desire for Touch: a M/F, D/s love story (RiverHart Book 1)

by Adira August

  “You’re saying during the part that will be the most painful, I have no way to stop you.”

  “Correct.

  What the hell was I thinking? Avia asked herself. But she knew what she was thinking. She was thinking she trusted him. And wanted him.

  Irene Mackin peered around the room. “They put my purse someplace,” she said to Avia. “Do you see it?”

  Avia pulled a large plastic bag from a shelf under the bed Irene was lying on. She found the purse under Irene’s clothes and shoes.

  “Oh, thank you,” Irene said. “If you could just hand me my wallet, I need a phone number. And maybe you’d lend me your phone? I have to cancel a meeting. Is that okay?”

  Avia opened the purse wide and held it out. Irene reached in and piled a few things next to her on the bed as she searched for the wallet. A makeup case. A pack of tissues. A black digital recorder.

  “It’s always the thing you want that migrates to the bottom,” Irene said, finally pulling out her wallet. As she adjusted to use both hands to open it, she knocked the other items to the floor. “Oh!”

  Avia crouched down to pick them up and saw the digital recorder was on. “Irene, are you recording our conversation?”

  The woman looked confused. “What? No, what do you mean?”

  Avia checked the elapsed time readout. 4:26:34. The second readout kept counting the seconds. Avia handed it to her. “It’s been recording for over four hours. It still is.”

  Irene took it from her and checked the elapsed time. “I’m so sorry.” Her thumb went to the on/off switch. “I really wasn’t trying to record you or anything. I got it to record the meeting this afternoon.” She considered. “It must have happened when he threw my purse. It must have gotten switched on somehow.”

  “He threw your purse?” Avia asked.

  “Oh, I was nervous and he hates that and I was fiddling with it the clasp and he hates that more, I guess, and just, he grabbed it and threw it on the sofa but it fell off and my phone came out and he kicked it under the desk when I started to get it.” She sighed. “And I forgot about it later.”

  “Irene, if you managed to get a recording of what happened, it’s not just your word against his.” Irene brushed her black hair back from her face, keeping one strand she put to her mouth in an unconscious gesture of self-comfort.

  “Look,” Avia said. “You don’t have to do anything at all. But it could be wise to keep your options open in case you change you decide you want to. Listen to your recording, upload a copy to your computer, keep it safe - “

  “I can’t,” Irene whispered, tears threatening again. “I can’t listen. I can’t … you do it. Just take it, take it away. Please.”

  Avia did a fast assessment. “Irene, I didn’t come here to interview you, I came because you sounded like you could use some help. But the only way I can take this recorder and listen, is if you give it to me as an interview subject, a source. Then I can keep it in my professional capacity. Do you understand?”

  Mackin nodded. “That’s okay.”

  “And I want to take pictures with my cell phone of your injuries. Just in case you want them later.”

  “Do I have to look at them?”

  “No,” Avia said. “You just have to give me permission to take them, in case you need some evidence later.”

  “Okay, if you think it’s a good idea.”

  Avia pulled out her notebook.

  CONFRONTATIONS

  Ben Hart ran a comb through his hair, restoring some semblance of neatness the wind from the helicopter blades destroyed. He straightened his tie and gave the vest of the three piece Gieves and Hawkes bespoke suit a final tug. He buttoned his suit coat, exited his private dressing room, and made his way down the thickly carpeted hall to the conference room.

  The room was dominated by two things: a twelve-foot long conference table, the top of which was a polished section of petrified wood, the mineralized browns, tans and blacks captured in room accents and carpet - and Benedict Hart. He invaded the room, more than entered it, in no mood to be fucked with by a woman who had manipulated him and lied to him from the moment he met her.

  Hugo was already waiting with Leonard Randall, a lawyer who only chased the wealthiest ambulances. Hence, he’d become wealthy himself. Which probably accounted for the permanently smug set of his mouth. At least now I know who I’d like to punch out in a boardroom, thought Ben.

