Bound in Blue (9 page)

“I’ll do my best,” Lemaitre promised. “But if
he won’t come, we’ll find you another partner. We want you to reach
your full potential. In the meantime...” He gestured toward her new
coach. “You’ll be in excellent hands.”

“I’ll try really hard to live up to your
standards, Mr. Lemaitre.” Good God, she meant it. She was so
adorably earnest.

Lemaitre stared at her a moment, then turned
to Jason and Theo. “I’d like to see preliminary development in two
weeks.
Ça va
?”

“
Oui
,” Theo drawled. “No problem.”

A few more clipped instructions and Lemaitre
walked away. Sara’s eyes followed him, not with lust, but with
respect and admiration. Maybe her sweetness would be her shield.
Jason could tell Lemaitre didn’t know what to make of her.

After that, Sara and Theo returned to the
trapeze. Jason had to admit the man was a skilled coach. Under the
guise of playing around, Theo was figuring out what she could do
and what she hadn’t mastered yet. They practiced a whole repertoire
of trapeze skills, both of them speaking a specialized language
Jason didn’t know. He sat on the edge of the crash mat, trying not
to be jealous. When the training session was up, Sara walked over
and flopped beside him. She was all smiles, her face glistening
with a sheen of sweat.

“Good day?” he asked, offering resistance to
help her stretch her legs. “Is it what you’d hoped?”

“It’s beyond anything I dreamed of. The
lights, the big windows, the beautiful equipment.”

Sad, to find standard equipment “beautiful,”
but Jason supposed it was, if you weren’t used to having it. To
her, it was luxurious, a miracle. He realized how spoiled all of
them had become.

“Wait until you’re performing in a show,” he
said, pushing back her other leg. “With the costumes and makeup,
and the special effects, and the cool props.” He studied her as she
relaxed into her stretch. Her muscles were strong, slender.
Perfect. He wanted to rip off her clothes and thrust inside her,
gripping her neck, whispering in her ear. He tried to refocus his
thoughts to the conversation. “You’re with Cirque du Monde now.
We’re state-of-the-art. And Lemaitre’s taken a shine to you.” At
her confused look, he clarified. “That means he likes you. He
thinks you’re good. Sara...just...be careful.”

She gazed at him, guileless as a baby deer.
“Careful of what?”

Careful of Lemaitre. Careful of your
beautiful spirit. Don’t be too brave.
“Just...be careful of
everything,” he said. “Until you’re settled in.”

“Mr. Lemaitre said he would get Baat to
come.”

He could see the tension beneath the hopeful
expression on her face. “Mr. Lemaitre has a talent for persuasion,
so your partner should arrive shortly. In the meantime, Theo will
keep you on your toes.”

“On my toes?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion
again.

“It’s an expression, to keep someone sharp,
on their toes. Your English sounds so natural, I forget it’s not
your first language.”

“My mother used to help me before she died.
She spoke English and a little French. Before me, she traveled with
her family’s act all over the world.” She hugged her knees to her
chest. “Of course, in those days, there was no Cirque du
Monde.”

“She would have been proud of you.”

Sara didn’t answer. She looked a little
peaked. He wanted to take her in his arms, comfort her, but he
didn’t dare do it in front of everyone. “Do you like your new
place? Your new apartment?”

“It’s wonderful. But I miss you,” she said
softly.

He slid a look at Theo, who was eavesdropping
on their conversation with a bemused grin. “Do you want to see a
show tonight?” he asked, angling away from him. “A Cirque du Monde
show? There’s one here in Paris.”

All her sadness fled, chased away by an
excited smile. “Of course I want to see it.” She turned to Theo.
“Will you come too? So I can meet your wife?”

“Not tonight,
ma brillante
.” With
those words, he nodded to both of them and walked off.

Sara turned to Jason with a questioning gaze.
“What did he call me?
Mob-bree-yawn
?”

“
Ma brillante
. Do you know the English
word, ‘brilliant’?” Jason shrugged. “Take it as a compliment.”

“He looked upset.”

