George was regarding her expectantly, and so she said, “He’s an actor, right?”
His expression went from confusion to incredulity to amusement within the space of a few seconds. He burst out laughing, a big guffaw that made her smile back in spite of herself. “Good one. You had me going for a second there.”
Hailey was confused. “You mean he’s not an actor?”
George tilted his head, his eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You mean you honestly don’t know who Ronan Wolfe is? The biggest heartthrob of the decade? The man who’s been described as Gregory Peck, Paul Newman and George Clooney all rolled into one incredible package of artistic talent and devastating good looks?”
“I’m sorry,” Hailey replied lamely. “I don’t go to the movies much.”
“I guess not. Or watch TV. Or live in the modern world.” His tone dripped with sarcasm and Hailey felt herself coloring. She looked away so he wouldn’t see her blush.
“I’m sorry.” George’s tone had changed to one of contrition. She felt his hand again on her arm. “That was uncalled for.” George gave a small laugh. “I should be impressed to be with the one straight woman in America who doesn’t fall into a dead faint at the prospect of meeting Ronan Wolfe in the flesh.”
Hailey offered an apologetic shrug, not sure what to say. If this guy was as famous as all that, she would surely recognize him when she saw him, she supposed. The prospect of serving a man who probably had an ego the size of Montana wasn’t exactly thrilling, but he was clearly serious about owning a trained submissive, given all the trouble he’d gone to in order to procure her.
Unless… Unless he just had more money than he knew what to do with, and had jumped on the BDSM bandwagon as something kinky and fun to try out? Was she being consigned to spend six months with a dabbler in the scene? A vapid, clueless celebrity looking to explore a casual kink?
True, the money was great—she would pocket more from this six-month contract than she earned in five years as a yoga instructor—but money hadn’t been her primary motivator when she signed on for training at The Compound. She was seeking a true connection with a bona fide BDSM Master. The idea of being a casual play toy for some wannabe Dom was not appealing, even if he was god’s gift to women.
“Is he serious about the lifestyle?” she ventured. “I mean,” she added hastily, “I don’t mean any disrespect, but is Mr. Wolfe just, um, you know, just doing this for fun? Has he done anything like this before?”
“You can rest easy on that score, Hailey. I’ve known Ronan for a long time, and he’s no lightweight looking for a bit of slap and tickle. He’s heavily into the scene, and though I’m not sure he’s looking for love”—George offered a wry smile as he said this—”he’s as serious as you are about BDSM.”
Hailey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “The thing is,” George continued, “because of who he is, and the work he does, he can’t really afford to have it out there that he’s into the lifestyle. The press would have a field day if they found out the guy was into whips and chains, which is how they would characterize it. Ronan’s a very private guy, and he doesn’t want his private business to become fodder for the gossip mills. I’m sure you heard about his big breakup with Jennifer St. Claire and that whole mess a few years back.”
Hailey opened her mouth to say yes, of course, as she desperately tried to summon up who Jennifer St. Claire might be, and George laughed again. “Oh, right,” he said, still chuckling. “I forgot. I’m dealing with the one woman in the country who doesn’t give a shit about Hollywood royalty.” He patted her knee. “Anyway, the press had a real field day with that one, and most of what they reported had zero basis in fact, but they didn’t let that bother them, of course. Can you imagine what they’d do if they found out Ronan had a live-in, trained slave girl?”
Hailey could only imagine. She didn’t particularly relish the idea of being splashed across the tabloids either. Though she wasn’t ashamed of her submissive leanings or lifestyle, she did live in the real world, too, and had no desire to be embroiled in any kind of scandal.
They were quiet for a while, and Hailey was glad for the silence as she tried to collect her thoughts and feelings. Master George was just George—a procurer for this famous but reclusive celebrity who was seeking a sub girl, but not love.
Okay, fine. It was better to be prepared in advance for what she was getting into, and though she would have appreciated knowing these facts before she’d signed on the dotted line, would her decision have been any different if she’d known the truth?
Her first and best yoga and meditation instructor, Deirdre Levy, used to say something to Hailey when she experienced a setback in her progress or hit a roadblock of some kind. “Remember, dear heart,” her mentor would tell her with a kind smile, “everything happens for a reason and a purpose, and it serves you.”
Hailey had never entirely bought the concept that everything happened for a particular reason—there was definitely bad, random shit out there in the universe that could smack you in the face and hurl you to the ground. This was brutally confirmed in Hailey’s mind when Deirdre died later that year of ovarian cancer at the absurdly young age of forty-two.
But she did like the concept of taking those random events, both good and bad, and figuring out how they could serve her. Whatever happened in California, it was up to Hailey to make it work. Not to make the best of it in the sense of submitting to a fate beyond one’s control, but rather to learn from whatever happened, to grow from it and take something good from it.
Finding out about The Compound from a dear friend in the scene, and then getting accepted for the training, had been both the best and most challenging experience of Hailey’s life.
Until now.
Somehow she had a feeling these next six months would prove even more of a challenge. But she would make it serve her. She would rise to the occasion. She would serve Master Ronan with all the passion and courage she possessed. And she would put that lingering thought of finding true love aside for now.
