Master's Flame by Annabel Joseph

me. How do you say it? Diablo?”
    “The devil,” he murmured. “What a lazy excuse.”
    She sighed and turned her face into the pillow. It smelled faintly of lavender but it wasn’t girly. It smelled fresh and crisp, like the towels he’d dried her with, like the pristine white robe he’d shrugged into. Like him. His house, what she’d caught of it as he dragged her to this room, was also very crisp, with no color, no clutter. It was so unlike her own place, trashed with the various detritus she compulsively collected. What would it be like to let go of all that and stay in this plain white room, in this cage bed, forever? She started to cry. She knew why she wanted him. She wanted control, and he could control her. Not forever. He wasn’t a man to stay with a slave forever, but he could teach her to balance her behavior, to think first. To
wait
before she acted impulsively.
    “I need you,” she mouthed against the pillow, too softly for him to hear.
    “What?”
    She curled her hands into fists as he moved to her buttocks, rubbing the warmed medicine into her cuts. His fingers were as strong and masterful as the rest of him. Her pussy reacted with a tingling warmth, even in her misery and pain. She pressed one of her fists into her eyes to smear away the tears.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”
    His fingers stopped still. “You did this to get my attention? You risked your life and endured this abuse
to get my attention
?”
    “Mr. Lemaitre—”
    “If you needed my attention, you could have come to my office as I said. You could have sent me an email.” He massaged salve into a smarting cut on the back of her thighs. “I am available to my performers. You need only ask for an appointment.”
    “You know that’s not the type of attention I’m talking about. It’s not the attention I need.”
    “You
need
. It’s all about your needs, isn’t it?” Again, she caught the scent of heat and clean lavender. His robe was stark white against his tan, furred chest. She tried to turn to him but he stopped her with a hand on her back. “No. Give the cream a moment to absorb before you roll over and smear it everywhere.”
    That hand holding her still...it was everything she wanted. Control. Protection.
    “I want to be yours, Mr. Lemaitre,” she cried. “I want to be yours so badly.”
    “Do you? I never would have guessed.”
    She twisted to meet his eyes. “Don’t mock me. Don’t laugh at me, please. It’s the truth, and it’s killing me that you don’t want me.”
    “You mustn’t mock
me
,” he replied, the thunder back in his voice. “You don’t want to be mine. You haven’t the first idea about submission. You want a thrill, an experience. You want me to fuck you until you get your rocks off. You want the adrenaline rush.”
    “No. Yes.” She sighed, following him with her gaze as he went to the bathroom to wash his hands. “I want you to use me and control me, like you did with your slaves. I want your power, your possession.”
    “You want my cock, because you’re a nymphomaniac with poor impulse control.”
    “That’s not true.” She lay back down. “Well, it is true, but there’s so much more than that in my heart.” Her voice roughened in her frustration. “You won’t even try to understand what I’m feeling.”
    “I don’t think
you
understand what you’re feeling.” He returned and sat in the chair beside her, looking over her whip-marked body. “This is an ill-fated attraction, Valentina. How can I make it stop?”
    Oh, those words hurt her. She had to make him see... “Make love to me. Just once,” she begged. “Touch me just once so I can know the feeling of your...your magic.”
    “My magic?” He shook his head. “Jason’s right. You don’t live in the real world.” He stood and paced away from her.
    “Mr. Lemaitre, I would give anything to belong to you.”
    He turned back, holding up a finger.