Desire for Ecstasy

by Adira August

  IT TOOK AN HOUR to get his attorney, over her strong reservations, started on Avia’s request. Hank had already spent the bulk of a one hundred million dollar cash reserve Ben called his “impulse fund.” He’d never used more than a few million of it at one time. Now, three-quarters of it was gone in the stretch of a few months.

  Twenty million should easily be enough for the special project for the next few months. He could sell the yacht in the fall. If he loaded it with his products, he might even make a little profit.

  He didn’t feel anything about Avia’s request but curiosity and relief. She’d texted him herself. Talked to him, really. She’d asked him for something. She hadn’t disappeared. Not yet. It felt to him like she was trying to find a way back to him. If ten million dollars paved that road, he was more than happy to give it to her.

  Whatever else might be uncertain in the world, he knew beyond doubt that Avia had never been after his money.

  He had a new business to get off the ground and auditions to prepare for. He looked for a phone number.

  “COMFORTABLE?” Cam asked.

  “Mphfwt,” Hunter answered through the new bone gag Cam was testing. Nicky had developed a line of toys with a special closed cell plastic of some sort. The gag was supposed to be easier on the teeth and mouth, and be more gag-effective than wood or plastic.

  It was also dishwasher safe.

  Hunt was laid out in one of Cam’s favorite positions: naked on his back, stretched out across Cam’s lap on the big sofa. Hunter’s wrists were secured behind him by leather restraints. His knees were open and slightly bent so Cam could reach all his tormentable bits. There was a pillow under his head so he didn’t miss any of the action.

  Camden Snow was about to play Hunter Dane like a six-foot two-inch keyboard—equipped with a joystick. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a test if Hunter didn’t have the gag clamped between his teeth in an agony of sexual frustration and a certain amount of physical discomfort.

  Cam twisted around and got a stainless steel tray from the sofa table. It was covered with a white towel. He put it on Hunt’s stomach where it would be handy and lifted the towel. Hunter’s eyes got big, and he shook his head.

  Cam selected one of the thin stainless steel rods. The end of the sound ballooned into a small globe at the end.

  Hunter made a noise and precum dripped down the head of his very stiff cock. Cam put on surgical gloves and opened the lube. Hunter’s breath whistled around the gag. Cam’s cell rang.

  He’d forgotten to turn it off. It sat on the arm of the couch and he could see the caller I.D.

  “It’s Ben Hart,” he told Hunter who dropped his head back.

  “Schht,” Hunter said. But he nodded.

  Cam stripped off a glove and answered the call.

  “Hello.” He put the phone on speaker and set it next to the tray on Hunter’s belly.

  “Cam? Ben Hart. I hope I’m not interfering with Saturday plans?”

  “Not at all. I hope you don’t mind being on speaker. My hands are a little messy.”

  “That’s fine. I called because I want to ask Hunter a favor, and I don’t want to do that until you have a chance to veto.”

  “I see. This is a Dom-to-Dom call?”

  Cam put the glove back on and lubed Hunter’s semi-wilted erection. It perked right up. Hunter lay back in mute surrender to his fate.

  “I suppose. More like businessman to Dom, really.”

  “Okay, what’s the favor?”

  As Ben Hart went on to explain his women’s porn concept, Cam took up the sound again. He wrapped his hand just under Hunter’s glans and slid a lube-slick thumb over his slit. The big cock in his hand gave a jump.

  Cam gave Hunt a hard look. Hunt shrugged. And panted. Quietly.

  “So, if I understand, you want Hunter to Dom a woman as part of the audition process? From negotiation to orgasm. Actually play. No faking.”

  “I do. Like a demonstration film. I want him to show everyone. The director, the other actors, the cinematographers, the writer. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you have with him as far as exclusivity.”

  Cam held the sound carefully upright over Hunt’s slit and slipped the cool, smooth ball along it, opening him. “Hunter’s a Dom, too. I knew he was a switch before we were involved. In fact, I admired his technique. Those are his decisions; they aren’t about us. Feel free to ask him. I appreciate the courtesy call, though.”

