HUSBAND Heel
Book 3: Husband Series
By
Louise Cusack
Cover design © Hang Le byhangle.com
Edited by Nas Dean
Title: Husband Heel
Copyright © 2016 by Louise Cusack
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgement
About the Author
Further Novels in Series
Praise for the Author:
“Hold onto your panties! Husband Sit by Louise Cusack is sexy and titillating from page one. But it’s more than that. It’s also funny and has a surprisingly deep emotional core that sneaks up on you. It’s utterly unique.” ~Amy Andrews, award-winning, USA Today best-selling author
“Crazytown. I loved it.” ~ NY Times & USA Today Best Seller Kylie Scott, Stage Dive series
“Just as you think you can predict what will happen, Cusack throws up surprise after surprise - guaranteeing that you will be picking up the next book, almost before you have finished the first. This is addictive storytelling.” ~DoubleDay Book Club
Chapter One
Nicholas stood beside the wrought iron gate he’d opened, his expression patient as he asked, “Would you like me to go first?”
I shook my head, but otherwise remained still.
He didn’t frown, but I knew unplanned outings upset his nice predictable schedule. My sudden inability to move would only unsettle him further. Bodyguards didn’t like surprises. He’d told me that many times in the month he’d been working for me.
This excursion, however, was only a surprise for him. I’d been working toward it for years, so I wasn’t about to let an employee’s momentary disquiet affect me. I planned to gain as much satisfaction from this ‘treatment’ as I could, but first I had to get over my fear.
All I needed was to step through the gate and walk down the paved path, lined with its privacy hedges, to reach the front door of the very ordinary sandstone building where I knew extraordinary events were occurring.
“I’m fine,” I said, but I still couldn’t make myself move, and neither did Nicholas. He simply remained where he was, one large hand on the gate, wearing his uniform of jeans, a designer black leather vest, and a conspicuous tattoo on one impressive bicep. As far as deterrents to violence went, he had casual intimidation nailed.
I felt perfectly safe with him. He asked no questions and I paid for that. So he wasn’t about to query my hesitation, or my purpose in coming here. The burnished sign beside the gate said The Rocks Spa and he would imagine this was simply another beauty treatment among the many he’d accompanied me to, albeit that this appointment appeared to have been made at the last-minute.
I could have told him that they’d fitted me in, and I had to take the appointment or miss out, but our relationship wasn’t like that. I didn’t explain myself. He simply followed where I led, did as I asked, and worked on anticipating trouble, which I was sure he could handle, either physically, or with the pistol I knew was secreted in a holster on his calf.
I’d been paying Shadow Secure for his services since my ex-husband had first received death-threats, and over the weeks I’d come to relax completely in his presence. In fact, I was so accustomed to him being in the background, I’d occasionally experience a momentary shock of surprise when my gaze drifted over him at a business lunch or meeting, and I was physically reminded that I had a bodyguard.
As time had passed, the sense of impending threat had diminished in my mind, and today I was going to leave him in a waiting room and go where he couldn’t follow—where I didn’t want him to follow. I hadn’t told him that yet, and I needed to, but I was deliberately leaving it to the last minute—until he couldn’t object.
First, however, I had to get inside the gate, and despite my anticipation, I needed to overcome dread. So I did that the only way I knew how, by reminding myself of where I had come from, how much I had already endured, and what my ultimate goal was.
The golden fur…
I must never forget that.
Barely a minute after Nicholas had opened the gate, I flicked an imaginary piece of lint from the skirt of my beige silk suit and stepped over the threshold. My new black patent shoes with their very high scarlet heels were impossible to stride in, so I stepped, clutching my new black leather Fendi tote against my waist—a world away from the understated Hermes handbags I normally purchased.
But this was a new world, where I needed to be a new woman. Deep inside my bag was the key to a new life—an actual key to a suite in this very select establishment—a suite that was even now being prepared for me.
I’d told myself that I was prepared for what was inside it. But I wasn’t. There was no way to prepare for what I was about to do. I was ready, however. My readiness had been building through fifteen years of marriage and the months I had been separated from Marcus.
The brimming need to express my disappointment with marital life would no longer be denied, and when I’d realized that I could pay to express that frustration in a safe environment with no repercussions, I’d signed up eagerly. Perhaps even desperately.
I suspected that once I began, I would shock myself. But no matter what happened in that room, I could never regret it. I had to do something, and this was the safest thing I’d found. So the inevitability of what must follow calmed me externally. There was no avoiding this. I may as well try to enjoy it.
