“What?” Morgan shot back, stunned. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Nobody steals my man!” Rick cried, and before Morgan could react, he had somehow crossed the bathroom in two giant steps and grabbed her.
“Let go of me!” she cried, struggling to wrest free of his tight grip as he dragged her out of the bathroom. He propelled her toward the punishment wall and slammed her against the rough concrete, face to the wall. Gripping her right arm, he wrenched it upward, forcing her wrist into a manacle and snapping the metal closed around it.
Shocked and terrified, she shouted, “Stop, you’re hurting me! Let me go,” as she struggled to get free.
Ignoring her cries, he wrenched up her second arm and locked that wrist into a cuff as well.
Morgan twisted back to try to catch Rick’s eye and beg him to come to his senses. He was reaching for something on the shelf above them, and pulled down a large roll of silver duct tape.
Morgan began to hyperventilate as adrenaline squirted like poison through her veins. She howled with fear and fury, but her cries were cut off as he slapped a large, sticky piece of the tape over her mouth. She continued to scream, but now the sound came out only as a shrill, muffled mewing.
Rick sprinted away from her, but returned a few second later, a pair of large scissors in his hand, a crazed look on his face. Terror froze Morgan to the spot, her heart slamming like a sledgehammer in her chest. Christ, was he going to kill her?
She half expected him to plunge the scissors into her neck, but instead, he yanked her head backward as he grabbed a handful of her hair and, to her horror, chopped it off inches from her scalp.
“You think you’re so fucking beautiful, you bitch.” He grabbed another hank, pulling it tight as the sharp scissors closed over it and cut through with a sickening sound. “You stupid bitch, you don’t care that I love Master Gerard beyond all things.” More hair fell to the ground. “You think you can just waltz in here and steal my man from right under my nose. Well, I won’t have it.”
This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare—a horrible nightmare, and she just needed to wake up, but meanwhile, the scissors snicked again and again, until her head felt light, her hair in piles around her feet.
She sagged in her cuffs, resting her hot cheek against the cool, scratchy concrete, the world swaying nauseatingly around her.
“Oh, Jesus,” she heard Rick whisper to himself, though he was out of her range of sight. She heard the scissors clatter to the floor. “Oh, fuck. What have I done? What have I done? I didn’t mean to, I swear. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.”
“Let me down,” she begged through the tape, but the words were unintelligible, even to her own ears. Saliva pooled in her mouth behind the tape. A strange ringing sound in her ears drowned out Rick’s sudden sobs, as cold sweat broke out over her face and body, causing her to tremble violently. Black spots began to dance before her eyes, and then the world slid mercifully away…
Chapter 12
Aaron pulled into his usual spot in the detached four-car garage behind the huge old house, grabbed his bag and headed toward the side door. Though he’d only been gone a few days, in some ways it felt like a lifetime.
Both of his parents could sense Aaron was anxious to get back to the States, despite his best efforts to hide it. His mother had teased hopefully that maybe he was more eager to get back to a special someone than to his work, and Aaron hadn’t denied it.
While in London, he’d found the time to check in at the BDSM training facility that still held a place for him, and had experienced a tug of longing to return to his home turf. He’d been in the States nearly a year, and he missed England and his life there. Michael and Gerard were bringing a new, permanent trainer on board soon, so the timing was right to return to London, but what about Morgan?
It would be beyond inappropriate to express his newfound, or rather newly admitted, feelings toward Morgan while she was still under contract to the Chateau. He owed it to Morgan—to everyone—to complete her training without giving in to his own feelings toward her. He would see Morgan through the last week of her training. He would be the professional he was trained to be, and exercise the same sort of self-control he demanded from his charges. After all—a week was no time at all.
Who was he kidding?
He wanted to see Morgan, to be with Morgan again, plain and simple. He was jealous of Michael and Gerard, who had taken over her training, and couldn’t help but worry they, with their different methods, might be harming her in some way, or undoing some of the progress he’d made with her.
