She couldn’t move because of Kruin’s bulk pinning her to the table, and tears filled her eyes at the utter indignity of her predicament. She closed her eyes with humiliation as she heard Preston making some coarse remark about the extent of her arousal, then as he penetrated her with a deep groan of joy and began fucking her, she experienced a sense of overwhelming submission, knowing that both men would take their pleasure while denying her any similar satisfaction.
She struggled to retain control over her unbearable excitement, feeling Preston’s penis jarring her lower body with repeated thrusts, while Kruin continued to stimulate himself within the snug confines of her warm cleavage. Her mind became subsumed only with sensation; the thick root causing such raw, delicious friction between her breasts, the weight of Kruin’s body above her, the harsh grip of Preston’s fingers on her straining thighs, the persistent plunge of his cock into her.
Before Lydia realized what was happening, before she could do anything to prevent it, an orgasm began overwhelming her senses. She cried out with both ecstasy and dismay, unable to stop herself from succumbing to the rapturous bliss even as she knew she was breaking the rules yet again. Then Preston pulled out of her and erupted into the gentle hollow of her stomach, and seconds later Kruin grunted and spewed profuse jets of semen onto her breasts, subsequent, subsiding spurts hitting her chin and splattering against her throat.
Breathing heavily, Preston dropped Lydia’s thighs back onto the table as he pulled away from her. Kruin eased himself off her body, self-control collecting around him once again like a perfectly tailored suit.
Lydia closed her eyes with a growing sense of dread, even as lingering pulses of pleasure continued to throb in her blood. She longed to get up and clean herself, to cover her traitorous body, but knew she had to lie there until one of them told her otherwise.
Cautiously her eyes opened, her gaze meeting Kruin’s frosty look first, which caused the dread to deepen. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, hating the involuntary plea in her voice. ‘I didn’t mean to—’
Kruin shook his head, his mouth tightening. ‘You’re far too undisciplined, Lydia. You have continually disobeyed a simple mandate. If you cannot control yourself, then we will have to take further measures to control you.’
Lydia turned away, unable to bear the deep censure in his expression. The door clicked as he and Preston left the room, and then she felt Gabriel’s hand brushing her disheveled hair away from her forehead. Her eyes filled with tears at the gentleness of his touch.
‘I couldn’t help it,’ she choked.
‘I know, Lydia,’ he said. ‘But you did very well.’
She blinked with surprise. ‘I did?’
Gabriel nodded. ‘You’ll be punished, of course, and you still resisted somewhat, but overall you did well. I’m proud of you.’
Lydia stared up at him, astounded by how he made her want to fall sobbing with gratitude into his arms. Never before had such simple words caused her such a radiation of joy, banishing her earlier dismay.
‘Oh,’ she whispered, her throat tight with emotion, ‘thank you, Gabriel.’
He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘You’re learning,’ he said, ‘we all know that.’
Chapter 8
Lydia raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she saw Gabriel come out onto the veranda. Dropping the trowel she had been using to plant a tray of fresh pansies, she approached him. He had been away from the plantation a great deal in the past few days, which had created a perpetual knot of anxiety within her.
Although he was equally capable of issuing commands, not to mention being aroused by her humiliations, Gabriel’s presence continued to serve as a strong counterbalance to Preston’s cruel amusement and Kruin’s brutal contempt.
Lydia dusted dirt from her hands as she climbed the veranda steps, and something inside her calmed as she met his warm, green eyes. He poured a glass of lemonade from a pitcher that stood on the veranda table and held it out to her. She accepted it gratefully and took a long sip, closing her eyes appreciatively as the sweet, tangy liquid flowed down her throat.
‘You’ve all been gone quite a bit lately,’ she remarked, drawing her fingers across her lips to wipe away lingering drops of lemonade. She sank onto a chair and leaned her head against the back. ‘May I ask why?’
‘Preston and Kruin have mainly been taking care of retaining our anonymity,’ he said, and a sickening knot of dread twisted her insides.
