With a sigh, he beckoned to Maxim. “Lie back,” he said to Valentina. “Let him have your pussy. He may only use his mouth.”
“Not his cock?” She stared at it, disappointed.
What a greedy little wanton she was. “Not his cock,” he said acerbically. “He isn’t deserving.” Michel didn’t admit that he was too jealous to let Maxim fuck her, even though the young man was gay, and his slave. Michel didn’t believe he could stand by and watch someone else fuck Valentina without suffering for it, and he didn’t like to suffer.
“That’s a good girl,” he murmured as Valentina lay back and spread her legs. He trusted Maxim would make things good for her. It wasn’t the first time Michel had made his slaves go down on a woman, although he imagined it would be the last. He watched Maxim for a while to be sure he performed with adequate enthusiasm before he ordered Leonid between his legs. Still he watched the other pair as Leo sucked his cock, drawing it deep into his practiced throat. Michel reached to touch Valentina’s hair, stroking the wavy strands in time to Leo’s bobbing strokes. His cock filled with heat and anticipation, his whole body given to sensation. Valentina’s cries and moans of pleasure heightened his own enjoyment of this sweet interlude, as did the knowledge that both his slaves’ cocks ached for release.
In the end, Valentina’s glorious lust undid him. He wanted to draw out this sensual moment, feel the waves of his climax as she too climaxed, but it was not to be. The way she grasped Maxim’s hair, pulling his face into her, the way her whole body quivered as the slave licked and teased her clit... Michel’s orgasm roared to life and exploded with greater intensity than he’d felt in a while.
As soon as he’d emptied himself in Leo’s mouth, Michel nudged him back and then pushed Maxim away from Valentina’s pussy. She made a small “oh” sound as he grabbed her thighs and opened her wider for his pleasure.
“Ah, mignonne,” he sighed as he took her with his mouth. She tasted sweet and piquant, unique. She was provocative beyond his ability to bear, provocative enough to drown out the clanging alarm bells in his brain.
No, no, no. When had he last behaved with such poor discipline? She quaked beneath him, but he didn’t want her fear. He wanted her surrender, her capitulation. He licked every inch of her and teased her pearly clit until she shuddered. The sounds she made were as delicious as the taste of her, as exciting as the feeling of her fingers twisting in his hair. When he growled, she opened her hands and dropped them to his shoulders. He drove into her with his tongue, consuming her, memorizing her flavor and all the secret spots that made her twitch.
He was generally capricious about his slaves’ pleasure, denying orgasms as often as he allowed them, but in that moment he needed her climax like he needed air and water. When she dug her nails into his neck and cried out in ecstasy, he wished to begin all over again, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he pulled her up into his arms and gazed at her. She melted against him, locking her arms around his neck. How sweet she was. How dangerous to his continuing mental health.
“You must go,” he said.
She stiffened, her pretty mouth turning down in disappointment, or perhaps horror that after such heights of pleasure, he would summarily send her away. “Why? What have I done?”
“Nothing. It is merely time for you to leave. I have no more need of you here.”
“No, I want to stay,” she begged, clinging to him. “Please!”
He ignored her, carrying her to the door. “You can’t stay.” He let her down and nudged her out into the anteroom. “No arguments. Get dressed and go back out into the club. Dance a little before you go home. Everyone loves to watch you dance.”
He closed the door on her wide-eyed shock. He heard her kick the door, once, twice. Silly girl, to think she had any choice in this matter. He turned to his two boys, his valued slaves who had given him so much of themselves through the years. Maxim looked at the floor but Leo met his gaze. To Michel’s horror, the man’s eyes said, I understand. How dare he? How dare he presume to understand what Michel could not? He felt endangered, enraged. He felt a need to expend energy that had no other place.
“On the floor,” he barked at the men. “Now.”
