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 my 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?”
“Not a hard limit.” I’m not sure, but I think it might be for me. Where this woman is concerned.
I ignore the urge to qualify that emotion.
“Anal?” I ask instead.
“Not a hard limit.”
“You are very accommodating, Haydee.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I’m not sure what to make of her. Most subs have at least two or three things on their hard limit list. For a moment I am unsure if I can trust her. Trust is essential. It throws my mind into a spiral of what-ifs that make me pause for breath.
I had intended more tonight. I want her so badly my balls are going blue beneath her pert little arse. Talk of anal is making it impossible to think of little else. But I need distance. She needs distance.
“That will do for tonight,” I say, she moves to get off my lap. So obedient.
The chain pulls her to a halt halfway to standing. I don’t release it.
“How many nights per week?” I say, slowly unravelling the chain from around my wrist.
She watches, mesmerised, then lifts calm eyes to my face.
“Three.” It’s standard. I should accept.
“And the weekends.”
Her face immediately tips to the floor. That was a no. Her weekends are hers. She wants to keep them. And suddenly I want nothing more than to claim some part of them for myself.
“At least one night per weekend, in addition to the three nights per week,” I say. “Dinner, maybe a show,” I add, in way of incentive.
I have no idea if it is anything that could possibly persuade this woman.
“One night per weekend,” she says slowly.
“You’d like dinner? A show?” I can’t help but ask. I shouldn’t care, but I know I do.
Her head nods in that graceful, controlled way she has.
“Excellent,” I murmur. “You have pleased me.”
Her smile is all encompassing. With reluctance I release her chain.
She doesn’t flirt as she dresses. But it isn’t a perfunctory act either. It’s art in motion and as hypnotic as her grace. Within too short an amount of time she is clad in a simple shift dress, her legs covered in silk stockings, her feet encased in four inch heels that make her ankles look almost too delicate.
She stands in the middle of the room and looks towards the floor. It is in no way cowed or nervous in nature. Serenity pours from every cell in this woman’s body. She is beautiful. Maybe even as beautiful as she looked swallowing my cock.
“Thank you, Haydee,” I say. “Sunday night. Seven o’clock. Let yourself in and kneel by the front door. Clothes on or off at your discretion.”
She nods her head and offers me a small lip twitch. Her eyes are sparkling, even from this angle.
“You may go,” I offer and watch her sweep from the room in a haze of vanilla and roses.
I listen for the door opening, the soft beep of the alarm. It takes slightly longer than I would have expected. The moment she is gone I rise from my chair and walk out to the hall table.
Sitting in the dish is a folded piece of card.
On it is written, Salutem. The Latin word for safety. And her safeword.
I think I might have just been given a glimpse inside this intriguing woman’s mind.
And it only makes me hunger for more.
Chapter 4
“It’s under the stars.”
Sunday takes too long to arrive. I throw myself into work and avoid the club at all costs. It’s a combination that for some reason fails to settle my mind. Work is hollow. And the distraction the club could provide is a gaping hole in my routine.
But although more than one invitation has been issued to meet at Sweet Hell, I have turned each down with the exception of a drink on Sunday afternoon with Jason. Avoiding him could prove fatal to whatever burgeoning relationship I have chosen to start with Haydee.
He is in fine form when I arrive at the Whiskey Lounge on Karangahape Road. It’s too close to Sweet Hell, but far enough away for me not to be sucked into it. Even if it is just across the street.
“Ethan, you look strung out, my friend,” he says as I take the seat beside him and accept the offer of Dalwhinnie he has already ordered for me.
I take a sip, let the smooth warmth of the fifteen year old whisky soothe me, and then turn an impassive face to my friend.
“Work is busy,” I offer. We both know it is a lie.
“And yet none of it has crossed my desk.”
“I would be a very poor superintendent if I came running to you with every single case that clogs up my desk.”
He smiles, it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s genuinely pleased to see me and for a moment I second guess his motives.
“And how are things with your new pet?” he asks, bringing us full circle again.
“Progressing,” I offer as I sip my drink.
“David Gordon is not happy with you,” he points out as if I wasn’t already aware of this fact. Gordon has been insisting for days that I return to Sweet Hell and face his wrath.
“Has he been seen with Samantha?” I query calmly. I don’t feel calm, but you would not know it to look at me. The whisky soothes as more slips down my throat.
“She’s been busy with someone else,” Jason advises, watching a woman across the room who has been unable to look elsewhere for several minutes. He lifts his glass in a salute, receiving an inviting smile in return. A calculating expression crosses his face as he no doubt plans the rest of his evening based on that one come-hither look.
“Who’s the lucky man?” I ask. Not that I’m interested, Samantha is of no real concern to me. I feel no obligation to ensure her safety or that her choices are well founded. But interest in someone other than Haydee will downplay my addiction.
“Don’t know. She’s not been seen at Sweet Hell, but she’s certainly been busy,” he says. “Gordon thought it might hav
e been you.”
I laugh. Jason is fishing again. He’s been unable to work out my motives and like any decent policeman he’s obsessed with discovering the truth.
“There are certain things that Samantha can offer,” I say carefully. “Occasionally she fills a void.”
“Is she filling one now with your new pet?”
“It’s early days, Jason,” I counter. “I have yet to decide what role Haydee will play.”
“That is unlike you, Ethan,” he points out. “You’ve never had to pause before you act before.”
He’s right and I suddenly think meeting with him is very dangerous.
“And you? It’s been a while for you too,” I say. The non sequitur does not fool him, but he plays along for now.
“I’ve been broadening my horizons.”
“Is that so?” I take a sip of whisky and smile at him over the rim. He offers a beaming grin back.
“I thought I’d try blondes for a while.”
I laugh. It’s exactly what Jason had been aiming for.
“Just one?” I query.
“Well, it all depends on the blonde, doesn’t it?”
I finish my drink and he holds his up in question. I shake my head. One whisky is more than enough with Jason Farland. I still haven’t worked out his endgame.
“I have a date,” I say, pushing up from my seat and moving to leave.
“Haydee?”
There’s no point denying it. “Yes.”
“And what’s on the agenda for tonight?” The way he asks has me thinking he already knows. But how he does is a mystery. Jason is just very good at making you see things that aren’t necessarily there.
“Dinner and a show.”
“Well, that is something new.”
“Maybe I’m broadening my horizons too,” I offer.
Jason just smiles. I nod my head and turn to leave.
“Word of warning, friend,” he says, halting me in my tracks.
I turn back and raise a single eyebrow, unimpressed.
His back straightens at the obvious reaction he’s received. The challenge I’ve thrown back at his feet. He stands from his own stool to meet me, eye to eye.
A Twist Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5) Page 4