Master class, p.14
Master Class, page 14
“Can we talk?” Jane asks.
I force myself to look up. I will get this right, at least. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I tell her. “What I was going to say before was that I’m moving in with Charles. You could have gone back to Bruce if you wanted, but maybe this is better for you. Malcolm can…he can really change your life.”
He certainly changed mine. In this moment, I’m still not sure whether for better or for worse.
Jane doesn’t say anything, and I can’t read the expression on her face. I can’t help myself; I drop my gaze again.
So I only hear the sound of her footsteps as she turns and walks away from me.
11
Charles’s house is beautiful. A romantic mansion on the coast with every classic touch paired with every modern convenience. The picture windows look down onto the crashing ocean, and wisteria winds around every doorframe, but you can set the temperature in the rooms with the touch of a button. The grounds are extensive, and I’ll be able to play tennis in the mornings and then sit in the hot tub all afternoon. The foyer where he greets me is lush with roses in the peak of their bloom, and my future husband fills out his suit so perfectly it should be a crime.
But I see all of it through a veil of grief. I’m still shocked. Undone. Devastated.
I had been so certain—so certain—that I loved Malcolm, and that he felt something deep for me. But then he did the one thing that could prove he didn’t, and never had. No man capable of love could have done what he did with a straight face. He even enjoyed himself. I saw the way he looked when he fucked Jane. It wasn’t that different from how he looked when he fucked me.
This is why you’re here, I remind myself. Because Malcolm was a bad option. This is better. This is your future. And you will fall in love with Charles. You will.
After we walk around the grounds together, Charles brings me into the kitchen, where a lavender buttercream cake is sitting on the counter, waiting to be sliced. It’s my favorite, and I’m touched all over again by his thoughtfulness, his apparent ability to anticipate my every want.
It still tastes like sand in my mouth, though of course I don’t tell him that. I try to seem excited and grateful. To be who I wish I was right now, instead of who I am, which is a shell of myself struggling to get through each moment.
“As long as you’re here,” Charles says when he’s finished his own slice. “There will be some rules.”
I nod. Of course. I’m glad, actually. I need some structure. Some routine. Something to cling to in order to get me through the next few days.
And also, as hurt and messed up as I am, I don’t truly mind this gorgeous man telling me exactly what to do.
“You’ll have my credit card,” he says, sliding a black card across the counter to me. “No spending limit; buy whatever you want. But I will give you instructions about what sorts of outfits to purchase—shoes, lingerie, everything.”
The card’s plastic is comforting in my hand, a promise of a way to fill my hours. I wonder what he’ll want me to wear. How he’ll like me best.
My pulse picks up its rhythm.
“You may never close the door while showering or bathing,” he continues. “You will accompany me to social events, and we may also host some here. When that happens, I expect you to be an immaculate hostess and a perfect date. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll watch porn with me when I ask you to,” he says. “I know so much about your tastes—it’s time you learned about mine. And we will be sharing a bed. But don’t worry, Juliette. I won’t touch you. Until you ask to be touched.”
I want to think that will take a long time. He’s moving so fast already… the guest room to the main room. I know I need a pause to nurse this broken heart. I wasn’t lying to Charles about that before— I also know he is out of patience for me and mine. I don’t want this to feel like just another lesson, or a rebound from my ill-advised feelings for Malcolm. But I also don’t know how to change it.
I also know that the way he’s set this up will lead to temptations I’m not prepared to resist, especially as upset and confused as I am. The idea of bathing in front of Charles—watching him watch me slippery and soaking wet—performing a perfect hostess role—and then climbing into bed with him to watch his favorite porn… There’s no way I won’t end up in his arms sooner rather than later.
I don’t know how I feel about that. But this is my life now, so I try to greet it with a smile.
12
Master
Behind a locked door, a painting leans on the wall. I never hung it. That would have admitted too much. Even owning it is a mistake.
Until recently, I never made these kinds of mistakes.
The image on the canvas is indelible. The girl in the portrait is naked, marked with the slime of a man’s cum. She is used, degraded. In training to be a faceless, worthless whore.
And yet, her blue eyes and heart-shaped face are defiant. She hasn’t broken. She’s impatient. Restless. Alive.
That day, I thought she’d never break. It started to scare me eventually: the silk-thread strength of her, the way that, even when she looked fragile, she could absorb so much without snapping. The fierce way she started to believe in the idea of us.
But nothing is invulnerable, and she did, finally, break.
I was the one who broke her. It’s not the victory I thought it would be.
I’ve been trying to convince her to let me go for weeks, and at last, I’ve succeeded, but that’s not what it feels like. Instead, the phrase that keeps occurring to me is: I lost her. Worse, I pushed her into another man’s bed.
No.
I don’t care about his bed. I don’t care where he puts his cock. Wasn’t I the one who taught her that fucking is just fucking? What bodies do doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
Instead, it’s her heart and her soul I’m thinking of. He owns those now, and that’s what I cannot bear. All of that vivacity, that tensile strength, is his domain.
I don’t make blunders. I don’t miscalculate. Not with women.
Perfection is my goal, and I reach it, every time.
But if buying that painting was my first mistake, letting her go was an even bigger one.
Because even with the portrait locked in the closet, I can feel her watching me. Her gaze is penetrating, angry, skewering. It’s a question that demands an answer. And it reminds me that however far I run, I’ll never escape her, or the things she’s made me feel.
Master Class continues with Lesson Nine: Master
I was hired to do a job.
There was nothing unusual about the client.
But there’s never been a girl like her.
Juliette is pure innocence.
I want to claim every bit of it for my own, to dominate and control and own her.
Mastering my feelings is my job now.
Because if I give in, I will destroy us both.
* * *
Get Master
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
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Raven Jayne, Master Class
