Master class, p.1
Master Class, page 1
Copyright © 2022 by Raven Jayne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Paige Press
Leander, TX 78641
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Ebook:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-97-5
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Print:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-98-2
Contents
Also by Raven Jayne
About This Book
Trust
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Break
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Master
Also by Raven Jayne
Paige Press
About the Author
Also by Raven Jayne
MASTER CLASS
A collection of dirty, erotic novellas
Lesson One: Obey
Lesson Two: Tempt
Lesson Three: Take
Master Class: First Three Lessons
Lesson Four: Submit
Lesson Five: Offer
Lesson Six: Play
Master Class: Lessons Four, Five, Six
Lesson Seven: Trust
Lesson Eight: Break
Master Class: Lessons Seven and Eight
Lesson Nine: Master
Lesson Ten: Choose
About This Book
I’ve always been a good girl.
Doing what I’m told, doing the things I’m supposed to do.
I pride myself on being perfect.
My lessons have all been different, but they’ve taught me one thing above all--
If I don’t ask for what I want, I won’t get it.
It’s time to forget about perfection.
Since God knows I can’t forget about my desire for him...
Trust
I learned something during my time away.
What I want. Not my husband, not my Master, not my father.
And I want something forbidden.
An affair with the man who trains me would never be allowed.
Especially not by the men who hired him.
But I know how to be persuasive...
1
Jane promised me this place would be private, and it is—I’m surrounded by hedges, tucked into a corner of the local public park so that no one can see me. But I can hear people moving all around, talking to their dogs and each other, doing their everyday things—listening to music, beeping their cars open and closed, crunching leaves underfoot, reminding me of their presence over and over again, so that every time the breeze brushes against my bare arms, I feel even more and more vulnerable and exposed.
Jane says she and Bruce have fucked here a half-dozen times and never gotten caught; for her, the proximity of the rest of the world was part of the thrill. But for what I need to do today, I actually need that privacy—and I couldn’t go to any of my usual places to get it. I couldn’t go anywhere where I anyone I’d ever met in my little world would ever think to find me, or where they might see or overhear me, even by accident.
For most people who live in this city, this park is part of the texture of their everyday lives, but despite having lived just a few miles away for most of my life, I’ve never been here before. The neighborhood is much less nice than the one I grew up in, but still, glimpsing it through the window of a town car, I always thought it looked sort of shabby chic. Up close, though, it’s much grittier than I’d imagined, spotted with signs reminding people to pick up their dog’s poop and threatening them with arrests for dealing drugs. Stray pieces of trash flutter by, and my feet crush spent cigarette butts. I’ve never been anywhere this grimy before, and it makes me wonder if I could survive on my own in the real world.
I wonder what Malcolm will say about the setting when he arrives.
Malcolm. Even thinking his name feels like swallowing a shot of the best Russian vodka, sharp and cold down my throat, electricity along my spine. I asked him to meet me here early, before he’d be expected at the office—and then gave him a nice round number, the kind he never gave me, for our appointment out of pure uncut spite. It’s 7:26 a.m. right now, which means I have four minutes until he comes striding up, eyes blazing, to ask what I think I’m up to.
I check one of the benches for anything too gross, and, when it passes inspection, gingerly take a seat. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady and center myself. Inhale, exhale. Inhale—
A pigeon flutters up from under the bench and scares the crap out of me. So much for calm and readiness.
I am definitely not cut out for the real world.
At 7:30 on the dot, he strides through an unassuming gap in the bushes. He’s wearing his customary dark suit, his white shirt buttoned to the throat, tie impeccable, cufflinks gleaming, but I know better than to read his clothing for clues at this point. He’d be wearing this in a tornado or a hurricane. He’d wear it to dig ditches in the desert—and he wouldn’t break a sweat.
Whether he’s going to be Malcolm or Master with me today, I’ll know as soon as he opens his mouth.
I don’t even have to wait that long. I see it in his posture as he glances at me before taking a seat on the bench opposite, looking for all the world to anyone who didn’t know him as well as I do like a businessman pausing to take a breath before getting to work.
What I can see that a casual observer couldn’t is that, though he’s just as powerful and commanding as always, tall and solid with purpose and intent, his reserve has softened just slightly. He’s still brusque but not frigid, and when he leans forward and looks at me—really looks at me—his face is open, marked by a dark hunger that’s shot through with tenderness. I feel that look in the marrow of my bones, and my body aches for his.
