Chapter 3
Odette
I ’m still trembling inside, but the whisky is settling in my stomach and the burst of shock that went through me the moment I saw his face— that turned to anger as he basically ran a sword through my relationship with Lucas— has intensified, drowning my previous anxiety.
All I can think is fuck him. It was so hard to get here, he can’t possibly understand just how hard, and I won’t be dismissed like a child. I just won’t.
I know I stood there gaping at him like a fucking idiot the minute he turned around, and yes, that Master Six is also apparently Mr. Fairfax, made the whole weird situation even weirder and even more embarrassing, but what with the whole shock thing and then my brain screaming at me, I just couldn’t move.
Then when it became clear to him that I was Artemis (my stupid handle in the app), his look first of shock, then second, disappointment, hit me like a kick from a mule.
And something woke inside me, a lost, angry part of myself that had been sleeping since the attack.
Before I knew what I was doing I’d opened my mouth and a whole lot of stupid words had come flooding out.
He’d been unmoved, because of course he was.
But I couldn’t stand there, listening to him tell me how Lucas wasn’t in love with me and that I wasn’t his type.
I wasn’t that much of a doormat. Lucas had told me many times how distant his father was and how he preferred working to spending time with his son, and so I couldn’t help pointing that out to him.
I mean, I knew that Lucas didn’t love me already, but there was no need for his father to rub it in.
Then telling me to get the fuck out, when it had taken all my meager courage to even get here had been the last straw.
Apparently grabbing a whisky tumbler and swallowing the whole lot, then demanding an answer about whether we were going to do this or not, was the thing I needed to do.
It was a mistake, but I didn’t understand that until now, because now I’m standing close to him and he’s beside me, dwarfing me with his height.
He’s like a redwood to my bonsai, except redwood trees don’t have eyes the intense blue of lapis lazuli, or a face that looks as if God himself has carved it.
He’s got slightly winged dark brows, a fierce blade of a nose, and a drop-dead beautiful mouth.
There are lines around that mouth and those eyes, and he has white at his temples, and a slight salt and pepper scatter to the stubble on his strong jaw, but all those things just make him sexier.
He’s got the first two buttons of his shirt undone and I can’t stop staring at the olive skin of his throat, remembering him mostly naked on the beach, where I could see more than his throat.
I shiver, watching his pulse there. It’s regular and strong, unlike mine, racing like a terrified rabbit under my skin.
“This?” he demands in that deep, sexy-as-hell voice. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
I swallow, hypnotized by the column of his throat and neck, trying to remember what words are. “Uh…um…you know….”
“Eyes up.”
I obey without thought, lifting my gaze to the blue of his eyes. They pierce me the same way they did the summer I met him, making me want to drown myself in them.
“What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?” He enunciates each word, biting them off as if each one is a coin from his hoard that he doesn’t want to give away.
The angry part of me bristles, because goddamn it’s patronizing.
“You. Know. What. I’m. Talking. About.” I say, mimicking him before I can think better of it. “BDMS.”
“BDSM,” he corrects. “Do you even know what that means?”
I flush. “Yes, of course. I did my research before I signed up.”
His gaze narrows. “But you’ve never done it before, have you?”
“Of course,” I repeat far too quickly, and once the words are out of my mouth, the flush in my cheeks deepens, betraying the lie.
He says nothing for a long moment, his gaze searing in the same way the back end of a rocket is searing. I want desperately to look away, but I want to show him he can’t intimidate me, so I don’t.
“Listen,” he says finally, his voice hard. “There are a million different reasons why this is not happening, not least of which is that you lied in your bio, but here’s another to add to the pile. I’m not into training new submissives. I want someone experienced and you are not it.”
Wow, okay then. He’s not a man who minces words. He purees them. Lucas did mention that his father wasn’t a nice man and he’s certainly making no allowances for me.
Isn’t that what you wanted?
Well, yes, it is, but I can’t deny that it also stings a little. Though really, he’s got every right to be annoyed. The woman he thought he was getting tonight isn’t the woman he thought he was getting tonight and he’s pissed about it.
I take a breath, trying to calm the rushing beat of my heart. Okay, so, he doesn’t want me here, that’s obvious, and he probably isn’t attracted to me in the slightest, not the way I am to him, but I can’t leave now, not when it took so much of myself to get here.
You should leave. Luc will hate it if he ever finds out what you’ve been doing.
Yeah, I know. I shouldn’t keep standing here.
I shouldn’t push myself on a man who clearly isn’t interested and who is, yes, Luc’s fucking dad.
And yes, Luc will definitely hate it should he ever find out.
And I could find myself another match on The Club, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to force myself to do this a second time… .
But….
He’s just looking at me and I can see anger flickering in his eyes, and he’s so fucking hot, and now I know that he’s into this whole BDSM thing…
God all I can think about is the way he spoke to that horse, his voice very firm, his hand stroking the horse’s heaving sides, and how slowly the animal settled.
