A Twist Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5)

by Claire, Nicola

  I’ve never had to fight too hard for my conquests. Perhaps that has been what has made everything seem dull of late.

  Yet Haydee does not seem dull. Despite her easy acquiescence. There is something mesmerising about her self-confidence. About her graceful acceptance of surrender. About the way she moves. The way she watches. Even with her head tipped down and her eyes hidden behind long lashes, Haydee is aware. There is nothing complacent about her.

  Compliant. Submissive. Certainly she is all of those. But she is also so much more and I realise I am eager to find out what. What makes her tick? What takes her interest? What do I have to do to challenge her? Surprise her?

  Because she has already surprised me. My reaction to her notwithstanding.

  “Keen,” David Gordon says in greeting. “Good to see you, old man.”

  I nod my head and place a bet on the table, all the while taking in the scene Gordon has set. Samantha hangs off his left arm, her gaze on me and not her chosen partner. It is the first time I have seen her show interest in the man. He’s her boss, out in the real world. She’d always said she wouldn’t go there.

  But David can be persuasive. His ability to charm the pants of anything that moves is renown in our circles.

  Samantha offers me a coy smile, that I know is false in every single way. There is nothing shy about this woman. She steals pleasure as easily as she breathes. And her increasing interest in me right now offers the perfect solution on every level.

  I win my hand, and play the next without speaking. I don’t look back at Samantha, knowing her eyes are still on me. She may have chosen her conquest for the night, but she is still keeping her options open. Gordon, for his part, appears oblivious to her wondering gaze. He runs a hand up the back of her dress, baring her garter belt for all to see. No one looks twice. It is not an unusual occurrence at Sweet Hell to be on display such as this woman is now.

  And she thrives on it. Her lips parted in a soft exhale of desire. Her eyes darkening when they meet mine. It might be Gordon’s hand under her clothes, against her skin, but it’s me she’s picturing doing it.

  Three more rounds and Gordon is ready to leave.

  He looks up at Samantha as she perches on the edge of his seat, and offers her a calculating smile.

  It is time to play my final hand.

  “It’s been a while, Samantha,” I say, giving her the opening she’s been waiting for.

  “I’ve been here all along, Ethan,” she offers.

  “I must have missed you.”

  “You weren’t looking,” she counters, hitting too close to the truth for my current plans.

  “I’m looking now,” I say and Gordon turns an incredulous arched brow towards me.

  “I heard you had your hands full already, Keen,” he barks, garnering the attention of several people at nearby tables.

  “I can handle more than one pet at a time.”

  Samantha preens. I have never offered her the position. My words just now seal the deal.

  She stands up from her semi-seated place at Gordon’s side and walks towards my seat.

  I place the hand I was about to play down on the table and turn my body slightly toward her.

  “One for old time’s sake?” she says, seductively.

  I feel nothing, and that’s the moment I realise Jason was correct.

  But if I have any chance of downplaying Haydee’s significance, to both Jason and David Gordon sitting at my side right now, then I have to do this. Appearances are essential, even if the outcome ends up being entirely something else.

  Samantha’s hand comes out and she runs long fingers through my hair, her left leg moving to between my knees, as she positions herself over my right thigh. I reach up and wrap my hand around the nape of her neck. I know my face will be impassive. My emotions closed off. My body, in contrast, will look relaxed and inviting.

  I grip her hair and pull her down. But not to sit on my thigh. Not to bring her face in line with mine for a possessive kiss. I force her to her knees and look down at her with only mild interest. She is panting, flushed, aroused and ready for anything I decree.

  “Well, I can see where this is going,” Gordon says in what has to be a huff from beside us.

  Neither of us look towards him when he speaks. In this moment Samantha is mine. In this moment she is all I should be interested in. Her care, her surrender, her pleasure should be paramount on my mind. Yet all I can think is how far do I need to take this? How much do I need to show the men in this room to make them believe?

