Iron Dominance (7 page)

“Claire? There’s only us. Open your legs.”

She swallowed and slipped out her tongue a second, then gave in and parted her thighs, groaning as he slid his hand under the edge of her panties and onto her wet cleft. When his hand pressed again, she opened her legs more. His thick fingers trailed along, dipping in here and there, just enough to part her swollen lips. Hot sensation pulsed. She clenched down there, inner muscles acting of their own accord.

I can’t stop him. Not now
. That thought made her muscles spasm again, her pelvis nudge forward.
Touch me. More. Deeper.

Panting, struggling not to writhe, humiliated by this consuming
need
, she moaned quietly.

“So wet.” Amusement tinged his voice. “So very nice. I’d bare your nipples as well, and taste them, but I doubt you’re ready for that much exhibitionism. Are you?”

She couldn’t answer; the sensations made thought impossible.

With his finger, he found the entrance to her, fingertip pressing barely in, then out again, sending fiery pulsations to her clit. He put his forehead to hers and waited like that while his finger moved in and out and in… She gasped.

“Mmm. I love hearing you.” He kissed her forehead. “This is lesson two, by the way.”

Vivid, delightful ideas inundated her—his mouth, his tongue
there
, licking her. She’d used her fingers on herself, and it had never felt like this. Everywhere throbbed to the beat of her heart.

His thumb weaved in rhythmic circles around her clit; then another finger and another joined the first, delving in a little farther each time. A ring at the base on his finger let her gauge the depth. Slipping, sliding, deep, shallow. She could hear the liquid noises, her panties so wet the air cooled her. Her clit rose up into a tight ball, expanding, blood thumping through it, and so sensitive she bit her lip when his thumb brushed her.

Now his thumb rolled over the center of that nub, up and down, smearing her juices. Her pussy tensed around those invading fingers.

“I wonder, will you come for me, Claire?” Theo whispered.

She stared, dazed, into his intent eyes, barely comprehending, wanting that rhythm to take her to the edge. More. Her hips jerked to get closer, but the table’s edge stopped her. Her wrists were pinned, her body held in exquisite limbo.

“There’s no one here to see. Except me. Just don’t squeal too loud.”

Then his thumb skated onto her clit, pressing in time with his fingers. Again. Again. She sucked in a last breath, held it, straining, until at last a tumult of ecstasy rolled through, shaking her like a diamond jigsaw into a million brilliant pieces. Slowly the world calmed, and she found he still held her wrists. As he removed his fingers down below, his thumb grazed her clit, making her shudder in the flare of another shock. She panted, head down on the table, feeling the linen against her skin.

He released her wrists and carefully turned her head to face him. “Well done. You’re the first woman to come at this table.”

His eyes smoldered. She couldn’t conjure up a single coherent word and stayed put as he ran his finger along the line of her jaw and across to tantalize her lower lip.

“If you lie there much longer, I’ll be tempted to tie you to the table legs and try buttering your ass instead of the toast.”

My God
. That spurred her into action, and she sat up. She straightened her dress, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.
I shouldn’t have done that.

“I’d be delighted if you’d sit on my lap a moment.” Theo wiped his fingers on a napkin—skin shining with her arousal—then leaned back, sprawling with his arm propped on the back of his chair. “No?”

“No.” She vigorously shook her head. What had she done? That didn’t feature in any of the books on ladylike manners she’d read. She’d had an orgasm at the breakfast table.

If he commanded her to sit on his lap, she wasn’t sure she could say no.

“Perhaps next time?”

She blushed. “There won’t be a next time! You”—she cleared her throat—“caught me unawares. I should not have let you do that.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

She stared at him. Anger took over from indignation. “I…” The heat on her cheeks upped another few degrees.

“Claire. You didn’t do that. I did. There was nothing to be ashamed of. “ He sat forward. “I think that settles it.”

She shook her head.

“If it is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I have a foible—I like making women, some women, do what I want them to. You happen to be delightfully susceptible.” His eyes glinted mischievously.

But it was too easy to imagine Inkline sneering and insulting her.
Slut
would be his favorite word. She was nothing more than an animal.

