A Twist of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5)
Author: Nicola Claire
Date: 2015-01-13 00:00:00+00:00
Description: This one is from the heart; a thank you to all my readers; a sexy, seriously naughty, delightfully twisted novella about redemption, forgiveness and love. Oh, and it involves a very long chain and a man who knows how to use it. Enjoy! - Nicola Claire "I sometimes wonder if life had gone differently would I be a different man? It’s hard to say. I can’t imagine being any other way. I am who I am and I relish it. I breathe the air I want to breathe. I drink the wine I want to drink. I touch the flesh I want to touch. I am in control of my world and no one can tear it asunder." Ethan Keen lives by
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing

Contents

Title & Copyright

More Books By Nicola Claire

Book Description

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Review Request

About The Author

A Twist Of Heat

H.E.A.T. Series, Book Number 2.5

By Nicola Claire

Copyright © 2014, Nicola Claire

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-0-473-30646-5

nicolaclairebooks.blogspot.com

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Cover Art by Nicola Claire

Image credit: 123RF Stock Photo

Image #8250029

More books by Nicola Claire:

Kindred Series

Kindred

Blood Life Seeker

Forbidden Drink

Giver of Light

Dancing Dragon

Shadow's Light

Entwined With The Dark

Kiss Of The Dragon

Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Novella)

Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

Mixed Blessing

Dark Shadow (Coming Soon)

Sweet Seduction Series

Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

Sweet Seduction Serenade

Sweet Seduction Shadow

Sweet Seduction Surrender

Sweet Seduction Shield

Sweet Seduction Sabotage

Sweet Seduction Stripped

Sweet Seduction Secrets (Coming Soon)

Elemental Awakening Series

The Tempting Touch Of Fire

The Soothing Scent Of Earth

The Chilling Change Of Air

The Tantalising Taste Of Water (Coming Soon)

H.E.A.T. Series

A Flare Of Heat

A Touch Of Heat

A Twist Of Heat (Novella)

A Lick Of Heat (Coming Soon)

Citizen Saga

Elite

Cardinal

Citizen

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

This one is from the heart; a thank you to all my readers; a sexy, seriously naughty, delightfully twisted novella about redemption, forgiveness and love. Oh, and it involves a very long chain and a man who knows how to use it. Enjoy! - Nicola Claire

"I sometimes wonder if life had gone differently would I be a different man? It’s hard to say. I can’t imagine being any other way. I am who I am and I relish it. I breathe the air I want to breathe. I drink the wine I want to drink. I touch the flesh I want to touch. I am in control of my world and no one can tear it asunder."

Ethan Keen lives by a certain set of strict rules. Secrecy and discretion are paramount. And memories must stay locked away in a mental drawer. It makes him hard and uncompromising. It means his role as Superintendent of South Auckland Police is kept clean of all that taints his private life.

It means he hasn't spoken to his daughter in six long years.

And then a new pet arrives. On his doorstep, eyes downcast, face serene. Her grace is exquisite. Her silence a siren call to his soul. Her surrender is his undoing. But also his salvation. For his sweet Haydee he'll break his rules. For his sweet Haydee he'll remember.

Wild passions ignite in a twist of heat that sears them both together. And for Ethan, nothing will ever be the same again.

NB: This delicious erotic companion novella to the H.E.A.T. series is a stand alone story. You do not have to read any of the previous H.E.A.T. books to enjoy this hot & sizzling adventure. However, events in this book take place during A Touch Of Heat and may contain plot spoilers.

Ethan is a Dom who takes what he wants and delivers unending pleasure in the form of controlled release. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

For: My Sweet Street Seducers.

You guys rock!

And I thought you might like a little more naughty in your Christmas.

Chapter 1

“Thank you.”

I sometimes wonder if life had gone differently would I be a different man? It’s hard to say. I can’t imagine being any other way. I am who I am and I relish it. I breathe the air I want to breathe. I drink the wine I want to drink. I touch the flesh I want to touch. I am in control of my world and no one can tear it asunder.

The Scotch tastes like honey going down. I clink the ice in the tumbler as I hold it up to the soft light in the room. Golds and bronzes, ambers and mahoganies glint in the many facets of the cut glass. The fire crackles in the background but there is little else to distract the mind. Heat. Warmth. The flicker of a candle.

It’s not been lit to set a romantic scene. Tonight is not about romance. That may come. Or not. Tonight is a performance we’ll both have to play. And the candle is a prop, nothing more. The fireplace a tool to make her comfortable. It’s not particularly cold in Auckland, but this house is old. Insulation could have been better.

But in here she’ll not think of the cool night air. Nor the seasonal wind that buffers the window. The world outside this room ceases to exist when she walks through that door. For her it will be an escape. Turning her back on whatever it is that she runs from. Opens herself to whatever it is I can give her.

And I can give her a lot. Freedom in the form of surrender. Unending pleasure in the form of controlled release.

They give up their bodies for a moment in time free of everything but this.

My eyes find the clock on the mantel, an old carriage clock that belonged to my father. It’s two minutes fast. No matter what I do, no matter how often or not I wind it, it is always two minutes fast. I don’t mind. You’d think I would. But punctuality is essential in my world. If she arrives on time, the clock on the mantle will already read two minutes too late. If she arrives early, I’ll keep her.

I take another measured sip of whisky and feel the burn as it coats the back of my tongue. I shift in my seat with an unusual amount of anticipation. I haven’t met this woman before but I’m told she’s perfect for me.

I don’t believe in perfection anymore, even though I aim to attain it. Too many have let me down in the past. Too many have fallen short when they should have succeeded. I force my mind not to dwell on the past; I keep it locked away, but tonight it threatens to escape the confines of my carefully built filing cabinet.

My eyes land on my desk. It’s clear of the case files I brought home and the memo I was drafting. Even the laptop has been stored securely in a locked drawer beneath. Just one single item sits in the centre of the dark wood. Glinting like the Scotch in its crystal glass.

I smile. I have no expectations but when they see the chain they try harder. I admit to myself I’m looking forward to her trying harder.

The doorbell rings, two deep, full sounding gongs. Most unlike what you’d think a weatherboard house would have. But this is an old house. A big house. When my father built it, it had been sitting on several flowing acres. Not anymore, but the beauty is still retained in the detailed fretwork, the moulded plaster ceilings, and deep set skirting boards. She is a grand old lady.

I place the whisky down on a side table, and move to my feet in a smooth glide. I know how strong I am. I know how fit I am, how long I can keep going without needing a break. I’ve honed my body to meet the demands of the lifestyle I live. And that does not just include my profession. Which, unfortunately, is spent more behind a desk now than in front of it.

I see her silhouetted behind the stained glass in the door. I have no idea what she will look like. Only what she won’t look like. That is essential. Jason would never have sent her to me if she didn’t meet that most basic of rules. I pause taking in her willowy frame, the indistinct features of her person. Once I open that door the fantasy of her potential will be over.

Am I ready?

I think I’ve been ready for a while. My usual pursuits have not sustained me.

I reach forward and turn the handle, pulling the door wide and catching my first glimpse of her.

Her dark head of hair is bowed, eyes to the floor, hands clasped loosely in front of her body. She’s tall. But at well over six feet, I still tower above her. Her hair is short. I usually prefer it long; the one concession to history. I can’t tell what style it’s in, but her nails are painted, her clothes of a high quality, and her handbag a fashion brand-name that speaks of class rather than show.

She is exquisite and I haven’t even seen her face, her eyes, yet.

She waits patiently with a type of grace that does wild things to me. She says nothing, does nothing, but waits. I could leave her here, shut the door, and know she’d still be standing outside my house until I told her otherwise. I know this, as easily as I know that she’s turned on right now.

“Haydee,” I say, my voice deeper than normal. It’s the voice I reserve for just this. “Come in.”

She steps towards me, her face still tipped down to the floor, and brushes past in a sweet cloud of vanilla and rose petals. It’s not as overpowering as I would have thought. Subtle. Like her breathing. Measured like her graceful steps. Controlled like her still tipped down head.

I feel something I haven’t felt for a while. Hope.

Will she break the pattern?

I quickly quash that thought and close the door behind her, then walk past and into my office, which is directly off the main hall. The rest of the house is lit up; an invitation to explore she won’t accept unless I tell her to. The lure is in the potential, which I will deny her tonight. She will see my entrance hall floor and the inside of my office. And that is it.

I sit down in my chair and pick up my Scotch, taking a sip and staring at the doorway. It’s empty. My pulse spikes.

“You may enter,” I say into my glass.

Soft footfalls sound out on the polished wooden floors and then she rounds the doorway and steps across the threshold.

She’s here now. There’s no backing out. It’s as good as a contract. She knows it and I know it. And yet neither of us have said yes.

Mid-thirties, at a guess. Jason hadn’t said. Age is irrelevant in our lifestyle. Of course, consenting age is a given and I refuse to consider anyone as young as Lara. But mid-thirties is pushing it. The night just took on a shade of regret.

“You may lift your head,” I say, placing my glass on the table beside me and resting my hands on the arms of my chair.

Her eyes are brown, a deep chocolate that looks like it melted. Her face has a natural tan and her hair is cut like a pixie. I like it. But fuck! She’s young.

Her gaze lands on the chain on the desk and skip off it. Not too quickly. Not too slowly. Just right. She’s seen it. She’s noted its significance. She’s moved on.

Will she move on so quickly after tonight?

She hasn’t looked at me yet. She’s taking in the books on the shelves, I even think she recognises a few of them. She’s spotted Lara’s brass monkey figurine. See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Why my daughter left it behind, I don’t know. Maybe it was a message.

Clearly one I couldn’t ignore because I’d moved it from her bedroom and placed it in here.

I suddenly wish I hadn’t.

Haydee’s eyes finally rest on me. There’s a soft curve to her lush lips that brings to mind an erotic image of her on her knees. I wonder what sounds she’d make with that mouth. I wonder what she tastes like.

“Have you done this before?” I ask. Such an easy question to trip them up on.

She nods her head once. It’s slow and purposeful and executed with infinite grace.

This woman is better than expected.

“Tonight is an audition, if you will,” I say. “For both of us. If at the end of the evening you are not satisfied and have no wish to continue, you may walk out the door with no regrets. Likewise, if at the end of our evening I am not convinced you’ll meet my requirements, I shall ask you to leave. No regrets. If we both agree to explore this further then you may take the chain.”

Her eyes flick to the length of delicate emerald and diamond studded platinum chain in that instant. She immediately looks at the floor realising her mistake.

Sweet woman. I’ll let her have that one.

I stand up from my chair and walk toward her. Her head remains tipped down. I walk around her body, taking in the straight elegant slope of her back, the long line of her neck, and the soft curves of her hips under the silk dress she’s wearing. I wonder what she has on underneath it. I stop my perusal standing directly in front of her and place one finger under her chin.

Her face comes up with the minute amount of pressure I execute, until she’s looking at the ceiling and tipped her head in just the right way to bare her throat.

Her invitation is greatly accepted.

I run my tongue up the side of her neck, feeling her pulse beat wildly under that beautiful, delicate skin. My lips press to her ear, hot breath washing down moist skin. She shudders.

“I wonder what turns you on, sweet Haydee,” I muse. “Would you like dinners and dancing? Being showed off while you wear what’s mine? Or do you like dark corners and sinful deeds? Hot bodies, and eager limbs, a litany of dirty words slipping over your skin?”

She moans. It’s soft, barely there. So well controlled. She’ll give if I give. And she’s just told me without words what she likes.

“I’m going to taste you,” I whisper, moving my lips across her cheek, bypassing her mouth, and then down the other side. “I’m going to lick you until you scream. Will you scream, Haydee? If I suck on your clit? If I stroke your pussy and fuck you with my mouth? Will… you… scream?”

She nods her head, still looking up at the ceiling, even though I’ve moved my finger from under her chin.

“Sweet Haydee,” I say with genuine pleasure. “Take the dress off and lie back on the desk.”

I move to the fire and stoke it, my back to her, my eyes for the flames. I rest my hand along the mantel and stare into the orange glow, allowing myself to get hypnotised by the flickering light. The heat warms my hands and lips, as I hear the sound of silky fabric slithering to the floor.

I’m hard for this woman who hasn’t said a word. I’m aching to sink myself inside her and lose all sense of time. My clothes feel too restrictive; I envy her freedom right now. But I don’t loosen my tie. I don’t adjust the erection that is pressing painfully against my belt buckle.

I turn around and find a goddess lying back across my desk, surrounded by emeralds and diamonds.

“Feet on the desk,” I say, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly. “Wider.” She obeys. No hesitation. No annoying efforts to hide herself. In this she is mine. Completely.

She’s experienced, I can tell. And for a moment I am jealous of whomever trained her. I should thank them. This night is shaping up to be the most entertaining I’ve had in a very long, long time. But that curl of emotion digs deep. This exquisite creature needs to be mine. And mine alone.

I move to the edge of the desk and run a finger down between her breasts; they are small, like she is small. Easily fit inside my palm, my mouth. My finger dips into her belly button, she’s wearing a belly ring. I’m amused to note it matches my chain.