“He doesn’t care for
Cirque Tsilaosa
.”
Jason couldn’t tell her why. He couldn’t tell Sara that Theo had
dropped his trapeze partner in that show a couple years ago and
that she’d died, because Theo was Sara’s coach now and she needed
to have faith in him. Theo hadn’t really dropped Minya anyway, only
lost her. It happened. What had Lemaitre said?
Timing is
everything in trapeze
.

“Don’t worry about Theo,” he said, standing
and taking her hand. “He doesn’t like
Tsilaosa
, but I’m sure
you will.”

Sara sat across the table from Jason, in a
beautiful bar on a beautiful Parisian street, in a beautiful dress
she’d borrowed from her neighbor at the dorm. She barely sipped the
Kir Royale
he’d ordered her. It was bubbly and sweet, but
she was too excited to drink.

She’d just watched her first ever Cirque du
Monde show, and she had no words to describe the magic. This was
what she’d ached for all those years in her dreary circus tent,
even though she never realized until now that it existed.

“Don’t you like it?” Jason asked, pointing to
her drink. “I can get you something else.”

“It’s good. I’m just...still...” She shook
her head, at a loss for words.

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed,” he said in his
deep, soothing voice. Then he fell silent, studying her. She felt
hot all over when he looked at her that way. She was falling so
hard for him, but then, that was only natural, wasn’t it? If not
for Jason, she wouldn’t be sitting here. She’d be back in Mongolia
serving drinks at a sex club and waiting to do another pathetically
amateur show. She didn’t realize back then how awful their show
was. Her face burned, remembering Jason’s praise backstage, his
excitement, when in his head he must have been comparing their
circus to the splendor of a production like
Tsilaosa
.

“I owe you so much.” It was all she could
think to say.

“You don’t owe me anything.” He took a sip of
his drink and pushed back his hair. Sometimes he wore it in a
ponytail but mostly it was loose. It made him look wild and a
little dangerous.

“We need to talk,” he said abruptly. “About
us. About our thing together, about what happens now.”

“I want to be your slave.” The words came out
before she even thought them.

“I know.” She felt his hand under the table,
tracing her knee and then closing on her thigh in a tight grip. “I
want that too. I’ve had lovers, little one. A fair amount. I’m
thirty-four, twelve years older than you. I’ve been around, played
in vanilla relationships and Dom/sub relationships and Master/slave
relationships. None of them have ever made me feel the way you
do.”

He meant what he said, she could see it in
his eyes, feel it in the tightening of his fingers on the sensitive
skin of her inner thigh.

“But...”

There was a but. Sara didn’t want a but.

“But you and I have known each other less
than a week. And in that week, everything in your life has turned
upside down. You should take some time to get your bearings, to be
sure. Because once you’re mine...”

“I’m already yours.”

His eyes bored into her, hard ocean blue. She
put her hand over his and traced the tops of his fingers. “When I’m
near you, I want to be yours,” she said. “When I see you, I’m
overcome with...with this feeling of need, of desire. I’ve never
felt that with anyone else.”

His fingers slid up, farther along her thigh.
She tensed and drew in a shuddering breath.

“Don’t react to what I’m doing,” he said.
“People will notice.”

She tried to maintain a neutral expression as
his fingertips inched to the gusset of her panties. The
caf
é
tablecloth hid his actions
but she had much more trouble hiding her reactions, especially when
his fingers slipped under the material and caressed her smooth
pussy lips.

“Open your legs.”

She did, and then he said, “Wider,” so she
had to shift on the seat to comply. Her whole body trembled from
the effort of keeping still. She wanted to moan and whisper to him,
I’m yours, I’m yours. Take me.
But she didn’t have to say
anything. She was wet for him, so wet that his fingers slid inside
without the least resistance. She brought her hand to her mouth and
bit down on a nail so she wouldn’t cry out.

“You see?” she said. “How I feel for
you?”

“Yes, I see.”

“Please...Master,” she whispered.

His fingers moved in her, forward and back, a
pulse of possession. “Here’s the thing. I’ve played before, done
this for fun, but you don’t inspire playfulness in me. This could
be risky for both of us. You know what I mean?”

“I do trapeze for a living. I’m not afraid of
anything.”

