Master's Flame (Cirque Masters)

by Joseph, Annabel

  Master's Flame

  Chapter One: The Flame

  Chapter Two: Vesuvius

  Chapter Three: Singed

  Chapter Four: Suffering

  Chapter Five: Drama

  Chapter Six: Mastery

  Chapter Seven: Well and Good

  Chapter Eight: Very Bad

  Chapter Nine: On Track

  Chapter Ten: The Reality

  Chapter Eleven: Control

  Chapter Twelve: No

  Chapter Thirteen: Bobble

  Chapter Fourteen: That's It

  Chapter Fifteen: Deal

  Chapter Sixteen: Demands

  Chapter Seventeen: Back Room

  Chapter Eighteen: Sad

  Chapter Nineteen: I Do

  Chapter Twenty: Mine

  Epilogue: One Year Later

  A Final Note

  An excerpt from Training Lady Townsend, a kinky historical romance coming soon from Annabel Joseph

  An excerpt from the m/m romantic suspense trilogy My Brother’s Keeper by Adrienne Wilder

  About the Author

  MASTER'S FLAME

  Copyright 2014 by Annabel Joseph

  Cover design by Adrienne Wilder

  AdrienneWilder.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, shared, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This work contains acts of sado-masochism, objectification, anal play, BDSM punishment and discipline, and other sexual practices.

  This work and its contents are for the sole purpose of fantasy and enjoyment, and not meant to advance or typify any of the activities or lifestyles therein. Please exercise caution in entering into or attempting to imitate any extreme BDSM relationships or activities.

  Master's Flame

  by

  Annabel Joseph

  For Lina

  I would say more but I’d need too many words

  And for Monsieur le Marquis, who started all this

  Chapter One: The Flame

  Michel Lemaitre looked at the clock, then shuffled posters on his desk, rearranging the second and third. All of them were trite, lacking in creativity. Since the final choice would become the promotional face of Cirque du Monde’s new show, Cirque Élémental, trite was not good enough. A waterfall? A white cat? Ridiculous.

  He drew an engraved note card from his desk and composed a curt message to the art department:

  If you ever send me another white cat on a poster, you will all be fired. Sincerely, M. L.

  He piled up the posters and placed the note on top. “Jeanne,” he said into his intercom. When his secretary entered, he held out the packet to her. “Art Department, s’il vous plaît.”

  “Oui, monsieur.” She took the papers and bustled out.

  Michel stretched back in his chair, then reached past his laptop and took a file from the left side of his desk. He flipped it open, leafing past clippings and documents to find the headshot. Heart-shaped face, large, luminous hazel eyes, and vivid red hair that had earned her nickname. La Vampa—the flame. When a sharp knock sounded on the frosted glass door, he closed the file and barked, “Viens.”

  Jason Beck, one of his Directors of Artistic Development, stepped into his office. You could take the coach out of California, but you couldn’t take the California out of the coach. Even now, after years in urban Paris, Jason was tanned to a subtle bronze, his chestnut hair streaked with inexplicably natural highlights. At the moment, his healthy charm was sullied by a ponderous frown.

  “Well?” Michel asked, pointing to a nearby chair. “How was the practice? What do you think of her?”

  Jason threw himself into the armchair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What do I think of her? She’s a fucking maniac. She’s fearless. She’s terrifying. She’s...” His voice trailed off as he searched for an adequate descriptor. “Insane. I think that’s the simplest way to put it. Batshit insane.”

  Michel steepled his fingers and pursed his lips. “Insane is a strong word. Let’s substitute eccentric, or visionary.”

  “No, sorry. Did you talk to her? Did you converse with her even a little before you hired her?”

  Converse with her? What did conversation matter with a performer like La Vampa? At twenty-six, she had twenty years of performance under her belt with one of Italy’s premiere circus families, starring in a banquine act that was considered the best in the world. When he’d passed her his card, he’d experienced a strange sense of recognition, or maybe precognition, that he was meant to meet this performer and bring her into his company. I’m with Cirque du Monde, he’d said. Would you like to come?

