Master's Flame (23 page)

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 his 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.

He held himself completely still so he wouldn’t wake her. When she’d fallen fully into slumber, her hand lost its grip on his shoulder and slid down little by little. It only stopped when it came to rest against the thumping beat of his heart.

*** *** ***

Valentina awakened to the sun shining on her face. Who had opened the shades? She fluttered her lashes and blinked, and then she remembered. Mr. Lemaitre. He stood beside her window, gazing through it without expression.

“You said you would sleep with me all night,” she said.

He turned toward her with a frown. “I did sleep with you all night. Now the night’s gone. It’s broad daylight.”

“But...I thought...” She winced at the whining weakness in her voice. She’d wanted to wake up in his arms the same way she’d drifted to sleep in them. Maybe some morning sex? He’d already gotten dressed. He looked like he was ready to go to work.

She sat up in bed, holding the sheets against her chest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Why are you lying in bed so late?”

“You lied to me. You don’t snore.”

He gave a sharp laugh. “How would you know? You fell asleep in thirty seconds flat.”

That annoyed her too, that after all her excitement to sleep beside him, she could remember precious few moments of it. “I tried to stay awake but you’re very comfortable to sleep with.”

“
Merci
,” he said, looking back out the window.

She lay down, clinging to her scant memories of the night before. She remembered his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, his strong thighs nestled against hers. And the smell of him—sandalwood and cologne and his own masculine scent. She didn’t want to forget any of it.

“I suppose you’re going to go now.” Some part of her wanted him to go because he made her feel so agitated and needy. And rejected. Why couldn’t he have just held her until she woke up? Why get up and stand across the room like some hovering specter?

“I was going to go into the office, yes,” he said. “And you have a practice later.” He came to the bed, reached down and ruffled her tangled hair. This was the time at his house when he used to unlock her cage and demand his morning blowjob.

He obviously had no intention of doing that today.

“I’m going to take the painting now,” he said instead. “Thank you for giving it to me. Thank you for giving yourself to me for a month, Valentina. I know I didn’t make things easy for you.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh. “Well, I enjoyed our time together.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. It lasted a mere second, not long enough. He let go of her and started for the bedroom door. “You needn’t get up. I’ll see you at work,
mignonne
.”

Just like that, he was gone. She tilted her head back, blinking at the sun again, and then collapsed into her pillow. Somehow, she had to go on in life without him. It was a good thing she was so strong.

She peeled herself out of bed and brushed her teeth and showered, and puttered around her kitchen in her bathrobe, trying to find something to make for breakfast. The loaf of bread she’d bought weeks ago was disgusting and moldy. She threw it away, along with some other long-spoiled items. She would have coffee then, and boxed cereal with lots of sugar. Mr. Lemaitre hadn’t allowed any sugary cereal at his house. See, there was a bright lining to everything. Now she could once again eat all the sugary cereal she liked. She filled her bowl almost to the top, and then stopped when she heard a sharp knock at the door.

She knew immediately who it was.

Maybe he’d forgotten the portrait. But no, it was gone. She opened the door and there he stood, distant and haughty and handsome as ever. She didn’t say anything, only stared at him.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“You just left.”

“I came back. May I come in?”

He asked the second time in bitten-off syllables, so she stood back and let him enter. He paced across her living room. She watched him, puzzled. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No.” He turned back to her. “Would you be interested in...extending?”

“Extending?”

“Extending our association. Our power exchange.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Extending our Master/slave relationship.”

“But just last night you said I was not for you, and you were not for me. You said our dance was over.”

He looked up at her ceiling and let out a long, ragged breath. “Yes, I did. Yes, all of that is true. Forget what I just said.”

“Forget what you said about our dance being over, or what you said about extending?”

“Just...” He waved an arm at her, heading for the door. “I’m going to be late.” He reached for the knob, then turned back again. “One more month? We were making such progress.”

Valentina’s heart hammered in her chest. He wanted her back. More slavery. More pain. Part of her felt elated that he wanted her. Part of her felt flattered. Part of her felt scared.