  “You could at least share, Keen,” he continues, in what appears a pleasant tone of voice. He’ll be pissed off. But he’s hiding it well. Control is our master. David Gordon is as subject to it as I. “If not this pet, then the other.”

  Anger rushes through me. So swift and consuming. It takes a moment for me to realise I’ve stopped breathing. My reaction is out of place and very not wanted. I know nothing about Haydee. Except that she has taken my chain.

  I’ve shared pets in the past, but not always. It is not a given. But I already know, Haydee will not be one I can give up so carelessly. Even if that is what she needs from me.

  I reach down and grasp Samantha’s hand, then bring it to my crotch. I’m not even remotely erect. She’ll be confused when she realises I’m not turned on yet. But stimulation can be achieved most perfunctorily. My job is to look after her needs. Hers is to get me ready to service them.

  She smiles, ignoring the obvious, accepting the challenge, and begins to palm me through my trousers.

  “Not interested in sharing?” Gordon asks, watching on with clear enjoyment as Samantha succeeds in her skilled efforts.

  “I never share what I haven’t fully tested myself,” I offer.

  “And you’ve tested Samantha?” Gordon counters.

  I smile, my eyes still on the woman between my knees. “Frequently,” I say.

  “And this new one? When shall we expect her to be set free?”

  “I’ll let you know,” I say absently, pulling Samantha up by her hand and leading her towards the private back rooms.

  The minute the door closes at our backs, she’s on her knees, undoing my belt and pulling the zip down on my trousers. Her hand slips inside and grips my cock; it’s still at half mast, but that doesn’t deter her.

  I reach down and grip her hair tightly, pulling her face away from my crotch before she makes contact with her lips. I’ve been here before with this woman. I’ve done more than any man could imagine to her body. She thrives on sexual exhibitionism, something I have toyed with, but not mastered. And yet, she has been more than happy to seek her pleasure behind closed doors with me as well.

  “Ethan?” she queries.

  “Not a word,” I whisper.

  She smiles, thinking it’s all part of the game.

  “I’m surprised to see you with Gordon,” I say. She offers a shrug of her delicate shoulder, pulling purposefully against my hold. It has to hurt. “I’m disappointed,” I say, gripping tighter.

  She lets out a mewl of distress, but ruins the effect by moaning immediately afterwards.

  “Do we need to have another talk?”

  Chapter 3

  “Salutem.”

  I have a responsibility. Anyone who chooses my lifestyle does. We take it seriously. Without that trust, without that commitment, we would fail and word would get out. Our reputations are important. I wonder, as I lead the woman before me across the room to the large four poster bed, if Haydee had heard of me beforehand. Is that why she agreed to a trial invitation when Jason suggested it? Had she heard of my reputation and gone from there?

  That is the only reason why I go through with what I’m doing. Because I am a man of my word. And those who seek my company are aware of it.

  Samantha is nothing more than a pawn in our games tonight. But that does not mean she mustn’t be taken care of.

  I leave her standing by the dominant feature in the room and move to pull out a chair,
that sits innocuously in the corner by a faux fireplace, and shift it to the centre of the room. The scrape of its feet on the wooden floor is purposeful. I position it so it faces the end of the large bed, then unbutton my jacket slowly, slipping it off my shoulders and draping it over the partner chair in the corner. I walk back to the centre of the room and my waiting throne leisurely, and then take a seat. Making myself comfortable, I lean back, legs parted, hands resting on my thighs.

  She is already trembling with anticipation. If I checked, I’d find her sopping wet.

  “You promised you wouldn’t accept Gordon’s offers,” I say, pulling out a cigar and clipping the end nonchalantly.

  Samantha lowers her head demurely - an act and nothing else - her body shuddering, her hips rolling, she knows what comes next and she’s already envisaging her part in it.

  I light the Cohiba and let the rich flavour coat my tongue, on the exhale I nod towards her dress. Nothing needs to be said, the implied is in the setting, in the anticipation hanging on the air. Samantha does well with an audience. Tonight her audience will be just one, but that does not mean she won’t get what she needs.

