Bound in Blue

by Annabel Joseph

  “Thank you,” she said to no one in particular, as she collapsed on Theo’s chest. “I don’t know what else to say. Thank you.” The last word was the barest breath.

  “No, thank you,” Theo said in his deep voice, slapping her thigh. “That was very well done.”

  Behind her, Jason squeezed her sore ass cheeks. “You sound like you’re coaching her in trapeze. Very well done,” he mimicked.

  “Good girl, then,” Theo said. “Is that better? And you, ma chère.” He tweaked his wife’s breast. “When your shoulder is one hundred percent again, we’ll invite Sara and Jason over once more. What do you think?”

  Kelsey eyed Sara in admiration. “I’ll need a little more rehab before I can handle an onslaught like that.”

  Jason laughed as he withdrew from Sara’s ass and gave her a spank for good measure. “You took Theo and Lemaitre at the same time once. I remember. I was there. People still talk about it.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Kelsey shivered. “I’ll take you and Theo any day. Lemaitre, not so much.” She helped Sara ease off Theo and then both of the women collapsed on the bed. The guys got up to take off their condoms, their cocks still partially hard, and Sara burst into a fit of giggling. She couldn’t say why, except that she felt so worn out, and giddy, and happy. Then Kelsey joined in until both of them couldn’t stop laughing.

  Theo and Jason exchanged looks. “Slave girls,” Jason said, shaking his head. “I think the disco ball might be messing with their brains.”

  Theo stood back to admire the view as Sara snuggled against Kelsey in the glow of twinkling lights. “Better than Christmas, wouldn’t you say? Better than the Citadel, sûrement. All in all, I’d say this was a very enjoyable night.”

  Chapter Ten: Mon Dieu

  Jason spooned the two women off to dreamland while Theo circled the room, putting away toys and extinguishing candles. When he got to the last one, he picked it up, beckoned Jason, and headed out of the room.

  Jason left the girls in their sleeping embrace and followed him to the kitchen. “I always want to smoke after really good sex,” Theo said. “I want a cigarette so badly, but I promised Kelsey, never again. So I eat instead, or drink wine.” He gestured to the chair across from him and Jason accepted a glass along with a buttery, flaky croissant. He was either really hungry, or it was the best croissant he’d tasted in his life.

  “Where do you get these?” he asked. “You make them?”

  “No. Buy them at the shop. Only in Paris. In Marseille, we haven’t found any as good. Kelsey says if we stay in Paris much longer, she’ll gain too much weight.”

  “Ha. That girl can eat anything. She has the magic metabolism. Does she still eat those straws full of sugar?”

  “Licky Stix? When she’s a good girl, she gets them,” he said with a smirk. “Speaking of good girls, what a delightful little slave you have. I’m her coach, so I know she’s a good trapezist, but the rest...” His eyes widened. “Such a pervert. I never knew.”

  “I was Kelsey’s coach once upon a time, and I never knew either. Although I think with Kelsey, you had quite a hand in perverting her.”

  “I trained her to my liking, yes. It was a process. It’s always a process, but with some, it’s easier than others.”

  “With Sara, it’s been completely natural. We’ve been perfect for each other from the start, like someone knew exactly what we wanted and created it in the other person. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  He was gushing like an idiot. And to Theo Zamora, no less. If someone had told him three years ago that he and Theo would be friends one day, sharing partners and talking about relationships, he would have politely advised that person to fuck off.

  “Are you going to collar her?” Theo asked.

  Jason shifted, frowning down into his glass. “I don’t think so, only because she had to wear a collar when she worked at the club. So much baggage there. I was thinking about something a bit more permanent.”

  “Nipple piercings?”

  “No,” Jason snorted. “An engagement ring. I mean, when the time is right.”

  Theo’s eyes widened. “Really? Already?”

  “Yes, already.”

  Theo raised his glass in a toast. “Félicitations. I understand, you know. Sara is a jewel, something special. When I found Kelsey, it was like finding treasure. I wanted to keep her. It didn’t take long for me to know.” He took a deep drink, then asked, “What is this club you speak of, with the collar? A Paris club?”

