’t stop the images of Brielle from playing through my mind. The way she looked spread open before me, the way her hot cunt squeezed me when she came. Goddamn, she’s as close to perfect as you can get. Of course, she doesn’t see that, which is why she hired me. Christ, I was hired to do a job, and my brain keeps fucking forgetting that. Because tonight? There was no lesson. There was only my body joining with hers in a hungry rush of raw energy and emotion.

  I tighten my grip on the wheel, completely beside myself. I never forget the lesson when I’m with a woman. Never. Everything I do—every touch, every caress, every command is meant to teach. But when I found Brielle in that club tonight, pressed up against some man who wasn’t me, I lost it. I dragged her home like a fucking caveman and claimed her. It was only about her pleasure. All the wicked things I could show her body to prove to her that she was mine.

  The sex isn’t just good, it’s mind blowing, earth shattering—for both of us. And I don’t know how to handle that information. My world is quite literally rocked, thrown off its axis. A client has never gotten to me this way. I can barely maintain my composure and instruct her. She owns me.

  And it’s not only because she has the tightest pussy I’ve ever had. She affects me in ways I can’t even explain. Her total submission to my every whim, her complete trust and faith in me, this process…it’s staggering. Tonight I watched her chest rise and fall, felt the nervous energy zapping through her as she waited to see what I’d do next, which way I’d take her, knowing she’d allow it all. My cock hardens again just thinking about it.

  The truth is I’ve started to notice little things about Brielle that I’ve never paid attention to before. Things that make her a real person and not a client, things that blur the lines of our arrangement. The way she leisurely stretches in bed after we’re intimate, the way she tiptoes to the bathroom when she has to pee, the way her laughter lights up her entire face.

  As a Dom, it’s my responsibility to understand what my submissive needs. Brielle says she wants Kirby, but I know what she really needs is to be loved. To serve a man, and in turn feel that blissful pleasure that comes from a deep shared connection. Something so powerful, it’s almost sacred. I can feel the underpinnings of that connection forming between us, and it scares the shit out of me. That wouldn’t end well for either of us. I can’t provide the things she desires. I’ve tried that route before and failed miserably.

  Reece has warned me about getting emotionally attached to a submissive I’m training, and I’d always balked at him. It never seemed within the realm of possibility. Yet within a few short weeks, Brielle has brought me to the brink. My stomach churns when I realize what this means. I need to cancel the remainder of her sessions. The feeling is like a dumbbell sitting on my chest.

  Walking into the dark apartment, I kick the door shut behind me, turning the dead bolt. I’m in for the night, as depressing as that sounds. My roommate isn’t home, and I don’t feel like being alone right now. I don’t like the quiet stillness of the night; I still haven’t gotten used to that. Nights are when I feel the most alone. And being alone stirs up memories I’d rather not think about. That’s what my mentoring is supposed to be about—a different girl every week to keep my thoughts at bay, and occupy my time. Except there’s only Brielle. Another thing I don’t care to dwell on.

  I glance around my room. A messy unmade bed, a fridge without food, though nothing appeals to me right now anyway. Maybe I should call Reece and go down to the club. Pay a visit to Chrissy. Yet that’s not the answer either.

  I’m edgy. And unsatisfied.

  Frustrated, I grab a bottle of beer from the fridge and sink onto the couch, my mind once again on Brielle. Even that first night as my hand rested at her lower back, guiding her, I should have seen it. The clues that I was starting to feel territorial over her. My body knew before my mind.

  Taking a long swallow of beer, I close my eyes and breathe. Even if I counted tonight with Brielle as a lesson—which we both know it wasn’t—we’re only at four sessions. How in the fuck could this woman all but destroy me in four meetings, I have no clue.

  Changing my mind on the beer, I set it down and grab my phone to dial Reece. When he answers, there are voices and low music in the background.

  “Cameron Hale, good to hear from you, brother.”

  “Hey, man. Anything going on tonight?” He knows me well. The tone of my voice and the fact that I’m calling at two a.m. are a good indication it’s not such a good idea for me to be alone right now.

  “There’s always something going on,” he says. “Why don’t you come down?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking about it. Is Chrissy there?”

  “She’s here. Should I tell her to wait for you? She’s looking to scene with somebody tonight.”

  “Yeah. I need to grab a shower, and I’ll be right down.”

  Knowing Chrissy is waiting for me and my release is within sight, I hurriedly shower and dress. Then I’m back in my car, roaring down I-94 toward downtown Chicago and Crave within fifteen minutes.

  • • •

  When I think about releasing Brielle from her contract, I decide that tonight’s performance is not how I want to end things. She came to me for a reason, and she’s going to walk away from our deal with more confidence and skills than she ever had before.

