A Twist Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5)

by Claire, Nicola

  “I’m going to fuck you now, Haydee,” I say, laying a soft kiss on the bare skin of her shoulder. She shudders. “I’m going to fuck you on my dining room table, while you hang from my chandelier. But make no mistake,” I say, slipping a finger into the crotch of her teddy and snapping the domes open.

  She’s wet. Hips already angled for my taking.

  “I will fuck you under the stars before this ends,” I add. “I will keep you safe and I will set you free.”

  I thrust into her. No warning. No preamble.

  The world distills down to just the tight feel of her hot, wet pussy. And nothing else.

  Fuck! I don’t want this to end.

  Chapter 5

  “Don’t ask.”

  I lose myself in her body. I lose all sense of time and space. Just soft skin, quiet moans, and panted breaths. I feel every thing. The stretch of her core as it accommodates my size, the rush of heated moisture as she takes each long stroke of my cock. The silky smoothness of her skin beneath my fingertips. The rapid pulse beneath my palm as it wraps around her neck, holding her still for my possession.

  I am totally focused on her responses. The soft whimper when I thrust so far I reach the end of her. The gasp of breath when I change my angle and hit her G-spot. The rattle of the chain as she leans into each hard rock of my hips, meeting me, greeting me, matching me pound for pound.

  She likes my hand on her neck, even though it is only sitting there, not exerting pressure. Its presence seems to calm her. When I remove it, gripping her hips to take her deep and hard, a small mewl of protest spills out of her lush lips. My hand returns to her neck immediately. She groans, her muscles gripping me tightly; a reward for giving her what she needs.

  Her breaths are becoming uneven. I haven’t even really started yet and already she is falling.

  “I’ll catch you,” I whisper in her ear, my voice low and rasping.

  “Please, sir,” she begs and instantly receives a hard pinch of her nipple in reprimand. The sound she makes in response nearly undoes me.

  “I don’t want to gag you, Haydee. But I will,” I say, slipping the hand that had cupped her neck up to her mouth, two fingers moving between her lips, thumb cupping her jaw. I tip her head back, so she sees her bound hands and the sway of the chandelier overhead. I hold her there as I take her body with unmerciful thrusts of my hips.

  The table is rocking. Small squeaking and scuffling sounds as the legs shift on the wooden floorboards. Her breasts, small as they are, bounce up and down on her chest, the bodice having moved down, freeing their bounty completely. My balls slap against her thighs. Each time I thrust forward and feel them connect she moans, followed quickly by a tightening of her internal muscles.

  She is so responsive. So hungry for pleasure. I pull my wet fingers from her mouth and touch her clit.

  “Good girl,” I encourage. “You’re doing beautifully.”

  Her head lolls on her shoulders, the muscles along her back flexing with the effort used to remain on her knees and not exert too much pressure on the chain wrapped around her wrists. The small jewels must be digging into her flesh, sharp stabs of pain which will radiate down her arms the longer this progresses.

  She’s close. Her breathing has altered. Sweat glistens along sun kissed golden skin. A small keening sound has started up at the back of her throat. Her clit is hard to the touch, her folds swollen. Her back arches, threatening to do real damage to her wrists. I wrap my arm around her middle, directly under her breasts and take some of her weight. A sigh slips out between panting breaths.

  She’s shaking, a tremble races through her body. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on. She feels too good. She reacts too perfectly. Seeing her arms held above her head with my chain is too erotic. Watching her breasts lift with every thrust is driving me crazy. Her wet centre feels like heaven. But my Haydee meeds more.

  I reach around and place a finger and thumb on either side of her clit. The pinch is small, but the reaction is magnificent.

  I have to stop thrusting when her body convulses. Her cries of release are high pitched and desperate. The tightening and relaxing of her muscles around my cock crumble my last defences. My hand wraps around her throat and I pull her back against my body. I tighten my hold, as the fingers of my free hand circle her clit, drawing the moment out for her sublimely. My cock thrusts three more times into her quivering centre.

