When they got to his house, they didn’t go upstairs right away. He kissed her inside the door, then in the living room, then in the kitchen, and in the hallway against the wall. Each time he kissed her, he took off another item of her clothing—her shoes, her dress, her slip, her tights, her bra and panties. Everything but her ring. Every kiss seemed to bind them closer together. Every kiss said, this is for life.
When she pressed against him, aching for his possession, he lifted her in his arms and carried her upstairs to his bedroom. There was no slave pose this time, no slowly building scene. They were on some other plane tonight, where he tossed her on the bed and ripped off his clothes and came at her. She melted as he pinned her hands over her head. He spread her legs with his knees and paused with his cock at the entrance to her pussy.
“Sometimes I don’t want to hurt you,” he sighed. “I just want to be as deep inside you as I can be.”
“Oh, Master, yes.” She tried not to cry out as he pushed inside, but it felt so good, the way he stretched her pussy. The air ducts, remember? Don’t be noisy. Don’t scream for more, more, more…
“More,” she cried. “I want this forever. I want you inside me forever.”
He let go of her hands and muffled her babbling with another kiss. Yes, please, yes. She wrapped her legs around him and clung to him, tangling her fingers in the softness of his hair. Body to body, he took her with a violent, demanding passion that left her breathless. She squeaked when he bit her on the lip and then begged him to do it again. His cock filled her, harder, deeper, lifting her with each thrust.
He’s turning me inside out. They were back to exchanging power, back in their comfort zone, and now there was even more joining them together. A commitment, a promise. Was this really happening to her? It seemed her life was a constant swing of the trapeze, from depressing problems to the joy of Jason’s love. He’d given her a ring. They were bound together as he said, perhaps even bound for marriage one day. In all the big world, from Mongolia to California to Paris, they’d found each other, found a perfect match of personality and desire. And love, always love.
She stared into her Master’s eyes and for long delicious moments, the Exhibition, Vegas, Baat, none of it mattered. All that mattered was Jason and his mastery of her, and his life force pressing inside her, and their soul-deep bond.
Chapter Twelve: Exhibition
Sara and Baat had a short practice the next day with Theo, a final run-through. It went pretty well, as well as could be hoped with nerves and anxiety. “Just relax,” Theo told them. “Be proud of your strength. Be proud of what you can do. Most of all, let the directors see the possibilities in your art.”
Sara loved the sound of that. Possibilities. It seemed all of life was possibilities, especially now that she wore Jason’s ring. She showed it to Theo and Baat after practice. Baat, as usual, couldn’t care less, but Theo smiled and congratulated her. “He loves you very much,” he said, then he leaned closer. “You know what this is, yes? A collar for your finger. Lucky girl.”
Lucky didn’t even cover it. Sara felt euphoric. Here she was at the world’s top circus, in love, inspired, and about to perform in an Exhibition for the top brass. Around them, hallways and rehearsal spaces buzzed with activity. Several new acts were making their debut today at the Cirque’s multi-purpose auditorium, including acrobatic acts that Jason had worked on. He was busy prepping those athletes, so she didn’t have a chance to be with him before her performance. He was still with her though. She put on her emerald green finery and glittering makeup with last night’s “performance” playing vividly in her mind. All the passionate kisses, and the way he’d held her close… She loved when he was rough and masterful, but she loved his romantic side too.
Even with her daydreaming, Sara was ready early, almost an hour before stage call. Baat had disappeared after he rolled his eyes at her ring. She hoped he was somewhere getting charged up. If only this performance would go well... If only they could get to Vegas, where both of them could be happy. Baat liked partying, he liked showgirls, even the casinos.
Hmm. Baat and casinos. Sara wasn’t sure about that.
She wandered the halls, buoyed by her fellow performers’ encouragement and smiles, and ducked into one of her favorite conference rooms, a quiet, uncluttered space. She sat down in the dark, being careful not to snag the rhinestones on her costume.
“Mademoiselle. What a pleasure.”
The deep, rumbling voice was Lemaitre’s. She leaped to her feet and searched the shadows, finding him not ten feet away. “Why are you sitting here in the dark?” she gasped.
“Why are you sitting here in the dark?” he countered. Even in the dim light, she could see his smile and his casual shrug. “Like you, I came to escape the hullabaloo outside. To gather my thoughts before the Exhibition.”
His voice sounded tired. This was nerve-wracking for her, but how much more nerve-wracking for him? She only had one act to concentrate on. Mr. Lemaitre had to coordinate all of the coaches, staff, and performers, as well as his team of directors, and somehow keep everyone content.
“How have you been, Sara?” he asked in the silence. “All is well?”
She looked down at her costume, which was really his costume. Everything she had came from him, even Jason, in a way, because Lemaitre was the one who had sent him to Mongolia. She tried to think of what to say to such an exalted person, something clever and engaging that might make her stand out from the other performers, but she couldn’t summon a word. All she could think about was the way he’d scowled outside his back room at the Citadel, and the way he’d ordered her out.
“Everything’s fine,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
“Are you looking forward to performing today?”
“Yes, we’ve been working hard. I hope you like the act.”
He smiled again, a tight smile that made her wonder if he was thinking about the Citadel too. I don’t need your sex club. Jason loves me. She didn’t have her ring on. She couldn’t wear it while she was performing but she wished she had it to flash in Lemaitre’s face.
“Hard work is good,” he said in his smooth, French-inflected lilt. “Will you walk with me to the theater?”
He posed it as a question, but she couldn’t realistically say no. He opened the door for her and light streamed into the room, illuminating the sparkles on her costume.
“How beautiful you are,” he said, gesturing her into the hall beside him. “But green isn’t your color. You should be wearing blue.”
“They didn’t give me a choice.”
“Ah, yes. Sometimes at Cirque you have no choice. Not the choices you want, anyway.” He guided her around a milling group of performers, ignoring their curious looks. “There is always the conflict of what the ego wants, and what is required by the greater group.”
At once, she thought of Baat. Selfish. You’re so selfish. Did Lemaitre think so? Maybe that’s why he didn’t allow her at the Citadel. She made some ambivalent noise as they turned into a quieter hallway.
“And how are things with Mr. Beck?” he asked. “Still pleasant in your world?”
What business is it of yours? If he was fishing due to his own interest, he could forget it. She’d never give up Jason for a cold, haughty Master like him. “Things are great with me and Jason,” she said, lifting her chin. “He gave me a ring last night.”
Lemaitre’s eyes went wide. “A ring? An engagement ring?”
“Well, no.” Sara felt a flush spread out from her ears. “He said I’m too young, that we need to wait a little longer. But it’s a promise ring. A bond between us.”
“A bond.” Lemaitre pursed his lips. She could tell he was unhappy, even when he forced a smile. “What a nice way to put things.”
“We’re in love,” she said. “We’ll probably get married, just not...yet.”
“It’s good of him to give you some time to grow. In the scheme of life, you’re little more than a girl.”
“I’m twenty-two.”
“An infant then.”
“No, a grown woman.”
“Hm.” That was all he said. Hm, with that lofty tilt of his aristocratic nose. Why was she arguing with him? And why must he stare at her so intently every time she met his eyes?
“I should go find Baat,” she said as they approached the theater lobby. Lemaitre nodded and bid her goodbye, and then she felt guilty for being so snippy with him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Lemaitre. He just made her uncomfortable with his probing questions and assessing stare. He might be Master over everyone at his circus, but he’d never be Master over her.