Beyond the Compound: The Compound Trilogy - Book 2

by Claire Thompson

  He moved quickly toward her, catching her as she slumped sideways. Holding her with one arm, he released the slipknots of rope from her wrists and upper arms. She sagged heavily against him as he lifted her carefully from the sawhorse and carried her to the yoga cabana. He lowered himself to the mat, Hailey still in his arms. She opened her eyes and smiled blearily at him. She mumbled something incoherent.

  “Shh,” Ronan said, smiling down at her. “Don’t try to speak. Just rest. I’ll take care of you.”

  She sighed and let her eyes flutter shut, her face a mask of blissful contentment. Ronan reached toward the basin he’d set in the cabana earlier, and pulled out the washcloth he’d left in the cool water. He squeezed out the cloth with one hand, cradling Hailey’s shoulders in his other arm. He gently nudged her thighs apart and leaned over to examine her cunt. The labia were red and swollen, and some bruising already showed along her inner thighs. He dabbed gently between her legs with the damp cloth, drawing in his breath when he saw the red stain of blood on the cloth. He leaned closer to see the damage. There was only a small tear along the perineum, just a superficial scrape of skin.

  He dipped the washcloth into the water once more, and carefully washed her a second time, relieved to see there was no more blood. Throughout it all she remained limp, a peaceful smile playing along the edges of her mouth.

  Dropping the cloth into the basin, Ronan reached for the tube of salve. He squeezed some onto his fingertips and gently spread it on her inner thighs. He brushed it with feather-light strokes over her cunt. She shuddered and sighed as his fingers skimmed her clit, which was hard as a pebble. His cock nudged beneath her body in response, and he wondered if she could feel his erection against her ass.

  He touched her clit again, running his index finger in a light, teasing circle around it. Her eyes opened, and she caught her lower lip in her small, white teeth. He looked deep into her eyes, dark as sapphires, as he moved his fingers in a sensual dance toward the slick heat of her entrance. He slid two fingers inside her, angling his hand so his palm pressed against her vulva. She groaned, and blinked rapidly, her eyes appearing to lose their focus.

  “Look at me,” Ronan ordered, his cock pulsing beneath her. “Keep your eyes open and on my face. I want you to come. You will ask me for permission at the time of orgasm. You will not look away from me, even during the climax.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

  He increased the pressure of his palm as he stroked the silky soft, hot walls of her sex. Her pupils dilated and contracted, her mouth opening in a small, pink O as pain flitted over her features.

  “Am I hurting you, slave Hailey?”

  “A little, Sir, but it feels so good.”

  “Shall I stop?”

  “No, Sir. Please, no.”

  He smiled, his cock hard as iron beneath her.

  Her nipples, still marked from the clamps, looked like dark pink gumdrops, and he couldn’t resist bending down to taste first one, and then the other. She moaned with each suck, and he increased the tempo of his fingers and palm as his hand danced against her cunt.

  A tremor moved through her body, and he lifted his head to focus on her face. Her eyes locked onto his, and he stared into her soul as she began to tremble beneath his touch. “Please, Sir,” she gasped. “I’m ready. Oh—oh, please, Sir, may I come, Sir?”

  “Yes.”

  He quickened his movements, his hand flying over her sex, his fingers caught in the delicious, hot vise of her tight cunt as she shuddered, stiffened, and shuddered again in his grip. All the while her eyes remained fixed on his, the pupils large and black against the midnight blue of her irises, the lashes a thick fringe of dark, honey blond.

  Unable to hold back a moment longer, Ronan leaned down and kissed her, crushing her soft lips with his, invading her mouth with his tongue as he gathered her close into his arms. He pulled her upright, positioning her so she straddled him, his cock trapped beneath her perfect ass. Lifting her, he lowered her until the tip of his cock pressed against the slick opening between her legs.

  A spasm of pain moved over her face, her cunt still tender from the punishment it had endured on the sawhorse. Again, Ronan asked, “Am I hurting you, slave Hailey?”

  Again, she replied, “A little, Sir,” even as he felt the beckoning grip of her cunt muscles closing over the head of his cock.

