Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2

by Claire Thompson

  Ronan was watching her, concern on his face, but she was unable to meet his eye. When he reached out for her, she instinctively pulled away. She didn’t want to be comforted—she wanted to run away.

  Rolling from the bed, she sprinted across the bedroom, barely able to hear him calling her name over the beating of her heart thumping loudly in her ears. Panting, she raced down the hallway and up the stairs to the dungeon. She could hear Ronan behind her, pounding up the stairs just a few feet away. She hurtled across the floor of the dungeon, heading for the sanctuary of her tiny bedroom. Before she could cross the threshold, he caught her from behind, pulling her back into a tight embrace, even as she struggled to break free.

  She was gasping for air and tears were running in hot rivulets down her cheeks. Ronan held her close, his strong arms tight around her torso. She could feel his heart beating against her back. “Shh, calm down. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay, I promise. I was too focused on myself just now. My focus and concern should have been on you.”

  His tone was different than it had been down in the bedroom, deeper and calmer. The edge of furious panic she’d heard on the phone with his publicist was gone. Hailey responded to his mastery, the clench of humiliation and impotent rage loosening in her gut. She let out a tremulous breath and leaned against him, no longer fighting.

  Ronan released his hold of her and spun her gently to face him. Hailey was trembling, but staring into his eyes was like gazing at the ocean, and she felt herself centering as she looked up at him. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “Whatever happens out there, it’s not real. It doesn’t matter. What’s real is what happens here and now, between us. We’ve had a shock. We need to re-center ourselves—to refocus.” He released her shoulders and took a step back.

  “I want you to use the bathroom and wash up. Then I want you to stand under the restraining beam and extend your arms. We will center ourselves with some bondage and erotic pain.”

  The trembling had stopped. “Yes, Sir,” Hailey said gratefully. “Thank you, Sir.”

  After using the toilet and brushing her teeth, she returned to stand as directed in the center of the dungeon beneath the restraining beam. Ronan was waiting for her, several coils of soft white rope in his hands. She lifted her arms and allowed Master Ronan to wrap the rope around each wrist. He attached the ropes to chains that hung from the beam, and then adjusted the chains until her arms were taut overhead.

  Using more rope, he wrapped it tightly around her breasts. He produced a pair of clover clamps, which he attached quickly to each nipple. The sudden shock of pain was a small, welcome explosion of release, and Hailey’s responding “ah!” was met with an understanding nod by her Master.

  “Feet shoulder-width apart,” he ordered, and she promptly obeyed.

  He drew the rope between her legs, pulling it hard against her inner labia and clit, and securing it to more rope cinched around her waist. Properly bound and clamped, Hailey let go of the last vestiges of her tension with a contented sigh.

  Master Ronan left her a moment and returned holding a long, whippy cane with a black suede handle. “You will hold nothing back,” he informed her. “You will give me everything you have.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hailey breathed.

  The cane struck with a crack against her ass, the pain registering a second later and dragging a cry from her lips. He struck her again, a line of dark, pulsing fire where her ass met her thighs. The cane cut over both cheeks and crisscrossed in thwacking, whistling blows against the backs of her thighs. Hailey jerked like a marionette in her ropes, each graceless movement causing the tight, knotted rope to burn against her spread cunt. She whimpered as she struggled and twisted in her vain efforts to evade the cane’s bite.

  “Stop resisting,” Master Ronan commanded, his voice deep as he moved behind her. “Give yourself to the pain. Give yourself to me.” As he spoke, he touched the back of her neck with his hand and his lips brushed her shoulder. “You are mine,” he whispered. “Show me your grace.”

  His words were calming, his touch like a raft in a stormy sea. She let the panic ebb away like an outgoing tide. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In…and out. Slow and calm. Flow with the pain. Embrace the pain. Become one with the pain. She relaxed in the rope bonds, letting them support her. Her heart slowed to a steady, calm beat.

