Master's Flame by Annabel Joseph

he had them stand, taking measured shots at their exposed, straining cocks. He didn’t injure or draw blood, didn’t leave them with anything more than a few welts. The whip was one of his favorite toys and he knew how to wield it with a delicate touch. Then he took up the flogger and beat them until they pleaded for mercy. Respite. Orgasm.
    Before he’d allow that, he fucked both of them in the ass, first Leo and then Maxim, a long, brutal session that emptied him out with a mind-blowing climax. Then, finally, because this was the end of so much more than this one night, he let them come, tormenting them again with the whip until they shot onto one another’s rigid, muscled bellies. By the time they stumbled from the room, they’d been used in all the ways they best liked to be used. He didn’t say goodbye, and they didn’t say goodbye, although the finality of this parting was mutually understood. None of his slaves had ever resisted when they left his private room for the final time. It was for that quality Michel chose them in the first place.
    He crossed to sit in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. Why wasn’t he in Brussels? Why had he released Maxim and Leo on the very night he’d brought Valentina here? Why was he suffering? His life was not in balance for the first time in many years. It was her fault, Valentina’s, and his fault too. He was acting weak, pathetic, and obsessed. She was a hazard to him, a threat from the crown of her blaze-red hair to the tips of her toes. If he allowed her to conquer his restraint and his reason, it was no one’s fault but his own. With a muttered curse he stood and went to the door. He tore it open and nearly tripped over the small figure huddled on the other side.
    She was not dressed, and she had not gone back out to dance and have fun as he’d commanded her. She gazed up at him with her large hazel eyes. Her expression was as bleak as his slaves’ when he’d released them.
    “Oh, please,” she sighed. “Why won’t you do that to me?”
    He sucked in a breath. “You were supposed to leave. You were supposed to dance and go home.” He pulled her up and reached for her clothes. “For God’s sake, at least get dressed.”
    She shook her head and set her chin. “I don’t want to get dressed. I want to be yours, like them.”
    “No.” He threaded her arms through the straps of her bra and clasped the front closure, avoiding her gaze. That finished, he leaned down and made her step into her garter skirt.
    “I don’t care if you hurt me and make me do awful things,” she said as he pulled the skimpy garment up her legs. “I want to be your slave, like them. Can’t you have a girl too? I heard that you like both men and women.”
    He grimaced. “I like people. People who excite and inspire me.”
    “Then why not me? You said I inspired you.”
    To his chagrin,
La Vampa
started to cry. Not the volcano of tears he expected, but silent, sparkling trails running down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands as he smoothed her stockings up her legs and attached them to the garters. Her body shook with a misery he could not understand.
    “Why?” he asked in frustration. “Why must this be?”
    “Because I belong with you.” She pushed his hand away, fastening the last garter herself. “Why did you bring me here and show me this if you weren’t going to give it to me? Why are you doing this?”
    “Stop this, Valentina. Stop fighting with me and making demands. If you must know...” His voice trailed off. He was about to hurt her. “If you must know, you are not the type of submissive I’m attracted to. Your uncontrolled dramatics are not to my taste.”
    She gazed up at him, her eyes dilating in pain. He bit back apologies, excuses. Amorous protestations.
Everything about you suits my tastes, little Vampa. The truth is, you set me on fire, which is why this cannot be.
    He turned away from her to dress, and by the time he turned back she was