Bound in Blue (Cirque Masters 2)

“Oh, please,” she whispered. “Please, Master.”

Fuck boundaries. They were obviously incapable of boundaries. “Naughty girl,” he said, nudging her legs open. “What did I tell you to do?”

“You said to lie down and...and close my eyes.”

He kissed her hard, a first kiss, a demanding kiss as he stroked her pussy through the barrier of her jeans. No, it wouldn’t do. He needed more. He needed all of her, right now. He yanked at his button and zipper, pushing off his pants. He turned to her next, stripping her naked. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Even more beautiful, because this time he wouldn’t have to let her go. “Close your eyes,” he said when their gazes locked. “Be a good slave.”

He got up and crossed to his luggage for a condom. He wanted her mouth, had dreamed of her Cupid’s-bow mouth since the moment he met her. He needed that mouth, and now seemed like a good time to take it. Her chest rose and fell as he rolled on the condom. He grabbed the headboard and knelt over her, trapping her shoulders between his knees. “Eyes closed, mouth open, little slave. Open wide.”

She obeyed with a sob, and stuck out her sweet pink tongue. He almost came right then, because she was so eager, so willing. He shoved himself between her lips, not politely or tentatively, but with the authority of an owner. He owned this mouth. She offered it to him with no compunction. He didn’t stop sliding forward until she gagged. Her hands flew up and he grabbed them.

“Okay. I know.” He eased back and then forward again, penetrating her slowly, watching her lips stretch wide to accommodate him. He wanted to bury himself in her throat, but he controlled himself. Time for that later. Time for so many things. She moaned as she took him as deep as she could, then he pushed himself a little deeper. She gagged again, tears squeezing from beneath her closed eyes.

“What a good girl,” he gasped. “Jesus fucking God.” He pulled out of her mouth because he’d come in five seconds if he didn’t. He slid down her body, tugging at his cock, anxious to be inside her. He grabbed her hands and held them above her head, and pressed inside her tight pussy, inch by inch.

He belonged there. She was his. He fucked her with quick, hard strokes, bearing her body down into the bed. “You see, you don’t have to explain anything. It’s because of this, yes?”

“Yes, Master,” she gasped.

“Because your body was made for me. Because your pussy is mine, and that beautiful little mouth. Every part of you, all made for Master’s cock. Lie down and close your eyes, and be mine, little girl.”

“Yes, Master, I’m yours. I want to be yours.”

There was no wanting about it. She just was. He kissed her again, thrusting inside her, controlling the movements of her hips. Within seconds he could feel her coming, her pussy clamping hard and rhythmically around his length. He emptied himself inside her, letting her orgasm milk him dry. As he came back to earth from wherever he’d gone, he could feel her fingernails embedded in the backs of his hands. Slowly, as they rested together, her fingers opened.

He subdued the urge to make some crack, to diffuse the frightening power between them. Jesus, that was crazy. What the hell was that? What’s going on? At some point they’d figure out what was going on, but he knew that no woman, no submissive, had ever affected him like she did. In the end, all he said was, “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. Her breathing was light and slow. “Yes, you should rest,” he whispered. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

He covered her with the blankets and brushed a kiss across her forehead, and let his exhausted slave sleep.

Chapter Four: Flight

Sara woke in the dim hotel room and looked across at an empty pillow. She bolted up in the bed, holding the sheets to her chest. Where was he? Had he left her?

No, Jason Beck was there, near the window, at a small table. He smiled at her and she felt sheepish for her panic, then a flush burned over her face as she remembered the heated intimacy of the night before. Eyes closed, mouth open, little slave…

“Good morning, Sara.” His intent expression told her that he remembered too. He gestured to the paper bag in front of him. “I ordered some breakfast, if you’d like to get up and eat something. We should probably leave for the airport by noon.”

She didn’t know what was in the bag, only knew she was starved. She pushed her hair back, wincing as tangles caught on her fingers. She must look like hell. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

His laugh was low and rumbling. “You needed sleep. I’m jetlagged, so I’ve been up for a while.”

He looked fresh and groomed, from his damp, shoulder-length hair all the way down to his weathered boots. He wore dark jeans and a beige, marled sweater that complemented the earth tones of his hair. She used to think Baat was tall, but Jason was taller. Even sitting in the chair, he looked rugged and long-limbed. He stuck his legs out and flexed them, then crossed them at the ankle.

