Bound in Blue (7 page)

“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.

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 eyebrows 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.”

“Who? Mee-shell Le-May...?”

“Michel Lemaitre,” he said, writing the name
on a piece of hotel stationary. “Your soon-to-be boss. He lives for
performers like you, the ones who have that fire in them.”

There was some shadow, some hardness in his
expression that made Sara think he didn’t completely approve of
Michel Lemaitre. She chewed at the corner of a nail, a horrible
habit, although short nails were necessary in trapeze. Would Michel
Lemaitre approve of her?

She stood and started to clean up her
breakfast things. They were going to leave for the airport soon,
and once they were there, she couldn’t come back. She was
abandoning her homeland—and her long-time trapeze partner—to follow
her dreams. Was it worth it? She had a paralyzing moment of
doubt.

Jason took her in his arms, speaking to her
in an achingly tender voice. “Everything’s going to be great, Sara.
But if you’re not ready to make this decision, that’s okay too. If
you want to stay, you can stay.”

“I don’t want to stay,” she said against his
shoulder, and she realized she meant it. “I want to go.”

“Let’s go then. If you get to Paris and you
don’t like it, you can always come back.”

But she couldn’t come back. That’s what he
didn’t understand. Baat would never forgive her for doing this
selfish thing. Even if he gave in and came to the Cirque, he would
never forgive her.

Oh, but Jason’s arms were so strong around
her, and her dreams were so close. A fourteen-hour flight, and her
life could start over. She’d be part of the world’s most famous
circus.

And this strong, kind, masterful man would be
with her. That would be the most wonderful thing.

* * * * *

Sara was quiet during the cab ride to the
airport. Jason couldn’t blame her for feeling pensive. For
doubting. She had nothing with her, only her dreams and
convictions. She’d put her life in the hands of a stranger she’d
just met. She was either very brave or very stupid, and he didn’t
usually go for stupid women, so he had to bank on brave.

As for him…he fought his own doubts. Perhaps
he should have delayed this abrupt departure, asked her to mull
over her choices a little longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have slept
with her again last night. Impulsive, unprofessional behavior, but
what could he do? She had a way of stripping his self-control. Him,
Jason Beck, the most controlled, by-the-rules guy at the Cirque.
Even now, he was aware of her every movement, every sigh and every
shift.

About halfway there, she sat up straighter in
her seat. She spoke to the taxi driver in Mongolian and he eased to
the side of the road, stopping on a corner. She turned to Jason.
“This will only take a minute.” She spoke again to the driver and
got out of the car.

Jason followed, afraid to let her out of his
sight, but she only went a short distance, to an alley beside a
soot-blackened cement building. A small, circular heap of rocks
nestled just inside the corner, against the wall.

“My parents died here,” she said, turning to
him. “Almost two years ago now. A drunk driving accident.” She
knelt down and replaced a few stones that had come dislodged from
the cairn. “Baat helped me build this to remember them.”

Yes, the accident. The reason she had no
money, the reason she had to make her way alone. Jason looked back
toward the cab, then leaned to help her. “Did they catch the person
at fault?”