by J. D. Chase
I strut in and wait for her to realise that I’ve not dressed. She doesn’t move. I grin to myself; she’s going to play hardball. I saunter over to the window, not meeting the eyes in the framed portrait on the sill. The thoughts on my mind are rather X-rated after all. I look out of the window, taking the opportunity to stretch and yawn. To an observer, I’m bored or tired. The rippling and pumping of my muscles is purely coincidental.
Only she’s not observing. I can’t feel her eyes on me and, when I turn around, keeping my gaze off her but my peripheral vision primed, I can see she’s not looking anywhere near me. Either she’s got catlike reflexes or she’s studiously avoiding me after the open ogling in the bathroom. Or I’ve got this completely wrong and I’m making a complete twat out of myself.
I turn my head to study her openly, doubting that her peripheral vision is as finely tuned as mine. Instantly, I know something’s wrong. Her pallor is inhuman and she’s shaking like a dog shitting razorblades. I stride over, holding onto my towel when it starts to slip.
Her lips are moving but I can barely make out a sound. I sink to my knees to align my face with hers.
‘What’s happened? What is it?’ I say softly, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.
It looks like she’s in shock. ‘Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me,’ I say loudly, wondering whether a slap around the face is warranted.
There’s nothing. No reaction, not even a slight acknowledgement that my voice has filtered through.
I reach for her phone to call Helene back and find out what bombshell she’s dropped . . . that’s if Veuve hasn’t spoken to someone else. I’ll check her call log.
Dammit! She’s password protected her phone and I don’t have time to crack it.
‘Veuve? Jesus, you’re shaking. What is it? Let me help you. Veuve—can you hear me?’ I shout in sheer desperation as I wonder what the hell to do next.
I see recognition flare in her eyes but they retain their distant focus.
‘Veuve,’ I shout again. ‘It’s me, Jones. Listen to my voice. Come back to me.’
She blinks and her eyes flick to mine but they still look unfocused.
I keep talking to her and watch as they begin to focus—she’s looking at my chest. I’ve no idea whether she can actually see me or whether she’s looking through me. She’s still trembling and paler than death itself. What would do this to her? I thought she was pretty bombproof except for when it came to those needy kids. She didn’t even get like this after holding Dan’s body in her arms. I don’t get it.
‘Never give up hope. Even when hope is all you have,’ she whispers. I get the feeling she’s talking to herself more than me.
I take her hands in mine needing to find a way to control the shakes. They’re clammy so I wipe them on the cushion of the couch. All the time, I’m talking to her—using her name and trying to engage her, telling her I can help. Her eyes begin to sweep over my chest. Although they appear to move lazily initially, she soon looks to be studying them intently.
I feel a something change—it’s in the air, almost tangible.
‘Stay there,’ she demands. Her voice is harsh but husky.
Instinct tells me to obey. She’s back in the room mentally, but it’s a fragile presence; like she’s hanging by a thread. A thread that she’s trying to strengthen by asserting her authority over me. If I relinquish control to her it will nourish her resilience to whatever it is that’s drawing her out of this room.
She stands abruptly. She’s still shaking and I fear she’s going to fall on top of me but I don’t move. With trembling fingers, she hoists up her short skirt. I think the aim is to tease me, to make me attempt to take control.
Wrong!
She grabs me by my hair and shoves my face into her silky knickers, holding me there. I cannot resist inhaling. I need to smell her scent and I can’t risk denying myself the opportunity that may not come my way again.
‘You want to help me?’ she asks, every syllable laced with mockery. She doesn’t think I can.
I nod, not wanting to relinquish the silky heat of her against my face.
She says nothing and I feel that she’s waiting for a verbal response. ‘Yes,’ I say simply. It’s the truth. At this moment I want nothing more.