There was no one around as he entered the living room. He glanced at his watch, which he’d adjusted back to New York time when the plane had landed. At that moment, Claudette and Michael appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Hey there,” Michael called out in his booming voice. “Welcome back, stranger. We didn’t expect you until this evening.”
As they came down toward him, Aaron replied, “Yeah, I caught an earlier flight, and traffic was really light from the city.”
“And how is your mother?” Claudette inquired, genuine concern in her eyes.
“She’s doing great, thanks. Already home and ordering my dad around,” Aaron joked.
“Well, we are delighted you have returned to us,” Claudette said with her usual warm smile. “You’re just in time for breakfast.”
“I had lunch on the plane a few hours ago. I’m still on British time. But I could definitely go for a cup of coffee.” Affecting a nonchalant tone, he added, “I suppose the slaves are already seated at their table?” His heart actually skipped at beat at the thought of seeing Morgan again. “Maybe I’ll just pop in to say hi.”
Before he could take a step, they all turned to the sound of Gerard, who bellowed, “Where is my boy? How dare he keep me waiting like this?” He appeared at the top of the stairs, his face thunderous.
Michael glanced to Claudette, who looked confused. “Isn’t he with you?” she called up to her cousin.
“Obviously not,” Gerard snapped rudely. “I sent Morgan down to fetch him at least fifteen minutes ago, maybe longer.” He came down the stairs, pulling the sash of his silk robe tight around his waist.
“How very strange,” Claudette said, frowning. “The slaves should already be at their places for breakfast. Perhaps there’s been a miscommunication. I’ll go find out.” She rushed from the room.
“Well, I’m hungry,” Michael announced. “I’m sure Claudette will get this sorted out. Let’s eat.” He turned toward the dining room, but stopped at the sound of the front door opening and then closing. “Who’s there?” he called.
At the same moment, Claudette reappeared, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “Neither Rick nor Morgan are in the slaves’ dining room.”
Before anyone could react to this news, Rick appeared, shirtless, his hair tousled like he’d been in a fight, his eyes wild, his face streaked with tears. He lurched like a drunkard to Gerard and collapsed dramatically into the smaller man’s arms.
“Mon dieu. Mon amour,” Gerard cried, cradling him. “What has happened to you? Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry,” Rick wailed through his tears. “I didn’t mean to do it. I just lost my mind. I was going to run away, but I can’t leave you, Master. I could never leave you.” He sobbed noisily, hiding his face against Gerard’s shoulder.
“You’re not making sense, Rick,” Gerard said, disentangling himself from his lover’s embrace so he could look into his face. “Why would you run away? What is it you’re sorry for?” He frowned then, apparently taking in the import of Rick’s apparent confession. “What did you do, boy?” he added, his tone darkening.
Rick looked away, bringing up his hand as if to shield his face. “It’s all that stupid trainee’s fault,” he whined. “She was trying to steal my man. That’s why I did it.” He sank histrionically to his knees and wrapped his arms around Gerard’s legs.
Morgan. The crazy bastard
was talking about Morgan. What the fuck had he done to her?
Fear and fury propelled Aaron instantly to the pair, and without thinking, he yanked Rick to his feet. “Where is she? What the bloody hell have you done to her?”
Rick turned frightened eyes on Aaron and tried to pull away.
“Speak up, boy,” Michael boomed. “What the fuck is going on?”
Rick’s face crumpled, his body going limp in Aaron’s hold. “I cut her hair off.” His expression took on a sudden, defiant look. “Now my Master won’t prefer her to me.”
The guy wasn’t making any sense.
“Where is she?” Aaron demanded again as he shook Rick hard by the shoulders. “Where is Morgan right now?”
“Downstairs,” Rick croaked. “In the slave quarters.” He twisted his head away. “Oh god, don’t hit me. Not the face! I’m sorry, oh god, I’m so sorry.”
