"You need not knock when you are expected,” he told her. “Follow me.”
"Who are you?”
His hand landed lightly on her cheek. Despite the blow being gentle, it was a blow. Jocelyn's expression hardened as her hand flew to her cheek, planning to give this man more than a few words.
"I am your master. You will not make demands of me.”
Jocelyn continued to hold her cheek, ready to stand up for herself. Remembering a clause of the contract, she closed her eyes and sighed. Obey with alacrity. She hadn't expected corporal enforcement of the document, but he wasn't cruel.
"My apologies, sir.” She hesitated on the address, unsure what to call him.
His frown melted. “Sir. I think I like that. Enough of Master for a while. Follow me, Jocelyn. I will show you to your room. In future, when you arrive, head directly there and remove your clothing.”
"Yes, sir,” she agreed quickly. Now things were starting to sound like what she had come to expect.
"This is your room,” he told her, opening a door much like any of the others. “My name is Terrance, but as long as you wear this,” he produced a band of woven gold, a choker, from one pocket of his trousers. He stepped around her to fasten it. “As long as you wear this collar,” he murmured, lips tantalizingly close to her skin, “you will never use my name.”
"Of course, sir.” Jocelyn had played this game with a number of professors. They started, adamant that she address them properly, and eventually bowed to her whims. In the end, they all danced to her tune. She expected Terrance would be the same. It was just a matter of patience.