The Maestro's Butterfly (3 page)

“Yeah, Claudio’s mentioned it. I heard of you guys in a music class once. It’s pretty impressive.”

“Well, it makes it all worthwhile,” Seth said, pulling her closer. “Not to mention, it gets us laid.”

Between the talk of Claudio and Seth’s insistence, Miranda had a difficult time keeping her thoughts straight, and she hadn’t yet had any wine. She savored the word,

“
obedience
” and studied the fabric of Seth’s shirt, trying to determine where his nipples were. Finally, she found them with the flat of her thumbs, and discovered metal rings.

He drew in a breath. “What if you don’t do what he says?” she whispered.

Seth forced his eyes open and looked at her, then began to shake his head. “You don’t want to find out. Trust me. Just don’t even go there.”

Miranda wondered if she’d said something wrong, but the butterflies in her stomach began dancing in a frenzy, exciting her. She thought maybe she did want to go there, in theory anyway. The thought of Claudio coming into the kitchen and being just 16

17

a little angry at her flirting with Seth made the spot between her legs ache. Her vagina felt like it was melting. She wanted to ask Seth about Claudio and punishment but she didn’t dare, or she’d die of embarrassment, so she settled for prodding him just a little.

“Why?” she asked. “What would he do?”

Keeping his eyes on her, he bunched the fabric of her dress in his hands, causing it to ride up her thighs. When it gathered at her bottom and threatened to bare her to the world, she grabbed it and tried to tug it back down. He wouldn’t let go.

“You are a glutton,” he said, studying her face. His eyes sparkled with mischief beneath long, girlish lashes. She wondered what it would be like to wrap her legs around his narrow hips.

“And our shows,” Seth said. “He’ll do anything to make sure a show happens.

Anything,
and that’s no joke.”

That’s when Claudio appeared around the corner with hard, rhythmic footsteps.

Seth let Miranda leap off of him like a teenager who had been caught making out, and got up off the counter, turning to Claudio. “I’ve been entertaining your guest,
Monsieur,
” he said with a playful little bow.

“Good,” Claudio replied with a smile to Miranda. “Obviously you managed to hold her attention.”

Miranda’s face flushed, but she forced herself to grin up at Claudio.

“
Monsieur?
” she asked, mispronouncing it badly. “Is that what they call you?”

Seth went to a cooler in the laundry room just beyond the kitchen and took out a bottle of Beck’s, which he opened by flipping off the cap with his thumb. “I’ll be in here,” Seth mouthed to Miranda and headed to the living room with a wink, then walked away, swigging from his bottle.

“
Oui,”
Claudio said, recapturing Miranda’s attention. “They call me many things. Take your wine. There is something I wish to show you.”

She did as he said and followed him back into the living room, where he opened the door beneath the stairs through which Chloe had disappeared.

18

19

“You’re going to bed now?” inquired a young female voice. Claudio turned, and a tiny Asian-looking girl, with her hair up in tiny, spiky pigtails, came up to him.

She looked as though she couldn’t be more than fifteen, but Miranda thought she was probably older. “I wanted you to play your violin for us,” she said with a pout.

Claudio put his finger beneath her chin. “Another time, Andrea,” he said.

The girl glowered and crossed her arms as Claudio led Miranda down a set of dark stairs. Claudio flipped a switch to illuminate a single bare bulb, which was hanging overhead, and closed the door behind them.

“The basement?” Miranda asked.

“We make use of every space,” he answered. “I think you’ll find it quite comfortable in here. I do.”

Her hand felt hot and damp inside his. She misstepped, and nearly spilled her wine.

He turned, and caught her elbow with his other hand, standing with his back to the drop of steps. “Careful, my dear,” he said. “Don’t break your neck before I have a chance to enjoy it.”

She looked past him, down toward a tangle of furniture, lamps and trunks in the sprawling basement. Miranda thought about turning and running back up the stairs, and about how she sometimes considered making that one simple motion of the arm while driving on bridges, and turning the car sharply into a nosedive to oblivion. One simple motion that would change her life forever.