She reaches forward and puts her palms on my chest then, without warning, she shoves me back. Hard. I ignore the instinct to put my hands out and stop myself from crashing back onto the floor. I land heavily, feeling the towel pull loose. She’s surveying me now and I can’t help but grin. She pushed me so it’s her fault that she’s confronted with my crown jewels.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asks.
There’s a moment of utter clarity. Helping her means fucking her. Her way.
Without hesitation, I nod. I can feel the tell-tale tingles in my cock . . . blood is diverting from my brain but I don’t give a fuck. I want this. I want this now.
‘I’m only interested in doing things my way,’ she says, looking like she’s having reservations.
‘I’m desperate to try. I want to learn,’ I say forcefully. ‘That’s why I wanted to be a member of Vouloir and a client of yours.’
Now she gets it. I see the surprise register. ‘You want to be dominated by a woman?’ She realises I’m not just talking about this—the here and now. I’m talking longer term.
‘I want to try it. Don’t get me wrong, sex is great—but there’s no overriding desire anymore. There’s no intense fulfilment. I have moods where I want to fuck for England and moods where I want to empty my balls. Stat. I can’t help but think there’s something else. Something I’m missing. And since I’ve met you, I think I know what that something is.’
I can see the internal struggle she’s having. She wants to but she’s cautious. I know I unnerve her—I have since I met her. She unnerves me too so we’re quits. But I can’t say that. She doesn’t want to be quits. She wants to have control and to have that, she needs me to capitulate. She’s on a knife edge so I keep schtum. My penchant for sarcasm and making light of difficult situations might not go down to well. Thankfully, my tattoos seem to be doing all the talking for me—she can’t keep her eyes off them. Surreptitious glances at my hard-on excepted.
She takes a deep breath, seemingly coming to a decision. I brace myself.
‘Just one thing. You attempt to fight back in a physical sense and I’ll burst your balls. You attempt to out-dominate me in any sense and we’re done. You’re out of Vouloir and you stay away from The Kid. If it goes badly for any other reason, we stop, your membership at Vouloir is revoked and you will put me in touch with someone who can help me with the Thierri thing.’
That’s such a one-way fucking journey! I can’t help but make reference to it. I’m expecting her to tell me to fuck off. ‘And what if it goes remarkably well. Do I get a reward?’
‘Yeah, you get to be my personal security advisor and bodyguard for a while.’
Well fucking played. My reward is another perk for her. I almost clap.
Nonchalantly, she continues. ‘I may or may not fuck you every so often.’
I can’t keep the grin off my face. She’s warming to me. ‘We start now? I’m going to need some time if I’m going to impress you.’
She asks me about work. Trust her to remember that I said I was in a rush.
‘I called in a favour when I got out of the shower. My colleague, Smith, is filling in for me.’
She looks sceptical. She’s wondering whether I’d pre-planned this. She asks as much.
I shake my head. ‘No. But I wasn’t going to have time to take you home anyway and I’ll admit that part of me hoped that you’d come around. The minute I saw you ogling me in the shower I knew there was a chance. A tiny one but a chance. There was no way that I was going to miss an opportunity with you, should it arise. Not for work, not for anything. So here we are. Are you going to sit on my face now or keep wasting time?’
I’ve overstepped the mark. She
doesn’t overstep me. She places her foot on my balls—I can feel the tiny, steel tip of the heel. I freeze.
‘Don’t try to lead, Jones . . . test me at your peril.’
Well, that’s me told. And fucking hell, I love it when she takes no nonsense. Yeah, this is going to be a challenge all right. I just hope I’m not biting off more than I can chew . . . there’s plenty of her to get my teeth sunk into, that’s for sure.
She puts her foot down and pulls those knickers to one side. She’s going to do it.
She’s actually going to bring that beautiful, bare pussy down onto my face. I’m mesmerised. She could tell me to do just about anything right now and I’d do it. Anything to make sure I get to taste her.
But this isn’t about me.
This is about her.
If I fuck this up, I’ve blown it.
As the lights go out and I’m submerged under her my cock lurches wildly.
