The Maestro's Butterfly (13 page)

“Very good,” he said. “You please me, butterfly.” He removed his fingers and patted her sensitive bottom, nearly making her yelp. “Up,” he said.

She obeyed quickly this time, wiping at her moist eyes and tugging up her underwear, frantic in case someone saw.

“Ah-ah,” he said, and herded her over to the edge of the dining room table. She felt horrified, but didn’t protest as he bent her over, even when she heard the jingle of his belt buckle and became afraid that he might whip her. She tried to tell herself this was what she had always wanted, but that didn’t keep her hands from going clammy 92

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and trembling.

The next moment she felt his fingers between her legs, probing at the soft folds, penetrating her. He worked them in and out, and then painted a slick trail up to her anus. She gasped, trembling from relief and disappointment, as well as shock. “No,”

she breathed. “Don’t...”

“Shh.” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

The sound of his voice was enough to stop her protests. He pressed at the tight little opening of her ass with his finger. Instinctively, she tried to get away when he slipped it inside of her, but there was nowhere to go. She whimpered and felt frightened tears moisten her eyes. “Relax,” he cooed. “You will enjoy this.”

He slipped his finger farther in, massaging the opening. “Think about the sensation,” he said. “Not your fears.” She nodded and tried to breathe normally.

“Claudio—” she squeaked.

“Shh.” he said, and slipped in a second finger, stretching her, calming her whimpers with soft noises. “I will take care of you. Don’t be afraid.”

As Claudio worked, Miranda’s frightened whimpers became little groans of pleasure. She flattened her cheek against the cold surface of the table and let her vision blur, no longer caring if someone came in and saw her like this. Only Claudio’s ministrations mattered. Then it stopped, and he thrust his erection into her vagina, which robbed her of her breath. She hadn’t been expecting it. As quickly as he had filled her, though, he pulled out and began pressing at her other opening with the slick head of his cock.

Again, she whimpered. “Shh.” he said, pressing harder. “Relax for me.”

This is it,
she thought for some reason, thinking of the night he had penetrated her with his fangs, claiming her as his own. She pushed that idea aside. After all, she wasn’t really his yet. She hadn’t agreed to stay. Her month wasn’t up. She still had the power to leave.

Claudio penetrated her, making her gasp loudly.

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Or did she? Miranda certainly felt as though she belonged to this Frenchman as he pushed deeper and deeper into her very bowels. She thought of swords and death and the finality of it all. Maybe sex with a vampire was something just as final. Maybe the death portrayed in the movies was a metaphor for this. She had handed herself over to Claudio du Fresne, and now there was no escape.

The thought made her wetter. A little trickle ran down her thigh as he penetrated her. Her breaths were ragged, as he gave her a burning pleasure-pain that made her feel as though she were dying again, hitting the spots that Adam had made sore. He was killing her repeatedly, killing something that she was, transforming her into a new creature. And at this moment, all she wanted was to make a gift to him of her gasping.

He shoved his erection up inside of her, even deeper, stretching her until she couldn’t even gasp. She lay there open-mouthed, submitting to him with everything she had, listening to his grunts of pleasure, feeling his hands gripping her bare hips, holding her in place. She pictured the hair playing about his face. She pictured him beautiful and intimidating on stage, his graceful movements, those deep, uncompromising black orbs.

He pulled her against him and gave a deeper, drawn-out groan, and Miranda knew he had come. She wondered vaguely whether it would make her messy later as his juices decided to ooze out during his brother’s performance. She decided she didn’t care about that either. She wished she could stay here all evening.

“Victoire is like me in some ways,” Claudio said over dinner at The Olive Garden. “Yet not as handsome, no?”

Miranda had chosen this place when Claudio asked where she would like to go before the performance. He had ordered the best dry cabernet he could find on the menu, and pasta dishes for both of them, much to Miranda’s surprise. Even now, she watched as he took a bite of sausage from his meal.

“I can tell he’s your brother, now that I know,” she said, stroking her own nose 94

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with the tip of her finger. She stopped in mid-gesture, distracted by what she saw.