  The desire to move this along swiftly has me inhaling another mouthful of smoke; I don’t even savour the taste before I exhale. I purposely lower the cigar and watch as Samantha performs her striptease. She’s in the zone now, fully participating. Excitement pebbles her nipples, her chest rising and falling with fluttering breaths.

  She stands before me in nothing but her high heels, stockings and white lace garters; the brightness of the garter contrasts with her even tan. Her body is honed to perfection, curved where it needs to be curved, flat where it needs to be flat. I lift up my cigar and blow on the tip; the dismissal would be like a sharp slap.

  “He is your boss, Samantha,” I say, taking another mouthful of smoke between my lips. I make sure to savour the flavour before I look back up at her again.

  I nod towards the bed. She moves with a type of fluidity that should speak to me, but somehow it is lost amongst the smoke that hovers before my eyes. My heart is not in it, I realise, even if my body proves me a liar.

  She doesn’t need further instruction. Lying back on the bed, her head towards the top and feet towards me at the bottom, she moves her heels apart, knees bent, and lets me take my fill. Her hands lie palms flat at her sides; waiting.

  Her breasts rise and fall with the eagerness of each inhale and exhale of oxygen. A fine sheen of perspiration adorns her dark flesh. She’s weeping, her folds moist and swollen. Desperate for stimulation, but already a soft breath away from climax. I say nothing for several long moments, enjoying my cigar, enjoying the view, telling myself I’m enjoying the moment of absolute control over this woman.

  Another lie.

  “One hand,” I say, puffing out a plume of bluish-grey smoke. “Two fingers. Inside.”

  She obeys to the letter and I feel myself swell involuntarily inside my pants. This type of control is usually heady. Her reaction one I consider pure beauty. Perhaps in this moment one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

  No. The persistent memory of a goddess spread out for my taking on my desktop is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

  Still, I tell myself, there’s no denying the draw I feel towards Samantha in this moment. The complete surrender she offers, the trust she gives, the acceptance of my dominion over her.

  But I just can’t envisage anything more with her tonight than this.

  “Good girl,” I say encouragingly, the smoke from my cigar rising in hypnotic twirls to my side as I murmur the words.

  She writhes, bringing my attention back to her body. Her lips part, her fingers pumping, moisture dribbling down her inner thighs and pooling on the bedspread.

  “Stop,” I say.

  She whimpers. Her movements cease, her fingers buried inside her wet and wanting cunt.

  “Your boss,” I add, casually. “We’ve discussed this.” And we have. Samantha is one of the few women I have taken who I have allowed to talk. But then, I never took her as a pet. She would make a very poor pet. But as a distraction she has proved perfect in the past. “How will this play out at work, do you think?” I ask

  She doesn’t answer. She knows better. In this she does perform well as a pet.

  I shift in my seat, letting her know from the sound alone that I am still watching her. She lifts her head up off the bedspread to see my face; in the movement her fingers thrust further inside. She thinks I won’t notice.

  “Remove your hand,” I order, flexing the fingers on my thigh, bringing her attention to my erection. Her eyelids close, her head tips back and her lips part, and I can’t help but be taken in a little by the sight of a woman on the cusp of orgasm.

  Samantha is so easy to lead to this moment.

  “He’ll demand more and more,” I say conversationally. “You’ll suddenly find your role at work held over your head,” I add, well aware of how men like David Gordon behave. “You’ll get your pleasure, but at the consequence of your job.”

  She shakes her head. Her fingers clenching at her sides, her hips rocking, her centre weeping, begging for a touch.

  Not yet.

  “He’ll pass you over for someone else,” I say, stopping to inhale the Cohiba. “He’ll be determined not to show you favouritism, or questions will be asked. But he won’t be able to stop seeking you out whilst at work. The game will become one sided,” I add. “His conquest, his control over your body. But the payoff will be your promotions. Your bonus reviews. He’ll even vet your clients. Anything to stop it getting out.”

