gone, leaving nothing behind but an irritating sense of loss.
Chapter Five: Drama
Valentina lay awake in her dormitory apartment feeling suffocated and confused by everything. Mr. Lemaitre didn’t want her. Why? Why had he taken her back to his private room only to tease her and show her what she couldn’t have?
She pulled the covers over her head as images of the evening’s events replayed in her mind. Mr. Lemaitre’s fine, strong body revealed to her in all its magnificence, the bodies of his slaves on display for her.
Choose the one you like the most.
Couldn’t he understand that he was the one who called to her with his creativity, his sexuality, his force?
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
Chapter Five: Drama
Valentina lay awake in her dormitory apartment feeling suffocated and confused by everything. Mr. Lemaitre didn’t want her. Why? Why had he taken her back to his private room only to tease her and show her what she couldn’t have?
She pulled the covers over her head as images of the evening’s events replayed in her mind. Mr. Lemaitre’s fine, strong body revealed to her in all its magnificence, the bodies of his slaves on display for her.
Choose the one you like the most.
Couldn’t he understand that he was the one who called to her with his creativity, his sexuality, his force?
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
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