His eyes burned, they were so intent. “You
should be, little girl. If we do this, it’s you and me. Master and
slave. Your abject submission whenever we’re together. I like
control. I also like to hurt my slaves.”

“I like to be controlled, and hurt.”

“I might ask for things you don’t want,
things you don’t like. I’ll expect you to do them anyway. Those are
my terms.” He withdrew his fingers and wiped them on her leg, and
squeezed her thigh. “Think for a minute before you say yes, because
none of this is a joke.”

Sara paused.
What if he asks me to do
something I don’t like?
But she liked everything about Jason.
Everything about his body, his words, his expressions, even the
fact that he enjoyed giving pain. Ever since she’d met him, some
peace had settled over her, some knowledge that he was her perfect
complement and that they belonged together. He knew exactly what to
do with her. How much to hurt her, how much to soothe her. How to
bring out the strange creature inside her that didn’t respond to
normal love and sex. She wanted to give all of herself to him
because he understood her as no one else had ever understood
her.

“I want to serve you,” she said, because it
was the simplest expression of her feelings. “I want to be yours.
Even if we have to hide.”

“And none of this is because you feel you owe
me? Because I brought you here and showed you this new life?
Because you’ll have a whole new life in Paris. Are you sure you
want to spend it tangled up with me?”

“Why are you warning me so hard? Don’t you
want me? If you don’t want to be my Master—”

“You know I want you,” he interrupted in a
quiet but sharp voice. “I want you more than I should. I’m warning
you ‘so hard’ because I scene hard. In public, we’ll have to keep
up appearances, play happy supervisor and artist. In private, I’m
going to turn you inside out. Are you sure that’s what you
want?”

She stared at him, at the warning in his
eyes. He could warn all he liked. In her heart, she was already
his. “Yes, Master. I’m sure it’s what I want.”

He let out a breath and she did too, the
wrought-up breaths they’d been holding. Around them, people
continued chatting and drinking, living their normal lives. Life
had just turned over—inside out—for Sara. She’d officially agreed
to a Master/slave relationship with the beautiful man sitting
across from her. She had no anxious feelings, no second
thoughts.

He touched her fingers where she clung to her
drink. “Come. Now. Leave that. I’m taking you home.”

He swept her jacket off the back of her chair
and wrapped it around her shoulders, and then downed the rest of
his drink in one great swallow. When he finished, he put the glass
on the table with a bang. To Sara, it sounded like the door of her
past slamming shut. He took her hand, wrapped it tight in his
fingers, and led her from the bar.

On the street he let her go. They were close
to the theater, close to the Cirque dorms and headquarters. Their
co-workers were all around them, people Sara could recognize as
performers and athletes even without their costumes. A few times
Jason greeted people, but it wasn’t the type of greeting that
invited them to stop and talk. She was glad because she felt
anxious to be alone with him. Her desire must have been written all
over her face, clear as day for people to read.

Finally, he led her to a stoop and through a
door to a narrow stairwell. She followed him up two flights of
stairs to a burnished mahogany door. It was an old building, a
style she’d come to recognize as classic Parisian. He fumbled for
keys and undid the lock, and only then did their eyes meet.

Had there ever been such an intense shade of
blue? He said her eyes were pretty but his own were much more
beautiful. He grasped her shoulder and then her neck, and
practically dragged her inside. He trapped her against the entryway
wall, his great body looming over her.

“Master,” she whispered.

“Oh God.” On the heels of that prayer, his
lips descended over hers. She’d thought herself prepared but she
wasn’t really prepared for the intensity of his kiss, his rough
embrace. His thumb stroked over the racing pulse at her throat,
while his other hand yanked up her skirt. She responded clumsily,
trying to match the passion and skill of his lips. This wasn’t
sweet or romantic. This was possession.

“Open wider,” he said in his Master voice. Or
maybe it was just Jason’s voice, demanding and firm. She obeyed and
he slid his tongue between her teeth, over her tongue. She felt a
delirious, warm ache in her center and she wiggled closer against
him, right against the thick, upstanding shaft outlined by his
pants. His hands were all over her, pulling, twisting, trying to
find the fastenings of her dress. He slid fingers beneath the
neckline as if to tear it open.