His To Master and Own (Miami Masters 5)

She felt so good, first thing Friday morning she phoned and made another appointment with Sean for the following Tuesday. She didn’t second-guess her decision or fret over it until that morning, when she entered his quiet, homey office and the receptionist greeted her with a smile.

“He’s ready for you, Ms. Alexander.” Waving her hand toward Sean’s door, she invited, “Go on in.”

“Thank you.” Alessa knew she should apologize, or at least make up an excuse about why she hadn’t shown up for the last appointment, but a return of nerves kept her quiet. Before the knot cramping her stomach convinced her to change her mind, she opened the door to see him holding a watering can over a lush Philodendron, the simple task making him seem more approachable until he turned and those sharp, assessing grey eyes kept her rooted in place.

“Alessa. Give me a moment to finish this and I’ll be right with you. Have a seat.”

The cool undertone to his greeting almost propelled her back out the door. When he resumed his watering, ignoring her as he took his time tending the five potted plants, she took a deep, fortifying breath and closed the door behind her. He made her wait a good five minutes, and instead of sitting, she watched the way his arm muscles rippled when he lifted the water jug, admired the way his grey dress shirt defined his broad shoulders and tucked into the waistband of black slacks that showcased a very nice butt. Giving her head a mental shake, she pivoted and sat in the chair facing his desk, fidgeting with her fingers while she tried to get her mind off his physical attributes. By the time he strolled around his desk and sat down, she’d yanked on a hangnail so hard, the skin around it had already turned red.

“Let’s see, I think we were discussing your childhood when we parted last week.” Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands under his chin, with his elbows resting on the arms again. She wondered if that contemplative pose was one he used with all his clients.

“You brought it up, is all,” she said, not knowing how to comment.

“So I did. You were placed in foster care after being abandoned. That must have been frightening for a toddler.”

Alessa shrugged, uncomfortable with discussing those years. “I don’t remember the first home.”

Cocking his head, he thought a minute before asking, “How many were there?”

Even though it hurt, she went back to worrying the hangnail until his deep voice whipped across the desk. “Stop that and answer me.”

Alessa frowned, jumped up and started pacing, irritated with the way her insides turned quivery with longing just from his commanding tone. “Who gave you authority to dictate to me on my bad habits?” she snapped, unable to hold back the peevish snip in her tone.

“You did, when you mentioned wanting to turn control over to someone then agreed to my counseling. Now sit down.” He waited for her to comply then instructed in that same implacable tone, “Wrap your hands around the armrests, yes like that. When you get the urge to attack your fingers, squeeze.”

The smooth wood of the narrow armrests felt good under her palms and fingers, as did the anchor her grip offered.

“That was just a small sample of what you’d agree to if you turned yourself over to a man, not just for sexual control, but total control. That is what you said you thought you wanted to explore, correct?”

Alessa blew out a breath and nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“That’s a given. You won’t know until you actually subject yourself to such a relationship. Now, back to our first topic. How many homes did you live in?”

She tightened her hands with her answer. “Seven.”

Surprise lit his eyes. “Seven, between the age of three and what, eighteen?”

“Seventeen. I graduated high school a year ahead.” She’d been proud of that accomplishment until the older couple she’d been with decided that meant she could go and they could finally retire.

Then Sean surprised her by saying, “Our foster care system sucks. Kids are uprooted just when they become accustomed to a family, denying them the chance to set down roots. Then they’re put out on their own with a stipend and no back-up support unless they’re lucky enough to get in with one of the more committed, caring families. I’m sorry you weren’t one of the fortunate ones.” His apology also caught her off-guard. She’d always been the one to apologize about her failure to fit in, never the adults who’d sworn to care for her.

“Maybe it was my fault. I could be… difficult.” At least, that was the excuse she’d heard the most often.

“If you were, it was their job to discover why and help you cope. Three-year-olds don’t know better, and teens only do if they’re taught to.”

Before she could assimilate Sean’s quick defense of her, he switched the subject to her school years, asking about her favorite teachers and kids she’d befriended, a more comfortable subject for her because she’d loved school. The thirty-minute session flew by and before Alessa knew it, he stood, signaling the end of their discussion. She wasn’t sure how he’d accomplished it, but he’d gotten her to relax halfway through even though she’d kept her grip on the chair arms.

