“I try to remember her, but I was young.”
No masking Julianne’s emotions about her mother. Her expression exposed the depth of the pain she felt from the loss.
“Does the Colonel talk about her?”
“Rarely.”
Heartless bastard.
Julianne’s eyes turned inward as she continued. “Her name was Lianne."
"Lianne like Julianne."
"Or Julianne like Lianne. The Colonel says I’m just like her, but it’s hard to find comfort in the comparison when I have no true understanding of it. Her paintings don’t reveal anything either.”
“She was an artist like you then?”
“Yes. Painting was her hobby.”
Oh, no, no, no, Julianne. You are not “just like” a woman who painted as a hobby. Cue the haughty professor voice. “Art is your passion, Julianne. God may have touched your talented hands, but you’ve earned your status through hard work. Don’t diminish that by likening it to someone who dabbled with a paintbrush and don’t let anyone, including the Colonel, do it either.”
“I suppose my father can’t see my mother objectively. He loved her very much.”
Perhaps it’s you he can’t see objectively, Julianne. “Does he love you?” Nicolai paused, watching for a reaction.
Julianne seemed unfazed and swatted her hand at him. “Bien entendu.”
Not obvious to me, Julianne. Not obvious at all.
The stone wall around the Colonel was beginning to frustrate him and he was not nice when he was frustrated. He fought the urge to take her over his knee. “I’d be happy to call and explain the importance of Saturday to your career. He does support your career, doesn’t he?”
She laughed him off. “He’s the one who started me painting. That’s when I met Jerard. By the way, what did you think of his work? Did you like it?”
No switching tracks, Julianne “Does the Colonel like Jerard?”
“I think so. I’ve known Jerard for a long time.”
“Is he gay too?”
“About that, sir. I apologize.”
“It’s alright, Julianne, but I’ll admit that I don’t understand why you asked me to do that. You’re an adult.”
Another strand of hair was pushed behind her ear.
“The Colonel is a little protective,” she murmured as she looked away.
Uh-huh, and the Eiffel Tower is a little French. “You must have a blockbuster social life it you’re not allowed out on Saturday night."
He was being sarcastic, but her harsh reaction said this was no joke. “There’s nothing wrong with respecting your father, sir."
He’d never heard harsh from Julianne.
Mon Dieu, an exquisite Parisian woman who isn’t allowed out on Saturday night. That's not protective, it's fanatical. “If you say so, Julianne.” She might accept what was familiar to her, but his tone made his opinion patently clear.
Fathomless violet eyes snapped back to his as she stood. “I will think about Saturday, sir.”
The clipped reply ended the conversation.
Saturday night came and went.
Without Julianne.
5
Undisciplined Hands
Why is this so hard?
Julianne smoothed her hands over her sheath as she climbed the stairs. It was hard to be assertive in such simple dress and bare feet, but she supposed that was the point. In this place, Nicolai was the top. She was the bottom.
But not today. Today, things are going to change.
She’d tried, really tried, to please Nicolai. But she hadn’t. No wonder given the boring image he seemed so damn fond of.
Art is about honesty. He of all people should know that. So why is Mr. Art-Lives-Inside-The-Soul so hell bent on having me lie?
Enough guessing. If Nicolai wouldn’t deviate from their grueling routine, she would force him. He had to start communicating. Simply had to. She had such high hopes for her time here. For him. She wanted...well, she wasn’t sure what, but she wanted it for herself. Nicolai could not take it from her. He could not destroy her dreams.
Not like he did.
Julianne shook her head to tamp down the dangerous emotion rising in her. No. Nicolai isn’t like him. Every cell in her body rejected the notion. Tears threatened, but she refused them.
Don’t you dare cry like a baby. Not in front of Nicolai.
Her legs felt like lead by the time she reached the top of the stairs. She knew what she had to do, but an almost crippling doubt curled in her gut as she stood outside of Nicolai’s office. It had only taken one time rushing in uninvited to teach her to wait. His look of disdain practically knocked her off her feet. She would never make that mistake again.
She listened to him on the phone vaguely annoyed that his conversation was prolonging her agony and wrung her hands to stop them from shaking.
Get a grip, Julianne. You chose this path. No retreat. No surrender.
After a few minutes, he hung up.
“At last,” she murmured.
Nicolai slipped the phone into his suit jacket and eased around the desk. He always dressed impeccably, like a model stepping out of a glossy magazine. His stunning crystal stare bore into her from across the room and she went weak in the knees. Add the lashes, so thick and black, and her mind never ceased to go to forbidden places. To say the man was a gift for the eyes was an understatement.
She reminded herself to be strong, but each step Nicolai took chipped away at her determination and ratcheted up the feeling that she was about to make a huge mistake. She jumped when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her to the steps.
Please, please, let this time be different.
She’d poured her heart and soul into this painting. Spent countless hours perfecting each detail. She’d finally mustered the courage to defy Nicolai and it had to be perfect. Abandoning the fruit, she’d chosen to paint a favorite spot in Le Bois de Boulogne instead.
