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

by Claire, Nicola

  “Gordon’s out for blood. You pissed him off with that move the other night. Samantha is his in every way that it counts. You overstepped, Ethan. He’s going to make your life a living hell.”

  “Gordon doesn’t frighten me,” I offer. “But what is interesting, is your role as messenger. Since when do you let yourself be bullied into doing anything as lowly as pass on warnings?”

  He smiles. The skin around his eyes doesn’t crinkle.

  “The warning’s mine, not his,” he argues. “I see a change in you, Ethan. I’m not sure if it’s for the better. But I have hope.”

  “I don’t need your interference.”

  “Then shall I take her back?”

  My hand comes out and wraps around his shirt collar before I think better of it.

  “You believe threatening me will make a difference?” I hiss.

  His eyes dart down to my unforgiving grip of his clothing, then slowly come back up to my face.

  This time when he smiles his eyes are surrounded by laugh lines. True humour fanning out from each orbit.

  His hand comes down and slaps me on the shoulder. Then he spots something behind me.

  “Care for a bit of sport before you go?”

  I release his shirt and look in the direction of his gaze. The blonde he’d been eyeing now has a friend. Brunette, dark eyes, long hair, tanned skin. The fact she meets my criteria so perfectly is surprising. The knowing look Jason gives me is alarming.

  “Friends of yours?” I ask.

  “Come on, Ethan. Wet your whistle before your dinner and show. Nothing better than taking the edge off to keep your pet begging for more. It’ll do you good.”

  The offer is at once familiar and also calculating. In a way that lets me know refusing would count against me in whatever this battle is Jason and I are now entwined in. If I accept, and spend a few soulless minutes in a dark corner with Jason and these women, I’ll convince him Haydee is nothing but a potential pet. One of many.

  If I refuse, I confirm her significance.

  Right now I’m not sure either would be wise, but I have to make a choice.

  Jason signals the women and they approach. I’m immediately comparing the brunette’s lack of grace with Haydee’s infinite supply of it. She walks with her head held high and her back straight, but the challenge in her eyes counters her serenity. This woman would spark under careful controlled command. She wouldn’t simmer on low and then slowly burst into heated flames. She’d explode.

  An interesting thought, but unusually irrelevant.

  I check my watch purposefully, as though I haven’t the time to humour Jason and his perfect match. The women make our sides and the blonde immediately sidles up to Jason, her breasts spilling out of a too tight top. The brunette eyes me speculatively. There is interest there, I just can’t tell if it is engineered because of a deal with my friend.

  This is a test. One I am about to fail.

  “Well, hello there, ladies,” Jason says in his non dominant voice. He’s testing the waters. Or playing a role to make me think this hasn’t been planned. “My name is Jason and this is Ethan. Are you looking for some fun tonight?”

  “Definitely,” the blonde says, allowing Jason’s hands to wander.

  “How about we find a secluded corner to get to know each other better?” Jason suggests. The brunette hasn’t stopped eyeing me, but as yet is not as eager as her friend for contact.

  “As tempting as this is,” I start.

  Jason turns towards me and holds my stare with an impassive one of his own. Nothing further is said, but so much is conveyed in that one steady look.

  “An interesting choice,” he finally remarks. “What’s five minutes between friends?”

  “I don’t have five minutes to spare,” I counter.

  “You may lie to me,” Jason says wrapping an arm around the blonde’s shoulders and moving to do the same to the brunette. “But never to yourself, Ethan.” He starts directing the women away.

  I watch, aware I’ve just exposed my underbelly to another dominant, as they make their way to a dark corner in the back of the bar specifically designed for just such entertainment. Jason’s face is already in the crook of the blonde’s neck, teeth scraping skin. While his hand is slipping down the rear of the brunette’s skirt and squeezing her arse.

  Both women drape themselves over my friend, clearly ready to party.