“If you wish to continue, make another appointment on your way out.” Sean waited until she reached for the doorknob before adding, “And Alessa, the next time you don’t call to cancel an appointment you can’t make, I’ll drop you as a client.”

She slipped out the door without answering or looking back. The knife-sharp anger underlying his calm voice sliced through her, and she realized she didn’t like it when he was mad at her. After making another appointment for Thursday, she stepped out into perfect, seventy-five-degree balmy weather and wished that was all she needed to thaw the coldness his rebuke and threat instigated.

SEAN HEARD Alessa speak to Barbara then listened for the outside door to shut before pulling up her file on the computer. Their session had gone better than he’d planned after her silent absence last Thursday. Her lack of explanation and apology this morning confirmed she was still fighting against opening up to him. She shied more away from revealing her thoughts than she did sharing her body, he’d witnessed that first hand, but the fact she’d returned today gave him hope of her willingness to try. He’d have to be diligent about keeping his escalating interest in her as a submissive from interfering with his counseling. He couldn’t recall another time when a woman tempted him to cross the counselor/client line with a patient, but he couldn’t deny that her proclaimed desire to turn over compete control to a man was a dangling carrot he found himself hard-pressed to ignore.

From the little she’d revealed, it was obvious she blamed herself for the multiple switches in foster homes. If he had to guess from what he’d gleaned so far, he would say she’d acted up to get their attention, but instead of caring for her enough to root out the reason for her behavior, they’d passed her on to another family. He’d counseled other people who’d grown up in foster homes, but none who had been in so many, the constant moves adding to her abandonment issues.

Sean may not have had the ideal home life, and he still believed his father could have prevented his mother’s accidental overdose, but at least he’d known she loved him. His father he’d never been sure of, since Paul was not the demonstrative sort of parent a lot of kids were lucky enough to have. During those destructive teen years following his mother’s death, he’d convinced himself his home life was the worst of any kid. It had taken the three months spent at that eye-opening camp, hearing the stories of what the other teens had lived with to shape him up. He still blamed his father for his mother’s death, and there were still times he struggled with the bitterness of his emotional neglect, but unlike Alessa, he’d adjusted well.

After typing in his notes from their talk, he left his office for lunch, ignoring the impulse to peek at Barbara’s calendar as he strolled by her desk. He’d force himself to wait before checking to see if Alessa’s name was on Thursday’s schedule. He needed to curb the rapid rise of his lust along with the desire to be the one

to tutor her in what she wanted to learn, but every time he pictured that look on her face the two times her piss-poor choices in Doms had walked away from her, the urge to show her what he could give her took over. What he would require from a woman who agreed to a committed relationship with him coincided with what she said she wanted, but unlike Alessa, Sean knew the control she thought she wanted wasn’t easy to adhere to, no matter how strong the desire to do so. Better to get her to reveal a little more about what was driving her and talk her into trying a temporary relationship with someone he trusted than for him to show her, and one or both of them regretting it due to their mutual friendships when it ended.

“You’re fifteen minutes late,” Sean stated from his seat behind his desk when Alessa entered his office on Thursday. His anticipation at seeing her again after catching her name on his schedule dimmed with her tardiness. He’d hoped the one time she’d been a no-show had put an end to her testing him so they could move on.

Alessa waved her hand in an airy, indifferent gesture that matched her offhand excuse. “Sorry, got tied up.” She plopped into the chair, crossed her legs and arms and gazed at him as if daring him to make an issue of it. He remained quiet until she fidgeted in her seat, her multi-colored, calf-length skirt sliding over her leg as she swung her foot.

“Having a bad day, sweetheart?” he drawled with deliberate sarcasm just to see what she’d do.

Those slim brows dipped in a frown and her soft lips tightened. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Why?” He could tell she hadn’t expected to come up with a reason when she unfolded her arms and went for a hangnail. “Knock it off and talk to me. That’s why you’re here.”

Her hands went to the armrests, the quick way she resumed the grip he’d instructed her to take the last time sending a surge of pleasure through him until she jumped up and began pacing. “Look, I had a bad night at work, then didn’t sleep well. Do you want me to stay or not?” she snapped without looking at him.

No, she definitely wasn’t done testing him. “Sit down and tell me about the first foster home you can remember, and why you left.”