  The ball disappeared neatly between the swollen walls of the slit. Cam smiled and slowly moved it back and forth along the shallow passage.

  Hunter choked behind the gag, and the tray wobbled. Cam picked it up and moved it to the cushion next to his hip.

  “Of course. One more thing and I’ll let you get back to it. I’d be delighted if you came along. I have several private guest houses, a private beach. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Of course, I’ll fly you here and back.”

  “A tempting offer. I’ll see what Hunt says.”

  Cam watched the phone screen until he was sure the call disconnected and pushed the sound a half inch into Hunt’s tightly resisting urethra.

  Hunter groaned loudly and clamped down on the bone gag.

  It ended up being quite a comprehensive test.

  “YOU GET HOLD OF that Dom guy you want to teach us all how to seduce women?” Luvaas asked when Ben strolled into the empty processing building called a barn that was busy and loud with workmen turning it into a sound stage.

  “I talked to his partner. I think Hunter must have been tied up,” Ben said wondering what he’d interrupted with his call. “I’ll finalize later. We’re going Wednesday?”

  “Right. They get here Tuesday afternoon. Jeb will meet with them, go over the scene, all that. We’ll start Wednesday morning.”

  Ben cast a critical eye around the building. “You’re going to be ready in three days?”

  “That corner is,” Luvaas assured him, pointing to an area where an elegant-looking bar was taking shape.

  “You know I want it filmed.”

  “Yeah. I need something from you. A working title. Something to give everyone a feel for the concept.”

  “Scene Paradise.”

  “You mean like ‘I’ve seen paradise’?”

  “S-c-e-n-e.”

  Luvaas grinned. “Yeah, that’ll do.”

  Tuesday, March 14th, 2017

  It was Tuesday afternoon before Avienne Grace Rivers became a multimillionaire. She met with Delores and an attorney and a financial advisor at Ben’s Tech Center office. Woodward accompanied her.

  She had no idea owning large sums of money would be such a fiddly, boring, pain in the ass. There were many decisions to be made about how and where to squirrel away her fortune. She vetoed stocks but took the rest of the advice from the men Ben had sent to counsel her.

  Since she’d made her demand, she and Wood had returned the sexmobile to the castle. They used his Jeep, at his request. She put them up in a nice hotel/motel chain suite, because every other place was permeated with Benedict Valor Hart.

  She used her own money. For everything.

  Avia didn’t speak to Ben. She spoke to Wood. And her mother and Talli and Carson and Erin Harley and Hunt.

  Now, finally, after she’d signed her name for the thirty-seventh time, she walked out of Hart Enterprises with a spiffy new credit card which turned out to be silver, not black. She was assured it would work just as well if she wanted to purchase a car. Or anything else up to $250,000. She also had a regular bank card with a simple $25,000 limit. For everyday.

  “I really want to drive through Sonic and buy us a couple hot dogs with this thing,” she told Wood, holding up the silver bank card.

  “Is that really what you want to do with it?” he asked, helping her into the passenger side of the Cherokee.

  She shook her head and fished her new $1200 cell phone from a skirt pocket. “Do you have to tell him everything I do?”

  “My orders
are ‘anything she wants’. Is that what you want?”

  She shook her head. “I want to surprise him. Is he tracking your phone?”

  “I’m sure. It’s a Hart Enterprises phone. What would you like me to do?”

  “Can you shut it down?”

  “I can leave it at my apartment.”

  “Good. Let’s get our stuff out of the hotel.”

  AVIA HAD GIVEN WOOD the silver card to handle things because she was suddenly exhausted. Exhausted from her anger and disappointment and from making decisions and talking to people and figuring things out.

  She wanted Ben.

  She wanted him there. She wanted him holding her against his wide, warm chest in his strong arms, kissing her hair and doing everything for her. Just for a while longer.

  But Wood was there, still standing in for Ben, and he seemed to know exactly what to do. He made reservations and got them both packed. At the airport, the card made people treat them like royalty, which she almost resented but didn’t have the energy to think about. She slept through the seven hour, 3000 dollar flight.

