Yield (9 page)

“I’ve got a serious urge to do bad things to you every time I see you, Wren. Which goes so well with this urge I have to keep you safe from all the bad ogres of this world, even if I am one. You don’t want to see inside my head.”

“It’s got to be nicer than in mine.”

He chuckled.

As before, doubts arose. “You really feel that way?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” The puzzlement that came through in his voice, as if he’d surprised himself, made me smile.

“I’m glad you do.” I knew I wasn’t giving as much as he was, and I felt the tug of regret. I wanted to. I just couldn’t. Not yet.

“Me too.” His hand patted my thigh. “Tomorrow, we’re going to Australia, in my plane. You can phone Hugh and tell him that today. When we arrive at our destination, you can phone him again.”

Tomorrow? I jolted upright. Though it was nice being on his lap, I had things to do.

“My passport. It’s in a safe at the hotel.”

He pulled me back down. “You don’t need it. We’re going illegally.”

“Shit.” I’d not done anything illegal for years. “I can’t.”

“Can. Shut up and kiss me.”

Well, if he put it like that.

Moghul

I left the munch early. The hotel was swarming with newcomers eager to learn about BDSM, but I was tired and had business to attend to. I’d missed the late night shoot for Kinkaverse too. Jeff could deal with that. On the drive home, I pulled over to the curb to answer his call. The model had protested doing the anal hook scene with the new hook we’d ordered just for the damn scene. I okayed a bonus payout, made a note to get it in the contract next time, told Jeff not to use her again, then set off home.

Things. There were always things needing doing.

Once upon a time, a munch had been a good way to sink back into the semi-normal world as well as check out potential new subs, maybe find new talent for Kinkaverse. Not today.

I uncapped an ice-cold lager and sat at my desk in the downstairs study. My Vetrov emails, the ones that dealt with the illegal side of work, had attachments, videos. At least one would be verifying punishment had been dealt with at the new House Two.

There was no pleasure for me in these; I wasn’t like some of the men I employed. My manager at the first House in Papua New Guinea had taken sadomasochism to extremes I’d never suspected him of appreciating. Skinning a cop had been exceptionally brutal. Luckily that manager had died when the place was overrun. I would’ve had him executed if he’d survived.

These videos were a duty not a pleasure. I lined them up and clicked play.

Early days at House Two and I’d instructed my manager to be particularly vicious in this punishment to demonstrate the foolishness of breaking rules. A guard had been caught fucking one of the girls. Didn’t matter if she was newly acquired or abducted weeks before and well trained. They were all off limits.

A room with no visible windows. Well lit. White walls. Whips, ropes, and chains hung from the wall behind the gagged and naked man tied to a timber St. Andrews cross.

I’d never been there but it was almost familiar due to the resemblance to a room at one of my play parties. Such small differences could color a room fun or evil – such as a sharp knife and an unwilling tied up victim. I had no doubt this room was evil, because I’d made it so.

“Guilty,” proclaimed a man off to the left. At his nod, another man applied a circular clamp to the base of the former guard’s balls and cock, as a tourniquet. His screams were muffled. With the efficiency of a stock hand castrating a bull, my manager used a knife on the guard. Only a few drops of blood spattered to the floor. After a few minutes of agony, the maimed man was executed by strangling him with a garrote cord. Shooting was too normal and never had the same deterrent.

This whole scene was to stop others copying what the guilty man had done. He had no use for his balls in Hell and the brutality was an effective deterrent. Better than simply killing. That it worked was all I needed to know.

The next vid was of a new technique for breaking in a girl. I okayed it, moved on.

This third one was a routine vid automatically gathered from the house Chris and his comfy ménage a quatre
occupied. Chris, my naughty, kinky, immoral accountant. One day I would hand over some of my business to another. The only way I knew to make a man trustworthy was to have him by the balls first. Chris was looking interesting. Protégée potential. Only he was a bit of a pussy when it came to his little submissive family. I had enough evidence of the man
fucking a woman who had been reported kidnapped to put him away for his whole life, if I chose to use it. I didn’t. It was merely leverage. Chris had a history of being able to see sideways and around corners, where crime was concerned. No one could do my taxation books for years without knowing something of what they were getting into.

