Dear Sir, I'm Yours (11 page)

Turning off the freeway, she braked at the red light and turned her attention to him. Eyes flashing and luminous, lips soft and full, her face scared but determined, she made him fall in love with her all over again. “Nobody has ever made me feel what you did that day. I want you to teach me.”

He had to be perfectly clear. She still might not fully understand what he wanted. “Teach you what, darlin’?”

“Everything.” She wet her lips, her gaze locking on his mouth. “I want you to teach me how to…submit, but only with you.”

He dared not move for fear of losing control. His greatest test loomed before him. She was the one, the one who would make him into the dominant he could be, or turn him away in shame because he handled her wrong. She was as delicate as spun glass right now. If he screwed up again, he could break her spirit and hurt her worse than Dick ever thought about.

It would kill him to fail again.

“Only me, darlin’.”

Dear Dr. Connagher:

We all wear masks, whether to protect ourselves or others. Sometimes the mask slips,
and it’s a very frightening thing when the beast is revealed beneath the pleasant exterior.

Richard has so many masks that I can’t keep track of them all. He has the supervisor
role he plays with the contractors, the good ole boy role with his buddies, the dutiful son-in-law with my father. All of them are fake—I just never noticed it before. One by one, those
masks slipped enough for me to see the truth.

Last night, he looked at my poor crippled father in that wheelchair with contempt, and I
wanted to leap on Richard and beat him to death with my own fists.

To be honest, it never occurred to me that he was only pretending, even with me.

Especially with me. Oh, Conn, he can be so terribly mean. Of course, only at home where no
one can see his mask pulled aside. It sounds ridiculously immature to whine about someone
being mean, but I always thought that someone who loved me, really loved me, would never be
able to speak to me so harshly.

Like I’m stupid. Worthless. Dog manure to wipe off his boots.

Later, he apologized, but the damage had been done. I saw, I heard, and I can’t forget.

The man I thought I loved and loved me in return is no longer there. I suspect he never was.

Whether in class or the hallway, you treated everyone the same, from lowly non-English
students, to returning students you mentored year after year, to fellow professors. You never
acted differently, until it was just you and me behind your locked office door.

That’s when the real Conn peeked out.

I loved him as much as the professor, even if you scared me half to death.

I wear a mask now, putting on an “everything’s okay” face as soon as I get out of bed in
the morning. I hate that damned mask. I hate pretending, losing myself a little more each day.

I’m scared, Conn. I’m scared that I’ll forget who I am until I am the mask. You’re the
only man who ever saw the real me. I hold on to her, but I feel her slipping a little more each
day beneath this cold, numbing mask.

The night I stop dreaming about you will be the morning I don’t have to put the mask on
any longer. I’ll be a zombie, then, a ghost, the girl you knew dead and buried beneath a false
façade of vapid smiles and broken dreams.

I wish you could bend me back over your desk and spank me until I feel again. Help me,
Conn. Help me remember who I am.

~ Rae

Sitting down at their table in the semi-private darkened alcove of Mythos, Rae glanced about the restaurant. Greek statues, arches, carved cherubs, even mosaics decorated the elegant restaurant, but she didn’t pay much attention to them.

Everybody in the restaurant was staring at them.

Conn scooted her chair in and she snagged his arm, drawing him down to whisper in his ear. “Why’s everybody staring at us?”

Chuckling softly, he kissed her cheek and moved to sit beside her. “Because you’re gorgeous, darlin’.”

Her heart skipped a beat and shot off to the races. “The dress isn’t too much?”

“Oh, it’s too much alright. But you look gorgeous in it, Rae. You’re giving off a divine mixture of innocence and seductress that’s driving every poor man in this restaurant insane.”

“What about you?”

“Well, darlin’, I’m imagining turning you over my knee.”

Heat scalded her cheeks and she quickly buried her face in the menu, hoping to hide. “I knew you’d hate this dress. I tried to tell Miss Belle—”

“I don’t hate it, Rae.” He slid his hand beneath the table and stroked her thigh beneath the skirt. “I love it. It’s perfect and she knew it. And I still want to spank your delectable ass while I find out whether you wore anything beneath it or not.”