Le Bois was a place where she felt a connection to the woman whom fate had denied her the chance to know. Although she remembered almost nothing of her mother, she did recall family outings in the park. Le Bois had become a sacred place and she painted it from memory. Nicolai simply could not ruin this painting. Destroying it would be like destroying a part of her and she would never let him do that.
Julianne could barely breathe while Nicolai assessed her work. He said nothing of the fact that he wasn’t looking at fruit, only studied the details of the new image. Moving close to the canvas. Backing away. Moving in again. Taking his time.
Have I done it? Nicolai certainly wouldn’t destroy something he viewed with such a keen interest.
Just as she began to relax, he reached for the paint roller and her heart sank like a stone through water.
“No, sir. You can’t.”
She thrust forward and grabbed his wrist, staying his hand in mid motion. He glanced at her hand on his wrist. Then back at her. Disapproval shone like a warning beacon from his icy eyes, but she didn’t remove her hand.
“Release me,” he demanded in a calm, but undeniable tone.
She was painfully aware of every inch of him looming over her. The stiff set of his shoulders. The stern expression. The clenched jaw. This isn’t a game. She straightened her spine in subtle confrontation, refusing to be swayed.
A chilling silence settled between them as Nicolai set down the roller and took hold of her wrist. With a grip just shy of painful, he pried her hand from his skin. Two fingers against the lips crushed any chance of explaining the significance of her painting. For a few seconds, he held them there. Then, with a simple shake of his head, turned to leave.
Julianne crumbled. Literally fell to the floor in a heap of tears.
Nicolai had broken her.
She choked through her sobs, “Why don’t I please you, sir? Why?”
He turned back to stand over her collapsed figure. “Is this the best you can do?” he asked plainly.
“No, s
ir, but I don’t know what to change. I don’t know how to please you.” She had no pride left as she humbled herself by pressing her forehead to the floor in front of him and begged, “Please tell me why I can’t do better. Please tell me, sir.”
“It is your hands.”
Reaching down, he took her splayed hands securely in his and lifted her up. Then, he picked up a wooden paint stirrer, turned her hand palm up in his own and struck her hard with the wood.
“You have undisciplined hands,” was all he said.
Pain shot through her. She was so shocked that she cried out, unable to contain the undignified sound.
Nicolai paused, but did not release her.
Realization of what he intended slammed into her mind with staggering force. After all, she was not unfamiliar with this type of lesson. She knew exactly what he wanted and understood the reward for her compliance: the chance to save her rebellious painting.
Locking onto his fervent gaze, she struggled to compose herself. He would not want to see her cower. He would expect her to take what he offered with grace. She breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and again. When she regained her poise, she raised both palms in offering to him. He nodded and she lowered her eyes.
Nicolai hit her again. This time harder than the last.
Red hot pain seared her. Her body jerked in reaction, but she didn’t pull away. No sound escaped her lips.
“You must put your trust in me, Julianne,” he growled.
Another blow, the wood scorching her skin.
“Give yourself to me and I will make you a better artist.”
Two more blows in quick succession.
The pain was grueling, but she didn’t deny him. Her head fell back as she gave herself over to it. “Yes, sir, please, please,” the words released on heavy breath.
The blows came faster and faster. Nicolai showed no mercy, no pity, as he pushed her to the limit of her endurance. Tears streamed down her face, but she remained silent, refusing to flinch while she accepted his discipline.
The pain heightened, threatening to consume her, and her hold on her composure weakened. Just when she thought she could bear no more, something bewildering happened. The pain began to recede. A warm, smoldering sensation followed in its wake.
Julianne felt herself coming alive.
Molten heat rolled from her hands through her core and settled heavily between her legs. The walls of her sex clenched tight with the blistering transition and a shuddering flash of tortured pleasure flared through her entire body.
Her eyes shot up in surprise to meet Nicolai’s. What she saw there struck her harder than the wood against her palms. That look, that burning blue stare, was everything she’d dreamt about in her deepest, darkest midnight fantasies.
At Nicolai’s hand, she found the place where pain and pleasure intertwine into ecstasy. It transformed her. A woman rose from the ashes of the girl she’d been only moments before. Each lick of flame against her palms stoked her passion, hotter and hotter, until liquid fire burned at her core. A luxurious pull deep in her body took her, tight and hard. She shattered and the searing intensity of it ripped a feral moan from her throat.
Nicolai stilled. His unwavering stare continuing to absorb her as he smoothed his hand over her boiling palms. So tender as he caressed away the burn.
Suddenly exhausted, she swayed. A strong arm tucked behind her and she fell heavily against his hard body. A voice in her mind told her not to touch her teacher so intimately, but she ignored it.
What harm could come from one innocent, comforting hug? She melted into the embrace, knowing he would never let her fall.
Nicolai held her against him for a few minutes, then broke the connection with a sharp command. “Pick up your brush.”
Stepping behind her, he took her right hand in his own and began to move her brush over the painting. They stood together in silence while he guided her hand to rework the image. When he stepped away, she could hardly believe her eyes.
Magnifique. “Thank you, sir,” she exhaled in disbelief as she stared at what they had created together.
“Now you are ready to begin, Julianne,” Nicolai said and abruptly left her.