He went to the wall for the snake whip. He marked their backs first, reveling in their pleading groans as they writhed on the floor. Then he had them stand, taking measured shots at their exposed, straining cocks. He didn’t injure or draw blood, didn’t leave them with anything more than a few welts. The whip was one of his favorite toys and he knew how to wield it with a delicate touch. Then he took up the flogger and beat them until they pleaded for mercy. Respite. Orgasm.
Before he’d allow that, he fucked both of them in the ass, first Leo and then Maxim, a long, brutal session that emptied him out with a mind-blowing climax. Then, finally, because this was the end of so much more than this one night, he let them come, tormenting them again with the whip until they shot onto one another’s rigid, muscled bellies. By the time they stumbled from the room, they’d been used in all the ways they best liked to be used. He didn’t say goodbye, and they didn’t say goodbye, although the finality of this parting was mutually understood. None of his slaves had ever resisted when they left his private room for the final time. It was for that quality Michel chose them in the first place.
He crossed to sit in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. Why wasn’t he in Brussels? Why had he released Maxim and Leo on the very night he’d brought Valentina here? Why was he suffering? His life was not in balance for the first time in many years. It was her fault, Valentina’s, and his fault too. He was acting weak, pathetic, and obsessed. She was a hazard to him, a threat from the crown of her blaze-red hair to the tips of her toes. If he allowed her to conquer his restraint and his reason, it was no one’s fault but his own. With a muttered curse he stood and went to the door. He tore it open and nearly tripped over the small figure huddled on the other side.
She was not dressed, and she had not gone back out to dance and have fun as he’d commanded her. She gazed up at him with her large hazel eyes. Her expression was as bleak as his slaves’ when he’d released them.
“Oh, please,” she sighed. “Why won’t you do that to me?”
He sucked in a breath. “You were supposed to leave. You were supposed to dance and go home.” He pulled her up and reached for her clothes. “For God’s sake, at least get dressed.”
She shook her head and set her chin. “I don’t want to get dressed. I want to be yours, like them.”
“No.” He threaded her arms through the straps of her bra and clasped the front closure, avoiding her gaze. That finished, he leaned down and made her step into her garter skirt.
“I don’t care if you hurt me and make me do awful things,” she said as he pulled the skimpy garment up her legs. “I want to be your slave, like them. Can’t you have a girl too? I heard that you like both men and women.”
He grimaced. “I like people. People who excite and inspire me.”
“Then why not me? You said I inspired you.”
To his chagrin, La Vampa started to cry. Not the volcano of tears he expected, but silent, sparkling trails running down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands as he smoothed her stockings up her legs and attached them to the garters. Her body shook with a misery he could not understand.
“Why?” he asked in frustration. “Why must this be?”
“Because I belong with you.” She pushed his hand away, fastening the last garter herself. “Why did you bring me here and show me this if you weren’t going to give it to me? Why are you doing this?”
“Stop this, Valentina. Stop fighting with me and making demands. If you must know...” His voice trailed off. He was about to hurt her. “If you must know, you are not the type of submissive I’m attracted to. Your uncontrolled dramatics are not to my taste.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes dilating in pain. He bit back apologies, excuses. Amorous protestations. Everything about you suits my tastes, littl
e Vampa. The truth is, you set me on fire, which is why this cannot be.
He turned away from her to dress, and by the time he turned back she was gone, leaving nothing behind but an irritating sense of loss.
Chapter Five: Drama
Valentina lay awake in her dormitory apartment feeling suffocated and confused by everything. Mr. Lemaitre didn’t want her. Why? Why had he taken her back to his private room only to tease her and show her what she couldn’t have?
She pulled the covers over her head as images of the evening’s events replayed in her mind. Mr. Lemaitre’s fine, strong body revealed to her in all its magnificence, the bodies of his slaves on display for her. Choose the one you like the most.
Couldn’t he understand that he was the one who called to her with his creativity, his sexuality, his force?