She felt suddenly, inexplicably shy. He’d fucked her now—twice. Not just fucked her but broken her down into a quivering pile of slave girl, and now he sat across from her with such casual ease while she was freaking out inside.

She went into the shabby hotel bathroom and did her best to fix her appearance. She brushed her teeth and showered, but she had to put on the same clothes she’d worn the day before. Baat would have suspected if she’d packed a suitcase. How had it come to this? She’d been living like a vagabond ever since her parents died, ever since her safety net disappeared. She wanted security and safety more than anything in the world. Jason said the Cirque would take care of her, that they’d take care of everything.

She hoped it was true.

When she came out of the bathroom, he crossed to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “How are you feeling this morning? Okay?”

“Yes, okay.” She nodded, searching his eyes. What would happen now? What would happen when they got to Paris? Would he be her lover? Her Master?

“This is all pretty crazy, huh?” he asked.

She swallowed and nodded her head. “Crazy in a good way.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, then his lips were on hers. Warm, soft, encompassing. His hands traveled over her, tracing her hips, her ass, before wandering up to clasp her shoulders. His kiss felt rough but gentle, the experience punctuated by occasional tugs of her hair. This meant something, surely, this heated embrace, this kiss. He wouldn’t do this if he meant to dump her once they got to Paris. They had something more going on. Didn’t they?

He pulled away, but she still clung to him, unbalanced. His sweater felt soft under her fingers. “I like you,” she whispered in the understatement of the year.

“I like you too,” he said, smoothing back her hair. “I’m excited you’re coming to Paris. I hope, when we’re there...”

He left the suggestion trailing and she picked it up with an avid nod. “I would love to spend more time with you. We can do whatever you like.”

He made a teasing, warning sound. “You should probably figure out what I like before you offer me whatever I like.”

“I only meant that I was open to exploring…you know…some kind of relationship between us.” She didn’t know if she’d said too much, or not enough. Her English was pretty good, but she’d never engaged in these kinds of negotiations.

To her relief, Jason smiled and kissed her again. “There will definitely be ‘some kind of relationship’ between you and me. But for a while...in the beginning...” He paused, his smile fading. “In the beginning, we’ll need to be discreet. My behavior toward you would be considered unprofessional by the people I work with. Inappropriate, really. It’s best if you don’t tell anyone how we met.”

“I understand. The sex club, the BDSM.”

“Oh, you don’t have to hide that. At the Cirque...” He paused. “Well, I’ll explain later. It’s not the BDSM that’s inappropriate. It’s that I came here to scout you as an act, so if we return as Master and slave, with you wearing my collar, some eyebr

ows are gonna go up.”

Sara touched her neck. “I don’t like collars anyway. They remind me of work.”

He traced over her fingers, trapping them in his hand. “No collars then. Just you and me, and this connection we share. When the time’s right, if everything works out, we can be more public about our feelings.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “We’ll figure things out. For now, sit and eat something so we can get to the airport with plenty of time to catch our flight.”

While she was in the shower, Jason had laid out fried bread, millet and yogurt, and milk tea. She was so hungry it tasted like heaven, even cold and slightly congealed. Halfway through, she slowed down and made herself savor it. She wouldn’t have these familiar foods in Paris. Everything would be different, and she’d probably feel homesick.

While she ate, Jason moved around the room, collecting his clothes and toiletries and shutting down his computer. She was so infatuated, it was a pleasure just to watch him pack. “What is Paris like?” she asked.

He turned to her with a bemused expression. “What isn’t Paris like? It’s a big city. You can find almost anything and do almost anything there.”

She traced the rim of her cup. “What do they drink at breakfast?”

“Coffee. Tea. Somewhere in Paris, I’m sure you could find milk tea and Mongolian bread, and tarag.”

He said the word for yogurt with a stilted accent. It touched her, that he tried to speak her language. She blinked down at the last of her meal.

A moment later, he stopped packing and came to sit with her. “It’s normal to feel scared. But I promise, you won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and you’ll have a coach and a physical therapist, a whole team of folks who’ll want you to be successful. If Baat doesn’t come, they’ll find you a new partner, a good match, so the two of you can start working on an act together. There are always new shows in the works, and older shows that need new material, like you. You’re something fresh that no one’s ever seen. When someone’s talented, when they have vision and skill and drive, Michel Lemaitre takes care of them. He’ll take you as far as you can go.” He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Trust me, he’s going to love you.”