  One more lesson, that’s the best I can offer. I just need to get my mind back in the right place. And there’s nothing like a willing submissive ball-gagged and secured to a table to put your mind into focus.

  Chrissy is wearing the signature black vintage lingerie that she prefers—silk stockings with seams running down the backs of her legs, a garter belt secured over her high-waisted black lace briefs, a push-up bra that conceals her chest, yet hints at her ample curves. Her lips are painted blood red, and they’re currently open around a black rubber ball gag. She flinches at the blunt force of the riding crop as I lash it against the back of her thighs.

  “Breathe through it,” I encourage her, but my voice sounds weak, even to my ears.

  Chrissy’s eyes flash on mine. We haven’t played together in weeks, not since I started seeing Brielle, and it feels strange, as if I’m rusty somehow.

  She taps her fingers against the side of the table as I unbuckle the ball gag, removing it from her mouth.

  “Sir?” she asks, blinking up at me
.

  “Yes?”

  “Am I doing something wrong? Something you don’t like? I can give you anything you allow tonight, sir.” Her words are thick with suggestive undertones.

  I’ve never fucked Chrissy, although I’m pretty sure Reece has. His brand of kink is more intense than mine, and based on the stories I’ve heard, often ends in hungry, crazed sex. I’m much more controlled in a scene. Or at least, I used to be. Tonight I’m just off, and I don’t know why.

  “You’re doing fine. It’s me, it’s just—”

  “The new girl you’ve been keeping busy with,” she offers.

  My gaze meets hers again. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? It’s almost morning. We could go get breakfast at that diner you like.”

  All of the adrenaline I’ve been running on for the last hour crashes, and I’m suddenly tired. And not at all into finishing the scene we’ve started. “Not tonight.”

  I release her from her binds and leave the room even more confused than when I arrived.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brielle

  By Sunday, I’ve recovered from my night with Hale and am headed to Kirby’s apartment. When I get there, he kisses me on the cheek and ushers me inside.

  “I just need to catch the end of the game. You’re cool hanging out for a little bit, right?” His eyes stray to the television without waiting for my response.

  “Of course,” I lie, even though I lined up an entire afternoon’s worth of appointments and if we’re late, it’s going to throw off the entire day.

  We sink down onto the couch and Kirby squeezes my thigh. “Glad you’re here today. You’ve been busy lately.”

  “Yes,” I say without expanding on what, or rather who was been keeping me occupied. I can never tell Kirby about Hale. He wouldn’t understand.

  When the game goes to commercial, Kirby heads into the kitchen and rummages around in the cabinets. “You want anything to eat? A beer?” he calls.

  “No, I’m good,” I call back as I take in the large apartment he shares with a roommate. It screams of bachelor pad. No personal touches, nothing to make it feel homey. I know his roommate is a lawyer at the firm where Kirby works, and that’s about it.

  Kirby returns with a beer and a bag of chips, which he happily crunches into as he drops down onto the couch beside me again. I can’t help but notice the way he chews with his mouth open and wipes the crumbs from his fingers onto his pants.

  “Is everything going okay with your roommate?”

  “Yeah, why?” he asks.

  “Because you want to move out.”

  He shrugs. “Nah, he’s cool. Honestly, he’s never home. I’m just ready to get my own place.”

  I nod, understanding that completely. After having roommates all through college, girls who were messy and “borrowed” my clothes without asking, I was more than ready for my own place.

  “You’ve never even met him, have you?” he asks.

  “Your roommate? Nope.” Every time I’ve been here, his roommate is either gone or busy.

  Kirby lifts his chin toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “Cameron, get your ass out here. I want you to meet someone,” he shouts.

  His plea is met with silence, and he shrugs.

  “Is he even home?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I heard him come in at like four in the morning, but he might still be sleeping.”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange I’ve never met your roommate?”

  He shrugs again. “He’s a mysterious guy. I don’t know where he is half the time.” Setting down the bag of chips, he wipes his hands and turns to face me. “I never told you about why he moved in here with me, did I?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s some sad shit.” His voice drops lower. “His parents died his senior year of high school, and he was a mess, naturally. He went away to college, and freshman year, he met this girl named Tara. She filled him with hope and love, and all that shit people look for. They dated all through college, all through law school. She was his rock.”

  Kirby picks up his beer and takes a long swallow before continuing. “I actually met her once at a firm holiday party, his first year at the law firm. She was quiet and kind of withdrawn, if you asked me, but to him, God, you could see the love he had for her radiating from his eyes. She was all he had. His everything. He proposed with a huge diamond that he’d saved up for all year. I swear, his entire first-year earnings went toward that ring. While all the other first-years were trying to claw our way out from under a mountain of student loan debt, Cameron was scraping and saving for her.”