Aaron let go suddenly of the sniveling slave, who stumbled backward. He sprinted through the kitchen and took the basement stairs three at a time, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest. He stopped short as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the windowless room, and then sucked in a breath.
“Jesus,” he whispered, blinking back tears.
Morgan sagged in wrist manacles against the far wall. Her hair stuck up in ragged, uneven tufts around her head, no longer than an inch or two in any given spot. Long shanks of her hair lay in piles around her feet. Her face was turned, and he could see a fat strip of duct tape covering her mouth below closed eyes.
He was in front of her in an instant. “Morgan. Oh god, Morgan, are you okay?” Then he noticed the small puddle of urine between her feet. “Morgan!”
To his vast relief, she opened her eyes, which widened as she focused on his face. “Thank god,” he breathed as he reached for the manacles. Though they looked like medieval iron cuffs, they released to the push of a button. He caught her as she fell back and lifted her into his arms.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he repeated, praying it was true. He carried her quickly to the lower berth of the bunk beds and lay her gently down. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Though he wanted to sit beside her on the bed, the bunk above precluded that, so he crouched instead on the floor beside her. “Let me get this damn tape off.” He worked an edge of the tape free and got a better grip on it. “I’m really sorry, but this is going to hurt. I’ll do it fast.”
She nodded mutely, and he quickly yanked the duct tape free from her face.
She drew in a sharp gasp of air followed by several deep breaths. “Sir!” she breathed, her voice hoarse. “You came for me. I knew you would.” Tears filled her eyes.
“I need to know, are you all right?” Aaron asked. “Did he hurt you in any way?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. My wrists ache from the cuffs.” She ran her hands down her body, her eyes widening in alarm as she touched the damp hem of her dress. “Oh, my god,” she breathed, a dark blush moving over her cheeks. “I’m so embarrassed. I must have wet myself. I was so scared…” Her voice cracked, fresh tears filling her eyes.
“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Don’t worry about that, Morgan. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re okay. You’re safe now. And trust me, Rick will be soundly punished for what he’s done to you.”
At this reminder, Morgan’s hand flew to her head. “He really did it,” she breathed in a shocked tone. “He cut off my hair.” She began to cry in earnest.
Aaron pulled her to his chest, cradling her in his arms as he soothed, “Don’t cry, Morgan. It’ll be okay. I promise.” He longed to kiss away her tears.
There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Claudette and Michael appeared. “Is she okay?” Michael demanded.
“Badly shaken,” Aaron replied, still cradling the girl, though her sobs had quieted. “No real physical harm, as far as I can tell.”
Claudette glided quickly toward them. “Thank you, Aaron, for reacting so quickly. Rick has told us in more detail of what transpired. Please, you must be exhausted from your long flight. Let me take over the care of this poor girl.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “When she is bathed, rested and ready, I will have her report to you.”
Michael stepped forward and held out his hand. “Come on, Aaron. Let’s leave this to Claudette. She’ll take good care of Morgan, you can be assured.”
Impulsively, Aaron dipped his head and kissed Morgan on the forehead. “Will you be okay?”
She managed a small smile through her tears, and nodded.
Reluctantly, Aaron got to his feet. Looking down at Morgan, he said, “I’ll be up to check on you soon.”
A half hour later, after a cup of coffee and a long, hot shower, Aaron stared at his reflection as he shaved the travel stubble from his jaw. Rick was in the confinement cage in the main dungeon, where he would remain until Gerard determined his punishment. If it were up to Aaron, he would have thrown out the bastard, his abominable behavior grounds for immediate and permanent banishment from the Chateau. But Aaron understood Gerard’s perspective was not that of a trainer, but of a Master and lover. He would find a way to forgive Rick, though Aaron knew he never would.
While Claudette tended to Morgan, Michael and Aaron had called Tom Reed to let him know what had happened. They discussed the options and agreed it would be better for Morgan to remain at the Chateau and finish her training, assuming she was willing. Tom was assured Rick would be soundly punished for his behavior, and Morgan would be supported and helped to work through the trauma of the experience.
