The list is in alphabetical order, I notice as I start to read through, and therein lies my first problem. Almost at the top of the initial page is the heading ‘Anal’ and my first reaction is to put NO in huge capital letters. The bastards tried to do that, but I was too tight, and they weren’t successful in taking me that way. But they hadn’t given up before I was torn and bleeding. There’s no way I’d ever attempt that again. But they’d gone about it all wrong. I’ve researched, I’ve written sensual scenes where the Dom carefully prepared his sub for what I’ve then described as an incredible experience. My abusers had gone about it all wrong; I know that. Am I always going to let my past dictate my future? Perhaps it would be different with someone I trusted? I tap my pen against my teeth, glad now that I’m on my own, and Jon isn’t staring over my shoulder as I complete this. But he’ll see what you’ve written. Then I tell myself I'm being stupid. Why would he be interested? Completing this form is just a formality for entrance to Tiacapan; it doesn’t mean it would have any significance for my bodyguard. Just because I seem to be developing something akin to a teenage crush on him doesn’t mean he feels the same way. He’s a Dom for God’s sake; I’m not able to even begin to imagine the level of experience he must have, nor the proficiency he expects in his partners. Forcing my mind back to the task at hand and, before I lose my nerve, I put ‘Maybe’ against Anal.
Then I continue through the list. Many activities are definite ‘Noes’ that I don’t consider other than for a split second or just reject out of hand, and a very few I’m happy to put ‘yes’ to without too much deliberation. But there are several which give me food for thought. The idea of bondage, any kind of physical beating, blindfolds, rape simulation, the use of gags, fellatio, even cunnilingus, knife play, any type of pain or sensory deprivation or asphyxiation takes me straight back to the worst two days of my life. I’ve written about and imagined people enjoying some of these activities, but I’ve never considered experiencing them myself.
I begin to sweat as I go through the list, the pen shaking in my hand. Is the next step for me to try and trust someone enough to help me attempt to conquer my fears? What if I put ‘Maybe’? I’ll always have the option to say ‘No’ at the time. Before I can reconsider I put ‘Maybe’ against some the activities I’ve been hesitating over. Then immediately want to go back and change them all to a negative response. My pen hovers over the page. “Fuck it!” I exclaim loudly to the empty room and change my responses back to ‘Maybe’s again. Then, before I can have a second, or even third thought, collect all the paperwork from my desk take it downstairs and literally throw it at the man who’s made himself comfortable and very much at home on my sofa. Now mortified, as I realise I’ve no reason to take it out on him, I walk over and apologise.
I stay standing in front of him as Jon puts down his book – which I notice is my latest novel – and throws me a strange look before bending over and picking up the papers from the floor. After he’s collected the documents together, he folds them in half and places the pile on the coffee table without, to my utmost relief, checking what I’ve written. Then, leaning forwards, he takes both my hands in his and examines my face, carefully. It occurs to me how often he does this. It’s far from the first time I’ve felt he’s been trying to read me, assessing my state of mind. Now I know he’s a Dom it all falls into place. I stay silent, waiting for him to speak.
What I’ve just done has shaken me. Of course, I’ve written about limits in the past, but never thought of applying them to myself. The thought of taking part in any of the activities listed scares the shit out of me, but also, I have to admit grudgingly, turns me on! I’ve become wet between my thighs, and there’s a throbbing between my legs that could do with some relief. And here I am, with an incredibly attractive Dom sitting right in front of me. Shifting my weight from leg to leg, trying discreetly to ease the tingling, knowing it’s the thought of trying some of the ‘Yeses’ and ‘Maybes’ with Jon that’s making my body respond, thinking that it’s a shame he’s not interested. And terrified in case he is.
“You’re certain you still want to go to the club?” He’s still holding my hands, his fingers gently caressing my skin.
