She looks down at the jewels, the sunlight sparkling off each one and reflecting up into her eyes. Then her face lifts to the sun and she closes her lids, long lashes sweeping down over smooth skin. She’s stunning. And so fragile. A beautiful, complicated creature.
“What is it you want, Ethan?” she says to the sky.
What a question. And how do I answer it?
Her face tips down and she smiles at me.
“More,” I say softly.
“Then ask,” she whispers back.
“Haydee,” I say, my lips dry, my throat parched. “Will you give me more?”
“More what, sir?” she says, and my heart swells, along with other parts of my anatomy.
“More of your time. More of your life. More of everything.”
“That’s a lot,” she remarks.
“It is, isn’t it?” I agree. We both smile at each other and then she sighs. It’s at once wistful and also full of… regret? No, not regret, uncertainty.
“You scare me, you know?” No, I didn’t know. This has me instantly worried. “I think you’ll take me places I’ve never been.”
Oh.
“I think you might just set me free.”
“I will,” I promise. Because somehow I know I can. Even if I make it my life’s work to please this woman, I’ll do it. I’ll never stop. I’ll never give up. I’ll always keep trying.
Isn’t that what a partnership is all about? Trust. Commitment. Dedication.
I am all of those things to this woman. All of them.
“OK,” she says.
“OK?”
She nods her head in that delightful measured way she has.
“More time. More life. More everything.”
“OK,” I say. “Ah, I’ve never done this before,” I admit making her laugh.
I like it. Her laugh is delicate, but full of life. Bright and bubbly.
“What about your wife?”
“Anna? Anna was different. Anna was…” I hesitate, trying to find the right word.
I find it and I’m not sure if I should use it. What does it say about us?
“Tell me,” Haydee presses, leaning in to me, bringing her soothing scent of vanilla and roses nearer.
“Anna didn’t need me,” I say carefully, watching Haydee’s eyes for a sign. For a warning I’ve gone too far.
“That must have been hard,” she says, surprising me. Of course, she surprises me.
“Hard?” I question.
“For a provider, a protector, like you.”
“Yes,” I say. “It was hard. But I loved her.”
Haydee smiles, but doesn’t say anything.
“Loved,” I repeat, almost to myself. Not love.
I reach up and cup Haydee’s face. “Can we work it out as we go?”
She nods, turns her lips to my palm and kisses.
“I’d like that,” she whispers against the same spot she’s just kissed.
“So would I,” I say, but the words are barely audible.
She straightens and looks towards the Wilson Home building. “Would you like to meet the kids?”
I can think of a million things I’d like to do more than meet the kids. But I don’t mention them. It’s quite possible she sees some of the more wicked alternatives in my eyes, all the same.
“I’d love to meet the kids,” I say.
She leads me into the building, her fingers laced through mine, her eyes flicking over her shoulder to look at me every few seconds. There’s an excitement there. She’s keen to show me her world. And suddenly meeting the kids is the most important thing in my life.
We spend several hours there. I even end up on the floor, sitting cross-legged, with toddlers climbing all over me. It’s the strangest afternoon I’ve ever experienced, and yet seeing Haydee’s smile and hearing the way she communicates with these beautiful, challenged children, fills my heart with warmth. She is sunshine on a cloudy day. She is the soft touch of a summer breeze. The delicate stroke of a snowflake as it dusts your skin.
She is stunning.
And I have every intention of letting her know that.
I follow her to her house in Bayswater, still on the North Shore. The journey she’s been undertaking to get across the city to my house finally sinks in. Part of me is honoured that I’m worth the effort. Another part is frightened the distance will be taxing.
“You like living here?” I ask, as she sweeps through her modest flat and starts pulling ingredients out of her cupboards for dinner.
“It’s close to work,” she says, seeming at peace with herself in the kitchen.
“I hadn’t realised you lived so far away,” I murmur, picking up a book she’s been reading from beside an armchair. I smile as I read the description. It could be our lives written there.
