Hyland's Consort

by Felicity Brandon

  “Let’s get you cleaned up.” My attention shifted to the straps at her ankles, liberating them quickly before I rose to my full height and started work on her wrists. “Remember all the things you’ve learned over the last few days.” My fingers hesitated, the pause drawing her focus where it needed to be—my face. “My expectations about how you should behave.”

  A small sigh met my warning before she drew her lower lip between her teeth. “Yes, Sir.”

  “I want to trust you, to be able to spoil you, but we have to face facts.” Liberating her second wrist, I took a step back. “Right now, we have trust issues, which only time can heal.”

  Her blue eyes followed my hands at my hips.

  “That means I want complete obedience, Hilary. You leap when I say so and bark like a dog when I order it.” I watched as her breathing increased, her tempting chest rising and falling with my cautionary counsel. I wanted to clamp those glorious tits again and watch the agony on her usually flawless face when I yanked at one, then the other weighted clamp, to see her thoughts unravel when the only thing that mattered in the world was what happened to those tiny weights tugging at her nipples. My balls tightened at the tantalizing imagery. Frankly, I couldn’t wait. “Understand?”

  She nodded, her gaze locking with mine. “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

  “Come on then.” I gestured for her to get out of the seat, allowing her a few seconds to stretch out her long, slender limbs after so long confined to the chair before I gave the normal command, signaling where I wanted her. “At my feet.” My arousal surged at her compliance. The fabulous blonde fell to all fours before she crawled into position. “Stay with me.”

  I strode away, ensuring my paces were slightly shorter than usual so she could keep up. A captivating sense of joy sprinted through my veins as we approached the door, walking in my unhurried way with my gorgeous crawling bride-to-be scrambling at my feet. This was how life was supposed to be—a man in charge of his empire with a delicious submissive woman coming to heel at his side. The reality made me giddy, the kind of rush I hadn’t experienced since the BDSM clubs back in Nice.

  To think when I arrived in the country, I’d assumed the worst, believing the whole thing would be an ordeal until I was back on the French Riviera, but one random encounter in a coffee shop had changed all that. Now when I contemplated returning to the sunshine-laden home I’d left behind in France, it would be as a married man, with my tantalizing wife in tow. Not that Hilary would prevent me from indulging in the number of pretty French mistresses I intended to take—far from it. If I wanted other lovers, I would take them with the usual ease I conquered all things, but Hilary’s roaming days were over. Glancing down at the way she scuttled at my side, I smiled. Hilary’s only focus would be attending to all my needs and perhaps, if I desired it, producing an heir for the growing Hyland empire. It was a pleasing thought.

  We turned the corner at the door, heading down the hallway toward the bathroom. I’d rented this penthouse from a friend of an acquaintance, and to say the décor wasn’t to my taste was an understatement, but it hardly mattered. It was a base—somewhere to keep my captive until I could get a ring on her finger. Once the deed was done, I could dispense with such formalities and get us a place. I’d had my eye on a property in Knightsbridge that may fit the bill, an exclusive London address to accompany my new status, not only as a married man but leader of the Hyland empire. It would be perfect.

  “In here.” I paused at the bathroom doorway. The room was smaller than I’d have liked, the burnt orange furnishings like something out of a 1970s horror movie. “Climb into the bath.”

  I waited while she complied before turning my attention to the essentials I’d purchased for just this moment. It was one thing to keep your woman captive in a dank, abandoned property, but one day, she would leave this place, and as my intention had always been for that day to be on the way to our wedding, it was imperative to have the basics to hand. Inside an open bag, I found two huge bath sheets, plus an array of shampoos, conditioners, and finally, a razor. Grabbing one of the towels, I flung it over the edge of the bath before returning to collect the hair products. By the time I’d placed the bottles on the rim of the tub, she was shivering in the center.

