But no. In her apartment, he’d been confronted with something he was helpless to stand against—soaring creative genius. Her brain didn’t work like everyone else’s, and neither, he suspected, did her heart. Her art was unsettling and original, and best of all, without preciousness or reflection. She simply did these things, in the same way she fucked every man she fancied and danced without fear on no greater surface than her partners’ upturned palms.
“Michel?”
He looked around the conference table into ten pairs of questioning eyes. He cleared his throat and scratched his forehead. “Let’s reconvene in a week,” he said. “My apologies. I’m scattered. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“Is everything all right?” asked Genevieve in concern. Jason scowled at him.
“Everything’s fine,” he assured them. “If you have any specific questions, make an appointment to see me in my office.”
With that, he shut his laptop and escaped with most of his dignity intact. It was his company. They worked for him. If he wanted to blow off a meeting because greater problems were demanding his attention, he damn well could. He retreated to his office, determined to salvage at least part of the day for work. He put Valentina, her art, his kiss, all of it out of his mind and focused on an emailed spreadsheet.
Five minutes later, a knock interrupted him.
“See my goddamn secretary,” he yelled. “I’m busy.”
Another knock, and then Jason stuck his head in. Of course. At his dire glare, his future son-in-law shrugged. “You said if we had any specific questions, to come to your office.”
“I said to make an appointment.” He stood and crossed the room, intending to shut him out, but Jason put a hand on the door before he could close it.
“I heard you left the Citadel with Valentina last night.”
“You heard it from whom?” he asked with a sigh.
“Everyone. Do you have a minute?”
Against his better judgment, Michel admitted Jason and gestured him toward a chair, then sat behind the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “What, then? What is your question?”
Jason narrowed his eyes. “What ever happened to ‘My life is complicated enough’?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Valentina. You spent the night with her, didn’t you? You wouldn’t be acting this way otherwise.”
Michel stuck out his jaw, then heaved a frustrated sigh. “You’re like a woman. You have to know everything.”
“I wouldn’t normally care who you’re locking in chains, but this is Valentina Sancia. She’s not really your type.”
“I have a type?”
Jason snorted. “Yes, you do. Submissive, obedient, attractive. She’s only one of those things.”
“Perhaps I’ve grown bored with my usual type.”
“So you gave them a farewell check and relocated them to California. Who else are you playing with right now?”
“That’s none of your business.” That was what he said aloud, but the question jolted him, because the answer was no one. The past few weeks he hadn’t played with anyone, except...
“Is there a point to all this?” Michel asked in as bland a tone as he could muster. “If not, I have some gripping figures to look at from the set-design department. I’m sure you understand.”
“I heard she had a noose around her neck when you found her, and that she was too injured today to work.”
Jason wasn’t asking if these things were fact. He knew they were. He was asking what Michel intended to do about them. Jason was fiercely protective of his performers, which was one of the reasons Michel put up with him. The other reason was that his daughter adored the man.
“Okay,” Michel said, leaning forward. “Shall I tell you what I have planned for our little hellion? Will that put your mind at ease?”
“Probably not, but tell me anyway. I’m curious.”
“I’m going to take over her for thirty days. One month.”
“Take over her?” Jason sat up straighter.
“She agreed to it. She wants it. I’m going to keep her in the spare room at my house and attempt to train some of the craziness out of her.”
“You mean, train away that fire that attracted you to her in the first place?”
“It attracted me to her as a performer,” Michel clarified. “As a person, we both know she’s aggravating as hell. She needs...mellowing.”
Jason leaned back, considering. After a moment, he shook his head.
“No. This is bad.”
“What? There’s nothing bad about it.” Michel turned back to his laptop. He’d never been so anxious to return to the tedious crunching of numbers. “It’s consensual, and I have no intention of hurting her.”
“Said the man who unhooked her from a noose in one of the back rooms last night.”
“I didn’t do that to her.”
“Didn’t you? You don’t think you had anything to do with it?”
“No, I did not.” Michel’s pulse had risen with Jason’s aggressive line of questioning. He willed himself to calm, falling back on the basic truth of the matter. “I think this is a great solution for both of us.”
Jason arched a brow. “How so?”
“I help transform Valentina into a content, obedient slave, and you and Sara don’t have to worry about running into me at the Citadel.”
“Because you’ll be with Valentina at your house.”
“Exactly.”
“So you’re doing it for us, then.”
Michel scowled at his sarcastic tone. “And for me, damn you. You know I enjoy developing slaves. I like the power of it. I like that I’ve changed them by the time I’m finished with them. I suppose it’s my megalomania that makes me want to do it, but even so...I mean her no harm. I intend to make her better. As you know, it’s the whole point of the game.”
“Yeah. Just remember it’s a game, and that you’re toying with another human being’s life.”
“I never forget that. How can I, with you poking in my business?”
“I’m going to keep poking you as long as she’s with you. How long did you say? Thirty days?”
“Twenty-nine,” Michel answered smoothly. “One day down, and thus far, she’s survived. Give Sara my love, will you?”