  My climax is almost as long as hers. I’m blinded for a moment. Floating. Lost. The only thing grounding me to this earth is the woman shaking in my arms. Her heated body flush against mine, the contours perfectly fitting my curves and edges. I stroke her throat tenderly; a thank you in that one simple touch. Then remove my hand from her neck, and watch her head fall forward in utter exhaustion.

  I pull out, making her spasm around me as I retreat, and discard the condom I’d put on without even being aware of the action. Then I’m up on the table, undoing the chain from the chandelier, and lifting Haydee’s sated body up into my arms. My legs shake as I step down from the table’s surface. I have to lock my knees to stop myself from falling to the floor, my precious cargo along with me.

  I take a deep breath as Haydee’s face falls into the crook of my neck, and then start walking from the room. The shower steams up almost immediately, I settle Haydee on a seat inside the stall, after removing her under garments, and stripping off the last of my clothes. Then join her under the spray. I lift her up, and take her seat, resettling her on my lap. Then start gently covering her still trembling body with liquid soap, washing the sweat and smell of sex away.

  She is docile, compliant. A weak limbed body under my tender care. Within minutes I am hard for her again. Her head lifts up, drops of water clinging to her long, dark lashes, and she looks at me. I’m not sure what that look says.

  “Are you all right?” I ask and she nods. “Your wrists?”

  She lifts them up for me to see. Little dents mar her skin, but there is no blood. Relief washes through me, but then I remind myself I had been aware of the pressure that had been exerted at every single moment. The study of her reactions, both minute and awe inspiring, is second nature to me. At no time did I give her more than she could handle.

  “You are beautiful,” I whisper. A compliment that I have given many women before in the past, but never so honestly. “Stunning,” I add.

  I want her to talk. I want to hear her say similar words of praise in return. I am greedy for her affection, not just her body. I harden my resolve and turn my attention to her hair. The shampoo runs down between her breasts, pooling in the chain she still wears around her neck. I won’t let her remove it whilst in my presence. Not even in the shower.

  She’s more awake now. Revived a little. As I lift the chain and wash beneath it, checking there is no injury around her neck that I may have missed, her eyes follow my every movement. Her nipples are hard. Her pulse is fluttering again at the base of her throat. Her lips are parted and I’m reminded of sinking my cock inside her mouth and coming down her throat.

  She makes a sound. Somehow she’s seen my arousal. She would have felt it moments ago, but something has made her realise how close to the edge I actually am.

  I move her, until her back is to my chest, her legs spread wide, knees over each of my thighs. I start to wash her breasts.

  “I have a hard limit,” I say to the back of her neck, where the short cut of her hair allows me such delightfully unhindered access. I like her neck. It is long and elegant and begging for my hand to wrap around it.

  My chain alone is not nearly enough.

  “I will not share,” I add, bringing my teeth down on her shoulder. Nipping hard enough to let her know I mean business. “Do you accept?”

  Her answer is long in coming. Then finally, one short shake of her head.

  I am struck dumb. I hadn’t expected refusal. There have been others I have not wished to share, but none of their answers held such sway. I don’t know what to say in return. My hand
s have stilled. My breaths are all but gone. I’m not sure, but I think my heartbeat is irregular.

  “May I speak, master?” she says, shattering the stalled moment and making me wrap an instinctive hand around her throat, tipping her head back, face to the ceiling of the shower. The water is undoubtedly falling in her eyes, her mouth, but I can’t seem to release my hold of her.

  This woman has stolen all reason.

  “Speak,” I say, the word harsh and unforgiving.

  “I will agree to your hard limit of not sharing me, if you allow me one more hard limit addition in return.”

  The negotiation tactic surprises me. Her easy acquiesce the last time we discussed hard limits had me believing she was open to most things. To add another hard limit now makes little sense.