  “What happened?” My hands are curled around a throw pillow. I clutch it to my chest, anticipating the worst, that she was somehow taken from him too soon.

  “He left work early one day—he’d won a massive case, actually the one that got him promoted from junior associate to associate, and wanted to celebrate. When he got to their apartment, she was on her hands and knees, taking it up the ass by one of his best friends.”

  My hand flies to my mouth. “That’s horrible.”

  He nods. “Fucking tragic. She was everything to him. After that, you could see the light in his eyes dimmed. He lost faith in everything that day. Lost the last little piece of him. He fucking moped around for months. He moved in here with only a duffel bag and a whole bunch of suits. It’s been two years, and he’s finally getting back to himself.”

  “That’s so sad,” I murmur, completely absorbed in his story. My heart hurts for Kirby’s roommate, and I realize his situation is even harder than my own of wanting someone you can’t have.

  “I know. Every time I think about wanting a relationship, I remember the months he spent broken and sulking, and I decide that putting that much trust in another person is just not something I want to do.”

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea to move out, Kirby? You’ve painted this picture that he has no one left in his life.”

  He chuckles. “Trust me, he’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure he’s been out nailing a different girl every night to make up for that bitch whore of a fiancée.”

  Okay then.

  “We better get going,” I say, glancing at the time on my phone. “I don’t want us to be late for all the appointments I’ve set.”

  “A few more minutes, ladybug.” He squeezes my knee, eyes on the TV again.

  As I observe Kirby watching his game, I’m having a hard time remembering what I ever saw in him. He picks at his teeth, chews with his mouth open, ignores a phone call from his mom, and shouts at the TV. And worst of all is that he hardly notices me.

  The longer I sit here, the more I realize that I’m better than that. I don’t want a man I have to convince. I want someone who wants me for me. My mind wanders to Hale. He always makes me feel desired. A smile tugs at my lips as I stare blankly at the TV and wonder where he is and what he’s doing today.

  My cell phone chimes from my purse and I fish it out, wondering who’s texting me. It’s probably Julie.

  When I see that it’s Hale, my heart riots in my chest, knowing he was thinking of me at the exact same moment I was thinking of him.

  Hale: What are you doing?

  I smile as I type out my reply.

  Brielle: Hanging out with Kirby.

  Once I’ve typed that, cold dread washes over me. What if he challenges me to do something bold…like seduce Kirby?

  Hale: Is he every bit as dreamy as you recalled?

  Brielle: Of course.

  The words feel fake, but it’s what I’m supposed to say. The whole reason Hale is helping me is because of my interest in Kirby. Just then, angry music blares loudly from down the hall, or more specifically, from his roommate’s bedroom.

  I steal a glance at Kirby, my eardrums protesting the obtrusive noise. “Does he have a heavy-metal obsession?”

  He shrugs. “Not normally.”

  I look back down at my phone to see a new message from Hale.
r />   Hale: Tonight. You’re mine.

  My belly tightens with nervous anticipation.

  When we started our working relationship, I was under the impression that we’d meet once weekly for six weeks. We just saw each other last night, but he wasn’t about to get an argument from me. Things have begun to feel more domestic between us.

  Hale isn’t my boyfriend, but hell if my brain knows that. The intimacy we shared last night, God, I can’t even think about it without my face getting hot. And I’m pretty certain that second time last night, when I reached for his hand and urged him back to bed, wasn’t part of any lesson. It was just two lost souls searching for comfort together.

  I text him back, already feeling the steady thrum of my heart picking up speed.

  Brielle: When and where?

  Hale: You’ll see.

  His reply is coy and guarded, but before I can ask what he means, Kirby rises from the couch and clicks off the TV. “You ready?”

  “Sure.” I stuff my phone back into my purse, already hot with anticipation for tonight.

  • • •

  After several hours of touring condos in high-rise buildings around the city, I finally make my way home. There’s a large black box with a red ribbon waiting for me outside my door. Somehow I know it’s from Hale. I take it inside, eager to see what it holds.

  I head into my bedroom and set the box down on my bed. It’s fairly weighty, and I have no clue what it could be. Lifting the lid, I see crisp white paper lining the inside and a square card nestled on the top. I pull the card from its envelope, appreciating how thick the card stock feels between my fingers.

  The message is brief, handwritten in neat black ink.

  Be at the corner of Lakeshore Drive and Grand Avenue. 7 p.m.

  —H

  Peeling back the tissue paper, I discover the contents of the mysterious box. A white lacy G-string and matching demi-cup bra, along with a thick knee-length wool coat in the most bright, vibrant shade of red. The coat is gorgeous. Somehow I know I’m meant to be wearing nothing but this coat and these underthings when I meet him tonight. The idea sends a small thrill racing through me. I set everything down on my bed and then head to shower.