Aaron couldn’t help but blame himself to some degree. If only he’d been there. Though of course he’d had to go, this never would have happened if he hadn’t left her.
“I should be with her right now,” he said aloud to the mirror. “I should have stood my ground and told Michael and Claudette I would take care of her, protocol be damned. What the fuck am I doing standing here in my bathroom, when Morgan needs me?”
Setting down the razor, he grabbed a towel and quickly wiped off his face. Dashing from the bathroom, he pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and rushed from the bedroom. He raced up the stairs to the third floor, arriving in front of Morgan’s door just as Claudette was coming out.
She closed the door softly behind her and smiled up at him. “She’s had a bath and is resting now. Poor thing is exhausted from the ordeal, but she will be fine. Tara is very skilled at cutting hair, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to do a little something to improve Morgan’s, uh, new look.” She smiled to take the sting from those words. “I’m sure you must be exhausted as well, n’est-ce pas? You’ve crossed the globe today, only to come home to this mess. Shall I send a house slave to give you a massage, Sir?” As she spoke, she placed a hand on Aaron’s arm, gently attempting to steer him away from Morgan’s door.
Aaron smiled but shook his head. “No, thank you, Claudette. I need to see Morgan now. I need to see for myself that she’s all right.”
“But,” Claudette began, but Aaron cut her off.
“I’m sorry, Claudette, but this is about more than trainer and trainee. Spending the last few days apart, and with all that’s happened on both sides of the Atlantic, I’ve gained a new perspective on things—on how short life can be, and on what really matters. I have to see her. I need to tell her.”
Claudette raised one eyebrow, her mouth lifting into a half smile. “Ah, oui?” she said, a knowing look coming into her eyes. “I understand, Sir. And, yes, I quite agree. You most certainly need to tell her.”
As Claudette slipped silently away, Aaron turned toward the door. He knocked lightly while at the same time turning the knob. He opened the door and stepped inside.
The blinds were drawn, the room bathed in a half-light. Morgan appeared to be asleep, the coverlet pulled up to her chin. As he approached the bed, she opened her eyes. “Oh, Sir,” she said, lifting her head and shoulders as he came closer, so that the coverl
et fell away, revealing her high, firm breasts.
“Hi,” Aaron said softly. He sat on the mattress and gently pressed her shoulder, indicating she should lie back down. The lower half of her face was still reddened from the duct tape, and what hair she had left rose in damp tufts around her head. In spite of these unimportant details, she was lovely, her expressive eyes made even larger by the lack of hair, the heart shape of her pretty face more accentuated.
Aaron thought of all the things he might say—all the words that had gone around and around in his head during the flight from London. “We still have a week left of training, but when it’s over…” “It’s been a long time since anyone got under my skin the way you have.” “I know it’s completely unprofessional of me, but…”
No words came, however. He simply didn’t know how to begin. Instead, he lifted his hand and traced her cheekbone with his finger, moving it lightly over the bridge of her nose and the running his hand over her ragged head. She smelled good, like honey and lavender.
“How are you doing, Morgan?” he finally managed. “Are you okay?”
She touched her ragged head, her expression rueful, though she managed a small smile. “Other than this, yes, Sir. I’m okay, just a little shaken up.” She turned her head toward the glass of water that sat on the nightstand beside her bed, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for it.
He took the glass from her and held it to her mouth. She cupped her hands around his as she tipped it to take a sip. When he put the glass down, he reached for her hands and kissed each palm lightly.
“Aaron,” she whispered.
He didn’t correct her for using his name. In fact, he longed to hear it again on her perfect lips. He moved his hands up her arms and then bent closer, brushing his lips along her neck. His heart racing, he slid his hands beneath her slender frame and pulled her against him.
She lifted her face to his, her eyes closing.