“I like the drive,” she admits. “It allows me to settle things in my mind. Switch off from work. Click into what we have.”
My head comes up and I look at her. She’s humming happily, not at all concerned about what she’s said. But I am. I walk towards her and enter the open-plan kitchen, moving until I’m right at her back. She senses my presence and moves to turn around. I still her progress, lean forward and place my hands on the bench on either side of her body, hemming her in. My lips come down on the side of her neck, hot breath against the skin there. Goosebumps rise up in a wave of chilled delight.
“You don’t think of me when you’re at work?” I ask against her ear.
“I do,” she whispers back.
I lean in closer, soak up the heat from her body, let her feel the hardness of mine. Solid, safe.
“What do you think of when you think of me when at work, pet?” I say, letting her know this has moved on from a casual conversation.
“I…” she starts, then licks her lips and closes her eyes.
I lift a hand up and wrap it around her throat, pull her back against my chest. She fits in just the right places. Her pert little arse exactly where my aching cock needs it.
“Tell me,” I order.
“I think of what you do to me. How you make me feel,” she says, her words breathless.
“And how to I make you feel?”
“Good,” she says immediately. “Safe,” she adds.
“Good girl,” I say, rewarding her with a nibble on her ear. “And what do I do to you?”
“Set me free,” she whispers.
“I make you feel good and safe. And I set you free?” I press.
She nods her head.
“Say it,” I demand.
“Yes, sir. You make me feel good and safe. And you set me free.”
I move my free hand down over her stomach, palm flat, fingers outstretched, lower, lower, and then grip the hem of her skirt and start to raise it.
“So why do you need to switch off from work? Click into what we have?”
My fingers find the edge of her panties and I slip under the material, drawn to her heat. She’s wet and I’d guess aching. I let my hand hover over her mound, but don’t touch anything yet.
“Haydee?” I push. “Answer me.”
“I…I don’t know,” she stammers.
I thrust two fingers inside her and rock my erection into her rear. She gasps, head falling forward in her signature show of surrender, chest rising and falling as she pants out her breaths. I fuck her with my fingers as I hold her still with my hand against her throat.
“Master,” she begs.
“Tell me,” I say softly. My hand slipping out from between her legs and making her moan.
“Two separate worlds,” she says, the words pleading, even though they aren’t a plea.
I bring my hand up to her face, wet fingers to her lips.
“Suck them clean,” I say.
She snakes her tongue out and immediately starts licking her juices off my fingertips, then I slip them into her mouth completely, holding her still and tipping her head back, face to the ceiling.
“I am part of your world, Ha
ydee,” I say, moving my hand from her throat and bringing it ‘round to unfasten my trousers. “At work. At home. Out and about. And when you get in your car and drive across the Bridge to me.”
I free myself, then pull down her panties, letting them hold her legs together at her knees.
“There is no clicking into what we have, is there?” I say.
She shakes her head, moving my hand with the fingers still in her mouth, as she effects the motion.
“There are no two separate worlds, are there?” I insist.
Another head shake. I remove my fingers from her mouth, push her forward until she’s bent over the bench, and then thrust hard inside.
Oh, fuck! She’s wet, and tight, and explodes around me as soon as I sink in up to my balls. I clench my teeth as I suck in a sharp breath of air, and wait for her muscles to relax. They pulsate all around me, drawing me in further, drawing me in until I feel like I’m beneath her skin.
I want more.
I start to rock, pressing her up against the bench, making her have to bring her hands up to stop the hard thrusts from pushing her too vigorously into the kitchen cupboards.
I pound into her. I take what I want and in return let her know that she is mine. Always. Here at her home, in her kitchen. At school when she fantasises about me. In her car as she prepares to bare her body for my use. Everywhere.
This woman is mine and I tell her so.
I come violently. She shatters beneath me. Heaving breaths, high pitched keen, shaking around my cock as she leans her face down on the bench, hot breath steaming across granite.
