Master's Flame (Cirque Masters 3)

When he went down on her, she’d been caught between pleasure and shock—shock at the way he’d pushed his slave aside to crouch over her, pleasure at the intensity with which he took her. The fine, strong muscles in his shoulders had flexed and strained as he’d pulled her to his mouth. She’d wanted him to fuck her so badly. She liked oral sex but she loved being fucked so much more, and his cock was glorious. Thick, heavy, and perfect in length.

But after he had made her come...he sent her away. Even now the feeling of devastation curled inside her. She’d sat outside the door and listened to him torment his slaves, listened to his sharp voice and all the terrifying noises. He’d hurt them, whipped them, fucked them, cursed at them and made them cry out for mercy. She’d heard everything, and wanted more than anything to be them, struggling with sheer willpower to meet his demands.

More than anything on earth, she wanted Mr. Lemaitre for her Master, but he didn’t want her. She wanted to be his toy, his plaything, the canvas for all the colors of his power. His parting words had crushed her. If you must know, you are not the type of submissive I’m attracted to. The same cold authority that thrilled her had turned against her in rejection.

Very well. Valentina couldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. After a restless night, she woke and packed everything she’d brought into suitcases and boxes, and stacked it beside her half-finished art projects. She felt bad for Adei and Jason and all the work they’d put in, and bad for the other performers in Cirque Élémental, because her absence would wreak havoc with the production schedule, but she couldn’t bear to face Mr. Lemaitre again after his rejection, couldn’t bear to endure his judgment of her work. She would go home to Naples and...

And what? Continue her family’s banquine act? Sign on with some lesser competitor of Cirque du Monde? She stared at her disordered stack of luggage and boxes, imagined it sitting in her room back in Italy. If she left now, she could not come back. She would be breaking her contract and behaving with an utter lack of professionalism. She kicked the nearest box and hurt her foot so badly she burst into tears. She collapsed on her bed and pounded the pillows, helpless to control the violence of her emotions.

In the midst of her breakdown she heard a knock, soft at first, then louder. Had Mr. Lemaitre come for her after all?

“Valentina. It’s Jason. Open up.”

Damn it. She batted a lock of hair from her tear-dampened face. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Open the door or I’ll kick it down. Open it right now.”

His sharp words sounded frantic. As miserable as she was, none of it was his fault and she didn’t want him to worry. She wiped away her tears and went to crack the door. “What do you need?”

He studied her through the narrow opening and then pushed inside, so she stumbled back against her suitcases. He caught her arm and looked at the pile. “What do I need?” he asked. “I need you to show up on time for practice, for one. I need you to answer your cell phone when I call.”

“I turned it off.” She lifted her chin, hoping she didn’t look as ghastly as she felt. She swept a hand at her things. “I’m leaving today. I’m going home.”

“Like hell you’re going home.” He stood facing her, his hands braced on his hips. “What happened? What did he do to you?”

Valentina knew who he meant but she couldn’t bear to recount the story. She turned away and sat on her bed. “I’m leaving. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, no.” He sat down beside her and tilted her face to his. “I need to know everything. I heard Lemaitre took you to his back room last night. Now, today, you’re packed up to leave. Something happened and I need to know what it was.”

“Nothing happened!” The rage in her voice surprised even her. She shrugged off Jason’s hand. “Nothing happened, except that he rejected and insulted me. He humiliated me. He said I didn’t...” Her voice roughened with the tightening of her throat. “He said I didn’t suit his tastes.”

Jason made a small sound beside her, a light exhalation that sounded suspiciously like Thank God.

“I have to leave,” she said, hugging a pillow to her waist. Her chest hurt from all the tears. “I have to go. I can’t bear to stay here.”

“Why? Because Michel Lemaitre rejected you? Welcome to Cirque du Monde. He rejects ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the people who offer themselves to him, and there’s a reason for that. Listen.” He took her shoulders and forced her to face him. “If he rejected you, it was to protect you. He has reasons for everything he does.”

