I thought I'd lead into the weekend with another quick peek at The Ringmaster: Cirque de Plaisir, which is set to debut very soon. In this scene, the heroine, Olivia, has been thrown into an audition with sexy Donovan Haigh, Ringmaster of the Cirque de Plaisir. From Donovan's point of view...
***
“When we’re in costume,
no one calls me Mr. Haigh.” I glanced
sidelong and caught sight of raven-haired Naomi stripping off her kit without
the slightest embarrassment in front of our guests. Though still masked, she was down to harness
and shorts when I said, “Naomi, who am I?”
After a moment’s pause,
the leggy acrobat shrugged. “You’re the
Ringmaster, sir.” She went back to
getting naked when I nodded.
“Ringmaster,” I
repeated to Olivia, then cleared my throat to regain her attention as she
stared after the utterly unselfconscious Naomi.
“You may call me Ringmaster.”
The blond swallowed
with obvious effort and nodded in acknowledgement, flushing disarmingly across
the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. “I’m ready to audition, Ringmaster.”
“That I highly doubt,”
I muttered under my breath as I motioned for my guests to follow me and led
them back down to the warehouse floor where the real work of the set-up for
tonight was taking place now that the audience had cleared out. “Have a seat,” I told Gwynne and pointed to
one of the crates that hadn’t been moved yet, then to Olivia said, “Up, onto
the stage.”
She did as commanded
and without hesitation, I noted with approval, but she turned with a concerned
look bending her tawny brow. “I’m going
to audition here? In front of everyone?”
I glanced about the
vast, open room. Rafe, still dressed as
the foreman from the performance, was marking out directions on the concrete
floor for what stages and equipment went where.
Slighter, sandy-headed Thom was passing around small bottles of sports
drinks and cautioning everyone to mind their electrolytes like the mother hen
he was, combination admin manager-chef-physical therapist, keeping my athletes
in top shape. And sinewy Griffin and
Piper were working with the crew installing the Chinese Pole, making sure it
was secure enough for their performance.
“No one is paying
attention to us, Kitten,” I said before I thought better of it.
I avoided looking down
again into that delicate, angular face, not wanting to see her reaction to the
spontaneous endearment, and took the whip from my hip. From the corner of my eye, I saw her hand
clench into a sudden anxious fist at her side.
A most curious reaction, like I was going to use the lash on her, and
further proof this was a futile exercise.
If she was this skittish now…
Still, she
persisted. “All right. What do you want me to do?”
So many things… In part to give myself time to consider my
response, I stepped up onto the stage and made a slow circuit around waiting Kitten,
made a show of studying every line and curve of that petite body. As I noted
the firm, smooth musculature along her the back of her calves and the front of
her thighs, along that delightfully heart-shaped buttocks, I asked, “Are you
trained in dance?”
“No,” she began,
shaking her head and sending shimmery waves of movement through the sleek
curtain of her hair. I was actively resisting the urge to run my hands through
those strands when she corrected herself, “Well, sort of. A little. It was
someone else actually taking the lessons, but I was her partner for practice.”
I stopped and narrowed my eyes at her. Was every interaction this awkward and
difficult for her? As though she read my expression, she hissed her breath out
hard through her nose and her clenched teeth. “It’s complicated. Ballet and
modern dance, to answer your question.” Finally.
I resumed my circuit. “I
can tell; you have a dancer’s legs.” From the confusion clouding those pretty
green eyes, she looked like she wondered if that was a good thing. My hardening
cock certainly thought so. The parts of my brain not currently occupied with
inappropriate considerations of all the ways I could stroke this kitten
wholeheartedly disagreed.
The narrowness of her
waist made her hips seem larger than they were, lending an alluring sensuality
to a body that was actually quite lean upon close examination. The full round
swells of her breasts were a perfect counterpoint to the curve of her ass. In a
harness, with a tight leather cincher around her waist, she would have looked
stunning—in an Old Hollywood, vintage erotica way.
When the impulse to
thread my fingers through her hair overtook me again, and I reached a gloved
hand out for her, Kitten—Olivia—caught the movement from the corner of her eye
and flinched away so slightly. And I caught my breath, though I wasn’t entirely
certain why. Perhaps because, though I was of the cooler and more aloof variety
of Doms, I was unaccustomed to women wincing away from me. Or perhaps because
her apprehension made me wonder if she just expected rough treatment, if
someone had misused her in the past. I took the touch of nausea in my gut for
the sickness I’d have felt at the thought of any little innocent being mishandled
and abused.
“Easy there,” I
muttered as I removed my right glove before tangling my fingers in the silky
strands just above the nape of her neck. It was unexpected, both my urge to
soothe her—I was not the fawning Daddy Dom sort, even outside the performance
ring—and the cool softness of her hair, like cream flowing along the back of my
hand. “It’s good that your hair is so long and straight,” I continued to
encourage her despite being at a loss still as to why I would. She smiled
nervously. “Though it could be a bit longer.” And at this she frowned, leaving
me with the smallest hint of guilt.
I peered at her again,
feeling my own lips pressing into a subtle frown—at myself. This Olivia was so
unlike Evelyn, my last assistant, and not what I’d have expected of any of my
performers. When I’d auditioned Evi, the busty brunette had thrown back her
shoulders and cocked one hip provocatively, exuding sex appeal and a
larger-than-life personality that made her a natural for the stage. She was a
brat submissive par excellence. Every
facial expression, every sigh, every tiny gesture had always been a
choreographed reaction playing for maximum effect.
Olivia, she was an open
book, a bundle of live-wire nerves without the least protection. What she felt
down to the bone was the reaction that rose to the surface, unfiltered and
unadorned, so vulnerable and honest. The stage was going to break this girl’s
heart, assuming I didn’t do it first.
At this thought, I
snatched my hand away and stuffed it back into my black leather glove. Time to
stop playing, to stop indulging the false hope that Kitten was going to be my
new assistant. Standing directly in front of Olivia, a mere half-step from her faintly
trembling frame, I ordered, “Take off your clothes.”
***
End of tease! I hope that sounded enticing and gets everyone revved up for the release of The Ringmaster. Like the His Series titles, The Ringmaster will be available for a discount price for the first few days of release, as a thank you to everyone who snaps up the new releases as soon as they come out and an incentive for readers who haven't tried any of my erotic romance yet.
Happy weekend to everyone.