“You are mine, Haydee,” I say to the skin at the back of her neck, my cock twitching and jerking inside her.
“Yes, sir.”
“No matter where,” I add.
“Everywhere,” she whispers, shuddering with delight as she delivers the promise.
God, this woman is perfect.
Chapter 10
“Good girl.”
The Emergency Services banquet is as boring as expected. We’re sitting at a large round table in the middle of the Great Hall in the Old Town Hall building. A banker and his pursed lipped wife sit opposite us. A real estate agent and his arm candy of choice are to the side. Some sort of land developer prattles on about capital gains taxes and all I can think about is getting Haydee into one of the curtained off areas and fucking her tight little pussy while my hand covers her mouth so she doesn’t scream when she comes.
I’m hard. I’m bored. And I’m distracted.
And then I spot Nathaniel Marcroft and my mood plummets.
The owner of Sweet Hell is in fine form, chatting up a paramedic, smiling lasciviously to a councillor’s wife. Eyeing the low neckline of a way too young woman as she sweeps by. I study him. Our acquaintance is an old, but odd one. He was my neighbour for close to eight years when Lara was young. We’ve grown apart since, but he was once a regular at our dining table. We see each other, of course. My invitation to the Irreverent Inferno was issued by the man himself. But he is no longer one of my close circle. Hell, David Gordon is more a friend than Nathaniel Marcroft these days.
But I can’t deny the man has made my lifestyle more accessible. He provided an environment, safe from the public eye, secure from exposure, and with a wealth of possibilities to try. Many of my pets were chosen from the Irreverent Inferno’s chamber. Many were referred to me from Nathaniel through Jason.
He knows me, I realise, better than I know him now. And the thought is uncomfortable.
I look to my side and watch Haydee for a moment. She looks beautiful. Not just her perfectly presentable cropped hairstyle, or the dramatic eye make-up that makes her eyes look larger than life. Or her glowing smooth skin under the accented lights. Or the black skimpy dress that shows off her figure and makes every man in the room drool. It’s her serene smile, her confidence and grace, and the fact that she hasn’t said a word to anyone unless I invite it. The control is heady, and I find myself staring at her chain as it wraps three times around her slender neck. I find my fingers twitching to reach out and twist my hand up in its length. To tie her to me in a way none here can mistake.
It is this preoccupation that makes me overlook his approach. Before I even realise it, Nathaniel Marcroft has taken a vacant seat at Haydee’s side.
I am startled out of my fantasies when his hand lands on hers on the table’s surface. My eyes dart up to his face; so affable. My spine straightens and my jaw flexes.
“Marcroft,” I say, voice low and threatening.
“Who is your pet, Keen?” Nathaniel enquires, voice only loud enough for us to hear.
“Remove your hand,” I demand, the urge to climb across the table and break his fingers makes my vision tunnel.
He lifts his hand up and stares at it, then winks at Haydee, as if it’s all some sort of game.
“Always was a bit possessive,” he says with seemingly genuine good cheer. “So, my dear. Is he sharing you yet?”
“No,” I say. One word. Nothing else.
“My son would so benefit from a lovely creature such as this,” Marcroft says with a sigh, his hungry eyes alighting on Haydee’s chain around her neck. “You always did have a knack for breaking them in wonderfully. I trust she is all trained up?”
“This conversation is over,” I say, standing from my chair and holding out a hand to Haydee. She takes it immediately, and gracefully moves to her feet. To look at her, you wouldn’t know she was perturbed by what is transpiring.
Marcroft rises to his feet as well.
“Come now, Keen. It’s an honest mistake.” He looks at Haydee again, a type of greed there that I don’t like. As though he’s eyeing her up as a commodity, not just a possession, but something to trade.
“Haydee is mine,” I say, succinctly. Annunciating each word carefully.
“And when she bores of you, Keen? Or you of her?”
