The Maestro's Butterfly (9 page)

Uh-oh,
she thought, considering the possibility that Seth had been wrong—or lying—and Claudio did mind her having sex with him. If she was surrounded by sadistic vampires, she realized, they may just take a perverse delight in seeing other people get into trouble with Claudio. She wondered if Claudio could read minds, like in the movies, if he already knew about Seth and had ordered her down to his bedroom to deal with her.

The thought nearly made her stumble, even though she told herself she was being ridiculous, but she finally made it to his door. She wasn’t sure if she should knock 62

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or just open it. She knocked.

“Entrez-vous,”
he called off-handedly through the door, then added, “Come in,”

as if suddenly remembering he was not surrounded by his countrymen.

Miranda nodded to herself, closed her eyes, grasped the knob, took a deep breath and went in. That was as much as she could manage. After that, she just stood gaping in the doorway.

Claudio was seated across the room in his reading chair, wearing a royal blue robe that exposed his shapely calves. The front was open to display the phoenix pattern of hair on his chest. A book was open on his lap. An amber-colored drink was in his hand. In spite of everything, Miranda’s eyes were still drawn to the little curl that teased his jaw.

“Are you going to come in or stand like a confused rabbit?”

“I—” Realizing she was about to answer him, Miranda stepped inside the room and hastily closed the door.

“Put away my things,” he said with a vague gesture toward the clothes she had watched him pick out this morning. She was incredulous.

“You want me to—I’m not your maid, Claudio.” She had a sense that she was supposed to say something like that, but hearing the words come out of her mouth in this particular setting made her feel as though she had done something akin to picking her nose in public to prove a point.

He set his drink on the table, snapped shut his book and stood. Miranda fought the urge to back herself into the wall as he approached. For one horrible moment, she was afraid he might slap her. She had never been slapped before, but on the movies it looked painful.

Claudio didn’t strike her. He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek and let his eyes darken with whatever strong emotions were roiling in his gut. “Didn’t that little display upstairs warn you of the dangers of disobedience?”

The word “
disobedience
” banged around in her head, looking for something 62

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to connect to. It wound up connecting to her nether parts. She parted her lips and let her breath come out in scared little spurts. She envied Andi, yet she was afraid of experiencing the same fate. She tried to smile.

“I thought you were joking—I thought you were talking about punishment to scare me, or that it was some kinky game—”

“It’s no game, when I tell you to do a thing and it is not done. Andi is lucky she didn’t feel the belt this evening. I still may pay her a visit. Now do as I tell you,”

he said, turning away, returning to his chair. “When you have finished, remove your clothing and present yourself to me, and I will decide what to do with you.”

Miranda watched his back with her mouth open as he returned to his chair. He picked up his book and sat, seemingly absorbed in his reading. It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, but the butterflies returned to her stomach and she thought she’d better just do as she was told.

As she handled his clothing she did her best to stifle thoughts such as,
This
was on his body today,
and
I wonder if there’s armpit smell,
which was another of her embarrassing little fetishes. She did manage to quell the urge to bury her face in the crotch of his slacks, but was able to enjoy the mild scent of his cologne without attracting notice.

When she’d finished, she stood by the wardrobe, watching him, unable to make herself go over there and “present herself” to him like a slave in a bad Sunday-afternoon medieval fantasy movie. At the same time, she couldn’t quite work up the impetus to refuse outright. So she stood there, feeling her gut tighten and her heart flutter.

Claudio turned the page. Keeping his eyes on the book, he said, “Perhaps my butterfly is attempting to try my patience, yes?”

His voice, and the warning it carried, brought her to him. She stood before him and swallowed. He looked up. “Take off your clothing, Miranda. Now.”

That did it. Between fear mixed with promise, and feeling foolish, the former 64

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won. She kicked off Chloe’s shoes, then pulled off the Betty Boop T-shirt, skipping over the jeans to hold on to one more moment of feeling a little less vulnerable than she had the night before. She could swear she felt her skin burn as those bottomless black eyes watched her work the button, then the zipper. She tugged them down, bending over in the process, admiring how well-shaped Claudio’s bare feet were—slender, like his hands.

