Okay, so I’d obviously watched some really imaginative porn over the years. Nothing Trent had ever said or done made me believe he was into anything like that. Maybe it was the fact that I’d gone over that limit list before we had dinner. There were so many things I’d never even heard of.
Clarissa had kindly given details and answered all of my questions in an almost clinical manner. She didn’t blush when she spoke of dildos or anal beads or nipple clamps. I doubted she got all hot and bothered the way I had. The mere thought of seeing her with nipple clamps…
“Troy?”
I jerked my attention to Trent. He was staring at me as though he’d been waiting for me to respond for a while.
“Yes?”
He rested his forearms on the table and pinned me in place with his heated stare. “From here on out, while we’re playing—which is anytime we’re not working—I’d prefer for you to call me Master.”
Master? Really? “But I usually call you boss, boss,” I mentioned, confused as to why I was being reprimanded.
“He’s not referring to a casual, everyday reference,” Clarissa stated, her voice soft. “He’s referring to an honorific.”
Once again, I was clueless.
Thankfully, she continued. “Some Doms prefer to be called a specific title when they’re playing. Whether it’s Sir, Master, or even my Lord. I knew one Dom who wanted to be called Titus.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s a title that reiterates his dominance in the relationship. And since he’s your boss in everyday life, it would make sense to call him something different to acknowledge your … relationship.”
Relationship? Was that what this was?
My eyes cut to Trent and he seemed rather satisfied with Clarissa’s explanation.
Okay, then. If my boss wanted to be called Master, then I would call him Master.
“Thank you,” I told Clarissa. “For explaining.” I turned toward Trent. “And I apologize for my ignorance in this matter, Master.”
“I’m allowing for a learning curve.” Trent chuckled. “However, there will come a time when you will be punished for not offering the proper respect.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Trent lifted an eyebrow, and Clarissa cleared her throat.
“Shit. I mean, oh, okay, Master.” This was going to take some time.
“I’d like for the two of you to go into the living room while I take care of the dishes.”
“Oh, no,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I’ll be happy to handle the cleanup.”
Trent didn’t move, but his eyes followed me. One slight shake of his head was the only response I received.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I really don’t mind.”
“I’m sure.” His tone said I should keep any additional arguments to myself.
So I did. “I will … uh … take Clarissa into the living room then.”
“I wouldn’t mind a tour,” she said sweetly.
Trent nodded.
“Sure. I can show you around,” I informed her.
“Perhaps while he does that, you can give him a quick Submissive 101 class,” Trent told Clarissa with a grin.
“I’d be happy to.”
Once Trent helped Clarissa to her feet, I placed my hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the living room. It felt wrong to leave Trent to clean up the dishes. He’d sent all the house staff home, so there was no one else around to do it.
I’d never gotten the impression Trent saw himself as being above anyone. He took care of plenty of things on his own, including dishes from time to time. However, there were people he employed who handled all of that. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, even grocery shopping. They moved about the house on a daily basis.
“Maybe you should get the wine,” Clarissa suggested softly when we arrived in the living room.
“Right.” I spun around and grabbed all three of the glasses from the table as well as the remainder of the bottle.
“Get more wine from the cellar, Troy,” Trent called out as he left the room.
For fuck’s sake. I looked like a complete and total idiot.
I raced to the wine cellar and found another bottle of Trent’s preferred wine, then returned to the living room, where Clarissa was standing near the wall of windows that overlooked the pool.
The woman was breathtaking. I’d thought so the instant I’d laid eyes on her at her house. Even more so after she’d taken a shower and dolled herself up.
And she smelled so good. Fresh and sweet. It took everything in me not to invade her personal space. For some reason, I wanted to get closer to her.
Granted, I seriously doubted she’d looked at me twice. Considering I was vanilla—as Trent liked to say—I couldn’t imagine she had an interest in me. Then again, why would she when she could have a demanding Dom like Trent?
After refilling all three glasses, I carried one over to her.
“It’s beautiful out there,” she said absently.
“Trent spared no expense. The pool is heated, plus there’s a hot tub. Around that way”—I motioned toward the right side of the pool—“through the door into the house, there’s a changing area complete with washer and dryer as well as a full bathroom. On the other side, there’s a tennis court.”