My heart’s beating fast, and I know he can tell, but I’m hoping he doesn’t how much, and in what particular ways, completing the list has affected me. My nipples have hardened, and I fight the impulse to look down to check if they’re visible through my jumper, not wanting to draw attention to them in any way. God, please say he can’t see them! I hope he doesn’t choose this moment to check my pulse, because if he does, he’ll find it racing. And that burning flush on my face? Hopefully, he’ll put that down to embarrassment.
What did he ask again? Am I certain? I make sure my eyes meet his, and try to put absolute certainty into my voice. “Yes,” I tell him fervently.
“Okay.”
It’s impossible to read his expression; I’m unable to say whether he’s pleased or annoyed. He isn’t giving anything away about what he’s thinking. I only wish I knew.
Chapter 11
Jon
Four years ago
“It’s too much, Nijad,” I told him, frowning at the cheque he’d just put into my hand. “I’m providing you with close protection; it’s my duty to take a bullet if necessary. It’s in my job description, and I’m already being paid well enough for that.”
Narrowing his eyes and glaring, he reminded me, “You nearly died, my friend.”
I shrugged. “But I didn’t.” Apparently, my collapsed lung and internal bleeding had caused some concern for those around me at the time, but as I’d been out of it throughout, the only words I heard when eventually regaining consciousness was that I’d make a full recovery. My close dance with death had caused more concern in others than in me.
“Has Ben sent someone over to take my place?” However nice it was to hear Nijad referring to me as a ‘friend,' I was working for him. Even while I was out of commission, I still saw it as my job to make sure Nijad had someone on him at all times.
“For fucks sake, Jon. Stop worrying! Yes, Harry’s here, and he doesn’t leave my side.” He ran his hand through his hair and gave a wry grin, letting me know just how frustrating Harry’s version of ‘close protection’ was. Harry took his job very seriously and probably didn’t leave Nijad much privacy. Unlike myself. The sheikh and I had come to an arrangement early on that worked for us both. Nijad continued, “Just relax, get well, and enjoy the lovely nurses,” He paused for a moment, and then smirked, “I have.”
“Huh!” I turned my head from side to side in disbelief. Well, it wasn’t that hard for me to believe. “So all this time I thought you were visiting me…?”
He had the grace to look sheepish, well, as sheepish as an incredibly wealthy sheikh with good looks to boot could look. He attracted women like shit attracted flies. Leaning down, he whispered conspiratorially into my ear, indicating a female nurse standing just outside the door. “Now, that one…” he started, winking, “She’s into a bit of S and M.” As if she was aware she was the topic of conversation, the nurse chose that precise minute to turn and come into the room. I noticed with interest that her cheeks flushed as she studiously avoided looking at the Sheikh, giving all her attention to me.
“Lucky bastard.” I mouthed at him. He just laughed.
As the nurse indicated she needed to check my dressing, Nijad turned to go. But not he saw me pointedly tear up the cheque he’d given to me. As he scowled, his expression let me know this probably wasn’t going to be the end of the matter. Bring it on, Nijad; I thought to myself, you bring it on. You’re not going to win this. I’m not taking your money!
Present day
She’s come down and given me her list of limits for fuck’s sake! I’d have bet a pound to a penny that she would have chickened out. What the hell do I do now? Just the mere thought of Mia in a dungeon is enough to send the blood coursing through me in a southerly direction so fast I feel drained. Unable
to look at the list right at this moment without giving myself away, I fold it, and put it to one side to study later. I’m intrigued, and eager to see how she’s filled it in, what she’s prepared to try. Although, after everything she was put through I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her just put ‘No’ to every item. Curbing my impatience to find out, I force myself to ignore the paperwork.
Leaning forwards, in an attempt to hide my throbbing erection – my cock feeling like it’s about to burst out of my jeans – I take her hands. She’s shaking, so I offer her a chance to change her mind, but she seems surprised I’d even think she would back our now, and remains adamant she wants to go. And it’s plain to see the idea excites her. I don’t need to be a Dom to read the signs; just completing the list has aroused her; I’d not be so crass to tell her, but I can smell it from here.