It was a dismissal. Michel had work to do, and Valentina had occupied too many of his thoughts already. He didn’t want any more questioning, any more dire warnings from Jason or anyone else. He had to get his mind—and his thoughts—into proper order and get home to Valentina.
Not to kiss her or fuck her. No. The time for that romantic nonsense was over. It was time to start training up his slave.
Chapter Nine: On Track
Valentina sat on her bed in the white room, scuffing at a small drawing in the corner of her sketch pad. She worked in conservation mode, rationing the pages in case he didn’t allow her more when she ran out. She had the sketch pad and her phone, and that was all. No books, no computer, and no TV. His snippety houseboy-slash-minion wouldn’t let her go out, wouldn’t even let her take a walk around her Master’s picturesque neighborhood. He took her clothes away, for God’s sake.
“Your Master’s orders,” he’d said. The man’s name was Galvin. He had beautiful clear skin and large eyes, and a permanently placid expression. He was about her age, and his physique suggested a fellow athlete, but any attempts to get to know him petered out right away. Valentina prayed that Mr. Lemaitre would let her return to work the next day, or she might die of boredom.
She closed the sketch pad and flopped on her back. Michel Lemaitre was too hard to draw. It was impossible to capture his air of capability, and virility, his beautiful perfection, and any lesser likeness wasn’t good enough. How long had she been in this damn white room? Three, four hours? This slavery thing bored her. She did a few exercises to keep her muscles in order, a few handstands just to amuse herself, and then she considered masturbating...but...
H
er eyes flicked to the cameras. Did Mr. Lemaitre review the footage at the end of each day? Was Galvin watching right now? As if she had summoned the man with her thoughts, he stuck his head in the half-opened door.
“Mr. Lemaitre is coming. He’s five minutes away.”
Valentina gawked. “What does that mean? What must I do?”
“He wants you waiting in the living room.” He held up his phone, pointing to a text in French. Mr. Lemaitre couldn’t have texted her? He was her Master, after all. But no, he had to text this stranger so the man could give her orders. It annoyed her, mostly because her mind was about to snap from boredom. She stomped to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, fingercombed her hair and put on a little lip gloss. She turned to check out her cuts. Healing quickly...the cream he’d applied must have helped. Out in the living room she flung herself sideways on the couch and frowned at Galvin. “Can I sit down while I’m waiting here?”
“You can,” he said with a small incline of his head. “But you’d better be on your feet when he comes through that door.”
Something about the way he said it cut through her bored irritation and started a little thump of arousal in her clit. You’d better be on your feet. She was Mr. Lemaitre’s slave, here to serve him from the moment he got home.
Well, at least it would give her something to do.
The door opened a moment later. Valentina leaped up, struck, as always, by the sight of Mr. Lemaitre. Tall, elegant, in a fine wool coat that hugged his shoulders. He didn’t look at her right away, although she was sure he knew she was there. Instead he greeted Galvin, shrugging out of his coat. He took off his jacket next, and handed them both to the younger man, who carried them out of the room. Only then did he turn his gaze to her. “How are you, Valentina?” he asked.
“I’m bored.”
His lips curved in a hint of a smile. “I don’t doubt it. You might have worked today if you’d made better choices last night. You were missed by your colleagues. Jason in particular asked about you.”
“What did you tell him?”
His smile faded. “The truth. That you’ve bargained away your freedom for the next month in a regrettable act of foolishness.” His gaze flicked toward the kitchen. “You’ve become acquainted with Galvin?”
“He’s been staring at me all day,” she sniffed. “Lurking around. I think he wants me.”
“He’s gay, my dear.” Mr. Lemaitre tugged at the knot of his tie. “I wouldn’t have left him alone with you otherwise. He would have spent all day fucking you rather than watching you.” As he pulled off his tie, Galvin drifted back in and lifted it from his fingers. She watched him leave again, feeling piqued.
“I don’t need a babysitter, you know.”
Mr. Lemaitre stopped in the act of unbuttoning his top button. “Do you think I would leave you here to your own devices?”
“Why not? What would I have done?” The man’s house was so empty and boring, she couldn’t have found many ways to get into trouble.
He flipped through some mail on the table by the door. “While you belong to me, I’ll want to know everything you do. It arouses me to monitor and control you. I pay Galvin to keep my home, and as a bonus, he serves as my eyes and ears. Get used to it.”
“Why don’t you use slaves for your housekeeping chores?”
He threw down the stack of mail and turned to her with an annoyed expression. “Because most of them are useless at housework. They do shoddy jobs only to be punished. It’s tiresome, just like your unending questions. Come here.”
She crossed to him, unsure if he was going to embrace her or slap her. What he did was turn her around to look at her back. He said a few words in French, words she recognized as expletives. “Still not healed enough to beat you as I would like. But you could bear a spanking.”
Before she could process his words, he dragged her toward the couch. With an efficient grace, he pulled her down over his lap. Okay, a spanking wouldn’t be that bad, surely. If she could survive a whip...