  I shake my head, dispel the unease I feel at where our friendship is going, and then head out the front of the bar not looking back. I feel eyes on me, but they could just as easily be too busy to care. Once again, Jason is making me see things that may not actually be there.

  The drive home is a disconcerting one. David Gordon is not a good enemy to have. I’d been aware of what the potential consequences could have been when I’d chosen to take Samantha from him the other night. But reality is a good leveller. If he seeks retribution, Haydee would be his goal.

  I’ve lost my touch. I’m completely acting out of character. In trying to manipulate the game to my advantage I’ve walked right into a trap. Maybe even two. Jason is up to something. Part of me thinks it is purely an intervention, an attempt to get me to feel. But the cynical part of me, too long left to flourish, believes he’s pushing my buttons for an entirely self-motivated reason.

  What does he want?

  I decide there is no option but to stake my claim on Haydee publicly. To declare her mine and no one else’s. A dark thought occurs to me as I pull my car around the back of my house. Maybe Haydee isn’t interested in exclusivity.

  The solution is simple. I won’t give her a choice.

  It is within the realms of my role as her master to dictate the rules. Even if doing so fails in my responsibilities in providing her what she desires. The thought her wishes could be counter to mine is chilling.

  The realisation that I am spending too long analysing this arrangement is frustrating.

  It is in anger that I enter my house.

  My first stop is the office where I empty my briefcase and sort through those files that need my immediate attention. Bringing work home is part of my job. If I didn’t, I’d spend every God forsaken hour at the station. There are several items I’ll have to attend to before I return to work tomorrow. And they only crossed my work desk this morning.

  Weekends don’t mean close of business for the Police.

  I sort the files, slipping those more urgent into the top drawer and then stash my laptop in its locked cupboard beneath the desk The only item left on the table’s surface is a single sheet of paper with a list of words and a mark in the negative column beside each.

  I stare at the confirmation of my sexually transmitted disease status and then pick it up and move it to the hall table. It will be the first thing Haydee sees when she enters my house. It is standard procedure to have one done at the start of an arrangement. Mine was executed last week, the day after she first appeared at my door. Depending on our exclusivity agreement, one may need to be carried out weekly.

  I have no intention of having to perform another test any time soon.

  I turn away from the document and walk upstairs to shower and dress.

  The alarm beeping to announce Haydee’s arrival brings me out of a moment where I hadn’t realise I’d been standing staring at a picture of Lara as a child beside my bed. She’s dressed up as Pippi Longstocking, about to attend a birthday party for one of her school friends. She’s eight years old in the photo and looks nothing like herself in the disguise.

  That is, of course, why it’s the only picture I have of my daughter in my house. And the fact it is in my bedroom means more than I’ve cared to admit to myself in the past.

  I turn my attention to the full length mirror, allowing Haydee enough time to prepare herself for my arrival. I’d given her a measure of control this evening. Her choice whether to be dressed when she kneels or not. It tells me a lot about a pet which option they choose. I have yet to be surprised by their choice.
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  I have yet to have one still clothed.

  I am already hardening as I make my way down the stairs.

  I see her before I reach the ground floor. A small figure, on her knees, facing the hallway, back to the door. Her hands rest on her thighs. Her head is bowed in perfect submission. Her short hair hides nothing of the high cheekbones and the slight flush that graces them.

  I stop on the bottom most tread and appreciate my prize.

  She is not naked.

  Nor is she fully dressed.

  Haydee has decided to gift me a present. Silk stockings adorn her long legs, attached to dark red garter belts on each thigh. Her underwear is silk and lace, in a luscious deep red colour. It’s a one piece, cinching in her small waist, allowing her breasts to spill out of the half cup brassiere. Her nipples are accessible above the lace line of the decolletage. Both are hardened to impressive peaks. She wears her chain wrapped securely three times around her neck.

  This woman has control over me. I would never have guessed that possible. She surprises and my reaction is refreshing. It has been a long time since I last invited surprise into my life.

  Shock and devastation made it impossible.

