H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3)

by Nicola Claire

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.

  All other women from mine.

  What is it about this graceful, silent woman that has consumed me? For a second I am stuck fast, one foot in my bedroom, one in the hallway, as I contemplate the addiction she has started within me, using little more than her body and sweet smile. I know nothing of where she has come from. The pitiful amount Jason has told me only fuels my need to know more.

  This is unlike me. Pets are possessions, nothing more. But I have a strange disconcerting feeling that owning Haydee will take a little more.

  I consider not walking down those stairs. I consider going to the kitchen and finding the bottle of Scotch I keep there and just getting drunk. I consider ignoring the fact that she is undoubtedly naked, lying back on my desk with her feet up on the edge and her hands wrapped securely around her ankles, legs spread. Ignoring the fact that she is probably as turned on as me right now. I consider walking away from it all.

  But my feet move and my body follows and slowly my mind catches up as I find myself standing outside the office door.

  I clench my fists, suck in a deep but quiet breath of air, and then take the one step needed to enter the room.

  It occurs to me that I am the one accepting the contract this evening. That Haydee has lain down the gauntlet at my feet and is patiently waiting for me to baulk.

  I walk completely inside the cosy room, taking in her position in one sweep of my eyes.

  She’s not entirely naked. She’s wearing my chain around her neck, the ends of it lying tantalisingly between her breasts. I halt in my tracks and take in the sight of her. She is comfortable in her skin. Aware of the effect she has over me. Completely at ease being on display.

  She is a woman in her element and there has been nothing in my existence as seductive as this moment.

  I walk, as though hypnotised, towards the edge of the desk. Her doe-like eyes follow my every movement and a small encouraging smile graces her lush lips.

  It’s simply too much to ignore. I lean forward, grip the length of chain in one fist and pull her up off the desk’s surface until she is sitting on the edge.

  “Sweet Haydee,” I say, staring down at the way the chain looks wrapped three times around her slender neck.

  Mine.

  “I think you need to greet your master appropriately,” I murmur, the deep sound of my voice like velvet over cut glass.

  I tug on the chain, making her slip off the edge of the desk. She elegantly slides to her knees with the barest hint of pressure from my hand. I flex my wrist, wrapping the chain around and around its circumference, tying her to me as much as I am tied to her.

  Her lips part on a soft sigh. I want to fuck them.

  Her eyes sweep up my body, appreciation in her gaze, and settle on my face. I want her to see my hunger.

  “Undo my trousers,” I instruct.

  Her hands don’t shake when she raises them. What would it take to make her lose all control? She pulls the zip down, her attention solely on the task. I like that. It’s a small detail, one so often overlooked by subs. It’s a reflection of what I give. A balance to the focus I offer as they seek their pleasure through surrender.

  This woman balances me. The notion is so foreign I push it from my head.

  A hot hand, so small and delicate it’s dwarfed by my erection, slips into my pants uninvited and pulls out my cock.

  I tighten my hold on the chain, tipping her face up to mine with fingers cupped under her jaw.

  I tsk her, shaking my head.

  “Are you trying to tell me something, Haydee?” I ask.

  She nods her head, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth in a way that mesmerises. I wonder now if it isn’t an act, but a tell.

  “You want my cock?” I ask

  Another small but controlled nod of her head.

  “How much?”

  Her eyes widen.

  “All of it to the back of your throat? Or just the tip, as you lick it like an ice cream cone?”

  She tips her head back, offering me her throat, opening her mouth and showing complete submission. I am in heaven. This woman is a siren call to my soul.

  I take the base of my cock and place the head of it on the edge of her lips. Her tongue flicks out and licks.

  “Uh-ah,” I say, shaking my head. “You wanted it, Haydee. Now take it. All of it. I want my cock so far down your throat it’s all you can feel. It’s all you can think about. Giving me pleasure, giving me what I want. Letting me fuck your mouth until I come.”

  She moans, her breath heated against my distended flesh. Her body quivers, her pulse beats unmercifully fast on the side of her neck. She licks her lips and I rock forward, sinking myself to the base without any warning.

  My hands come up to her hair, the chain clinking as I shift it. Her eyes are wide, her lips stretched around my circumference, saliva pooling in the back of her throat, seeping out the side of my cock and down her chin. I have never seen anything like it. She swallows, her throat muscles tightening around me, and I am the one to groan.