I reach over and lift the chain off the desk from beside her. Her eyes meet mine. It’s too early to be offering her this gift, but that’s not why I’ve picked it up.

“Hands down by your ankles,” I whisper.

Her responding smile is like a thousand lit fireworks exploding in the sky. She wraps a delicate hand around an equally delicate ankle and repeats it on the other side.

I take the chain and drape it over her wrist, then wind it around her ankle, draping the length of it across her pubic bone to the other side. I repeat the motion, securing her hand to her ankle on this side, until I’m satisfied she can’t escape. The notion of her imprisonment pleases me.

“This will hurt if you move against them,” I say. “The jewels are hard against flesh.”

And oh, what flesh. Dark skin, the pale silver of the platinum chain, the brilliant green and sparkling white of the gems contrasting strikingly against it. I have a sudden desire to bathe her in jewels. Which is ridiculous, I don’t shower my pets with gifts. The chain is more than enough.

“Are you wet?” I ask. She nods her head, then bites her lip seductively. I shake mine and tsk her. “What do you want, Haydee?”

She makes a sound. It’s unintelligible.

“You may talk.” It’s an unusual request and we both know it. For a moment I hold my breath. My bizarre need to hear her voice, to hear what she sounds like when she talks, has taken me by surprise.

Haydee recovers better than me.

“You, Master. I want your lips, your tongue, your teeth, and your fingers. I want them on me.”

Sweet Jesus, this woman is beautiful.

“Where?” I demand. I swallow my reaction and say in a controlled voice, “Where do you want my touch?”

“Between my legs,” she whispers in that soft lilt that almost makes me come.

“On your cunt?” I stress the last word. If she likes it dirty, I’ll give it to her fucking dirty. I’m a little worried I may give this woman anything she desires.

“Yes,” she says. “On my cunt.”

I’m on my knees in the next breath, but I don’t give her what she asks for immediately. I kiss the inside of her thigh, follow that up with a soft nuzzle at the crease where leg meets pelvis, pressing the chain and its jewels into her flesh gently.

Her hips rock. I smell her arousal. Her fingers clench around her ankles, but she doesn’t attempt to move them from their posts. I blow against her swollen flesh, watch mesmerised as her back arches and moisture pools between her thighs.

I want to taste her. I want to drink her down and wash in her desire. I have never wanted anything quite so much.

The first stroke of my tongue is light, a feather kiss that promises so much more. She moans, moves her hands instinctively, making the chain dig into her flesh, which elicits a little gasp.

“Easy,” I murmured against her swollen folds. She tastes of honey; a nectar so sweet I already crave more.

My tongue circles her clit and she rocks against me. The movement makes the chain dig in, but she doesn’t stop. I tease her with long flicks, then mix it up with swirls and a flat stroke of my entire tongue up her centre, licking her out.

Her moan is music. Her gasps when the chain creases her flesh is a symphony to my ears.

I lick and stroke and then suck when she least expects it. My tongue delving in as deep as I can go, and then back out to flick lightly against her engorged clit. She wants more. She’s desperate for it. But she won’t speak again because she knows my earlier transgression will not be repeated. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Pets don’t speak, they scream.

Her orgasm is a thing of beauty. I thrust two fingers inside her tight pussy and flick them mercilessly against her G-spot making the orgasm become a tsunami. My teeth fasten on her clit and bite, sending her to another dimension she may not have had the pleasure before to find.

She’s panting and writhing and vocal in a way that I usually only ever allow them to be. And while she recovers I unwind the the chain, relishing the indentations of the tiny jewels dotted over her perfect skin, and let it pool beside her head on the desk.

I lean over her, still dressed in my dinner suit, her naked body a delicious invitation beneath my chest. I could take her. She would let me. But standards have to be set. Rules established. I let my lips brush hers in a barely there kiss of appreciation and then lift up and away, moving to my chair.

The whisky hides her taste. I immediately regret taking a sip, but I don’t place the drink on the table at my side. I hold it, as though nursing it, aware my hands are shaking slightly and my control is borderline.

“Dress,” I whisper, my voice too loud for the silence of the room. Moments ago Haydee was singing, and now the fire is all the sound I hear.

No, that’s not true. I hear the beat of my heart.

Seconds later, maybe minutes, I’m not sure, she appears at my side and sinks to the floor at my knee. Her face is tipped down, cheeks flushed, lips open as she breaths in my cologne. I’m so hard I can barely think.

My hand comes out and I run my fingers through her silky short dark hair. I want this woman to stay. I have to send her away.

“You did well,” I say, my voice back to normal volume. It fills the room up and threatens to break the glass in the windows. “Your answer?”

She looks up at me, confusion in her so expressive eyes. I like that. She says so much with just one simple look. Her head tilts to the side, that long graceful length of her neck on display again. I want to touch it. Then her eyes stray to my arousal and she tips her head back, exposing her throat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say. She nods.

It takes everything in me to stand up from the chair. To move away from the compliant, submissive woman who has placed herself at my feet, in my care. But I need control. If I take her tonight, I will surely lose it.

And… I don’t want to lose Haydee.

“The chain is yours,” I say crossing to the door. I don’t look back. “There is a key to the front door on the hall table. I’ll expect you waiting here in my office tomorrow night at ten. Your position is the one we just trialled on the desk.”

Then I force myself to walk out of the room and down the hallway into the kitchen. A second glass of Scotch is already sitting there poured. I’ve never had to use it before this evening. By the time the velvet liquid has flowed down my throat she’s walking through the front door.

She didn’t even hesitate.

I hear the door click close and shut my eyes. My heart is thundering inside my chest. My cock is throbbing in my pants. I feel shaken to my very core.

I try not to, but I end up walking faster than strictly necessary, flicking my eyes over the hall table, but unable to see the key from the angle I’m at right now.

I move into my office and stand there for a full minute, staring at the desk.

The chain is gone.

I let out a breath. And then I’m smiling as I saunter back out into the hall.

The key is also missing, but in its place is something else.

My smile falls. This isn’t part of the game.

I reach forward and pick the small folded piece of card up. It’s exquisite, like her. And on it are two words that make my mind spin and my heart miss a beat, because no one has ever said them to me before.

Thank you.

There is no way I’m not keeping this woman.

Chapter 2

“Do we need to have another talk?”

I’m out of sorts. I know it. Haydee is coming tonight and I can think of little else. I can’t work. I can’t answer the phone. I can’t function. It’s been a long time since I was this close to losing control.

I need a distraction. I need to take back control. There are two ways to achieve it. I know this. They’ve worked for me in the past. I throw myself into work and not go home. Not see my pet.

Or I go to the club and drown myself in an indulgence. Test my resolve. Just a few hours should do it. Because already I know I will not miss Haydee’s visit. Already I know she is my drug, my indulgence, of choice.

It’s too soon. There’s too many ways this could go wrong. We haven’t even established a routine. But my mind craves her. My cock is hard for her. I’m losing my mind with the images of her on my desk. Wrapped up in my chain.

Will she wear it tonight?

Of course she will. They all do. But something tells me Haydee wearing my chain will be different. I’m not sure why, and I’m tempted to phone Jason and ask the thousand questions clattering for prominence inside my mind. Where did he find her? Where did she come from? Why does she choose this lifestyle?

I’ve never asked before. I’ve never been moved enough to consider asking. And even now, I know I will keep my silence, because silence is control. And I must have it.

I didn’t choose this lifestyle. It chose me. I didn’t wake up one day and decide dating was an inconvenience I couldn’t suffer. I didn’t give up on relationships or marriage or a partnership where the television becomes the central conduit of our lives.

It all gave up on me.

I turn away from my desk, suddenly unable to breathe. My eyes stare at nothing, but I know what it is I should be seeing. The road outside my office. Police cars coming and going from the station carpark. I don’t see it, because all I see is her.

Why now? Why Haydee? What has this woman got that has made my past come crashing back in uninvited?

My phone rings on the desk behind me. I ignore it.

Several seconds later there’s a soft knock at my door.

“Superintendent?” Christine asks, her mousy voice an irritant I can do without right now.

“What is it?” I say, not turning around to face her. I can see the street now. At least Christine’s interruption has banished unwanted memories from my mind.

“A call from the assistant commissioner, sir. Shall I take a message?”

There are many people I can ignore should they phone me. But not Jason. Sometimes I wonder if he reads minds. How did he know to phone me right now?

“I’ll take it,” I say, turning back to my desk. “Line two?”

“Yes, sir,” she says, and ducks out of the room before I make eye contact. She’s new, and completely submissive. Strangely not once have I considered her as a pet.

“Jason,” I say into the hand-piece as I settle myself back into my chair.

“I thought I’d hear from you first thing,” he says in way of greeting. “I send such an exquisite package to your door and you don’t even thank me?”

My free hand fists on the blotter-pad on top of my desk. An unexpected rush of jealousy laden adrenaline fuels my system. How well does he know Haydee?

“Where did you find her?” I ask instead of the accusations that taunt me.

“She’s just returned home from overseas,” he says. “Ten years in London doing an extended OE.”

“And she just happened to walk into our world?”

“Oh, no. She came with references.”

I want to ask. I don’t want to know. Confusion is a foreign emotion for me.

“The Inferno?” I say, voice devoid of any emotion at all.

“She visited Sweet Hell and David Gordon found her. He had high hopes she’d agree to a session in the Irreverent Inferno, but she politely declined.”

“Politely declined?” Not many subs turned down an opportunity to enter an exclusive sex club.

“Something about David turned her off.” That wasn’t surprising. But still…

“And your connection to her?”

“I was there when she did it. I’m not sure what’s she after, you’ll have to discover that for yourself, but there was something about her poise that made me think of you. I approached her after David got distracted with someone else, and asked if she’d be interested in a more formal arrangement with an experienced Dom.”

“She obviously said yes,” I guess.

“She said she was open to an invitation.”

“I see.”

“I gather the invitation was accepted?” He’s fishing. He isn’t sure if she’s agreed to be my sub or not.

“I thought she might have been more experienced than that, you should have warned me,” I offer.

“She wasn’t suitable? I got the impression she’d be perfect for you. It’s been too long since you’ve had a regular pet.”

“No, she was lovely,” I counter. “But you know my requirements. Did you even warn the girl?”

“She seemed happy for a trial. I thought you could iron out the details together.”

“Jason,” I say in warning.

“No, Ethan. It’s time.”

“It’s never been time. And it never will be. Especially if you set me up like this.”

“It’s for your own good,” he presses, the words carefully spoken.

I turn my chair until I’m staring out the window at the clouds as they scuttle across the sky. Jason has never done anything like this before. He’s always approved of how I handle my pets. He’s never passed judgement or interfered. Often he refers someone to me. I’d thought Haydee had been vetted as had those prior to her.

“Are you seeing her again?” he asks.

“I’m not sure now.”

“But you’ve arranged for her to return?” he pushes. “Did she at least take the chain, Ethan?”

I sigh. He won’t have heard it. It is merely a bodily function that helps to calm. It’s not for effect.

“She took the chain,” I reply, not mentioning the card she left in place of the house key. That would confirm Jason has made a mistake. And even though I am angry with the outcome, I can’t seem to make myself confirm my disquiet with those words.

“Well, then. It seems you’ve got off to a promising start,” he remarks. “So, no harm, no foul.”

Oh, there’s harm been done. There is definitely a foul. And he knows it. But for now I hold my tongue.

“I have to go,” I say, getting ready to end this.

“She could be good for you, Ethan,” he has to add. As if I am incapable of finding my own happiness.

“And you’re so sure of this?”

“I know you,” he says. “I know you’ve not been happy with your usual pursuits. It’s time for a change.”

This is worrisome news. How many others in our world have picked up the clues to my unease? I had thought I had hidden it well. From everyone. Including me.

A sense of burgeoning agitation seeps into my frame. I shift in my seat. I flex my fingers. Stretch my neck.

“Will you stop by the club on the way home?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, because not to go now is impossible. Jason thinks he can manipulate everyone. Place them where he needs them on his perpetually evolving chessboard. He is the King, I am a knight. And I fear he’s just set me up with his Queen.

There is something about Haydee that has caught my friend’s eye. If David Gordon’s initial reaction is anything to go by, she’s caught more than just Jason’s attention too. Gordon is not one for abstinence of any degree. But Jason thrives on it. I am not concerned about his intimate interest in Haydee, more concerned about his ulterior motives to this partnership he has devised.

Jason is planning something, and playing directly into his hands would give him too much power. For now, I must show only mild interest, while I work out what it is he is after.

As for Gordon. He needs to know Haydee was not all she had appeared to be.

It wouldn’t hurt to discover if any others had spotted her at Sweet Hell, as well. So a visit on the way home is now essential.

I end the call and move to my door, peering around the edge at my secretary.

“That’ll be all for today, Christine,” I say, making her jump an inch off her seat.

“Y…yes, sir,” she stammers, flushing delightfully when she notices my attention. I make her nervous. I make many people nervous. But Christine’s is sexually motivated. She’s attracted to me, and trying to hide it. It would be so easy to help her test her limits. To stretch her boundaries and give her pleasure through strict controls.

At any other time, I would be tempted. Even if she is my secretary. But the desire to train a new pet is all but gone. Haydee had performed brilliantly. Educated in our way of life or not, she had been a natural.