  Shit. If Jason wasn’t so buzzed and sexed out, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Now Theo stared at him with one eyebrow raised.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Jason sighed. “But Sara used to work at a sex club in Mongolia. A BDSM club.”

  “What?” Theo gawked.

  “She wasn’t working there, like in the private rooms,” Jason clarified. “Just waitressing to supplement her income. I met her there before I ever scouted her.”

  “And by ‘met her,’ I suppose you mean you hooked up?”

  “Unfortunately. Or fortunately. If we hadn’t, she wouldn’t have known where to find me after Baat shot down the initial offer.” He paused, remembering the sexual intensity of their first encounter. “It made the scouting side of things awkward, but I have no regrets.”

  “Wow.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. This wine...” He pushed it away. “Don’t tell her you know. She wasn’t happy about working there.”

  “Poor Sara.” Theo traced a jagged scar in the tabletop. “But we all have skeletons in our past.”

  “Skeletons in our closet.”

  “What?”

  “The expression is—”

  Theo waved a hand. “Skeletons, shadows, spectres, whatever. Do you know, she told me outside it was time to let Minya’s ghost go?” He turned away, shaking his head. “She has a mouth on her sometimes, that one.”

  “She does,” said Jason. “In this case, I think she hit pretty close to the truth.”

  Theo was silent a moment, then he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “I have peace with Minya, most of the time. As for Sara, all she wants is to stay here by you. She’ll throw a thousand ghosts under the bus to do it, to get her Paris trapeze act.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “Maybe she can do something else. You can help her make an acrobatic routine. She’s very strong. She would learn quick.”

  “No. Sara belongs in the air. Anyway, I can’t sleep with her and be her coach.”

  “Merde,” Theo drawled at Jason’s look. “Yes, I’m her coach, but I did it for her. Poor Sara, turned out from the Citadel by Le Maître himself, when she was so excited to go.” He stared at the guttering candle. “I don’t understand why Michel wouldn’t allow her there. He allows everyone, especially those he’s fond of. It makes no sense.” He passed his fingers through the flickering flame, once, twice.

  “Self-preservation,” said Jason. “He doesn’t want to be tempted by her.”

  “I don’t think so. He loves to torment himself with what he can’t have. Remember the Venezuelan dancer with the exceedingly faithful wife? He invited them to everything. I think he would have moved into their house if they let him.”

  “Maybe he was having an off night. Maybe he was on something. Maybe he looked over and thought she was the devil.”

  Theo sucked his teeth. “First of all, no one could ever mistake Sara for the devil. And second, Michel never plays under the influence. He was sober as the grave.”

  “What did Sara say on the way out of the club? About him not liking her?”

  “She says he doesn’t like her, but I think it’s the opposite.” Theo paused. “I think he likes her too much. The way he studies her… They’re two of a kind, in a way. Both reckless, strong and persistent. And they both have those same pale blue eyes.”

  The candle flame lengthened as it reached the end of the wick. Jason stared at it, turning Theo’s words over in his head.

  Those same
pale blue eyes...

  Jason and Theo blinked at each other as the candle fizzled and went out.

  “Mon Dieu,” Theo breathed. “C’est possible?”

  Jason gripped his head, reeling with a thousand emotions. Confusion, shock, disbelief. Fury like a burning ache. He shot to his feet and stumbled over to the living room, pacing in circles.

  Blue eyes.

  The same pale blue eyes.

  “She’s his daughter,” Jason said. “Jesus fucking Christ. She’s Lemaitre’s daughter.”

  “Be quiet,” said Theo. “You’ll wake her.”

  “Oh my God.” Jason collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands. Sara was Michel Lemaitre’s daughter. It all made sense now, the way he knew how to pronounce her name the very first day, his anger when he found her at Jason’s, his close attention to her training, his refusal to allow her in the club. And those pale blue eyes any idiot could have matched together.

  “Why didn’t I see it until now?” he groaned. “It’s so obvious. Why didn’t I suspect something?”

