Free Seoul Spankings by Anastasia Vitsky Page B

to keep my mind off the might-have-beens.
     
    ***
     
    Calm, Hyunkyung . Miss Cha had already given my bag to the driver, and I waited with a pretense of patience as Indigo buckled herself into the seat next to me.
    “It will be about an hour until the airport,” I said, and she refused to look at me. “Try to rest.”
    She accepted the pink damyo from Minhee with grace. “Thank you.” She screwed her eyes shut, as if to block out everything around her. Did she reject Korea altogether, or just me?
     
    ***
     
    Hyunkyung and Miss Cha hadn’t skimped on the travel arrangements. Instead of the coach ticket Great-Aunt Matilda had purchased to Korea, I received priority boarding for the way home. First class! I had never dreamed of traveling in first class anywhere, let alone an international flight. I had a footrest, personal entertainment system, full-size blanket, and a space-age seat that reclined to nearly flat. I’d cut off blood circulation cramped in between loud, obnoxious passengers on the way over, but, going home, I would enjoy the best of the best.
    Hyunkyung . Despite how I yelled at her, she offered me thousands of dollars in accommodations home. I reasoned to myself that a few thousand dollars meant nothing to her. Pennies, really, or whatever the unit of money was in Korea. She wouldn’t notice the expense, but I did.
    Just before the flight attendants finished their last check of the cabin, the plane door opened to admit another passenger. Striding toward me, meticulous as a fashion plate and the epitome of royalty, came Hyunkyung Han, heir to Han Incorporated and the first person to make me orgasm so many times I lost count.
    I gaped as she sat in the chair next to me. She held out her hand, oddly formal.
    “I’m Hyunkyung Han,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    I didn’t know what game she was playing, but I mumbled something close to an introduction. “Is this a business trip?”
    “You could call it that,” she agreed. “I recently acquired a prime business asset, but I allowed it to get away.”
    “That was careless of you.” I made a show of taking out my personal entertainment system, but she didn’t take the hint.
    She requested a glass of Burgundy, still chattering in a way unlike her. “I’m an only child, Miss…Indigo, was it?”
    “Indi,” I said. “My friends call me Indi.”
    “What about the people who love you?”
    Could I have heard her correctly? “Indi,” I replied. “Just Indi.”
    “Call me Hyunkyung.”
    Memories of last night flashed through my mind, the lessons I would never forget. “Hyunkyung,” I repeated obediently.
    She smiled, pleased. “I’m an only child, and I don’t like to share. I like to give more than to receive. Pleasure, for instance.”
    I nearly upset my wine glass. “Not here!” I hissed.
    She continued as if we discussed the weather. “It sounds generous, but it’s more about my inability to share. When I give pleasure, I want to see the recipient pleased. It’s a compliment, if you will.”
    The airplane staff rattled through the usual safety checks, emergency procedures, and preparation for takeoff in both English and Korean. I pretended to inspect my life jacket, cheeks burning. As the captain announced takeoff, Hyunkyung changed to a more direct approach.
    “Don’t let one mistake scare you off,” she said. “I’m not Greg, and I never will be. Come home, Indi Go. Where you belong.”
    The jets blasted into full propulsion, and my stomach lurched as we launched into nothingness. Mechanical knowledge and aerodynamics notwithstanding, nothing kept an airplane aloft but faith, the grace of God, and a little luck.
    We should have plunged to the ground and our deaths within a minute, but instead, the view outside the tiny oval windows changed from twinkling runway lights to the untouchable grandeur of water-crystal white masses that have formed the basis of dreams since time immemorial.
    When we soared into the