Red Hots

by Hines, Yvette

  After scrawling something on the back of it, he reached into the basket and removed a movie theater size box of Red Hots and slipped the card into the side flap. It disappeared inside. Grabbing a piece of tape from her desk, he sealed the opening again.

  Her fingers flexed on the side of the items in her hand.

  Bold as brass, he held the box with her pen resting on top out to her, his laurel green gaze challenging her, daring her to take it.

  Had he felt the powerful current too? she wondered.

  Schooling her own features until she had her steely mask back in place, she took the two things from him, quickly. However, she grabbed them in a way that ensured she didn’t touch him.

  “One day, Kindle, you’re going to determine that this job is consuming your soul and taking everything away from you. Finally, you’ll realize you need something else and a way to just let go. Then open the box.”

  He stared deep into her eyes for no longer than a heartbeat, but it seemed longer, and she was unsettled by the urge to lower her eyes. But she stood taller and held his eyes.

  “Not sure what you’re hinting toward…” In a brazen move, she allowed him to see her set the box on her desk without even attempting to peep inside of it. “But I love my career. I’ve worked too damn hard to get where I am and I plan to remain immersed in it deep. Now, I have a case that will not try itself.” Dismissed.

  With a sharp nod at her words, he turned and headed for the door. There he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, pinning her with captivating eyes. “Happy Birthday, Kindle.” He briskly strolled out of the office with his precision strides.

  She realized that he must have seen her given name carved into the emerald green marble name plate on her desk. However, what really grabbed her was that she’d forgotten her own birthday. Shit.

  ~YH~

  Masaun stood under the spray of his shower three hours later, still attempting to shake off the effects of his encounter with Kindle Langston. After an hour-and-thirty-five-minute drive in rush hour traffic from the courthouse only twenty-two miles away on 64 West, he’d arrived home, cooked dinner and eaten, yet he still found himself plagued by the prosecutor. It wasn’t that she was sexy.

  Which she was. With her dark hair, round, russet-brown eyes and thick, bow-shaped lips, all complimented by her chestnut skin tone. That was all above the neck. He could in no way stop himself from continuing the train of thought to her body anymore than he’d succeeded in doing it over the last few hours. The fact that he couldn’t set her looks and figure aside was one of the things that disturbed him. He spent more than four nights a week around women in all states of nudity at The Dollhouse. However, none of them had sparked more than a moment of interest in him and it had been too many years to count since anyone had him in an all-consuming state of need.

  His cock had awakened at the first sight of her and had not receded. In his car, his mind had taunted him with her body, hidden from him in her stylish suit, and her scent. It had to be a figment of his imagination that she smelled like cashmere and orchids. The warm, floral aroma had surrounded him and nudged him down the road of erotic madness. It was an unrestrained road where there was no control or governing of action. A place he had not been since becoming a Dom more than ten years ago.

  As a hotshot lawyer in the corporate arena, he had moved among the rich and successful. He frequently not only found himself called upon to get them out of multiple financial legal situations, most criminal, but invited to late night parties and dinners. Women wanting a slice of the success pie had thrown themselves at him willingly. Most nights his bed was occupied with one meaningless tryst after another. Until he felt suffocated and empty by the existence.

  Then one day while he was at an event for one of his clients in a Virginia Beach hotel conference room, he had begun feeling suffocated, needing some time to himself. Leaving the ballroom, he wandered down a back corridor to the men’s room. He’d been halted in his tracks when he saw an old college buddy of his coming out of one of the ballrooms with a short petite Asian woman. It wasn’t the fact that his friend was white and the woman was of another race that got Masaun, but that his friend Charles was dressed in a pair of black leather pants, a button down grey shirt and he was wearing a collar and cuffs. The woman wore four inch, knee-hi, black boots and a short red trench coat buttoned all the way up and tied. Masaun could only imagine what she was wearing beneath it.

