Masterpiece (The Masters of The Order Book 1) (4 page)

The garment was too fine for painting, but once again, Nicolai framed his request as an invitation to please him and she accepted. As she slipped the soft wool over her shoulders, he held out a paper cup.

“
Qu’est-ce que c’est?
”

“Cinnamon latte.”

How did he know cinnamon latte is my rare and special treat to myself?

She hesitated, a bit uncomfortable with the familiarity of this gesture, and Nicolai flashed
the look
. The one that got him anything he wanted.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the cup, and sipped the warm drink.
Maybe Nicolai's not as distant as he seems
.
I have to be more careful.

He gave a brisk nod, “
Joyeux Noël
,” and retreated behind closed doors.

Julianne turned back to the bananas.

Art lives inside the soul
.

Her own words, spoken back to her countless times, yet she hadn't a clue what Nicolai wanted her to learn from them. “I swear I will never eat another piece of fruit for as long as I live, but for you, Nicolai, I will paint it until you are satisfied,” she muttered and lifted her brush.

After two hours or so, Nicolai emerged from behind the frosted glass wiping his hands on a cloth while he walked. He almost bumped right into her as if he hadn’t seen her standing there. When he focused, he looked shocked.

“Julianne, it’s Christmas Eve. Why are you still here?”

“The Colonel is at the President’s Ball. He won’t be home until well after midnight and I want to finish this.” She nodded toward the painting in front of her. “I’ll run out and get myself something to eat later.”

“No, you will not.” Nicolai clearly didn’t trust her to feed herself.

And he was right.
No way I'm going out alone for food on Christmas Eve.
How pathetic is that?

“I’ll have something delivered. Do you like Indian food?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”
And I'd love my sexy Santa to feed it to me…oh, shut up, vixen!

“Good. It’s late and Indian is probably our only option at this point. I like it spicy, if that’s alright with you.”

What? Is he serious? He actually wants to share take-out with me in the gallery. On Christmas Eve! The eyes. The posture. So Nicolai. Of course, he's serious.

“Sir, I saw the tuxedo hanging in your office. Please don’t feel you have to stay on my account. I’m fine. I’m sure you have other plans for this evening.”

“Nothing I can’t miss,” Nicolai said as if a formal affair on Christmas Eve was some insignificant event.

She knew it wouldn’t be. They lived in Paris and the French took Christmas celebrations very seriously. She pushed back. “Really, sir, I can’t let you do that. I don’t want you to miss your party.”

His eyes widened slightly, then locked on. Nicolai looked almost mad, well, not mad exactly, more determined. Then his lips curled up in an expectant smile and he flashed
the look
.

“Spicy or mild?”

Julianne bit her lip to hide her grin.
There really is no denying this man when he wants something. And that's too spicy for words.

“Spicy, sir. Definitely spicy.”

January

Jacques pulled Nicolai aside and snapped, “What is wrong with you tonight? Get your head in the game or get the hell out.”

Nicolai didn’t answer. He didn’t have one. Instead of being interested in what they were doing, he was distracted and irritated and he didn’t know why. Maybe the room was too hot or the music too loud.

Or maybe the girl is the wrong girl
, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered before he shut it out.

This is ridiculous
.

To say he had a healthy appetite for sex was an understatement. He was a highly sensual person and the physical expression of that sensuality was as fundamental to him as breathing. But lately, he found it hard to muster any enthusiasm for sex.

It wasn’t as if sex wasn’t on his mind. In fact, for the past several weeks, he couldn’t think about much else. But whenever he found himself engaged in the act, he lost focus, each anonymous encounter leaving him more unsatisfied than the last.

When he was in his studio, however, he was highly focused. A flood of inspiration had come to him recently. He worked with a fervor he hadn’t experienced in years. Piece after piece of new art filled his gallery. At this pace, he would have enough for a show in just a few weeks. He couldn’t understand how he could be so expressive when he was alone and so blocked when he was engaged with another person.

Nicolai shook his head and stared down at the woman beneath him. Unlike Jacques, she didn’t seem a bit concerned that his mind was elsewhere. His body was there and that seemed to satisfy her just fine. Perhaps if he closed his eyes.

Bad idea.

