Arousing a Dragon

by Sarah Sarasota

  Hawthorne didn’t reply. He simply walked into the room and started fastening a thick chain around his waist. Aurora watched him suspiciously, like some sort of wary forest creature, unsure whether she should stay or flee.

  Next, Hawthorne fastened chains around both of his ankles, so that his legs were spread apart. Then he used one hand to fix a shackle around his other wrist.

  “This,” the billionaire said, when he had tethered the one wrist, “is where I need your help.”

  “My help?”

  “Yes. All I need you to do right now, Miss Laurent, is to bind my other wrist and then shackle me around the neck.”

  Aurora puffed out her cheeks. “So, just the classic sort of request that any employee can expect to be given by their employer then?”

  Hawthorne snorted with laughter.

  “Look,” Aurora said. “I’m not into the whole chains and whips and bondage fetish sort of thing. If that’s what gets your rocks off, that’s fine. I am not going to judge anyone about what they like to get up to in the privacy of their high-security sex dungeon in the depths of their superyacht. Each to their own as far as I’m concerned. But that does not mean that I’m g–”

  “It’s not a sexual thing, Miss Laurent,” Hawthorne said patiently. “Unfortunately, circumstances dictate that I can’t tell you the specifics of why I’d appreciate your doing this for me, but please let me assure you that this room has not be designed with any sort of kinky bondage or fetish play in mind.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite sure. Now, if you could help me with these last two fastenings then I can give you your other instruction.”

  Aurora licked her lips and took a tentative step into the room. When nothing happened, she padded quickly over to the bound man. She grasped the hanging chain and started to fasten the substantial restraint around Hawthorne’s wrist.

  “So,” she said, as she fumbled with the locking mechanism, “are you an amateur magician or something? A wannabe Houdini?”

  The lock snapped into place and she reached for the neck restraint. It was a thick strap made of worn leather and metal and some other material.

  “It’s Kevlar,” Hawthorne said, as if reading her mind. “An incredibly strong synthetic material. And no, I’m not an amateur escapologist.”

  Their faces were very close together. Aurora was obliged to come in close to fasten the neck strap, which was proving tricky. Her forehead was about level with Hawthorne’s nose. She could smell, again, the wholesome scent of him. Her eyes dipped down as her fingers fumbled at her task, and she noticed the thick muscle under the chest hair. Her eyes, seemingly of their own accord, drifted as far down his torso as his casually buttoned shirt would allow. Embarrassed by her physical attraction, her eyes snapped back up to his throat and then to his face. His brown eyes with their peculiar streaks of gold were staring down into her face.

  Then the lock of the neck shackle clicked conclusively into place.

  Aurora stepped away.

  “Um, okay, boss,” she said. “What now? Do I cover you in a cloth and then whip it off only to discover you’ve disappeared?”

  Hawthorne smiled at her. “I told you, I’m not magician. I’ll tell you what to do though. I want you to leave this room and close that door behind you. As soon as it closes the locking mechanism will arm. Only the password will open it. You remember it?”

  Aurora nodded.

  “Good. Once the door is locked securely behind you I want you to take the elevator back up. Then come back down here after sunrise and use the password to open the door again. And I’ll need you to bring some fresh clothes.”

  Aurora frowned. “Fresh clothes? You’re wearing clothes that look like you bought them today.”

  “I did, but I’ll still be needing you to grab a fresh set from the armoire that’s next to the elevator above. Can you do that for me, Miss Laurent?”

  “Well, yes, of course, but what the hell is all this about?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you yet. Once you leave here you have the run of the ship. Go exploring. There’s WiFi, cable – all that sort of stuff. Maybe you can extinguish that smoldering flame that’s clearly annoying you so much?”

  Aurora nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.

  “All you have to remember is that password, and to let me out first thing in the morning. Set an alarm. I’ve got a lot of business to attend to in the city tomorrow.”

  Aurora nodded and turned to leave. Her head was full of questions, but she could recognize someone who did not plan on divulging a secret when she saw them.

  “Miss Laurent?”

  Aurora turned. “Yes, boss?”