Heat pounded through her, heart racing, palms—and other areas—dampening. Sparing a furtive glance at the other patrons, she hesitated. She needed answers, especially about what had happened in his office that day. Perhaps in public would be for the best, as long as they whispered. No one sat close enough to overhear, and at least he couldn’t actually act on what they were talking about. “Did you spank other students?”

“Now that’s a very interesting question.” Conn laid the menu down. “These past years, I’ve worked harder at understanding myself, what makes me tick. I learned how I should have proceeded with a woman like you.”

Tired of scanning the menu, she laid hers down and took a sip of water. Not sure she really wanted to know, she asked, “Like me?”

“Eager to please, untrained and unsure, afraid of and attracted to a big bad man like me.”

He laughed softly at the look on her face, whatever it was, and took her hand in his. “I took a few trips for conferences these past years and made connections with people who could help me.”

She frowned, trying to imagine him asking for help. “With what?”

He leaned closer and whispered, “Kinky shit.”

The waiter came over. Blood was pounding and rushing in her ears too loudly for her to hear what Conn told him. Nodding, the waiter left them alone once more.

“I needed help figuring out how to break you in, so to speak, if I ever tracked you down again. I needed help reining myself in, the proper things I should do to ensure you’re safe and unafraid. The right way to build a long-term committed relationship and not just a night playing. It’s a huge difference, Rae, and even five years ago, I intended to play for keeps.

“So that’s the long answer of saying I did spank a few other women—who knew what they were and what I was. It was playing. Did I ever spank any other student? Absolutely not; I never had any relationship at all with a student before or after you. Did I ever fall for any other woman? No. Not like this.”

He waited until she met his gaze. Fingers trembling, she gripped his hand harder.

“I loved you then, Rae, and I love you more now. I’m not losing you again.”

“But—”

“We’ll work out every single objection you have as they come up. I won’t push, rush, or bully you into anything, but I’m not letting you run. You run, and I will follow, come hell or high water, and you can bet I’ll spank your ass fire-engine red when I catch you.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, her ear. “And then I’m going to make love to you so hard and long you won’t ever be able to run again.”

Her stomach tightened, that familiar knot of nerves insisting she should run or fight, anything but stay. But his deep blue eyes locked on her, smoldering with intensity, and she couldn’t run, not even for the fun of the chase. She didn’t want to.

The waiter returned and poured two glasses of red wine. Rae took a hesitant sip, braced to not like it. But it was sweet and warm, thick, very, very good. Sip by sip, it flowed through her spreading heat. By the darkness in Conn’s eyes, it affected him the same way.

“What is this?”

“Black Opal Shiraz. I typically drink Merlot but I thought you might like this better. It’s sweeter than I usually drink.”

“So you don’t always want the sweetest?”

“Ah, now, darlin’, that’s a loaded question.” He stretched out his arm along the back of her chair, his fingers trailing over her arm. “I want my wine red and strong with a kick. The only problem is it really heats my blood. I’ll only drink one glass tonight, or I won’t be driving us home. I’ll be too busy making you mine in the backseat of my car. My libido doesn’t need any assistance right now in running amok.”

With trembling fingers, she took another sip while he talked up the waiter. Evidently they knew him enough to recommend a new dish they thought he’d enjoy. He asked what she wanted, and she let him choose. It was probably a very submissive thing to do, but she really didn’t care, as long as it made his eyes darken. At a restaurant like this, they wouldn’t serve a single bad dish. She was bound to get something good.

Nothing as good and wicked as Conn. “So tell me about you.”

“What do you want to know, darlin’?”

“Everything.”

He talked about his family living in Texas, his mama, Miss Belle’s first-born daughter.

He had an older brother, Victor, and a younger sister, Vicki, all hell-bent and trouble according to him.

“If your mama is anything like Miss Belle, then I’m really not sure I want to meet her.”