By the time I’d reached the front door of the double-story edifice, I was irrevocably through whatever invisible barrier had held me at the gate. I stood poised as Nicholas pressed the doorbell, ready to have my demons exorcized.
Discreet cameras above us would display our images to anyone inside. I’d been required to send a photograph of Nicholas, so they were sure that only the people they were expecting, would enter.
When the huge timber door swung wide, I had a polite smile ready to aim at the mature woman who stood before me, dressed in a severe black dress which clung to her elegant frame as though Dior had designed it. Glossy grey hair swept back from her temples into a high ponytail that looked chic and also slightly incongruous, like a jaunty cap atop a three-piece suit.
“Welcome,” she said, and shook my hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “How lovely of you to arrive on time.” I noted that she deliberately didn’t use my name. That was
a good start.
She smiled and stepped back, gesturing for us to enter the white marble interior with its dramatic cacti corner-pieces—a completely appropriate setting for the Day Spa cover that their establishment advertised under.
“Are you ready for your treatment?” She smiled benignly, no doubt for Nicholas’s benefit.
“More than ready,” I said, smiling back. Then I turned to Nicholas. “I believe there is a waiting room…”
The matron of the establishment pointed down a corridor. “Door number fourteen. You’ll find refreshments inside, Mr. Aston. Please make yourself comfortable.”
If he was unnerved by the fact that she knew his name, he showed no sign of it as he ignored her to concentrate on me, his gaze more urgent now, as his disquiet became evident. He was used to accompanying me into every room so he could scan it for danger before he left me there.
This time, he wasn’t coming. I straightened my shoulders and forcibly calmed my voice. “I will be away for a little over an hour,” I said, and gazed at him pointedly.
He said nothing for several seconds, then he nodded. “Very well.” I’d given him no choice, but his voice sounded deeper than usual, and the rumble that usually calmed me, sounded suddenly like distant thunder.
Was he going to complain about this when we were alone? Would I have to remind him there were hundreds of qualified bodyguards in Sydney? Of course I didn’t want to replace him. He’d become so attuned to my routines, he could anticipate what I wanted almost before I did.
That was valuable. But obedience was even more valuable, and as our gazes clashed, I could see he was realizing that. Still, in the second before he turned away, I saw some inner disturbance—something that didn’t look like mere frustration.
Then there was only his broad back, the swirling tattoo on his upper arm, and the sound of his boots on the marble floor.
“This way,” the matron said, and I found I had to drag my attention off Nicholas to follow her down a different corridor. His disquiet had awoken my own and I tried to shake that off as we approached a black doorway. It was normal sized, but it appeared to be made of metal.
The heavy handle required some serious pressure to turn, if her movements weren’t merely theatrical. Then we stepped over a lip and she closed the door behind us. At that point we were standing in a small enclosure, like an airlock, and I had my first moment of real trepidation.
Anything could happen to me here and Nicholas wouldn’t be able to stop it. I’d deliberately left my alarm pendant in the back of the Bentley, and for a split second I wondered if that was wise.
“Sound deadening technology,” the matron said, matter-of-fact, as she turned to open the next door which was made of a similar material.
“Fascinating.”
I’d managed to sound mildly interested, but my internal dialogue was racing. I feel scared. Your perfume is cloying, and I can hear muffled sounds. Suddenly I’m not sure if I’m safe.
I managed to keep that in and take slow breaths as I clutched the handles of my handbag against my stomach. I’d wanted this. I’d waited for this. I wasn’t going to let momentary fear rob me of the reward I deserved.
“This way.” She smiled a crocodile smile and stepped over the lip of the door onto plush black carpet that was so thick when I stepped onto it, I almost lost my balance and was forced to walk leaning forward as we traversed a narrow corridor.
“This trail…” She pointed at the floor where small silver lights were regularly spaced along the corridor ahead of us, “…will lead you back when you are finished. Simply exit your room and retrace your steps to this door. I’ll be waiting on the other side.”
“Thank you.”
While she’d been speaking, I’d heard a muffled cry, or a shout. But now there was nothing, not even the sound of our footfalls on the carpet.
A moment later she said, “Would you like to see some of the action?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Get some ideas?”
I faltered to a shaky stop, my composure sliding because I’d never expected this for a second. “Can people…see what you do?” There was no hiding the affront in my tone. In that moment, I was quite prepared to turn on my heel and walk out.
“Of course not.” She turned back to me with a shake of her head. “Only those participants who ask to be watched, who gain pleasure from displaying their talents, are in rooms with visibility. Your room is completely enclosed with solid walls and a timber door.”