“Come to me, said the spider to the fly,” I murmured then clicked on stop. I’d seen him screwing his women a hundred times. Only Chris wasn’t a fly. He was more another big hairy spider with a liking for a particular kidnapped woman. Ideal really. Smart and flawed.

Was he was aware I was still taping him? I doubted it. The wiring of the house he’d bought from his former boss had been done in secret while he was away acquiring his victims. Planning ahead was one of my fortes.

Yes. It was.

I cleared my throat and closed that video window. Nothing new, just blond-haired, pretty Chris and his partner in crime fucking their slaves.

Next.

My desire, itch, whatever it was, to watch this fourth video annoyed me. Fucking Wren. Maybe I should go visit House Two incognito and get this new fetish out of my system. If I wanted reality, I could find some there.

Unwise. Very unwise. I couldn’t do that.

I sifted through the email info. Glass was a retired former SAS officer. Richard Oakham. Starting a war with a man who commanded his own semi private army was not wise either. I focused on a line of data. The name of one of his men was familiar – a Pieter. Pieter was one of his mercs...

Well, well, well. I’d lay bets this Glass had something to do with the assault on and elimination of my first House. He’d cost me a lot of money if that were true. That explained his interest in Wren and her one-woman crusade to solve her father’s murder. A smart man would’ve led her astray without contacting her. Or he’d dispose of her. Did his desire for her money exceed his common sense?

I had a private army of sorts also. Using them would be like drawing a big red arrow in the sky saying I was worried he’d find me.

I shook my head. No. Not going there. I never ever guided my business with revenge in mind. Not unless he looked to be capable of, or inclined to, interfere with my business again.

Then, only then, would I lift my hand.

The video was of her and Glass approaching a seaplane – one my spies had placed under surveillance, once they found out who Glass was. The still at the beginning was mostly of her back. Did she turn around to face the camera at some point in this video?

Fuck.
What was I? A little boy contemplating a new Christmas present?

No, I was an adult and adults tended to get god-awful Christmas presents from relatives who should know better. Why did she intrigue me so much? Her looks were partly the cause. Her pale skin versus bright lips and clothing made me think of a vampire from some gorgeous artistic film aimed at a Cannes nomination. I could see her sucking someone’s blood. I could see myself sucking hers. And what an instant hard on that gave me.

Also she was rich. The sort of woman who would cut most men down to size purely by displaying her casual regard to her wealth.

With my boots on an open drawer in the desk, I swung the chair under me back and forth in short arcs, thinking. No, not a boy with an oncoming present. I guess I was more of a collector.

What was my dirty subconscious dreaming of doing with this little work of art? No video for me. I tossed the computer mouse in the bin, in the full knowledge I’d have to fish it out again later.

Behind me was a window opening to a downhill view across Cleveland Bay toward Magnetic Island. I swung the chair to look out. I’d sell the damn house over there. No keeping women for me. I was past that sort of idiocy. Fools messed around in their backyard. Wise men did it in other people’s backyards.

That the last line of the email said the plane was heading for Australia meant little. I knew from a report by my IT expert that, at one point in my history, my IP address would lead investigators with some
nous
to this town. It wouldn’t lead to me. Picking me out from two hundred thousand people was not going to happen, no matter how smart Mr. Glass turned out to be.

I could rest easy, play it safe. Be cool. And I could sell my old house so I couldn’t get tempted.

Wren

The blindfold was expected, since Glass had warned me he needed to protect the identity of his pilot. It was a civilized blindfold, a pair of wraparound, completely blacked-out sunglasses. This time there were unexpected benefits to the blindfold – I had him beside me.

The roar of the engines as we bumped over the ocean might have panicked some. I’d been in a thousand aircraft, some big, some small. If I couldn’t trust the pilot then
que sera sera
. Once the plane had taxied off the water, he reinforced the blindfold with some sort of elasticized tape that covered where I could have looked over the top or bottom of the glasses, if I tried hard enough. The rest of me was free, apart from the safety harness. My murmured protest was met with a kiss to my cheek.