  “None of us suspected,” said Theo, walking over with Jason’s glass of wine. “They don’t look alike, and Lemaitre doesn’t seem old enough to have a grown daughter. He’s always treated her with such...professional distance.”

  “God damn him.” Jason threaded his hands through his hair. He had to calm down. If he stomped around and ranted, he’d scare Sara and ruin her pleasurable memories of the night. He drained his glass but the alcohol didn’t have any soothing effect. Theo sat across from him, deep in thought.

  “Why wouldn’t he tell her?” he asked Jason. “Why not let her know?”

  “Shame. Selfishness. Sociopathic tendencies. Pick a trait.” He put down his glass and leaned forward. “You weren’t there, Theo. You didn’t see how she was living in Ulaanbaatar. She had nothing, no family, no money, no choices. And fucking Lemaitre got a twinge and sent me to bring her here for his goddamn pleasure, so he could gaze on what he’d fucking wrought.”

  “Do you think it was that way? Do you think he feels nothing for her?”

  “Curiosity and pride. I think that’s what he feels.” He grabbed his head again. “Fucking hell. She’s his daughter. She’s so sweet and lovely, and beautiful, and he doesn’t fucking care.”

  “We don’t know for sure she’s his daughter. We don’t know—”

  Sara’s voice carried down the hall from the bedroom. “Jason?”

  He rose to go to her, but Theo took his arm. “You can’t say anything to her. Not until you talk to Lemaitre.”

  “She deserves to know who he is.”

  “And if he denies her again?” asked Theo. “Then what? The Citadel rejection was bad enough. If he rejects her in this—”

  “I would kill him.”

  Theo tightened his grip on his arm. “Talk to Michel first. Say nothing to Sara until you know for sure.”

  Jason pulled away from Theo and strode down the hall to the bedroom. Sara stirred, pulling out of Kelsey’s arms. “Is everything okay? I heard fighting.”

  “No fighting, baby.” He leaned over the bed and stroked her hair. “Just talking. Everything’s fine, but we should give Kelsey and Theo their bed back. They have a guest room where we can sleep.”

  “Goodbye, little one,” Kelsey murmured as Jason gathered Sara in his arms. He carried her down the hall, where Theo waited, holding open the door.

  “Bonne nuit,” he said. “Stay for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “Oui,” said Jason. “Thanks.”

  Sara was already half asleep by the time he laid her on the bed. “Stay with me,” she sighed, clinging to him. “Please hold me.”

  He pulled her close, as close as he could along his body, and wrapped her tightly in his arms. “Sleep now, good girl. It’s been a long night.”

  “Did you have fun? Did I please you, Master?”

  He stroked the smooth skin of her cheek. Did he see, now, the slightest hint of Lemaitre’s angularity in her facial lines? “You always please me,” he said, nuzzling her. “You’re my special little one, no matter who I allow to fuck you. I love you the best.”

  “You love me?” she asked, pressing her face against his neck.

  He was more certain than ever that he did. “I love you the best,” he repeated. “You’re my eternal girl.”

  “Jason,” she said drowsily, “Theo is my coach. We’ll get in trouble, won’t we? If Mr. Lemaitre finds out about this?”

  “Mr. Lemaitre won’t say shit,” Jason replied, trying to keep the fury from his voice. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? Master’s orders. Now go to sleep.”

  * * * * *

  After breakfast, Jason took Sara back to the dorms and left her with a kiss and standing orders to rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Then he headed to Lemaitre’s home in Avenue Montaigne, spoiling for a fight.

  He banged on the door just before one. “Michel. It’s Jason. Let me in.” He banged again, harder. “Michel!”

  The door whipped open. Lemaitre glared at him. “Must you shout like a hooligan? You’re going to alarm the neighbors.”

  “I don’t care if I alarm the fucking neighbors.” He grabbed his boss by his starched white shirt and pushed him into his home. “You fucking bastard. Are you Sara’s father?”