  “You’re cold.” It was more an assertion than a question. Of course, she was cold. The bathroom was cast in shadows, and only heat had been pumped into the room where she was held. She must be freezing. “Hang on.”

  I reached for the taps and tugged on the hot water faucet, praying the thing would work. Holding my hand under its stream, I glanced back at the quivering woman. She was diminutive, so fragile in the face of my adversity, and God help me, she turned me on without effort. What sort of monster was aroused by a woman shaking with the cold? My lips curled at the query, the answer obvious—likely the same one who would have kept her bound naked to the chair while he went to arrange the nuptials he was obliging her to undertake. Swallowing back my glee, I was relieved to feel the water running over my digits growing warmer. Placing the plug in the hole below, I allowed warm water to fill the tub, checking the temperature as she knelt, waiting.

  “Looking forward to being clean again?” I couldn’t help but goad her as the bath filled, biting back the anxious expression which met my question.

  “Sir?”

  “I just wondered.” I added a little cold water to the mix as the level rose in the tub. “Seems as though a woman like you would have been pretty high maintenance before we...” My brow rose. “Ran into each other.”

  Heaving, her eyes fluttered closed briefly. “I used to like to look after myself, yes, Sir.”

  “That’s good.” I cut the water supply, meeting her worried gaze. “Once we’re man and wife, I’ll expect you to look a certain way for me.”

  “What way, Sir?”

  “Sit in the tub properly,” I chided, waiting while she shifted onto her no doubt tender arse. “Turn around with your back to me. I’m going to wash your hair.”

  “You?” Her eyes widened with surprise.

  “Yes, me.” One brow arched at her provocative tone. “I’m going to be quite the hands-on husband.”

  Shrugging my expensive jacket from my shoulders, I hung it on the grubby-looking hook on the back of the door before striding back to find her just where I’d indicated. So far, so good. Grabbing the bottle of shampoo, I tackled the showerhead, wrestling it from its home and allowing the water to burst from its head. Hilary yelped as it splashed between her legs. Grinning, I checked the temperature once more before maneuvering it behind her.

  “Head back,” I ordered, angling the showerhead away from her as she obeyed. Running the warm water over her long tresses, I watched as her golden locks became a wet blanket of dark blonde, the water stripping the honey hue away. Hilary had just the right length hair, and I had always had a fetish for blondes.

  No doubt it was torment for her to be treated this way, kept permanently stripped and bound, then treated like a child when it came to bathing, but I was absolutely in my element. Stripping her defenses away by bathing her was even more fun than I’d realized it could be, and I had the idea we would frequently engage in similar games once we were married. Flicking off the showerhead, I emptied a portion of shampoo into my palm and rubbed it into her sodden locks.

  “Wh-What way will you want me to look, Sir?” Her voice was tentative as she reprised the conversation I’d started before the hair washing had begun.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” I reassured her, sliding my palms, slippery with the remaining shampoo, down from her shoulders and over her pert chest. She whimpered at the change of tack, her body tensing and hands rising as though she intended to bat me away, but as my flesh ran over hers, I watched her fight the urge. Hilary was a smart girl and knew what her disobedience would earn. As she forced her hands back into the water, I was almost proud.

  “Very good.” I crooned, relishing the way her cheeks colored at the compliment. “You’re le
arning. What do you think would have happened if you’d tried to stop me from exploring you?”

  Breath ragged, she lifted her chin to meet my insistent gaze. “You’d have been angry, Sir.” Dismay danced in those blue eyes with the confession. “You’d have punished me.”

  “That’s right.” Shifting my weight, my hands paused on her nipples, clasping them between my fingers before I pinched. The flicker of pain in her eyes was bloody delicious. “I’d have come up with something dark and mesmerizing rather than focusing on preparing you for tomorrow.” Releasing her buds, I ran my hands over her midriff, allowing the wrist not housing my Armani watch to plunge into the water and brush over her pussy lips.