  I start to rock gently, but I know I won’t last at this pace. She takes everything I give her. No complaints. A completely silent acceptance of my body in hers. I feel like a king. And this woman kneeling at my feet is my queen. I show her my reverence by gripping her hair tighter and starting to pump at an increased speed.

  The sounds she makes sends me into overdrive. She struggles with my length, making me harden and swell further. Her eyes well with tears, but she sucks with all she is worth. Her tongue flattens against the underside of my cock each time I withdraw.

  “That’s it,” I say, my breaths uneven, my voice deep and rough and desperate. “That’s it, sweet girl. Take it all. Every inch.”

  Fuck! But she does. She sucks me to perfection. She licks and strokes and scrapes her teeth up the sides of my cock until I am nothing but an animal fucking her mouth, taking what I want, using her for my pleasure. And she moans when I come. Complete and utter abandon. Her body writhing, her cheeks flushed, the smell of her arousal mixing with mine.

  I grip both sides of her head at her temples, fingers twisted in her short hair, as my release pumps down her slender throat. The sight of her swallowing, the muscles working in the long length of her neck, make me groan out a “Fuck” as I shudder, completely out of control.

  Jesus. This woman is going to be the death of me.

  I stand there, still deep inside her mouth, connected in a way I have not been with a pet for quite some time. I cannot help who I am. I have long since stopped trying to justify it or comprehend it. It is what it is. I need the submission of a woman to feel in complete control. My doubts today have been alien in their origin. Thought processes I have never had before.

  I can’t explain them. But with my cock down the throat of the woman before me none of that uncertainty registers.

  I am what I am. And I just used this beautiful, willing woman to achieve climax.

  I pull out of her mouth, my cock already semi-hard again as it slips from her swollen lips. She looks up at me, hunger for more written all over that stunning face. A drop of my come is smeared at the edge of her lips and I bend down, my hands still fisted in her hair, and kiss her deeply. Tasting me on her tongue.

  Fuck. I’m hard for her again.

  I force myself to take a step back. Figuratively, not physically. I am still wound up in her chain and unwilling to let that go until she is ready to leave or I am ready to let her. I pull her to her feet; she’s unsteady. My free hand comes out under her elbow as I guide her to my chair. I sit down and help her onto my lap, cradling her lithe body to my chest, feeling her ragged breaths against the curve of my neck, heating my skin.

  My chest rises and falls, making her entire frame shift against me. It only makes me eager for more.

  “Thank you,” I say into her cropped hair. Her small hand comes up and wraps around the back of m
y neck in a move no other sub has ever effected.

  We sit like that, the fire crackling, our breaths becoming more controlled, less laboured, and I feel a sense of contentment I have no right to claim. We still know nothing about each other. Ordinarily this would not be too much of an issue. Pets usually last no more than a half dozen sessions before I tire of them and take back the chain.

  Haydee is different. She was different the moment I opened my door and saw her head tipped down towards the floor. The moment her slender neck tilted at an angle that invited my touch. None of that is singular. None of that is unique. What is unique is her cropped hair and willowy frame.

  What is unique is her innate sense of grace.

  She’s broken the mould and in no way meets the requirements I have insisted on from day one. The hair is a non-issue. Anna had long hair not short. But I have allowed myself that one weakness and Haydee has thrown it, unintentionally, back in my face.

  But the grace. Dear fucking God. That is something I have not faced in a very long time. And Jason would have known it.

  Haydee’s grace, her silent, serene surrender, is what makes her different.

  “We need to discuss limits,” I whisper, my hand running through her hair and down her back. “A safeword,” I add, feeling my body stir at the thought of pushing her boundaries. Of finding that fine line between pleasure and pain.

  “Tell me,” I urge, giving her permission to talk in that one simple command.

  “Hard limits,” she says, perfectly relaxed in discussing them. “Urophilia, and any type of salirophilia.” I’ve never been one to subject the object of my desire to a soiling. I nod my head; she feels the agreement more than sees it.

  But she says no more, as if that is her only hard limit.

  “Erotic asphyxiation?” I query.

  Her head shakes. “Not a hard limit.”

  “Exhibitionism?” I press.

  Another delicate shake of her head. “Not a hard limit.”

  “Paddles, whips, the cane?”

  “Not a hard limit.”

  “Handcuffs, rope, suspension?”

  “Not a hard limit.”

  “Group sex?”