Hale

 

Brielle followed through like a good little submissive.

By Thursday evening, waiting for me in my in-box is the signed nondisclosure agreement. It might not hold up in court, but it gives us both the peace of mind we need to pursue this affair discreetly. A second attachment contains her test results. She’s completely clean. And her middle name is Gertrude. I suppress a chuckle.

I send her an e-mail, attaching my own recent test results. My name has been blacked out, but she’ll learn that I’m twenty-eight and was born in Chicago. I tell her to meet me at a quiet, swanky lounge in downtown Chicago on Friday night. Our first lesson will begin then.

The Dominant in me is smirking at what I have in store for her.

• • •

 

I spot her immediately. Seated on a bar stool with a glass of white wine in front of her, Brielle is oblivious to the men’s attention she’s currently garnering. The plum-colored dress tied around her neck that dips low on her back, falling nearly to her ass, makes me feel oddly possessive. I clench my fists at my sides and take a deep breath.

“Who said you could wear a backless dress?” I whisper near her ear as I sidle up behind her. Brielle jumps as though my voice has startled her. She’s not mine, she’s only mine to train for the next six weeks, yet something about the men around her being treated to the graceful curve of her spine, the dimples in her lower back, bugs the fuck out of me.

Brielle looks stunning as she turns to face me with a worried expression. Her mouth forms into a pout, and her gaze travels the length of my body. Leaving late from work means I’m still dressed in a suit, though I’ve loosened the tie and unbuttoned my collar.

“I—” she begins.

“You look beautiful,” I say, looking directly into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her posture relaxing.

I take the seat beside her and when the bartender approaches, I order a club soda.

Brielle watches me curiously. “You don’t drink, do you?” she asks, her brow creasing.

“I never drink when I’m working, or when I’m playing in a scene. Keeping my head clear so I can focus on the woman I’m with is much more appealing than a cheap buzz.”

She nods. “You’re quite controlled, aren’t you?”

“Most definitely.”

“What do you do for fun?”

I smirk. “You want to know about my hobbies?”

“Why not?” She grins, bringing the glass of wine to her plump lips.

Something tells me that enlightening her about my activities at the club will only make her more nervous. And as fun as seeing that response would be, I need her to relax, open herself up, and trust me. Tonight will be our first time together. Still, she should know a little about the man she’s hired.

“I like pushing women to their limits. Role playing, light bondage, spanking.” I grin. “And on Sundays, I take my nana to church.”

Brielle’s mouth drops open.

“Tell me one thing about yourself that you wish you could change,” I say, shifting the conversation to her.

She thinks for a moment before answering, taking another sip of her wine. “I wish I had more confidence. One of those women who can strut around in their birthday suit and feel like a goddess.”

I don’t know many women like that, but I know I can help her. It’s as if a man has never really appreciated her body, shown her all the ways she’s beautiful and amazing. I won’t make the same mistake.

“And what about past relationships?” I ask. “You indicated you had two.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“How have you felt you were unsuccessful in those?”

“I was probably too eager, too ready for a steady relationship and monogamy, and the future that goes along with it,” she admits. “Most men aren’t interested in that.”

She deserves monogamy and commitment from a man. But when have I ever really given that to a woman? Once, and it almost ended me.

“Tonight’s lesson is centered on seduction. You wanted to practice attracting the opposite sex, flirting, yes?”

She nods, chewing on her lower lip.

“Do you see that man at the end of the bar?” The guy is in his mid-thirties, decent looking, and dressed in a suit and tie. No ring, nursing a bottle of beer in front of him. Basically, an easy target.

She nods.

“I want you to finish your wine. Walk over there, stand near him with your empty glass. Make eye contact, only briefly, then look away.”

She swallows heavily, her cheeks brightening. The idea of this intimidates her, yet somehow I know she’ll follow through. “Okay. And then what?”

I stroke her cheek, encouraging her bravery. “He’ll start up a conversation with you. Be polite, but don’t be too eager.”

“Wait.” She holds up her hand. “How do you know he’ll start up a conversation with me?”

“He will. And he’ll offer you another drink. Think it over, and then accept. Don’t be too enthusiastic. You don’t need him. You don’t need a man at all, do you understand me?”

“But that’s why I came to you. I want—”

I stop her mid-sentence. “Men can smell desperation a mile away. If he thinks you’re aching for a ring on your finger and 2.5 kids, he’ll disappear so fast your head will spin.”

She frowns, and I suspect that my little overeager kitten has been going about things all wrong. Boldly making conversation, laughing at every bad joke, nodding along and agreeing to just about anything.

