Page 4 of Interview With a Master (Interview With a Master 1)

“Good evening,” I said.

Leticia yelped and spun round, wide eyed with shock and fear. Instinctively her hands flew to cover herself. She cringed in the half-light, hunting the shadows wildly until she saw the silhouette of me sitting by the window at last.

“Who the fuck –?”

“It’s me,” I said calmly. “It’s Jonah Noble. There’s no need to be alarmed.”

“No need to –?” Fear transformed into outrage, her mood changing in an instant, bursting like a summer storm. “You broke into my apartment?” The tone of her voice was appalled.

I was sitting with my legs crossed, perfectly relaxed, with my hands resting casually on the armrests. I didn’t move.

“No,” I said. “The security guard let me in.”

“What?” she was incredulous and disbelieving. “He let you in?”

“That’s right.”

“You… you… bribed the man?”

“No,” I smiled lazily. “I own the building.”

She shook her head and then scraped her fingers through her hair. She was trembling with the after-effects of her fright, and her breathing was ragged. She started to say something else, then realized she was standing half-naked in front of me, wearing nothing more than a lace bra and a skimpy sheer pair of panties.

She snatched at a robe hanging behind the bedroom door and wrapped herself in it.

“You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?” Her voice dropped and became suddenly tentative. Her breathing was short and quick as if she had run up a flight of stairs.

I smiled wolfishly. “Not unless you would like me to.”

She gasped. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just a BDSM joke,” I shrugged offhandedly. “That’s all. You are perfectly safe, I assure you.”

Leticia huffed and her expression became incredulous once more. “Relax? Are you for real? You broke into my apartment.”

“I own the apartment,” I corrected her. “This is just a routine inspection.”

“Inspection? You son of a bitch. I’m standing here half naked!”

“Yes,” I said admiringly. “But only half naked. I could have waited…”

I came up out of the chair slowly. Crossed the room. Leticia edged away like a timid forest animal. I held out my hands and kept my voice gentle and soothing.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” I said. “But I wanted proof that you were being as truthful with me as I have been with you.”

Leticia’s breath quickened as I drew nearer. I stopped when we were only inches apart – so close I could almost hear her heart thumping within the cage of her chest and sense the ripples trembling throughout her body. The space between us seemed to tingle with electricity. It was dark outside now. Leticia’s face was turned up to mine, her lips slightly parted, glistening soft and moist.

She swallowed hard. Her eyes searched mine.

“Proof?”

I nodded. “The lingerie.” I reached down and touched the lace cup of her bra with the tip of my finger. “If you had undressed and were wearing cotton hipsters, I would know you had lied to me as you were leaving my house last night. You said you wore lingerie every day.”

Leticia was backed up against the closet. I leaned an inch closer. I could smell the scent of her perfume and feel her nervousness.

She swallowed hard, and then her expression changed again. Her eyes lost their dazed, glazed mist and became clear and sharp once more.

“Thank God,” she said. Her voice was a shaky husk, but only for a second. “I’m glad I didn’t tell you I had pierced nipples and was waxed all over.”

* * *

I left Leticia alone to change. She came from her bedroom ten minutes later wearing a t-shirt and faded denim jeans. I noticed she had touched up her make-up and brushed her hair. We sat across from each other at the small dining table. She flipped through her notebook to a blank page and set it down on the tabletop between us. Leticia looked up at me – the storm of outrage hadn’t passed. I could see tendrils of anger in her narrowed eyes, like lingering smoke after a blaze.

“You had no right to break into my apartment,” she said, and there was tight restraint in the way she spoke the words, like she wanted to say more, but was holding her temper in check.

“Like I said,” I replied. “I own the building.”

She shook her head. “That makes you a landlord, Mr. Noble, and tenants have rights. You can call it a routine inspection and you can brush it off, but I can’t. You broke into my apartment,” Leticia said again.

I pushed myself away from the table and started to rise. I didn’t need this shit. I didn’t need a lecture from a wet-behind the ears little girl. There were plenty of other journalists who would want the story – then I checked myself.

Okay, she has a point. You did break into her apartment, and you didn’t have the right. Just apologize, and stop being an ass, Noble. There are more important things to worry about right now than your injured pride because the girl was offended.

I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I said. I meant it. She must have sensed my sincerity. She did a thing with her mouth like she was trying to decide whether to accept my apology, and then she nodded slowly.

“Accepted,” she said gravely, like we were negotiating a peace treaty across the table. The formalities over, Leticia seemed to let the tension go from her body at last, and shake off the dark clouds that had been building. She smiled suddenly, and it was a shy little gesture, almost like a peace offering.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, Mr. Noble,” she said. “I’ve been distracted all day. The story you started to tell me has been playing over and over in my mind. I still can’t quite believe how brazen Claire was.”

“What I’ve told you so far is only the beginning of the story. I assure you, the best is yet to come.”

Her eyes widened a little. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, like she was choosing her next words carefully.

“Mr. Noble –”

I smiled briefly. “Call me Jonah,” I insisted. “Only my employees call me ‘Mr. Noble’. Everyone else either calls me Jonah, or Sir.”

Leticia nodded, then became curious. “I thought your submissive would call you Master? Last night you said –”

I cut her off again. “I don’t have a submissive – at the moment.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” She scribbled in her notebook. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “Submissives are not slaves, Leticia. A slave is someone who obeys you in all things because they have no choice. In one way or another they are the property of the Master. They have no say. They have no rights. But a submissive is very different. A submissive can choose to leave the relationship at any time, and a submissive-Master relationship is very much one of constant sharing. It’s like most other relationships, even though the dynamic might appear different to an outside observer.”

“You mean someone like me?”

“I mean anyone who doesn’t understand the lifestyle,” I said.

“I’d like to know more…”

I smiled thinly and shook my head. “Not yet. ‘Do ut des’, Leticia.”

She frowned.

“It’s a Latin term,” I explained. “It means ‘I give that you may give’. It’s your turn to answer my questions about you. That was the agreement, yes? Our deal is based on the principle of reciprocity.”

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