  Lemaitre shoved his hands away. “Do you dare?” he asked through his teeth. “We’re not animals. Stop acting like one.” He threw him off and smoothed his shirt with an affronted scowl. “We can talk or we can fight. But we won’t fight in my home.”

  Jason stared at him, too angry to come up with civil words, but he must have looked civilized enough, because Lemaitre turned and shut the door.

  Jason glanced around his boss’s pristine living space, glad there weren’t any naked slaves chained in the corners. He’d been here a handful of times, for dinner parties or emergency meetings. Lemaitre didn’t have a sprawling mansion, although he could have afforded it. His sunlit pavillon was tucked among others of utilitarian-modern design. The interior was strangely neutral. Everything in Lemaitre’s home was white, taupe, ivory, mahogany, or steel. Not what one would expect from one of the most creative personalities in the world.

  “Are you going to answer my question?” Jason asked, his hands in fists at his side.

  “Perhaps. If you’ll sit down and compose yourself.” He gestured toward a low sofa upholstered in some smooth, easy-to-clean fabric.

  So much sex has probably happened here, he thought as Lemaitre took the seat across from him. He perched on the edge.

  “Can I get you something? A drink?”

  “You can answer my fucking question. You can tell me what the fuck is going on, why you brought a performer here who’s your daughter, and treated her exactly like everyone else.”

  His words snapped out like cracks of a whip. Lemaitre’s only reaction was a slight negative tilt of his head. “Not exactly like everyone else. Everyone else is permitted in the Citadel. She is not.”

  “So it’s true?”

  Lemaitre leaned back, scratching the side of his knee. “I expected your visit today, but not this confrontation. You want to know if I fathered Sara? Yes, I did. Am I her father? I think we both know the answer to that.”

  “You’re either her father or you’re not, you glib piece of shit.”

  “I’m your boss,” he said, his gaze hardening. “I provide your livelihood. You might conduct this conversation with a little more respect.” He stood and crossed to the kitchen, and returned with a crystal tumbler of water. “Drink this. Drink all of it before you say anything else.”

  “I’m not six years old,” said Jason. “I didn’t just wake up from a bad dream.”

  “Still, you’re agitated. Water has a way of calming the soul. Drink.”

  Jason wondered if it was spiked with some kind of designer, Lemaitre-style drug, but he drank it anyway, and he did gradually feel calmer.

  “Where is Sara now?” Lemaitre asked when Jason leaned to pla
ce the glass on the side table.

  “Do you care?”

  “I suppose what I mean to ask is, does she know why you’re here? What prompted this confrontation?”

  “You want to know if Sara knows? No, she doesn’t, not yet. Theo and I figured this out last night while she was asleep.”

  His brows rose. “She slept with you and Theo last night?”

  “You don’t get to ask that,” Jason snarled. “You’re not her father, right? You just fathered her.” Okay, so maybe the water hadn’t calmed him after all. “Sara’s still oblivious, and I didn’t want to tell her until I talked to you.”

  “I’m grateful for that.”

  “But she ought to know you’re her father.”

  Lemaitre held up a finger. “She has a father. A good man who didn’t question the eye color, who raised her as his own.”

  “He passed away a couple years ago, along with her mom. In an accident in Ulaanbaatar, which is a hell of a place to drive.”

  Jason could tell by the shock on Lemaitre’s face that he hadn’t known. A moment later, he’d neutralized his expression. “What a tragic loss. But Sara loved that man as her father. She’s twenty-two years old. Why would she want a new father now?”

  Jason didn’t have an answer to that. He knew Sara loved her Mongolian father, despite the circumstances of her parents’ deaths. But a father was a father, and if Lemaitre was her father…

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about this,” Lemaitre said. “I’ve agonized over it. I decided it was kinder not to tell her.”

  “It’s kind until she shows up at the Citadel and sees you in action, and fantasizes about becoming your slave.”

  “I trust you’ll see that doesn’t happen.” Lemaitre’s gaze skewered him. “What were you thinking, bringing her to the back rooms?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? You realize she’s...” His voice choked on the words. “She’s just like you, Michel. Exactly like you. She likes to play hard.”