“What reasons?” she cried, pulling away. She paced in a circle around her sad pile of belongings, old luggage and boxes of clothes and scraps and half-finished projects. That’s what she was—half-finished. She turned to Jason, throwing up her arms. “He says I am fire, that I inspire him. He does a whole show based on me, on my act. He...he...” She couldn’t say the rest, that he’d knelt before her and taken her pussy with his mouth, and made her come harder than she’d come in her life. “He had me, all of me, but he didn’t want me. I would have given him anything.”

Jason leaned back on her bed with a frown. “Do you think you’re the only person who feels that way? I know you think you’re special somehow, that you’re better than everyone else—”

“I don’t think that.”

“You do, and I understand why. You’re a completely unique person. But listen to me—when it comes to Lemaitre, that isn’t enough. He either chooses you or he doesn’t. If you’re not strong enough for him, he won’t play with you, point blank. If you’re not steady and well-adjusted, he won’t take the risk.”

Valentina ground her teeth together. She wanted to deny his words, refute the insinuation that she wasn’t steady and well-adjusted, but her actions in the last twelve hours spoke louder than words. She sank down on the bed beside him and threaded fingers through her hair. “He thinks I’m crazy. He thinks I’m insane.”

“Everyone thinks you’re insane,” he said gently, rubbing her shoulders. “That’s who you are, a crazy, impulsive person who’s not afraid of anything. It’s also the reason you can’t be with him.” His voice softened the slightest bit. “If he rejected you, you should be thankful. I am.”

“Why are you thankful?” she asked, trying to untangle the puzzle of his words. “Because you want to be with me?”

Jason gave her an exasperated smile that made her feel rejected all over again. “Have you ever heard of a thing called fidelity, Valentina? I don’t know the Italian word, but you should look it up. Also, the word ‘restraint.’”

“I know you’re engaged to Sara, and I know what restraint is, I just...” A hopeless sound escaped her. “I just don’t have that. I never have. I don’t know why.”

His arm tightened around her shoulder. “Because you’re crazy. That’s my theory. At the very least you’re hot-headed. Maybe it’s the color of your hair. Whatever it is, you have to understand that you won’t mesh with Lemaitre. He’s the most controlled—and controlling—person on the planet. The two of you will never work out. You’re too different.”

“But we’re different in the right ways.” She thought a moment, trying to pu

t her feelings into words that Jason might understand. “It’s like...when you feel drawn to someone, and you know they have something you need, something you want. You understand in your heart how perfect you would be for them. That’s how I feel about him. I feel like we belong together. I want to be close to him. I ache for him, Jason.”

“Why? Because he’s Michel Lemaitre? Because he’s a badass, and your boss? This is a classic case of lusting after what you can’t have, merely because you can’t have it. And once you received it—if you ever did receive it—you’d realize it wasn’t as great and fulfilling as you built it up to be. I think you experienced a little of that last night. There’s always a letdown after you sample forbidden fruit.”

“Oh, really?” She pursed her lips. “Those are your words of wisdom?”

“Do you or do you not feel like shit this morning? If Lemaitre was so great, you wouldn’t be feeling this agony. Believe me, he’s not the godlike figure you envision. He has no magical powers, no Midas touch that’s going to turn everything in your life to gold. He’s only a man, and he has the same weaknesses and drawbacks we all have. He’s just better at creating this image of power and fantasy. It’s also the formula for creating spectacles, for magic acts and circus. That’s why he’s so good at what he does.”

Valentina took a deep breath in and out. Magic. Was Lemaitre’s overwhelming appeal only some engineered sleight-of-hand? A circus trick? A falsehood?

Somehow that upset her even more than his rejection. “Do you think he ever cries?” she asked. “Does he ever doubt himself?”

“Yes to both questions. He’s human, like you and me. If you find things about him to admire, then admire him, but don’t feel like he’s some god you have to touch for your life to be complete.” He shrugged and leaned away from her. “Anyway, you’ve already touched him. He brought you here and made you the subject of an entire show. How greedy can a mere mortal be?”