  The two men were mid-conversation. Ben chose a seat at the far end of the table, pouring coffee from a carafe. He gazed out at the mountaintops in the distance, as if they were his personal domain.

  “... we agreed your client would be here, and made it clear we would not proceed without a face-to-face between her and Mr. Hart.” Hugo was saying. “I see no point in continuing.”

  Randall smiled. “I’m afraid Ms. Mackin doesn’t feel very comfortable in the same room with Mr. Hart. But I think we can find a topic for discussion, nonetheless.” He took set of documents from his briefcase and slid them down the table toward Ben.

  Hugo was too fast for him, and slapped his hand down on the papers as they slid past. He didn’t pick them up. “A Non-Disclosure Agreement. And what would you like to discuss about it?”

  “Just that they aren’t binding if nondisclosure conceals criminal action.” Leonard Randall sat forward and thrust his jaw out aggressively. Ben thought the desired effect of appearing intimidating was defeated by Randall’s double chin and reddening skin. “Everything that happened between your boss and my client is about to become public record.”

  Hugo looked at Ben, who didn’t bother to turn his head toward the discussion. “Page three, paragraph thirty-four, section C.” Hugo said.

  Randall picked up the documents and flipped to the page. His eyes scanned down. But Hugo was already quoting. “‘Either party is permitted to make a personal record of meetings between them in the course of Companionship and each will hold the other harmless. Such records fall within the scope and purview of this non-disclosure agreement.’”

  Ben took a flash drive from his pocket and slapped it down on the table in front of him. Randall eyed it like a bomb that might explode at any moment.

  “Non-disclosure agreements are also not binding if the information covered under them is necessary to defend in a legal action brought by the other party.” Hugo said.

  “You’re bluffing,” Randall said.

  Ben’s executive assistant entered quietly and walked an envelope to him. He knew if Delores was interrupting, it would be important and time-sensitive. He opened the small sealed envelope.

  Let me into the meeting. I have Irene on my phone. Trust me. A~

  What the bloody hell was this? Ben’s impassive mask held, but his mind was racing through possibilities. The other men noticed no hesitation as Ben told Delores, “Bring her back.”

  He finally faced Hugo and Randall. “Looks as if your client decided to join us, after all.”

  Leonard Randall maintained his own impassive expression but his neck and ears reddened even more. I have got to get this asshole to a poker table, Ben thought as Avia entered the room and placed her cell in the center of the table.

  “Gentleman. Ms. Mackin is on speaker.” She looked around at the men in turn. “I’m Avia Rivers, I write for The Week. I’m sorry to interrupt, but this should only take a moment. Mr. Randall, Ms. Mackin would like me to get her phone from you, she’s a bit under the weather and asked me to take care of it.”

  Randall’s eyes almost glittered with malice. “Off the record.”

  “Certainly. Your secretary said it’s in your briefcase. You don’t have to speak, just hand me Ms. Mackin’s phone.” Avia walked down the table to stand smiling pleasantly over Leonard Randall. “And I’ll get out of your way.”

  Shifty-eyed, Ben thought. He actually looks shifty-eyed. Like a rat looking to escape a cat. He admired how cool Avia seemed. This room had a lot of high-octane testosterone in the air just now. She seemed as calm as if s
he were ordering lunch with a friend.

  Randall moved some papers around and checked in a side pocket and finally brought out a cell phone in a red case. But he held it out of Avia’s reach and raised his voice to be heard on the cell.

  “Irene, are you there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Randall. Did you find my phone?” The little girl voice was clear. There was a tightness around Ben’s eyes and mouth on hearing it. The others were focused on the phone.

  “Yes, I have it here. Tell me what you want me to do. I can drop it by your apartment after the meeting. I think that would be best. Safest.” His tone was firm. Authoritative.

  “I - I’m not at home. Please just give to Ms. Rivers, okay? Please?” Her little girl voice pleading. Uncertain. Frightened. Ben wondered who her performance was for? Not me, surely, he thought. She knows I know better.