  “Are you ready to continue, slave Hailey?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He kissed her shoulder once more, removed his hand from her neck and stepped back. This time when the cane hit, the pain was as powerful as before, but its sting no longer cut across her serenity. She could do this for Master Ronan. She would do this for herself. She was on a cliff, arms outstretched, ready to fly. Another stroke and then another, and she tipped forward and left the ground, transforming the pain, transcending the suffering in a revelation of peace and surrender.

  Later that morning as they ate breakfast, the whirring, clacking sound of helicopter blades outside the windows made conversation difficult. A glance at the kitchen security cameras trained on the perimeters of the property showed dozens of cars and TV trucks, along with reporters and paparazzi on foot milling about, cell phones, cameras and microphones at the ready, should Ronan make an appearance.

  His cell phone buzzed repeatedly. He didn’t take the calls, but he did respond to various texts from his agent and publicist. Finally, a disgusted look on his face, he turned off the phone. His expression was dark. “The press isn’t going to let up. We’re going to be hounded night and day over this. I’m so sorry to have dragged you into this.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Sir,” Hailey tried to reassure him, though she, too, was disquieted by all the unwelcome attention. She believed him when he warned it would only get worse.

  He offered a small, sad smile that broke her heart. “You didn’t sign up for this.” He shook his head. “We need to get out of here. Let all this hubbub die down. The only thing is, I have no idea where to go.”

  Hailey smiled. “I have an idea, Sir. You could come with me.”

  ~*~

  Ronan shook hands with the pilot. “Thanks again for flying us out so early and on such short notice. I really appreciate both that and your company’s continued discretion.”

  The pilot drew a finger across his lips like a zipper. “Discretion is our byword, as always, Mr. Wolfe. Right, Carlo?” He nodded toward the flight attendant.

  “Absolutely. Mum’s the word. We appreciate your business, sir.” Carlo released the door latch and the stairs lowered to the ground of the small Vermont county airport.

  Ronan had hired this particular charter company a number of times before and was grateful they were able to accommodate his request. He and Hailey had left the Malibu house at three in the morning, slipping down the long drive with no headlights, the car packed with everything Hailey had brought, along with clothing for Ronan and, far more importantly, essential BDSM gear. They were in the air by five a.m. California time, and with the three-hour time difference, had touched down at the small Vermont county airport at seven thirty a.m. local time.

  Ronan stiffened as they deplaned, half expecting to find reporters and paparazzi waiting to accost them. Happily, no one seemed to have yet figured out he was here. Hopefully, it would stay that way for as long as possible.

  A man in his sixties with a chauffeur’s cap slouched against a hired car. He straightened to attention as Hailey and Ronan stepped down onto the tarmac. Carlo followed a moment later, their bags in tow. The driver hurried over. “Mr. Davenport? I’m Barney from Bennington Limo. I’ll be taking you to Dorset.” The man thrust out his hand.

  They’d used Hailey’s surname to secure the car, and Ronan didn’t correct the man as they shook. “Thanks,” he said, pleased to note zero recognition in the older gentleman’s eyes. In fact, the man was eying Hailey, who looked lovely in her simple cotton shift. Hell, she would have looked lovely in a potato sack.

  Her face was li
fted to the sky, her eyes closed as if in prayer as she drew in a deep breath of the clean, crisp Vermont air. She must have felt their eyes on her, because she turned toward the men, her face breaking into a sunny smile. “It’s good to be home,” she said.

  Barney nodded approvingly. “You from Vermont, young lady?” he said conversationally as he loaded their things into the trunk of the car.

  “Born and bred,” Hailey agreed.

  “You, Sir?” the driver asked Ronan.

  “No, I’m from Ca—” Ronan began, and then corrected himself, ”from Pennsylvania. Small town near Lancaster.”