‘Is… is it in danger of being compromised?’ she asked fearfully.
Gabriel poured himself a glass of lemonade and sat down beside her. ‘No, not at all. And it won’t be, but keeping our anonymity requires maintenance. Preston and Kruin are very vigilant about that, whereas I attend to most issues regarding the plantation.’
He patted her hand reassuringly, and she turned it over, allowing him to lace his fingers between hers, warmly enclosing her palm.
They sat that way for a long time as a hot breeze drifted through the screens surrounding the veranda, then Gabriel’s hand tightened on hers slightly.
‘Lydia, you should know that Preston is planning a social event,’ he disclosed.
She didn’t like the sound of that. ‘An event?’ she echoed.
He nodded. ‘A party, actually, and he’s been extremely occupied with the plans. It’ll take place in two weeks.’
Lydia stared at him, her pulse quickening. ‘Gabriel, you can’t be serious. How can there possibly be a party here?’
‘Between the three of us, we have a very wide social circle, as you can imagine. But within that circle there’s another that’s much smaller and far more exclusive.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked anxiously.
‘It means they’re aware of certain things that go on at La Lierre et le Chêne,’ Gabriel explained. ‘It’s perhaps forty or fifty people—’
‘I don’t care how many people there are!’ Lydia was becoming more agitated with every passing second. ‘You can’t invite anyone here. If keeping anonymity requires so much work, how can you just let people in?’
‘Lydia, listen to me. There is no danger of anyone discovering who you are. If there was, do you think Preston would plan an event? And for that matter, do you think Kruin would ever allow it?’
Lydia was slightly mollified at his mention of Kruin. For all her fear of the enigmatic man, she possessed a strange and absolute trust in his ability to protect her.
‘Do you?’ Gabriel pressed, his hand tightening around hers.
She shook her head. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It’s to be a masquerade ball,’ he told her. ‘Full costumes and masks are required, so no one will recognize you. In fact, none of the guests have ever met you. And believe me when I tell you that they don’t want to be recognized, either. They’re all very easy candidates for blackmail should any questions arise.’
He rose, reassuringly stroking her hair. ‘Don’t worry, Lydia, it’ll be entertaining and enjoyable, but nothing to fear,’ he insisted. ‘You might even try to look forward to it.’
He smiled and headed back into the house, as Lydia tried to imagine what it would be like to actually have contact with people beyond her dark triad again. In such a short time the sheer intensity of emotions that drenched the plantation had conspired to bind her irrevocably to this place and the men who inhabited it, so that now she could barely conceive of interacting with anyone else, let alone a group of strangers.
With a shudder she rose and went back into the garden, and she spent the rest of the afternoon distractedly planting pansies and pulling weeds from the flowerbeds.
Before arriving at the plantation, Lydia had never been interested in nature or gardening. Her family always hired people to take care of their vast grounds, and she hadn’t understood what pleasure there could possibly be in digging, planting and muckin
g around in the dirt.
Of course, she had been a different person then. In just a few weeks, La Lierre et le Chêne had presented her with many things she would never have otherwise understood. She had not only been introduced to the dark, blurred borders of her own sexuality, but also to the manifold pleasures of food, to the joy elicited by words of praise, to reading again, and now to the simple enjoyment of gardening.
‘Dinner, Lydia.’
She glanced up with surprise at Gabriel, who was standing on the verandah again. Dusk had already settled, and crickets were beginning their lively evening song.
‘I’m sorry, I completely lost track of time,’ she said, and quickly gathered her tools into a box and went to join him. ‘Do I have time to wash?’
‘Yes, but don’t tarry,’ he said, so she hurried to one of the downstairs cloakrooms to wash dirt from her hands and face. She glanced at herself in the mirror, and then stopped for a moment, surprised by how she seemed to have changed.