  But looking at Haydee now and I wonder if it is time to embrace the delight that can be found in the unexpected.

  I take the last step to bring me onto her same level and walk toward her, my shoes announcing my arrival with dull, purposeful thuds on the wooden floor. I realise she’s still wearing her high heels, the long spike of the heel just visible at her butt cheeks as I come to rest a foot before her.

  My eyes catch on the hall table to the side. My confirmation letter has been replaced with an almost identical one. The name at the top reads Haydee Elizabeth Armstrong. All the negative boxes have been checked and at the bottom the testing facility has also confirmed the implantation of an intrauterine contraceptive device.

  I let a slow breath of air out at the implications. Implications I’ve never considered before. Despite clear bills of health, I have always insisted on using a condom. No condom, no intercourse. But Haydee has offered a first. When will the surprises stop?

  My hand shakes as I reach out to stroke her hair. I close my eyes and will the memories to recede. Will the emotions they inevitably bring to disappear. I am shaken by her offer. I am humbled by the fact she would allow me this intimacy.

  It shouldn’t change anything, but in our lifestyle, it simply does. It’s a measure of trust that invariably is withheld. We all hold something of ourselves back. It’s human nature. The easiest is to deny your partner that.

  Can I move past my own fears for this woman? Do I want to?

  I decide now is not the time to answer that. We have still not confirmed exclusivity.

  “You look delightful,” I murmur and receive one of those small but somehow blinding smiles. “Good enough to eat,” I add.

  She tips her head to the side, exposing her throat. This is Haydee’s “Yes.”

  “Stand up, sweet Haydee,” I order. She rises to her feet in a smooth glide that rocks my soul. “Dinner is booked for nine o’clock, then we’re seeing a late showing of an art house movie at ten-thirty,” I advise.

  She says nothing, her eyes on my shoes, her breathing measured and relaxed.

  Does she like movies? Will she like the Italian restaurant I have booked us into?

  “That leaves well over two hours before we are expected anywhere,” I point out. Her chest rises and falls, bringing my attention to her breasts. They look fuller like this. More than a handful, when I know they are just right. Her nipples strain as goosebumps emerge all over her skin.

  Just from my gaze and the sound of my voice.

  “What shall I do with you, my pet?” I ask. She doesn’t answer. She is perfect in every way.

  I reach out and wrap my hand around the chain as it hangs low by her belly. I can see her belly ring through the sheer material of the bodice. I twist my wrist, ensuring she is tied to me, and then turn away and lead her past my office and toward the formal dining room.

  Her soft footfalls bely the fact she is wearing heels. I like that she walks so carefully. I like more the look of her wrapped up in such rich colours inside the darkness of the room I bring her to. The polished mahogany dining table is a long oval with lushly upholstered cream chairs spread out around it. The table’s surface is bare, an invitation to place something upon it. A chandelier burns softly from directly above, illuminating the wood and making reflections dance on it as if a mirror.

  I turn to Haydee and note she has not looked up. She won’t until I allow it. Has there ever been a more perfect submissive?

  “What do you think?” I ask. “Do you like my dining room?”

  The invitation is accepted and she brings her head up, eyes scanning the rich woods and dark curtains, and soft light. She glances at the china cabinet, full of things I have no use for but can’t seem to be rid of. She takes in the artwork. Nondescript and not at all noteworthy, but suggestive all the same. I can stare at those paintings for hours, imagining me in them. Imagining the women depicted under my control.

  Her eyes land on the chandelier and a puzzled look sweeps over her face. There one minute and gone the next. Her control of her features is astounding. Her intelligence and quick observation skills is impressive.

  “Step up,” I say, leading her to a chair that has been pulled out enough to use as a ladder. She puts one high heeled foot on the cushion of the seat and rises up until she towers over me. I direct her onto the shining surface of the dining table with a simple pull on her chain. “Watch yourself,” I say. “The surface can be slippery.”

