Bound in Blue (11 page)

He eased back across the starched,
down-filled white comforter, pulling her with him. His hair
obscured his features as he leaned forward to grasp her hips, and
then he lowered her onto his thick cock. As wet as she was, it was
still a slow process to take him all the way inside. She felt
impaled, helpless.

He jerked the nipple clamps. “What a view.
Move on me. Ride me.” He flicked the chain like it was a horse’s
reins and she rode him as best she could without her arms to help.
His head fell back and he spread out his arms, flexing his muscles.
He looked like an angel...and a devil. She squeezed on him and he
bucked his hips up against her clit.

“Oh, God,” he sighed. “You feel
wonderful.”

He started working her hips in a circle,
manipulating her so that even though she was on top, she had no
control. He filled her again and again, tweaking the nipple clamps
when her moans got too loud. It was so hard to be quiet. With the
pain she could concentrate, call on her self-discipline to help
her, but in this pleasure, she was losing all control.

“Oh, it feels...so...good...”

Undressing him, scurrying to find his
bedroom, taking his cock deep in her throat, all of that was
foreplay, all of it culminating in this, the joining of their
straining bodies. She wanted to come but she was afraid to come
because she might turn inside out, just as he’d warned. She felt
inside out already, like everything inside her was bared to his
gaze.

Her cries got louder the closer she got to
orgasm. If she could have, she would have muffled them with her
hands, but they were trapped behind her back by his belt. She rode
his cock faster and faster, seeking fulfillment or pain, whatever
he wanted, because that’s what she wanted. She arched toward him
when he pulled the clamps, offering her torment for his
pleasure.

With a rough movement, he tumbled her
sideways, still fucking her. He hit her clit with every stroke
then, excruciating pleasure building to a peak. “Oh God, oh God!”
She was getting really loud now but she couldn’t help it. She was
too far gone to obey. He pressed a hand over her mouth, then took
off the nipple clamps one after the other so sensation flooded back
into her breasts.

That was the end of it for her. Every nerve
in her body fired a delicious release. Her limbs trembled
uncontrollably as she gasped against his palm. He pounded into her,
driving her into the bed, filling her with his power and his raw
sexuality. Her angel, her devil, her tormentor, her savior, her
guide, her teacher. Her lover.

Her Master.

* * * * *

Jason drifted, basking in her, inhaling her
flowery, feminine scent.

He moved his hand so she could draw breath
again, and stared down at her flickering eyelids. She was either
resting, sleeping, or passed out. “Sara,” he whispered, and her
eyes came open.

“Yes, Master?” she asked, even though she
looked exhausted. So submissive, so willing. Such a treasure. There
were two kinds of “slave” girls. The first only pretended to serve,
while balking at anything they didn’t want to do, anything that
didn’t bring them pleasure. The second kind truly believed in
serving, in giving themselves up to Master’s will. The first kind
didn’t last long in the kink scene at the Cirque, even the
drop-dead gorgeous ones. The second kind...well. D-types fought
over them.

No one’s getting you
, he thought,
staring down at her.
No one but me.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

He chuckled, softening his expression, and
got up to throw away his condom. “I was just thinking that I need a
cage for you. Somewhere to keep you so you can never get away, and
so no one else can ever steal you.”

She laughed, a cute, nervous laugh that told
him she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

“I like cages,” he clarified, returning to
the bed, “but I won’t ever put you in one without your permission.
Well, without your consent.”

“Aren’t permission and consent the same
thing?”

Jason sprawled beside her and unbuckled the
belt binding her hands. “They’re kind of the same thing, but kind
of not. I don’t like to ask women for permission to do the things I
do to them, but I like to have their consent. Does that make
sense?”

She stretched her arms and rubbed her wrists.
Jason checked them to be sure there weren’t any abrasions. When he
finished he brought them to his lips. “Did you like what we just
did, or was it too hard for you?”

She squirmed under his regard. “Well…did you
like it?”

“I didn’t ask if I liked it. I asked if you
liked it. And tell the truth.” He brushed a finger across her lips.
“Never lie to Master.”

