Luca's Lessons

by Deana Birch

  Luca hid his smile. “I know you said you have questions and I’m ready to answer them all. But first I have one very important one to ask you.”

  Claire shifted in her seat. “Okay…”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  Chapter Ten

  Claire

  She parted her lips, preparing to suck the lower one between her teeth when she caught herself. No. She had spent more time than she cared to admit researching everything Luca had sent her. Each article varied slightly, but they all centered on the same precepts—honesty, trust, confidence. She would answer his question honestly. “I told you I’m not much of a cook…” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Okay, I don’t cook at all. I could burn water. So, yes, I ate around seven. My type of dinner.”

  Luca’s deep chocolate gaze darkened. “Explain ‘your’ version.”

  After his reaction to her lunch the other day, she was certain her response would be met with disapproval and that bothered her far more than she wanted to acknowledge. “Popcorn—and wine.” She straightened in her seat, flustered by the censure written all over his face. “I don’t drink a lot, just a glass or two in the evenings sometimes.”

  His nostrils flared. “That is not anyone’s ‘type’ of a meal. If you want to be under my tutelage, you need to behave in a way that displays my ability to guide you into the fulfillment of yourself. You need to show the world the very best version of yourself that I am helping you achieve. Popcorn and wine do not achieve that end, Ms. Favre.”

  Ms. Favre? Had she undone everything simply by being truthful? A bubble of anger roiled through her stomach. She jutted out her lower lip and furrowed her forehead. “In all the research I have done, both through your guidance—which I appreciate very much, if I have not mentioned that—and on my own, the importance of open communication between a Dominant and a submissive was stressed repeatedly. I understand that this”—she gestured between the two of them—“if you agree to it, is a temporary proposition. Only training. But the same rules would apply, no?”

  His jaw flexed beneath the well-groomed beard. “I do not believe I said anything contradictory.”

  She paused for a moment. She had already disappointed him twice this evening—once with whatever-his-name-was downstairs and again with her eating habits. Did she really want to incite him again by arguing? “Then why did you call me Ms. Favre? Was it not you who demanded the familiarity of first names?”

  Did… Did his mouth just twitch again? Is he trying to avoid smiling? Claire blinked. She was so certain he’d be seething.

  His gaze washed over her, pausing for just a moment on her mouth. He stood abruptly. “Follow me.”

  Claire had no doubt in her role. She was a submissive. With each bit of information she gleaned, she was learning to embrace the title, and it made so many pieces of her click into place like a long-abandoned puzzle. But if Luca did agree to train her and they did have a conversation, she would need to address these mood swings of his before she got whiplash. Although seeing the hint of a smile, knowing what it meant, she pushed aside the feelings that stirred.

  She trailed after him into the kitchen, assuming this was yet another one of his obedience tests. He laid eggplant, red and yellow peppers, zucchini and an onion on the counter. He reached into an overhead cabinet and pulled down a dish before grabbing a length of Italian sausage from the refrigerator, setting it on the plate and placing it soundlessly on the granite surface as well. When he bent down to reach beneath inside the island, she pressed her lips together to prevent the gasp from escaping. There wasn’t an inch of this man’s body that wasn’t perfect.

  He set a thick, wooden cutting board beside the vegetables and turned to face her. Claire’s cheeks flamed as soon as his eyes met hers and he sauntered over to stand in front of her. The left corner of his mouth kicked up and he leaned close to her. She assumed he would kiss her—prayed he would—but the soft whisper of the drawer opening on her right told her that every hope was in vain.

  “Here is your knife, cara.” He held the short blade between his thumb and forefinger, pointing the silver stainless-steel handle toward her.

  Claire blinked, darting her eyes back and forth between Luca and the utensil. “M-my knife? I told you I can’t cook.”

  “I was listening.” The three words rumbled through her body, exciting her in ways they shouldn’t and reaching parts of her she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. He nodded toward the counter. “But you are going to cut those for me.”

  A test. This must be one of Luca’s tests. She took the knife with a steady hand that belied her true emotions. “As you wish.”

  The entire length of his body stiffened at the words. Yes, she would need to investigate that reaction a little more.

  She focused on her task, driven by the overwhelming urge to show Luca she could be obedient, would be obedient. For him. Hearing him address her formally had left her unsettled and uncertain about where they would go from here. Perhaps this was a second chance to prove herself?

  Cutting vegetables was something she could easily manage. Nanny Helen had allowed her to assist with small things in the kitchen when her parents hadn’t been showing her off at some social obligation she’d had no desire to participate in. Slicing and dicing various items had often been her job—something that could be quickly abandoned in the event of either parent approaching.

  And that experience afforded her the ability to watch nearly every move Luca made out of the corner of her eye. He pulled a stockpot and large pan from somewhere behind her, filling the pot with water and coating the pan with olive oil before placing both on the stove at various heat levels. Every movement was efficient, smooth and focused.

  Finished with the peppers, she grabbed the zucchini. “Does this mean you’ve decided?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she knew he could hear her, just as well as she knew he would know exactly what she meant.

  “We shall discuss it over the meal.”