And it is that which those like me have already seen.

The urge to protect her rises. It is not unfamiliar. At my most basic, my need to protect is overwhelming. My need to protect Haydee from the Irreverent Inferno members is now paramount in my mind. The fact that Jason is already more than aware of her sits uneasily. But David Gordon’s interest just compounds my desire.

I shut my office door and move to my en-suite. Being Superintendent of South Auckland Police has its advantages. My secretary for one. And my own personal bathroom for another.

I keep a dinner suit and shirt here at all times, should the need to take a detour on the way home arise. It wouldn’t take long to drive to Redoubt Road, where my house sits, but once I cross that threshold I know I will have difficulty leaving again. All I really want is to see Haydee. But needs must.

I make my way to my car in the rear parking lot, passing a few officers I know by name and some I just know by look alone. None comment on my attire. I often attend functions after hours, seeing me in a dinner suit is not uncommon. The drive to the city centre takes more than an hour. Rush hour is officially over, but tell that to the southern motorway. It gives me time to contemplate my next move.

It is obvious to me that the complicated and twisted pathways of the lifestyle I lead is as much an attraction as the immediate rewards. But all I seem to be able to think about at the moment are those rewards. I force myself to address the reason why I am going out of my way to show my face in a place I have quickly become dissatisfied with. How this will play out I don’t yet know. But still I pull my vehicle around the rear of the Sweet Hell building on Karangahape Road, and park it in the members only carpark by the Irreverent Inferno part of the business itself.

A Lexus, a Jaguar and Rolls Royce make up the vehicles already in attendance. It’s early for Sweet Hell, but that doesn’t stop the post work swing-by for the most debauched amongst us.

I recognise David Gordon’s Lexus. The other two cars belong to the owners themselves. There will be more inside the venue than is represented here. Only those who are Irreverent Inferno members have access to this carpark. But Sweet Hell boasts a much larger clientele than just that.

I lock the vehicle and cross to the rear door. Privacy is essential, and walking around to the front entrance would be ill advised. The door opens before I reach it, a security guard acknowledges me with a stiff nod of his head and indicates the book where I must sign in. It is housed in a locked box that only Inferno members know the combination to.

I enter the code and then sign my name. I don’t look back at the guard as the box closes and locks behind me, and I head through the internal doors towards Sweet Hell. There is no scheduled Irreverent Inferno scene set for tonight, so the chamber in which those are carried out in would be abandoned.

Not so with Sweet Hell.

The sound of low, sultry music hits me first, followed swiftly by the rattle of die and the sound of a croupier calling “Last bets!” Smoke fills the room, making for a heady combination of tobacco and rich spices. Someone is smoking a cigar over by the bar, but the scent I identify is not from the Cuban. Ice clinks in glasses, low murmurs fill up the empty spaces, the odd delicate laugh sounding out as a light accompaniment to the more bass sound of the gentlemen in attendance.

One sweep of my gaze and I know there is sixteen people in the room. Including two guards. Not a large turn out, but enough to send a message to Jason and anyone else who happens to care.

I move towards my favourite table, taking a seat beside David Gordon and someone I have not yet met. To David’s side sits one of only three females in the entire room. Their inferior numbers an essential part of Sweet Hell’s micro-balance. Too many, and the desire to pursue would be snuffed out. Too little and the competition would be performed by only a select few amongst us.

I’ve never had to fight too hard for my conquests. Perhaps that has been what has made everything seem dull of late.

Yet Haydee does not seem dull. Despite her easy acquiescence. There is something mesmerising about her self-confidence. About her graceful acceptance of surrender. About the way she moves. The way she watches. Even with her head tipped down and her eyes hidden behind long lashes, Haydee is aware. There is nothing complacent about her.

Compliant. Submissive. Certainly she is all of those. But she is also so much more and I realise I am eager to find out what. What makes her tick? What takes her interest? What do I have to do to challenge her? Surprise her?

Because she has already surprised me. My reaction to her notwithstanding.

“Keen,” David Gordon says in greeting. “Good to see you, old man.”

I nod my head and place a bet on the table, all the while taking in the scene Gordon has set. Samantha hangs off his left arm, her gaze on me and not her chosen partner. It is the first time I have seen her show interest in the man. He’s her boss, out in the real world. She’d always said she wouldn’t go there.

But David can be persuasive. His ability to charm the pants of anything that moves is renown in our circles.

Samantha offers me a coy smile, that I know is false in every single way. There is nothing shy about this woman. She steals pleasure as easily as she breathes. And her increasing interest in me right now offers the perfect solution on every level.

I win my hand, and play the next without speaking. I don’t look back at Samantha, knowing her eyes are still on me. She may have chosen her conquest for the night, but she is still keeping her options open. Gordon, for his part, appears oblivious to her wondering gaze. He runs a hand up the back of her dress, baring her garter belt for all to see. No one looks twice. It is not an unusual occurrence at Sweet Hell to be on display such as this woman is now.

And she thrives on it. Her lips parted in a soft exhale of desire. Her eyes darkening when they meet mine. It might be Gordon’s hand under her clothes, against her skin, but it’s me she’s picturing doing it.

Three more rounds and Gordon is ready to leave.

He looks up at Samantha as she perches on the edge of his seat, and offers her a calculating smile.

It is time to play my final hand.

“It’s been a while, Samantha,” I say, giving her the opening she’s been waiting for.

“I’ve been here all along, Ethan,” she offers.

“I must have missed you.”

“You weren’t looking,” she counters, hitting too close to the truth for my current plans.

“I’m looking now,” I say and Gordon turns an incredulous arched brow towards me.

“I heard you had your hands full already, Keen,” he barks, garnering the attention of several people at nearby tables.

“I can handle more than one pet at a time.”

Samantha preens. I have never offered her the position. My words just now seal the deal.

She stands up from her semi-seated place at Gordon’s side and walks towards my seat.

I place the hand I was about to play down on the table and turn my body slightly toward her.

“One for old time’s sake?” she says, seductively.

I feel nothing, and that’s the moment I realise Jason was correct.

But if I have any chance of downplaying Haydee’s significance, to both Jason and David Gordon sitting at my side right now, then I have to do this. Appearances are essential, even if the outcome ends up being entirely something else.

Samantha’s hand comes out and she runs long fingers through my hair, her left leg moving to between my knees, as she positions herself over my right thigh. I reach up and wrap my hand around the nape of her neck. I know my face will be impassive. My emotions closed off. My body, in contrast, will look relaxed and inviting.

I grip her hair and pull her down. But not to sit on my thigh. Not to bring her face in line with mine for a possessive kiss. I force her to her knees and look down at her with only mild interest. She is panting, flushed, aroused and ready for anything I decree.

“Well, I can see where this is going,” Gordon says in what has to be a huff from beside us.

Neither of us look towards him when he speaks. In this moment Samantha is mine. In this moment she is all I should be interested in. Her care, her surrender, her pleasure should be paramount on my mind. Yet all I can think is how far do I need to take this? How much do I need to show the men in this room to make them believe?

“You could at least share, Keen,” he continues, in what appears a pleasant tone of voice. He’ll be pissed off. But he’s hiding it well. Control is our master. David Gordon is as subject to it as I. “If not this pet, then the other.”

Anger rushes through me. So swift and consuming. It takes a moment for me to realise I’ve stopped breathing. My reaction is out of place and very not wanted. I know nothing about Haydee. Except that she has taken my chain.

I’ve shared pets in the past, but not always. It is not a given. But I already know, Haydee will not be one I can give up so carelessly. Even if that is what she needs from me.

I reach down and grasp Samantha’s hand, then bring it to my crotch. I’m not even remotely erect. She’ll be confused when she realises I’m not turned on yet. But stimulation can be achieved most perfunctorily. My job is to look after her needs. Hers is to get me ready to service them.

She smiles, ignoring the obvious, accepting the challenge, and begins to palm me through my trousers.

“Not interested in sharing?” Gordon asks, watching on with clear enjoyment as Samantha succeeds in her skilled efforts.

“I never share what I haven’t fully tested myself,” I offer.

“And you’ve tested Samantha?” Gordon counters.

I smile, my eyes still on the woman between my knees. “Frequently,” I say.

“And this new one? When shall we expect her to be set free?”

“I’ll let you know,” I say absently, pulling Samantha up by her hand and leading her towards the private back rooms.

The minute the door closes at our backs, she’s on her knees, undoing my belt and pulling the zip down on my trousers. Her hand slips inside and grips my cock; it’s still at half mast, but that doesn’t deter her.

I reach down and grip her hair tightly, pulling her face away from my crotch before she makes contact with her lips. I’ve been here before with this woman. I’ve done more than any man could imagine to her body. She thrives on sexual exhibitionism, something I have toyed with, but not mastered. And yet, she has been more than happy to seek her pleasure behind closed doors with me as well.

“Ethan?” she queries.

“Not a word,” I whisper.

She smiles, thinking it’s all part of the game.

“I’m surprised to see you with Gordon,” I say. She offers a shrug of her delicate shoulder, pulling purposefully against my hold. It has to hurt. “I’m disappointed,” I say, gripping tighter.

She lets out a mewl of distress, but ruins the effect by moaning immediately afterwards.

“Do we need to have another talk?”

Chapter 3

“Salutem.”

I have a responsibility. Anyone who chooses my lifestyle does. We take it seriously. Without that trust, without that commitment, we would fail and word would get out. Our reputations are important. I wonder, as I lead the woman before me across the room to the large four poster bed, if Haydee had heard of me beforehand. Is that why she agreed to a trial invitation when Jason suggested it? Had she heard of my reputation and gone from there?

That is the only reason why I go through with what I’m doing. Because I am a man of my word. And those who seek my company are aware of it.

Samantha is nothing more than a pawn in our games tonight. But that does not mean she mustn’t be taken care of.

I leave her standing by the dominant feature in the room and move to pull out a chair, that sits innocuously in the corner by a faux fireplace, and shift it to the centre of the room. The scrape of its feet on the wooden floor is purposeful. I position it so it faces the end of the large bed, then unbutton my jacket slowly, slipping it off my shoulders and draping it over the partner chair in the corner. I walk back to the centre of the room and my waiting throne leisurely, and then take a seat. Making myself comfortable, I lean back, legs parted, hands resting on my thighs.

She is already trembling with anticipation. If I checked, I’d find her sopping wet.

“You promised you wouldn’t accept Gordon’s offers,” I say, pulling out a cigar and clipping the end nonchalantly.

Samantha lowers her head demurely - an act and nothing else - her body shuddering, her hips rolling, she knows what comes next and she’s already envisaging her part in it.

I light the Cohiba and let the rich flavour coat my tongue, on the exhale I nod towards her dress. Nothing needs to be said, the implied is in the setting, in the anticipation hanging on the air. Samantha does well with an audience. Tonight her audience will be just one, but that does not mean she won’t get what she needs.

The desire to move this along swiftly has me inhaling another mouthful of smoke; I don’t even savour the taste before I exhale. I purposely lower the cigar and watch as Samantha performs her striptease. She’s in the zone now, fully participating. Excitement pebbles her nipples, her chest rising and falling with fluttering breaths.

She stands before me in nothing but her high heels, stockings and white lace garters; the brightness of the garter contrasts with her even tan. Her body is honed to perfection, curved where it needs to be curved, flat where it needs to be flat. I lift up my cigar and blow on the tip; the dismissal would be like a sharp slap.

“He is your boss, Samantha,” I say, taking another mouthful of smoke between my lips. I make sure to savour the flavour before I look back up at her again.

I nod towards the bed. She moves with a type of fluidity that should speak to me, but somehow it is lost amongst the smoke that hovers before my eyes. My heart is not in it, I realise, even if my body proves me a liar.

She doesn’t need further instruction. Lying back on the bed, her head towards the top and feet towards me at the bottom, she moves her heels apart, knees bent, and lets me take my fill. Her hands lie palms flat at her sides; waiting.

Her breasts rise and fall with the eagerness of each inhale and exhale of oxygen. A fine sheen of perspiration adorns her dark flesh. She’s weeping, her folds moist and swollen. Desperate for stimulation, but already a soft breath away from climax. I say nothing for several long moments, enjoying my cigar, enjoying the view, telling myself I’m enjoying the moment of absolute control over this woman.

Another lie.

“One hand,” I say, puffing out a plume of bluish-grey smoke. “Two fingers. Inside.”

She obeys to the letter and I feel myself swell involuntarily inside my pants. This type of control is usually heady. Her reaction one I consider pure beauty. Perhaps in this moment one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

No. The persistent memory of a goddess spread out for my taking on my desktop is perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

Still, I tell myself, there’s no denying the draw I feel towards Samantha in this moment. The complete surrender she offers, the trust she gives, the acceptance of my dominion over her.

But I just can’t envisage anything more with her tonight than this.

“Good girl,” I say encouragingly, the smoke from my cigar rising in hypnotic twirls to my side as I murmur the words.

She writhes, bringing my attention back to her body. Her lips part, her fingers pumping, moisture dribbling down her inner thighs and pooling on the bedspread.

“Stop,” I say.