But how much does she honestly want to try? My suspicions are it’s the idea which turns her on, not the actual activities themselves, which would probably send her running for the hills. I’m not stupid; I know she thinks she’s going to get away with simply going as an observer, but I won’t allow that. The club won’t allow that; no one would appreciate someone standing there taking notes while they play. What she doesn’t know, and what I’m not going to enlighten her about just yet, is that I’ll be her Dom. At least for now. And it’s at this point I’m going to start taking take charge.
I tell her to go to bed; it’s not that late, but she’s got a busy day ahead. Not that she knows that, no, there’s a few things I’ve got planned which she’ll remain ignorant of for the moment; hence my need for privacy for my phone calls this afternoon. Hiding my smile, I watch her obey; the tone of voice I use has got her to her feet and bidding me ‘goodnight’ without argument. I grin as she leaves the room, recognising she’s already tuned into me. It bodes well. I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow. My cock agrees, lengthening of its own accord.
Now I’m alone I take a few deep breaths, trying to bring myself back under control before reaching to pick up and then unfold the papers she’d initially thrown at me. Yes, completing that list affected you, didn’t it, Mia? And looking at it is having a similar effect on me! Reading through carefully, I need to sit back in the chair to ease myself; my control shooting away from me, almost off the spectrum. Fuck, if I’m this hard just thinking about her limit list, what am I going to be like when we’re actually in the club? There are far more items that I would have imagined that she’s ticked on her ‘Maybe’ list. Not so many marked ‘Yes’, in fact, I haven’t seen any yet – hang on, there are a couple – and, at present, I’m perfectly content with the definite ‘Noes.’ Reaching for the beer I’d been drinking earlier, it hits me again what a brave and amazing woman she is.
****
Next morning, after another uncomfortable night on her far too small couch, I go into her kitchen. Rummaging through her fridge I find some tomatoes, eggs, and a packet of bacon only a day over its sell by date. That will do. In the freezer, I find hash browns, and yes, in a cupboard there’s a tin of baked beans. A good old-fashioned cooked breakfast will set us up for the day. It’s a shame she hasn’t got any black pudding, but then not everyone likes eating blood. Finding a cafetière, I put the kettle on for coffee, get out the frying pan, get the grill heating and start cooking.
There’s nothing better in the morning than the smell of bacon sizzling under the grill, and as I suspected it would, the aroma wafting upstairs gets her attention. She comes into the kitchen wearing a fluffy robe, her hair a complete mess and her face makeup-free. Her eyebrows rise in question as she sees what I’m doing, and then her face widens into a broad smile. She looks absolutely fucking beautiful. My cock jerks into life, letting me know the only thing that’s wrong is that it’s not my bed she’s just gotten out of. I turn back to the stove while I will the damn thing to go down again, not an easy task but then it never is around this woman.
After the requisite morning greetings, she busies herself making coffee, and buttering toast when it pops up out of the toaster. She lays the table and gathers together the condiments. We work well together. Breakfast ready, I set it on the table.
She tries each item in turn and groans softly, “Mmm, this is good, Jon. Thanks!”
Shifting uncomfortably as that groan goes straight to my groin, I wonder what other sounds I could elicit from her. Fuck, Tharpe! Get your mind back on business. I take a bite of bacon after dipping it in the runny yellow yolk of the egg and bring my thoughts back to the day ahead.
As she puts food into her mouth, I mention casually, “After breakfast, we’re heading into town, I’m taking you to Grade A so you can meet the team and we’ll be able to catch up on whatever progress they’ve been able to make.”
She puts down her fork. “I ought to stay here and work. I’ve got to get my word count in, Jon.” Her mouth purses, “Can’t we catch up by phone?”
“Not today, you’re taking the day off, Mia.” My tone allows no argument, and I offer no compromise. Although I know how she likes to keep to her routine, I have the whole day planned for her.
Her blue eyes regard me, flashing in challenge, but at my unrelenting stare she backs down with a sigh and then tells me grudgingly, “Oh, alright. I’m slightly ahead anyway.”