  Again, he asked, “Shall I stop?”

  And once more, she replied, “No, Sir. Please, no.”

  Holding her by the hips, he pulled her down onto his shaft, groaning with ecstasy as her cunt sheathed his cock and clamped tight around it. He wanted to make it last, but each delicious thrust was an explosion of pure sensual perfection. He tried to resist for a minute or two, but she had begun to tremble once more, a series of sweet, breathy sighs stoking his senses as her cunt milked his shaft in a tight, wet grip. His heartbeat was a jackhammer, breaking up things inside him he hadn’t realized were there. Unable to hold back anymore, he let go, spurting in a series of hard, fast bursts. He held her tight as he climaxed, burying his face in her neck as he experienced one of the most powerful orgasms of his life.

  When he finally lifted his head, he realized with a shock that his cheeks were wet. Hailey was regarding him with a quizzical, tender expression. “Are you okay, Sir?” she asked softly. She lifted a finger, brushing away a tear.

  He swallowed hard and nodded brusquely to hide his embarrassment and confusion. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m fine.” Still holding her, he hoisted himself to his feet. He set her carefully down. “How about you? You okay?”

  She smiled like an angel. “Yes, Sir. I feel amazing. Purified. Light as air.” She covered her bare mons with a hand and ducked her head demurely. “And a little sore, I’ll admit.”

  He smiled back. “How about a dip in the ocean before lunch? Salt water is good for sore cunts.”

  “You think?” she said, eyebrows arched with skepticism.

  Ronan laughed. “Only one way to find out. I’ll race you down.”

  “Deal!” She sprinted suddenly away, dashing from the veranda to the sand before he could move. Astonished, he watched her lithe figure as she hurtled toward the water.

  Finally getting himself into gear, he took off after her with a laugh, not stopping until he’d caught her again. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her close, lifting her high as the waves crashed over them in a cold, salty spray.

  Chapter 7

  “Tell me it isn’t true!” George said when Ronan picked up his call.

  “Well, hello to you, too,” Ronan laughed. “What? What isn’t true?”

  “I just read in Us Magazine that you and Scarlett Johansson have broken up. And speculations are rising about Blake Lively’s baby bump. Is it yours? Are you going to make an honest woman of her?”

  “What the fuck?” Ronan sputtered. “Scarlett and I did a movie, that was it, period. I never even met Blake Lively.”

  “That’s not what The Star says, kiddo.” George began to laugh, his big, hearty guffaw so loud Ronan had to hold the phone away from his ear.

  “Sorry,” Ronan muttered, chagrined. “You know I hate all that gossip shit. I should have realized you were kidding.”

  “Ya think?” George continued to chuckle.

  “So, what’s up, George?”

  “What’s up? It’s been two weeks since I delivered that gorgeous slave girl to your doorstep, and I haven’t heard a peep out of you. How’s it going?”

  Ronan looked through the open veranda doors into the living room, where the housekeeper was busy waxing the floor. Though she probably couldn’t hear him, Ronan stood and walked down the steps to the sand for more privacy. “It’s going spectacularly well, actually. She’s well-trained, but with room for improvement. Every day is a new adventure. We’re both learning all the time. She’s everything I was hoping for and more. I feel so…I don’t know what the word is.”

  “Happy?” George suggested.

 
Ronan laughed. “Yeah. I guess that would cover it. Except, well…the damn staff gets in the way. They’re here all the time—cooking, cleaning, gardening, what have you. This place is too fucking much work to maintain.”

  “The staff gets in the way? How do you mean?”

  “I mean I have to hide her up in the dungeon when they’re working. Obviously, I can’t have a naked slave girl parading around when they’re here. Confidentiality agreement or no, I doubt they could keep their mouths shut about that.”

  “So put some clothes on her. Introduce her as your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?”

  “It’s not a dirty word, my friend. People have them all the time. In fact, I just read in the National Enquirer that you have three different girlfriends, none of whom know about the other. There’s Scarlett, of course. And then there’s Blake and Penelope—”

  Ronan laughed. “Okay, okay. Yeah. That’s not a bad idea. Though she’s not my girlfriend, of course.”