“Never,” I say through clenched teeth. My control is alarmingly poor. I struggle to right myself. In front of this man, showing such weakness is unheard of.
And suddenly, I see him very clearly. A predator with no morals. A junkie trying to get his fix.
Jesus. Did he kill Samantha? Was he the one to follow Haydee outside the Dirty Martini?
“Watch yourself, Marcroft,” I say leaning in to issue the threat. “Cross me and you won’t live to regret it.”
It’s a stupid thing to say at an Emergency Services banquet surrounded by high ranking cops. But no one pays us any attention. I glance around to be sure and spot Lara.
Coming out from behind a set of velvet curtains. The irony is not lost on me.
“We’re done here,” I announce, and place my hand at Haydee’s lower back and lead her away.
I feel like I’ve escaped something very evil. I feel like we’ve just slipped through Lucifer’s noose. I glance down at Haydee, and then back up at Lara. Fuck, this day is just going to get worse.
Sweeping Haydee behind me as we pass through a narrow gap in dinner guests, I approach my daughter and the man I believe she is currently seeing. I shouldn’t be surprised to see them both here. He is a HEAT Investigator, heading up the Fire Investigation division, and she is a CIB detective. Both have every right professionally to be here.
But there’s more to it, and part of me wants to challenge Lara simply because I was unable to challenge Marcroft and my blood is already high.
We come to a stop in front of them, and my eyes can’t help sweeping over Lara’s slightly dishevelled frame. I recognise the dress immediately. It’s several years old, out of fashion, and one I purchased for her because she had no inclination to do so herself. A sense of regret swells up inside me. I may have provided for Lara as she grew into the capable woman she is today, but that’s all I did.
And now I’m paying for it.
“Superintendent Keen, I presume,” the Investigator says.
I stare at his outstretched hand and make him wait before I grasp it tightly.
&nb
sp; “HEAT Investigator Michaels,” I reply, voice clipped. “Hardly the venue to seduce my daughter.” I may appreciate his acumen professionally, but this man is intimate with my daughter.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” he announces, in what has to be a blatant lie. Lara pretends I don’t exist anymore; she’d hardly waste her breath discussing me with her boyfriend. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”
“Lara hasn’t said anything about you,” I say steadily back. It’s beneath me, but the confrontation with Marcroft has left me out of sorts.
Should I tell Lara my fears? Warn her?
I don’t get the chance.
“Are you here alone, Dad? Or did you bring a date?” Lara asks.
I stiffen. This is it. The introduction. I have never introduced a pet to Lara before. Never.
But then Haydee is no longer just a pet.
I turn slightly and allow Haydee to step forward. The instant she makes my side the world rights itself. I am calm.
“This is Haydee,” I say, pride too obvious in my tone. I bring my hand up to the back of her neck, unable to resist touching her, touching the chain. This woman is mine, I want to shout. See, I want yell. Mine.
Haydee smiles with genuine affection towards Lara, but her silence is for me.
God, I love her.
“Hello,” Lara says, pleasantly. I’m grateful for her gentle tone. Haydee should be treated gently. By all but me when we’re alone. “I’m Lara,” my daughter adds. “Ethan’s daughter.”
I’m too busy gazing down at the goddess at my side to gauge Lara’s reaction.
“This is my boyfriend Damon,” my daughter says, and I realise the silence that follows is now awkward.
“It’s strange to see you at an event like this,” I say, wrapping a protective arm around Haydee’s waist while I do it.
“I’m on the clock,” she blurts.
“Ah,” I manage, unsure what else to add, then fall into old habits. “Clearly CIB has changed its tactics since my day.”
“We utilise all avenues available to us,” Lara replies in a mechanical voice that tells me I’ve hurt my daughter.
Regret is an emotion I know well. I watch as her lover steps closer, giving her solace and support, but allowing her to lead. I study him. Maybe he isn’t a bad choice after all.
A Twist Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5) Page 11
