“Ivy,” I bark, leaning down into her ear as I grab her hair and yank. I slip a hand between her legs and begin to rub small circles over her clit through her panties. “You’re lucky you didn’t wear a bra. That makes me happy. But your resistance doesn’t. So get the fuck in the helicopter and I won’t hurt you.”
She stares at her feet for a moment and then, in the smallest voice I could possibly imagine, she says, “No.”
I push her face first onto the helicopter seat, holding her head down as I pull her dress up to give me a good look at her ass. I smack it. Hard.
Ivy gasps, then tries to get up, but my hand pushes down harder on the side of her head as my other hand gets busy between her legs. “You can’t wait to come, can you, Ivy? You dirty fucking whore. Do you want me to make you come right here? In the middle of the airport? Or do you want to get in like a good girl?”
She’s panting now. Her breathing is seriously disturbing. “I’ll get in,” she says.
I ease up on her head, pull her dress down, and point to the seat. She climbs in, which is not easy in those stiletto shoes I sent her in the fantasy box. But she manages and before she can even look at me, I grab the handcuffs hanging on the door and fasten them to her wrists. There’s a long chain attached to them, with a clip on the other end, which I secure under the seat, pulling it tight, so she has to lean over.
Then I close her door and walk over to my side, get in, and power up the engine. “I hope you don’t get motion-sick, Miss Rockwell. Because if you do”—I look at her and find her wide eyes filled with fear—“I’ll make you lick it up before you get out.”
The rotors above pick up speed and then the deafening roar of the blades fills the cockpit, making any more talking useless.
Good. I’m glad.
She needs this time to get herself together. Because as soon as we get out on Martha’s Vineyard, she will have a choice to make.
Stop.
Or keep going.
Chapter Thirty-Six - Ivy
I feel like I might hyperventilate so I concentrate on taking in long draws of air to calm my racing heart.
Why are you doing this?
What if this is real and not a fantasy?
What if he hurts me?
All these questions run through my mind as we take off, nothing but the rhythmic sound of the rotors to fill my head and drown out my concerns.
I can stop it at any time.
But can I really? Will he really stop? I can’t know unless I use the safe word. And if I use the safe word and he does stop, then we can never try again. The trust will be broken and I will forever be certain that he will stop. And isn’t the whole point of the fantasy to feel like he won’t stop? To let him overpower me, to make me give in, to struggle, be taken, and love every minute of it?
If we finish what we started and come out the other end smiling will it be worth it?
Yes, I decide. Yes. Because like it or not, I’m thoroughly turned on. I want him to do this. I want him to do it the way he promised. I want to feel safe, even when I don’t feel safe. I want him to prove to me that he’s not what people think and I want to submit to his fantasy because it’s my fantasy too.
Martha’s Vineyard comes much too quick. My body is just starting to come to terms with what I’m doing when the helicopter descends, wobbles a bit, and then touches down. Nolan doesn’t turn it off, instead he reaches between my legs, uncuffs me, and pulls me up to a sitting position.
“Don’t speak to the man out on the helipad, do you understand me?”
His eyes are darting back and forth between mine. I think he’s nervous too and that makes me feel a little better.
I nod and say, “I won’t.”
His smile is very small, almost undetectable in the dim lights of the cockpit. But it’s there. “OK,” he says, still staring at me. “Stay put and I’ll help you out. We don’t want this guy to get any funny ideas about what he might be witnessing, right?” He pulls my hair when he says right.
I swallow hard and nod. “Understood.”
Nolan gets out, speaks to the man standing just off to my left, and points off in the distance. That phone conversation was about sending the helicopter back for his friend. They must be discussing it.
And then the other pilot nods and they walk towards the helicopter together. Nolan comes to my side and offers me his hand. I accept it and step down as his hand immediately wraps around my waist and firmly grabs my hip.
He leans into my ear and hisses, “Don’t scream or struggle or I’ll make you pay when we get inside.”
I nod again, remain silent, and stare at the house lit up before us. It’s… massive. I have seen Nora’s family mansion and this makes her place look like a playhouse. We are in the back, a large pool directly in front of us, surrounded by high hedges and gardens. It’s something out of a magazine, the luxury almost too much to be real.
A fantasy, I realize.
“Where are we?” I ask once the helicopter has left and the whomp, whomp, whomp of the blades is fading away. My gaze wanders to the second floor where the windows and balcony are lit up with candles.
Nolan reaches up for my hair, pulling it so hard my head falls back. “Family compound, Ivy. We are miles from the nearest house. No one will hear you when you scream.”
“I thought you wanted me to be quiet?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Now what? What do I do now? I have to decide one way or another. I can change my mind later, but I’d rather not let it go too far if I’m not comfortable.
We walk up to the pool before I can decide and he places his hands on my shoulders and pushes, signaling that I should get on my knees. I hesitate and his hand comes down hard on my ass, making it sting.
Not hard enough to make me cry out. But just hard enough to make me want more.
I feel the flood of warmth between my legs and take deep breaths again.
Am I more disturbed about what he’s going to do? Or how it might make me feel?
“Ivy,” he growls. “Get on your fucking knees before I lose my patience.”
He’s playing a part, Ivy. He’s playing a part.
Does he want me to play the part back?