She was quiet for a long time, so long he got
nervous. Then she said, “I liked everything about today. Going to
Cirque du Monde, meeting Theo and Mr. Lemaitre, going to the show,
going for drinks with you. And coming here to your place...I liked
that most of all. But I’m afraid.” Her smile faded and her eyes
went dark. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a
dream.”

“It’s not a dream.”

Tension wrinkled her brow. “If Mr. Lemaitre
finds out we’re doing this, will he fire me?”

Jason kissed the lines away and rolled onto
his back. “No, he’ll fire me. But if I begged hard enough he’d
probably hire me back. Lemaitre understands passion, sweet pea.
I’ll give the man that.”

“You’ll give him...a sweet pea?”

“No, I called you a sweet pea. It’s a kind of
flower. And when I said
I’ll give the man that
... Look,
never mind. Don’t worry about anything.” He brushed back a lock of
her dark hair. “You look tired. How about a shower?”

“Mm. Probably. I drooled on myself.”

“Which was ball-numbingly hot.”

“Ball-numbingly hot?”

“Very, very hot,” he amended. “You’ll never
understand how hot. But it’s late and you’re probably still
fighting jet lag.”

They showered together in his chipped,
claw-footed tub, and then he toweled her off, thinking how lovely
she was. Lovely hips, lovely breasts, lovely exotic features and a
stunning smile. Twenty-two. A mere baby. He was twelve years older.
Twelve
years older. He would master her as long as she
wanted to be mastered, but if she decided she wanted someone
younger, someone closer to her age, he’d let her go.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his face.
“You’re frowning.”

He forced a smile. “Just afraid I’ll wake up
and find it’s all been a dream.” He took her to his bed, naked, the
way a slave ought to be, and stayed up long after her eyes closed,
watching her lashes flutter against her cheek.

Jason woke in the morning to the sound of
pounding. The front door? Sara sighed and stirred beside him.

“Don’t get up,” he said when her eyes blinked
open. “Stay here.”

He threw on sweats and a tee and padded down
the stairs, wondering who’d be knocking at eight in the morning. He
didn’t have any work appointments until ten. When he flung open the
door, Michel Lemaitre pushed Jason aside and strode into his living
room. “Sara is missing,” he said. “No one can find her. She hasn’t
been back to her dorm all night.”

Well, this was a fucking situation. Lemaitre
crossed to the window, his lips compressed in a line.

“She’s not missing,” said Jason. “She’s
asleep upstairs.”

Lemaitre turned back to him and stared. He
knew this house, because he’d sold it to Jason a few years ago. He
knew “upstairs” meant Sara was in his bedroom.

“And why is Sara asleep upstairs?” he asked
with a dangerous edge to his voice.

Because I got to her first, you horny
lecher.
Sara was twelve years younger than him; that meant she
was twenty-two years younger than Lemaitre. “Keep your voice down,
okay? We were out late. I took her to see
Tsilaosa
.”

“And then what?”

Jason headed to the kitchen. He needed coffee
for this conversation. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I’m sure I want to know.” Lemaitre’s voice
sounded cold as ice. “I don’t know what disturbs me more, that my
most rigidly proper director is breaking the rules, or that he’s
breaking them with a woman who’s been here for one day.
One
day
, Jason.”

Once Jason had the coffee brewing, he crossed
to sit in the chair nearest Lemaitre, considering his options. He
could lie to his boss, but lies were hard to keep track of. He
could refuse to explain, which would probably cost him his job. Or
he could tell the truth, which Lemaitre would eventually figure out
anyway.

“Before I say anything, I want your word that
you won’t treat Sara any differently after you hear what I
say.”

Lemaitre narrowed his eyes. “
Dieu
,
such drama.”

“I want your word.”

He threw up his hands. “Yes, you have my
word, although I doubt this is her doing.”

Jason paused, sinking back in his chair. “My
first night in Ulaanbaatar, I went downtown to check out a BDSM
club. That’s where Sara and I met.”

Lemaitre’s eyes went from narrow to wide.
“There’s a BDSM club in Mongolia?”

