Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3)

Her hot tears wet his fingers, sliding between them. Her body shook, her fiery hair making a halo around her beautifully familiar features. “I am not for you, and you are not for me,” he said in a softer voice. “This is something we’ve both known from the start.”

“That’s not true,” she forced out past his fingers.

He let her go and turned away, and picked up her sketchbook from the table where she’d placed it. “Look,” he said, leafing through the pages. “This is who you are with me.” He gestured around at the explosion of art cluttering her apartment. “This is who you are without me.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care. I do.”

She put her hand over her lips, right where his fingers had been, and sat on the edge of her couch. “Who will I be with now?”

“You don’t have to be with anyone.” His voice betrayed more jealous anger than he wished. “Why not be with yourself for a while? You don’t have to sleep with every single man in the world—”

“I don’t,” she yelled at him. “That was always your take on things, but I’m selective.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “I’m not certain you understand what the word ‘selective’ means.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, visibly fuming. By some miracle of control, perhaps the control he’d taught her, she managed to keep any further retorts inside. He could leave now. She had clearly unattached herself from his mastery, if she’d screech at him like this. She was back to her old self, voluptuous in emotion. She would obviously be okay...but he hated to leave things in a spat.

He sat beside her and took her hand, and put his other arm around her, holding her close. “It will be okay, you’ll see. You won’t miss me.”

“I will,” she bawled, turning her head into his chest. “I miss you so much already. I’ll never survive.”

“You will.”

“How? I’m falling apart and it’s only been an hour since you let me go.”

“The first hour is the hardest.”

She sobbed harder. “This isn’t funny. This isn’t a joke.”

“Of course it isn’t. None of this has been a joke to me.” He let go of her hand to wipe away her tears and brush her hair back off her face. “I’m so glad to see you this way, because it means I didn’t do any lasting damage. You’re the exact same Valentina you were thirty days ago.”

“That’s not a good thing.” She shook her head, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t like being this way.”

“But the world needs you this way.” He stood up and crossed to her portrait, with the candy and leaf-ribbon hair. “You see how beautiful you are.” He touched some swirls and dots around the border. “I wish I could have this to remember you by.”

They were fatal words. A fatal mistake, as much as he meant them. He did want her. He would not have her, but he wanted something of her.

In that moment, he wanted her portrait more than life itself.

“Can I have it?” he asked, turning back to her. “Then it can be finished, no? If I take it away?”

She stared at him and he thought, in that gold-hazel gaze, that she could see everything inside him. Everything that made him powerful and everything that made him weak. She was still angry with him, still in her mood. She lifted her chin and said, “You can have it, yes, but only if you sleep beside me all night. Not just sleep beside me. You have to hold me against you, in your arms, all night long.”

He narrowed his eyes. The little bitch had gone right for the center of his terror, poking at the tender, roiling spot that frightened him the most. “I sleep in my own bed. Alone.”

“Then you can’t have it.”

Now he was the one to cross his arms over his chest. “Why would you want that? It’s uncomfortable to sleep beside someone.”

“I want it. I want to know how it feels.”

“You’ll be asleep through most of it.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll stay up all night so I don’t miss a moment.”

“And I suppose you’ll talk at me all night, and keep me up, and expect all kinds of flirtation and affection and half-drowsy sex acts until we wake in the morning and find we’ve fallen in love?”

“No. I just want to sleep beside you for one night.”

His jaw worked. Damn her. He could walk away now. He could leave her portrait behind. Hell, he’d stared at it long enough that he could recreate his own approximation. Grab some leaves and cellophane and candy and some brightly colored paints and throw them at a canvas until they took on Valentina’s form.

“I snore,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter. I told you, I’m not going to sleep.”

Damn her. “Okay. One night.”

“In your arms.”

“In my arms. How charming. But I can touch you wherever I like and fuck you if I feel like it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course you can. Those rules will stand for as long as I live.”