Conn laughed, his fingers making lazy circles on her arm. “As a matter of fact, Mama is worse than Miss Belle. She inherited many of Colonel Healy’s more obnoxious bossy traits.”

Rae shuddered, thankful her possible in-laws lived so far away. “You’re still teaching at Drury, aren’t you?”

“Sure am. I’d like to be there until the day I die.”

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“A little fencing with a friend of mine. We make the Ren Faire circuit.”

“You fence? Like with swords?”

“It’s a hobby of mine.” He turned quiet, somber, the grooves in his face pronounced.

They ate quietly, Rae trying to enjoy the chicken despite the capers. “What’s wrong with your dish?”

“Nothing.”

“Rae, you’ve got to tell me if you’re not happy with something. Every time you take a bite, you frown. How can I take care of you if I don’t even know what you need?”

Her brain retorted that she didn’t need anybody to take care of her, but her heart melted.

“I don’t like capers. I should have read the menu closer.”

“My fault, darlin’. You let me order, remember? What else don’t you like?”

They talked about food while enjoying the incredible dinner, but tension wound higher, subtle at first, but more and more pronounced. She kept jumping every time he moved or spoke, unsure why she was so tense. Her nerves jangled, sensitive to the least signal from him.

Pushing his plate away, he stretched out his legs beneath the table, deliberately wide and sprawled so his thigh rubbed hers.

She moaned softly before she could silence it. The tension mounted, thick and oppressive, matching the darkening storm in his eyes.

Finally, he leaned over and breathed into her ear. “I think it’s time to give you that extra credit.”

Startled, she glanced around the restaurant, but nobody sat close enough to hear. The alcove was dark and made for lovers. Surely he wouldn’t— “What, here?”

“Yes, here.”

The waiter brought a thick slice of death-by-chocolate layered cake. Conn loaded the fork and fed her bite by bite, his eyes locked on her mouth. Every few bites, he put the empty fork in his mouth and licked it clean. His eyes blazed. From the chocolate? Or her taste?

She tried to quell the heat spreading through her. “Don’t I get to feed you?”

One corner of his mouth quirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Leaning down, he licked her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. Just a nibble, but she jolted with surprise just the same. He slid his arm behind her, his palm sliding hot down her right arm. His body heat seared her left side, back, and thigh. Sitting in public, she felt covered by him, possessed by his little touches and potent stares. It was odd, terrifying, and thrilling at the same time.

How far would he go? How far would she let him go? In public?

As she lifted the fork to his mouth, her hand shook. She put the empty fork in her mouth as he’d done, and he rumbled with approval. “Do you taste me, darlin’?”

Maybe it was her imagination, but she did taste just a hint of that sultry darkness of the mastery of his mouth. Shivers took hold deep in the pit of her stomach. Tightening her thighs together, she closed her eyes, trying to calm the roaring desire.

“Put the fork down.” He whispered the words against her ear, but she recognized it as an order. Silverware clattered against the dessert plate. He breathed deeply against her ear, his breath warm and moist. With his left hand, he slowly turned her head toward him.

Wildly, her gaze flickered about the room. Was anyone watching? Did she care?

Smoldering with heat, he stared deeply into her eyes, drowning her with his will, his control. Tension mounted, his gaze a physical touch sliding down to her mouth. Lazily, he let his gaze drop lower, and her breasts burned to feel his touch, to feel the heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue. Trembling, she made a soft noise, desperate and needy yet so afraid she’d embarrass herself.

His gaze worked back up to her mouth. Her lips fell open; she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop her tongue from wetting her lips in invitation, either. He lifted his gaze to hers and she sucked in a deep breath, bracing for attack.

Tilting her head just so, he slanted his mouth across hers. His tongue slid deep, conquering and claiming every inch of her. This was no little torment or play; this was total domination. His mouth took hers, his tongue thrusting like his body would, not fast, not unsure, but deep and steady, demanding thrusts which left her no defense. One, two, and she quivered, crying out softly into his mouth as climax roared through her. Her hands scrambled on the table, her body shaking against his. She finally got one hand under the table, her left, and reached for his groin.