Part of her felt really, really pissed off.

“You made me cry,” she said. “You pushed me away and made me cry, and now you want me back?”

“I tend to be very capricious in my desires.”

“That’s not something to be proud of.” She took a step back as he advanced.

“I know. That’s why you should say no to me. ‘
No, I don’t want to be your slave anymore.
’ Say it.”

She put her hands out to stop him. “You always want me to do what will please you.
You.
I always have to be what
you
want, when
you
want it. Lover, slave, pet, whatever you’re in the mood for, but I only ever get what you give me. I never get to choose who you are, what you do.”

“Yes, that is the lot of the submissive partner.”

“It’s not fair though, is it? It’s not fair that I must always meet your needs and you never meet mine.”

He took her in his arms, circling her waist in an unyielding grip. “Are you sure I don’t meet your needs?”

Just like that, her anger and resistance fled. His touch alone had the power to melt her. Add in his artfully sensual lips and his piercing light blue gaze and she was burnt to a crisp.

“I want you, but you hurt me,” she whispered.

“You like to be hurt,” he whispered back. “You like to be excited and endangered. You like everything I do to you. Let’s be clear about that.”

She pushed against his chest, pulled at his arms until she extracted herself. Well, until he decided to let her go.

“One more month,” he said, following as she tried to put distance between them. “It will be nearly time for the premiere then, a more natural stopping point. I can’t explain why, but right now things feel unfinished. Do you know what I mean?”

She did know what he meant, but another month? Thirty more days to fall in love with him and then lose him? How could she protect herself?

“I can’t,” she said, suffering at the look he gave her. “I just can’t.”

“What if we negotiated?”

She regarded him suspiciously. “People warned me at the beginning that you were not the negotiating type.”

He shrugged, his lips pursed in an impatient line. “Even when we don’t negotiate, that is a negotiation.” He reached for her again.

She skittered away, flustered. “No, I don’t...” But she did know what he meant. Everything, always, was by choice. Even giving up choices.

“I can’t give you as much as I gave you before,” she said as his arms once again trapped her. “I can’t give you all of me all the time.”

“And I can’t be manipulated with retreats and safewords every time you’re not in the mood.”

“Then how can things work? What is there to negotiate?”

Her frustrated outburst didn’t seem to rattle him in the slightest. “I want two hours a night,” he said. “Two hours of devoted service, and the rest of the time is your time.” He thought a moment. “But you still have to sleep in the cage.”

“If you only want two hours a night, why can’t I sleep at home?”

“Because I want you in my cage. I like you there.”

Him and his damn cage. “I want Sundays off.” It was difficult but she held his gaze. “No service at all on Sunday, and I get to sleep that night in your bed.”

“Valentina,” he said, as if she were ridiculous. “Where would I sleep?”

“I get to sleep
beside you
on Sunday nights,” she clarified, and then realized he teased her. She pouted and pushed away from him. “I like serving you but I need breaks. I need times to live my own life.”

“I agree with that.”

His quick capitulation caught her off guard. “You agree that I need breaks?”

“I agree that you need breaks, and I also agree with your conditions. Sundays off, and Sunday nights in my bed, if you must persist in this silly cuddling fetish.”

“It’s not silly.”
No more silly than you asking for another month
, she thought, but she didn’t dare say it aloud. Twelve hours a week he’d have control of her, and she didn’t want to anger him unnecessarily.

“I have one more condition,” she said. “I want a place to work in your house. A place for my art. Either that, or you let me come and go from my apartment when I wish.”

“I’ve already told you that coming and going is out of the question. That’s not slavery. It’s hooking up.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t have any free rooms for you to use as a studio, and I don’t want your scraps and paper and leaves and candy cluttering up my place.”

“You don’t have a corner somewhere in the sun, with a table, where I can set up two or three projects? I don’t have to bring everything.”

She waited, worrying, hoping. This negotiation stuff was hard. He might say no, and then she’d have to decide to go anyway, or somehow find the guts to say “No, thanks” to more time with him.

Which she could never do. Which he probably knew.