While we wait, Draven asks, “How does Everly afford all this? The planes and cars. Hell, how does she afford to pay for the jobs we do?”
“That’s where I come in. I drain the bank accounts of those with a contract on their head before fulfilling the contract. I make sure it’s done before whichever Ghost is assigned the contract sends proof of death. Then I set it up so that the kill looks self inflicted or not able to be determined. Or at least I try to. Some of y’all, present company included, like to make my job difficult. Anyway, once I’ve drained the accounts, I funnel the money into the Society.”
“And then Everly uses it to buy all the stuff we have at our disposal?”
I nod, but he scoffs, “That doesn’t tell me how she got started. She had to have some funds before starting Societas Exspiravit.”
I sighed. I really shouldn’t divulge any of this to him. It was knowledge only meant for those of us in founding roles, but I refused to exclude him. “That’s me again. I commandeered, aka stole, all sorts of goodies from the Order before it went boom. Owen was distracted during the time he held Everly captive. I used that to my advantage. I tricked the black-hearted bastard into signing some documents that gave me a certain amount of control over his assets and those of the Order. Those documents allowed me to transfer ownership from him to Everly when the time came.”
“Ye could’ve been killed,” he growls.
“Yes,” I reply, simply ignoring the Molly Weasley tone of his response.
I can still feel the anxiety and panic that gripped me when I approached him with those papers. I knew the risk, but I also knew what the reward would be if I succeeded. To me, the reward greatly outweighed the danger. And that’s without adding Draven into the mix.
Before he can admonish me further for shit that is over and done with, the plane’s steps are lowered.
“Time to go,” I say over my shoulder as I head toward the plane.
Draven follows. I know because I can hear him grumbling in that Daddy tone he gets when I’m not taking care of myself. I ignore him and climb the stairs. Once inside, I take a seat in one of the armchairs in the lounge area of the plane. Draven drops into the seat next to me. Still grumbling.
Once in the air, and tired of listening to his pissyness, I stand up and head to the bedroom in the back.
“Where ye going, lad?”
Giggling at the idea I can get away from him at 20,000 feet, I open the door and memories wash over me, robbing me of laughter and lightheartedness. I can hear his voice and feel thepainful stretch of muscles and tendons and ligaments. The fear of dismemberment that plagued me whenever Samuel strapped me to a cross or anything else tickles at my psyche. It washes through me like a glacier, sending a chill through my body.
The last time I crossed the pond was on this plane. Hell, the last time I was on a plane, it was this plane. I was with a man who used and abused me to fulfill his own sadistic pleasure. Beatings and rapes were a near daily occurrence. He only cared for me because I was a pretty boy that made him look good in front of others when I showed I was obedient to him. During that flight, I was drugged up, barely able to remember my name, and if it weren’t for the drugs, I was sure I’d have been in excruciating pain.
A sound from behind me pulls me out of the darkness somewhat. The whole flight will be a lesson in compartmentalizing and making sure all the bad shit I’ve lived through stays in the boxes I’ve shoved it in.
Unless I do something to reclaim myself from the horrors of my life.
Looking at the bed, an idea sparkles to life in darkness that descended when I opened the bedroom door. Determined to make this flight, while on the same plane, completely different, I look back at Draven and yank my shirt over my head and toss it toward him.
His eyes catch fire as he watches the shirt flutter to the floor short of the man. His eyes flick back to me when the cloth lies still and unmoving on the floor. That heated blue gaze slides over my naked torso as his hand glides toward the bulge that’s growing in his pants.
Grabbing the remote to the sound system, I pull up a playlist of sensual music with heavy, sexy beats and hit play. When the pulsing cadence of the music fills the plane, I start to sway. My hands dropping to my waistband as I dance toward him.
“Mo ghille donn, what are ye up to?”
“For shame, Daddy. I thought you were smarter than that?”
“And I thought ye were smart enough not to poke an angry bear.”
“Maybe I like an angry bear.”
“Lilla du, ye dinnae ken what ye’re talking about.”
“I think I do. I know it’s been ages since that big dick has stretched my throat and ass. That you’ve not spanked my ass since before you left.”
His hand grips his dick, squeezing it. I love when he does that because it tells me he’s trying to stay in control. He’s the dominant in the relationship. There’s no doubt in my mind, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I’m finally coming to understand that the sub has all the power. I allow him the control he asserts over me. It’s so freeing, but even more exhilarating is the knowledge that I can drive this man whose self control is out of this world past the brink of that control. That I can make this big ass Viking loose his shit is the biggest turn on.
That’s what I want. It’s the craving that’s clawing at me from just under the skin. I want him to turn savage, losing the tight rein he has on himself.
A swivel of my hips as I pop the button on my pants, and he gulps.
I push a hand into the open fly, cupping my cock and balls. Another squeeze on his dick.