  Yes, of course, she had said in luxurious English. With her accent it sounded like off course, and honestly, he had felt a bit off course as she held his gaze. Now, just in time for Élémental, Michel had procured his flame-haired flyer. Well, after he paid an ungodly sum to her family troupe as compensation for their loss.

  He cleared his throat and frowned at Jason. “Whether she is insane or not, she is a highly skilled performer for whom we paid an exorbitant amount. Allowances must be made.” Insanity didn’t worry Michel Lemaitre, but Jason’s exasperated expression did. He pitched his voice to a low, soothing lilt. “Tell me about your first practice with La Vampa. I’d love to hear what has you so worked up.”

  Jason’s rough exhale shifted the hair that escaped his ponytail. “Okay, where do I start? She arrived on time in the company of a gentleman purported to be her father.”

  Michel raised a brow. “Purported?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. We talked for a while, got to know each other.”

  “Her English?”

  “It’s good, but when she gets excited she can be difficult to follow. And she gets excited a lot. By everything.”

  “How delightful.”

  Jason gave him a look that communicated a different opinion. “Anyway, she gave me a short demonstration of her skills.”

  “Her acrobatics are excellent, yes?”

  The director’s eyes shone with reluctant approval. “Her acrobatics are world class and her agility is astounding. Nearly as astounding as her lack of inhibition.”

  Michel waved a hand. “What need have we of inhibition? We are Cirque du Monde. What else did you discover? What are her strengths and weaknesses?”

  “Strengths? She’s athletic, with great natural ability. She’s amazingly comfortable in her body. Flawless balance, flawless control. She’s creative and energetic. Weaknesses...” He paused with a grimace. “Well, there’s only one real weakness. She doesn’t seem to possess an ounce of self-preservation. I spent ninety percent of the practice expecting her to break her neck. She’s insane.”

  Michel shook his head. “She is an artist. The best art is fearlessly rendered.”

  “That’s a real pretty saying. She still scared me to death. She also has the attention span of a flea. She stopped halfway through practice because she spotted a scrap of nylon fabric across the gym that she had to have.”

  “Had to have? Why? What did she do with it?”

  “She stuck it in her gym bag, God knows why. She also spent a good bit of time flirting with Adei and some of the other gymnasts.”

  “Not you?” Michel asked, lips curling in amusement.

  “Oh, me too. Halfway through practice I put a hoodie over my tee shirt be
cause she was undressing me so hard with her eyes.”

  Now he laughed out loud. “How wonderful for you.”

  “Wonderful? First of all, I’m engaged to your daughter. Second, I’m supposed to be Valentina’s director, not her love toy. Speaking of love toys, her father—”

  “You said ‘purported’ father,” Michel reminded him.

  “During the break I found him with her in the locker room showers.”

  “Showering?”

  “Fucking her against the wall. It didn’t look very fatherly, but Valentina seemed to be enjoying it. She wasn’t the least bit embarrassed either. She looked at me like she expected me to join in.”

  “Did you join in?”

  “No!”

  “Come now, confess. I’m not one to judge.”

  Jason ruffled with impatience. “Again, I’m engaged to your daughter. And I’ve never slept with any of my performers.” At his boss’s doubtful glance, he amended, “Well, except for your daughter.”

  Michel smiled at the correction. He’d sent Jason to scout his daughter last year at a circus in Mongolia, and by the time they returned, the two were embroiled in a relationship. Before then, Sara hadn’t realized she had a father in Paris, or that he owned the world famous Cirque du Monde, and Michel hadn’t realized he wanted to be a dad. At Jason’s urging, Michel had grown close to the twenty-two-year-old woman, and given her the trapeze act in his new elemental-themed production. His daughter was air, wispy and ethereally lovely.

  La Vampa, he hoped, would bring the fire.