She whimpers. Her movements cease, her fingers buried inside her wet and wanting cunt.

“Your boss,” I add, casually. “We’ve discussed this.” And we have. Samantha is one of the few women I have taken who I have allowed to talk. But then, I never took her as a pet. She would make a very poor pet. But as a distraction she has proved perfect in the past. “How will this play out at work, do you think?” I ask

She doesn’t answer. She knows better. In this she does perform well as a pet.

I shift in my seat, letting her know from the sound alone that I am still watching her. She lifts her head up off the bedspread to see my face; in the movement her fingers thrust further inside. She thinks I won’t notice.

“Remove your hand,” I order, flexing the fingers on my thigh, bringing her attention to my erection. Her eyelids close, her head tips back and her lips part, and I can’t help but be taken in a little by the sight of a woman on the cusp of orgasm.

Samantha is so easy to lead to this moment.

“He’ll demand more and more,” I say conversationally. “You’ll suddenly find your role at work held over your head,” I add, well aware of how men like David Gordon behave. “You’ll get your pleasure, but at the consequence of your job.”

She shakes her head. Her fingers clenching at her sides, her hips rocking, her centre weeping, begging for a touch.

Not yet.

“He’ll pass you over for someone else,” I say, stopping to inhale the Cohiba. “He’ll be determined not to show you favouritism, or questions will be asked. But he won’t be able to stop seeking you out whilst at work. The game will become one sided,” I add. “His conquest, his control over your body. But the payoff will be your promotions. Your bonus reviews. He’ll even vet your clients. Anything to stop it getting out.”

She’s still now, my words making it through the fog of arousal. I almost feel sorry for her. Enough to give her what she needs.

“One finger. On your clit.”

Her body shudders at the instruction, her hand moving in lightning swiftness to offer relief.

“I am very disappointed you have forgotten all of this,” I say, as she starts to pant and moan before me.

“I won’t now, sir,” she promises between little expulsions of air.

I finish the cigar as I watch her climax on the bed. I let her have her audience of one, silent and apart, but as much a participant in this scene as she is. For Samantha the need to be on show is paramount. Her body is her currency. Her orgasms a gift she bestows on those who pay attention and give her what she needs.

And I have been very good at giving her what she needs.

Control. Attention. Recognition.

Her body a musical instrument I have been a master at playing.

Even if, tonight, I only touched her with my voice, with my eyes, with my will. I just hope it has all been worth it.

When I leave I am on edge in a way that I have never been before. It’s nine-thirty, in half an hour Haydee will let herself into my house and place herself up on my desk. I need her. Not just because of what I have had to do at Sweet Hell. I just need her.

And it’s been too many years since I’ve needed anyone.

My cock is straining behind my trousers. I am ashamed that part of this is because I just brought a woman I don’t really want to orgasm by my words, by my direction, alone. I can smell Samantha on my suit, mixed in with the sweet scent of cigar. In the past this wouldn’t have been a problem. I took care of a sub in my care. I made sure she received what she needed. And in the process I protected her from a predator like David Gordon. Samantha is an experienced submissive, but even she would have been eaten alive by the likes of him.

I should feel elated. I have performed as my responsibilities insist. And yet I can’t wait to bury the memory of tonight in a mental locked drawer. I can’t wait to get home and shower her scent off me. I can’t wait to dress in something clean and untainted before I walk in that room and take my just reward.

I deserve Haydee, I tell myself. She is mine to take how I wish. But I wonder tonight, if she deserves the likes of me.

It is a novel thought. One that I can’t allow too much time considering. One that I have refused to consider for twenty-five long years.

It doesn’t help that I have two messages from Jason on my cellphone. And that David Gordon’s car was still parked at the rear of Sweet Hell. He’d expected me to come back out into the gaming room. To lord my win over him in front of a crowd. I hadn’t. I’d slipped out the back and run like a coward. Will he question my resolve? Will he think my premature departure was because it had all been an act?

If he questions that, then he’ll question my ambivalence regarding Haydee. And right now, Haydee is all that matters.

I can’t let a man like Gordon near her. Ah, hell. Who am I kidding? I can’t let a man like Jason, a man I semi-trust, near her either.

I’m losing control and my visit to Sweet Hell was meant to rectify that. Instead, as I pull my car around the back of my property with minutes to spare, I feel more out of control than ever.

I cross to the rear entrance and unlock the door, entering the alarm code. Before I do anything, I switch lights on in the hallway and out on the front porch. Then ignite the set fire in the office, making sure the desk is secure and bare. I leave the room with a welcoming glow of firelight and little else.

I’m showering when I hear the alarm beep announcing the front door has been opened. My cock hardens without a single thought. I stare at it, at the soap suds as they sluice off my body. It grows harder as I hear the alarm announce the door has been secured at her back.

She’s downstairs, heading towards the office. And for the first time tonight nothing outside of this house exists.

It’s a type of freedom I seldom experience. It’s a type of quiet acceptance that soothes the soul while it ravages the body, making everything go rock hard. Sweet Hell pales in comparison to this.

I step out of the shower and towel dry off, then dress in worn jeans and a soft t-shirt. I don’t bother to cover my feet and I leave the top button on the jeans open. Already I know I will take her hard. I will make her mine tonight and I will fuck all other men from her memory.

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 have 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.

“Gordon’s out for blood. You pissed him off with that move the other night. Samantha is his in every way that it counts. You overstepped, Ethan. He’s going to make your life a living hell.”

“Gordon doesn’t frighten me,” I offer. “But what is interesting, is your role as messenger. Since when do you let yourself be bullied into doing anything as lowly as pass on warnings?”

He smiles. The skin around his eyes doesn’t crinkle.

“The warning’s mine, not his,” he argues. “I see a change in you, Ethan. I’m not sure if it’s for the better. But I have hope.”

“I don’t need your interference.”

“Then shall I take her back?”

My hand comes out and wraps around his shirt collar before I think better of it.

“You believe threatening me will make a difference?” I hiss.

His eyes dart down to my unforgiving grip of his clothing, then slowly come back up to my face.

This time when he smiles his eyes are surrounded by laugh lines. True humour fanning out from each orbit.

His hand comes down and slaps me on the shoulder. Then he spots something behind me.

“Care for a bit of sport before you go?”

I release his shirt and look in the direction of his gaze. The blonde he’d been eyeing now has a friend. Brunette, dark eyes, long hair, tanned skin. The fact she meets my criteria so perfectly is surprising. The knowing look Jason gives me is alarming.

“Friends of yours?” I ask.

“Come on, Ethan. Wet your whistle before your dinner and show. Nothing better than taking the edge off to keep your pet begging for more. It’ll do you good.”

The offer is at once familiar and also calculating. In a way that lets me know refusing would count against me in whatever this battle is Jason and I are now entwined in. If I accept, and spend a few soulless minutes in a dark corner with Jason and these women, I’ll convince him Haydee is nothing but a potential pet. One of many.

If I refuse, I confirm her significance.

Right now I’m not sure either would be wise, but I have to make a choice.

Jason signals the women and they approach. I’m immediately comparing the brunette’s lack of grace with Haydee’s infinite supply of it. She walks with her head held high and her back straight, but the challenge in her eyes counters her serenity. This woman would spark under careful controlled command. She wouldn’t simmer on low and then slowly burst into heated flames. She’d explode.

An interesting thought, but unusually irrelevant.

I check my watch purposefully, as though I haven’t the time to humour Jason and his perfect match. The women make our sides and the blonde immediately sidles up to Jason, her breasts spilling out of a too tight top. The brunette eyes me speculatively. There is interest there, I just can’t tell if it is engineered because of a deal with my friend.

This is a test. One I am about to fail.

“Well, hello there, ladies,” Jason says in his non dominant voice. He’s testing the waters. Or playing a role to make me think this hasn’t been planned. “My name is Jason and this is Ethan. Are you looking for some fun tonight?”

“Definitely,” the blonde says, allowing Jason’s hands to wander.

“How about we find a secluded corner to get to know each other better?” Jason suggests. The brunette hasn’t stopped eyeing me, but as yet is not as eager as her friend for contact.

“As tempting as this is,” I start.

Jason turns towards me and holds my stare with an impassive one of his own. Nothing further is said, but so much is conveyed in that one steady look.

“An interesting choice,” he finally remarks. “What’s five minutes between friends?”

“I don’t have five minutes to spare,” I counter.

“You may lie to me,” Jason says wrapping an arm around the blonde’s shoulders and moving to do the same to the brunette. “But never to yourself, Ethan.” He starts directing the women away.

I watch, aware I’ve just exposed my underbelly to another dominant, as they make their way to a dark corner in the back of the bar specifically designed for just such entertainment. Jason’s face is already in the crook of the blonde’s neck, teeth scraping skin. While his hand is slipping down the rear of the brunette’s skirt and squeezing her arse.

Both women drape themselves over my friend, clearly ready to party.

I shake my head, dispel the unease I feel at where our friendship is going, and then head out the front of the bar not looking back. I feel eyes on me, but they could just as easily be too busy to care. Once again, Jason is making me see things that may not actually be there.

The drive home is a disconcerting one. David Gordon is not a good enemy to have. I’d been aware of what the potential consequences could have been when I’d chosen to take Samantha from him the other night. But reality is a good leveller. If he seeks retribution, Haydee would be his goal.

I’ve lost my touch. I’m completely acting out of character. In trying to manipulate the game to my advantage I’ve walked right into a trap. Maybe even two. Jason is up to something. Part of me thinks it is purely an intervention, an attempt to get me to feel. But the cynical part of me, too long left to flourish, believes he’s pushing my buttons for an entirely self-motivated reason.

What does he want?

I decide there is no option but to stake my claim on Haydee publicly. To declare her mine and no one else’s. A dark thought occurs to me as I pull my car around the back of my house. Maybe Haydee isn’t interested in exclusivity.

The solution is simple. I won’t give her a choice.

It is within the realms of my role as her master to dictate the rules. Even if doing so fails in my responsibilities in providing her what she desires. The thought her wishes could be counter to mine is chilling.

The realisation that I am spending too long analysing this arrangement is frustrating.

It is in anger that I enter my house.

My first stop is the office where I empty my briefcase and sort through those files that need my immediate attention. Bringing work home is part of my job. If I didn’t, I’d spend every God forsaken hour at the station. There are several items I’ll have to attend to before I return to work tomorrow. And they only crossed my work desk this morning.

Weekends don’t mean close of business for the Police.

I sort the files, slipping those more urgent into the top drawer and then stash my laptop in its locked cupboard beneath the desk The only item left on the table’s surface is a single sheet of paper with a list of words and a mark in the negative column beside each.

I stare at the confirmation of my sexually transmitted disease status and then pick it up and move it to the hall table. It will be the first thing Haydee sees when she enters my house. It is standard procedure to have one done at the start of an arrangement. Mine was executed last week, the day after she first appeared at my door. Depending on our exclusivity agreement, one may need to be carried out weekly.

I have no intention of having to perform another test any time soon.

I turn away from the document and walk upstairs to shower and dress.

The alarm beeping to announce Haydee’s arrival brings me out of a moment where I hadn’t realise I’d been standing staring at a picture of Lara as a child beside my bed. She’s dressed up as Pippi Longstocking, about to attend a birthday party for one of her school friends. She’s eight years old in the photo and looks nothing like herself in the disguise.

That is, of course, why it’s the only picture I have of my daughter in my house. And the fact it is in my bedroom means more than I’ve cared to admit to myself in the past.

I turn my attention to the full length mirror, allowing Haydee enough time to prepare herself for my arrival. I’d given her a measure of control this evening. Her choice whether to be dressed when she kneels or not. It tells me a lot about a pet which option they choose. I have yet to be surprised by their choice.

I have yet to have one still clothed.

I am already hardening as I make my way down the stairs.

I see her before I reach the ground floor. A small figure, on her knees, facing the hallway, back to the door. Her hands rest on her thighs. Her head is bowed in perfect submission. Her short hair hides nothing of the high cheekbones and the slight flush that graces them.

I stop on the bottom most tread and appreciate my prize.

She is not naked.

Nor is she fully dressed.

Haydee has decided to gift me a present. Silk stockings adorn her long legs, attached to dark red garter belts on each thigh. Her underwear is silk and lace, in a luscious deep red colour. It’s a one piece, cinching in her small waist, allowing her breasts to spill out of the half cup brassiere. Her nipples are accessible above the lace line of the decolletage. Both are hardened to impressive peaks. She wears her chain wrapped securely three times around her neck.

This woman has control over me. I would never have guessed that possible. She surprises and my reaction is refreshing. It has been a long time since I last invited surprise into my life.

Shock and devastation made it impossible.

But looking at Haydee now and I wonder if it is time to embrace the delight that can be found in the unexpected.

I take the last step to bring me onto her same level and walk toward her, my shoes announcing my arrival with dull, purposeful thuds on the wooden floor. I realise she’s still wearing her high heels, the long spike of the heel just visible at her butt cheeks as I come to rest a foot before her.

My eyes catch on the hall table to the side. My confirmation letter has been replaced with an almost identical one. The name at the top reads Haydee Elizabeth Armstrong. All the negative boxes have been checked and at the bottom the testing facility has also confirmed the implantation of an intrauterine contraceptive device.