  Icy cold water ran in streams down Masaun’s head and over his shoulders and created rivulets along his back as he recalled questioning Charles.

  Masaun had stepped to his friend and said hello, but Masaun had been shocked more when before Charles spoke to him, he glanced at the lady beside him. Once she had nodded, he shook hands with Masaun and greeted him with a firm handshake. They’d tossed around a few pleasantries and Charles had taken an opportunity to introduce him to his wife, Lia, of four years. However, Masaun couldn’t hold his own curiosity at bay. He questioned them about their costumes and asked if they were coming from a party or some sort of evening comic con-type event. Charles had boldly proclaimed that they were in a bondage lifestyle and that he was her submissive.

  “You’re shittin’ me,” came out of Masaun’s mouth before he could curb his tongue. He’d heard about people who liked being tied up, but he didn’t believe he’d ever known any really into anything more than tying their girlfriends to a bed or some slap-and-tickle kind of kinky fun between lovers.

  While he stood there trying to take it all in, Charles said they needed to go, but he and Masaun would catch up one day soon.

  Four weeks later, the meeting had nagged at the back of Masaun’s mind as he became more and more of a shell in his own life and career. Finally deciding, just for curiosity’s sake, he would get in contact with Charles for lunch. Tracking down the number of his old friend only took him a few calls to mutual friends and two days later they met for a long lunch at a back table at 219 Bistro in Norfolk.

  There, Charles had opened up to him about feeling as if something was missing from his life even though his career as a publicist was going well. He’d been invited by a coworker to attend a munch one night, where he witnessed an ex-Army ranger submitting to his Mistress under the flogger. Charles said he’d expected to be revolted or see it as a joke, but something clicked inside of him and he started asking questions. He met his wife four months later at a dungeon and everything fell into place. Charles still worked as a publicist in the day, but before and after work, he followed the orders of his wife or Domme, as Charles referred to Lia. Charles extended the offer that if Masaun was interested, he would take him around to some open events.

  It took Masaun another three months before he took his friend up on the offer. The moment he’d entered a dungeon and began watching scenes, trying to decide which role he identified with, Dom or sub, a Master-trainer who had been in the lifestyle for thirty-two years pegged Masaun for a dominant. Master Shilling, a banker, had told Masaun he’d been watching him and noted that Masaun was more focused on the strength, control and ability of the Dominant than the strength and trust of the submissive in scenes.

  The man had been correct. Masaun had begun meeting him at The Dollhouse for training and his life had changed—he’d found peace even though all of the emptiness hadn’t left him. Not even when a year later he’d connected with a submissive named Firefly. They not only entered into a Dom/sub relationship, but dated for many years. He’d believed he loved her, or at least cared deeply about Naomi. However, when she’d been offered a promotion and new position in Vermont as a graphic designer, she’d chosen her career over what they had.

  That had cut him to his core. He believed that even though he believed in his submissive having the independence of a career, he made the hazardous assumption that they would chose him over their vocation. Yes, he knew it was a lot to ask for, but he would do the same. Since Firefly, he’d continued to train at The Dollhouse but never took on another submissive.

>   Now here he was, standing in the shower with an erection that had finally receded physically but still hummed low in his core for a woman he knew would only lead him to more discontent in his life. Kindle was not for him, he reminded himself as he finished bathing and shutting off the shower.

  Briskly wiping down his body with a bath sheet, he chided himself for giving her his number. On the back of the card, he’d written down his cell phone number. Not that he expected her to call. It would be best for him if once he’d left she’d tossed the Red Hots and his card into the trash, still closed.

  Exhaling, he hung the towel up on the bar to dry, put on deodorant then padded naked into his bedroom. Kindle was the perfect example of the wrong woman for him. The fact that she was so committed to her career that she used a male moniker, Kin, instead of her full first name, more feminine. That clearly said that in a male dominated career field, she wanted to blend in, remove her sexuality and gender. Make the men on her level and above her see her as equal. She’d achieved the status of one of the assistant Commonwealth attorneys at a young age, letting him know she gave her all to her job in order to move up the ladder.