  Michel tapped at the file on his desk. “Aside from Miss Sancia’s fearlessness and her voracious appetite for her fake-father, how did you find her artistry? Her tenacity? Did she take direction well?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Did she seem capable of intricate technique and concentration?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Energy, vitality. Conflagration,” Michel said with a sigh of pleasure, enjoying the feel of the word on his lips. “She’ll be perfect for Élémental.” Michel flipped open her file to show Jason the sketches and notes he’d made while the talent department labored to bring her into the fold. “Do you know what they call Valentina in Italy?”

  “What’s the Italian word for ‘nymphomaniac’?”

  Michel ignored this. “She is called La Vampa di Napoli,” he said. “The Flame of Naples, roughly translated. I imagine this ‘Vampa’ as a central character in our production, a motif. A woman of unbridled passion and strength, a blaze igniting inspiration wherever she goes.”

  Jason scratched his temple. “Okay. But she’s crazy.”

  “Excentrique,” Michel corrected.

  “Excentrique,” Jason repeated with a passable Parisian lilt. “However you want to say it. She’s something else.”

  Something else. Michel felt the familiar rush of inspiration. “We have earth, air, water, spirit, and now fire,” he said. “I see oranges and reds, a dynamic, vigorous act, a performer who embodies a blaze with flames reaching to the sky.”

  “A character called La Vampa?”

  Michel nodded. “What do you think?” He felt heartened by his director’s thoughtful expression. “These are just preliminary plans. Visions. I’ll need your help, Jason. I’ll need Valentina’s most magnificent efforts and your expertise in refining them.”

  “And a magnificent insurance policy for La Vampa, who seems determined to break every bone in her body.”

  Michel stood with a smile. “Where is our flame now? Did you leave her in her father’s arms?”

  “Last I saw, they were headed to the cafeteria for lunch.”

  “Let’s join them. I would like to welcome her personally to our community of artists.”

  Jason threw up his hands. “Sure. Why not?”

  Michel strolled through the corridors of the main Paris complex with his usual sense of pride. He had begun his circus career as a traveler, a vagabond juggling on street corners. Even then, homeless and poor as a beggar, he’d found creative beauty in the ebb and flow of life. He’d built the Cirque empire from the ground up, scratched and begged and bullied until he achieved his perfect vision, until he got the results he wanted. It was a mode of operation he still practiced today, although he did considerably less begging and considerably more bullying.

  The man beside him, Jason, was a trusted colleague as well as his future son-in-law. He could be depended on to whip the acrobatic acts into shape; his light manner belied a steely core. Perhaps he was an effective director because he shared Michel’s dominant proclivities. As a player in the Cirque’s BDSM subculture, the younger man’s depravity rivaled his own.

  No small feat, considering Michel’s depravities.

  They turned off the wide corridor into a community dining space dominated by panoramic windows and bright murals. A scan of the tables revealed no splash of red hair.

  “I don’t see her,” said Jason. “But there’s her fake-dad.”

  “I’d love an introduction.”

  Michel and Jason crossed to the man’s table. Michel extended his hand. “Good afternoon, Mr...”

  “Forenze,” the Italian provided with a thick accent, leaning forward.

  “Mr. Forenze, I am Michel Lemaitre, the owner of Cirque du Monde. Welcome to our happy little enclave.”

  “Happy?” Forenze leaned back again and made a disgruntled sound.

  Michel looked around. “Where is your daughter?”

  “She is not my daughter. She told me to pretend I’m her father so I can stay with her.”

  “You’re not her father?” said Michel with feigned shock. Jason poked him in the back.

  The Italian shook his head. “I meet Valentina last week at a café. She beg me to come, crying that she will not know anyone. She has already made several new friends,” he sneered. “As for me, I have a ticket home tomorrow.”

