Retribution (4 page)

The reality of his arrival trembled through me. The idea that he wanted my trust was absurd. It didn’t matter how much I warred with myself—I would always remember the brutality of his hands. I took a deep breath and opened the door. He wore a dark suit, black on smoke gray, and he’d left the tie at home. He’d unfastened the top two buttons of his collar. I stumbled back a little. He looked good enough to eat, though taking a bite of that would likely poison me.

His wandering gaze heated, and I was certain he’d already undressed me in his head. “Are you ready to go?”

With a nod, I picked up the overnight bag I’d left by the door. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” He grabbed my bag, and I shut and locked the door. Moments later we were in his car speeding down the highway, and it became apparent that we were headed to the airport.

“You said we weren’t going far.”

“We’re not. It’s only a two-hour flight on my jet. I can have you home in no time if need be.”

I wasn’t happy about this development, but I let it go. One more weekend, and it would be over. I was prepared to take whatever the next two days gave me. He parked next to a sleek jet where a man materialized next to the car and pulled our bags from the trunk. Gage placed his hand on the small of my back as we climbed the steps. His touch had a possessive connotation, and when he clamped his fingers around my side, I resisted the urge to squirm out of reach.

The inside of the plane was bigger than it appeared from the outside. I’d expected a few seats and little more. I should’ve known better. The inside was just as luxurious as everything else he owned. Every detail testified of money and power; the large flat screen television on the wall, the abstract pieces of art, the plush rug under our feet. He ushered me to the cream leather couch that spanned one side.

“Straddle me,” he demanded, pulling me onto his lap and denying me the chance to object. He slid his hands under my dress and grabbed my ass, bringing me against his erection. My reaction was instantaneous. A flood of warmth crashed at my center, and I struggled to catch my breath through lips that parted of their own volition. His hands kneaded my bottom. “You feel that?” Awareness zinged between us as he watched me. “We connect here, Kayla.”

“It’s just sex.” My voice sounded weak, and I despised myself for it, especially since my body rocked against his.

“No, you’re not the type of woman who engages in ‘just sex’ arrangements.” He brought his hands up and spanned my ribcage. “The fact that you’re sitting here hot for my cock after everything I’ve done”—he circled my nipples with his thumbs—“turning to liquid at my touch, gives you away. You can have ‘just sex’ with anyone. There’s more here between us.”

I couldn’t look at him anymore. I closed my eyes, but I still felt his hands on me, still felt him hard and hot underneath me.

“I could fuck you right now, and you’d still beg for more.” He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me in. “You’re just as addicted to me as I am you.” Pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue swept inside, and I wondered what he was waiting for.

“Do it, Gage.” I moaned against his lips. Later I’d beat myself up for this. Later I’d walk away.

“No. Just because you’re not my slave anymore, that doesn’t mean you call the shots.” He palmed my ass and squeezed hard. “And I’m still Master to you in the bedroom.” His tone left no room for argument. Before I could argue with him anyway, he was kissing me again. He freed my hair from my up-do, and the heavy locks fell in waves around his face.

I curled my fingers in the silk of his hair, but he grabbed my hands and held them behind my back, clenched together in his strong fist. His other hand held me to him so I couldn’t pull out of the kiss until he allowed it. And I didn’t want to escape his mouth. We kissed long after the jet left the ground, and only a patch of turbulence severed our lips, though he didn’t release me.

“Let’s talk,” he rasped against my cleavage.

I could hardly breathe or think, and he wanted to talk? I inched away and studied his expression, looking for a clue as to what he was thinking. “You want to talk? Now?” My head spun—from his kiss, from his rapid mood-shift.

“Yes. Talk. We haven’t done much of that.”

No, we hadn’t. He’d always distanced himself. He gently pushed me from his lap and patted the seat beside him. I sat, expecting him to dominate the conversation, to drill me with questions he demanded answers to, much like he had over breakfast during my first weekend with him. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You.” He ran his hand along the back of the couch and played with my hair. “Why did you marry him?”

