Bound in Blue

by Annabel Joseph

  “It’s okay, Sara,” Jason said, pushing her hair back from her face. “It’s really okay.”

  “Last night...when me and you...” She cried harder. “I didn’t know you were here to see the act, and to offer us the job. When I saw you backstage, I felt so embarrassed. I’m sorry I went with you last night. That I slept with you and left you.”

  She shrank away from him every time he reached out, or he would have taken her in his arms. “Please stop apologizing,” he said. “I wish you weren’t in a relationship, but I wouldn’t give last night back for anything. Really, there are no hard feelings. I’m more worried about you and your lover. What will he do if he finds out about…you and me?”

  She sniffled and swiped at her cheeks. “My lover?”

  “Your partner? What’s his name?” He made a pitiful stab at the conglomeration of syllables, but Sara cut him off before he could finish.

  “Baat? Baat isn’t my lover.” She made a disgusted sound. “He’s just my trapeze partner. We’ve known each other a long time, and we live together to save money. So he’ll know if I leave and he’ll try to stop me. I only need to get there, you see? And then he’ll probably come.”

  Now it was Jason shaking his head in confusion. “What? Get where?”

  “To Paris,” she cried. “To Cirque du Monde. Baat won’t come, but I want to go.” Her voice shook with emotion, or perhaps fear. “Is it possible for me to come without him? Do you still want me after…after what went on last night?”

  Jason fell silent, confused by the idea of how he could possibly not want her. Especially now that he really couldn’t have her again.

  “The past is the past,” he made himself say. “See, if you’d only let me finish when I started to tell you where I worked.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize again. I mean it. Let’s start over, okay? So, you want to come to Paris?”

  “Yes! If I go, perhaps he’ll come too. Otherwise we’ll both stay here forever, and this isn’t the life I want.”

  Her gaze pleaded with him to understand, but he understood completely. She’d learned flawless English. She’d taken a job at a sex club to raise extra money. She’d had a plan to escape her current situation, and thank God, he could help her with that.

  “I have the money you gave me,” she said, reaching in her bag. “And my passport. Is it enough to get there? I can pay the rest back later, out of my earnings.”

  Jason tucked the currency back in her bag, and trapped her shaking hand. “Cirque du Monde will pay for everything. They’ll handle the visas and work permits, all that. If you’re anxious to go, we can swing by your place and get your things, and leave as soon as tomorrow.”

  She shook her head, bursting into tears again. “No, see? We can’t get my things. Baat won’t let me go. I had to sneak away.”

  Jason stared at her. Again, the words “international incident” pinged in his brain. But she was a grown woman with money and a passport, and a job offer. Well, presumably she had a job offer, even if Baat wasn’t coming. Jason would pay to keep her in Paris himself, if it came to that. But he didn’t think it would come to that.

  “Are there any legal reasons you can’t go? A contract with Baat, or Circus Mongolia?”

  She shook her head. “No, there’s nothing.”

  “So it’s the whole lure-your-partner-to-Paris-by-stealing-away-in-the-night gambit?” he asked. “You’re sure about this? It’s a long trip.”

  She nodded, touching her lips. “I’m sure I want to go.”

  Jason thought she looked awfully conflicted for someone whose mind was made up. “What about tonight? Where will you stay?” He couldn’t hold back the words, although he tried to. “Would you like to stay here? As my guest, of course. We don’t have to...” Attack each other. Fuck each other to pieces. Fall into our true roles—Master and slave. Her hair was still damp from a shower, her face free of the vampy makeup she’d worn at the sex club. She smelled like flowers and looked like innocence.

  Oh God. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t play with her again. Professionalism. Boundaries. They’d be working together in Paris since he was in charge of new act development. Even as a coach, he’d never slept with his charges.

  “You look exhausted,” he said, getting up to cross to his suitcase. “Why don’t we finalize our plans in the morning when you’re rested?” He handed her a bottle of water. “Drink at least half of this, then lie down on the bed and close your eyes.”