  “Once you go upstairs the elevator will lock down and will not work until the sun has risen.”

  Aurora nodded again. “And this is what you’re paying me for?” she asked.

  “That’s right. This is the nightly routine. Your days are free to do with as you see fit. The nights – after you’ve locked me in down here – are the same.”

  “Okay.”

  “And what’s the password?”

  “Gumball,” Aurora said, “the password is gumball.”

  And she walked out, pressed the nondescript little button and sealed Finn Hawthorne in the vault for the night.

  Chapter 6

  Aurora walked slowly back out to the dining area. Sitting down in her recently vacated chair, she kicked off her heels, a frown creasing her smooth features.

  “Well,” she said to the remaining lobster that regarded her with one beady black eye, “I kind of wish it had been a sex dungeon. At least with a sex dungeon you sort of know where you stand.”

  The lobster offered no comment, so Aurora loaded her plate with some more salad and dug in. This situation was so strange that, for the time being, she didn’t have the mental capacity to process why Hawthorne had her chain him up. Besides, it’d been probably the longest day on record. She poured herself a glass of the beautifully light rosé – filled to the brim as there was no one around to judge her – and took a generous sip.

  Afterward, she moved down to the deck below and sat with her feet dangling in the hot-tub. It was absolutely quiet, aside from the light breeze and the swells lapping on the hull. It might’ve been somewhat eerie, being alone on a superyacht ten miles out to sea – with the exception of the eccentric billionaire below deck –but Aurora found that she was rather enjoying it. It was such a contrast from the city where the noise was constant, the pace of life frantic. She actually felt as if her heart was beating more calmly than when she was in New York. The stars were numerous out here, without the light pollution.

  Suddenly, the serenity was shattered by a deep, persistent clanging from somewhere in the bowels of the ship. It was as if the ship’s hull was being used as an enormous metal drum

  “What the ?” Aurora said out loud.

  Then a long, low roar echoed through the silent vessel. It was a mournful sound, full of grinding pain and angst, but it didn’t sound human.

  The lights on the vessel flickered briefly, the water in the hot-tub rippled.

  Then there was silence.

  “– fuck?” she finished.

  Draining her glass, Aurora quickly pulled her feet from the water, but realized she didn’t know where to go.

  “What is going on?” she whispered fearfully.

  Taking refuge in a secluded corner of the deck, Aurora discovered a patio heater mounted above the lounge she had selected. The soothing warmth and the wine lulled her into a dreamlike state.

  She dreamed that the superyacht reverberated under her, shaking and shaking, the din of that mysterious bellowing roar growing louder and louder until the entire vessel was shaken apart. She fell into the clutches of the sea, tossed this way and that. Faces peered at her from the depths, faces that she recognized. There was Brodie Wood, the self-satisfied smirk plastered across his ridiculously handsome face. Then Ryker’s visage appeared out of the murk – hurt written
across his features. And next; Finn Hawthorne with his captivating gold-flecked eyes. As she looked deeper into his eyes, unable to call out for help, they began to glow brighter and brighter, until they were orbs of gold, the pupils contracting until they became cat-like slits.

  Aurora’s vision started to glow, the sea she was being tumbled around in changing from murky green to yellow to orange to gold to red.

  ***

  She awoke with a start, her eyelids blazing red for an instant before she opened them. The rising sun was peeking over the eastern horizon. It looked like the edge of a shiny copper penny.

  She relaxed for a moment, enjoying the sun, the sea, and the sky. Then her vision broadened; took in the deck above her, the sun lounger she was lying on. Memory flooded back.

  Aurora sat bolt upright, the last warm cobwebs of her dreams dissolving. She remembered exactly where she was, and then the reason that she was there. Finn Hawthorne’s superyacht. The elevator. Sunrise.

  Without bothering to find her discarded heels, Aurora ran through the main salon and down the hallways that led her back to the tiny elevator, only taking two wrong turns.

  You remember that sound, right? she thought to herself as she sprinted lightly over the thickly carpeted floor. It sounded a lot like an angry animal.