I let a slow breath of air out at the implications. Implications I’ve never considered before. Despite clear bills of health, I have always insisted on using a condom. No condom, no intercourse. But Haydee has offered a first. When will the surprises stop?

My hand shakes as I reach out to stroke her hair. I close my eyes and will the memories to recede. Will the emotions they inevitably bring to disappear. I am shaken by her offer. I am humbled by the fact she would allow me this intimacy.

It shouldn’t change anything, but in our lifestyle, it simply does. It’s a measure of trust that invariably is withheld. We all hold something of ourselves back. It’s human nature. The easiest is to deny your partner that.

Can I move past my own fears for this woman? Do I want to?

I decide now is not the time to answer that. We have still not confirmed exclusivity.

“You look delightful,” I murmur and receive one of those small but somehow blinding smiles. “Good enough to eat,” I add.

She tips her head to the side, exposing her throat. This is Haydee’s “Yes.”

“Stand up, sweet Haydee,” I order. She rises to her feet in a smooth glide that rocks my soul. “Dinner is booked for nine o’clock, then we’re seeing a late showing of an art house movie at ten-thirty,” I advise.

She says nothing, her eyes on my shoes, her breathing measured and relaxed.

Does she like movies? Will she like the Italian restaurant I have booked us into?

“That leaves well over two hours before we are expected anywhere,” I point out. Her chest rises and falls, bringing my attention to her breasts. They look fuller like this. More than a handful, when I know they are just right. Her nipples strain as goosebumps emerge all over her skin.

Just from my gaze and the sound of my voice.

“What shall I do with you, my pet?” I ask. She doesn’t answer. She is perfect in every way.

I reach out and wrap my hand around the chain as it hangs low by her belly. I can see her belly ring through the sheer material of the bodice. I twist my wrist, ensuring she is tied to me, and then turn away and lead her past my office and toward the formal dining room.

Her soft footfalls bely the fact she is wearing heels. I like that she walks so carefully. I like more the look of her wrapped up in such rich colours inside the darkness of the room I bring her to. The polished mahogany dining table is a long oval with lushly upholstered cream chairs spread out around it. The table’s surface is bare, an invitation to place something upon it. A chandelier burns softly from directly above, illuminating the wood and making reflections dance on it as if a mirror.

I turn to Haydee and note she has not looked up. She won’t until I allow it. Has there ever been a more perfect submissive?

“What do you think?” I ask. “Do you like my dining room?”

The invitation is accepted and she brings her head up, eyes scanning the rich woods and dark curtains, and soft light. She glances at the china cabinet, full of things I have no use for but can’t seem to be rid of. She takes in the artwork. Nondescript and not at all noteworthy, but suggestive all the same. I can stare at those paintings for hours, imagining me in them. Imagining the women depicted under my control.

Her eyes land on the chandelier and a puzzled look sweeps over her face. There one minute and gone the next. Her control of her features is astounding. Her intelligence and quick observation skills is impressive.

“Step up,” I say, leading her to a chair that has been pulled out enough to use as a ladder. She puts one high heeled foot on the cushion of the seat and rises up until she towers over me. I direct her onto the shining surface of the dining table with a simple pull on her chain. “Watch yourself,” I say. “The surface can be slippery.”

She nods and steps, heel up so as not to mark the furniture, into the middle of the table. Her reflection in the table’s surface is mesmerising.

“Kneel,” I instruct. She lowers herself gracefully to her knees, hands clasped casually in front of her.

I bring her chain down and unwrap it from my wrist, then proceed to wrap the length of it around both of hers instead. In seconds her hands are bound, the jewels pressing into sensitive flesh.

“Now, Haydee,” I say. “You know if you struggle you will feel the chain dig in to your skin.”

She nods, eyes calm and speculative. Her pulse has sped up at the base of her throat.

“You remember your safeword?” I ask. This is not a rhetorical question. When asked this a submissive must verbalise their response.

“Yes, sir,” she softly whispers. “Salutem,” she says in a husky voice that sends an immediate jolt of awareness to the base of my cock.

“Good girl,” I murmur, standing up on the chair and taking the ends of her chain with me. I raise her hands above her head and loop the chain over the chandelier. If she moves, the light will sway. And shadows will dance all over her body.

“This is reinforced,” I point out. “You can’t pull it down. The worst that can happen is the chain can break your flesh. Do you want that?”

One shake of her head. She enjoys pain in the pursuit of pleasure, but not blood. A soft limit I am more than willing to appease.

I step down and move to the end of the table, pulling out a chair and then grabbing the bottle of Scotch and a waiting glass off a side table, and then sit down. I pour myself a finger of amber liquid and settle back to enjoy my table setting. Dark eyes watch my every move with a type of controlled hunger that speaks to me.

“Now,” I say, the smoothness of the whisky making my voice sound like rich honey. “Tell me about your wildest sexual fantasy.”

She smiles. My cock shoots rock hard.

And then she starts, taking me with her, drawing me in. Stealing my soul.

“It’s under the stars,” she says. “Out in the open. The night is a dark tapestry of brilliant diamonds, winking in a velvet sky. I’m tied up. I can’t get free but I know I am not in any danger. I wait. It seems like it takes him forever. But there is no doubt in my mind that he will come. I can hear people. They are close, but I cannot see them. I am unsure if they can see me. Their murmurs become whispers and I know he is here. I feel immediately safe at his arrival. Even though he does not release me. Instead he takes his time. Kissing every inch of me, sucking my breasts, biting my nipples, while his hands own my body.

“I’m panting and whimpering, and the voices I hear rise in equal anticipation. I am still unsure if they can see me, but I am unable to stop my reaction. He is in control. Complete control. I battle my need for escape and sink further into my surrender. He brings me so close, so very close, I am sure with one more thrust of his fingers, one more lick of his tongue, bite of his teeth, I’ll be there. But time and again he denies me.

“When I am sure I can take no more, he positions himself above me, holding me still while he thrusts inside. I am wet with wanting. I am lost to a need and hunger I have no hope of denying. I beg him for more and harder, but he covers my mouth and takes the option of using words away.

“I am left with only my body. My heart and soul are flying. My mind has long since abandoned me. The voices are gone, but I know they are in all reality still there. It doesn’t matter. He sees me. He knows what I want and he gives it to me.

“I shatter into a million pieces, the burn of the ropes and the dig of his fingers into my skin a counterpoint to the exquisite pleasure he wrings from my body. I am limp with exhaustion. I am nothing more than flesh and bones and breathlessness.

“I am safe and I am free.”

I’m not sure what to say. It’s not exactly vanilla, but it’s certainly not an answer I have received from any pet before either. But I know one thing. And right then, as I look at this beautiful creature contained for my viewing pleasure, I realise it is the most important thing of all.

I want to be her safety.

I want to be the man who sets this perfect, exquisite, self-possessed woman free.

I rise from the chair and take off my jacket, undo my tie. I say nothing until I am standing before her in just shirt, trousers, and socks.

Then I climb up onto the table and make my way behind her, my hand coming out and stilling her gentle swaying.

“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 hands 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 the 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.

A vision immediately appears before my eyes, taking me from the pleasantly lit restaurant, taking me away from the miraculous creature sitting opposite me. White sheets. White walls. And the green screen of a heart monitor. The sound of slow, mechanical breathing fills my head. I realise, when a soft hand lands on my wrist, grounding me, that the noise I hear is my own laboured breaths.

I slam the door closed on my mental filing cabinet and shake Haydee’s hand off, reaching for my glass of wine. It’s not Scotch, but it will have to do for now.

Haydee watches, concern etched in her soft eyes.

Ask, I think.

Don’t ask, I immediately correct.

Haydee offers a smile and slips her stockinged foot between my legs, ingenious toes start massaging my cock.

We don’t make it home. I take her in the bathroom at the back of Angelo’s between the dinner and the dessert. It might not be under the stars, but there’s still time.

Chapter 6

“Free and safe.”

Monday arrives with all its usual rush of business. It’s well past noon by the time I can spare a minute to check on Haydee’s legal status. I’m calm when I enter her name in the system. Not because I have faith in Haydee’s innocence, as such; I’ve been a police officer too long to be blinded by appearances. But because this is just another part of my job. How many times have I checked up on a status of a suspect? How many times have I delved into a pet’s criminal history to ascertain their impact on my professional standing?

Too many. Haydee is just one more.

But when I hit enter, I realise I’m fooling myself. Haydee was never just “one more.”

Her name comes back clean. No prior arrests. No outstanding warrants. Nothing but a speeding ticket when she was seventeen. I stare at her name on the screen. At her date of birth confirming she is almost too young for me. At her visa requests and international travel history.

Ten years she was in England. Returning home only once during that period. Ten years is a long time. Why did she return after such a lengthy stay? There’s something there, but it’s not until well past six in the evening that I have time again to devote any attention to it.

My contact at the Department of Internal Affairs will have left for the day, so I use what I can in our system. It’s limited, as far as international travel for New Zealanders is concerned. But I manage to pin down a flag in our access to Interpol. It’s not attached to Haydee’s name, but her name is attached to the file. And the file is classified.

I could try Interpol itself, but instead I delve deeper into our local governmental computer systems and locate an address in London that Haydee used as an overseas contact. Anything else and I’ll have to either wait for my acquaintance at the Department of Internal Affairs to arrive at his office tomorrow or try Interpol itself.

I already know Interpol will be a bust. If a case of theirs is classified, then chances are it involves terrorism. Terrorism makes the authorities very nervous and my enquiring about a lover would not sit well.

No, my only chance is her former home in England, and as luck would have it, I have a contact there that could work.

I stand up from my desk and check that Christine has indeed left for the day, then take a moment to consider my options. This is more invasive than I have ever been with a sub before. I take my role seriously. Their care and needs are paramount in my mind. Haydee is no different in that regard. What she needs, even if she is unaware that she may need it, I will give. But this, what I’m about to do, I fear is my need. Not Haydee’s.

Will it make a difference if I discover her secrets? Will not discovering them mean I fail to provide what she may need? What if whatever secret lurks in her past affects our present?

I can’t lose Haydee and so my mind is made up.

I settle myself into my seat and flick through my Rolodex. I pull out the card I need and then enter the international number into my telephone. It’s now close to seven in the evening here, which means it will be close to seven in the morning there. If I know Gerald, he’ll already be at work.

The line is unusually clear when the call is connected. The number I have is not a direct dial, so I end up going to the station’s main desk. A woman answers, her accent throwing me for a second. Haydee hadn’t picked one up, she sounds delightfully Kiwi.

“This is Superintendent Ethan Keen, from South Auckland Police in New Zealand,” I say. “May I please speak with Chief Superintendent Gerald Minns?”

There is a long pause, and I picture the woman translating my words into a recognisable form of English. It takes her ten seconds to come back with a reply. Equally as foreign to my ears.

But in the next instant I’m transferred through to another line, which I take it to mean she finally understood my request. Three rings later and my friend picks up.

“Ethan! This is a surprise. How long has it been?” Gerald says. “Four years?”

“Possibly five,” I counter, a smile evident in my voice. “The conference in Hawaii,” I add.

“That was some bloody conference, wasn’t it? I think it took me a solid week to recover.”

“That’s because your lot was outnumbered four to one by the Antipodes.”

“Yes, but we’re not counting the Australians, are we?”

“Who does?” I offer.

He chuckles for a few seconds and then cuts to the chase. “What can I do you for?”

I pause to gather my thoughts. I could be honest; Gerald understands my world. But the classification of the Interpol file has me treading carefully. I just don’t know how far this reaches yet.

“I’m looking into a New Zealander who recently returned from ten years living in London,” I say. “I need to know if you have anything on her that could shed further light.”

“What’s the name and DOB, then?”

I rattle off Haydee’s full name and grimace as I read her date of birth. God, she’s young. Only eight years older than Lara. Thankfully, I was still very young myself when we had Lara. It helps to dull the sting, but only marginally.

“Hmmm,” Gerald says several seconds later. “Her name does come up.”

My stomach drops. I lean back in my chair and swivel until I can see the clouds outside my window.

“Any convictions?” I force myself to ask. If she had been convicted of a crime, it must have been minor. There was no indication she was kicked out of England on anything I’ve found so far.

Gerald lets out a long sigh. I can picture him taking his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me this,” he says. “Has she been hurt?”

The question throws me completely. I lean forward and stare at the floor, my mind racing.

“Why would you say that?” I demand.

“Has she?” he presses.

“You mean physically?”

“Well,” he says, hedging. “Is she in trouble?”

“Jesus, Gerald. Give me something to go on here.”

“Her file has been suppressed, Ethan. I can’t give you details.”

“Suppressed?” Not many cases are subject to name suppression. Usually it’s invoked for the victim’s protection.

Safety. When Haydee feels safe, she feels happy.

“Gerald,” I say. “She’s not in trouble, but I need to know what I’m dealing with here. Was she hurt when she lived in the UK?”

“If she’s not in trouble, why are you looking into her?” he argues.

“It’s my responsibility,” I say automatically.

“Keeping her safe?” he shoots back, no doubt already putting it all together.