She stepped down.

At the bottom, there was a door. Claudio reached around the wall and flipped a switch, illuminating the room.
It’s red,
she thought.

“Come inside, my dear.”

Light from a scattering of electric sconces piled shadows in corners and draped them over the walls, which were covered in muted red wallpaper with a shell pattern. A massive mahogany bed dominated the room, with a large mirror at its head. At its foot, 18

19

metal rings hung like door-knockers at the top of thick, treelike posts.

“Oh,” Miranda said. Intrigued, she drew herself forward and reached up to wrap her fingers around one of them. It was almost painfully cold. She pulled it, testing its strength. The bed did not budge. She looked over her shoulder at Claudio, hoping to diffuse the tension with a grin. He stood with arms crossed, his head cocked, smiling.

Something about that smile reminded her of the man in the pinstriped suit, and she shivered, so she turned her attention to the large bullwhip coiled on the wall. It hung just to the left of Claudio’s head, its surface etched in braided patterns.

“Why do you have that?” she asked.

He followed her gaze, and gave a coy smile before replying. “Because it is beautiful.” He took a key from his pocket, turned and locked the door. Miranda shivered, but could not speak. He was locking her in. Why was he locking her in?

“So we will not be disturbed,” he said upon turning back to her.

She nodded and watched him gaze up at the whip, before glancing again at the door. She remembered how afraid she had been by the side of the dark road in his car, and wondered if she should make a run for it now, but his next words completely derailed her train of thought.

“Would you like to touch it?”

“What?” she asked, dimly aware that he had been telling her something about his whip. “I’m not comfortable with the door locked, Claudio. Please unlock it.”

“Drink your wine, my dear.”

She glanced down at the glass in her hand. The wine seemed black in this dim light.

Claudio continued speaking as he approached. “I have wanted to have you here for a long time. I am not accustomed to being made to wait for so long—or at all, for that matter..”

She forced herself to smile and stand her ground, half afraid that he could hear the pounding of her heart. She told herself to stop being stupid, unaware that her fears 20

21

were real, that he could hear her pulse, and smell the growing terror and desire mixing in her blood.

“It probably did you some good to wait for something for a change,” she said, and wished her voice hadn’t cracked. Was he going to rape her? Was it rape if she had come here hoping to sleep with him? She couldn’t think clearly in his presence. She wondered if that gave him an unfair advantage, as though he had gotten her drunk.

“Perhaps,” he answered, stopping only inches away and taking her wine, which he placed on the table near his reading chair. “But now I have you alone.” He touched her chin. “I know you have desires you are not willing to admit.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, sounding more worried than firm. He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her.

She pulled back for a breath, but Claudio placed his hand on the back of her head and brought her forward. When he relaxed the force of his hand and slipped his tongue into her mouth, she moved hers against it. His breathing had deepened, and she pressed against him until her own matched his. She tightened into the kiss, but was careless and met the sharp point of a tooth.

Blood filled her mouth as the Frenchman pressed her against him and suckled the wound, creating tendrils of pleasure and panic, overwhelming her with his rhythm.

Tastes like pennies,
she thought. Then he let her go.

She recoiled and fed on great gulps of air. “What was that?” She touched the tender spot where her tongue had begun to swell. Blood collected on her finger.

Claudio stood watching her with an exaggerated look of innocence.

“I’m bleeding,” she said.

“Forgive me,
Mademoiselle.
I was, how do you say? Caught in the moment. I apologize if I’ve frightened you.”

“I’m
bleeding,
” she repeated. “Do you have a tongue stud or something?”

“I didn’t intend for that to happen so soon. But you are very enthusiastic.”

He wiped a drop from his lip and licked it absently from his finger. Still aroused, she 20

21

fixated on the dark hair that fell nearly to his shoulders and caught the light, making him so handsome in his tuxedo. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to run.

“What do you mean, so soon?”
What kind of weirdo had she gotten herself
mixed up with?

He moved closer again. She stopped breathing and backed away, but his approach was relentless.

