Chapter 8 #2
“M-Master Crone?” Heat flooded Sienna’s cheeks at the breathless squeak that escaped her lips. Clearing her throat, she attempted a more professional tone. “What can I do for you?”
“Hmm…” His eyes glimmered, as what could only be described as a naughty smile, curved his lips. “That’s not the kind of question you should ask in a full classroom, Ms. Weathers. You might blush at my response.”
A crimson streak spread from her cheeks down her neck and disappeared beneath her collar. Several students stifled giggles while others fanned themselves dramatically. In the front row, two Littles clutched each other’s hands. Their eyes were wide as they took in his imposing presence.
“I... ehm…” Her recently recovered quick wit abandoned her.
“This is a photography class, isn’t it?” His lips twitched in an annoying sign that he was enjoying her flustered state. The twittering from her students grew louder, and she shot them a quelling look that had absolutely no effect.
“It is.” She fought to control the croak in her voice. “Is there a reason for your visit, Master Crone?”
“I’d like to attend, Ms. Weathers, if you don’t mind. As an artist, photography has always drawn me.”
“That’s why I’m taking photography too!” Blake exclaimed, staring at Crone in awe normally reserved for his mentor and fellow artist, Gavin Doyle.
“It is him!” Kay’s shrill voice cut through the hormone-laden atmosphere. “I knew it. Didn’t I tell you last night?” She bounced in her seat, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbowed Patsy. “It’s him, Prof! Crone Lange.”
Sienna’s jaw dropped as she stared at him. The marker she’d retrieved slipped from her nerveless fingers again. “You’re that Crone Lange?”
“Ehm... which one would that be?” He maintained his casual pose against the doorframe, but shadows flickered behind his eyes.
“The artist. The most sought after landscapist in the entire world!” Kay interjected. Bobby mimicked swooning into his neighbor’s lap while making heart eyes.
“The Crone Lange whose painting is currently hanging at the gallery in Porter’s Corner?” Sienna asked softly. Behind her, she heard several sharp intakes of breath as the submissives recognized the reference.
Crone winced. His gaze searched her face as if expecting judgment or revulsion.
Instead, understanding flowed between them.
She had spent hours before that canvas during her therapy visits, each tortured brushstroke resonating with her own pain.
Here stood a man who knew true suffering, whose pain and darkness matched her own.
The painting hadn’t just been art, that had been clear to her the first time it magnetized her.
It had been a coping mechanism of a man searching for reason and understanding… perhaps yearning for closure.
In the back of the room, someone whispered, “Is anyone else feeling the electricity or is it just me?” followed by several urgent “Shhhhs!” and barely suppressed squeals.
“Could we use him as a prop in the fashion shoot, Prof?” Elise stage-whispered, staring at him as if transfixed.
“No,” Crone answered for Sienna. “No one would buy a picture with this ugly face on it.”
“Ohh, you’re sooo wrong, Sir.” Ines clasped her hands beneath her chin as she fluttered her eyelids at him. “I would sell a pigtail for one of them.”
Crone’s chuckle filled more than the room… it echoed right through Sienna’s defenses and toggled at her heart. She cleared her throat loudly.
“I’m not sure you’ll benefit much from today’s class, Master Crone.” Sienna’s firm voice carried a warning note to her giggling students. “We’re discussing fashion photography, which falls rather outside your artistic wheelhouse.”
He glanced down at his worn jeans and khaki shirt and back at her. His eyes twinkled. “Are you saying I have no sense of style, Prof?”
“I... that’s not... I didn’t…” The normally composed professor she worked so hard to portray stammered with her cheeks once again blazing.
It was with difficulty that she forced a semblance of being in control.
“Find a seat, Master Crone,” she finally managed, gesturing to the room.
The only available space was a desk-chair combo clearly designed for someone half his size.
His six-feet-four-inch frame folded into it with all the grace of an origami giraffe, drawing poorly concealed snickers from the class.
Again retrieving the marker, Sienna tightened her grip and turned back to the whiteboard, but her usual laser focus was scattered.
His presence radiated heat against her back.
Her hands shook as she wrote and the normally precise letters looked like scribbles across the surface.
She closed her eyes briefly in a desperate attempt to calm herself.
Every nerve ending sparked with awareness of him as her body hummed with an electric charge she couldn’t control.
“What about motorcycle fashion?” Crone asked during a discussion of photo locations.
“The interplay of leather and chrome, movement and stillness…” He launched into an articulate analysis of composition and lighting that had her students furiously taking notes.
Sienna was just as captivated and gripped her marker tighter, lest she drop it a third time.