  She ignored her thoughts. She hadn’t seen any kind of animal. Then again, a billionaire with a private floating zoo wouldn’t surprise her in the least.

  The elevator doors slid instantly open, she stepped inside and down she went into the heart of the ship.

  As she stepped out of the elevator, her feet squelched into the thick, sodden carpet. She looked down with a frown. The floor was completely saturated with water. Her gaze followed the mess and saw that it appeared to be seeping from under the vault door.

  Oh, Christ, she thought, please don’t tell me that the ship sprang a leak in the night and that fucking room is flooded and Mr. Hawthorne is dead as a doornail. A murder enquiry isn’t the way to start a new job.

  She approached the vault door and typed in the password: GUMBALL.

  There was a solid thunk as the locks disengaged and the huge door swung ponderously open. In her impatience, Aurora grabbed the door and tried to yank it open quicker. She gasped and pulled her hand away. The metal door was hot! So hot it was almost like touching the element of an electric cooktop. As the mammoth portal inched open, more water flooded out. Aurora braced herself for a sudden rush that would smash her into the wall and send the ship sinking like a rock to the bottom of the ocean, but the stream quickly abated. She wondered then, her Nebraskan common-sense asserting itself, whether she should mop it up so that the carpet wasn’t ruined.

  Then the door was open fully, and Aurora could see that the water had issued from the giant pipes that snaked across the bare metal ceiling. All of them were still dripping, as if they had only just finished spraying saltwater into the room.

  Then her gaze dropped to the figure of Finn Hawthorne and her mind went blank.

  “Oh shit,” she said, “he’s fucking dead.”

  The billionaire hung limply from his bonds, his head resting on his chest, his knees sagging. He was completely drenched; it appeared that he’d just endured the mother of all power showers. What wasn’t initially understandable was why his clothes were now little more than shreds draped in a haphazard fashion over his inert body.

  Aurora ran to the hanging figure, her hands fluttering uncertainly around him like nervous pink bats.

  “Um, um, what do I do, what do I do?” she muttered wildly.

  She fumbled with the restraint around his neck, thinking that if he was still alive then getting some air into his body was probably key. It seemed to take an age for the lock to pop open, but when that was done she knelt down and started on the thick chain fastened about his waist. As this lock snapped open and she pulled the restraint off of him, Hawthorne’s tattered trousers simply fell away, having been held up only by the shackle around his waist.

  In an already tense situation, the last thing that the kneeling Aurora needed was to be confronted by her boss’s very shapely penis only a couple of inches from her face.

  She stood bolt upright, her eyes only flashing downwards once for another cursory look at the appendage.

  “O-kay!” she said loudly. “Alright, that’s fine!”

  She started unbuckling one of Hawthorne’s tethered wrists, her eyes fixed on his face, though the image of his cock seemed to have seared itself onto her retinas.

  Hawthorne groaned at the sound of her voice.

  Alive after all. Thank God! Aurora thought.

  The billionaire opened his eyes and raised his head groggily.

  “Ah,” he said weakly, “Miss Laurent. Right on time.” His head dropped back down to his chest. Then he said, “Miss Laurent?”

  “Ye-ye-yes, boss?” Aurora replied, the wrist shackle she was working on popping free.

  “Perhaps some clothes?”

  Aurora cursed. “I forgot them. Hold on.”

  She darted out of the room, unintentionally taking one last look at her half naked employer as he began to fumble weakly with his other wrist restraint.

  As Aurora entered the elevator she found that she was grinning, just ever so slightly.

  When she returned with the clothing from the armoire, Hawthorne was already free of his restraints and was pulling off the remnants of his shirt. Aurora cleared her throat and handed him his fresh clothes, pointedly looking at the opposite wall as she did so, biting her lip to suppress the smile that was fighting to show itself.

  “So, I’ll address the elephant in the room, I guess,” she said. “What the blazes happened to you last night? Your clothes… Is the boat leaking?”

  “The yacht is shipshape,” came the reply from behind her. “Like I said, I can’t explain everything, so you’ll just have to trust me on this.”

