Bound in Blue (Cirque Masters 2)

With a rough movement, he tumbled her sideways, still fucking her. He hit her clit with every stroke then, excruciating pleasure building to a peak. “Oh God, oh God!” She was getting really loud now but she couldn’t help it. She was too far gone to obey. He pressed a hand over her mouth, then took off the nipple clamps one after the other so sensation flooded back into her breasts.

That was the end of it for her. Every nerve in her body fired a delicious release. Her limbs trembled uncontrollably as she gasped against his palm. He pounded into her, driving her into the bed, filling her with his power and his raw sexuality. Her angel, her devil, her tormentor, her savior, her guide, her teacher. Her lover.

Her Master.

* * * * *

Jason drifted, basking in her, inhaling her flowery, feminine scent.

He moved his hand so she could draw breath again, and stared down at her flickering eyelids. She was either resting, sleeping, or passed out. “Sara,” he whispered, and her eyes came open.

“Yes, Master?” she asked, even though she looked exhausted. So submissive, so willing. Such a treasure. There were two kinds of “slave” girls. The first only pretended to serve, while balking at anything they didn’t want to do, anything that didn’t bring them pleasure. The second kind truly believed in serving, in giving themselves up to Master’s will. The first kind didn’t last long in the kink scene at the Cirque, even the drop-dead gorgeous ones. The second kind...well. D-types fought over them.

No one’s getting you, he thought, staring down at her. No one but me.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

He chuckled, softening his expression, and got up to throw away his condom. “I was just thinking that I need a cage for you. Somewhere to keep you so you can never get away, and so no one else can ever steal you.”

She laughed, a cute, nervous laugh that told him she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

“I like cages,” he clarified, returning to the bed, “but I won’t ever put you in one without your permission. Well, without your consent.”

“Aren’t permission and consent the same thing?”

Jason sprawled beside her and unbuckled the belt binding her hands. “They’re kind of the same thing, but kind of not. I don’t like to ask women for permission to do the things I do to them, but I like to have their consent. Does that make sense?”

She stretched her arms and rubbed her wrists. Jason checked them to be sure there weren’t any abrasions. When he finished he brought them to his lips. “Did you like what we just did, or was it too hard for you?”

She squirmed under his regard. “Well…did you like it?”

“I didn’t ask if I liked it. I asked if you liked it. And tell the truth.” He brushed a finger across her lips. “Never lie to Master.”

She was quiet for a long time, so long he got nervous. Then she said, “I liked everything about today. Going to Cirque du Monde, meeting Theo and Mr. Lemaitre, going to the show, going for drinks with you. And coming here to your place...I liked that most of all. But I’m afraid.” Her smile faded and her eyes went dark. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream.”

“It’s not a dream.”

Tension wrinkled her brow. “If Mr. Lemaitre finds out we’re doing this, will he fire me?”

Jason kissed the lines away and rolled onto his back. “No, he’ll fire me. But if I begged hard enough he’d probably hire me back. Lemaitre understands passion, sweet pea. I’ll give the man that.”

“You’ll give him...a sweet pea?”

“No, I called you a sweet pea. It’s a kind of flower. And when I said I’ll give the man that... Look, never mind. Don’t worry about anything.” He brushed back a lock of her dark hair. “You look tired. How about a shower?”

“Mm. Probably. I drooled on myself.”

“Which was ball-numbingly hot.”

“Ball-numbingly hot?”

“Very, very hot,” he amended. “You’ll never understand how hot. But it’s late and you’re probably still fighting jet lag.”

They showered together in his chipped, claw-footed tub, and then he toweled her off, thinking how lovely she was. Lovely hips, lovely breasts, lovely exotic features and a stunning smile. Twenty-two. A mere baby. He was twelve years older. Twelve years older. He would master her as long as she wanted to be mastered, but if she decided she wanted someone younger, someone closer to her age, he’d let her go.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his face. “You’re frowning.”

He forced a smile. “Just afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream.” He took her to his bed, naked, the way a slave ought to be, and stayed up long after her eyes closed, watching her lashes flutter against her cheek.

Chapter Six: Stay

Jason woke in the morning to the sound of pounding. The front door? Sara sighed and stirred beside him.

“Don’t get up,” he said when her eyes blinked open. “Stay here.”

He threw on sweats and a tee and padded down the stairs, wondering who’d be knocking at eight in the morning. He didn’t have any work appointments until ten. When he flung open the door, Michel Lemaitre pushed Jason aside and strode into his living room. “Sara is missing,” he said. “No one can find her. She hasn’t been back to her dorm all night.”

Well, this was a fucking situation. Lemaitre crossed to the window, his lips compressed in a line.

“She’s not missing,” said Jason. “She’s asleep upstairs.”

Lemaitre turned back to him and stared. He knew this house, because he’d sold it to Jason a few years ago. He kn

ew “upstairs” meant Sara was in his bedroom.

“And why is Sara asleep upstairs?” he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

Because I got to her first, you horny lecher. Sara was twelve years younger than him; that meant she was twenty-two years younger than Lemaitre. “Keep your voice down, okay? We were out late. I took her to see Tsilaosa.”

“And then what?”

Jason headed to the kitchen. He needed coffee for this conversation. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“I’m sure I want to know.” Lemaitre’s voice sounded cold as ice. “I don’t know what disturbs me more, that my most rigidly proper director is breaking the rules, or that he’s breaking them with a woman who’s been here for one day. One day, Jason.”

Once Jason had the coffee brewing, he crossed to sit in the chair nearest Lemaitre, considering his options. He could lie to his boss, but lies were hard to keep track of. He could refuse to explain, which would probably cost him his job. Or he could tell the truth, which Lemaitre would eventually figure out anyway.

“Before I say anything, I want your word that you won’t treat Sara any differently after you hear what I say.”

Lemaitre narrowed his eyes. “Dieu, such drama.”

“I want your word.”

He threw up his hands. “Yes, you have my word, although I doubt this is her doing.”

Jason paused, sinking back in his chair. “My first night in Ulaanbaatar, I went downtown to check out a BDSM club. That’s where Sara and I met.”

Lemaitre’s eyes went from narrow to wide. “There’s a BDSM club in Mongolia?”

“Yes, they have them everywhere. You of all people should know,” Jason replied with an edge of sarcasm. “And it wasn’t so much a club as a brothel. You know, girls dancing in cages, and private rooms available for the right price.”

The older man’s jaw worked. “What was Sara doing there?”

“Waiting tables in skimpy lingerie, serving drinks to horny, kinky men.”