She hoped he wasn’t one of those guys who insisted on having his toes sucked.

“Get on your knees, Miranda,” he said softly.

Her heart pounded as she obeyed. He uncrossed his legs and opened the front of his robe, revealing a thick erection. She hadn’t gotten much of a look at it the night before. She was no longer surprised it had hurt.

He wrapped his long, graceful violinist’s fingers around it and began stroking. “I hope you saved room for dessert,” he said.

“You didn’t just say that,” she said, emboldened by her relief that she wasn’t going to be the entree to Andi’s appetizer. “Do the French always associate food with sex?”

“Everything is about sex, my dear,” he said, lowering his eyelids, and giving her a coy smile. That was just the sort of expression that had made her want him in the first place. “Come.”

I probably will if you keep looking at me like that,
she thought, then remembered that she was supposed to be angry. She couldn’t, however, remember why.

Making her body move with all the animal grace she could muster, rolling her shoulders and sashaying her hips like a cat, she approached him on all fours, raised up on her knees and took his erection in her hands. It was hot to the touch. “I thought vampires were supposed to be cold,” she whispered, squeezing the base, enjoying its firmness— and the little intake of breath that signaled Claudio’s pleasure.

“Too many films,” he breathed. “You should get your information from the correct source.”

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She looked up at his face as she teased him with her fingers. His eyes had gone smoky and his lips had parted in anticipation.
I did that,
she thought.
To Claudio.
The thought that she could have such an effect on a man like him gave her a little thrill of pleasure. She smiled, then turned her attention to the job at hand.

Claudio’s thigh beneath Miranda’s arm was a little darker than her translucent skin. He was pale for someone of his skin tone, but he was far from having the alabaster skin of the vampires she had read about in novels. His erection was a few shades darker, pinking at the end. One massive vein snaked along the side. She kissed it, enjoying the warm, meaty smell that met her, then ran the flat of her tongue along the underside, slowly, reveling in the tensing of Claudio’s beautiful hand on the arm of the chair. The book lay on his thigh, forgotten.

Reaching the head, Miranda pressed the tip of her tongue against the loose, uncircumcised skin, teasing it against the shaft, making him groan. With her hand she was able to tug it forward just enough to cover the edge of the hood. The ring it created held a reservoir of fluid. When she let it go and took him into her mouth, he let out a long, slow breath, and muttered in French.

She liked the slick feel and salty taste of his juices. She licked and teased, periodically stretching her eyes to peer at his face. He never took his eyes from her, but he did flare his nostrils and slacken his jaw in pleasure. He looked very different than he did on stage in a tuxedo, different than he had the night before as he’d grunted into her. He looked younger somehow. Almost vulnerable.

Miranda lowered her eyes and concentrated on what she was doing, watching his tummy tighten as his hips bucked beneath her. “Beautiful.” he groaned. “My pet
papillon”

Her own body tensed as she curved her spine toward him, pushing with her knees to help her bounce on his cock, letting her saliva run down the shaft over the hand she was using to jerk him at the base. Her other hand searched out the spot just beneath his scrotum and pressed, drawing a long, low sound of animal ecstasy from his 66

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throat.
Now that’s what a vampire’s supposed to sound like,
she thought, ignoring how commonplace it sounded in her head. She promised herself she’d be outraged again later, but for now, that sound in his throat made her want to be his prey. She wanted to be at his mercy. She wanted—

“Aaah!” Claudio gave an urgent, open-mouthed groan, just before hot, thick fluid poured over Miranda’s tongue. For a second, she froze, because she had never swallowed a man’s semen in her life. As much as she enjoyed seeing them writhe in the throes of a blowjob, she had never liked the taste of come. She stretched her eyes around, but saw nothing that looked as though it could be a proper receptacle. Then she looked at Claudio, who watched her with a lazy grin. Picturing just how ridiculous she would look dribbling his love-juice while asking for a handkerchief, she screwed up all of her willpower and swallowed.