She looked younger, of all things; the faint lines of stress generated by time spent in the corporate world had eased into more rounded and delicate features. The hard, cultivated look in her eyes, the crease between her eyebrows, the firm set of her mouth – all had been replaced by a calm, yielding countenance. The persistent shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes were gone. Her sharp cheekbones and jaw-line had filled out slightly, lending her a far softer expression that seemed to suit her growing subservience.
Lydia pressed her hands against her hips and belly. There had been a time when she was a slave to the treadmill and a weight-training regime, but here she had succumbed to the tantalizing temptations of extremely good food, and consequently gained a little weight, which partly accounted for the fuller look of her face, but it suited her well.
She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever looked at herself in a mirror and been entirely uncritical of what she saw. Not until now.
She left the bathroom and went into the front hall towards the dining room. Kruin was descending the stairs, a leather briefcase in one large hand. Lydia stopped and watched him, her heart thudding over the sheer magnetism of his demeanor.
He paused at the foot of the stairs. ‘I believe you’re late for dinner,’ he said.
‘Yes, I was just going in.’ Lydia brushed her hands nervously over her skirt. ‘But I wanted to ask you… Gabriel told me earlier about a gathering Preston is planning.’
Kruin nodded. ‘You have no cause for concern, Lydia,’ he stated with conviction, and hearing the words directly from him eased away more of her apprehension.
‘But what if they discover something about us?’ she asked, needing yet more reassurance.
‘The people involved know nothing about who we, or you, really are. Nor will they ever find out. And they are far more worried about their own reputations than they are interested in us.’
‘So why do they come here?’
For the first time, a slight smile curved Kruin’s mouth. ‘For the same reason you did. They know they will be safe. You will not be jeopardized in any way, Lydia. Your anonymity will not be put at risk. I promise you that.’
His vow convinced her and she sighed with relief, feeling her tensed muscles ease. ‘All right, then,’ she said gratefully. ‘Thank you.’
He nodded and continued on his way to the front door, pausing to put a large hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze of reassurance. The simple gesture both surprised and delighted Lydia, for he had never touched her unless either punishing her or enjoying her. She watched him leave, feeling surprisingly warm and content.
Entirely reassured, she hurried into the dining room where Gabriel and Preston were already seated. They both rose at her entrance.
‘Good evening, Lydia.’ Preston held out her chair. ‘Kruin won’t be joining us. He had other matters to attend to in town.’
‘Yes, I just saw him leave,’ she said.
Preston took his place again and reached for his wine. ‘So, Gabriel tells me you’ve been amusing yourself with the garden.’
‘Yes.’ Lydia smoothed her napkin over her lap. ‘I hope that’s all right.’
‘But of course. We want you to satisfy all your urges here.’ Preston smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Lydia broke her gaze from his as Gabriel began filling her plate with food. She hungrily devoured her spinach and feta cheese salad, followed by grilled shrimp, fresh vegetable couscous, and eggplant pureed with garlic and sesame tahini sauce.
Preston, who chose all the wines that accompanied their meals, refilled Lydia’s glass with an expensive Lebanese red wine that bore hints of blackberries and oak. She thanked him quietly before returning her attention to the food. She had learned that the less she said during meals, the better the chance that the men would allow her to eat in peace, and she had just finished her last spoonful of a sinfully delicious chocolate-mint flan when Preston pushed his chair away from the table with a decisive movement.
Lydia’s heart plummeted, knowing instinctively what was about to transpire. She met his blue eyes steadily, trying to remind herself of Gabriel’s praise the other day despite her loss of sensual control.
‘Lydia, come with me upstairs,’ Preston said, simply and coldly.
She glanced at Gabriel, whose expression revealed nothing until he gave her a slight nod of encouragement. Nerves twisted her insides as she folded her napkin and laid it on the tabletop, and stood.
Preston stepped aside to allow her to leave the dining room before him, and then he directed her up the stairs. Lydia thought he would guide her into her bedroom, but he instead instructed her to ascend the second flight of stairs, and with a growing sense of uncertainty, she realized he was conducting her to his own bedroom.