  Randall’s lips pressed so hard a white line appeared around them. He handed Avia the phone. “Of course,” he said with an obvious effort to retain a professional air. “Ms. Rivers has it. Do you need anything else, Ms. Mackin?”

  “No, Sir. Thank you.” Even over the tiny cell phone speakers, Irene Mackin sounded immensely grateful and relieved.

  Avia handed Randall a business card and pocketed Irene’s cell. She picked up her own cell from the table and stopped in front of Ben. “Here’s my card, Mr. Hart, I’m sorry to have disturbed your meeting. Thank you. Gentleman,” she said to the three and walked out.

  Ben glanced at the card just before he slipped it into his inside coat pocket. There was something written on the back:

  I’LL BE WAITING IN MY CAR

  “What are you playing at Hart,” Randall demanded. “You brought a goddamned reporter into the meeting?”

  “Seemed like she came here for you, Randall,” Ben replied. He picked up the flash drive, slipped it into his pocket as he stood up.

  “You understand I can’t show you what’s on this. I could have shown your client, but she isn’t here. There’s no lawsuit, Randall, and you’re chasing the wrong ambulance. Mr. Ramos will see you out.”

  Ben Hart walked out of the room before Randall could frame a reply. He entered his office and texted Avia.

  HUGO COMING OUT. WHEN RANDALL LEAVES,

  FOLLOW HUGO INSIDE.

  Avia watched Leonard Randall guide his blue Towncar out of the lot and into traffic.

  As soon as Hugo re-entered the building, she exited her car to follow him. She caught up with him at the elevator, but they didn’t acknowledge one another. Several other passengers rode up with them, getting off at other floors. By the time they were on twelve, only Hugo and Avia remained.

  But he still said nothing to her. She hoped it was the security camera in the corner that kept him distant and quiet and not a wish to avoid contact with her, personally. She liked Hugo. And whatever happened during her meeting, it wouldn’t be any fault of his.

  On twelve, she followed him off and down a hall, past the conference room to a door at the very end of the hall. He knocked discreetly and opened the door for her.

  As she passed, he gave her a friendly smile and a wink. A wink! Avia winked back. For the first time in hours, she felt some hope for finding a positive resolution to her dilemma. An end to her fear and uncertainty. Maybe.

  She found Ben standing in front of a ceiling-to-floor window at the end of a room that apparently spanned the entire width of the building. The window faced north, the Front Range stretched away into the distance. From this angle, the man in front of her looked as if he towered over the peaks.

  The steel grey bespoke suit threw off a subtle sheen, the coat open, displaying a vest with a herringbone weave. He’d loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar. Hands in his pockets, he surveyed her. Waiting for her to speak.

  Well, you did call this meeting, she thought. She took a second to look around the long room and realized it was a showroom.

  All the furniture in the Keep and from the catalogue was present. All the devices but the prototypes, shelves of toys and cases of small items lined the walls. Rectangular, wood library tables and chairs dotted the length of the room. She assumed they were for examining the merchandise.

  Avia skirted one of the tables to reach a shallow double-doored cabinet attached to the wall. It was about three feet high and as wide. She recognized it from his website. It was a catalogue item, for storing “disciplinary implements.”

  She swung the doors open and faced an array of paddles, straps and other items, mostly leather, obviously meant for spanking. But “spanking” was the wrong word. She couldn’t think of Irene Mackin’s brutalized flesh having anything in common with the simple chastisement of a naughty child. We need a new word. “Assault.”

  She left the cabinet open and walked over to him. “I’m not here in any professional capacity,” she said. “I’m not here as a Companion, so no rules apply. But the NDA is in force for this conversation. Will you agree?”

  His hands came out of his pockets, his brow creased and his eyes filled with … concern?

  “Of course, Avia, whatever you need.”

  The warmth and sincerity of his words almost undid her resolve. His beautiful clean forehead bracketed by errant curls, his full straight brows and ... did I notice before how long his lashes were? She felt the subtle energy of his presence, like pinpoints of warm light over her skin. How could she be afraid of him?