  “Not for me,” he voiced aloud to himself as he dressed in black slacks and a black, fitted t-shirt and short leather speed boots. He didn’t dress in a form-fitting shirt because he wanted to show off his physique, but as a trainer the Doms he would be working with tonight needed to see the lines of his body clearly as he demonstrated movements and positioning. The foot apparel was more for comfort, because he would be on his feet for hours.

  Going downstairs of his four bedroom home, he grabbed his keys and cell phone from the coffee table where he set them when he came home. Out of habit, he checked his messages; there was a missed call from his mother. He would return that in the morning, but other than that nothing. Walking out the door he didn’t allow himself to feel anything about the evidence that Kindle hadn’t called.

  It was for the best. Regardless of how his Dom instincts had gone off when he’d stopped her from going into her drawer to get money to tip him. He hadn’t mistaken how quickly her movement had halted and for a moment, she froze in place before seeming to regain her awareness and rising. After that, she’d held the legal pad against her chest like it was a shield against something, him.

  Watching her bend to his instructions, submitting willingly, turned his core inside out. Once again his cock began to rise and press against the inside of his pants with the image of Kindle’s chestnut brown ass availed to him as she leaned over a spanking bench.

  However, he mentally erased the trail leading to that thought. The probability of it happening was none to none.

  In his car, he pulled out of his driveway and headed to the dungeon. At least there he could lose himself in the echoes of peace he desired.

  CHAPTER three

  Kin,

  Life is too short not to allow your soul space to live. Another birthday is here. I would hope you’ll start taking the time to do something for yourself…like learning to let go. I believe he can help.

  Love, love.

  Emmalee

  Staring at the card for the tenth time since she’d opened it, Kindle pondered the semi-cryptic message her friend had written inside. She knew part of what Emmalee meant was an old argument. Since her friend had started practicing her new lifestyle, Emmalee had said it helped her reset her focus and set aside the stress and cares of the day.

  That sounded good, Kindle said to herself. It was what she always told herself when she was sitting at work at nine o’clock at night still going over a coming case. After a meal of two packets of Sugar Babies and four Mary Janes, she’d carried the candy basket to the break room. The interns and paralegals went crazy over it. Kindle had laughed to herself considering that most of the brands had been around longer than the support staff.

  The only thing she still had was the card and the box of Red Hots. As she stared down at the card, she mindlessly flipped the box end over end while she read the card. She knew who Emmalee referred to as ‘he’. Or at least it would appear that ‘he’ was the delivery man. Unless another man was going to come strolling into her office with a swagger in his step that would make David Gandy’s catwalk seem gangly. Doubtful.

  What way did Emmalee believe he could help me?

  Kindle stopped twirling the candy, started to open it to remove the card he’d stuffed inside, but stopped. Instead she reached for the phone. When she wanted answers it was always best that she just went directly to the source.

  “Good evening, Spencer residence.” A deep, gravelly voice, sounding like Brad Garrett, came through the line.

  Kindle was always impressed by the sound of Randolph Spencer, Emmalee’s boyfriend’s voice, since he was just a few inches taller than Emmalee and almost as thin. However, Emmalee loved him. Shaking her head, Kindle figured her friend had to, since she gave the man almost complete control over her life. When he was at home, he answered the phone and permitted Emmalee to use it. But, it was the life her friend had chosen, so Kindle stayed out of it.

  It couldn’t be me, Kindle thought. She was her own person. She liked to come and go and answer her phone when she wanted to. At the same time, she was honest with herself that it seemed to make Emmalee truly happy and there was a radiance to her skin. A joy that Kindle hadn’t seen since they were both in high school. For that, Kindle was grateful.