  “Well.” Michel turned to Jason, who’d flushed red around the ears. The American hated awkward scenes. “You’ll be missed. Safe travels.” He scanned the cafeteria once more. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

  Mr. Forenze pointed to one of the doors. “She left that way holding hands with a large black man.”

  “Of course she did,” Jason muttered under his breath.

  “Adei?” Michel guessed.

  “She did a lot of staring across the practice space at him. So probably. Yeah.”

  “This is serendipitous. He topped my list of prospective partners for Miss Sancia.” The first meeting room in the hall was empty. Michel closed it and proceeded to the next. “I picture a hand-to-hand routine. Adei’s strength and presence contrasted with her delicacy.” He opened the next door. “Ah. You see what I mean?”

  “Good lord,” Jason said, turning away.

  But Michel didn’t turn away. Why would he deprive his senses of such a lovely tableau? Valentina sprawled atop a conference table, pants and panties around her ankles, her legs held open by Adei as he licked her bare pussy with abandon. “Lovely,” Michel murmured. “See how he worships her?”

  To say Michel Lemaitre was sex positive was like saying a fish was water positive. He didn’t just love sex; he needed it to live, to breathe.

  “You are not required to finish what you’re doing,” he said to alert them to his presence, “but I would enjoy watching the finale.”

  Across the room, the two performers froze, and two alarmed sets of eyes turned to him, Valentina’s half-dazed with pleasure. Michel winked at Adei, who winked back and tightened his grip on the woman’s thighs.

  Jason made a noise behind him. “I’m out of here.”

  Michel was too absorbed in the scene to care when his director stalked away. He pulled the door closed as Adei hunched over La Vampa’s glistening mons. She held Michel’s gaze another moment and then threw back her head in pleasure. Adei slid his hands under her legs and lifted her, bobbing her up and down on his tongue. There was nothing on earth like watching athletes fuck. They were so energ
etic and flexible. He envisioned an act in flame orange, Adei sending Valentina skyward with his thick, muscular arms so she flew like a comet, trailing that fire-red hair.

  As he daydreamed, Valentina gripped Adei’s head. “Sì, sì, sì, sì, sì,” she hissed. A moment later, Adei’s efforts had her bucking through a prolonged climax. How beautiful she looked caught in the throes of orgasm. He watched the sleek muscles of her legs as she twitched through aftershocks. Her pussy glowed like a flower and he found himself wanting to take his own sample of her nectar. He found himself wishing to force open those shapely, strong legs and explore her many charms. He found himself wanting to tuck the delectable creature into a cage so he might fuck and torment her whenever he wished.

  Such lurid fantasies. His cock ached, rock hard, but he smoothed a hand over it, willing it to subside. This little spitfire was not for him. Too young, too fresh, and certainly too undisciplined to satisfy his exacting tastes.

  Michel gave her a moment to rest and compose her clothing before he held out his hand. “Come, Miss Sancia. We have things to discuss.”

  “You are angry?”

  “Why would I be? I am not angry in the least.”

  She studied him, her light, gold-hazel eyes still glowing with pleasure as their fingers intertwined. Ah, he remembered that light in her eyes, that lively spirit from their single previous meeting. Her erotic hedonism, though, was a delightful surprise.

  To Adei he inclined his head. “Bravo, young man. To give is sometimes to receive. Come to my office at four o’clock. We have things to discuss.”

  He turned back to Valentina. The reckless flirt blew Adei a kiss as Michel drew her out the door.

  *** *** ***

  Valentina had to walk fast to keep up with Michel Lemaitre’s purposeful strides—and she had to keep up, because he hadn’t yet loosened his grip on her hand.

  Not that she minded. She could barely believe she was walking through the halls of Cirque du Monde’s headquarters on the arm of the powerful, sexy CEO. She’d liked Naples, and liked performing with her family as part of a traveling variety act, but they never left Italy. City festivals and community fairs were small time. She wanted to see the world and the surest way to do that was to join Mr. Lemaitre’s company, with shows in numerous countries and touring productions that spanned the globe.