Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
NATASHA
S till cursing my idiocy, I traipsed back to Ella’s car lugging a gas can. The Veyron was a sweet ride, but damn, it sucked fuel like an unsupervised eight-year-old with a bag of Halloween candy.
Yeah, I could have called for a rescue, but that would have meant admitting failure. Besides, it was a beautiful day, and perfect for the two-mile walk to a gas station.
Well, the weather was nice when I started. A chilly breeze whipped up as threatening gray clouds accumulated in the sky. As the cold drizzle dampened my face, I shivered and broke into a jog, trying my best not to jostle the gas can too much.
With luck, Cristian kept his mouth shut, meaning I might have enough time to get to the airport without Lachlan catching me. Of course, I’d only asked for an hour, which was yet more evidence of terminal dumbassery.
Thankfully, the Veyron was in sight, but as I approached, a black sedan pulled to a slow stop behind it. His face hard and as implacable as I’d ever seen it, Lachlan stepped from the sedan. Leaning against the fender, he crossed his arms over his chest.
And naturally, the clouds decided to open up, drenching me in seconds. Lachlan opened an umbrella and smirked at me.
Fucking perfect.
Deciding I was as soaked as I was going to get, I slowed my pace to a walk. After reaching the Veyron, I dumped the gas into the tank and tossed the empty can into the trunk.
He held the umbrella over me, and I felt his heat against my back before he spoke. “I’ve caught a naughty slave.”
Shivering with a mix of cold and trepidation, I didn’t object when he draped his coat over my shoulders and gently pushed my arms into the sleeves, somehow managing to keep the umbrella steady at the same time. “Um…sorry?”
“After you crawl to the BMW, you will kneel on the floor in the back seat, where a slave belongs.”
“But—” He circled my throat, his long fingers tightening until I struggled for air. The umbrella tumbled away, driven by the strong wind.
“You may either obey now, or I will administer your punishment on the side of the road.” Leaning close to whisper in my ear, he added, “You will strip naked and bend over the hood. I will then whip you until I decide your chastisement is complete. I will also remind you how much more a whipping hurts when the weather is cold. Do you understand?”
“Wow. You finally got your Master act together. Nice work.” I knocked his hand away and tried to brush past him, but he caught me and twisted my arm, forcing me to bend until my face touched the wet steel of the Veyron’s hood.
He didn’t hurt me, but the position would definitely become painful if I tried to move. “Lachlan?—”
“I did not allow you to speak, much less call me by name,” he interrupted as he stroked my upturned ass.
“When I let you go, you will say nothing. You will do as I ordered and count yourself fortunate that I’ll delay the whipping you’ve earned until we’re in the air for Ireland. You may nod if you understand.”
His tone was different. The spite that used to color everything he said when I lived in the kennel was absent, as were the tentative requests he tried to pretend were commands during training.
Spiteful Lachlan was easy to ignore. I would do the bare minimum to make him shut up and go away. I was beginning to believe he wanted to be the husband I should have had in the first place, but nervous Lachlan was just fucking annoying because he was in my way.
Master Lachlan had a live wire going straight to my pussy.
I swallowed hard and nodded as best I could with my face pressed against the hood of a car.
“Good. Now, stand up.” The roughly barked order didn’t match his soft touch as he helped me straighten. He looked me up and down, then arched a blond eyebrow. “What would a well-behaved slave do if she wanted to ask her Master for forgiveness?”
“I—”
“Did I say you could speak, slave?”
He pressed gently on my shoulder, erasing my confusion. Slowly, I lowered myself to my knees on the wet asphalt and dropped my chin. My pussy heated, driving the lingering chill from my body, and I stifled a needy whimper as he tangled his hand in my hair.
“Very nice,” he murmured. “Now, crawl to the BMW.”
I obeyed instantly, even though he used my hair as a leash to direct me to the rear passenger-side door. I definitely should have hated it but didn’t. Maybe I’d grown used to people touching my hair. Or maybe it was just Lachlan.
The act of crawling made me remember the butt plug tail I used to wear, but I didn’t cringe at the memory anymore. In fact, I kind of wanted it back. I refused to contemplate why.
Although my knees were protected by the fabric of my jeans, the rough asphalt abraded my palms. Holding in a sigh of relief, I crawled into the car and didn’t flinch when he slammed the door behind me and got my things from the Veyron before loading them into the BMW.
Leaving me dripping on the floorboards, he said nothing as he drove us to the airport. Unwilling to test his newfound resolve, I kept my trap shut too.
Silence had always been my friend, but my head wasn’t remotely quiet. Too many thoughts jostled for supremacy, not the least of which was trying to decide how I felt about giving him control.
Not that I gave it. As we’d been trying to convince him to do for weeks, he took charge of me without asking, finally claiming me as his.
I was proud of him for getting his head out of his ass, but I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t hate it.
I expected to. I expected his commands to chafe. I expected to despise every moment of my performance, knowing that failure would mean my execution and the loss of more people to Ronan’s filthy auctions.