Fuck that. She is a delicacy to be savored. I want to breathe in her every breath, feel her skin warm beneath my hands, and know her moans of pleasure are because of me. And I want to fucking work for it. It’s all in the chase. The submission is that much more beautiful when I have to work to make it happen.

“Talk with him for a few minutes, but let him take the lead. He’s the man, for fuck’s sake. I want you to practice flirting.”

“I’m not good at flirting,” she says.

My impish grins tells her that’s the entire point, and when realization dawns, Brielle narrows her eyes.

“Your goal is to leave him wanting more. The old saying about giving away the milk for free? Let’s just say it’s entirely true. Leave him rock hard and breathless. Trust me, he’ll be itching to call you.”

She downs the remainder of her wine in a single gulp. “Wish me luck,” she says, rising to her feet.

She’s taller than I recall, and I look down to see her gracefully arched feet enhanced by black stilettos. “You won’t need it,” I mutter.

Brielle smirks and lets her long legs carry her over toward him, then does just as I’ve instructed. She stands beside him as if she’s waiting for the bartender to notice her empty glass, and as I’ve predicted, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douchey is already eyeing her up. He’s practically fucking salivating.

He asks her to join him, motioning to the empty stool beside him. Brielle, my good little student, takes a moment to think it over rather than immediately agreeing.

She’s a pleaser, and that’s her problem. I want to teach her to stand on her own two feet, to realize her own worth, and make a man work for her affections. No man wants a pushover. He wants the deep satisfaction that comes from conquering what hasn’t been conquered before.

After a few minutes, she has a fresh drink in front of her, and she’s smiling as she listens to something he says. She’s attentive and interested, but only mildly so. He has to work for it, exactly as he should. I expect Brielle’s eyes to dart occasionally over to mine, seeking approval, or just to check that I’m watching, but she doesn’t look over even once. It bothers me more than it should.

Soon, she’s leaning closer to him on the bar, openly laughing. As I watch them interact, I find myself wishing for something stronger than club soda. She’s just a client, so my reaction is out of place. We hardly know each other yet.

Perhaps that’s all it is—we’ve barely cemented our relationship, however brief it may be, and she’s already off trying to please another man. That won’t do. I haven’t even gotten to sample the goods yet, and there’s no way this douche is going to before me. We have an agreement. She’s mine for six sessions.

Impatiently I watch them, waiting for an excuse to haul her ass out of here.

Her eyes are trained on him, and his hand is at her elbow. She removes her cell phone from her purse, and…the fuck? She’s punching his number into her phone.

I rise and stride toward her, my vision blurred with the need to get her alone. My hand at her lower back surprises her, and she jumps slightly at my touch.

“Time to go, kitten,” I bite out.

She swallows and gives a tight nod, allowing me to guide her from the stool. She doesn’t say a word to the man beside her, but he watches us leave with his mouth hanging open.

I haul her toward the back hallway and stop once we’re ensconced in shadows. Pressing her back to the wall, I pin her there with my hips.

“What the fuck was that?” I growl, well aware that I’ve just dragged her down the damn hallway like some caveman.

Blinking up at me with confusion, she gasps. “I was just doing what you asked!”

She’s frustrated. Good. Welcome to the club, sweetheart.

I take her cell phone from her hand and stare down at it, letting the dissatisfaction I feel radiate from my features. “You took his number.”

“And?”

I lean closer to her face, as close as I dare, so she can feel the wash of my warm breath and smell my scent. “Let the man be the man. He should take your number. He should call you first. He should plan the date.”

Her gaze drops to the floor between us as she realizes her mistake.

I always have three scenarios in mind when going into a lesson. My goal is to push a client outside her comfort level, but depending on how she responds, I have other directions I can take things. Tonight, none of those scenarios accounted for me wanting to put her bare ass over my knee and redden her skin until her hot little cunt is wet, yet here we are. My hand is itching to smack her ass cheek. I take a deep breath, trying to regain the control I can feel slipping.

“You have one choice to make,” I say, lifting her chin so she’ll meet my eyes. “Decide now. A hotel, somewhere public, or your place.”

The flash of understanding in her eyes tells me she knows this lesson isn’t yet over; it’s barely fucking begun. “My place,” she says, surprising me.

I tug her toward the back entrance where my car is parked. My hand rests on her lower back as I guide her into the frosty air outside.

The need to get her alone and find out what turns her on, what makes her tremble, flares inside me. And the worried, timid look painted across her delicate features only makes me want her more.