  It was almost ten at night, local time, when Avia and Wood checked into the Kahala Hotel.

  They offered her the penthouse as a free upgrade, but Wood read the slight shake of her head and asked for a suite with a view. They fell into their respective beds near the top of the building at eleven o’clock. It was three a.m. in Denver.

  Wednesday, March 15th, 2017

  Avia slept for ten hours straight. She woke to the smell of coffee and the soft daylight of the islands and a very full bladder.

  Hair brushed, bathrobe on, she found Woodward sitting at a table with a silver pot of coffee, big ceramic bowls of fruit and pastries, covered dishes of eggs and ham with browned pineapple slices. A large glass pitcher of freshly squeezed fruit juices sat on a bed of ice.

  “You went all out,” she said, sliding into a chair and pouring the peach-colored papaya, orange and guava mixture.

  “Not me. When I called down, they said the courtesy brunch cart would be up in ten minutes. This is it.”

  The table was set in front of the wide glass doors to the lanai that offered a panoramic view of the coastline and the Pacific. She poured coffee and ate one of the small, round, sugared doughnuts. It was filled with a mango-coconut custard.

  “Really rich doughnut.”

  “Something Portuguese, according to the menu.”

  She sat back with her cup and contemplated the postcard-blue ocean and sky and requisite strip of white sand beach.

  “You know what the thing about spectacular ocean views is?” she asked.

  “Oceans all look the same from this height?”

  She nodded.

  “I hear Kauai has some beautiful country, waterfalls, great hiking. Birds,” he said. “There’ll be a helicopter standing by from two o’clock to take us to the ranch.”

  “You came into my room and opened the curtains so the light would wake me?”

  “I did.”

  “So I’d be ready to go by two?”

  “No. Because if you sleep too long, you won’t sleep tonight. The helo’s not going anywhere without us.”

  She stood up. “Okay, time to get out of the weeds. I’m going to shower and dress and then let’s go shopping. You, too. I think we need bathing suits and some kind of island wear.”

  “We’re checking out?”

  “Nope. I want to come back and change and pack. They must have some shopping in the hotel or close by, right?” She headed for her room. “I’d give a lot to see the inside of a Walmart.”

  THE HOUSE APPEARED TO CLIMB the slope it was set on. Like an assortment of ranch houses as children’s blocks, set at angles to one another, ascending to a large two-story structure.

  As the helicopter descended, Avia’s view of Ben’s home at his ranch struck her as being as different from the fortress he lived in in Colorado as if he’d designed it that way. Every wall had large glass windows offering views of the surrounding countryside. Every interesting intersection of the house had a stone patio open to the sloping lawns. Pale gravel pathways connected every place to every other. A few graceful coconut palms studded the area, all leaning into an expected wind.

  It was so inviting.

  She could see two men lounging around a pool as they settled on the pad. Hugo and Hank.

  Avia almost tore her new outfit as she struggled to get out of her harness. She ignored the slender native-looking girl in the golf cart and ran along the path she’d seen from above.

  Hank was coming the other way and she flew into his arms, weeping with her joy. He held her for a long time. Hugo came up behind Hank, and Woodward stopped behind her.

  Henry Eustace was a tall, beautiful, blond, darkly tanned scythe of a man, cut and fit. But for Avia, he was simply safety and friendship and strength. Trust.

  Hank put her down and nodded gravely. “Ms. Rivers.”

  “Mr. Eustace.”

  He looked past her, and his eyes softened. Avia stepped to the side. Kevin Woodward held out his hand. They shook and closed with each other, their free arms going around one another, then both arms holding each other.

  Hugo appeared at Avia’s side and led her away toward the pool area they’d come from. Avia looked back—Hank and Wood holding each other’s shoulders, exchanging quiet words, looking into each other’s eyes. Wood was shorter, auburn-haired. But there was no mistaking the strong chins, straight noses, high cheekbones.