As soon as his lids shut, she appeared. Standing alone with her back to him, her figure was cloudy. His eyes tumbled over the dark mane that spilled to the small of her back. She was a perfect hourglass with a slim waist and a luscious heart-shaped backside. As her small hand danced between her palette and the canvas in front of her, her whole body moved with a silent, sensual rhythm.

But she was oblivious to him.

Didn’t she realize how enticing the gentle sway of her ass looked as she moved her brush? Couldn’t she appreciate how her delectable fragrance washed away even the acrid fumes from her paint? How could she not understand that the exquisite piece of art was not the painting she was creating, rather her own lovely form while she created it?

The animal inside of him raged to mark the woman in his mind. He wanted to see his seed splatter across her back. To smell the combined fragrance of her female musk and his essence. To leave her breathless and sated and fully aware that she belonged to no one but him.

Nicolai groaned and thrust into the bland heat surrounding his shaft. His hips moved faster as the hunger for the woman in his mind consumed him.

Turn around. Turn around. Turn around!

He came in hard, shuddering spasms as he strained to reach her.

When he opened his eyes, Jacques was staring up at him through spiky black hair, his hand wrapped around a breast to hold it up for his tongue. Tonight’s entertainment, whose name Nicolai couldn’t remember, lie spread eagle between them, her eyes glassy from pain and sex and lust.

As he slid from her body, he felt utterly alone. Felt the blackness on his soul left by this endless parade of nameless, faceless lovers.

Will I ever feel clean again?

Have I ever been?

His vision blurred as the walls seemed to close in on him and the mingling smell of three bodies choked off his air.

“I, I…” Nicolai flattened his palms against his temples and stepped back. “
Putain
! I can’t do this anymore.”

4

Playing with Fire

It was a
faux pas
. A huge
faux pas
.

Julianne tapped on the frosted glass. Piercing blue eyes shot to hers. The look practically knocked her off her feet and a forbidden thrill raced through her. Nicolai stalked to the door and yanked it open without speaking.

She wasn’t really interrupting him. She would never do that. The glass may be frosted, but not enough that she couldn’t see he was finished for the day. He would have ignored her anyway if he wasn’t.

Game on.
“Sir, I have a question.”

“Come with me,” Nicolai barked and proceeded to stomp toward the stairs.

Julianne snuck a peek at the perfect backside going up in front of her. Not very ladylike, but C
her Dieu, only divine talent could create that statuesque ass
.

Nicolai stopped in front of the walls of books in his office. “You,” he ran his finger along her jawbone, “are going to remove these and dust the shelves underneath.”

The simple touch did things to her. Warm, wonderful, wicked things.

Julianne lowered her head and the vixen rolled her eyes up at him. “Why, sir,” she said with a pout, knowing the reason full well and trying to put that spark in Nicolai's eyes.

“You know why, naughty girl.” He slid the ladder next to her and handed her a handkerchief. A hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

Bonne fête
. Nicolai definitely wanted to play. The small piece of fabric wouldn’t do much, but of course, cleaning wasn’t the point and the spark in Nicolai's eyes said so.

These little extracurriculars began innocently enough. Two weeks ago, Nicolai caught her staring instead of painting. As their eyes met, he moved toward her with purpose and a hint of menace. She’d always been fascinated by the authority he exuded with nothing more than a glance or a subtle movement, but that day, it was intentional.

When his face was mere inches from hers, he whispered, “If you stared at your canvas as intently as you stare at the air,
mademoiselle
, perhaps your art would be worthy of you.” The tone of voice alone almost brought her to her knees.

She spent the next hour standing between the glass doors, hands locked behind her back, legs spread, eyes on the floor. The symbolism of her positioning was not lost on her. It wasn’t exactly what she’d seen at the Dungeon, but it was deliciously close. With each passing minute, her awareness of Nicolai increased. Every movement. Every breath. Every look. As if invisible hands roamed her whole body, building a begging ache that sent her spinning.

When Nicolai touched her arms, she tensed and tried to pull away. His palms slid to her shoulders to hold her in place. “You are a delight, Julianne."

She basked in the praise as his fingertips trailed up and down her arms in sensual appreciation, but her frame remained stiff. As much as she wanted his hands on her, she couldn't let it happen.