At first I thought I wanted Malcolm because I wanted everyone; my lessons awakened a craving I’d never known I possessed until men started touching me exactly the way I wanted to be touched, and I liked it more than I ever could have imagined. But it’s different with Malcolm than it is with the rest of them, in ways I know better than to try to explain even to myself.
I’m fairly certain of who I’m meeting then, but there’s one test that will let me know for certain. If I speak without being spoken to, Master will punish me.
Malcolm won’t.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
His mouth twitches ever so slightly. He knows I’m playing a game with him, and he’s going to let me, at least for now. So definitely Malcolm, then.
Good.
“I was curious why you picked this side of town,” he says, after a moment.
“Why do you think?”
He leans back, stretching an arm over the back of his bench. I look at the broad line of his shoulders, the hard, flat plane of his belly, and I want to crawl between his knees and into his lap. I imagine the weight of his hand on my head, warm and soft, but still commanding, holding me in place for him, and my pussy is so wet my panties are soaked through.
“Now that I’m here, I get it,” he says. “I could take you to the middle of Franklin Boulevard, right over there, past those trees... I could push you up against the streetlight pole, and fuck you like a savage...just the way you like it...and a hundred people could see, but no one would know who we were.”
My cheeks are hot with shame and want. Of course he knows. Malcolm always knows what I want, often even before I do. “Pretty much.”
“Or I could take you right here and a hundred people wouldn’t see, and even if one did…”
God, if he keeps speaking I’m going to do it: get down on my hands and knees and suck his cock in the park like a whore. Sit on his lap and slide his dick inside of me so fast he doesn’t have time to make me stop, and then let him fuck me as roughly as he wants as a punishment. I have to make him stop winding me up like this. “I just wanted to talk,” I say.
“Well, here I am. What do you want?”
“Glad you asked.” I take another deep, long breath before I dive in. I’m nervous—terrified, actually, maybe more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life, including when I explored underwater caves near Bali, or when I rode nervy, poorly-trained horses at some minor duke’s country estate in Lausanne. But I have to do this. The only thing that scares me more than having this conversation is what will happen if I don’t.
“I don’t know what’s going on in your life,” I begin. “I don’t know what you do when you’re not with me, or who you fuck or why you fuck them.” I make sure to look him in the eye, bold and direct, when I say, “I know why you fucked me. It was business. But I don’t know why you helped me with the chess, and I don’t know why you came to my room, and told me your name, and said what you said.”
Another deep breath. That part was almost easy—I’ve been wanting to ask Malcolm questions since the moment I met him. T his last part is the most recent, and so it’s going to be the hardest. I’m going to ask him for something I’m not at all sure he’ll give me.
“I’ve been doing nothing but trying to figure that out,” I say, “and then I realized it doesn’t matter why you did what you did as much as it matters what I want. And what I want is you, Malcolm.”
There. That’s most of it. I try to read his face, but he’s as inscrutable as ever.
Just a few more sentences, then. “Not forever,” I say. “Not instead of your client. Not in addition to your client. Just up until I start my life with him. That’s all. That’s my proposal. And either you’re going to give me what I want, or you’re not.” I settle back against the bench, its wooden slats cold through the thin fabric of my dress.
There’s a moment where nothing happens. Then Malcolm drops his indifferent mask and allows himself a soft laugh. He rubs his eyes, shakes his head. He looks different, then; softer, almost. “Do you know what would happen if I said yes, and it ever came out?” he asks.
That isn’t a no. I know what would happen. I just don’t want to think about it.
“It won’t,” I assure him.
“I’d be ruined. I know you think you know what that means, but you never will.”
I know more than he thinks I do. His brother told me much more than he should have during the hours I spent with him as a punishment for bad behavior with Mistress Fiona. “Gage told me who you were and how you started the agency,” I confess.
“Did he tell you how he ended up where he is? It’s quite a story.”
I’m sure it is, and someday I’d like to hear it, but right now, I’m not going to be blown off course by Malcolm or his dangerous, mysterious brother.
“What do you want?” I ask instead.
Malcolm leans forward, elbows on his knees. All the sounds I was hearing before, other people going about their lives, the world churning on around us—all those distractions melt away, and I’m caught in the green of his eyes, the curl of his mouth. My heart is pounding in my wrists and between my legs. He’s wicked enough to dismantle me piece by piece, and gorgeous enough to make me love every second of it.
“You really want to know?” he asks.
“I told you what I wanted. There’s no point to that unless you tell me what you want.”
“I’m honestly not sure if I’m working with you anymore, but...”
And here he pauses, long enough that the world starts to tug at the edges of my attention. Long enough that I have time to wonder if this is what Malcolm looks like when he’s letting someone down easy.