  “Amish country,” Barney said with a nod. Scrutinizing Ronan more carefully, he added, “You don’t look Amish, though.” He squinted. “Wait a minute. I know you, don’t I?” He tugged thoughtfully on an earlobe. His bushy eyebrows rose in sudden recognition. “Well, snatch me baldheaded! You’re that fella on TV! No, wait, not TV, those movies with the car chases. Holy cow. You’re a movie star.” He lowered his brows and tilted his head. “But your name, your movie star name. It’s not Davenport. No, it’s something else.” He squinted in thought. “Wild? Walton? Wood?”

  “You’re mistaken, sir. You have me confused with someone else, “ Ronan interrupted firmly, speaking more sharply than he’d intended. The older man snapped his mouth closed, apparently having gotten the message. “We’re ready to go now, thanks,” Ronan continued more gently. “You have the address?”

  The driver looked affronted, but then his expression eased into one of sly understanding. “Ah, okay. I get it. No problem, Mr. Davenport. I hear you loud and clear.” With a wink, the man strode around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Ronan shook his head with a rueful grin. It would be what it would be. He thanked Carlo once more and waved toward the plane. He opened the back door of the car, gestured for Hailey to enter and then slid in beside her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone, considered leaving it off, but decided better of it and flicked it on.

  His fan club Twitter account, created at his publicist’s insistence, showed 11,246 new notifications. He made a mental note to delete the account. There were twelve texts from Armand, seven from Pat and one from George. He opened that one. Hope you guys landed okay. Everything fine here. No one even knows you’re gone. Paparazzi still camped out on the edge of your property, ha ha. Let me know when you’re settled.

  As the car pulled out of the small airport, Ronan shot a quick text back to his old friend to let him know they’d arrived safely. Deciding to deal with the other texts later, he turned to Hailey. She was looking out her window. He touched her leg, and she turned toward him, a small smile playing over her pretty mouth.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Sir. I’m good.”

  Ronan had managed to escape his handlers by telling them he was just slipping away for a while until the hubbub surrounding the video died down. He’d let it “slip” to his publicist and a few others that he was headed to Baja, Mexico for some much-needed rest and relaxation, aware this supposedly confidential disclosure would soon be common knowledge.

  He had made a decision, one he hadn’t yet shared with anyone, not Hailey, not even George. He wasn’t going back to California. He wasn’t going to accept the movie package deal Armand was still hounding him to sign. He wasn’t going to return to the Malibu compound that had become as much a prison as a home.

  For the first time in his adult life, he had no career plan. No obligations. He was grateful to Hailey for allowing him to hide out in Dorset, but had no real idea what was going to happen next. That was okay. He felt light—freed. As if he’d cast off a ten-ton weight he’d been hauling on his shoulders for years.

  They drove for about thirty minutes, Hailey telling Ronan about various landmarks along the way, the happiness evident in her voice. “You haven’t been back home in a while, huh?” he said, watching her rather than the scenery.

  “I spent two months at The Compound,” she agreed, “and then went straight to you. A neighbor stops by my place from time to time to make sure no raccoons or bears have taken up residence. So, yes, it’s been a while.”

  “Here we are,” Barney said, twisting back to regard them. “Dorset’s main square. Where to now?”

  As Hailey gave him specific directions to her cottage, located just outside the town, Ronan took in the area, not all that unlike his Pennsylvania boyhood home, the architecture New England white clapboard and red brick. There were lots of big, old trees and flowering foliage, everything so green after the more desert-like conditions he’d become used to in California.

  The roads narrowed as they left the town, moving past marble quarries and farms. The car slowed to a crawl behind a large tractor carrying a huge bale of hay that seemed precariously piled. “Slow down a bit, please,” Hailey said suddenly. “My road’s just up here.” Ronan could hear the quiet excitement in her voice, and her eyes were shining. Impulsively he put his arm around her. She leaned into him. He breathed in her fresh scent, his cock stirring with sudden desire for this lovely woman.

  He’d spent the last seven years deflecting any attempts at something serious with a woman, telling himself and others his career came first. Now, for the first time in years, he would no longer have his work to hide behind. The past weeks as Hailey’s Master had been the most fulfilling erotic and emotional experience of his life, but was it love? Did love even enter the equation when there was a negotiated contract with an end date?