Don’t worry, buddy. I’ve got this. You’ll get your turn soon enough.
I hope.
SOMETHING’S EATING INTO MY consciousness and I want it to fuck off. I was having a lovely sleep—I think I was dreaming but I can’t recall it now. My brain decodes the disturbance. It’s the buzzer. Whoever it is can fuck off.
I pull the duvet over my head. I’m due the luxury of a lie in. For the first time in ages, I have a late start because my first appointment of the day cancelled.
I’m drifting off when I hear voices.
The Kid must have let the caller in.
There’s only one person he’d let into the flat.
Great.
Jones.
Like I can go back to sleep now. Fuck it.
I throw the covers off and pull some clothes on when I remember that I’d agreed that he come around early to do a proper security assessment of the flat.
I haven’t told him why. I doubt I ever will.
The Kid knows why I’m so security conscious. He doesn’t know that my threat level is now at Defcon One. And it’s going to stay that way. There’s no point worrying him. He’s making such great progress and besides, he isn’t the one at risk.
I sit at my dressing table and switch on the Hollywood-style lit make-up mirror. Taking a makeup pad, I wipe the sleep from my eyes along with the final traces of yesterday’s make up. Then I wrestle my hair into a bun, securing it with a pencil. It’s only temporary; I’ll shower before I leave for Vouloir.
I join them in the living room. The Kid’s already quizzing him about cheats for some racing game that’s been keeping him up way too late. I should chastise him but it’s great to see him acting like a normal teen and besides, it’s no problem for him to sleep in late. Apart from seeing my cheery face over breakfast, there’s nothing for him to get up early for.
I’m prepared for Jones to act differently towards me so I’m ready to knock him down a peg or two, to re-establish the distance between us. I warned him that I don’t want The Kid to know that he’s now my client. And he is from today. A fee-paying client who is working for me—for free. I’m not sure how I swung that one—I’d had in mind a trade-off of services. He must have been more desperate than I’d realised—in spite of the fact that I’d fucked his face until I came and then kept him at arm’s length. Or maybe because of it. Who knows—men are such fickle creatures.
He barely acknowledges me walking into the room. Neither of them do—they’re too immersed in the game. I skulk off and put the coffee machine on, knowing that it won’t be the nectar that The Kid serves up . . . more like dishwater but there’s not much chance of getting The Kid to do it once he’s got his head in the game.
I carry coffees back in and get a grin from The Kid—apparently Jones has shown him how to overcome whatever obstacle it was that had beset him. I get a thank you from the ex-Commando and that’s it. I drink my coffee to the soundtrack of the pair of them commentating The Kid’s fastest lap before standing and clearing my throat. It’s time for Jones to remember why I’ve been deprived of a nice lie in.
Two pairs of enquiring eyes look up. I raise an eyebrow and it’s enough to have Jones on his feet.
My face says I’m unimpressed but inside I’m nodding with satisfaction.
‘Let’s begin the security inspection,’ I say.
‘No need,’ he says a tad too smugly for my liking. ‘Your security is crap.’
I almost gasp but manage to contain it into a glare. I picked this flat carefully, because of its geographical location and its position within the block. It has a security controlled entrance with a buzzer system and I had window locks fitted to all windows. They’re never open so I can’t forget to lock them.
‘My security is not crap!’ I list the features and resist the temptation to slap his when he shakes his head with obvious derision.
‘What’s your intention?’ he says. ‘What aim is your security intended to achieve?’
‘Stopping an intruder,’ I reply a little too quickly so I follow up with, ‘A burglar or suchlike.’
‘And you think you’ve achieved that?’ he says. It’s obvious that he thinks I haven’t.
‘I didn’t say it was perfect,’ I snap. ‘That’s why you’re here, to identify whether there’s a weak point in my security arrangements.’
‘There are several,’ he sneers. ‘In fact, it would be difficult to say which part is the weakest.’