  “What is your additional hard limit?” I say, my thumb stroking the side of her neck absently. The move letting me know I’d consider any hard limit this woman suggested just to stake my exclusive claim on her body.

  “I will not share you either.”

  All my breath rushes out of me in one quick expulsion. My heart beats so hard I can feel it inside my chest. I stroke my hand down her throat, allowing her head to tip back down, and then I’m lifting her up off my lap, positioning my cock at her entrance, and pulling her hard back down on top of me.

  We both grunt with the sensations created. I’ve impaled her without even agreeing to her terms. I start thrusting my hips up, as I grip her waist on each side, fingers digging into flesh, and guide her up and down my already straining shaft.

  “Take this as a yes,” I say between each hard pump up into her body.

  “Oh,” she manages, and then moans loudly as my hand finds her nipple and pinches.

  I don’t know where this is going with Haydee. I don’t know how long we can both sustain this type of desperate hunger. I don’t know anything but that I can’t get enough of her.

  I fuck her hard. I want inside her body. I make her scream again and again and again, coming all over me in heated rushes and spasming muscles and gasping breaths. Her body falls forward, arms extended to hold her aloft on the other side of the shower stall. Water pours down over her back, splashes up into my face. Her hair is plastered to her head and she’s never looked more beautiful.

  I stand up, taking her hips with me, and slam into her from behind, making her elbows give. In the next instant I have her trapped against the tiles, my chest to her back, her breasts crushed with each unforgiving pound of my cock inside her cunt. I own her. Right now, I make Haydee mine.

  My fingers in her mouth hold her steady. My fingers on her clit make her shudder as she releases. I know she has reached her limit. So I pull out, spin her around and guide her to her knees, and then stroke my cock above her parted lips, watching my come spurt all over her chin.

  I am lost. I am enraptured with this woman. I have never wanted something to work so much before.

  And as she closes her eyes, a look of pure abandon on her soft features, her tongue darting out hungrily and licking my release, I think maybe this just might.

  I am demanding. I know this. I am a hard task master. I revel in the debauchery, my longing for control too hard to deny. It is through the defilement that I find peace. It is through the domination that I find freedom. But as I look down at her glorious upturned face, her eyes flicking open and staring up at me with such trust, such hunger, I realise none of that would mean a thing, if Haydee were not happy.

  “What makes you happy, Haydee?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer as so many pets would by saying, “You, master.” She doesn’t make a big show of thinking up an answer that would appease.

  She looks me in the eye and says one word.

  I should have guessed it. Her fantasy told me everything I need to know about this woman. Everything sexual that is.

  “Safety,” she says, her tone steady. Her voice strong. The word a benediction, not just a desire.

  “Has there been times when you have not felt safe?” I ask.

  Her head tips down immediately, her eyes to the floor in a Haydee reply that says, “No. Not going there.”

  I don’t allow it. I kneel down in front of her and tip her face up to mine with one finger under her chin.

  “Answer me,” I demand.

  She searches my face, looking for the challenge, gauging my resolve. Slowly her shoulders droop in defeat.

  It is not a look I like to see on her, but I will not allow her to circumvent this.

  “I have feared for my safety before,” she whispers.

  It’s an incomplete answer. I could press for more. More honesty. More details. More pain. But I do not wish to hurt Haydee in that fashion. If there is pain, there always needs to be pleasure. This would lack the latter, I fear.

  “It’s all right,” I reassure her. “For now, know you are safe.”

  Her face comes up and tears well in her dark eyes. A reaction that steals my breath, steals my resolve. Steals everything from me. I reach forward and wrap my arms around her, pull her close to me, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath to breath. I stroke a hand down her back and hold her, while her body trembles and her breathing finally evens out.

  I don’t know what has happened to Haydee in the past. We all have one. No one who chooses this lifestyle does it simply because they are bored. She needs something. As I need something. We just have to work that need out for each other. Find it. Provide it. Protect it.

  I want so badly for this woman to discover mine.