  “Of course,” George echoed.

  “I don’t do that whole girlfriend thing. You know that. This is strictly a Master-slave thing. A contract.”

  “I’m not arguing with you.”

  Ronan started to add more, but realized he sounded defensive, and snapped his mouth closed. George continued, “So, when do I get to see the lovely slave Hailey again? I took quite a shine to her, you know.”

  “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

  “I have a better idea. It’s one of the reasons I called. I managed to get reservations at Gerard’s. The reservation waiting list is a mile long, but I know someone who knows someone.” He laughed. “Seriously, though. I’ve been wanting to check it out forever, and it would give Hailey a kick, I bet. Small town girl and all.”

  “You know I can’t go to a restaurant in LA without it turning into a fucking three-ring circus.”

  “Relax. I managed to get us one of the private rooms. There’s a back entrance and everything. Totally incognito and extremely discreet. They’re used to all that hush-hush-avoid-the-paparazzi-hoo-hah. No one will even know we’re there. Come on. You can’t hide out on your Malibu compound forever.”

  “Hailey has nothing suitable to wear. She brought clothing, but it’s all hippie stuff. Jeans, cotton skirts, stuff like that. She would feel out of place.”

  “So buy her a dress.”

  “You know I can’t go out shopping without being mobbed,” Ronan retorted with more vehemence than he’d intended. It wasn’t George’s fault that his latest action-packed movie posters were plastered on billboards and the sides of buses from one side of the city to the other.

  Taking this hiatus after coming off a grueling three-year schedule of non-stop filming was the best decision he’d ever made. But when it was over, then what? As his agent liked to point out—if you don’t keep your face in front of them, they’ll just move on to the next new thing. But would that be so bad?

  He still hadn’t committed to the deal Armand was so eager for him to take, and just the thought of signing his life away for another three movies filled him with dread. How he missed the simpler days when he had worked as a carpenter, making custom furniture in his garage. When had his life become so circumscribed? When had he stopped having fun?

  “Okay, so I’ll take her to find a dress,” George volunteered. “Anything else you want while we’re out? You got all the whips and toys you need?”

  The question gave Ronan a deliciously diabolical idea, and he realized an evening out could present some intriguing possibilities. “You say the room at the restaurant is totally private?”

  “Not even near the main dining room. So, it’s a go?”

  “Yeah. It’s a go. And yes—there are a few things I’d like you to pick up…”

  ~*~

  Hailey had been dozing on her mattress when Master Ronan entered the small room earlier that afternoon. She was dreaming, and in the dream, she was back in her cottage in Vermont, the crisp cool air blowing through the open window of her small bedroom, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and freshly mown hay. She could hear the comforting burble of the creek behind the house. In her dream, Ronan was still Master Ronan, but he was also her husband, and he didn’t hide her away when other people were in the house, but met them with his arm around her shoulders, and his ring on her finger. She didn’t sleep alone in a tiny room off a dungeon, but in his arms in their bed. It was a good dream.

  When Ronan had wakened her, it had taken several disorienting seconds before she returned to the reality of her present situation. She’d nearly embarrassed herself by reaching for him and giving him a kiss.

  She had been excited, though, when he’d told her of their plans for the evening. While she had loved every moment as Master Ronan’s slave, she hadn’t left his home since her arrival, and she’d seen nothing of California. Though she would rather have been sitting beside Ronan as they drove along the Pacific Highway toward LA, it was good to see George. She’d only known him a short while, but it was like seeing an old friend.

  The traffic slowed to a crawl as they reached the outskirts of LA, and there was a gray haze on the horizon, smudging the perfect blue of the sky. George kept up a running commentary as he drove about what they were seeing, and which famous actor lived where, though it meant little to Hailey.

  Finally they pulled to a stop in front of an expensive-looking boutique on Rodeo Drive. Two valets rushed over to open their doors. Several men with cameras around their necks lifted their heads and eyed Hailey critically as they walked toward the entrance. George put his arm around her and said, “Ignore them. Vultures looking for prey.”