Knowing that if I was lucky, I’d get to die quickly. The chances of getting to Ronan were good. So were the odds of me killing him. Me getting him alone long enough to watch him die, then get rid of the body while evading dozens of guards…
Yeah. Even if I had Lachlan, and our performance was textbook perfect, it didn’t look too good for the home team—not that I’d tell him that.
Why then, did my heart race and my body sizzle? Why did prickles of pleasure spiral through my body from his very touch. Why did his orders, delivered in that sexy Irish accent, make me drip?
And why the fuck did I feel like kneeling for him was exactly where I needed to be?
* * *
LACHLAN
Thankfully, the storm soon cleared sufficiently to allow our departure.
I decided to use the preflight time wisely and, without speaking, led Natasha into the small bedroom in the back of the aircraft, again using her hair as a leash.
In too big a hurry to get her warm and dry, I didn’t make her crawl.
Her cheeks colored and she dropped her chin before struggling with my jacket as she toed off her sodden sneakers.
Even in training, she’d never gifted me with such a true, unguarded reaction.
Compared to the woman I married and caged, who obeyed just long enough to plot her escape, or the one who bullied me unmercifully during training if I made the slightest misstep behaving as her Master, this Natasha was relaxed and supple under my touch.
She didn’t stiffen or appear to force herself to obey—not even when I held her hair as I made her crawl in the rain across several feet of wet pavement—and the constant tension in her shoulders and neck eased.
I’d long suspected her father had used her hair to physically control her. Judging by the number of times she’d demanded a hair clipper over the last few weeks, I wondered if the tears she cried when I had Jerome shave her head were from relief rather than sadness.
Knowing her wet clothes would make undressing a challenge, I helped her.
She moved easily, her limbs soft as I eased her shirt over her head.
Her only mistake was to giggle at my irritable curses while I tried to extricate her from her muddy jeans.
Unfortunately, her soft laughter cut off too soon, as if she realized her error.
Although I should have corrected her, and she would probably scold me for not doing so, her laughter was too rare to discourage. Instead, I said, “Good girl for undressing without being told.”
When she didn’t reply, I added, “You may thank me verbally, slave.”
“Thank you, Master. And thank you for helping.”
“It was my pleasure.” I tucked a lock of wet hair behind her ear and nipped her pierced lobe. “There’s a bathroom through that door. I require my slaves to be clean, so bathe quickly with very warm water, dry off, and return.”
I wanted to erase her shivers and the blue tinge on her lips more than I wanted her clean. She didn’t huff and glare at me, so I assumed my request came out as the terse order I’d intended. Of course, she might have been too chilled to bother.
“Yes, Master.”
She hurried into the bathroom and, after a beat of hesitation that wouldn’t have been caught by anyone who didn’t know her, left the door open. She turned the water all the way hot and stepped into the tiny shower before letting out a barely audible groan of pleasure that made me want to join her.
Sadly, there was neither room, nor time. As much as I wanted to take her straight to bed, I couldn’t. We had too few hours to ensure our performance was perfect, meaning I’d have to give her the whip marks that would lend credence to her position as a slave.
As if she knew we’d be taking off soon, she hurried through rinsing her hair and turned off the water. After joining her in the bathroom, I handed her a towel.
“Slave, answer my next question freely.”
“Of course, Master.” She dried her hair roughly, then finger-combed her curls into place.
“When should I whip you?”
Frowning, she cocked her head, but kept her gaze lowered. “I don’t understand, Master.”
“When should your whipping happen to present the best bruises to Ronan?”
If I hadn’t been watching, I’d have missed the split-second flicker of rage in her beautiful brown eyes. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, and she closed her eyes, seeming to relax every muscle in her body one at a time.
For a moment, I wondered if I’d slipped out of character. Natasha rarely let me get away with trying to treat her gently when we were Master and slave though. She would have said something rude if I had.
“Midday tomorrow, Master,” she finally said, her tone even and modulated.
“So, a whipping after we take off, then again tomorrow after lunch?”
Keeping her expression neutral, she said, “If it pleases you, Master.”
“Good girl.” Without offering her fresh clothes, I opened the pocket door leading into the main cabin. “Kneel, then crawl to your seat and fasten your safety belt. We’ll do your first whipping after we reach altitude.”
“Yes, M?—”
“You may not speak.”
The flight attendant, an older man with graying hair and a military bearing, didn’t bat an eye at Natasha’s nudity as he brought us bottled water and small plates of snacks delicious enough to have come from Ella’s kitchen.
I refused his offer of wine for both of us.
One glass probably wouldn’t hurt, but we needed clear heads until we finished our task.
Afterward? I’d dress Natasha in fine couture, then treat her to a steak dinner with the best of wines—including all the lobster she wanted. Perhaps crab instead. She loved steak Oscar, and to my amusement, always asked for the cook to slap the cow’s ass and walk it past the fire.
I took a sip of water to hide my smile, but I needed to get my head back in the game. Natasha was depending on me to keep her safe. After everything I’d learned about Ronan, there was no room for anything less than absolute perfection.
And for the first time, I thought I could give it to her.