  “Hello, Randolph. Sorry to call so late, I wanted to speak with Emmalee briefly if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.” It was what he said all the time. It wasn’t as if he forbade Emmalee use of the phone or other things like a prisoner, but it was just the hold on her Randolph seemed to have. “How are you?”

  “Good. Have a big case coming up so you know how that goes.”

  “I saw on the news you’d be the lead prosecutor handling it for the CA’s office. You’ll get this guy,” he declared.

  His confident words made her feel good. Kindle had a lot riding on this case. Seeing a wicked, wicked man go to jail and elevating her career next year when the Commonwealth Attorney retired.

  “Thanks.”

  “One moment and I’ll get Lolli.”

  Lolli was his nickname for her friend. Kindle knew that Master Razor was what Emmalee referred to him as, all of it having to do with their lifestyle.

  The background was silent for a moment and Kindle assumed he was taking Emmalee the phone. A courtesy Kindle liked instead of people yelling all over the house for someone to get the phone, or pick up the phone or come get the phone. When she was growing up, there were six of them in her house, her and her three older brothers as well as their parents, and someone was always yelling for someone else.

  There was low conversation in the background that she picked up through the phone.

  “Thank you, Master Razor, for permitting me to speak with my friend,” Emmalee was saying.

  Kindle pictured her on her knees or something. She had only been around Randolph and Emmalee a few times, both those times were at restaurants. Even though he ordered for her friend and Emmalee asked for permission to begin eating or to go to the restroom, Kindle had never seen any physical acts of their lifestyle. She had wondered aloud about it with Emmalee who had agreed to tell her whatever she wanted to know, but Kindle always declined. That was her friend’s choice of lifestyle and Kindle respected it, even if she didn’t really agree.

  “You’re welcome, little one. You have fifteen minutes. If you need more time arrange lunch with her sometime next week,” Randolph directed

  His voice was always patient when he spoke to Emmalee and Kindle had witnessed the light touches he gave her. She knew they were cues of some kind, but that gentleness was what kept Kindle from calling the cops or dragging Emmalee away from him. No matter how great her friend thought the relationship, Kindle wouldn’t let her be abused.

  “Are you still at work on your birthday?” Emmalee asked, not bothering with any sort of greeting.

 
Groaning, Kindle dropped the small box and leaned back in her chair. “Guilty.”

  “Did you even see the sunlight today, Kin?”

  Kindle could imagine her friend with her arms crossed over her chest and her foot tapping on the floor.

  “Yes, I did. I went to the jail to take a depo from an inmate who heard the child-killing pedophile Peter mumbling to himself about one of the kids. I think the son of a bitch is layering the case with a hope for mental incapacity or by reason of insanity.”

  “You’re not going to let that happen, are you? All those kids…practically babies.” Emmalee’s voice turned heavy with concern.

  “Hell, no. This bastard can play all the games he wants to. I have a drawer full of evidence to have him put away for life and in some states, get him the electric chair or death by lethal injection a hundred and one times.” Peter Dashell, or CKP Peter as he was known in the news, short for Child Killing Pedophile Peter, wasn’t the first serial murderer that tried to get off. She knew her job was to stay two steps ahead of a defendant and his defense team.

  “Phew.” Emmalee’s sigh was heavy and loud. “Okay, enough of that, did you like your candy?” The excitement practically oozed out of the phone from her friend.

  “Yes. If not for it, I wouldn’t have had dinner,” Kindle teased with all seriousness. The last real food she’d had was when she’d driven through the coffee shop and grabbed a chai tea and a bagel.

  “Ugh! Kindle, you really need to treat your body better. Yourself better.”

  “I will… As soon as this trial is over.”

  “And the next. And the next. And the next.”

  It was true, she had been promising that she would take less high-profile cases. That she would use her vacation time and go somewhere quiet. But, with the case before her, it would most likely be another year. It had already consumed the last nine months of her life, since they had caught and arrested the perpetrator. It was finally headed to trial.