  Her eyes dropped to his hands. Powerful hands that so easily controlled her body. She had a sudden flash of his long, strong fingers gripping one of the leather paddles in his cabinet. Do what you came for.

  She fished her phone from the pocket of her skirt. She swiped to the picture she wanted and expanded it to show the injuries to Irene’s backside as clearly and closely as possible without revealing anything that could identify her. She held the phone up so he could see.

  It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. Then he blanched and stepped away as if the phone were a filthy viper. Angrily, he turned on her.

  “Why would you show me that?” He demanded.

  “Have you ever done that to anyone? Or anything like that?” She asked coolly.

  “Of course not.” He said. “I’m not a sadist, Avia.” Realization came over him. “Oh my God, is that Irene? Is that why she wasn’t at the meeting?”

  Avia slid the cell back into her pocket. “It’s a woman I had scheduled an interview with for my story.” She couldn’t keep the bitter tone from her voice. “But someone ‘disciplined’ her this morning. I had to meet with her in urgent care.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Randall had her phone. Did he do that?”

  She remained silent. She couldn’t reveal the facts of her confidential contact with a source. He knew that.

  He dropped his head and took a deep breath. When he faced her again, he seemed to have regained control of his emotions.

  “You think I would do that to you? Or anyone?”

  “I’ve known you for six hours. You spent a lot of those six hours talking about discipline and spanking. So did this woman. What am I supposed to think?”

  “Did you come here to resign from Companionship?”

  Avia blinked. Did his voice tremble just the slightest bit? Did I come here for that? She was shocked to find her eyes filling with tears.

  “It’s all just so ugly,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. To her horror, her tears spilled over.

  And he was at her side with his arm around her, supporting her. He led her to a small couch set near the windows. “Come here. Sit. Pretend I’m not a monster for a minute.” She let him sit with her and he put both arms around her and just held her, loosely. Let her feel his warmth.

  She watched his fingers, wrapped around her upper arm, gently moving up and down, soothing her. He shouldn’t smell this good. And she knew she was better. She made to sit up a bit and he pulled away, giving her space.

  He turned his body toward her, crossed one ankle over his other knee. “Yes. It’s so ugly. We live
in this culture of sexual freedom. But somehow, that freedom came to be defined by many as approving of everything anyone does. Possibly the molestation of children is the last bulwark of moral certitude in matters of sex, there is. And I wonder how long that will last.”

  She wiped at her eyes. He went to a desk, a replica of the one in the Keep, and came back with a box of tissues.

  “You manufacture and sell sex toys. You don’t approve of their use?” Avia asked.

  “That,” he said gesturing at the phone in her skirt pocket, “was not done with any Hartline product. Did you look at the site?”

  “Some of it. It’s a big site.”

  He smiled. “Comprehensive, I hope. If you go to the Heartbeat page where you’ll find all of that,” he looked to the cabinet she left open, “you’ll see we don’t sell canes, bullwhips or the kind of hard leather strap that does the type of damage in your photograph. These things are, frankly, dangerous. They are difficult control and even an expert can do serious damage to nerves. There is a prominent warning on the page explaining this.”

  “Then why do people use them, why - who would allow - I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t, either. Some people, of both sexes by the way, want that kind of assault. They crave it. Insist on it. Seek out those who want to provide it.”

  “Do you think it’s sick?” She asked.

  He looked troubled. “I think I don’t understand it. I won’t be a party to it.” He stood up. “I want to show you something.”

  She followed him to the cabinet she’d left open.

  “All of these devices are rated, zero through ten for intensity of the average stroke from the average user,” he said, selecting something that looked like a long bundle of blond twigs. He pulled out a chair from the table Avia had walked around.

  “Put your foot on the chair and pull your skirt up. I need access to your thigh.”

  She hesitated. Isn’t this what you wanted to know? She did as he’d said.

  He reached under and with a quick flip, undid her garter. She felt a thrill in her stomach. Damn, he’s good at that.