The flight attendant, a pleasant young man named Carlo, appeared carrying a tray loaded with fresh fruit, various cheeses, bread and crackers, plus two bottles of Perrier water, all of which he set on the table between their large, comfortable seats. “Some light refreshment for you,” he said with a professional smile. “We should be arriving in about two hours.”
He picked up the bottle of champagne that he’d left chilling in a bucket of ice on a side bar. “Would you care for some champagne?”
“I most certainly would,” George said enthusiastically. He turned to Hailey. “How about you?”
“I would love some.”
Carlo popped the cork and poured the sparkling wine into two crystal flutes. “Do let me know if there’s anything else,” he said, and then disappeared.
George lifted his hand in a toast, and Hailey clinked the edge of her glass to his. “To youth and money,” he said with a wink. “If I had either, I would make you my own.” He laughed, another big guffaw, and then downed his glass in one gulp.
Chapter 2
We’re here.
Ronan read the words on his cell screen and a few seconds later heard the sound of the gates at the front of the property whirring slowly open. He pushed himself to his feet and headed inside from the back deck, his eyes taking a second to adjust to the dim light. He moved quickly through the large house to the front room.
From the window he watched George’s car pull to a stop. A sense of the surreal settled over him. Was this really happening? Not for the first time, he began to question himself and this whole crazy arrangement. Was he out of his fucking mind to have let George convince him to do this thing? Had he really just bought another human being to use for his sexual and sadistic pleasure?
As George hoisted two large suitcases from the trunk, the passenger door opened and the girl Ronan had just spent a fortune to procure slid gracefully out of the car. He held his breath, his h
eart skipping a beat.
She had silky blond hair that Ronan’s practiced eye detected was natural. She wore a dark blue sundress with spaghetti straps. Her limbs were long, with smooth, well-defined muscle beneath lightly tanned skin. Her legs were bare, her feet shod in simple, flat sandals. She moved with the easy, lanky grace of an athlete.
“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, reaching for the door. He pulled it open, mentally preparing for the usual wide-eyed expression of excitement and adoration with which all women and not a few men characteristically greeted him, and which always made him vaguely uncomfortable. He wasn’t so stupid as to believe any of the gushing sentiment routinely spewed in his direction was for Ronan Wolfe, the man. What they admired or envied had little to do with him as a person. It was just part of the whole glitzy package, the brand that was heavily marketed as Ronan Wolfe, movie star heartthrob.
To his surprise, Hailey’s large, dark blue eyes moved over his face without a flicker of emotion, save for a shy smile, before she looked demurely down. She stood stock-still, waiting, he realized, for him to do or say something. George stood just behind the girl, suitcases in either hand, a big smile on his face.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” his best friend said with a laugh. “Help out an old man. Take these things before I drop them.”
“Oh, sorry.” Ronan stepped forward to take the suitcases from George as Hailey stepped nimbly to the side. As she moved, their arms brushed, skin on skin, and he caught the faint scent of her perfume—something spicy and warm.
As George handed over her suitcases, he chuckled. “Not that she’ll be needing much of what’s in there. You like your slave girls naked, isn’t that right, Master Ronan?” He snorted. “You lucky bastard.”
Ronan glanced at the girl. She kept her eyes down, though he thought he detected the faint creep of a blush along her cheeks.
He realized he was staring. “Come inside, please,” Ronan said, finally remembering his manners. Suitcases in tow, he stepped back into the front hall, gesturing with his chin for them to enter.
George reached into his jacket and pulled out a large envelope, which he held out to Ronan. “Here’s the contract—signed, sealed and delivered. This delicious morsel of a girl is all yours for the next six months. Don’t fuck it up, Ronan. She’s the real deal. A bona fide submissive, trained by the finest in the business. Even better, she hasn’t a fucking clue who you are. How do you like them apples?”
“What?” Ronan said, disbelief making the word pop out of his mouth.
“Yeah,” George said, eyebrows raised. “Hard to believe right? There’s a person left in this country, hell, in the world, who isn’t aware that Ronan Wolfe has been voted the sexiest man alive by the rabid fans who read People Magazine for the last three years running. Crazy, right?” His sarcastic tone was offset by his lopsided grin and kind, crinkling eyes. Ronan realized how few people there were left in his world who didn’t try to “handle” him, and the realization left him at once grateful for George, and lonely as hell.
Ronan stared down at the envelope in his hands and then back up at George, still not quite ready to come to grips with what he had signed up for. “Want to come inside and have a quick beer?” he said. He glanced at Hailey, wondering if he should offer her one too.
George shook his head and took a step back. “Sorry, I can’t stay. I’ve got to see a guy about a thing.” He offered an exaggerated wink. “She’s all yours, my friend. Use her in good health.” Turning to Hailey, he added enigmatically, “Youth and money, babe. Makes the world go ‘round.”
George returned to his car, climbed in and started the engine. He rolled down the window and waved as he drove away down the long driveway, leaving the two of them alone.