  She nods and steps, heel up so as not to mark the furniture, into the middle of the table. Her reflection in the table’s surface is mesmerising.

  “Kneel,” I instruct. She lowers herself gracefully to her knees, hands clasped casually in front of her.

  I bring her chain down and unwrap it from my wrist, then proceed to wrap the length of it around both of hers instead. In seconds her hands are bound, the jewels pressing into sensitive flesh.

  “Now, Haydee,” I say. “You know if you struggle you will feel the chain dig in to your skin.”

  She nods, eyes calm and speculative. Her pulse has sped up at the base of her throat.

  “You remember your safeword?” I ask. This is not a rhetorical question. When asked this a submissive must verbalise their response.

  “Yes, sir,” she softly whispers. “Salutem,” she says in a husky voice that sends an immediate jolt of awareness to the base of my cock.

  “Good girl,” I murmur, standing up on the chair and taking the ends of her chain with me. I raise her hands above her head and loop the chain over the chandelier. If she moves, the light will sway. And shadows will dance all over her body.

  “This is reinforced,” I point out. “You can’t pull it down. The worst that can happen is the chain can break your flesh. Do you want that?”

  One shake of her head. She enjoys pain in the pursuit of pleasure, but not blood. A soft limit I am more than willing to appease.

  I step down and move to the end of the table, pulling out a chair and then grabbing the bottle of Scotch and a waiting glass off a side table, and then sit down. I pour myself a finger of amber liquid and settle back to enjoy my table setting. Dark eyes watch my every move with a type of controlled hunger that speaks to me.

  “Now,” I say, the smoothness of the whisky making my voice sound like rich honey. “Tell me about your wildest sexual fantasy.”

  She smiles. My cock shoots rock hard.

  And then she starts, taking me with her, drawing me in. Stealing my soul.

  “It’s under the stars,” she says. “Out in the open. The night is a dark tapestry of brilliant diamonds, winking in a velvet sky. I’m tied up. I can’t get free but I know I am not in any danger. I wait. It seems like it takes him forever. But there is no doubt in my mind that he will come. I can hear people. They are close, but I ca
nnot see them. I am unsure if they can see me. Their murmurs become whispers and I know he is here. I feel immediately safe at his arrival. Even though he does not release me. Instead he takes his time. Kissing every inch of me, sucking my breasts, biting my nipples, while his hands own my body.

  “I’m panting and whimpering, and the voices I hear rise in equal anticipation. I am still unsure if they can see me, but I am unable to stop my reaction. He is in control. Complete control. I battle my need for escape and sink further into my surrender. He brings me so close, so very close, I am sure with one more thrust of his fingers, one more lick of his tongue, bite of his teeth, I’ll be there. But time and again he denies me.

  “When I am sure I can take no more, he positions himself above me, holding me still while he thrusts inside. I am wet with wanting. I am lost to a need and hunger I have no hope of denying. I beg him for more and harder, but he covers my mouth and takes the option of using words away.

  “I am left with only my body. My heart and soul are flying. My mind has long since abandoned me. The voices are gone, but I know they are in all reality still there. It doesn’t matter. He sees me. He knows what I want and he gives it to me.

  “I shatter into a million pieces, the burn of the ropes and the dig of his fingers into my skin a counterpoint to the exquisite pleasure he wrings from my body. I am limp with exhaustion. I am nothing more than flesh and bones and breathlessness.

  “I am safe and I am free.”

  I’m not sure what to say. It’s not exactly vanilla, but it’s certainly not an answer I have received from any pet before either. But I know one thing. And right then, as I look at this beautiful creature contained for my viewing pleasure, I realise it is the most important thing of all.

  I want to be her safety.

  I want to be the man who sets this perfect, exquisite, self-possessed woman free.

  I rise from the chair and take off my jacket, undo my tie. I say nothing until I am standing before her in just shirt, trousers, and socks.

  Then I climb up onto the table and make my way behind her, my hand coming out and stilling her gentle swaying.