  Damn it, that was his Dom voice. He didn’t know how else to behave around her, but he had to figure it out. Professionalism. Boundaries.

  She gave a little sigh, a shiver revealing just how exhausted she was. She drank the water as he’d told her, then recapped the bottle, kicked off her shoes, and went into the bathroom. When she returned, she stopped by the narrow bed. “I don’t want to take up your space. Maybe I should just—”

  “What did I tell you to do?”

  She blinked at him, then answered quietly, “You told me to lie down on the bed.”

  She’s not your slave. You shouldn’t do this to her. But in his heart she was his. She cried out for his control with her eyes, her body language. The air between them changed, vibrated with longing and emotional resonance. Slowly, with the grace of a slave, she climbed onto the bed and lay back. Blood filled his cock even though this wasn’t a sexual moment. Her obedience alone aroused him.

  He pulled the blankets up to cover her. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he asked, but her whole body was tense. Jason left her and went to his computer, because if he touched her, if he went anywhere near her, he’d lay waste to her body.

  Instead he composed another note.

  Michel,

  Sara (trapezist) is coming. She’s going to need shelter, clothing, money right away.

  Please have H.R. purchase another ticket for the flight 23 May.

  He knew the ticket would be in his inbox in the morning, that Lemaitre would never fail an artist in need. His boss might be angry the partner wasn’t coming, he might demand explanations, but he’d let Sara come and prove herself.

  And if she woke in the morning and changed her mind? He’d have to convince her to go, explain that her destiny lay elsewhere. She was an artist with great potential. She had no business waitressing at a sex club for extra money, in a noisy, dirty city in Mongolia. She belonged in Paris, under Michel Lemaitre’s wing.

  He turned back to the bed to catch her watching him. He made a soft, chiding sound. “Why are you still awake?”

  She wrenched her eyes shut. Adorable, obedient slave.

  No, not your slave.

  He crossed to the bed and shed his shirt, but left his jeans on. Professionalism. Self-control.

  “Is it okay if I sleep next to you?” he asked, sliding under the covers. “I won’t do anything, I promise.”

  Her eyes were still shut tight. “It’s okay if you want to,” she said in a quivery voice. “If you want to do something, because...”

  “Because what?” he asked when she didn’t finish her thought. Boundaries, motherfucker! “Come here.”

  She turned and pressed against his front, and held onto his shoulders. It was like she was trying to burrow inside his chest. “I can’t say it. I can’t explain.”

  Both hunger and understanding surged within him. Somehow, they were connected this way. “You don’t have to explain. I feel it too. However, we’re going to be working together in Paris. It would be better if we...if we...” He lost his train of thought tracing the slender column of her neck.

  She sighed and looked up into his eyes. Blue, such a crazy, pale blue. “Better if we what?” she asked.

  “Better if we keep a professional distance.”

  She was plastered against his front, every inch of her pressed to every inch of him. When she moved her hips, his cock ached in response. He tightened his fingers around her neck. She could still breathe, but only because he let her.
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  “Oh, please,” she whispered. “Please, Master.”

  Fuck boundaries. They were obviously incapable of boundaries. “Naughty girl,” he said, nudging her legs open. “What did I tell you to do?”

  “You said to lie down and...and close my eyes.”

  He kissed her hard, a first kiss, a demanding kiss as he stroked her pussy through the barrier of her jeans. No, it wouldn’t do. He needed more. He needed all of her, right now. He yanked at his button and zipper, pushing off his pants. He turned to her next, stripping her naked. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Even more beautiful, because this time he wouldn’t have to let her go. “Close your eyes,” he said when their gazes locked. “Be a good slave.”

  He got up and crossed to his luggage for a condom. He wanted her mouth, had dreamed of her Cupid’s-bow mouth since the moment he met her. He needed that mouth, and now seemed like a good time to take it. Her chest rose and fell as he rolled on the condom. He grabbed the headboard and knelt over her, trapping her shoulders between his knees. “Eyes closed, mouth open, little slave. Open wide.”