Whap! The first smack sounded obscenely loud echoing off the bare walls. And oh, it was way worse than she thought. Whap, whap, whap. His hand rained down in an unending barrage of crisp, sharp slaps to her ass cheeks. Her determination to remain still, to bear it with dignity, soon flew out the window. She wiggled and arched against his strong thighs and the smooth, fine fabric of his pants. “Ow, Master... Please.”
He stopped, rubbing his palm over her heated ass cheeks. “‘Please?’ We’re only getting started. You need this, my dear—I find it a tried-and-true method for silencing questions. There’s only one thing you need to know here. I will rule and you will submit. When I am anywhere near you, your entire concentration will be focused on what I want, what I need. When you annoy or question me, you will be punished and instructed how better to behave to my liking. This will be lesson number one, to be followed by others.”
Her heart fluttered and beat harder at his firm warning...while other parts of her fluttered in a different way. “How many others?” she managed to ask, pressing her legs together.
“As many as it takes, until I’ve molded you into my perfect slave.”
“Or until my time is up,” she said shakily.
“I promise you, I’ll accomplish my aims long before then.”
With those words, he resumed spanking her. His hands were so large, and his arms so powerful. She didn’t think a spanking could hurt worse than being marked with a snake whip, but she was reconsidering that assumption. She cried and fidgeted, wondering if Galvin would come help her if she screamed his name.
No, he wouldn’t.
Her Master tightened his grip on her arm. “Stop pulling away. You must accept whatever I choose to do to you. I own you.” The spanks rose to even greater intensity. “If you can’t remember that, I’ll sodomize you against the wall again, while you stare long and hard at the terms you agreed to. I did warn you before you signed, girl. I did offer you escape.”
Valentina swallowed a sob. Escape? Why would she want escape? His discipline and demands were the necessary antidote to her tormented wildness. Her whole life she had lived for this moment, for the person with the will and stubbornness to subdue her and show her she had no other choice but to shape up. She was wet and hot for him, and anxious to be molded into his vision of the perfect slave. She wanted that. She belonged here with him, even if her ass cheeks stung so bad she could hardly bear it. She stayed as still as she could, surrendering as far as her body would allow. But oh...it hurt like fire, like irons being laid against her skin. Tears squeezed from her eyes and dripped onto the hardwood floor below.
Finally he stopped, and used those big, punishing hands to guide her to her feet in front of him. She felt herself curling in, assuming a defensive posture. “Don’t slouch,” he said. “Stand up tall. Your posture should always be one of presentation. Do you understand what that means?”
She shook her head, wiping away tears.
“Presentation. Display. Display yourself to your Master for his pleasure. Don’t slouch and cower.” As he spoke, he poked and prodded her, straightening her hips and pinching her breasts. Then he held up his hands. “Put your nipples against my palms.”
She had to thrust her breasts out to do so. Apparently it was the effect he sought, because he dropped his hands and said, “Stay. Yes. Just like that.”
Her nipples stung from his pinches, but her face stung worse, from embarrassment. No, not embarrassment. Exposure. She wasn’t in charge of her body anymore...all her limbs and curves were for him. It gave her a frightened, bereft feeling, at the same time it made her desperate to be close to him. He watched her as if waiting to see if she would comment, or question him again. She didn’t.
He pulled her right between his legs, reminding her to maintain her presentation posture. She did her best, holding her spine taut even as her ass throbbed with lingering heat.
“Let’s begin with some words, little slave. Four words, easy to remember.” He grasp
ed her face between his fingers. “I serve you, Master.”
She got lost a moment in his eyes. He had to give her a brisk slap on the cheek to refocus her. “Repeat it. I serve you, Master.”
“I serve you, Master,” she said in a loud, clear voice. It was sinking in, the totality of it. She wasn’t the old Valentina anymore, but someone else, someone he was creating to his specifications.
“Say it again,” he said. “I don’t want you to forget it. I serve you, Master.”
“I serve you, Master.” She flinched as he took one of her nipples between his fingers and pinched it even harder than before. The pain grew in intensity until she quailed away from it. He tsked and cupped her neck.
“Who do you serve?”
She tried to think through the pain he gave her. She’d just learned this! “I serve you, Master,” she finally cried.
“Show me. Don’t flinch when I hurt you. Accept it.”
He pinched her other nipple, so, so much harder than before, and she ground her teeth to stay her pleas of mercy. Her body tensed with the effort to stay still.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, staring into her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Yes, Master,” he corrected, tightening his fingers until she felt hot, aching pain.
“Yes, Master,” she gasped, holding his ice-blue gaze.
“Do you deserve to be hurt?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Why?”
This was the most painful part—understanding why she needed this, and facing the fact that she was so often out of control. Could he train her to be better? To control her temper, her passions, to think before she spoke? She wanted to become worthy of his affection, so his disdainful prompts were a nightmare beyond the pain in her breasts.
“I deserve to be punished because I...I’m bad,” she said.
Something in his eyes flickered. “No. Try again.”
Master's Flame (Cirque Masters) Page 10