“It is important, Mia. If we don’t catch this bastard, you’ll be forever looking over your shoulder.” My glower emphasises the point. The Dom side of me is annoyed she didn’t immediately fall in with my plans, but she doesn’t see me in quite that way as yet. But she will, later. Since she gave me her limits list I can’t keep the Dom in me from coming out. She’s going to be my submissive. Which means I’ll do whatever I feel is best for her.
We finish up; then I stack the dishwasher as she wipes down the sides; she’s impressed that I’ve made so little mess. The kitchen clean and tidy, I shoo her off to shower and dress and am pleasantly surprised she makes it down again in just forty minutes; she’s dried her shoulder-length hair straight and has pulled it back in some kind of braid. It suits her.
We take the McClaren, but I wish I had my motorbike here, not the single seat Agusta, but my Kawasaki. Going through London traffic would have been a breeze on that bike, even better than the Harley I also own. But at least the car has one benefit, allowing me to cast sideways glances to appreciate my companion and to breathe in the aroma that’s part perfume, and part the natural scent of the woman sitting beside me. There’s no denying it; she’s getting to me. I’m very much looking forward to the night ahead.
After an uneventful journey, we reach Grade A’s prestigious building in a newly renovated part of the east end. The office block is expensive to maintain, but its aura of affluence helps us attract the wealthy clientele who we depend on to line our pockets. I park in the underground garage and take her up to meet the team who have already assembled in one of the conference rooms.
Ben Carter, the senior partner and technically my boss, although neither of us stresses that relationship, is sitting at the head of the table; the other founding partner, Jason Deville, being out of the country at present. Next to Ben is the head of our investigation department, Vanessa Hawkins. One of her junior members of her team accompanies her, and for a second I have difficulty remembering her name, but then it comes back to me. Nafisa. That’s it. She only started a couple of weeks ago. She’s from Dubai, and while she doesn’t wear a veil, she always has a different colourful hijab covering her head. Sean’s present as well, and as normal he’s ribbing Ryan, who’s sitting next to him and refusing to rise to any of the bait that’s being offered; also as normal. All the leading members of Grade A, who are working on Mia's case, are here; our other employees are out on their various duties in the field.
I introduce Mia to everyone, and then we take our seats. Keeping my face neutral, I watch Mia’s reaction, particularly to Sean, who would likely be the one to provide cover for her in my absence. Sean’s a handsome son of a bitch with his pretty boy looks and slim build. As m
y gaze turns to my good-looking colleague, I inch my chair a little closer to Mia; I’m making a point, and the responding grin Sean throws me shows he hasn’t missed it. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never been possessive about anyone in my life!
The woman in question has become the centre of attention. Forcing myself to sit back, with interest I watch to see how Mia handles it.
“I’ve read your books!” Vanessa tells her. “I can’t wait for the next one – why did you leave the last one on such a cliff hanger?”
Mia sits straighter in her chair and grins. “What happens next needed a whole book to itself,” she informs her. And then adds chuckling, “And of course, it helps with sales. The pre-orders are flooding in.” The confidence in her voice makes me realise she’s slipped into Dexie mode.
“One of them’s mine!” Vanessa laughs loudly.
Mia bows her head theatrically. “Thank you.”
After giving her an appraising look, Ben pulls us back to business. “Vanessa, can you bring us up to date?”
After a throwing a quick grimace at Mia suggesting she’d rather keep discussing her novels, Vanessa opens her laptop, makes an instant switch to her business manner and begins to give us the details. “There’s nothing on Facebook, Twitter or other social media, or any communication to her publishers or agent that suggests anyone has a fixation with Dexie Sanders. Mia Fable doesn’t have any personal social accounts. Nafisa’s looked at the comments on Amazon and other online booksellers, and websites such as Goodreads and while some people don’t rate the book as highly as others, again, there was nothing there that she could find of any concern.
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 13