“You’re eating.”

“I still enjoy the taste of food,” he said. “Unlike Adam, who abhors it now. But I can get nothing from it except a momentary pleasure.”

“It doesn’t fill you up?” Miranda asked.

“It doesn’t feed me. Imagine if you tried to survive on wine alone. For a while, yes. Then, sickness and death. But there are more pleasant things to discuss, yes?”

Miranda nodded. She felt oddly calm after her being spanked and anally penetrated by Claudio in the dining room. For some reason, it had given her a feeling of belonging. She liked it, though her goal of enjoying a fling with Claudio and then returning to her apartment as winner of their bet still tickled at the base of her brain.

She pushed it aside for now. This was so nice.

“The dress is lovely on you,” he said.

Miranda blushed and glanced down at her scant cleavage, which the dress accentuated beautifully. It was long and blue, with spaghetti straps that showed off her shoulders and neck as well, and was part of the wardrobe he had purchased for her soon after her arrival.

“It does beautiful things for your eyes.”

“Thank you,” she said. Claudio didn’t look bad himself. He had worn a black suit, with a black shirt beneath, tieless and open at the throat. He wore it effortlessly.

“We’re black and blue tonight,” she said, trying very hard to grin so she wouldn’t turn into an annoying schoolgirl.

Claudio smiled. “These are very good colors together,” he said. “Especially if they come as the result of great pleasure.”

She stared into her plate, looking for something to take her mind off the fact that she felt self-conscious again. She missed her self-righteous anger. Was this what it felt like to be seduced? “We’re—we’re supposed to be talking about your brother.”

“Victoire.”

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She nodded. “Victoire. He’s—did he become—” She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “A vampire…at the same time you did?”

Claudio shook his head, but was interrupted by the approach of a well-groomed woman who looked to be in her fifties. She had a friend with her.

“Maestro du Fresne!” she said. “It
is
you. I was just telling my friend Delores that it had to be. We go to all of your performances. I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner,” she said, with a quick smile in Miranda’s direction.

Claudio stood and turned on the charm. When the woman extended her hand, he took it and, with a slight bow, kissed the knuckles. “It is always a pleasure to converse with a woman as lovely as you, my dear. You don’t interrupt me.”

When he let go, she turned to her friend with her hand pressed to her chest. The friend eagerly extended her hand as well. He took it, and lingered even longer.

If these two could have seen him fucking me senseless an hour and a half ago,
they would have passed out,
Miranda thought. She wasn’t quite quick enough to stifle a giggle, but took a sip from her glass in an attempt to cover it up. “Sorry,” she said when people turned to her, and tried to smile.

“We just wanted to say hello,” the woman said again. “We can’t wait to see what you have planned for the November show.”

“It’s your birthday show, isn’t it?” the friend said.

“That is correct,” he said. “November 7.”

“Scorpio,” the first woman said, turning briefly to her friend. “You know what they say about Scorpios.”

“It is all true,” he said. “The show will be different. More evocative than what is usually at this theatre.”

“Sexual?” the friend said, her eyes wide and conspiratorial.

“Delores!” the first woman said.

“Well,” Delores answered. “I’m only inquiring.”

“Would you like that?” Claudio asked.

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Delores nodded.

“Then you will get your wish,” he said.

“We’ll be there,” the first woman said, turning to leave, then returning to tug at Delores, who was rooted to the spot.

When they were gone, Miranda snorted with laughter, not caring if Claudio saw. “Oh my God,” she said. “Those poor women. I had no idea my kidnapper was a celebrity. Do you get that all the time?”

With a shrug, he tilted his head and lowered his eyelids in an expression that said, “What can I do?”

“Does Victoire have as many fangirls?”

“He is my brother,” he said. “But you asked a question.”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot what it was. Something about—him changing or—”

“You wanted to know if he became as he is at the same time that I did.”

“Right. Did you?”

“He changed much later. I had disappeared from sight. He thought I was dead.