“Claire,” he said more sharply, “you did nothing wrong!”

He didn’t understand. Hell, she wasn’t sure she did.

Furious, just plain blindly furious, she yanked on the tablecloth, upsetting china and cups, then shoved back her chair with a squeal of its legs on the tiles, and a
bang
as it tipped over.

“Didn’t I? Well, someone did!” She spun around, prepared to march off.

Dankyo skidded onto the balcony, followed closely by the four guards. He flipped the cover off his holster.

“Wait!” Still in his chair, Theo held up a hand. “Stand down, Dankyo.” He ran his palm over the top of his head. “Sit, please, Claire. I can see there are misunderstandings I should clear up.”

“No!” She flounced her skirt out from where it had wrapped around the chair. “No. I’ll not stay. I have nothing more to say.”

That infuriating combination of reasonableness and… She set her mouth firm, glared at him again. And pure goddamned
maleness
would unhinge her if she stayed a moment longer. She could even
smell
the difference between him and other men.

She turned and sailed toward Dankyo, who’d stopped halfway to the doors, clearly appalled that anybody would defy his master. When she went to brush past, he put out his arm and barred her way. Harry and a second guard moved to back him up.

“Claire”—Theo’s voice remained even—“I may comprehend your reasons, but I will not have impoliteness at my table.”

Fuming, she put her head down a moment before turning and walking back to him. “You comprehend my reasons? I doubt that. Very much.”

He rose. She looked up, disconcerted, having forgotten his height. “I require an apology.”

She nodded, dry-mouthed, finding she’d lost track of why she’d become so angry. She was an assassin, a trained killer, and not his rag doll to be ordered this way and that. Her anger should surely be at herself, not at Theo. Or, was there no one to blame and get angry at? Was Theo right?

“I’m…sorry, Colonel.” And she was, in a way.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear, “Thank you.”

The gentle stir of her hair beneath his sweet breath sent a mesmerizing signal through her flesh. Her knees threatened to give way.

She stepped back onto someone’s toes. “I’m…ah… Thank you for the breakfast.” Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she swung around and set off blindly for the stairs.

Once she had Dankyo and his guards in tow, her mind calmed, and by the time she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, she allowed herself a small smile and a mental pat on the back. She had the fork tucked into her underwear. That was her practical side. The other side of her, where those words of Theo’s fluttered round and round in the back of her head, well, she’d think of that again, later, when she was alone.

Chapter Six

The sound of her sharpening the fork against the metal hinges of the bathroom cupboard would have been impossible to disguise if it hadn’t been for the regular firing up of some engine on the estate. The cacophony drowned out almost everything at least three times a day.

When an airship arrived that evening, she watched Theo march out to it with a retinue of four men. Dankyo trailed along last in line, like some prehistoric, overmuscled rear guard.

The dire red airship, emblazoned with a black rose and its name,
Final Rebuttal
, rose into the cloud-strewn purple and orange sky, floating away to the purr of its propellers like some giant bee.

Both men were gone. She smiled bleakly. He’d gone without saying another word to her.

No lady would have let him be so rude to her at the breakfast table, you silly git. Whatever made you think he really liked you?

* * *

As the airship reached cruising altitude, Theo left the helm to Captain Muir and headed for his study.

The
Final Rebuttal
showed her age in the worn spots on the brass of the metal apparatus about the ship, in the frayed patches on the Oriental carpet in the gangways and the creaks and groans from the envelope as she went aloft. Not fast enough or well-armed or armored enough to be a warship, but she was his.

Almost every part of this ship stirred memories. He took pleasure in the solidity of the oak door to the study as it silently swung beneath his hand. Dankyo stalked in behind and closed the door. Warm colors surrounded Theo: the plush red of the curtains over the portholes along the far side melded with the golden colors of the timber of the desk and the framework of the leather-upholstered chairs.

“A brandy, Dankyo?” He lifted the cut-glass decanter from the tray on the occasional table.

“No thank you, sir. On duty.” Dankyo stood like another piece of furniture—solid, unmoving, unemotional.