  “They’re brothers!” she said to Hugo.

  “Half brothers,” he corrected, leading her to a bamboo chair by a glass-topped table.

  “Wood. Did he know Hank was okay?”

  Hugo shook his head. “Hank decided not to tell him. Just the knowledge could make him legally culpable, working for Ben.”

  “Did Ben know they’re brothers?”

  He shrugged. “He was pretty disengaged after the shooting. I recommended the hire and gave him the file. He barely glanced at it and said fine. But I suspect before he gave you into Wood’s care, he scrutinized that file pretty thoroughly.”

  “God, I feel so stupid jumping into Hank’s arms like that. He wasn’t hurrying toward me; he was trying to get to Wood.”

  “I don’t know,” Hugo said. “Hank got very attached to you very quickly. He hated what you had to go through. It worried him, all of us. I think he wanted to connect with you quite a lot.”

  The brothers came up the path and sat at the table with them. Hugo brought out beers for the men. Avia asked for ice water.

  When they were settled, they all looked at her expectantly.

  “What?”

  Hank was next to her. “What can we do for you?”

  “Can you brief me? Briefly. Tell me what you know about what’s happening? The immediate future? Help me get my bearings?”

  None of them missed the fact she hadn’t said Ben’s name.

  “This morning,” Hugo began, “Stories appeared on major news outlets in America and Europe. They all have the films, the ads for the child prostitutes Cheong piped into his hotel rooms.”

  “J.J. shared the wealth?” Avia asked.

  “I’m not sure who decided what,” Hugo said. “But Reuters, the Times, The Week, CNN, several other European outlets all have the story. And, they are all blurring the faces of the children and the brand names of any Hart products.”

  Avia cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re not sure who decided what? Some anonymous good publicity fairy came along and decided to protect the Hart reputation?”

  On her left, Wood touched her hand. “Think about it. Remember what love is.”

  And she had the answer immediately. J.J. Johnson had control of the story. She traded that to protect Ben Hart.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Hugo, Ben has to get out in front of the story. Those products are highly identifiable. Plenty of people have bought and used them in those hotels.”

  “What d’you have in mind?”

  “He shoul
d release a statement to J.J. that Cheong was a customer, that he’s appalled, that he’s withdrawn all contact with Cheong, that he’s donating some large sum of money to a local organization to rescue the victims.”

  “Won’t that make him a big story, then?” Hank asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s in how you release it. J.J. can bury it. I can write a short release to stick on the end of a sidebar of related stories. Less than fifty words.”

  “Would you like to be the head of public relations for Hart Industries?” Hugo asked seriously.

  “I don’t know,” she told him. “Right now, I don’t seem to want to be the head of the shoe department in an abandoned mall. I do need a job, though. At some point.”

  “Let me know if you’re interested.”

  “Sure.” She turned to Hank. “So what’s going on with the kids?”

  He shot a surprised look at Wood who shrugged. “He said tell her. I did.”

  “Okay,” Hank accepted. “There are 104 children and young adults aboard a luxury yacht sailing around the South Pacific and making its way here. The yacht holds forty, but we dumped everything, pool tables, wet bar. Just cleared it all out and turned it into floating dormitories and a clinic.”

  “Wow. So what happens when it gets here?”

  “We have parties,” Wood said. “On the yacht, on the beach, here at the house. We’re shooting a movie, all kinds of people around. Party lights on the beach, boats going back and forth from shore to yacht.”

  “You’re going to smuggle a hundred refugee children into America?”

  “One hundred four,” Hugo said. “There’s an old bunkhouse that Ben renovated, other side of the hills here, away from the craziness.”

  “I’ll be working with some PTSD counselors, women, we think will be best. The children speak English. It’s the medical issues that are thorny. It’ll be handled,” Wood told her.

  “Then we restore the yacht to its former glory and take it on a Mediterranean cruise. See if we can sell it. Get the boss some of his money back.”

  Avia smiled to herself. “This is what really big money does when people aren’t using it to enslave each other?”