Then he added, “But our relationship must remain professional. It can never be more than this.”

But she could let it happen like this.

She loosened beneath his hands as they continued their soft, slow progress over her shoulders and down her back. Before he allowed her to move away, he whispered, “You understand.”

She did.

It was an unspoken game. An excuse to interact on the fringe of their teacher/student roles without expressly crossing the line. There would never be anything overtly sexual between them, but the undercurrent when they played out these little lessons…sizzling.

As Julianne stepped onto the ladder, she gave Nicolai a perfect plaintive sigh.

Swat! His hand smacked her bottom.

She swallowed the giggle.

Easing back, Nicolai sank into his Eames lounger and locked his hands behind his head. A front row seat to the coming performance. He never left her alone with her punishments, rather stayed to watch with eyes that held a look more appropriate for a man watching a dancer wrapping herself around a pole.

Crazy sexy.
“Sir, there are a lot of shelves,” she said, already feeling the fire.

“One by one.”

Mmm
.
The voice
. If
the look
got Nicolai anything he wanted, it was nothing compared to
the voice
. There wasn't a woman alive who could resist that voice. It was like a palpable caress to every secret, feminine place.

Up and down. Up and down.

Bending, reaching, posing for her private audience of one. The fluttery feeling she got as she watched Nicolai out of the corner of her eye was dangerously tempting and unlike her, he wasn’t shy about looking. His wanton crystal stare followed each movement.

Up and down. Up and down.

The sensations heightened with every step, every subtle glance. The feel of cotton against her thighs and breasts, bare feet on wooden rungs and the secret wetness, thick and heated, between her thighs.

Up and down. Up and down.

Her muscles began to ache. Her skin grew moist. Her breath quickened. Not from the work. From the vulnerability of obeying whatever Nicolai commanded and the satisfaction of seeing those ocean eyes drinking it in as trembling hands removed and replaced each and every book.

When Julianne finished, Nicolai stepped toward her and took her by the elbow to help her down. His hand stayed put for a fraction of a second after her feet hit the floor.

It was always like that. A lingering stare. A prolonged touch. A proximity just tight enough to feel the heat and then nothing. Only a hint of something that would never be more.

Safe, distant and oh, so titillating.

Nicolai had his reasons for not crossing the line and she had hers. She could play with fire in the private world of his studio, but in real life, the Colonel made the rules and his punishments were not games.

*****

“Is the rope too tight?”

The little blonde swaying in front of him answered tightly, “No, sir.”

The title made Jerard uncomfortable, but he knew better than to show it. Zachery wouldn’t approve. He'd spent the last couple of weeks training at the Dungeon with Master Zachary. Zachary lectured his trainees for hours. For him, the idea behind an action was as important, if not more important, than the action itself. He could hear Zachery’s words in his head.
Power over another, freely given, is a gift and a great responsibility. Never desecrate it with weakness
.

From Zachery’s perspective, the Dom/sub relationship was about so much more than sex. Jerard wasn’t sure he agreed, but wouldn’t consider insulting his teacher by not following his protocols. He respected Zachary. Tried to emulate everything about him. His mannerisms, his dress, his speech. Hell, he tried to be him. Apparently, he was succeeding pretty well. The sex was great and Zachery joked about the fact that the subs started asking for him by name.

Tonight’s lesson was about suspension bondage and of course, Zachary didn’t stick to the practical how-to’s. History, symbolism, artistry, spirituality, Zachary’s passion for
shibari
was infectious. Who knew there could be so much involved in tying another person up? But quite frankly, Jerard was more concerned with safety as he eyed the distance between the dangling woman and the concrete floor. He double-checked her binds while Zachary observed.

“Look at her ankle,” the experienced Dom instructed.

The rope had twisted and was cutting into her skin. Jerard adjusted it quickly, embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed the tangle himself. He gave Zachery a sidelong glance as he moved on to the next couple.

When they finished the session, Zachary pulled him aside and casually asked to join him for a drink. Jerard tensed. The question didn’t feel casual. The session had gone well, but not perfectly.

“Have I disappointed you?” he asked, feeling suddenly unsure.