Silence ensues for a good few seconds. Neither of us willing to back down.

“Her name is attached to a classified Interpol file,” I offer, instead of the myriad demands coursing through my head.

“Look, I can’t give you specifics,” he finally counters. “Anything I say could have been learnt through the case file and not from national news. But if I were to offer you anything, it would be a tag-line. The tag-line was well used in all the main rags throughout this country. It was a big deal. I think it was The Sun who coined the term.”

“And the term is?”

“Harassing Hoorah,” he says, not making any sense. “It was a benchmark case,” he adds. “Brought about changes to one of our most controversial laws.”

“When?” I demand.

“Well, I can’t tell you when the case was, because that would be breaking suppression. But I can tell when the law was changed.”

I wait patiently, but patience is not my friend right now. I almost open my mouth to yell at my old friend, when he speaks.

“2012, Ethan. The law was changed in 2012. A lot of people have Haydee Armstrong to thank for it. They just don’t know her name.”

We hang up not long after that. Having exhausted small talk and any attempts to lighten the conversation so our relationship doesn’t come out of this encounter too scathed. I already know it will be a long time before Gerald takes a call from me again. He pushed the limits to tell me what he could, and even then it wasn’t nearly enough.

I find the law half an hour later. The Protection from Harassment Act 2012. Prior to that date stalking was not considered an illegal offence in the UK. It was considered harassment, and would usually result in a six month sentence if the evidence was exceptionally strong. Post 2012, stalking causing a fear of violence could gain the stalker a maximum sentence of five years behind bars.

Forty minutes later I discover why the law changed. A primary school teacher in Redding was stalked by a colleague for two years. Details are more difficult to obtain. Name suppression was given early on in the case, but the location had already slipped out, causing Haydee to change schools and start all over again. I uncover more on whistle-blowing sites, some of which were prosecuted and had to withdraw half of what they’d published.

But I find enough. I find Haydee. And a dark world of manipulative behaviour that led my precious goddess into fear. Fear for her life. Fear for her sanity. The type of fear that changes someone. The stalker received a three year sentence, that’s how bad the details of the case were.

He’ll be released on parole later this year.

That’s why she’s come home.

I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know how to process it. How to proceed. Do I confront her? Bring up a part of her life she’s running from? Make her relive it all over again? But my need to know how bad it was, how much damage it did, is all consuming.

I pour myself a Scotch and sit and stare at the clouds as dusk turns to night and the stars attempt to shine through the gaps in the heavens. I sit there for two hours nursing that one glass of whisky.

And I come to a conclusion. Haydee will never suffer like that again. Even if it means she never relives it, never tells me exactly what happened. Even if I have to watch how far I push for her company, even if I have to deny myself the tools needed to see to her care in the most efficient and knowledgeable ways. I know enough.

I know Haydee was manipulated to such a degree that things she had said were taken out of context and used against her.

I know her stalker was unpredictable, so much so she was caught off guard on several occasions in public settings.

I know she had trusted him and he had let her down in the most sinister of ways.

I know enough. And it will never happen to her again.

It is with a heavy heart and a turbulent mind that I make my way home to Redoubt Road. To my Haydee. She’s mine now, there’s no denying it. I’d like to think I’d claimed her before I knew an iota of her past. And it’s true. But I can’t deny the resolve that has settled over me since my phone call to England this evening. I can’t deny my need to protect her has been shot into overdrive, blasted into outer space.

Haydee trusted him. She believed him someone he was not. And she paid the price.

I unlock my back door and enter the alarm code. Then make my way to my office, switching on lights as I progress through my sprawling home. The dining room beckons to the side. I can’t help but flick a glance at the table, up to the chandelier. The office is a mesmerising light at the end of a very dark tunnel. I stand inside the doorway and stare at the desk. Haydee has marked my house. It’s as much hers now as it is mine.

I drop my briefcase on the desk, not bothering to unpack it, and then take the stairs two at a time up to the second floor. There’s a fireplace in the bedroom, already set and waiting to be lit. I check the time and set a match to the kindling, watching as the flames lick higher inside the hearth.

I have to tread carefully. My need to protect her has me wanting to just hold her in my arms. Do nothing more than whisper sweet words in her ear. Promises of safety. Assurances of trust.

But I can’t do that. Haydee sees me in one light and one light only. She sees me as the man who comes to her rescue out under the stars, but doesn’t release her. She sees me as the man who gives her safety, while setting her free to explore her sexual side. She sees me as her master, who will take care of her needs. The man who chains her to him and then uses her body for his own release.

Haydee needs that. She needs to know I control everything. Without that control she would be lost.

As would I.

It’s unfair. It crushes my heart. For the first time in twenty-five years I understand my lifestyle completely. And I wish it wasn’t needed at all. For her. For me. For both of us.

But it is. Needed. I need her complete submission. And she needs me to dominate within certain set criteria.

The bedroom.

In public.

Everywhere.

Haydee needs me to handle it all, so she can breathe easy. Knowing she won’t say the wrong word and have it used against her. Knowing the chain is my promise to her, and when she wears it, that promise is reconfirmed. Knowing I will punish her for bad behaviour and reward her for good. Knowing I will lose myself in her body, any way I so choose. Knowing she will be set free in exquisite release, and still feel safe enough to enjoy it. Knowing it will happen every single time.

She needs it. So I will give it her. Even though all I want is to hold her close, keep her safe, block out the rest of this ugly, foul world.

I’ll give her what she needs. And maybe, with time, we’ll trust each other enough to keep each other’s secrets.

I hear the door downstairs open, the alarm beeps its warning and then silence. If she is climbing the stairs, I do not hear her steps. She floats, this woman I am growing more fond of with every day. She glides. Such grace in face of such horror. How has she survived?

I turn as she enters the room. She’s surprised I’m here, waiting. And ordinarily, I’d let her set herself up without my interference. But the need to see her overrides any sane thoughts. Relief is the first emotion I feel. She’s unharmed. Lust is quickly on its tail.

I smile, running my eyes over her dress and heels. I love her high heels, they make her statuesque. The dress is simple, but well made. It moulds to her figure, hugging the curves and accentuating her assets. She has so many, I can’t even count.

I spread my arm out and indicate the bed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I enquire.

Her head tips down and she walks towards the large platform that dominates the room. I can already picture her golden skin against the plush black bedspread. Her hair will be lost in amongst the dark colours, but her body will shine like a precious metal.

She starts stripping with each sensual step she takes. First one shoe, then she steps lightly out of the other. The dress slides down her perfect body and pools on the rug beside the bed. Her bra is next, then her lace panties. And finally, one leg up, foot resting on the side of the bed, and she methodically takes off her stocking. Unhooking it from the garter belt, rolling it down slowly, as though she has the entire night to get into position as requested.

“You’re teasing, Haydee,” I remark. “I might just have to punish you for it.”

She doesn’t speed up. If anything, she goes slower. I’ll take that as a “Yes, please.”

I’m smiling, I realise. And quickly school my features. I lean back against the mantle to the fireplace and watch as she climbs up onto the massive frame. Her willowy body dwarfed by its utterly ridiculous size. I know for a fact that four people can easily sleep in it. At least, one man and three women can.

But looking at Haydee as she lies back on the bedspread with such an infinite look of peace on her sweet features and I can’t imagine the bed taking more than just her. She’s made for it. She’s made for me.

I watch as she adjusts her chain, making sure it lies down between her breasts and pools just above her pubis. A straight line to her centre that seems to taunt. I’m rock hard in my pants, and I realise I’m still in uniform when I glance down at my erection. No wonder she was so surprised when she walked in the bedroom.

For a moment, regret fills me. Haydee doesn’t do well with surprises. But then I tell myself, it’s not this sort of surprise that she fears. Perhaps the uniform reassures her. It’s hard to guess, but her relaxed form suggests she’s calm.

I walk to the end of the bed and look down at her body. Her eyes are on my epaulets, not my face. Still submissive, but curious.

“Do you know what these mean?” I ask. She shakes her head, biting that bottom lip of hers, letting me know she’s unsure if she’s broken a rule by looking at them. “A crown and one pip,” I say. “It means I’m a superintendent. I’m a divisional head in the New Zealand Police. It means,” I say, starting to undo my tie and top shirt buttons, “that I’ve made it my life’s role to look after people. To watch out for them. To keep them safe.”

Her eyes dart up to mine. The shirt is gone, I’m working on the trousers now.

“Do you feel safe with me, Haydee?” I ask.

Immediately, her head nods. And again I am consumed with relief.

“Now,” I say, my trousers slip over my hips and I push them and my underwear to the floor. My erection springs free and slaps against my stomach. The sound seems very loud in the warm room. “Once I remove this uniform, I am still the same man. Still a cop. Still dedicated to my role. But there is one difference.”

Her eyes reluctantly rise up from staring hungrily at my cock. This woman truly does undo me. Her lust could quite possibly match mine.

“Do you know what that difference is, Haydee?”

Frown lines mar her once smooth forehead, she tilts her head and blinks back at me.

I start climbing up the bed, wrapping one hand around her ankle and lowering my lips to her toes and kissing each one. I move to the neglected foot and repeat the process before answering.

“The difference, Haydee,” I say, between little nips on her calf muscle. “Is I am your cop. I am your protector. I am your safety.”

I lick behind her knee and watch her writhe. Her hips lifting off the bed in invitation. I take my time. I don’t rush this. I worship her body with tongue flicks and open mouthed kisses. I bite the soft, succulent flesh of her thighs, leaving crescent shaped teeth marks in her skin. I rub my stubble over her lower stomach, bury my nose in her folds and inhale.

My lips wrap around her clit and suck softly. My hands slip under her arse and lift her up for my taking. I lick her until she’s close enough for me to feel the tiny tremors in her centre. To smell her arousal and taste the sweet honey that’s pooling there.

I pull back when she’s panting and start to kiss her belly, tugging the bar she has pierced at her belly button between my teeth. Perspiration glistens on her glorious flesh. I rub my cheek against it, then kiss every single rib.

Did he break them? Did he bruise this wonderful creature’s skin?

I push the thoughts aside and concentrate on Haydee. This is all for Haydee. My touch turns firmer; she’s ready. My fingers dig into her flesh, pinch her nipples. I suck her entire breast into my mouth, pulling hard, while my palm wraps around her neck and pins her to the bed. The chain presses into my chest, which in turn presses it back into Haydee’s stomach. We’re bound by it through that simple touch.

She’s whimpering, mentally she’ll be begging. But my sweet girl knows not to talk. I move my lips over my hand at her throat, kissing her through my spread fingers.

“How hard, Haydee?” I ask. “How hard do you want to come?”

“Oh,” she moans, a delightful crack in her composure. I chuckle and start sucking on the skin over her pulse. It’s thundering beneath the sensitive skin.

I settle between her thighs and rock against her clit, not entering, but teasing. She wraps her legs around my arse without permission.

“Ah, Haydee,” I say, rolling us until she’s on top and I have access to those gorgeous cheeks.

I run both hands down her back, smooth flesh under hot palms, and then smack both butt cheeks simultaneously. My lips pull back from her throat and I look her in the eyes. “How hard?” I say.

She nods.

“You may talk,” I offer.

“Hard,” she breathes.

I grip the chain hanging between her breasts and move it over her shoulder, letting it fall down her back, instead of her front.

“Hands behind your back,” I instruct.

She obliges so quickly, I can tell it’s what she’s been waiting for. The moment I contain her, take away something, but replace it with something more.

I sit up, aware she’s watching my abdominal muscles bunching with avid delight, and reach around her back, grasping both wrists in one hand, while the other grips the chain and pulls it tight. It makes her head tip up, face to the ceiling, eyes no longer on her prize. I wrap the chain securely around her wrists and then lie back down again.

“You know the rules,” I say. “The jewels can hurt if you pull against the chain too hard.”

Her breasts are pointing up as well, pert little nipples begging for my touch. I reach up and pinch them, not releasing the pressure, but sustaining it. She writhes on top of me, panting, sweat glistened, chest rising and falling as she succumbs.

Her hands move, but not enough to cause injury, only enough to give her focus when the sensations at her breasts become too much.

“Rise up on your knees,” I say. She does as commanded. Face still tipped to the ceiling, nipples still held securely between my fingers and thumbs. I rock my hips, making my cock spring up into position. “You feel it there?” I ask.

She tries to nod, but the chain restricts her movement. I understand her completely though.

“I want you to ride me, Haydee. I want you to fuck my cock as though it’s your sole purpose in life. Make me feel it. Make me want more. And when I’m satisfied, I’ll release your nipples and send you into free fall.”

She makes a sound; desperate, eager, frantic. We’re both frantic for each other.

“Fuck me, Haydee,” I demand.

She sinks down and it takes every muscle in my face not to cry out in relief.

And then she fucks me. My goddess rides my cock like it was meant to be inside her. Fucks me with every inch of her being, every part of her soul. I watch her come apart on top of me. I watch her do it all. Completely in control, even though she’s tied up and doing what I have instructed.

She’s mine to command, but this is all hers. Her moment. Her freedom.

Her safety.