  “Oh God.” She tipped her head back, close to the edge. That, I had found, was one of the blessings of keeping her perpetually aroused. It was easier and easier to push Hilary back to the brink each time I tried.

  “Mmmm.” I contemplated sliding a couple digits inside her but reasoned it was counterproductive. We were here to get her washed and shaven. There would be time later to goad that hungry little nub between her legs back to life.

  Chapter Three

  Hilary

  WAS THIS SOME SORT of new torment? As if it wasn’t bad enough being kept, fettered, and wanting all hours of the day, now Sean had conceived this suffering. I’d been kept here for so long—too long—I had to admit, much though I didn’t want his hands all over me, didn’t need him cosseting me in this most intimate way, the water was hot and cleansing, and the idea of finally being able to wash my hair and shave sent elated chills through me. As usual, he’d conceived another agonizing paradox to taunt and entice me.

  “Tip your head back.”

  I startled at the sound of the showerhead turning on again, the rush of angry water filling the bath behind me as gingerly, I complied.

  “Eyes closed.”

  With a deep breath, they flickered closed, my body tensing as he eased my hair back with one large palm, rinsing away the shampoo with the other. There was such trust at this moment, his actions almost affectionate as he massaged the suds away, and all the while, I remained passive, contemplating how I could get away, how I could use this bathing opportunity as a chance to flee. Of course, the short answer was there was no easy way. Sean had thought of everything, and I had little doubt every window and door to the outside world was locked, but still, the thought nagged—I had to try. This was the first time I’d been out of that dark cell for goodness knows how long and the only time he’d engaged me in any non-sexual way. The venture out tomorrow was my best shot at escape. I had to think, had to use my wits to outmaneuver him.

  “Okay.” Pressing a hand into my back, he eased me forward. “Eyes open.”

  Like a fool, I conformed, my stillness the very picture of complicity, not once betraying the plans hatching in my mind.

  “How was that?” Once more, the showerhead was turned off, the low thrum ceasing abruptly before he came to loom over me.

  “Good, thank you, Sir.” I sounded like a robot. Hell, as I sat in the soothing water, I felt like one, but there was no denying it was a blessed relief to be out of that room to be clean. I was grateful for those small mercies.

  “I’m assuming you condition this beautiful hair?”

  I tilted my head to meet his gaze, my brows knitting. Sitting naked in a crappy old tub while the man who’d snatched me cooed over my beauty routines—surely, this was the single most peculiar conversation of my life?

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Just as well I planned ahead.” A mischievous smile flickered on his face as he grabbed another product and waved it in front of me. My focus landed on the bottle in his grasp. It wasn’t a brand I recognized, but I was hardly in a position to query him.

  “Do you always bathe the women you capture, Sir?” It was a risk saying anything, let alone something so daring, but something about the look in his eyes as I turned back to him compelled me. This might be the best chance I had. Christ, the way he liked to gag me, it might be the only one.

  A glimmer of amusement rose on his face, his lips—which could be so cruel but oh so tempting—curling at my audacity.

  “It might surprise you to hear you’re the first, Hilary.” Turning the bottle upside down, he squeezed a measure of the conditioner on his palm. “The only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry.”

  The muscles between my legs clenched at his ominous tone. Had I pushed my luck by asking, and perhaps the most perplexing query of all, why on earth did he actually want to marry me? I’d met men like Sean Hyland before—far too many of them. They were a dime a dozen at The Syndicate, and I knew how their minds worked. They took what they wanted and didn’t ask permission. That part, however twisted, made sense to me, but why he’d choose to legally bind us together was less easy to comprehend. If he just wanted to bed me, why hadn’t he? The compromising situations he’d had me in over the last few days could easily have enabled him to claim me. I pulled in a shaky breath as that thought resonated. He could have done, so why hadn’t he?

  “Any more questions?” His arched brow conveyed how unimpressed he was at my perceived impertinence, the gesture increasing my heart rate exponentially.