A deep exhale of relief followed the ringing of the bell indicating the end of the session. They’d accomplished little of her planned curriculum since her students were too busy peppering Crone with questions and lewd suggestions, which he skillfully redirected back to photography principles.
Yep, and you didn’t mind. The voice in her mind mocked.
Of course, I did.
Gmphf, I call bullshit since you were just as flustered as they were.
Sienna stoically pushed the senseless debate from her mind as the students filed out reluctantly with several casting longing glances over their shoulders. As the door clicked shut behind the last one, silence descended. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she turned slowly to face him.
“Are you okay, kitten?” His voice dropped into that velvet-wrapped-steel tone that had turned her knees weak in the Dungeon.
“I am, Master Crone... thank you.” She didn't need to ask what he meant. His eyes held that laser-focused Dom intensity, scanning for any sign of subdrop or distress.
“No, Sienna. You never need to thank me for servicing your needs. It’s my job as your Dom.”
She jerked back. “M-my Dom?”
His touch was impossibly gentle as he brushed the hair away from her face. “You fell asleep last night so we didn’t get to have that much needed aftercare talk... which is the actual reason I’m here.”
The shutters immediately slammed down as she stepped back. “I’m not ready to talk... not now and”—her gaze darted around the classroom—“definitely not here.”
“Then are you ready for this?” He moved with predatory grace, backing her against the whiteboard.
“M-Master Crone… you…” His palms pressed against the surface on either side of her head as he caged her without touching. Her breath hitched as he leaned in, capturing her mouth with devastating precision.
“Shhh,” he murmured against her lips. The kiss started as a question.
It was demanding yet coaxing and tender.
More than anything, understanding flowed through the connection, warming her from the inside out.
Though his body stayed carefully separated from hers, his presence surrounded her and called to her submission.
“Hmm…” The soft moan escaping her throat sparked something in him. The kiss transformed into raw possession and pure domination. His tongue swept inside, claiming every inch while daring her to resist... or submit.
Their scene last night hadn’t focused on erotic pleasure, yet her body thrummed with awakened need.
Her defenses, built brick by brick over two years, crumbled under his touch.
There was no question about her decision.
She chose submission. Her arms wound around his neck as she pressed forward, erasing the careful distance between them.
What happened to never again? She challenged herself. How did I go from writing off men completely to craving this one with such raw intensity my lungs refuse to work?
You know why, her inner voice whispered. He didn’t try to fix you. Didn’t offer empty platitudes. He saw your darkness and met it with his own.
That’s not enough reason to—
No? Then explain the thread that connected you last night. That wasn’t just a sub responding to a skilled Dom. That was recognition. Your souls know each other, girl. Yours is tired of being chained to the past.
When his arms finally wrapped around her waist, drawing her flush against his hard frame, she couldn’t argue anymore.
Raw need exploded through her veins, and for the first time in years, she basked in it.
Long before she was ready for it to end, he pulled back, leaving her shivering at the loss of his warm lips possessing hers.
His gaze was enigmatic as he stared at her for long moments. “I’m taking you to dinner tonight, love. Be ready at seven.”
“I… I’m not leaving the Ranch, Master Crone.” Sienna was still stuck on the word “love”.
“Crone, little one. When we’re outside of a scene, to you, I am Crone… or honey, or lovey, maybe even wobble knot…” He shrugged. “Whichever you prefer.”
“I…” She gaped at him. “What are you… Crone Lange, I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, do you understand?”
“Ah, there’s the spirit I saw lurking last night.” He smiled as he brushed his thumb over her lips. “I’ll never play with your feelings, love. Also, we’re not leaving the Ranch. I booked a table at Connor’s Steakhouse at Rawhide Ridge.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I… don’t date, ever.”
His eyes darkened as he tilted her face up. “This isn’t a debate, Sienna. We have to talk about our scene. I prefer to do it outside of the Dungeon since I have a lot more to say than to ensure you fully embrace and build on the breakthrough we made last night.”
“More? What do you mean?” Sienna took a step back. She needed space to think… a commodity that eluded her when he was so close.
“Our future.” His eyes remained fixed on her as he reached out and touched her cheek. He seemed fascinated with the softness of her skin.
“Our future? I… we… look, I just told you. I don’t—”
“You don’t date. Yeah, I got that.” He smiled broadly as he ambled toward the door. “I fully intend to change that.”
He was out the door before she could respond, forcing her to run after him. “Crone Lange, get back here. We’re not done talking!”
He didn’t turn but waved at her over his shoulder. His words floated toward her as he disappeared around a corner.
“Seven tonight, kitten. Be ready.”