When he went down on her, she’d been caught between pleasure and shock—shock at the way he’d pushed his slave aside to crouch over her, pleasure at the intensity with which he took her. The fine, strong muscles in his shoulders had flexed and strained as he’d pulled her to his mouth. She’d wanted him to fuck her so badly. She liked oral sex but she loved being fucked so much more, and his cock was glorious. Thick, heavy, and perfect in length.
But after he had made her come...he sent her away. Even now the feeling of devastation curled inside her. She’d sat outside the door and listened to him torment his slaves, listened to his sharp voice and all the terrifying noises. He’d hurt them, whipped them, fucked them, cursed at them and made them cry out for mercy. She’d heard everything, and wanted more than anything to be them, struggling with sheer willpower to meet his demands.
More than anything on earth, she wanted Mr. Lemaitre for her Master, but he didn’t want her. She wanted to be his toy, his plaything, the canvas for all the colors of his power. His parting words had crushed her. If you must know, you are not the type of submissive I’m attracted to. The same cold authority that thrilled her had turned against her in rejection.
Very well. Valentina couldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. After a restless night, she woke and packed everything she’d brought into suitcases and boxes, and stacked it beside her half-finished art projects. She felt bad for Adei and Jason and all the work they’d put in, and bad for the other performers in Cirque Élémental, because her absence would wreak havoc with the production schedule, but she couldn’t bear to face Mr. Lemaitre again after his rejection, couldn’t bear to endure his judgment of her work. She would go home to Naples and...
And what? Continue her family’s banquine act? Sign on with some lesser competitor of Cirque du Monde? She stared at her disordered stack of luggage and boxes, imagined it sitting in her room back in Italy. If she left now, she could not come back. She would be breaking her contract and behaving with an utter lack of professionalism. She kicked the nearest box and hurt her foot so badly she burst into tears. She collapsed on her bed and pounded the pillows, helpless to control the violence of her emotions.
In the midst of her breakdown she heard a knock, soft at first, then louder. Had Mr. Lemaitre come for her after all?
“Valentina. It’s Jason. Open up.”
Damn it. She batted a lock of hair from her tear-dampened face. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Open the door or I’ll kick it down. Open it right now.”
His sharp words sounded frantic. As miserable as she was, none of it was his fault and she didn’t want him to worry. She wiped away her tears and went to crack the door. “What do you need?”
He studied her through the narrow opening and then pushed inside, so she stumbled back against her suitcases. He caught her arm and looked at the pile. “What do I need?” he asked. “I need you to show up on time for practice, for one. I need you to answer your cell phone when I call.”
“I turned it off.” She lifted her chin, hoping she didn’t look as ghastly as she felt. She swept a hand at her things. “I’m leaving today. I’m going home.”
“Like hell you’re going home.” He stood facing her, his hands braced on his hips. “What happened? What did he do to you?”
Valentina knew who he meant but she couldn’t bear to recount the story. She turned away and sat on her bed. “I’m leaving. That’s all you need to know.”
“Oh, no.” He sat down beside her and tilted her face to his. “I need to know everything. I heard Lemaitre took you to his back room last night. Now, today, you’re packed up to leave. Something happened and I need to know what it was.”
“Nothing happened!” The rage in her voice surprised even her. She shrugged off Jason’s hand. “Nothing happened, except that he rejected and insulted me. He humiliated me. He said I didn’t...” Her voice roughened with the tightening of her throat. “He said I didn’t suit his tastes.”
Jason made a small sound beside her, a light exhalation that sounded suspiciously like Thank God.
“I have to leave,” she said, hugging a pillow to her waist. Her chest hurt from all the tears. “I have to go. I can’t bear to stay here.”
“Why? Because Michel Lemaitre rejected you? Welcome to Cirque du Monde. He rejects ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people who offer themselves to him, and there’s a reason for that. Listen.” He took her shoulders and forced her to face him. “If he rejected you, it was to protect you. He has reasons for everything he does.”