*****
Nicolai had to get away from Julianne. Fast.
He turned heel, taking two steps at a time, and shut himself in his office.
What the hell just happened?
He expected the rebellion, planned the punishment. What he absolutely did not expect was the jolt of wicked arousal that shot from her to him.
He was hard as a rock.
His mind raced as he paced back and forth trying to calm the intense craving. It was a feeling he knew well, but never experienced like this. The sizzling desire nearly mastered the Master and it scared the shit out of him. He raked a hand through his hair trying to sort through his muddled thoughts.
Playing a few innocent Dom/sub games was one thing. What he imagined doing to his young apprentice now was something altogether different.
How did I go from that to this?
Granted, Julianne had a remarkable beauty. The kind that turns heads and steals breath. Granted, her submissive nature complimented his dominant one and her obvious arousal at his actions would kindle any man’s lust, but his life included a plethora of beautiful, submissive women.
You do NOT NEED this one.
But he couldn’t maintain the lie even to himself.
The sudden and irrefutable demand of his desire for Julianne rocked him to the core. Extracurriculars aside, he’d never considered actually taking her as a lover. That is, until her dark passion smacked him right between the eyes.
And what kind of letch does that make me?
Julianne was his student for Christ’s sake and obviously had no experience with sex, let along the kind he preferred. Still, after years in BDSM circles, his Dom radar never failed. He understood exactly what he’d seen in that studio. No warm up, no seduction, no suggestion that tolerance earned sexual rewards and still, Julianne reprocessed the pain of his discipline into pleasure.
Profound, palpable, pure pleasure.
Julianne Giroux was the real deal. Behind those deceptively communicative eyes lay a treasure trove of perfect submission for the man who could master her. This untouched woman offered the perfect raw material. She could be crafted into a masterpiece.
He stopped dead as a dangerous idea took hold of his mind.
She could be crafted into your masterpiece.
Nicolai cursed as he grabbed the phone and dialed his mentor.
*****
Darion held his words until Nicolai finished explaining everything that just happened.
This was not their first conversation about Julianne Giroux, but he suspected it would be their most pivotal.
“I don’t have the words, Darion. Her arousal stunned me. God, the passion on her face…I’ll admit I’ve come to care for her, but this? I never thought such an innocent could share my...tastes.”
Darion’s satisfaction with himself grew as Nicolai unwittingly revealed the depth of his increasing attachment to Julianne. He’d been gently encouraging Nicolai from the beginning. Although he’d never met Julianne, he’d come to believe after their many discussions about her that she was the one. Nicolai’s description of her reaction in the studio just wiped away his only remaining reservation about her.
Darion knew that left to his own devices, Nicolai would cut and run, but Darion also knew Nicolai’s dreams and fully intended to foster the saving potential of this relationship. He was poking at a hornets’ nest, but given their history, felt obligated to push.
“Based on what you’ve told me, her nature suits you, suits the Order. If Julianne truly is a sexual submissive, is there any reason she should not be yours?”
“Whoa, Darion. Lovers maybe, but you can’t be suggesting I invite Julianne into the Order.”
Although the Order waivered on monogamy, it strongly promoted committed relationshi
ps and even though Nicolai insisted that he was satisfied with his current stream of anonymous lovers, Darion wanted the ideal for him.
“I’m suggesting that you go into this with an open mind.”
With his characteristic self-deprecation, Nicolai thwarted the suggestion. “I’m not the commitment type.”
Darion offered no quarter. “You’ve committed to the Order. Committing to a lover is the next step, unless I’ve misunderstood your feelings.”
“Wanting someone isn’t enough,” Nicolai murmured with that all too familiar resignation. “Have you forgotten who raised me? I’m Alexi Stavros’s son. I use people. They use me. A woman like Julianne deserves, well, she deserves better.”
Darion shuddered with hatred for Nicolai’s so-called father. Rich to the point of being corrupt, the depraved bastard didn’t bother to hide the fact that he purchased his son from some random French model. Nicolai grew up alone amidst an absentee father’s orgy of wanton pursuits. Darion spent years counseling Nicolai, trying to exorcise the demons of a childhood that had stolen his faith that anyone could love him simply for him. Joining the Order bolstered him, but never took away the belief that he wasn’t worthy of true love.
Darion believed in Nicolai’s character, even if Nicolai did not, and he was determined to make Nicolai see his potential.
“You are whatever you aspire to become, Nicolai.”
“Honestly, Darion, do you believe I’m worthy to take a woman into the Order?”
The doubt in his protégé’s voice was heart-wrenching, but at least they were hitting the truth behind Nicolai’s reluctance. Darion forced his voice to be neutral.
“Yes, I do. More than worthy. Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you, Nicolai. Take the next step."
*****
“He did what!”
Jerard wanted to jump through the phone line. No. He wanted to hang up so he beat feet to the gallery and pummel Nicolai Stavros.
He knew it. The guy was a goddamn Dom. Everything Julianne told him about Nicolai made him suspicious, but this little twist cinched it.
Masterpiece (The Masters of The Order Book 1) Page 6