I release her nipples when I start to see black dots in my vision with the effort expended not to come. She screams as she orgasms around me. She fills the room up with her ecstasy as I fill her up with my come.

Jesus. The dots take over and for a minute I can’t see a thing. But feel? Oh God, I feel.

We are both shuddering as I release her wrists and ease the chain around her neck. She slumps down on top of me, hard breaths, racing hearts, sweaty and sated limbs. I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me.

I’ve given her what she needs and now it’s my turn.

“Are you OK?” I ask eventually. Whispered words in her ear.

She nods her head.

“Say it,” I press, unsure if I should or not. “Say what you feel,” I add.

“Free,” she whispers back, snuggling down further into my embrace. “Safe,” she says a few seconds later and then drifts off to sleep.

I don’t know whether Haydee will ever be able to talk about London. I don’t know if that part of her life has any more claim. But I do know I’ll wait, patiently. I’ll not press. I’ll not ask.

As long as her answer is always, “Free… and safe.”

Chapter 7

“What happens now, my love?”

The week blurs by in such a multicoloured hue of colours and sensations and Haydee’s cries of release. She stayed the night on Monday. And again on Wednesday. Then, in a fit of overindulgence, I insisted she stay again last night.

I can’t tell if her open acceptance of my demands for more of her time is because she’s as eager as me, or if it’s now ingrained in her to do as I say, no questions asked. But we had settled on only three week nights, so tonight, a Friday, I am without my goddess. But I have arranged for her to have dinner with me tomorrow. That’s as long apart as she’ll get.

It’s crazy. I’m crazy. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want her. This woman owns a part of me and I couldn’t be happier. Even Jason’s persistent phone calls and David Gordon’s veiled threats can’t touch me. Jason is trying to live vicariously and Gordon is all bluster and wind.

I’m even smiling. Sitting at my desk, staring out the window at the clouds as they rush by, I have a smile on my face. Christine doesn’t quite know how to take me. I can’t blame her. I chuckle to myself as I pick my phone up and dial Jason’s number, finally returning his latest call.

“And he lives,” my friend announces down the line. Considering it’s his work line and I’m calling from the station, you’d think he’d take more care. Thankfully, I gave up on Christine putting any of my calls through for me the day after she first arrived and put me through to the commissioner instead of the assistant commissioner and I almost called the old man a dishonourable git.

“And quite brilliantly, at that,” I say, propping my feet up on the desk in a fashion I’ve never even attempted before today.

I don’t like it. So I remove them and settle for leaning back in my chair instead, ankle to knee.

“So, the miraculous Haydee cures all that is ill?” Jason teases.

“My lips are sealed,” I counter.

“But, I was right, wasn’t I?” he presses. “She’s perfect for you, you can’t deny it.”

“I’ll deny nothing and confirm even less.”

“Come on!” he says, exasperated. “When I set you both up it was with the express understanding that I’d receive all the juicy details.” He pauses, then adds in a rush, “They are juicy, aren’t they?”

“It’s no use,” I offer. “You’ll get nothing from me.”

He laughs. It sounds genuinely pleased. “Well, now it’s your turn to return the favour,” he says eventually.

“Oh, I didn’t realise it would cost me.”

“Of course it’s bloody well going to cost you. Attendance at the Emergency Services banquet, that’s the price I ask.”

I groan. “Auckland City Supports the EMS,” I say in way of confirmation.

“That’ll be the one,” he replies cheerfully. “Oh, and Ethan. It’s black tie.” Then he promptly hangs up.

Brilliant, is all I manage to think in disgust before my internal phone line rings.

“Yes, Christine,” I say resignedly. For a week that had been going so well, it sure as hell looks like it’s about to end poorly. I hate fundraisers. I hate Emergency Services fundraisers even more.

“Um,” she whispers into the phone as though she’s trying to hide her words from someone. “I think your daughter is here to see you.”

Nothing in this world could have prepared me for that. I struggle to breathe, let alone answer my secretary. I stare at the phone as though it’s an alien being. My heart skips and jumps and I’m sure it’s that which is making me feel so lightheaded.

I close my eyes and let out a long breath of air, and once I’ve sucked it back in again, I say calmly, “You may show her in.”

I place the phone back in its cradle before Christine replies, and stand from my desk to look out the window. I don’t see it. I see nothing but blonde curls and a chubby pale face grinning up at me covered in chocolate. It’s been six years since Lara chose to last speak to me. Six years of a cold shoulder I know I deserve.

I hear the door open and then shortly thereafter close. Then nothing as I stare at a scene I have looked upon several times a day, but couldn’t describe in that moment if my life depended on it. I know where she’ll be standing if I turn around. I know how she’ll look. I know the expression she’ll be wearing on her face. Lara doesn’t change much. Once she’s decided on a course of action it might as well be written in stone.

I turn around and get the first glimpse of my daughter in close quarters for quite some years. She’s tired. More pale than usual. Her hair is windblown, her frame too thin by far. A coffee stain mars her blouse in a blatant display of disregard. If Lara could, she’d throw a fuck you at fashion and be done with it.

Her mother was the same.

And suddenly I am furious.

I hide it all. My perusal. My observations. My rage. I take a seat at my desk and shuffle some papers. God alone knows what they’re all about, but I don’t care. The only thing that matters is that my daughter is standing before me and hasn’t said a fucking word.

“Lara-Marie,” I say. “This is a surprise.”

Why now? Why in this moment when everything is starting to make sense in my life? Why bring it all back, just to watch me bleed?

“Superintendent Keen,” she says and I can’t help my reaction. My head comes up and I stare at her, relief, a somewhat familiar emotion of late, coursing through my body.

“You’re here on business.” Thank fuck for that.

“Yes, sir,” she says, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite my desk. “A case I’m working on.”

“How can I help?” I ask, eager to please. Work I can handle. Lara asking for help on a case is unusual, but I’ll accept the peace offering, and be thankful it’s not personal.

Anything else is too painful to even think.

“It’s delicate, sir,” she says, making me rise to the bait. As usual.

“No point sugar coating it, Keen. You’re here for a reason, best you just get on with it.”

Something flashes in her eyes. Something that tears at my heart. I become steel.

“We’re investigating a gentleman’s club on Karangahape Road,” she announces, and the steel I am begins to heat.

“And?” I press, calling her bluff.

“It may be nothing, but we’re covering our bases.”

“Of course,” I murmur, effecting a relaxed, but attentive pose. “Connected to what?”

“A homicide.” Now that is unexpected. But strangely, well received.

“How can Counties assist?” I ask, using the correct title for South Auckland Police.

I’m not sure what this is all about. I certainly haven’t heard of a murder case, so it must have just transpired. And for it to be connected to Sweet Hell, if Lara is referring to that particular gentleman’s club on Karangahape road, then why is she here? In South Auckland.

I don’t like where this is going.

She watches me for a while, then suddenly leans forward. It’s too intimate, when all I’m thinking right now is what I did the last time I was at Sweet Hell. I settle back in my chair and hold her steady gaze.

She’s good. She’s very good. I’m impressed with my daughter.

I don’t show it.

“We’re going through the membership list for Sweet Hell,” she suddenly says, and I know this is not a interdepartmental courtesy call.

“Sweet Hell,” I say. “I know it.” She doesn’t move an inch. Not even a twitch of an eyelash. There’s nothing for it, she already knows. I can’t see the confirmation on her impassive face. But I see it in her pale blue eyes.

So like her mother’s.

“My name is on that list?” I finally say.

“Yes, sir.”

“And what do you wish to know?” I ask. She expects me to fold. She thinks she has me cornered. I stare her down and demand with a look alone for her to up her game. I’m almost eager for her to show me everything she’s got. Lara has always been a challenge. One I had forgotten I enjoyed in the past.

“What can you tell me about it?” she asks.

She’s fishing, and I’m suddenly very disappointed.

“It’s personal,” I reply, words clipped.

“We understand it’s a gaming establishment and one must be invited to attend,” she presses, and I’ve just about had enough.

“That’s correct. You hardly need me to provide you that information.”

“We’re unsure at this stage if drugs are sold on the premises or not,” she continues. I remain silent. Anything I say now could be held against me. “But it’s the Irreverent Inferno that really interests us most.”

I’m so shocked, I blurt out, “The what?” I gather my wits, ensure I appear outwardly calm, when inside all I see is chaos.

Dear God, this can’t be happening.

It takes too long, but finally I manage to say, “It rings a bell.” Pitiful. Absolutely pathetic. I’m angry at myself now, more than Lara.

“What happens there, sir?”

“You’re asking questions I cannot answer, Lara.” It’s easiest to stick to the law. I am bound to silence where the Irreverent Inferno exists. Contracted to disclose nothing under penalty of law.

Lara doesn’t know this and she doesn’t need to. Whatever this murder case is, it won’t lead back to me or the Inferno. The Marcrofts, the owners of Sweet Hell, and the founding members of the Irreverent Inferno, will ensure it doesn’t.

I mentally dust my hands of it all. Push it from my mind. Now I just need my daughter to leave so I can have a few moments to myself to banish Anna from my mind as well.

“People will find out,” she doggedly offers. “This investigation is not closed.”

“I can make it that way,” I throw back, silently willing her to leave and leave now.

“A homicide,” she adds, incredulously. “Even you don’t have the clout for that.”

That’s it. I’ve had enough.

“Watch yourself, Detective. I hear you’ve been on probation. Would you like a return to it now?”

I regret the words instantly. I see the hurt in her eyes and then she hides it. It’s an all too familiar expression on my daughter’s face.

She struggles with herself for a moment and I lower my head, shifting my attention to something on my desk, to give her privacy. It’s what I’d want her to do for me. It’s what I want her to give me now.

Privacy. To regroup. To mourn. To forget.

“Just one more question, sir,” she finally says. She sounds strong again.

I don’t look up. “Yes.”

“When was your initiation completed?”

The world stops. The room suddenly loses all air. To become a member of the Irreverent Inferno one must first pass through Hell. Dante’s Hell. All nine circles of it.

She knows. How she knows, I have no idea. But the fact that she knows is what is most unacceptable. I have tried to protect her from my lifestyle. I have tried to keep the worst of my needs out of her line of sight. I have been discrete. Joined clubs that ensure silence and privacy. Chosen my submissives well. I have done everything to keep Lara free of this.

And she throws it in my face.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Detective,” I say steadily.

“Your name…” she tries, but that’s it. No more.

I can’t bear this another second.

“Enough! These questions are out of line. You risk insubordination.”

“It’s an investigation, sir,” she pushes one last time. And I have to respect her tenacity. “I’m obligated to ask the difficult questions.”

“Never lower yourself to defence, Lara-Marie,” I scold in a voice I know will make her run from me. I use it purposefully. Mainly for me, but also for my daughter. She needs to run. “And should further inquiry into my private life be required,” I add, pulling myself up to full height in my chair, “I’ll expect a personal visit from Inspector Hart and no one else. Is that understood?”

I know from the look she gives me, she has no clue who I am. If she found out what it is I need to survive, she’d despise me even more than she does right now.

“Understood, sir,” she says quietly.

I look at the door, and then down at my desk. I dismiss her in that one simple move.

A few taut seconds later my daughter gets up from her chair and leaves without another word. The whisky is on my desk before the sound of the door closing stops echoing inside my head.

The glass is to my lips before I breathe.

It takes two phone calls to find out the name of the murder victim. One to Jason. And one back from him. I hang up the phone without a word.

I see nothing. I feel nothing. On automatic I inform Christine that I’m going home. Several hours earlier than I usually call it quits on any given day.

I don’t remember the path I take to reach my car. I don’t remember if I speak to anyone or say a single word. I slip into the driver’s seat and stare out of the window.

I’m no longer afraid for just Haydee. I’m afraid for me. For my world. For my perfectly ordered life, for my meticulously protected privacy, for my secrets. All of it is spinning out of control.

Samantha was strangled to death across the street from Sweet Hell.

I know things. Things that would help in the investigation. Aid Lara. I know things and I also know I won’t tell.

Jason is parked in my driveway when I arrive home. His face says it all: We’re in trouble.

“This is a disaster.” I’d like to think he’s referring to a woman’s horrendous death, but I’m unsure. “This could have far reaching repercussions.”

“You believe the Inferno is involved?” I query.

“Do you think it won’t be plastered across the papers by the end of next week?” he counters.

I let out a frustrated breath and lead him into the house. The whisky in the kitchen is already conveniently sitting out on the bench. I grab two clean glasses and pour three fingers into each.

We both drink before either of us talks.

“Whoever did this,” I say, “has no care that it leads to Sweet Hell’s door.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not one of us.”

“Who would do it?”

“Any one of us who gave Samantha what she needed and lost sight of our roles.”

“Have you ever done that?” I ask. “Not murder someone, but take things so far you realise you’re no longer in control?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve always known how far to push and when to pull back.”

“So have I,” I agree. “So, I say again, who could have done this?”

Jason takes a seat in one of the tall stools at the bench and runs a hand through his blond hair. Unlike me, he has no grey. The strands so pale that even if he is greying, you can’t see it. It gives him a youthful appearance he is well beyond being able to claim.

“David Gordon was angry,” he eventually says.

“At me, not her.”