Hailey stood silently, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her posture ramrod straight, her eyes downcast. “Come inside,” Ronan said, gesturing her into the front hall. He closed the door and then slipped a finger under the seal of the envelope George had given him. Lifting the flap, he pulled out the contract and scanned it.
I promise to serve and obey my Master to the very best of my ability for the tenure of this contract. I freely give my body, my obedience, my service and my trust to my Master in exchange for his guidance and loving dominance. Save for the hard limits listed below, my Master may press the envelope of my submission as far as he deems appropriate, and I will submit with grace and honesty to his will.
He scanned down to the hard limits section and read: No scat, no animals, no minors.
That sure left room for a whole lot of dark and dirty play, and the sadistic devil that was always perched on Ronan’s shoulder, whether or not there was a balancing angel present, rubbed its hot little hands together as his overactive libido shifted into overdrive.
He looked again at the sub girl who stood still as a living statue, no fidgeting or toe tapping, or any sign of anxiety on her serene face, though she had to be going nuts on the inside. Maybe the full import of what she’d done was sinking in for her too, or maybe she was in it solely for the money, and really didn’t give a damn what she had to do in order to get it. After all, he’d paid a small fortune for her services and was aware she stood to pocket half the proceeds at the end of her tenure with him.
Even as this snarky thought flitted into Ronan’s brain, his better self dismissed it. George was an unerring judge of character, and he’d vouched for Hailey. Even without George’s assistance, Ronan could see for himself there was something genuine in this girl. It was evident in the videos he’d watched of her training sessions at The Compound, and he had felt it just now in her somber, sweet gaze. Whatever else she might be, she was sincere in her desire for erotic submission.
Used to the glamor and glitz of LA, it was startling to realize she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup or jewelry. He could see the perk of her nipples against the silky fabric of her short dress.
Christ, she was lovely. And she was his. Who the hell had ever said money couldn’t buy happiness? He was staring at a hundred and ten pounds of pure feminine perfection, with no strings, no expectations, no limits. What was he waiting for?
Let’s get this party started.
“Take off your sandals,” he said.
She slipped off her shoes and stepped neatly to the side.
“Take off your dress.”
Eyes still demurely downcast, Hailey reached for one strap and slid it down her shoulder. He watched, mesmerized, as she reached for the other, and let the dress slither down her shapely body and puddle at her feet. Underneath she wore nothing but a tiny white lace thong. Though Ronan had seen plenty of naked women, this girl could hold her own among the finest of them, with her high, round breasts, tapering waist and gently flaring hips. His mouth actually watered at the sight of her, and he had to swallow to keep from choking. His rapidly rising cock was bent at a painful angle in his jeans, and he reached into his pants to straighten it.
He stepped closer. She remained where she was. He put a finger underneath her chin and lifted it. She met his gaze, her pupils dilating, her breath catching ever so slightly as her lips parted. Her scent was like an aphrodisiac, and he felt almost dizzy from it.
“Who do you belong to?” he said, lust making his voice come out as a growl.
“To you, Master Ronan.” Her voice was like fingertips on satin, stroking his senses.
Ronan’s cock hardened to steel. He owned this girl, and she wasn’t just some high-class call girl he’d bought for the night. She was fully trained in the sensual and submissive arts. She was his personal geisha girl, only better. She was his willing slave girl, and he could do whatever he wanted, with no one to judge, witness, oversee or deny him. For the first time in his life, he could give free rein to his kinkiest fantasies, without fear his exploits would end up in tomorrow’s tabloid headlines, and without worry about what the girl thought or felt about it all. After all, she was his possession, not his lover. The same rules did not apply. In fact, beyond kee
ping her alive and safe from harm, there were no rules, save that she please him or suffer the consequences.
As the full import of this finally hit him, Ronan took a step back and pointed at his fly. “Show me,” he ordered. “Show me what you can do. You may use your mouth and your hands.”
Without hesitation, the girl dropped to her knees, her long, slender fingers reaching for the metal button at the top of his fly. She slid down the zipper and hooked her thumbs over the waist of his jeans and underwear. She pulled the pants down his legs to his knees and wrapped long, cool fingers around the base of his shaft, her other hand gently cupping his balls as she leaned forward with parted lips.
She took the full length of him into her mouth, moving forward until her nose touched his groin. She remained like that for several delicious moments, Ronan’s cock pulsing against her wet, soft tongue and the hug of her throat. As she eased back, she did something amazing with her throat muscles and tongue, and in spite of himself Ronan groaned aloud.
Maybe because it had been a while since he’d been with a woman (tabloid rumors and outright lies to the contrary notwithstanding), or maybe because of the novelty of the situation, or maybe because she was just so damn good at what she was doing, it wasn’t long before Ronan was ready to spurt.
Instinctively he reached for her head, grabbing handfuls of silky hair between his fingers as he thrust his hips forward in sudden, urgent release. He held her in position until the last of his seed had spilled down her throat, and she neither moved nor resisted. She wasn’t even breathing, as far as he could tell. Finally he let her go and took a step back. She let his still-hard cock slide from her pretty lips.
Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2 Page 2