Years later, he received word I was alive and came to look for me. Of course, his search brought him into contact with vampires. The rest, as they say—” He made a gesture with his hand.

“He’s a performer,” she said, suddenly starving. “It must run in the family,” she said before twirling a couple of strands of fettuccini and trying to get it into her mouth without looking obscene.

“The du Fresne blood is full of ego,” Claudio said with a grin, taking a sip of his wine.

God, he’s beautiful,
she thought as his silver rings caught the light. Then she moved the pasta on her plate around as she chewed so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Is he as...insatiable...as you?” she finally asked, venturing another glance.

“You would like to find out, yes?” he asked.

She froze, and nearly dropped her jaw mid-chew. Miranda blushed again and 96

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became extremely interested in the contents of her plate, fuming that he could make her lose her composure, while he was sitting there with a smug grin.

“Don’t act so modest,” Claudio said. “I know you have experienced Seth. And soon, Adam. It happens with everyone. It will be your purpose as my slave.”

“Slave?” she nearly whispered the word. It sent shards of ice all over her body.

“You will belong to me. You will feed us, all of us, and satisfy our desires. What would you call it?”

“I’m not going to be your slave,” she said.

“No?” he asked, and left it at that.

Le Chat Noir was a small independent theatre on the corner of Eighth and Ellis in the darker part of downtown Augusta, about a block off Broad Street. It was an area where the goths and other forgotten children of the city had once played. Now it was the territory of actors.

Miranda was well-acquainted with the area. Her stomach fluttered as she considered the possibility of meeting someone she knew. Claudio parked a half-block away from the little yellow building with the black cat T-shirts hanging in the window.

“Stay,” he commanded gently when she moved to get out of the car, so she waited, warmed by the order while tendrils of anger rose from her gut. She couldn’t be his slave. She wouldn’t. That would be ridiculous.
But you want it,
a small voice said inside her head. She told it to shut up.

Claudio opened the sedan door and offered his hand. She glared at him for a moment before taking it. He didn’t seem to notice her shift in mood. Something nagged her that it might be because he was used to it, and hundreds of years of experience told him she was on the brink of giving in. Maybe she had already given in and didn’t know it yet. She decided that he probably knew her better than she knew herself, and that scared her.

When he closed the car door and offered his arm, she took it without looking at 98

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him. Yet here and there, theatre patrons checked them out—men nodding in deference to him or eyeing him warily, the women smiling a welcome to him, glancing at her—

some dismissively, some hopefully. One young man looked her over appreciatively and smiled, only to glance nervously at Claudio and speed up his footsteps.

I’m with
him,
she thought, and swelled with pride, then admonished herself for being as big a fangirl as the women at the restaurant. As if this weren’t intense enough, she was about to become acquainted with yet another du Fresne.
The man in the
pinstriped suit,
she thought, and shivered.

The lobby of the theatre was an elegant little bar with a funky, crooked mirror.

It made her think of
Alice in Wonderland.
Stemware shimmered in the atmospheric lighting. “Claudio!” someone called. Miranda looked up to see an elegant older gentleman with a quiet face making his way over.

“Richard, it is so nice to see you,” Claudio said with a bow of the head.

“What’s going on?” the other man asked.

“My brother is performing here tonight.”

“Oh right, the Jack show. I can see the resemblance. He doesn’t have a French accent, though.”

“He has always wanted to be an American,” Claudio said, with a charming smile. “Do you know Miranda?”

Richard reached out to shake her hand. “Yes, I think I have seen you. You play guitar, don’t you? I’ve seen you in a couple places around town. How is that going?”

“Great,” she said. “Claudio is my teacher. I’m—”

For a moment, she thought about saying, “I’m being held prisoner at his house,”

but when she opened her mouth, that isn’t what came out.

“I’m taking an intensive workshop from him. I was going to do some traveling until Thanksgiving, but the workshop seemed like a more fun thing to do.”

Claudio shot her a look of surprised approval.

“That’s good,” Richard said, just in time for two other men to come over with 98

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their greetings.

“Claudio, it’s good to see you. I hear Jack is your brother?”