  He rang a doorbell at the front of the door, and a moment later they were buzzed inside. The whole place was white—white walls, white wood floors, white mannequins that looked like marble statues. There didn’t seem to be all that many racks of clothing, but what there was appeared to be arranged by color.

  A tall, impossibly thin young woman with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and more makeup than Hailey wore in a year approached them. She was dressed in a long silk jacket and matching very short skirt, six-inch platform shoes on her feet. She eyed Hailey with one eyebrow cocked disapprovingly. “May I help you?” Her tone indicated she doubted such a thing was possible.

  George spoke up. “My esteemed companion, Princess Hailey Grimaldi of Monaco, would like an outfit suitable for Gerard’s. Dress, shoes, the whole shebang. Money, naturally, is not an issue.”

  Hailey suppressed a grin as the woman’s demeanor underwent a complete one-eighty, and she actually bobbed an awkward curtsey in Hailey’s direction. “Of course, Sir. Right this way, Your Majesty.”

  “I’ll just wait over here, Princess,” George said, pointing to a leather and chrome contraption that looked something like a chair. “You can model for me.”

  The saleswoman brought Hailey to a huge private dressing room. “My name’s Brittany. Can I get you a glass of wine? Some Perrier?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  “I’ll just bring in some things for you to try. I have several things in mind that would be perfect for you. You’re what, a size six?”

  “Yes.”

  The woman nodded happily. “I can always tell. Shoe a size seven and a half?” Again Hailey agreed. “We just got in some Christian Louboutins that would look fab on you,” Brittany gushed. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  Hailey nodded and smiled. “Thanks.”

  Once alone, she glanced around the room, all four walls of which were covered with mirrors. The lighting was muted, and gave Hailey’s skin a rosy glow. Brittany returned a moment later with an armload of dresses. Another woman was behind her balancing six shoeboxes in her arms.

  “If you’ll just disrobe, Your Highness,” Brittany said, hanging a dozen dresses on a rack.

  “Oh.” Hailey felt herself blushing. “I’ll just try them on alone, if you don’t mind.” Brittany looked confused. She glanced at the other woman, wh
o was opening the shoeboxes and placing them in a neat row beneath the dresses. “I’m a little shy,” Hailey lied.

  “Of course.” Brittany nodded her understanding, and she and the other woman glided out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.

  Hailey took off her tank top, slipped out of her sandals and removed her cotton skirt. She wore nothing beneath the garments, and had removed the slave collar per Master Ronan’s dictate before leaving his house. She touched her bare throat as she regarded herself in the mirror.

  Welts, both new and faded, striped her back, ass and thighs, and there were faint bruises on her ass from a spanking delivered the night before. It was these marks, rather than any shyness, that kept Hailey from stripping in front of the saleswomen.

  But what would probably horrify the two of them brought a broad smile to Hailey’s face, and she hugged herself happily at the memory of the delicious skin-on-skin spanking. They had been walking together along the beach, hand in hand, just like a real couple, when Master Ronan had pulled her down to the sand and ordered her to drape herself over his legs. He’d given her a delicious, hard spanking, the kind that cleanses the soul and sends the spirit soaring. Afterward he’d let her suck his beautiful cock and she’d happily swallowed every salty-sweet drop.

  She turned to the dresses Brittany had chosen and tried them on, finally settling on a dress of champagne satin with lace appliqués and tiny colored stones embroidered along the edges and at the waist. There were matching shoes that fit perfectly, and she chose these as well. There were no price tags on anything, and she could only imagine what an outfit like this must cost, but thought about the saying, “If you have to ask…”

  Recalling George’s request that she model her selection for him, she went out of the dressing room, walking carefully on the high heels to assure her movements were graceful.

  George, who had been doing something on his cell phone, looked up as she approached and gave a low, appreciative whistle. “My, my, my, but don’t you look lovely, Your Majesty. You ever considered a career in pictures?” He winked as Brittany and the other woman rushed over.