“Yes, they have them everywhere. You of all
people should know,” Jason replied with an edge of sarcasm. “And it
wasn’t so much a club as a brothel. You know, girls dancing in
cages, and private rooms available for the right price.”

The older man’s jaw worked. “What was Sara
doing there?”

“Waiting tables in skimpy lingerie, serving
drinks to horny, kinky men.”

“Horny, kinky men like you.”

Jason pursed his lips. “I only went there to
relax, to
loosen up
as you told me to, but then shit started
happening. They tried to get me drunk, tried to take advantage of
the stupid American, but Sara wouldn’t let them. To make a long
story short, I got kicked out and she got fired.”

“Then what?” Lemaitre asked.

Jason held up a hand. “Look, I swear to God.
I didn’t know she was part of the act I was scouting, and she
didn’t know I was with Cirque du Monde.”

His voice turned a shade icier. “You slept
with her.”

“We were both freaked out by what happened.
She was upset.”

“So you lured her back to your hotel room and
soothed her, is that it? Such a heroic, selfless act.”

“You told me I worked too hard, remember? You
told me to ‘enjoy the local pleasures.’”

“I didn’t mean her!”

Jason paused, grasping for calm. “You know I
wouldn’t have done it if knew who she was. We didn’t find out any
of that until the next day. Then her partner shut down the pitch
about Cirque and wouldn’t let her speak, so she came to my hotel
again. Only to talk with me about coming to Paris.”

“So you didn’t sleep with her the second
night?”

Jason pressed his fingers against his eyes.
“I tried not to.”

“But you did,” Lemaitre snapped.

“Is it your business? It was private.
Consensual.”

“It’s my business because she’s my performer
now. She shouldn’t have been compelled—”

“I did not compel her. It happened.”

“And it seems to keep happening, considering
the fact that she’s upstairs.”

Jason sensed great fury beneath his boss’s
bitten-off words. Which made no sense, because Lemaitre slept with
the talent all the time. He made them into his devoted sex slaves,
for God’s sake. Perhaps he was angry to learn that Sara had to
support herself in Mongolia waitressing at a sex club, but circus
wasn’t always a lucrative career.

“You can’t blame her,” Jason said, heading
back to the kitchen. “You can’t hold it against her. She’s here
now, ready to work. That should be all that matters.”

“Do you think I’d hold it against her?
Really, do you?” He followed that question with a string of French
expletives that made Jason’s ears burn.

“She’s sleeping,” he reminded him. “Keep it
down. Do you want some coffee?”

“I want to speak to her.”

“No, you’ll embarrass her. You’ll scare her.
If you don’t trust everything I’ve said, then fire me. I don’t want
to work for someone who thinks I’m a liar.”

“I don’t think you’re a liar. But I find you
something of an opportunist.”

Jason ground his teeth at that dig. “There
was a mutual attraction.”

“Imagine her being attracted to an important,
attractive Cirque du Monde director who’s offering her a new
career.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“How was it, Jason?” He leaned forward,
wagging a finger. “Once you knew she was a talent prospect, you
should have gone out of your way to re-orient your relationship
into a professional one.”

“I tried. Honestly, I tried but—”

“But you preferred to keep fucking her.”

“Everything between us has involved mutual
consent.”

“Jason?” The soft question arrested their
rising voices. Sara stood by the door to the back hallway, clad in
a blanket and his wrinkled button-up shirt. So much for his
obedient slave.

“Sara, go back upstairs,” he said in a firm
voice.

She turned to Lemaitre. “You can’t fire him.
This isn’t his fault. Last night he told me that we should take
things slow, but I didn’t want to.”

Jason rubbed his forehead, stifling a groan.
The last thing he wanted was for Sara to debase herself pleading on
his behalf. Lemaitre turned to face her, his expression one of
uncharacteristic gravity. “My deepest concern is for your
well-being. While you’re with the Cirque, you’re under my
protection.”

Sara blinked at him. “You don’t have to
protect me from Jason. I want to be with him. I promise we’ll
be…discreet.”

Lemaitre gave her one of his patented
glowering looks. “This isn’t a matter of discretion, my dear. It’s
a matter of professional behavior. Jason was sent to Mongolia to
scout you, not seduce you.”