Would I do that if he spoke firmly to me? If he stroked me with those large, blunt-fingered hands? Would the frantic whirling of my anxious brain be finally silenced? God, this is so messed up. I’m so messed up.
“Okay,” I say shakily, still trapped by the blue of his gaze. “So, you’re right. I’m not experienced. But I really want?—”
“I don’t care what you really want,” he interrupts in a voice as hard as granite.
“I’m not into young women and I don’t do training.
If that’s what you want then you’ll have to look for another Master.
Alternatively…” He pauses and his gaze becomes impossibly sharper.
“You could have a direct conversation with my son about what you want.”
My face flames as the embarrassment of him knowing what I want comes crashing down on me again.
It’s not that I’m ashamed of it, it’s just…
uncomfortable. Which is why I wanted to do this with a complete stranger.
But of course, now he knows, so I force myself to reply, “I’ve tried.
But the problem is that I don’t really know what I want. I only know what I don’t want.”
“Then tell him that,” Mr. Fairfax says. “Not me.”
“He’s too gentle with me,” I continue, running at the mouth because no matter the embarrassment, that’s apparently what I do now.
“He keeps asking me if I’m okay all the time, and can he touch me here or there, or is he hurting me and it makes me feel as if it’s my job to reassure him all the time. I can’t stand it.”
A silence falls as the last word leaves my lips and instantly I want to sink through the luxurious cream carpet and into the room below. Why the fuck did I say all of that? My God, find yourself a proper sex therapist, Odette. Don’t stand there oversharing with your potential father-in-law.
If Mr. Fairfax finds what I’ve said as embarrassing as I do, he gives no sign.
In fact, I’m starting to wonder if he ever gets embarrassed.
Probably not. Which is somehow comforting, weirdly enough.
I breathe in his scent, something warm, cedar and sandalwood, so different to the sharpness of salt and citrus that Lucas prefers.
It’s calming that scent, and something in me gets slightly less tense.
“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” he says. “But again, Odette. You’re having this conversation with the wrong man. You should be talking to my son.”
He’s right, I should, but that angry, stubborn part of me won’t let it go.
I’ve been afraid for too long, constantly fighting my anxiety, and I’m tired of it.
The attack on me was random, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but my brain refuses to accept that.
It goes over it and over it, trying to fill in the gaps in my memory.
He hit me, but what else did he do? Was I sexually assaulted?
There was no evidence of it, but since I can’t remember, the lack of memory haunts me.
And they never caught him, so in addition to going over and over it, trying to think about what I could have done differently, I also see his face in every man I meet.
I want it to stop. I want to feel something other than fear and I have the sense that while it might be messed up, Gideon Fairfax can give that to me. So no, I’m not leaving yet.
I reach for the other tumbler of scotch, desperate for more courage, but as quickly as I reach for it, his hand is there, long, blunt fingers wrapping around my wrist, gripping it. “No,” he growls. “No more alcohol.”
My breath catches hard in my throat and I freeze, his hand like a shackle around my wrist. His fingers are warm and strong, his grip firm.
I wouldn’t be able to pull away from him even if I wanted to, and I don’t know why but that thought is insanely hot.
I stare at floor, my breathing getting faster and faster, my heart hammering in my ears.
Yet another silence falls, but this time there’s a tension to it, an electricity I’ve never felt before.
He’s looking at me, I know it. I can feel his gaze like a pressure on the top of my head, and my awareness expands, taking in the tall, powerful body so close to mine. His heat. His tantalizing scent.
I’m trembling all of a sudden, but for the first time in years, it’s not with fear.
I can hardly believe that it’s desire, since I can’t remember when I last felt it so strongly, but the ache between my thighs seems to indicate that yes, indeed, it’s desire.
Mr. Fairfax is only gripping my wrist and looking at me, yet I’m so turned on I can hardly speak, and all I can think is that Lucas never made me feel like this. Not once.
His grip tightens minutely and I catch my breath, adrenaline pouring through me, but then—shocking me—he lets me go. Disappointment slides through me like a splinter of ice, and I look up at him, because surely the way his grip tightened meant something. Surely….
Except his gaze is hard as it meets mine. “You don’t want what I have to give, Odette. Believe me, you don’t.”
I take a shuddering breath. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re a child.”
“I’m not,” I say, still trembling all over, my voice husky. “Show me.”
He’s tense and muscle flicks in his jaw; he’s angry. Disappointed, clearly, that his promised submissive for the evening has turned out to be his son’s girlfriend, who is now making demands of him.
“Show you what?” His voice is like granite.
“Show me what you have to give,” I say. “Then I’ll know if I want it or not.”
His expression is impassive, but his eyes glitter. “No.”
I swallow. “Please.”
“No.” There is no give in his voice, none at all.
But I can’t let this go, I just can’t, and before I realize what I’m doing, I drop to my knees at his feet. I stare at the black polished leather of his shoes and remember what a good submissive is supposed to say. “Please,” I whisper. “Sir.”