“What I want,” he starts again, and then pauses again, and just before I open my mouth to beg him to say it, just say it already, he says, “is to tie you to the headboard by your elbows, spread your legs so wide your cunt’s like a bullseye, and fuck you so hard you don’t know whether to scream in pain or pleasure.”
He stands, his body one long, commanding line, and my throat is dry from want.
“I want to own you so completely you’ll suck and fuck anything I put in front of you,” he says, crossing the distance between us and placing a hand on my cheek. His skin is so warm against mine. That single point of contact is already too much, and not nearly enough. “I want to send you off to your husband marked with me inside you,” he says. His voice is low now, pitched so it falls just between us, rough and urgent. Hundreds of people in this park, and no one knows what we’re doing right now. “I never wanted to possess a woman the way I want you, hummingbird.”
In the moment, it feels perfectly, unbelievably simple. “Then take me.”
“It’s dangerous.” He pulls his hand away, and my skin goes cold without the warmth of his touch.
“How? If we keep it a secret?” I don’t understand how he can say no to this. To us. When it’s so clear that we both want the same thing. We’d be explosive together, incendiary. And I’m too caught up in the burn to consider the consequences.
“I don’t want you to develop any feelings for me just because I want to own your body. The truth is, I’ll never feel anything more for you,” he says, his voice as hard as his face.
That stings, but it’s for the best, isn’t it? My proposal was temporary and limited for a reason. I’m going to marry the Client as soon as the Client is ready to marry me. My body is all I own, at this point, and it’s all I can offer anyway. I said it was going to be temporary, and it is. So there’s no need to rub it in, but yes, this is what we have to agree to. Malcolm’s just being rational.
“You’ll never be my husband, Malcolm,” I say slowly, emphasizing every word, so he knows I mean it, so he knows I understand the terms of the deal we’re making. “No matter what you think. I want a forbidden little fling before I get married. That’s all.”
A silence falls between us. His gaze is locked in mine but I feel his heat against my nipples, in my throbbing pussy, on my thighs and against my neck.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Open your legs,” he says.
Is that a yes? Maybe? Either way, I’m not going to say no.
“Heels on the bench,” Malcolm commands. “Skirt over your knees. Let me see what I’m renting.”
I kick off my shoes and do as he says, pulling the crotch of my panties aside so he can look at my pulsing center, the core of where I need him.
“Are you wet?” he asks. His voice is rougher than I’ve ever heard it, still controlled but fraying at the very edges.
I know the answer to his question, but I touch myself anyway, dipping my fingers into my pussy just to watch the hunger deepen on his face when I do it.
“Yes.”
He nods and goes back to his bench, leaving a vast, aching gulf of space between us. I’m open and exposed, legs spread, and my skin is broken out with goosebumps that are equal parts fear and need.
“Now,” he says. “Show me how a good little slut gets herself off.”
It’s a relief to touch myself, fill up my emptiness, circle my clit with two fingers. I close my eyes and throw my head back, let myself imagine he’s picturing his mouth pressed to the hollow of my throat.
“Eyes on me,” Malcolm says, and I snap my gaze back to his. “Keep going, but don’t come until I say so. Now, we need to set some ground rules.”
The relief quickly turns to torture as my fingers work and my orgasm builds while I try to hold it at bay under Malcolm’s impassive gaze.
“One,” he begins. “Utter secrecy. Not even your companion. Especially not your father.”
I nod my agreement. I would never tell Daddy about this, so that’s easy. Jane will be harder but—but whatever. It’s worth it.
“Two,” he continues. “I own you. I am in charge, and you submit yourself to me. You fuck who I say because I tell you to. Three. Obedience. You come when I say, every time I say, but never, ever without permission.”
He pauses, watches as my breathing picks up and then smooths out again. I can feel my orgasm collecting behind my eyes, in my toes, my whole body full of it, ready to spill out and over as soon as he says the word.
“Four,” he says with a smirk, “Patience. When I call, you show up, and when I don’t, you never, ever come after me.” There’s another pause, and I wonder if that’s going to be it when he says, “Five. And this is important. No feelings. Don’t get confused, Juliette. I will never love you.”
He’s going to be in charge for the rest of our time together, but I need to get one last word in here. “Six,” I say, voice ragged as I try to keep myself under control. “You let me go at the end.” Every time I so much as brush my clit sparks shoot off in my bloodstream, and my cunt is pulsing around fingers, ready, ready, ready to spasm me into heaven. “We cut the cord completely, and I have a happy marriage.”