The question hit me in the gut. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but as long as you promise to be open with me. Conversation is a two way street.”

“Fine.”

“I got pregnant. I was young, and I thought marrying him was the right thing to do.”

“Did you know he was abusive beforehand?”

“No. I mean, he was possessive, and I knew he angered easily. But he’d never hurt me before.”

“Did you love him?”

I rubbed the silky hem of my dress between two fingers. “At one time, maybe I did.” Raising my eyes to his, I asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” His reply was too quick.

I raised a brow. “Not even a little? Most people fall in love at least once in their lifetime.”

“Maybe I was waiting for the right woman.” His gaze, hot and suggestive, pinned me to the seat.

I refused to back down. “So there was no one . . .?”

“Once, a long time ago.” He said it like it was ancient history—as if this part of his past didn’t mean anything, but I was certain it did mean something. I sensed that whatever happened was a factor in what had made him so deranged. Normal people didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on others in the manner he did. Even the normally kinky people knew where to draw the line. Gage didn’t.

“So what happened?”

“This isn’t open for discussion, Kayla.”

“We had an agreement. You promised to be open with me.”

“I’m modifying that agreement now. Drop it.”

I crossed my arms. “No.”

“Are you purposely trying to make me angry? Maybe you like punishment more than you’ve let on.”

“I like a lot of things, Gage, but pain isn’t one of them. I’m asking because I want to know you. Don’t you think I deserve that much, after everything you’ve done to me?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You deserve everything.” He turned his face toward the blackness outside the small window, contemplation shadowing his features. “She was my high school sweetheart.” Several moments of thick silence passed, as if he thought those six words explained everything.

“Was she . . . was she your slave?”

His mouth twitched. “I never had a slave before you. She was the opposite of you. I’d whip her and she’d beg me to do it harder. She loved it.”

Sounded like they were made for each other. “So what happened?”

“She was fucking someone else.”

Okay . . . so he’d had his heart broken. Not exactly the precipice I’d been looking for to clue me in on why he was such a sadistic bastard. “And there’s been no one since?” I found that hard to believe. I knew he’d had an immeasurable amount of women, but surely he’d had at least a couple of relationships.

“No.”

“So she cheated on you, broke your heart, and you what? Decided to go the rest of your life hating women?”

“She died.” He glared at me, and I felt every facet of that hostile gaze. “I told you to drop it.”

The fear came back then, creeping up my spine, tingling along my skin and reminding me that Gage wasn’t a romantic lover, this wasn’t a date, and he wasn’t going to whisper endearments in my ear as we made love. He’d whittled away my guard, making me forget how he could turn on me in an instant. Like a rabid dog.

“I’m sorry,” I said, adverting my gaze.

He forced my chin up, though his touch was more gentle than usual. “There are things about my past you don’t need to know about. I don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me, or ask whatever is on your mind, but when I tell you to drop something, I mean it. Understand?”

I nodded. Obviously, I’d pushed too far. If he wanted to dish out punishment now, I deserved it. In the back of my mind, I realized how skewed that notion was, but there it was.

The next hour passed in uncomfortable silence, and I couldn’t help but wonder about his past, about the woman who’d stolen his heart. What had happened to her? Did he hold himself responsible for her death? I shrugged off the tense silence and the questions as we began to descend. Peering out the window, I spied a neon expanse below, and the closer we got, the bigger the buildings appeared. He’d taken me to Las Vegas. I’d never been, but I recognized the infamous strip, and I’d heard how spectacular Vegas was on New Years Eve.

What the hell was he up to?

After the jet came to a stop, he rose and held out his hand. The next half-hour sped by in a blur. People opened doors as if we were royalty, and during the limo ride down the strip, the bustling atmosphere called to me, called to the flutters of excitement in my stomach.

Him bringing me here . . . it was beginning to make sense. He wanted to show me how good it could be at his side, but what he hadn’t stopped to think about was how he’d already shown me the worst of him. No amount of seduction, sexual or otherwise, would erase that, though I had to admit I was being lured in for a weekend of the best of Gage Channing . . . at least I hoped he’d left the sadist at home.

