“Yes, Mr. Bordeaux.”

I sense his smile more than see it, since I’m still studiously avoiding the vicinity of his face. “Excellent. This session has been a good start to establishing disciplined behavior.” He thrusts a hand out and orders me to stand. As I slide my palm into his, I will the stiffness in my limbs to subside, but my knees give out. He keeps me upright with the strength of his grip while Pax grabs me underneath the arms until I’m steady on my feet.

Mr. Bordeaux gathers my clothing, and as I struggle into my undergarments, I feel the weight of his stare on me as tangibly as if he put his hands on me. I’m burning, and not in a good way.

“Come,” he says after I finish yanking my shirt over my head. He takes me by the hand again, giving a strong pull that sends me stumbling after him. “Dinner begins in an hour. I’m sure you know by now how the chancellor disproves of tardiness.”

3

My quarters in the House of Taurus are nothing like the spacious rooms I’d enjoyed during my time with Liam. The room is nondescript; a rectangle with a single mullion window at one end. Rustic plank flooring similar to the hardwood in the dungeon covers the small square footage. A twin bed takes up the space on the outer wall. Adjacent is a small bathroom with a shower—no tub, and no window either. My clothes and belongings are nowhere in sight, and even if Liam sends them, I can’t imagine they’ll fit into this room, considering the small closet with its sliding doors.

The space is claustrophobic and far from the luxury and comfort I’m accustomed to, but it doesn’t distress me as much as Mr. Bordeaux’s unbending rules.

Don’t speak unless spoken to.

Don’t make eye contact.

Kneel unless otherwise instructed.

More rules are bound to come, just as I’m certain I’ll stumble and break them. And that’s what has me wringing my hands as I pace the tiny space of my bedroom, because Heath Bordeaux terrifies me. That dungeon with all of its dark coldness and foreign equipment terrifies me.

Pax, keeper of the dungeon and master of the whip, terrifies me.

What happens when I screw up, and Mr. Bordeaux takes me down there for more than a “training” session? I swallow hard, but the lump of apprehension refuses to dislodge from my throat. Sliding the few hangers in the closet to the side, I search through the meager offerings and settle on a charcoal halter dress that falls to my knees. Only the thought of seeing Liam tonight makes this upcoming dinner bearable.

Except that seeing him will rip me apart. It’ll be like saying goodbye all over again, only this time we’ll have eleven other men for an audience.