  The answer must be no. He had some weird fixation on her eating habits and didn’t want to give her the answer now to ensure she would eat. A lead weight dropped in her stomach. She slid the zucchini to the side and began to chop the eggplant into bite-sized pieces with more ferocity than it required.

  Luca deposited the cut vegetables from the board into the warm oil with a sizzle. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be her trainer and there was no need to display her willing obedience any longer, Claire plucked a strip of pepper from his hand as he collected the remaining pieces and popped it into her mouth before she returned to her duty. He looked at her with a mixture of disapproval and humor.

  “If you were that hungry, perhaps you should consider having a normal person’s version of a meal rather than your own.”

  The scent of the herbs he sprinkled into the pan with casual precision made her mouth water. She grinned playfully. “It’s actually all your fault. I was quite content with what I’d eaten earlier until you started making this delicious meal.”

  He emptied the remaining bit of penne into the boiling water, folding the empty plastic bag before placing it into the trash with more care than Claire had ever seen someone handle garbage. “Concern for your wellbeing is considered a fault, is it?”

  Several clever retorts were on the tip of her tongue, but instead of offering them, she simply moved to cut the sausage into angled discs. When she’d finished and he’d added the meat to the sautéing vegetables, she carried the knife and cutting board to the sink, but Luca intercepted her. He carefully loaded the board into the dishwasher, washed the knife in the sink and wiped the countertop she’d abandoned—three times.

  Claire tilted her head. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn’t seem interested in training her. There were some things about Luca Bernardi that would take getting used to and wouldn’t meld with her life.

  Even with her growing certainty that he didn’t find her good enough to train, just watching him cook with that focused intensity�
��not to mention the bare chest her fingers itched to touch—was a gift. Hell, watching him breathe was better than a square of her favorite chocolate. She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he combined the pasta with the vegetables and meat and filled two plates.

  “Set these on the table.” He inclined his head toward the dishes as he washed the pot and pan.

  With the first bite, Claire moaned and closed her eyes. Garlic, rosemary and an array of spices she couldn’t place exploded on her tongue. A chuckle startled her from her reverie and made her lids pop open.

  “That is quite the compliment.” He speared a piece of eggplant with his fork and lifted it to his lips. Claire was helpless to look anywhere else. Luca’s mouth, his hands, his everything, had her hypnotized. “Eat, Claire. We will talk after.”

  She shook her head slightly to try to break the spell he had over her. She focused on the rainbow of food on her plate and tried to formulate the most logical response to his forthcoming dismissal that she could. Thankfully, her years of smiling and assuring her parents she didn’t mind that they missed yet another major event in her life had prepared her well for this moment.

  They finished their meal in relative silence and, when done, Luca immediately collected their dishes. He added them to the cutting board in the dishwasher and set the cycle to sanitize before wiping the nearly spotless glass-top table—three times.

  He folded the disposable wipe into a square and put it in the trash before he held an arm toward the couch again. “Let’s get more comfortable, cara.”

  She rose from the table and followed him without thinking. She sat closer to him. If this was the last time she’d see Luca Bernardi outside of her office, she wanted to enjoy it.

  “What have you learned in your research?”

  Claire blinked several times and pulled her feet up beneath her. This wasn’t the way she had anticipated the conversation going. “As I said, open and honest communication is critical—and trust.” She swallowed as Luca turned toward her slightly, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “Because I would be giving control of…everything to m-my D-Dom.”

  He nodded slowly. “And how do you feel about that prospect?”

  Claire lifted one shoulder slightly. “A little nervous but mostly excited.”

  “If I train you, I will expect you to answer phone calls or text messages within a fixed period of time. Your eating will change and your habits will change. Depending on where your limits lie, your clothing may even change. I will punish disobedience, but only within guidelines we establish. I will show you how to find pleasure through pain and stretch your boundaries, but I will never break them.” His chocolate eyes softened. “I will always have your best interests at heart. Your protection and personal growth will be my number one priority and color every decision I make while you are mine.”

  Goosebumps appeared on her arms, at war with the fire of need raging through her, both reactions caused by his words. His. I would be his. “If? So, you still haven’t decided?”

  His lips twitched again and Claire fought her own smile. “It is you, Claire, who makes the decision. While the outside world sees a submissive as weak, the truth is that they hold all the power. They are the ones who call ‘red’ to stop everything when they feel it has gone too far. They set hard and soft guidelines for what they are and aren’t willing to try. And they choose their Dom.”

  There wasn’t an article or blog or video that had prepared Claire for Luca’s speech. He’d said everything in less than five minutes that she’d never known she needed to hear. She scooted toward him on the couch, her knee nearly touching his. “I want you to train me, to be my Dom for as long as that lasts.”

  His arm fell from the back of the couch and he grasped her hand in his. “There was one thing, one very important rule I didn’t hear when you explained all that you’d learned.”

  She frowned. Did he want her to recite every detail from every page she’d read? She opened her mouth to respond but quickly closed it at the arch of his eyebrow. He wasn’t finished.

