The tour began in Paris, a city that smelled of rain and old secrets. Their hotel overlooked the Seine, all gilt and velvet, with a bed big enough for an orgy and windows that never quite closed against the night. Victor had the connecting door to the rest of the troupe locked from the inside. For the first three days in every city, Sasha belonged to no one but him.He started with denial.The first morning in Paris he woke her with his mouth between her legs, licking slow, lazy circles until she was bucking against his face, then stopped. He rolled away, dressed, and left for rehearsal without a word. She lay there throbbing, untouched, for six hours. When he returned he found her on her knees in the middle of the suite, fingers buried inside herself, chasing the orgasm he had forbidden.He did not speak. He simply unbuckled his belt.The beating was methodical: twenty strokes across her ass and thighs with the leather until she was striped crimson and sobbing into the carpet. Only t
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