I swallowed down disquiet. I was determined to check that for myself when I arrived at our destination. “Do these…exhibitionists know that we’re watching them? Can they see us?”
The last thing I wanted was to discover that one of the wealthy clientele was someone I knew, especially if they recognized me in return. I’d been promised complete anonymity, and now I was frightened that I hadn’t asked enough questions.
She shook her head. “Your identity is completely hidden within our walls. The only person who will see your face is me.”
We stared at each other for several seconds, and to her credit she simply waited, completely self-contained and assured in her ability to provide what I wanted.
It took me seconds to realize my shoulders were tense, and to relax them. “As you can imagine, this is all new to me.”
“I don’t need to imagine,” she said quietly. “I was new here myself once, and I know exactly what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you’re wanting.”
We stared at each other for several more seconds while I struggled not to show how unnerved she’d made me. At last I said, “Yes. I would like to see.”
The moment the words were out of my mouth, I wondered why I’d agreed. To delay the inevitable? Or to find a path forward, as she’d suggested.
“This way.”
I followed her to a side corridor with no silver lighting on the floor—a wider corridor that was dimly lit. As soon as I entered it, I could see that the illumination was coming solely from the rooms that ran down one side. The first had a large plate-glass window which I suspected was a two-way mirror. The moment I could see inside, I faltered to a stop, struck with a sense of shock and horrified excitement.
The matron positioned herself against the wall opposite the window, and I joined her there, pressing my silk-clad shoulders against the smooth plaster.
“He comes here every week,” she said softly. “To a new girl.”
I tried to swallow in a dry throat, to stop my cheeks firing with a combination of embarrassment and arousal. I’d never seen anyone have sex before. Not that this was sex. It was a naked man—a well-muscled and reasonably attractive man in his thirties perhaps—standing at the end of a narrow padded table, atop of which lay a girl in black underwear and a blindfold.
Her wrists were tied together, bound to the top of the table, and her stocking-clad legs were opened, her ankles tied to her thighs, right on the edge where he stood, presumably so he could have access to penetrate her.
She wore only a black bra and G-string, and one of his hands gripped her panties, as if he was about to tear them off. The other held a crop that alternately flicked one breast, then the other.
She made no movement of distress, even when the flicking grew harder. Then he tore off her panties, lifting her bottom from the table, and reached forward to rip off her bra. When she was naked before him, he deliberately slapped the crop directly onto her nipples, and her mouth fell open, as if she was making a sound.
I instinctively wanted to put my hands over my own breasts, whether for protection or in excitement, I wasn’t sure. My nipples were tingling in sympathy, and I had no idea whether she was enjoying the pain or simply enduring it.
The matron gestured toward them. “Would you like to hear?”
“Yes.” I didn’t recognize my own voice. It was low and desperate.
She flicked a switch on the wall beside her and instantly I could hear the slap of the crop and the woman’s voice, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes…”
It was a soft hissing in between each slap. Definitely sounding like pleasure.
Then he rolled her lower body to one side so he could strike her buttocks, harder than he’d slapped her breasts. I could see the marks he was leaving on her skin and I shook my head.
Not because it was wrong, but because I was stunned. The woman was moaning, as though he was caressing her, and my throat was completely dry.
“Why…?” I swallowed and tried again. “Why does she like the pain?”
The matron beside me matched my soft tone. “Some people become aroused by it. They like the sensation of being dominated. It’s the only way they can orgasm.”
“Is that why they…offer themselves for this?” I couldn’t imagine any amount of payment that would induce me to let a man strike me.
“They are my clients, as much as you are,” she said, and when my head snapped around in disbelief, she merely nodded. “They pay me for the opportunity to be dominated. Safely. No blood. No lasting bruises,” she reminded me of the rules.
“But any amount of humiliation?”
“There are degrees.” She held my gaze and it felt impossibly wrong to be having a business discussion over the top of the whimpering I could now hear. It was soft, as if the woman was trying to muffle the sound. But the slaps were growing harder.
I couldn’t help glancing back. The man had rolled her onto her back again and entered her. While I watched, he put the crop beside her on the bed and closed his fingers over her nipples.
My face was so hot, I felt as though I might faint. The girl cried out then, as if he’d hurt her, and his pinching fingers let her nipples go and began to knead her breasts as he pounded into her.
Her head fell to the side, and when he reached under her to dig his fingers into her whipped buttocks, she moaned so loudly, there could be no doubting that her participation was completely willing.
Husband Heel (Husband #3) Page 1