“Dammit, sit, man. There’s nothing for you to do for four hours. One small glass won’t disable you. I give you permission to relax.” He poured a half inch of brandy into two glasses, handed one to Dankyo, and sank into the giving leather of the desk chair.

For a moment Dankyo looked lost; then he took two stiff steps and settled gingerly into the only chair in the room that was bare timber. He sipped. “Very nice, sir.”

The coolness of glass against Theo’s hand contrasted with the rich burn as the alcohol surged down his throat. “Skol. So”—he stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles—“what do you think of our Claire?”

“Our?” If anything, Dankyo sat up even stiffer and straighter. “Sir. Permission to express my opinion?”

Theo cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. You always have that option, man.”

“We have coddled this woman for several days, and still we know nothing about her apart from her name and that she is a frankenstruct. She was on board a PME diplomatic vessel. I have my doubts about that ship, as well as doubts about who this woman really is.”

“Hmph.” Held at eye height and jiggled, the liquid in the glass swirled like an amber sea in the bottom of the glass. “I like her.”

“That is hardly a professionally assessed fact,” Dankyo said indignantly. “Sir.”

“I know that.” Theo studied the distorted figure of his head of security through the glass. “I admit we need to find out more about her. I shall be careful. But I still like her, and from what I’ve seen, she likes my attentions.”

“In my book, sir, being careful means keeping her ten miles away from you.”

“Ah.” He grinned, knowing his next words would unsettle Dankyo.

“I have plans for her. Have you heard of shibari, Dankyo?”

Dankyo raised both eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “Sir knows it is the ancient Oriental art of rope bondage. Might I also add that though I thoroughly approve of tying the woman up, in the interests of security, I do not believe she is a pleasure slave.” He carefully placed his glass on the spindly table near his chair. “Although sir’s pleasures and hobbies are not mine to comment upon, I doubt she will be agreeable.”

“We shall see.” Theo tossed back a large gulp of brandy. “If nothing else, the pursuit should be invigorating. Hmm. There’s a store on Pannier Street. I should pay a visit. Hinchcliff and Co.”

Unfolding from the chair like some mechanical being, Dankyo rose, straightened his trousers. “I must resume my duties. Might I make one last candid observation, sir?”

Theo waved casually.

“Sir, ahem…caution is advisable.” He stared fixedly at a portion of the wall above Theo’s head. “I believe…the young woman has you by the testicles, sir.”

It took all Theo’s willpower not to choke on his last swallow of brandy. “Well then, I can only hope and pray.”

* * *

Servants brought several new dresses for Claire to select from, and the next morning the handcuffs were supplemented with a long chain running to the bed’s column. Finally she could move about on the bed. The ache in her shoulder muscles went away.

Were these rewards Theo’s idea? The long steel chain ran cold across her hand like a silver serpent. Did they not wonder how dangerous such a thing might be? She could have strangled June if she’d wanted to—not that she would. With small gestures and kindnesses, the woman had become more than a mere jailer.

Inkline would have told her she was weak, and that this, the Hellene Nation, was the enemy of the PME and so therefore all its people were her enemy. Inkline could go to hell, if he wasn’t already there. She’d make her own decision.

Besides, June didn’t have the key anymore and had to call in a guard to free her from the cuffs. She didn’t want to hurt June. Killing anyone no longer seemed right.

Soon after she woke that morning, Harry walked in with a box of books. Blearily, she watched as he lowered it to the floor. “The colonel is to be away a few days, and he thought you might like these. He told me to say
enjoy
. You do read?” Harry scratched his head.

She slid up onto one elbow, stared dumbfounded from Harry to the box. How had he known? June must have told him. The twinkle in the woman’s eyes as she shuffled about arranging ornaments said it all.

“I do read.” Her heart did a little skip of joy. They both seemed to be waiting for something. “Uh. Thank you?”

Everything was in there. A whole world of inventiveness. Books about cooking. Archaeology books on diggings where the layers revealed the crushed remains of strange four-wheeled vehicles, their owners entombed within. Books about pets. Stories about murders or monsters or choosing men to marry. Those last, she left in the box.