  The water begins to turn cold and we finally emerge from our cocoon. Haydee walks carefully, I have used her very well. I dry her off with an overlarge towel, taking care to not rub too hard against areas that have been chafed. Seeing tiny indentations of my fingers on her hips, that will surely turn to bruises, excites me. Likewise, when she returns the favour, seeing my arousal sends a heated blush over her golden skin. So tempting I lean forward and kiss her collarbone, following the creep of colour until my lips claim hers.

  I put everything into the moment. I tease and tempt and tantalise with my lips and teeth and tongue. I give her my complete focus, my utter devotion through my lips on hers. I kiss her until she is once again limp in my arms and we are almost too late to make our reservation.

  It is with a dawning sense of familiarity that I feel surprise when I see Haydee slip into a long, elegant black cloak at the front door. With nothing but the deep red teddy on underneath it. Her high heeled shoes are red. The stockings black. She is a femme fatale on my arm as we walk out of the house towards my car.

  Before I settle her in the passenger seat, I turn her towards me and adjust the collar of her coat, making sure the chain is visible through the opening.

  “This looks good on you,” I say, and watch her give me a knowing smile. “Tomorrow, I want you lying back on my bed in nothing but this.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me.

  I cock one back at her in reply.

  “Ten o’clock,” I say. “And you’ll be spending the night.”

  Her head comes down in a barely there nod of acceptance. A small part of me rushes to point out that I am asking too much too soon. But I can’t seem to stop. I can’t seem to see anything further than this dazzling woman before me. And I realise, I don’t care.

  It’s dangerous and unforgivable. Twenty-five years I’ve lived by certain rules. But, as though some sort of hourglass is counting down the minutes until the end of time, I am frantic. Frantic for Haydee. Frantic for something I can’t even put into words.

  The restaurant is bustling when we arrive fifteen minutes late. I recognise a few politicians, a local councilman, and a couple of high ranking public servants. They all recognise me. I chose Angelo’s intentionally. If I want to make a statement that cannot be missed then this restaurant is the best venue to achieve it.

  The maitre d’ asks for Haydee’s coat. She just smiles serenely, and shakes her head denying him the pleasure. My chest swells. We haven’t talked about th
e rules when out in public, but I have a feeling Haydee will again be a natural.

  We’re shown to our seats and I wait until Haydee is settled before I take mine. The smell of garlic and tomatoes and basil wafts on the air. Conversation is a low hum in the background. Haydee reads the menu, but I quickly take it from her hands. She tilts her head, a soft smile tipping up the edges of her delightful mouth. I may have to take that again later tonight.

  “I’ll order,” I say. She nods, stretching that long neck invitingly. “You’re a natural at this, Haydee,” I comment, taking a sip of the wine the waiter had poured not long after we arrived. “But when we’re alone like this you may talk. I like to hear your voice.”

  Her whole body stills. I’m unsure if she likes this concession. Maybe to her it isn’t one.

  “As soon as we have company,” I add, “you are not permitted to say a word, unless I direct it.”

  “Of course,” she whispers.

  “Of course, what?” I counter.

  The smile returns. “Of course, sir,” she corrects in that husky voice that curls something deep inside me.

  My sweet Haydee likes the game, and clearly that game extends to public settings.

  “Where do you work?” I ask. I haven’t performed a Query Person check on her in our system. If she has any convictions, I do not know. It is an oversight I’ll correct tomorrow.

  “I teach,” she says. “At the Wilson Home.”

  “On the North Shore?” The Wilson Home is a private establishment for children with severe disabilities. A more selfless role I could not have imagined.

  She nods her head in answer. Even when given the opportunity to talk, Haydee chooses silence.

  The more she reveals, the more I can’t help thinking she is perfect. But perfection and I have not gone hand in hand in the past. It makes it difficult to believe this is real.

  Maybe it isn’t. Maybe I’m dreaming it all, like some comatose patient attached to machinery, kept alive because their loved ones can’t say goodbye.