‘So somebody could get in?’ says The Kid, looking bewildered.
‘Easily.’
I look from one to the other.
‘It’s a joke,’ The Kid says, grinning.
‘You’re telling me,’ Jones mutters, his sarcasm in evidence as usual.
‘Yes,’ says The Kid, delighted at guessing Jones’ trick—or so he thinks. ‘You’re tricking us. Somebody could get in easily if we leave the doors and windows open. Nobody can get in if everything is closed and locked.’
I can almost hear Jones’ brain cogs whirring. He’s up to something.
‘Right, Kid. I’ll do you a deal. If you lock every door and window and I can get inside, you have to walk to the shop with me. If I can’t get inside, I’ll buy you the new version of that game that comes out next week.’
The Kid’s face had fallen at the prospect of walking to the shop but the temptation of an updated version of that addictive racing game seemed to be making him waver. Suddenly, he grinned.
‘There’s no way you can get in. You owe me the new game,’ he declared, rubbing his hands together gleefully.
Jones grinned. ‘We’ll see.’
I watch the exchange with increasing trepidation. Jones seems far too cocky for my liking and the fact that he, like me, doesn’t like to fail, makes me feel uneasy. If what Helene says is true, I can’t afford to take risks.
It’s agreed that Jones will go down to the garden and wave to us from our vantage point of the living room window. He says we’re to sit on the sofa and not move a muscle.
We comply.
Within no time at all, he’s walking into the room.
‘Like a boss,’ he says, as he swaggers.
‘You could have left the door jammed open,’ I accuse.
‘What the entrance door and your front door?’ he says. ‘I promise you now that I did no such thing.’
Sadly, I believe him. I know that the door to the flat was closed and locked behind him because I locked it myself.
Just to make his point, he insists upon repeating the act. This time, I wave to him from the window then stand guard by the front door. Within minutes, I’m bored but I can’t help but enjoy the fact that he’s not up here yet. Maybe he did jam the entrance door open—it’s still worrying that he picked the lock of my door.
‘Boo!’ he says, from right behind me. I jump into the air.
‘How the . . . ?’ I say, trying to rein in my thudding heartbeat.
‘I’ll show you,’ he says with a grin that I want to wipe off with the palm of my hand.
He leads me into my bedroom and, as soon as
I see my curtains billowing in the breeze, I know he’s broken in through my balcony door.
‘I was told that was a state of the art deadlocking system,’ I cry. ‘I hope you haven’t broken it. I’ve got to sleep in here tonight.’
He shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter if I have. It was a load of shit anyway. And calm down, I haven’t. The locking system is good. The hinges are the weak points . . . what I actually did was pop the hinges off. I only mounted them again because I didn’t want you freaking out. I found the key where you said you’d keep it after The Kid challenged you about the fire risk when you’re not here and opened the doors for dramatic effect.’
‘So I need new doors with better hinges? How long will that take?’ I can hear the tinge of hysteria in my voice and try to get a handle on it.
He shakes his head. ‘No, I can fit some drop bolts on the inside that will prevent the doors being lifted. It will inconvenience you when you want to use the balcony but it will make that area safe when it’s all properly locked.’
I blow out a sigh of relief. ‘And the entrance door?’
‘I could bust the lock on the main entrance door but I didn’t think that was fair—leaving the whole block vulnerable, plus it’s too easy to linger until someone’s coming or going—they almost always let you in unchallenged if you act confident. That’s the downfall of communal entrances. There’s nothing you can do to change that but we can improve your front door. Give me a few hours and I’ll have it sorted.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, with a smile. For all his cockiness, he always follows through.
‘No problem. Right now, I get to take The Kid to the shop. Do you need anything? Although you’re welcome to tag along . . . Oh and I will buy him that game next week. I was only teasing.’
I smile. ‘He’s got you wrapped around his little finger. You, Mr Green Beret, are a big softy. But don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody.’