After arriving at the hotel, we bypassed the registration desk and went straight to the bank of elevators off the lobby. I watched the numbers light up as we climbed upward. Of course, we didn’t exit until we reached the top floor. He placed his hand on the small of my back, a touch so light that outsiders would think nothing of it. I knew better. His every touch signified ownership.

“I want to blindfold you,” he said once we’d stopped in front of the door to our room.

My heart galloped ahead of me for a moment. “Why?”

“Trust me.”

“You think you’ve earned my trust?”

“No, but I think you’re going to give it to me anyway.” He produced a blindfold from his pocket and reached for me.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he was already slipping it over my eyes. I felt silly standing in the hall, blindfolded while he opened the door. No one else was around to witness my compliance, but that didn’t stop me from wondering about surveillance cameras. After a few moments I heard a beep, and he guided me inside.

“Watch your step,” he murmured. The floor dipped, and he walked me further into the room, his hands on my hips guiding me the whole way. “Stop here.”

I halted and waited, holding my breath, wondering what he’d do. I’d agreed to the blindfold but nothing else . . . and he hadn’t mentioned anything else. I reminded myself that I wasn’t under his control any longer. He’d promised no contract.

So why did I feel like this whole trip was a sham? Like I had even less freedom than I’d had before? I drew in a quick breath, and something deep inside me called to him, something craving the unknown—that tingle of anticipation mixed with fear. The part of me that fell back into the dynamic of submissive too easily. The word “Master” was on my tongue, begging to be spoken.

“Will you whip me if I call you by your name?”

“Yes.”

“Will you stop if I tell you to?”

A few seconds went by, and I heard him inhale. “Yes, but I don’t think you want to.”

He was only partly right. I wanted to tell him to stop, but I felt as if I couldn’t.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed, and clearly, that line of questioning was over. Whatever he had in mind, he was ready to begin.

“Gage—” I broke off, cringing as I lifted my arms above my head. Had I slipped up on purpose? Did I want to test the new perimeters of our agreement?

He chuckled . . . the bastard actually chuckled. He dragged the zipper of my dress down, his fingers lighting a fire down my back. My breath hitched when he bent and placed his hands on my thighs. His fingers were close to the wetness between my legs, tantalizingly close, and I bit back a moan as the ache spread. I couldn’t hold it in when his hands glided upward, palms caressing my stomach and breasts as he pushed the dress up my body and over my head. Gooseflesh broke out on my arms and traveled down my legs, and as he walked me forward a few more feet, I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

“Brace yourself,” he said, and I was clueless about what he meant until he pushed me against the cold, hard surface of what I assumed was a window. I gasped at the contact, and my nipples pebbled against the glass. I was probably visible to God knew who, naked except for a thong and heels, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the next moment . . . and whether he planned to unleash his sadistic or sensual side.

He grabbed my hands and placed them flat against the glass, and something soft and silky encircled my wrists. “I’m going to whip you,” he said, voice gentle as the bindings tightened.

His words elicited a deep freeze in my bones, much colder than the chill on my skin, and I replayed the agony of being struck for hours in my head. I tried to jerk away from the glass, but he’d tethered my hands to something. “Master . . .” The name tumbled out, a plea for mercy I knew didn’t exist within him. “Please, I can’t take another beating like that.”

“Shhh . . .” He swept my hair aside and placed the heat of his mouth on my neck. “I’m not going to hurt you . . . much.” He left a wet trail down my back, and by the time he cupped my mound and slipped his fingers inside, I was dripping wet. He owned me there, with the simplicity of his touch, with the way he made my insides pulse around his fingers. Forgetting that I should be scared, I opened up for him and moaned.

“I won’t lose control like I did last time.” He increased his strokes. In and out . . . in again, slowly caressing, dipping deeper until I started humming. Sweet tension spread from my belly to my limbs, and my breasts heated against the glass, no longer cold.