  She obeyed with a sob, and stuck out her sweet pink tongue. He almost came right then, because she was so eager, so willing. He shoved himself between her lips, not politely or tentatively, but with the authority of an owner. He owned this mouth. She offered it to him with no compunction. He didn’t stop sliding forward until she gagged. Her hands flew up and he grabbed them.

  “Okay. I know.” He eased back and then forward again, penetrating her slowly, watching her lips stretch wide to accommodate him. He wanted to bury himself in her throat, but he controlled himself. Time for that later. Time for so many things. She moaned as she took him as deep as she could, then he pushed himself a little deeper. She gagged again, tears squeezing from beneath her closed eyes.

  “What a good girl,” he gasped. “Jesus fucking God.” He pulled out of her mouth because he’d come in five seconds if he didn’t. He slid down her body, tugging at his cock, anxious to be inside her. He grabbed her hands and held them above her head, and pressed inside her tight pussy, inch by inch.

  He belonged there. She was his. He fucked her with quick, hard strokes, bearing her body down into the bed. “You see, you don’t have to explain anything. It’s because of this, yes?”

  “Yes, Master,” she gasped.

  “Because your body was made for me. Because your pussy is mine, and that beautiful little mouth. Every part of you, all made for Master’s cock. Lie down and close your eyes, and be mine, little girl.”

  “Yes, Master, I’m yours. I want to be yours.”

  There was no wanting about it. She just was. He kissed her again, thrusting inside her, controlling the movements of her hips. Within seconds he could feel her coming, her pussy clamping hard and rhythmically around his length. He emptied himself inside her, letting her orgasm milk him dry. As he came back to earth from wherever he’d gone, he could feel her fingernails embedded in the backs of his hands. Slowly, as they rested together, her fingers opened.

  He subdued the urge to make some crack, to diffuse the frightening power between them. Jesus, that was crazy. What the hell was that? What’s going on? At some point they’d figure out what was going on, but he knew that no woman, no submissive, had ever affected him like she did. In the end, all he said was, “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer. Her breathing was light and slow. “Yes, you should rest,” he whispered. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  He covered her with the blankets and brushed a kiss across her forehead, and let his exhausted slave sleep.

  Chapter Four: Flight

  Sara woke in the dim hotel room and looked across at an empty pillow. She bolted up in the bed, holding the sheets to her chest. Where was he? Had he left her?

  No, Jason Beck was there, near the window, at a small table. He smiled at her and she felt sheepish for her panic, then a flush burned over her face as she remembered the heated intimacy of the night before. Eyes closed, mouth open, little slave…

  “Good morning, Sara.” His intent expression told her that he remembered too. He gestured to the paper bag in front of him. “I ordered some breakfast, if you’d like to get up and eat something. We should probably leave for the airport by noon.”

  She didn’t know what was in the bag, only knew she was starved. She pushed her hair back, wincing as tangles caught on her fingers. She must look like hell. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

  His laugh was low and rumbling. “You needed sleep. I’m jetlagged, so I’ve been up for a while.”

  He looked fresh and groomed, from his damp, shoulder-length hair all the way down to his weathered boots. He wore dark jeans and a beige, marled sweater that complemented the earth tones of his hair. She used to think Baat was tall, but Jason was taller. Even sitting in the chair, he looked rugged and long-limbed. He stuck his legs out and flexed them, then crossed them at the ankle.

  She felt suddenly, inexplicably shy. He’d fucked her now—twice. Not just fucked her but broken her down into a quivering pile of slave girl, and now he sat across from her with such casual ease while she was freaking out inside.

  She went into the shabby hotel bathroom and did her best to fix her appearance. She brushed her teeth and showered, but she had to put on the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Baat would have suspected if she’d packed a suitcase. How had it come to this? She’d been living like a vagabond ever since her parents died, ever since her safety net disappeared. She wanted security and safety more than anything in the world. Jason said the Cirque would take care of her, that they’d take care of everything.