  She’s still now, my words making it through the fog of arousal. I almost feel sorry for her. Enough to give her what she needs.

  “One finger. On your clit.”

  Her body shudders at the instruction, her hand moving in lightning swiftness to offer relief.

  “I am very disappointed you have forgotten all of this,” I say, as she starts to pant and moan before me.

  “I won’t now, sir,” she promises between little expulsions of air.

  I finish the cigar as I watch her climax on the bed. I let her have her audience of one, silent and apart, but as much a participant in this scene as she is. For Samantha the need to be on show is paramount. Her body is her currency. Her orgasms a gift she bestows on those who pay attention and give her what she needs.

  And I have been very good at giving her what she needs.

  Control. Attention. Recognition.

  Her body a musical instrument I have been a master at playing.

  Even if, tonight, I only touched her with my voice, with my eyes, with my will. I just hope it has all been worth it.

  When I leave I am on edge in a way that I have never been before. It’s nine-thirty, in half an hour Haydee will let herself into my house and place herself up on my desk. I need her. Not just because of what I have had to do at Sweet Hell. I just need her.

  And it’s been too many years since I’ve needed anyone.

  My cock is straining behind my trousers. I am ashamed that part of this is because I just brought a woman I don’t really want to orgasm by my words, by my direction, alone. I can smell Samantha on my suit, mixed in with the sweet scent of cigar. In the past this wouldn’t have been a problem. I took care of a sub in my care. I made sure she received what she needed. And in the process I protected her from a predator like David Gordon. Samantha is an experienced submissive, but even she would have been eaten alive by the likes of him.

  I should feel elated. I have performed as my responsibilities insist. And yet I can’t wait to bury the memory of tonight in a mental locked drawer. I can’t wait to get home and shower her scent off me. I can’t wait to dress in something clean and untainted before I walk in that room and take my just reward.

  I deserve Haydee, I tell myself. She is mine to take how I wish. But I wonder tonight, if she deserves the likes of me.

  It is a novel thought. One that I can’t allow too much
time considering. One that I have refused to consider for twenty-five long years.

  It doesn’t help that I have two messages from Jason on my cellphone. And that David Gordon’s car was still parked at the rear of Sweet Hell. He’d expected me to come back out into the gaming room. To lord my win over him in front of a crowd. I hadn’t. I’d slipped out the back and run like a coward. Will he question my resolve? Will he think my premature departure was because it had all been an act?

  If he questions that, then he’ll question my ambivalence regarding Haydee. And right now, Haydee is all that matters.

  I can’t let a man like Gordon near her. Ah, hell. Who am I kidding? I can’t let a man like Jason, a man I semi-trust, near her either.

  I’m losing control and my visit to Sweet Hell was meant to rectify that. Instead, as I pull my car around the back of my property with minutes to spare, I feel more out of control than ever.

  I cross to the rear entrance and unlock the door, entering the alarm code. Before I do anything, I switch lights on in the hallway and out on the front porch. Then ignite the set fire in the office, making sure the desk is secure and bare. I leave the room with a welcoming glow of firelight and little else.

  I’m showering when I hear the alarm beep announcing the front door has been opened. My cock hardens without a single thought. I stare at it, at the soap suds as they sluice off my body. It grows harder as I hear the alarm announce the door has been secured at her back.

  She’s downstairs, heading towards the office. And for the first time tonight nothing outside of this house exists.

  It’s a type of freedom I seldom experience. It’s a type of quiet acceptance that soothes the soul while it ravages the body, making everything go rock hard. Sweet Hell pales in comparison to this.

  I step out of the shower and towel dry off, then dress in worn jeans and a soft t-shirt. I don’t bother to cover my feet and I leave the top button on the jeans open. Already I know I will take her hard. I will make her mine tonight and I will fuck all other men from her memory.