  “The very first rule is meant to guard and protect you more than me. And as I said, the mental, emotional and physical wellbeing of a sub—my sub—is a top priority to any good Dom. Since this is training, you can’t fall in love.” He breathed the final word on a heavy sigh, as if the very concept of love was a burden.

  “I’ve had love…and lost love. That’s…” Claire shook her head. “You have no concerns there.” A bright smile lit her face. She loved winning, no matter the setting, and Luca had all but said the words. “When do we begin?”

  “Tomorrow.” He inclined his head downward, his free hand gripping the side of her neck. “But from here on out, you are mine. In the club especially.” His eyes hardened and his jaw flexed. “You speak to no one other than me unless I give you explicit permission.”

  She nodded rapidly. “Yes, Luca. As you wish.”

  This time her silly little saying was met with a more passionate response than ever before. His lips met hers, firm and possessive—moving across every inch, claiming them as his. The soft hair of his beard brushed against her top lip and chin, ramping up her desire to an almost desperate level.

  She lifted her hands, needing to touch him. But as soon as her fingers met the skin of his shoulders, he placed them back in her lap. He continued to kiss her with nearly the intensity his eyes held when he was reading her. Dissecting her.

  He swiped his tongue across her lower lip before snaking inside her mouth and taunting hers with a dastardly game of tag, retreating every time she hesitantly reached to him. She reached his chest, itching to thread her fingers through the short hair smattering across it. But, just as before, he removed them from his body after only a few seconds of contact. She growled in the back of her throat.

  He pulled back, breaking the kiss. He returned one hand to grip her neck, running the thumb of the other across her lower lip. “A small preview to our lessons, Cara. A sub doesn’t touch their Dom without express permission.” He rested his forehead against hers. “And we shall learn more tomorrow, but for now, I must find something more appropriate to wear to drive you home.”

  Claire stared at his retreating back as he sauntered back into his room. She pressed her fingers to her lips. She belonged to Luca Bernardi…at least for the time being.

  Chapter Eleven

  Luca

  Four.

  Five.

  Si-

  The joints on the wooden door of Luca’s suite squeaked open and Claire slipped in. She pressed her lips tightly together. In her Burberry overcoat, black heels and with her hair in a well-groomed ponytail, she was impeccable.

  “There was traffic.”

  At least she’d acknowledged her tardiness. And in the six minutes she’d kept him waiting, he’d concocted the most perfect first lesson around her self-inflicted theme.

  Luca tapped his fingers on the armrest of the leather sofa and grinned. ”Last chance to back out, Ms. Favre.”

  Her eyes widened at the name. “No, Mr. Bernardi. I’m ready to learn.”

  Was that her attempt at sass? Tsk. Tsk.

  “Sir,” he corrected with sternness. “In this room and wherever else I take you during your training, you will call me Sir.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Her hands twisted just below the cinched belt of the taupe overcoat.

  The desire to address her fidgeting was overpowered by the fact that she’d called him ‘Sir’ for the first time. His chest swelled. Had he known he’d been addicted to the sound of that word from her mouth, he would have sought her out sooner. But just as she’d helped him with the purchase of the club, this arrangement was serious. She wanted to train, was willing to devote herself to him. He had a responsibility to do it right.

  Luca continued, “Good girl. And from here on out, when I want your eyes, I will ask for them. Do you understand, sotto?” Sotto? Surely, he’d meant ‘sub’. Had she endeared him so much that it warranted an Italian nickname?


  Her gaze dropped to the floor and she said, “Yes, Sir.”

  He needed to return to the basics. Formalities would bring him peace. “Brava. Claire, what do you say to me when I approach a limit and you think you need me to stop?”

  “Yellow, Sir.”

  “Yes.” Good. This was all good. “And what do you say to me when I’ve gone too far, and you absolutely need me to stop?”

  “Red, Sir.”

  Even better.

  “Correct. I’m putting all my trust in you to use these words whenever you need to. All my trust. You hold the power. Can I trust you, sotto?”

  She swallowed and licked her lips. Her surrender was enchanting. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Take off your coat and dress and hang them in the closet. Put your shoes in there as well.” He stood and rolled his white sleeves. “When I walk into this room, you will already be here. You will kneel next to the bed and your eyes will remain on the ground. Show me how I will find you, sotto.” The Italian word for ‘bottom’ slipped off his tongue yet again before his mind could stop it. Apparently, the nickname was hers now.

  In her assigned—and beyond pleasing—white lace bra and matching panties, Claire obeyed. Luca brought a hand to his cheek and rubbed his soft beard in circles. He smiled.

  There she was, the beautiful, smart and successful Claire Favre, below him. He’d been right all those weeks ago when he’d seen her picture in the magazine. She was even more stunning on her knees.

  “I read your email. Every word.” More than once. He might just do the same every night before bed for the rest of…her training. The rest of her training.

  “Your limits are impressive and, I must admit, inspiring. I had a delectable first lesson planned for you.”

  Her face pinched. Good. She’d caught the past tense.

  He continued, “But it seems you had other plans. You thought I should wait.”

  Luca stepped around his sub, trailing a finger on her bare shoulder as he went. Goosebumps peaked to life along her upper back.