Typical Barrons answer. “Elucidate,” I said dryly. I’ve been learning new words. I’ve been reading a lot lately.

As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-shirt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I’m a Juicy girl.

“I bet you are,” he murmured. “Take off your shirt,” he said, but this time his voice resonated with a legion of voices. It rippled outward, past me, filling the room, stuffing every corner, cramming it full of voices that were all telling me to obey, pressuring every cell in my body to comply. I wanted my shirt off. Not the same way I wanted it off around V’lane, rooted in sexual compulsion, but merely because I . . . well, I didn’t know why. But I wanted it off right now, this very instant.

I began to lift the hem of my tee, when I thought, Hang on a minute, I’m not going to show Barrons my bra, and pulled my shirt back down.

I smiled, faintly at first then bigger, pleased with myself. I stuffed my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and gave him a cocky stare. “I think I’m going to be pretty good at this.”

“TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT.”

The command hit me like a brick wall and destroyed my mind. I sucked in a violent, screeching breath and ripped my shirt from neckline to hem.

“Stop, Ms. Lane.”

Voice again, but not the brick wall: rather a command that lifted the brick wall from me, freeing me. I sank to the floor, clutching the halves of my torn T-shirt together, and dropped my head in my lap, resting my forehead against my knees. I breathed deeply for several seconds, then raised my head and looked at him. He could have coerced me like that anytime. Turned me into a mindless slave. Like the Lord Master, he could have forced me to do his bidding whenever he’d wanted. But he hadn’t. The next time I discovered something horrifying about him, would I say, yeah, but he never coerced me with Voice? Would that be the excuse I made for him then?

“What are you?” It burst out before I could stop myself. I knew it was wasted breath. “Why don’t you just tell me and get it over with?” I said irritably.

“One day you’ll stop asking me. I think I’ll like knowing you then.”

“Can we leave my clothes out of the next lesson?” I groused. “I only packed for a few weeks.”

“You wanted morally objectionable.”

“Right.” I wasn’t sure his demonstration had served its purpose. I wasn’t sure taking my shirt off in front of him was.