He’d barely gotten over the fact that she rolled her eyes at him when he realized the message in her words. She was still his. She intended to remain his forever, willing and available for his needs. This detachment wasn’t working. Somewhere along the line, he’d lost control of her.

He’d lost control of himself.

“It’s late,” he said, hiding his misgivings in a gruff, impatient tone. “If you want to cuddle in bed, let’s cuddle in bed.”

He stalked into her bedroom and undressed. She undressed too, watching him like he might go back on their deal and leave. But no, he was staying. All she’d specified was that he had to hold her, so he could do it any way he wanted. Grudgingly, stiffly, with tension and detachment. “Which side do you want me on, Mistress?” he asked, taking in her narrow bed. He’d barely fit in it himself, much less with her beside him.

Indignation colored her cheeks. “Why ‘Mistress’? Am I forcing you to do anything? You wanted the painting and this is my price. Artists deserve to be compensated. You of all people should know that.”

He grabbed her and pulled her over his lap, and started walloping her bottom in an impromptu spanking she very much deserved.

“Wait— Hey!” She flailed, trying to escape him. “You can’t do this. You’re not my Master anymore.”

“I’m giving you this spanking as an irritated friend. Be still.”

She was not still. She kicked and complained that the spanking was unfair, but it seemed totally fair to him and so he spanked her ass cheeks until they were scarlet and until she drooped in capitulation across his thighs.

“There,” he said with one final stinger. “I’ll sleep much better now.”

He let her up and she backed away, rubbing her bottom. “Why did you do that?”

“You said I could touch you wherever I liked. Get into bed.”

He’d gone rock hard from spanking her, and now he wanted her. As soon as she crawled in next to him, he turned and spread her legs open with his knees, grasping her heated ass cheeks in his palms. Her sniffling complaints disappeared the moment he pressed inside her. Fucking her was like being stimulated from the inside. She was so tight, so electric. She reacted with her entire being, whether you were hurting her or trying to make her feel better than she’d ever felt in her life.

Ah, he would miss those reactions.

He held her tight and thrust into her, fucking her for his pleasure, knowing the more selfishly he acted, the more it would feed her submissive needs. She struggled beneath him, his inextinguishable flame. Within minutes, he could feel her climax unfolding.

He knew it not only from her cries and the rhythmic clenching of her pussy, but from the way she practically levitated from the bed. He’d done so many scenes with her, planned, careful, controlled scenes, but he’d rarely indulged in the simple pleasure of throwing her down and fucking her. He was glad he’d thought to do it now. Some elemental, Neanderthal exhilaration built in the base of his cock, setting off jolts of sharp pleasure in h

is balls and thighs. He pumped his orgasm into her with growling satisfaction.

After a few moments, she wrestled her way from under him. She said she had to go clean up but he knew she just wanted to go to the bathroom and look at her red, hand-printed ass in the mirror.

“Viens,” he bellowed from the bed. “Tu me rends fou.”

She poked her head out the door. “What does that mean?”

“It means get your ass into bed right now. My spanking hand is twitching.”

She hurried to the bed, mumbling something like Does it ever stop? She had better take care. He’d be only too happy to spank and fuck her in alternation all night long.

She slipped under the covers beside him, smelling sweet and feminine, and gave a sleepy sigh. “Mr. Lemaitre,” she began.

“Shh.”

“Monsieur—”

“No.” He put a finger over her lips. “No talking. Lie in my arms and be still.” He gathered her close, then closer, aligning her body to his. When had he last slept against another warm body? Never. Perhaps as a child, before he went into foster homes. From a very young age, he couldn’t bear to have people near him when he slept.

There was something very cozy about it, certainly. She felt soft and warm curled against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. One of her hands crept up to his shoulder and rested there. It felt alien to him, like a bird perched there, a dove or pigeon. While he lay trying to figure out how he felt about all this, Valentina grew very still in his arms. He could feel her relax, slowly, incrementally. She was drifting to sleep.

Up all night, indeed.