“What reasons?” she cried, pulling away. She paced in a circle around her sad pile of belongings, old luggage and boxes of clothes and scraps and half-finished projects. That’s what she was—half-finished. She turned to Jason, throwing up her arms. “He says I am fire, that I inspire him. He does a whole show based on me, on my act. He...he...” She couldn’t say the rest, that he’d knelt before her and taken her pussy with his mouth, and made her come harder than she’d come in her life. “He had me, all of me, but he didn’t want me. I would have given him anything.”
Jason leaned back on her bed with a frown. “Do you think you’re the only person who feels that way? I know you think you’re special somehow, that you’re better than everyone else—”
“I don’t think that.”
“You do, and I understand why. You’re a completely unique person. But listen to me—when it comes to Lemaitre, that isn’t enough. He either chooses you or he doesn’t. If you’re not strong enough for him, he won’t play with you, point blank. If you’re not steady and well-adjusted, he won’t take the risk.”
Valentina ground her teeth together. She wanted to deny his words, refute the insinuation that she wasn’t steady and well-adjusted, but her actions in the last twelve hours spoke louder than words. She sank down on the bed beside him and threaded fingers through her hair. “He thinks I’m crazy. He thinks I’m insane.”
“Everyone thinks you’re insane,” he said gently, rubbing her shoulders. “That’s who you are, a crazy, impulsive person who’s not afraid of anything. It’s also the reason you can’t be with him.” His voice softened the slightest bit. “If he rejected you, you should be thankful. I am.”
“Why are you thankful?” she asked, trying to untangle the puzzle of his words. “Because you want to be with me?”
Jason gave her an exasperated smile that made her feel rejected all over again. “Have you ever heard of a thing called fidelity, Valentina? I don’t know the Italian word, but you should look it up. Also, the word ‘restraint.’”
“I know you’re engaged to Sara, and I know what restraint is, I just...” A hopeless sound escaped her. “I just don’t have that. I never have. I don’t know why.”
His arm tightened around her shoulder. “Because you’re crazy. That’s my theory. At the very least you’re hot-headed. Maybe it’s the color of your hair. Whatever it is, you have to understand that you won’t mesh with Lemaitre. He’s the most controlled—and controlling—person on the planet. The two of you will never work out. You’re too different.”
“But we’re different in the right ways.” She thought a moment, trying to pu
t her feelings into words that Jason might understand. “It’s like...when you feel drawn to someone, and you know they have something you need, something you want. You understand in your heart how perfect you would be for them. That’s how I feel about him. I feel like we belong together. I want to be close to him. I ache for him, Jason.”
“Why? Because he’s Michel Lemaitre? Because he’s a badass, and your boss? This is a classic case of lusting after what you can’t have, merely because you can’t have it. And once you received it—if you ever did receive it—you’d realize it wasn’t as great and fulfilling as you built it up to be. I think you experienced a little of that last night. There’s always a letdown after you sample forbidden fruit.”
“Oh, really?” She pursed her lips. “Those are your words of wisdom?”
“Do you or do you not feel like shit this morning? If Lemaitre was so great, you wouldn’t be feeling this agony. Believe me, he’s not the godlike figure you envision. He has no magical powers, no Midas touch that’s going to turn everything in your life to gold. He’s only a man, and he has the same weaknesses and drawbacks we all have. He’s just better at creating this image of power and fantasy. It’s also the formula for creating spectacles, for magic acts and circus. That’s why he’s so good at what he does.”
Valentina took a deep breath in and out. Magic. Was Lemaitre’s overwhelming appeal only some engineered sleight-of-hand? A circus trick? A falsehood?
Somehow that upset her even more than his rejection. “Do you think he ever cries?” she asked. “Does he ever doubt himself?”
“Yes to both questions. He’s human, like you and me. If you find things about him to admire, then admire him, but don’t feel like he’s some god you have to touch for your life to be complete.” He shrugged and leaned away from her. “Anyway, you’ve already touched him. He brought you here and made you the subject of an entire show. How greedy can a mere mortal be?”
Master's Flame (Cirque Masters) Page 5