  “I’m sorry.” Why was I apologizing, for God’s sake? “I’ve just never...” My words dried up, his dark chuckle reverberating over me as his palms lathered the product through my head.

  “Been kidnapped before?” he smirked.

  “Right.” Pressing my lips together, I waited as he worked the conditioner into my hair. There was something oddly comforting in the deed, as though this man who’d been the architect of such distress could somehow be my sanctuary.

  “I understand.” His hands paused, and my head turned back to meet his eyes. “I know it’s not been easy on you, gorgeous, and I know what an utter bastard I can be. I’m not apologizing for either, but that doesn’t mean I’m oblivious.”

  “So, you’re still going to marry me?” I blew out a breath, his hardening expression reminding me of my error just in time. “Sir.”

  “Yes, Hilary.” Lowering to his knees, he reached for the razor balanced on the edge of the tub. “We’re getting married.”

  Catching my lip between my teeth, I fought back the wave of emotion surging within me. This wasn’t right. You couldn’t just take someone from the roadside and make them your wife in 21st-century Britain. It was insane.

  “Don’t start with the puppy dog eyes.”

  I sniffed, blinking away the threatening tears as I shook my head. I wouldn’t cry in front of him. I had to hang on to whatever remained of my tarnished dignity with everything I had.

  “Lift your arm.” He clutched the razor in his fingers. “I’m going to shave you.”

  I should have expected as much since he’d insisted on washing my hair, but I couldn’t hold back the protest as it left my lips.

  “I can do it myself, Sir.” I flinched at the sound of my voice, petulant even to my own ears.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” he growled. “And if you persist in this incessant talking, you’ll force me to introduce your favorite gag into bath time routines.”

  I gasped at the threat, well aware how serious it was.

  “Now, raise your arm.”

  Swallowing hard, I lifted the arm nearest him, closing my eyes as he used the remaining conditioner on his hands and set to work removing the hair which had grown during my unexpected stay. Somehow, this act was far more excruciating than washing my hair. There had been tenderness in that show of devotion, but this was merely mortifying. Inhaling, I forced my eyes open, taking in the look of the faded tiles on the wall beside me.

  “Better.” He tugged at my flesh, pulling me this way and that as he attempted to leave me hair-free. “Now, spin around and lift the other.”

  Time protracted as I was forced to endure yet another undignified quantity of time while he shaved under the arm. By the time he finished, the water was almost tepid.

  “Okay.” He soun
ded pleased with himself as he cleaned the razor in the water. “Now for your legs. Turn to face the other direction again with one leg on the side of the tub.” He tapped the edge nearest him as if I couldn’t understand where he meant, and I reluctantly obeyed.

  “Need more water?”

  I met his eyes for the first time since the humiliating shave had started.

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  Nodding, he reached for the hot water tap, releasing it before he returned to the bottle of product and helped himself to more of the contents.

  Steam rose around us as the hot torrent plunged into the bath behind me, the noise of its deluge filling my ears as he set to work on my left leg. In many ways, I marveled at his work. Efficient yet methodical, he tackled the limb with ease. I’d always assumed men would be useless at the task, given they only had to shave such a small area of their bodies, but where Sean was concerned at least, I was clearly wrong.

  Handling the blade with confidence, he stripped my leg of the stubble that had accrued during my captivity, indicating to switch legs once he was satisfied. I was quiet as he tackled the second leg, hypnotized by the way he managed the mission, no longer musing on my escape as I should have been. Within moments, both legs were clean-shaven.

  “How’s the temperature now?” Casting me a wry smile, he shifted on his knees to turn off the faucet. “Better?”

  “Much better, thank you.” My answer was immediate, and as I gave it, I found I wanted to convey my gratitude. He didn’t have to do any of this. He could have left me tied up in that grim, dark room, could have left my limbs a hairy, disgusting mess, and my hair unwashed. Whatever his motivations, I was appreciative that at least some of my needs had been met.