corralling a
child, until they found the correct gate and boarded. Since they’d
bought Sara’s ticket at the last minute, they couldn’t sit together
on the plane. She sat two rows in front of Jason, on the aisle, so
at least he could watch her. From time to time she turned to look
at him, as if he might disappear.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not now, but she might have to leave him at
some point. There was only one Cirque show in Paris. The rest of
them were spread all over the globe. Some were touring shows that
moved from city to city, pulling up roots every six or eight weeks.
He hadn’t warned her about that, hadn’t explained that Paris would
only be her temporary home. If she was placed in Stockholm or
Berlin or Rome he’d have to let her go, or leave his job in Paris
and go with her, doing whatever was available at her new show. If
they didn’t need acrobatics help, he might have to move into
physical therapy, or nutrition. Or costuming.
He shuddered. Costuming? Maybe, if it meant
staying close to her. Even two rows away in an airplane felt too
far.
Fortunately, they’d have time before they had
to make hard decisions. The Exhibition wasn’t until August.
Anything could happen. Maybe things would burn out between them.
Maybe she’d fall for someone else. There were plenty of compelling
Doms at Cirque, not counting the Uber-Master himself, Michel
Lemaitre. Lemaitre would notice Sara right away. He’d sense the
purity of her submissive nature and he’d want her. If he made a
move on her, Jason would have to publicly claim her as his own or
else release her, because Lemaitre wouldn’t accept anything
else.
Damn Lemaitre. He hoped Sara didn’t fall
under his spell. Lemaitre wasn’t a nurturer. He was a gauntlet, a
survival course. Jason didn’t want that for her. He wanted to
challenge and control her, but he wanted to take care of her
too.
She’ll get to decide what type of mastery she
wants. Not you.
It was a bittersweet arrival in Paris,
because he had to give up his guardianship of her. She belonged to
Cirque du Monde now, and even at three in the morning,
representatives were there to greet them and help with Sara’s
paperwork. One of them, motherly Meg, took charge of Sara, clucking
over the dark circles under her eyes. She assured Jason she’d get
Sara settled in the dormitory apartments. It wouldn’t have been
appropriate for Jason to invite himself along, although he wanted
to.
Instead he hugged Sara and pressed his cheek
to hers. “You’ll be fine,” he said in her ear. “As soon as you feel
ready, you can check out the practice facility and meet your new
coach.” Whoever that was. All the coaches were good, but he hoped
she got the best one, one who would appreciate her unique
qualities.
Meg cleared her throat, staring at him, and
Jason released Sara. “My number’s in the Cirque directory,” he
said, trying to sound casual. “If you need anything.”
Jason needed something. He needed to take
Sara to his BDSM-equipped bedroom and lose himself between her
thighs, but that wasn’t happening. Sara deserved to start her
Cirque career on her own merits, not as a Director of Artistic
Development’s fuck toy. They exchanged a brief, secret smile, then
Jason left her in the capable hands of Cirque’s relocation
specialists.
His capable hands would have to wait.
* * * * *
Jason reported to Lemaitre’s office the
following afternoon as requested. Over the past five years, he’d
managed to earn some measure of respect from the man, but one never
really felt comfortable in Lemaitre’s presence. Le Maître ,
they called him at his clubs. The Master. With his black hair,
carved features, imposing build, and piercing blue eyes, he lived
up to his name.
Lemaitre glanced up from a file on his desk
when Jason knocked. “ Viens ,” he said. “You have returned
from the Asian steppes.”
“Yes, from my first and last trip to
Mongolia. Next time you’re pissed at me,
child, until they found the correct gate and boarded. Since they’d
bought Sara’s ticket at the last minute, they couldn’t sit together
on the plane. She sat two rows in front of Jason, on the aisle, so
at least he could watch her. From time to time she turned to look
at him, as if he might disappear.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Not now, but she might have to leave him at
some point. There was only one Cirque show in Paris. The rest of
them were spread all over the globe. Some were touring shows that
moved from city to city, pulling up roots every six or eight weeks.
He hadn’t warned her about that, hadn’t explained that Paris would
only be her temporary home. If she was placed in Stockholm or
Berlin or Rome he’d have to let her go, or leave his job in Paris
and go with her, doing whatever was available at her new show. If
they didn’t need acrobatics help, he might have to move into
physical therapy, or nutrition. Or costuming.
He shuddered. Costuming? Maybe, if it meant
staying close to her. Even two rows away in an airplane felt too
far.
Fortunately, they’d have time before they had
to make hard decisions. The Exhibition wasn’t until August.
Anything could happen. Maybe things would burn out between them.
Maybe she’d fall for someone else. There were plenty of compelling
Doms at Cirque, not counting the Uber-Master himself, Michel
Lemaitre. Lemaitre would notice Sara right away. He’d sense the
purity of her submissive nature and he’d want her. If he made a
move on her, Jason would have to publicly claim her as his own or
else release her, because Lemaitre wouldn’t accept anything
else.
Damn Lemaitre. He hoped Sara didn’t fall
under his spell. Lemaitre wasn’t a nurturer. He was a gauntlet, a
survival course. Jason didn’t want that for her. He wanted to
challenge and control her, but he wanted to take care of her
too.
She’ll get to decide what type of mastery she
wants. Not you.
It was a bittersweet arrival in Paris,
because he had to give up his guardianship of her. She belonged to
Cirque du Monde now, and even at three in the morning,
representatives were there to greet them and help with Sara’s
paperwork. One of them, motherly Meg, took charge of Sara, clucking
over the dark circles under her eyes. She assured Jason she’d get
Sara settled in the dormitory apartments. It wouldn’t have been
appropriate for Jason to invite himself along, although he wanted
to.
Instead he hugged Sara and pressed his cheek
to hers. “You’ll be fine,” he said in her ear. “As soon as you feel
ready, you can check out the practice facility and meet your new
coach.” Whoever that was. All the coaches were good, but he hoped
she got the best one, one who would appreciate her unique
qualities.
Meg cleared her throat, staring at him, and
Jason released Sara. “My number’s in the Cirque directory,” he
said, trying to sound casual. “If you need anything.”
Jason needed something. He needed to take
Sara to his BDSM-equipped bedroom and lose himself between her
thighs, but that wasn’t happening. Sara deserved to start her
Cirque career on her own merits, not as a Director of Artistic
Development’s fuck toy. They exchanged a brief, secret smile, then
Jason left her in the capable hands of Cirque’s relocation
specialists.
His capable hands would have to wait.
* * * * *
Jason reported to Lemaitre’s office the
following afternoon as requested. Over the past five years, he’d
managed to earn some measure of respect from the man, but one never
really felt comfortable in Lemaitre’s presence. Le Maître ,
they called him at his clubs. The Master. With his black hair,
carved features, imposing build, and piercing blue eyes, he lived
up to his name.
Lemaitre glanced up from a file on his desk
when Jason knocked. “ Viens ,” he said. “You have returned
from the Asian steppes.”
“Yes, from my first and last trip to
Mongolia. Next time you’re pissed at me,
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