  They passed a couple of houses along a winding country road, each separated by an acre or more of property. At the end of the road stood a small stone house surrounded by maple trees. “This is it,” Hailey announced. A red Prius was parked in the driveway, and the car pulled up behind it. Hailey jumped out of the backseat and ran to the small garden in front of the house, which was overgrown with wildflowers and clover. She knelt down and then twisted back, smiling beatifically. “The rabbit hole is still here. Looks like it’s still inhabited, though I guess the last litter of babies is all grown up by now.”

  Barney popped the trunk and climbed out of the driver’s seat. Ronan hoisted their bags out himself and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill. “Thanks for driving us,” he said with a cordial smile.

  Barney pocketed the bill with a broad smile of his own. “Most welcome, Mr. Davenport,” he said with another wink. “And don’t worry—your secret’s safe with me.”

  As the car drove away, Ronan hoisted the bags and walked with them toward the front door of the cottage, which was painted a bright, glossy red. A wreath of green and purple dried herbs hung at its center above a brass doorknocker.

  Hailey joined him and, reaching into her small bag, produced a key, which she slid into the lock. The inside of the house was dark and cool. Hailey moved toward the windows, pulling back blue and white gingham patterned curtains to let in sunlight filtered by the many trees surrounding the property.

  She turned to face him, her expression suddenly shy. “I know it’s much smaller than you’re used to,” she said. “I’ve just got the one bedroom. The other has been converted into my yoga studio. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay,” Ronan said, meaning it.

  The main room contained a sofa and two matching chairs upholstered in thick stripes of blue and white arranged around the hearth, woven rag rugs scattered over wide-planked pine hardwood. There was a warmth to the place, a comfort and simplicity that pleased Ronan’s sense of design.

  On the fireplace mantle rested a small, exquisitely sculpted bronze statue of a female nude, her head thrown back in ecstasy. Ronan moved closer to examine it. “This is lovely,” he said, running a finger over its sensuous curves. “It catches the essence of submissive grace.”

  “Yes, Sir. That’s exactly what I always thought. I found it at an estate sale years ago, and I had to have it.” She smiled.

  Ronan turned back to the room. “I love you
r place. Did you decorate this yourself?”

  “Some of it,” Hailey said. “But I kept a lot of it as it’s always been. This was my grandmother’s home. I inherited it when she died.” A small spasm of pain moved over her features.

  “I’m sorry,” Ronan offered.

  Hailey smiled sadly. “Thank you. I still miss her every day, though it’s been ten years now.” She brightened. “She lived a good life, though. She died peacefully in her sleep. She was ready to go, I guess. My grandpa had died two years before, and she was lonely. He was her one true love, and she was firmly convinced he was up in heaven waiting for her.” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I hope she was right.”

  The eat-in kitchen contained a scarred oak table and four matching chairs. The refrigerator was the only modern appliance in the place, and even that was easily forty years old. There was a wonderful antique blue porcelain gas oven and the cabinets were painted white with thick green glass windows revealing old crockery, neatly stacked and arranged.

  She showed him the bedroom, which was just as he would have imagined, most of the room dominated by a big brass bed covered with an old-fashioned patchwork quilt, plenty of feather pillows piled at its head. An antique armoire took the place of a closet.

  The yoga studio, located at the back of the house, was a surprise, quite different from the country décor in rest of the house. The room was furnished with a single futon couch covered in off-white canvas set in a wooden frame. A thick, dark blue yoga mat lay on the floor in the middle of the room, as if it had been waiting for Hailey’s return.

  The biggest surprise, though, was the front wall, which was comprised entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. “Wow!” Ronan enthused as he stepped toward the windows. They looked out on overgrown herb and vegetable gardens edged by flowering bushes. The property sloped down toward a copse of trees. Slanting sunbeams shone through the branches, bathing the room with a coppery, almost liquescent light.