Having no idea what to expect, she breathed a slight sigh of relief when she found it was exactly the same as it had been when she’d investigated the house. She almost smiled, wondering if she had subconsciously expected him to have turned it into some sort of a torture chamber.
Closing the door behind them, Preston snapped his fingers and pointed to the foot of the bed. ‘Go and stand there,’ he ordered.
Hating the fact that she reacted to his orders so seamlessly, Lydia crossed the room slowly and stopped precisely where he indicated she should. She waited uncertainly, and realized then that they were alone for the first time in weeks, without either Kruin or Gabriel to counterbalance his obsessive streak. Her apprehension increased as she recalled that she was due several punishments.
Her breathing shortened and she grasped one of the bedposts to steady herself, then remembered to part her legs a little. She had once dreaded the idea of receiving one of Preston’s punishments with Kruin and Gabriel in the same room, but now she longed for their presence.
‘Lydia, do you remember that youth in our neighborhood who made all the girls want to cream in their panties?’ Preston asked with a strange air of conversational crudity as he pulled open the doors of the closet and began rummaging inside. ‘He was always in trouble – tall fellow with longish brown hair. Wore a leather jacket, rode a motorbike. The classic bad boy. What was his name?’
His evocation of the memory was so unexpected that Lydia almost couldn’t speak. She swallowed hard, fighting the erotic images that pushed at the back of her mind. ‘Um, A-Alex,’ she stumbled. ‘Alex Walker.’
‘Ah yes, Alex.’ He looked over his shoulder at her, nodding and smiling. ‘You knew him rather well, didn’t you?’
‘I… um… not really.’ Consternation gripped her; if Preston truly had been keeping track of her for all these years, delving into her past, then there was no telling what he might know about her.
He turned and moved back to her, then without warning he snatched a fistful of her hair and gave it a sharp tug, sending pain prickling through her scalp and yanking her head back. He moved into her line of vision, his eyes like c
hips of ice.
‘Don’t lie, Lydia,’ he admonished, his voice steely. ‘There were rumors, you know.’
‘What… what rumors?’ she stammered, her scalp screaming for a reprieve.
Preston’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. ‘That Alex Walker was the one who finally popped your sweet cherry,’ he said.
Color flooded Lydia’s face at the bluntness of his accusation. She tried to pull away from him but he gave her hair another vicious tug, causing tears to blur her vision.
‘Well?’ he pressed. ‘How true were those rumors?’
‘T-true,’ Lydia gasped. ‘They were true.’
‘Tell me more,’ Preston demanded. ‘This I want to hear.’
‘Preston, please, I can’t—’
‘Tell me!’
‘I… I was seventeen,’ Lydia choked, stunned by his aggressive demeanor and the rush of memories. Alex had been one of those young men who exuded sexual confidence with every movement. He had also been several years older than her and far more experienced.
‘Did you seduce him?’ Preston asked, his voice infused with husky curiosity. ‘Did you wear skirts so short he could practically see your pussy? Is that what you did?’
Lydia tried to nod, but his grip on her hair was so restrictive she couldn’t move. ‘Yes, I had a crush on him, and I… I wanted him to notice me. He worked at a garage as a mechanic. I’d stop there several times a week, hoping he would at least pay me some attention.’
Lydia blushed again as she recalled how she’d flirted in front of the youth in short skirts and tight T-shirts. The garage where Alex worked was located right next to a junkyard filled with rusting old cars and trucks. The place was filthy, stinking of gasoline and motor oil, littered with crushed cans, cigarette butts, deformed engine parts and broken bottles. Several beat-up cars were always in the garage, their hoods flipped up to expose their grimy innards.
And Alex, he was always in torn jeans and a grimy old T-shirt, both his clothes and his skin stained with black grease and oil. Just walking towards that place, catching a whiff of gasoline and rust, had caused Lydia’s excitement to surge.
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