  Aurora turned around. To her private disappointment her boss was now completely covered and was buttoning up his shirt.

  “So, you have to go through whatever this is every night?”

  “Every night from now on.”

  Hawthorne stretched his neck from side to side and ran a hand through his wet hair. He seemed to be gaining strength even as Aurora looked at him.

  “Come on,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee.”

  As they walked out into the early morning sunshine, each of them clutching a cup of dark roast, they heard the sound of an approaching engine. They could see the tender boat with the crew and Hawthorne’s icy head of security coming towards them.

  “God, this stuff is incredible,” Aurora said, taking a sip of the straight black coffee. She normally took milk and sugar, but Hawthorne had insisted that she drink this black. It was slightly spicy and chocolaty, without any of the bitterness she associated with regular coffee.

  “It should be when it costs two-thousand dollars a kilo,” remarked her boss casually.

  Aurora almost choked in surprise.

  “What?” she said incredulously.

  “Yeah, it works out to be about sixty-nine bucks a cup.” Hawthorne took a sip and smiled. “Expensive, but second to none.”

  “What makes it so expensive?”

  “They feed the coffee beans to elephants then pick the whole, digested beans out of their excrement. Then they roast them.” Hawthorne said this as if it was all quite normal.

  Aurora looked down into her cup, at her elephant-shit coffee and shook her head. Then she took another sip.

  Fucking rich people, she thought, amazed.

  ***

  It was easy to fall into the routine.

  Over the next two weeks, Aurora settled easily into the role of Finn Hawthorne’s personal jailer – that’s how she came to view her position. Every evening, after the tender had whisked the crew and Miss Fang off the superyacht, Aurora and Mr. Hawthorne would enjoy the sumptuous meal prepared for them by one of his talented chefs. Then they would head d
ownstairs, chatting inconsequentially, and Aurora would buckle her boss into the industrial restraints that hung from the walls. She would spend the rest of her evening reading, watching movies in the screening room, working out, and trying to ignore the groans and bellows and scrabbling sounds that emanated periodically through the deserted ship.

  However, human beings are amazingly adaptable creatures, and it wasn’t long before the din down below became background noise and Aurora was able to sleep through it. Soon she began bringing Hawthorne a cup of the ludicrously priced coffee along with his fresh clothing, something that he appreciated very much.

  Once Hawthorne had recovered from his nightly ordeal Aurora saw very little of her employer. He would either be shut away in the suite of offices near the prow of the ship, or he’d been flown into New York by helicopter.

  The crew of the superyacht were always courteous to Aurora, referring to her as “Miss Laurent” and always making sure that she had everything she wanted. They were lovely, but her farm girl roots prevented her from feeling comfortable with them until they agreed to call her simply Aurora.

  She’d had no such luck breaking down the barrier that stood between her and the severe security advisor though. All she knew of Miss Fang was that she spent hours in the yacht’s gym practicing some sort of martial art, smashing kicks and punches into a selection of dummies and punching bags. The few times that Aurora had seen her training had made her aware that she wanted to remain on Miss Fang’s good side, if it existed.

  It was about ten days into her new job that Aurora caught Hawthorne checking her out. Once she had let her boss out of the vault she was free to spend the day as she pleased, so one still morning she had decided to try paddle boarding. She had seen plenty of people doing it and had heard that it was a phenomenal way to get a full-body workout.

  The tender garage had every type of water toy: jet-skis, surfboards, kayaks, scuba gear, and paddleboards. Opening the door, she was able to paddle slowly out into the calm sea. It took about half an hour, paddling up and down the length of the Scalded to master the balance and technique required. At one point she wobbled and almost fell in, but managed to regain her balance. Pausing to catch her breath, she noticed Hawthorne standing on a private balcony and obviously watching her. He couldn’t tell that she had noticed him, but Aurora got the distinct impression that he had been getting an eyeful of her bikini the whole time she had been paddling. To test her theory, she dropped her paddle in the water and bent over to retrieve it, keeping an eye on Hawthorne through her legs as she fished it out. There could be no mistake; her boss had leaned over his balcony railing to get a better look.