It wasn’t half bad,
she thought. Sort of like runny egg whites.

He reached down around the back of her head, combing his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. “That, my dear, was wonderful. I would like very much to congratulate your teacher.”

In spite of the fact that she was experienced enough to make a man like Claudio compliment her skills at fellatio, Miranda blushed, even as she smiled. “Thank you,”

she said, feeling a bit humble—and much too content to have him scratch her behind the ear as though she were a poodle.

“You have a very small idea how close you are to being punished.”

And just like that, her contentment vanished. Something hot poured into her stomach while something cold crawled up her spine. Her own juices, which were already venturing out to make her entire crotch slick and needy, began running out over her thighs. She clamped them shut to thwart the flow. She knew she was going to have to say it.

“P-punished? Why?”

“Your hesitation to do as you are told. Questioning my orders. Those here who 66

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question me suffer for their disobedience. You will learn this lesson too.”

She was torn between running an instant replay of everything she had said to him this evening and thrilling to the way words like “
here
” and “
suffer
” became elongated and breathy in his mouth, becoming “he-ahr” and “su-
fair”
encased in his accent.

But he was going to hurt her. She swallowed, supremely aware of her predicament. She couldn’t leave for the next month. And she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure he would let her go then, even with all this talk about their bet.

Will I want to leave?

She flicked the thought away like an insect. It wasn’t just annoying, however.

Its implication was downright scary. She dropped her eyes under the weight of his appraisal, watching the rise and fall of his chest, now that the fury of sex had subsided.

His penis lay sated and sticky in its dark little nest like a sleeping animal, only the very tip visible in the protective foreskin.

What she said surprised her. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to this.”

“I won’t punish you tonight, little one. I am not a monster. You will be trained.

But after this night, I will not be so understanding.” He tapped her upper arm with his hand. “Now get up.”

She stood and let him out of the chair, then went to him, expecting to be thrown on the bed and ravaged, ready for it this time. “I’m yours,
Maestro,”
she said.

“Yes,” he said. “But now is the time for sleeping.” He turned from her to climb into the poorly-made bed, leaving her to stand expectantly. First a look of bewilderment, then a scowl, registered on her face.

“But, I’m—” She looked down at her mound as though the explanation were written there.

“This pleases me,” he said, “that you would be so eager for my attentions. But now I wish to sleep—with you beside me.”

Miranda stared at him for one more moment, hoping that he would see reason 68

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and give her a pounding to rival the one he’d given her the night before. He only raised his eyebrows at her. “You try my patience. The next time, I will not ask.”

For a moment, she felt just defiant and horny enough to push him, but her bravado didn’t last long. She scowled and got into bed without trying to be graceful or enticing, then flopped over on her side with her back to him, determined to ignore him as he used the remote to turn off the wall sconces.

She squealed at the speed with which he dragged her over to him, tucking her bottom into his crotch, spooning her. The feel of his semi-erect penis against the back of her folds sent shards of sensation up into her belly.

Claudio buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Such a wonderful fragrance,” he cooed. Miranda parted her lips and drew in an involuntary breath.

Captured by a vampire
, she thought. Claudio hugged her tighter and put a leg over hers.

Fucked by a vampire,
she thought, and immediately wished she hadn’t. The sensations of desire had become a dull throb in the pit of her abdomen. Her vagina clenched upon itself, desperate for stimulation. In an effort to get her mind off of things on that end, she closed her eyes and focused on the warm man-scent on her pillow. It wasn’t, she discovered, the best approach she could have taken to forget being horny.

Sometime during the night, something dragged Miranda backward out of sleep.

Claudio had her on her back, and nuzzled her neck softly while his fingers played along the tender flesh of her outer thigh. His hair tickled the spot where her collarbones knobbed.