“Shhh. Be calm. I’ll take care of you.”

A little patronizing? I didn’t, quite, mind.

I was getting used to Glass and his manner. He kept me on my toes, off balance, and after all, being in a cocoon isn’t living.

That
be calm
etcetera had been his summary of what needed doing when we’d sat on the jetty earlier. I’d stalled. Flying in his seaplane to Australia blindfolded because he needed a pilot to fly the plane back here and that pilot needed to stay anonymous? It had made me uneasy. I had no backup. I was alone. Hugh had been furious as it was, when I’d reported I was going to meet him in five days in Australia. Quietly furious, as he often was if I thwarted his security efforts. I didn’t blame him.

This was unsafe.

After half an hour of Glass basically telling me he’d be with me all the way, and wouldn’t let anything bad happen, I’d said yes. I’d climbed to my feet and followed him. No extra information. Nothing new swayed me. I just decided, what the hell, I’d already trusted Glass with my life and he hadn’t failed me. If he was going to take advantage of me, such as ransoming me, he could’ve done it already.

So. Here I was.

His hand had engulfed mine since take off. I loved how he made me feel small. Big man, big hand, and big cock. I grinned and kept my face down to disguise my sudden amusement.

Him taking advantage of me sexually had already happened though, and
damn
, I could live for a year on the memories. I could masturbate for a year on the memories. Seriously, I must be sick.

I shifted on the seat and let my eyes shut under the sunglasses. I sighed, reliving when he’d made me stand against the wall and do dirty things to myself.

I guess I looked a little too happy because Glass nudged me with his shoulder. “What are you thinking?” He must have leaned in close, for I felt his breath on my neck.

Evil man.

Should I say? I was directly behind the left-hand pilot’s seat. I’d seen where I sat, before the pilot had arrived and I’d been blindfolded. With the heavy drone of the engine, the pilot wouldn’t hear a word unless I spoke too loudly. I might not shock Glass, but I could tease him and I had the perfect excuse. The man had asked.

I turned my head, finding he’d maneuvered himself so his ear was next to my mouth. “I was remembering when you made me stand against the wall and pull my bikini aside. How you made me...”

I hesitated, never before having said anything this sexual aloud where others
might
overhear me. The temptation overrode my prudishness. I could imagine how it might affect this man.

And so, I added more. “You made me put my fingers up inside. Made me fuck myself.” I couldn’t see him but I was sure he was listening,
really
intently. What fun. “Watching you watch me until I almost came...I remember how wet I was. And then you kneeled and touched my... My...” My tongue was stuck on the four-letter word. It always flipped my curse meter to high. “Cunt. That was so hot.”

He cleared his throat.

“Did I say that right?” I was going from grinning to straight-faced spasmodically, as I tried not to show how hilarious I thought this was. “You did ask.”

“You are a little cock-tease. I should pull you over here and make you sit on me.”

The threat froze my heart.
Crap.
Sitting was not just
sitting
. He wouldn’t dare.

He lowered our clasped hands into the lap of the short, pleated, black skirt he’d helped me buy at a market. “Part your legs,” he murmured.

I went from zero to lust speed in one second. “Uhhh. What?” What was he thinking of doing? “The pilot,” I hissed.

“He’s busy. Can’t see. He won’t hear you if you’re quiet.”

He was expecting me to make noise? Expecting moaning, maybe?

“You’re crazy! I am not.
Not.
Doing this.”

“If you delay any more, I will tie your hands and fuck you on that seat. I guarantee you, he will see that.”

Seconds slipped past in some other universe. My thoughts whirled. If I didn’t do it, would he fuck me here, in this plane? I could imagine that happening, in exuberant color and sound. I’d watch that movie. I could feel that movie happening to
me
. And what was wrong with me?
Nothing.
A fantasy, that’s all it was. Triggered by his threat. I didn’t actually want the pilot to see anything. That would be so damn dirty. But Glass...from what he’d done before, he might carry through with this.