Page 5 of Hard Discipline

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’mso 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 hisgaze 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 reassurehimall 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 refusesto 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.”

4

Gideon

Odette’s pale head is bent, the very picture of a good sub. Whether she knows it or not, that desperation in her voice is a real fucking problem because a desperate, pleading sub is my goddamn catnip. Then, of course, the icing on the cake, that soft littlePlease, Sir.

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