  She hoped it was true.

  When she came out of the bathroom, he crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “How are you feeling this morning? Okay?”

  “Yes, okay.” She nodded, searching his eyes. What would happen now? What would happen when they got to Paris? Would he be her lover? Her Master?

  “This is all pretty crazy, huh?” he asked.

  She swallowed and nodded her head. “Crazy in a good way.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up, then his lips were on hers. Warm, soft, encompassing. His hands traveled over her, tracing her hips, her ass, before wandering up to clasp her shoulders. His kiss felt rough but gentle, the experience punctuated by occasional tugs of her hair. This meant something, surely, this heated embrace, this kiss. He wouldn’t do this if he meant to dump her once they got to Paris. They had something more going on. Didn’t they?

  He pulled away, but she still clung to him, unbalanced. His sweater felt soft under her fingers. “I like you,” she whispered in the understatement of the year.

  “I like you too,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “I’m excited you’re coming to Paris. I hope, when we’re there...”

  He left the suggestion trailing and she picked it up with an avid nod. “I would love to spend more time with you. We can do whatever you like.”

  He made a teasing, warning sound. “You should probably figure out what I like before you offer me whatever I like.”

  “I only meant that I was open to exploring…you know…some kind of relationship between us.” She didn’t know if she’d said too much, or not enough. Her English was pretty good, but she’d never engaged in these kinds of negotiations.

  To her relief, Jason smiled and kissed her again. “There will definitely be ‘some kind of relationship’ between you and me. But for a while...in the beginning...” He paused, his smile fading. “In the beginning, we’ll need to be discreet. My behavior toward you would be considered unprofessional by the people I work with. Inappropriate, really. It’s best if you don’t tell anyone how we met.”

  “I understand. The sex club, the BDSM.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to hide that. At the Cirque...” He paused. “Well, I’ll explain later. It’s not the BDSM that’s inappropriate. It’s that I came here to scout you as an act, so if we return as Master and slave, with you wearing my collar, some eyebr
ows are gonna go up.”

  Sara touched her neck. “I don’t like collars anyway. They remind me of work.”

  He traced over her fingers, trapping them in his hand. “No collars then. Just you and me, and this connection we share. When the time’s right, if everything works out, we can be more public about our feelings.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “We’ll figure things out. For now, sit and eat something so we can get to the airport with plenty of time to catch our flight.”

  While she was in the shower, Jason had laid out fried bread, millet and yogurt, and milk tea. She was so hungry it tasted like heaven, even cold and slightly congealed. Halfway through, she slowed down and made herself savor it. She wouldn’t have these familiar foods in Paris. Everything would be different, and she’d probably feel homesick.

  While she ate, Jason moved around the room, collecting his clothes and toiletries and shutting down his computer. She was so infatuated, it was a pleasure just to watch him pack. “What is Paris like?” she asked.

  He turned to her with a bemused expression. “What isn’t Paris like? It’s a big city. You can find almost anything and do almost anything there.”

  She traced the rim of her cup. “What do they drink at breakfast?”

  “Coffee. Tea. Somewhere in Paris, I’m sure you could find milk tea and Mongolian bread, and tarag.”

  He said the word for yogurt with a stilted accent. It touched her, that he tried to speak her language. She blinked down at the last of her meal.

  A moment later, he stopped packing and came to sit with her. “It’s normal to feel scared. But I promise, you won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and you’ll have a coach and a physical therapist, a whole team of folks who’ll want you to be successful. If Baat doesn’t come, they’ll find you a new partner, a good match, so the two of you can start working on an act together. There are always new shows in the works, and older shows that need new material, like you. You’re something fresh that no one’s ever seen. When someone’s talented, when they have vision and skill and drive, Michel Lemaitre takes care of them. He’ll take you as far as you can go.” He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Trust me, he’s going to love you.”