“Don’t hold your breath my dear,” he said, moving slowly. “It deprives the blood of its flavor.”

“What are you talking about?” She found herself against the foot of his bed, trembling profusely. She had stopped lying to herself about not being genuinely afraid.

He paused, allowing her to slide desperately along the footboard toward his wardrobe. He curled his lips into a little smile. “Do you have any idea what I am?” he whispered.

When she reached the corner of the bed, she steadied herself with her hands on the massive post, as though she thought she may be able to hide behind it. “Cut it out, Claudio,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good,” he said, moving toward her again. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “What?”

“I think it’s time for you to be honest with yourself, butterfly. And with me.”

“Honest? About what?”

“These dark desires of yours.”

The blood crept into her face. She pressed her lips together, and pushed past him toward the door, humiliated. He let her go. “That’s it,” she said, in tears. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. Why men feel the need to fuck with people I’ll never know, but I really and truly don’t like to be fucked with.”

But she couldn’t open the door. “Let me out,” she said, whirling around to find him inches away. “I’m going home.”

“But my dear,” he answered. “This is your home for one month. Remember?”

22

23

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too late,” he said. “Now. I asked you, do you know what I am?”

“A maniac?”

“Possibly.” He opened his mouth in an expression peculiar to his kind—partial grin, partial baring of teeth, canines extended. His large nose wrinkled like the snout of a growling wolf.

Miranda’s eyes grew wide. She felt her jaw drop, then closed her mouth. “Not possible,” she said.

“But it is.”

She turned away and pounded the door with fists and knees, then collapsed against it. With the patience of a spider, he waited. The hairs on the back of her neck strained toward him. She grew quiet. Her head reeled with everything he had shown her. Was it possible? He was playing some elaborate trick on her. He had to be.

Close behind her, he whispered. “Now tell me, what pleasures do you prefer, hmm?” His well-manicured fingernails grazed her thigh through the thin fabric of her dress. “This teasing of the skin?”

She took in a sharp breath, and shuddered. “Please—” she said. “Please let me go. I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

“Yes, you like this. Do you enjoy knowing that you can’t escape? That I can do anything I please this very minute and you are powerless to stop me?” He touched his lips to the back of her neck, robbing her of the power to breathe.

“I’ll scream.” She did little more than mouth the words. He shouldn’t have been able to hear, but he heard.

“Do you think others haven’t? And who would hear you but my family? And who among them would save you from me? Chloe?”

His delicate touch covered her body. “What else are you afraid to enjoy?” came the soft demand. “What do you dream of when your thoughts turn to pleasure? Do you like my whip?”

22

23

She shut her eyes tight. “Let me go, please.”

“Do you imagine,” he said close to her ear, “that you will be kissed by the lash?” His fingers traced a diagonal line across her shoulders. “I am very skilled in its use. I have had
centuries
to practice.”

Miranda leaned her head against the door and took in the scent of old wood. It reminded her of being a very little girl, and swinging on the doors of her parents’ house, holding up her slight weight with tiny hands on the knobs, gripping the plank with her thighs, becoming excited, and not understanding why. She sobbed.

“Turn around,” he said.

She shook her head.

Claudio repeated the command, his voice low and menacing.

Miranda desperately wanted to cower. She wanted to go to her knees before him and beg him not to hurt her, but she flattened her palm against the door and turned in one violent surge of will, glaring at him through accusing, swampy eyes. Even though she would have fled the room if given a chance, she felt that this moment was, somehow, right. Claudio pressed his hips against her, keeping his eyes steady, the lines of his face, firm. Her hands fluttered against him, useless.

He chuckled and wound his fingers in her curls. “You know what’s going to happen to you,” he said. “Don’t you?”

She tried to shake her head, making tiny groans.

“Of course you do.” He craned his neck and drew in a deep breath.

“Wait,” was the last thing she said before he forced her head to the side and kissed her pulse, raw and alive. The soft sensation of his lips tickled over her, then his feathery breath and the tip of his tongue tested the spot.