“No. We’ve been working together for a while. I just want to get to know you a little better.”

The look on Zachery’s face told him that there was more to it than the words let on. This was not going to be an easy conversation.

Jerard carefully untied his companion. Making Zachery wait made him feel ill at ease, but Zachery would have to understand. He took aftercare very seriously and had to be absolutely sure his partner was okay before he let her go. At Zachary’s direction, he’d been pretty hard on her. He was a bit shaken himself.

The Dungeon was empty except for a few staff setting up for the evening when Jerard took a seat next to Zachary in the Back Keep. The place looked so strange with the lights on. Like it didn’t know what to be.

Dolly, the bartender, set down their drinks. A trail of smoke from her cigarette trailed behind her as she sauntered away. In the light, Jerard noticed the circles under her heavily lined eyes, the fact that her hair was a bit too black and her clothes, a bit too tight. He thought to himself that some things were better left in the dark.

Definitely better in the dark.

There was a moment of silence between them, then Zachary said, “Tell me what brought you to this lifestyle, Jerard.”

Merde
.

He hadn’t told Zachary about Julianne. Zachary told each new trainee on Beginners Night that they were about to embark on a journey of self-discovery. The idea that Jerard began all this for someone else’s benefit went against Zachary’s whole philosophy.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy what Zachary showed him. Despite a few initial doubts, he felt comfortable in this lifestyle. Much more than he expected. He didn’t quite take it to the same spiritual level that Zachary did, but he was committed. He decided to omit any mention of Julianne and focus on his own experience since coming to the Dungeon.

Their conversation was long and detailed.

When he finished, Zachery questioned him. “The fact that you’re suited to this lifestyle is clear to me, Jerard. I know you fashion yourself a Dominant, but are you sure that is all you are?”

“Yes,” Jerard replied immediately, but the word somehow felt like a lie when he said it to Zachary.

Zachary leaned back in his chair as if to take the full measure of him. “And your own submission holds no fascination for you?” he mused, the nonchalance of his tone contrasting dramatically with the intense expression on his face.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Jerard could see the invitation in Zachery’s eyes and feel the pull of his sex appeal, which was surprisingly tempting, but he could never submit to another person, no less a man. Subs had a luxury that he didn’t. Subs could be vulnerable. Where he came from, survival meant taking care of yourself. Relying on someone else was suicide.

Zachary increased the tension and said what he meant directly, “I want you to try the role of a sub, Jerard.”

Desire stirred deep inside of him, shocking him. The switch in his emotions was like a slap shoving him away from his carefully crafted self-image toward an unexplored side of his sexuality. As his emotions toyed with him, his voice failed.

At first, he thought to deny Zachery. Show some street kid bravado and flip him off. Instead, he laid himself bare. He told Zachery about Julianne and what he wanted for her. He admitted that he often felt vulnerable even though he didn’t feel comfortable showing it. He explained that he fantasized about the things he never had growing up, like someone to take care of him, someone to protect him. But in the end, he couldn’t admit out loud that what Zachery proposed fascinated him.

Zachary didn’t push, only continued in his lecture voice. “Sometimes the line between dominance and submission isn’t fixed. Everyone has their own definition of how these two concepts work with their sexuality. Society forces us into certain roles. We all wear masks. But to find happiness in this life, we have to find the courage to take off the mask and be the person we are meant to be.”

Jerard searched Zachery’s eyes, his brain still scrambled by his reaction to Zachary’s suggestion, and watched as the neutral face of his teacher vanished, replaced by the countenance of a true Master.

“You are not what you think you are, Jerard,” Zachary declared, his voice full of authority now. “You don’t trust me enough to let me take you beyond your limitations. Someday, you will find someone who will. Of that, I am quite sure.”

Zachary stood to leave without any expectation of a reply, but as he came around the table, he leaned over and drawing near to Jerard’s ear, murmured, “Pity, it’s not me. If you change your mind, just say the word and I will take you there.”

Zachery backed away without another glance. Jerard felt himself stiffen as he envisioned submitting to Zachery. He raised his hand to summon Dolly. He needed another drink.

Made that a double
.

*****

“Oh, my God. He’s here."

Julianne looked terrified as she rushed into his office like there was an axe murderer behind her.