He shrugs. “It might have been enough for him to lose control.”

“Not him,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “If there’s one thing to be said about David Gordon, he is always in control.”

“Aren’t we all?” Jason quips. I don’t reply. “Look, it’s going to come out that you were with her last week. It might be best to bite the bullet and provide an affidavit.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Time of death was apparently four-thirty this morning.”

“I have an alibi,” I say, before he can ask.

Silence meets my words.

“I’m sorry,” he finally adds. “I’m sure you don’t want to drag Haydee into this.” He’s assuming my alibi is Haydee. In the past, that might not have been the case.

Things have changed.

“Do you think Lara has an ulterior motive for questioning you?”

“Other than discovering her father is a member of Sweet Hell?”

“She’s not aware of your connections to the Inferno part of the business.”

“Not aware, but suspects. My daughter has a knack for connecting the dots.”

“Maybe it’s time you and she built some bridges,” he says, staring into his Scotch. Jason doesn’t have children. He’s never been married either. His advice on this is skewed.

I place my glass on the bench carefully.

“Let’s just see where CIB takes this,” I suggest. “We’re jumping the gun. The case may lead them down a completely different path than to the club.”

“Twenty-four hours,” he agrees, downing the rest of his drink. “And a no-fly zone around Sweet Fucking Hell.”

“Agreed.”

He stands up from the stool and slaps me on the shoulder. “Call your pet. Have her take your mind off things.”

I offer a smile. I’m sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. Jason got one thing right: I don’t want to drag Haydee into this.

He leaves the way he came and I pick up my half empty glass and walk into the office, settling myself into the chair. I haven’t lit the fire. It’s too early to switch on any lights. The smell of burned candle wax and charred wood fills the air. The leather creaks as I lean back and sip my drink contemplatively.

I last five minutes before I’m unlocking the drawer and pulling out her picture. I stand it up on the desk and lean back and stare.

“Anna,” I say, the sound of her name on my tongue, after so many years, is painful. “What happens now, my love?”

Chapter 8

“Are you ready, pet?”

The sound of my cellphone ringing wakes me. My body is stiff and cold and I realise I’ve fallen asleep in my office chair and it’s now dark. I scrub my face and reach for the phone, by the time it’s at my ear, I’m fully awake.

“Ethan?” Haydee’s voice whispers down the line.

“Haydee? Is everything all right?”

“I think someone’s following me.”

The room dims even further than it already is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone was screwing with me. Just one hit after another after another.

“Where are you?” I demand, walking to the front door and already setting the alarm.

“I’m at a bar in Takapuna. The Dirty Martini.”

“Alone?” I demand, as jealousy rears its ugly little green head.

“My girlfriend’s just left. I was walking to my car, and I felt him.”

Him. She knows her stalker is male.

“Stay in the bar,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

“Hurry,” she whispers. “I’ve locked myself in the toilets.”

Sweet beautiful woman. “Stay put, little pet,” I murmur down the line. “I’m already on my way.”

Manukau in south Auckland to Takapuna on the North Shore should take roughly forty minutes at this time of night. I make it in half that. Lights and sirens, of course, help.

I stride into the overcrowded bar and it’s only then I realise I’m in uniform. Fucking brilliant. All eyes turn towards me, several unsavoury words are hurled from otherwise cowardly people. Someone tries to spill their drink on my trousers, but thinks better of it when I stare them hard in the face. Police in a drinking establishment this late at night never goes down well.

I walk up to the bar and I’m immediately approached by the barman.

“Problem, officer?” he asks, flicking unhappy eyes over the crowd.

“It’s Superintendent,” I say. “And I’m looking for a woman who should be hiding in your toilets. Short dark hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, five foot eight, approximately sixty kilos.”

“Could be any number that fit that description here, mate.”

“Superintendent,” I say again. “And show me to your bathrooms.”

He shrugs and hands over the keys to the register to someone else, leading the way to the back of the building.

“Haven’t heard about anyone hiding,” he says over his shoulders. “Been a busy night, but nothing unusual’s happened.”

“No one harassing the women?” I query.

“Well, no one’s complained,” he qualifies. “Here they are. Um, shall I get a female to check?”

I push past him and walk into a four cubicle bathroom. Two of the doors are shut, the rest are open and bare.

“Haydee?” I say, aware the bar manager has followed me inside. I think better of him at that point.

The far end stall opens and she runs out. I’ve never seen her this… dishevelled. Her make-up is smeared, her dress might even be ripped, tears are streaking down her face. She leaps into my arms and holds on for dear life.

“Baby,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s all right, I’m here.”

A sob escapes and then the second door opens revealing a startled young girl of about sixteen.

“You here with your parents?” I automatically ask, then grimace and hold Haydee closer.

“Um…” the young girl says.

“Go home,” I snap and she bolts like lightning.

“I didn’t serve her,” the bar manager announces, holding up his hands as though I’m about to arrest him.

I shake my head. “Have you got a back way out of here?” I ask instead.

“Yeah. Is that it? Just the lady?”

“Yes, just the lady,” I reply and walk past him with Haydee in my arms out into the hall.

He leads us to the rear door which is designed to provide emergency egress. It’s bolted shut, undoubtedly for the bar’s security, not its patrons. I stare at his hands as he unlocks the door and then stare at him as he hangs his head waiting.

I just want to get Haydee home. I just want this day to finally be over. I make a mental note to pass on the details to the correct division and walk out of the door. I’d told Haydee I was always a cop, in or out of uniform. But that doesn’t mean I can’t always put her first.

“Where’s your car?” I ask.

“Down the road,” she whispers. She’s not raised her voice once.

“It’ll be fine,” I decree, taking her to my car. The beacons are still spinning lazily, flashes of red and blue through the grille.

I settle her in the passenger seat, make sure her seatbelt is secured tightly, and then walk around to my side of the car. I switch the lights off once I’m inside, but don’t start the ignition.

“You’re not to go there ever again,” I say into the silence.

She nods her head.

“It’s unsafe,” I add, because I feel like yelling and maybe hitting something, but the more I talk to her, the easier it gets to control it.

Another bob of her head, eyes cast to the floor.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, rather belatedly, but I’ve been thrown for a loop today and I realise I’m not coping well.

She shakes her head.

“Haydee,” I say.

“Please, sir,” is all I get in reply.

“Haydee,” I repeat more forcefully, and watch the tears well in her dark eyes. “What do you need?”

She looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling, her lashes heavy with moisture.

I’m in love with this woman. She breaks my heart. I want to be whatever she desires.

“To forget,” she whispers.

“Me too, little pet,” I murmur back, starting the car. “Me too.”

The drive home is quiet, but peaceful. She stops crying as soon as we hit the motorway. Her gaze out the window is full of whatever is on her mind, not the scenery. I know. I’ve been there as well today.

“My daughter came to see me this afternoon,” I say into the calm silence. I’m not sure why I’m telling her. But maybe she’d feel better if she knew my life wasn’t as perfect as I would like. “The first time I’ve spoken to her in six long years.”

I know she’s watching me now. I know she’s seeing.

“It was never meant to be like this,” I comment, changing lanes once we merge with the north western motorway at spaghetti junction. “But it was hard after her mother died.”

I’ve not talked to anyone about this. No one. Not Lara. Not Jason. Not a soul alive.

“I guess I shut down. Closed myself off, “ I admit.

A small hand comes over the space between our seats and wraps around mine on my thigh. I breathe deeply for a second, and then squeeze her fingers back.

“It’s thrown me,” I say. “Made me question things. Remember things I’d rather forget.”

“What type of things?” she asks, and it’s no longer a whisper, but still so soft and quiet.

“What it was like,” I say. “After the car accident.” I swallow. I can do this. I can give Haydee something of mine to possess. If only my worst memory. “Watching her on the machines,” I say, my voice damn near breaking. “Telling them to switch them off when it became obvious she wasn’t coming back.”

“Oh, Ethan,” Haydee says, her voice full of my pain.

I shake my head, clear the fog.

“It’s been a fucking awful day,” I finally say, as I take the off-ramp at Redoubt Road.

She’s silent all the way to my house, but when I switch the engine off she starts talking.

“I was stalked,” she says, and I want to wrap her up and shout to the world how brave she is to say this. “He was meant to be a friend,” she adds, staring at the floor, her fingers still laced with mine. Tethered. “He made me believe things. Made me think I was seeing things. I thought I was going out of my mind. But it was all him.”

“When?” I ask. I already know, but she needs to say it.

“It started four years after I moved to London. I was thirty-two and loved my life. He was younger than me, but mature for his age. We had fun together and then rumours started. Spreading through the staffroom, through the entire school.” She lifts her face up and sees my house for the first time. She blinks and then says, “He stole three years of my life. Two of them while he screwed with me and the last while it was going through the courts. I refused to leave London and come home with my tail between my legs. I faced him in the courtroom and I told my story and once it was over and they believed me, I didn’t speak for three whole weeks.”

A breath of air escapes me. My chest hurts with the need to hold her.

“Tonight brought it all back,” she finishes by saying. “He’s being released in four days time; I thought I’d gotten the dates wrong.”

Oh, sweet Haydee.

I shift in my seat and turn her face to mine, then lean forward and rest my forehead against hers. Both hands on her cheeks holding her steady, grounding her to me.

“He won’t be able to travel,” I say. “He’ll be denied a visa.” She nods. “Who followed you tonight? Can you describe him?”

She pulls back and stares at me. Then, softly, “You believe me?”

I nod my head. “There is a reason why we have flashbacks. Something triggers them. Usually something connected to the memory. For me, it’s Lara. She’s the spitting image of her mother. The image of what I assume her sister would have looked like, had she survived in Anna’s womb.” I’ve said too much. I pull back and open the door and slip out into the night.

By the time I catch my breath, Haydee is before me.

“What was her name?”

“Hmm?” I manage.

“The baby?”

“Katy,” I whisper. “Catherine Elizabeth,” I clear my throat. “Lara has forgotten her mother was pregnant. She’s as bad as me for blocking things out.”

“I’d like to meet her,” Haydee says.

I offer a chuckle and shake my head. “Over my dead body.” I wince at her wide eyed look. “Lara and I,” I start. “We,” I try. “Well, it’s…”

“OK,” Haydee says soothingly. “There’s time.”

I look down at her, feel the world shift under my feet. And then my lips are pressed to hers, my tongue seeking refuge and possession, my body wrapping around her frame while the world spins out of control all around us.

I’m dizzy. I’m addicted. I can’t get enough. I want more.

I slip my hand down her arm and lace our fingers together and then lead her to the front door. We’re both breathless. Both needy. But it’s not until I’ve disconnected the alarm and turn back to Haydee that I realise she isn’t wearing my chain.

Why would she? Tonight was not meant to be spent with me. There was no need. But I’m not sure how to proceed, how this should go. I’m not sure what to do.

“Ethan?” Haydee says. “What is it?”

“Your chain,” I say, face impassive.

Her delicate hand comes up to her throat and she breathes out an, “Oh.” Then she’s rummaging in her handbag and pulling out the long length of platinum and diamonds and emeralds.

“You have it with you?” I’m surprised. Why am I surprised? This is Haydee. She surprises me daily.

“Of course,” she says, placing her handbag down on the hall table and beginning to wrap the chain around her neck.

“Why?” I demand.

She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. Then whispers, “Because I feel safe when it’s near.”

She finishes wrapping the chain around herself and then lowers her hands, holding them together loosely in front of her as her face tips down to the floor. It’s a transformation that could bring me to my knees.

She is exquisite.

“I want you to wear it always,” I say, the command in my voice unmistakable.

She nods her head, then tilts it, baring her throat.

“We need this, don’t we, Haydee?”

Another head nod, a soft sigh as I trace my finger down her long neck.

“But I like our talks as well,” I add. She blinks at me. “Do you?”

Her head nods, her lips spread in a soft smile.

“New rule,” I declare. Her eyebrows arch. “When we’re like this, you’re my pet.”

Another nod of agreement.

“When it’s not about pleasure, you’re my woman.”

She stares at me for so long, I’m unsure if she’ll go for it. I’ve never had an arrangement like this before. I’ve never wanted more than complete control.

“I’m still in charge,” I qualify. “You will not be returning to that bar,” I say with vehemence. “I might even have to punish you for considering going somewhere like that was a good idea.”

She tips her head down and stares at the floor, but not before I see her amusement.

“Haydee,” I chastise, because I’m smiling now too. What does this woman do to me?

“Go up to the bedroom and remove your clothes. Kneel in the centre of the rug and wait.”

She nods and moves off in a soft glide towards the stairs. I watch her climb them until she is out of sight and then cross the hall and enter the office. The light is dim when I flick the switch. I have to hurry. There’s no fire lit upstairs and Haydee will get cold very quickly.

The thought of warming her up fills me with delight.

I cross to the desk and sit down, steepling my fingers together, elbows to knees, as I lean forward and look at the photo of my dead wife.

“Well,” I say. “This is it.” She smiles back at me from a twenty-six year old photo, her belly softly swollen with our child.

A hitched breath leaves me, and I reach forward and take the picture, returning it to its drawer.

“I will always love you,” I whisper, just before I close it. “But it’s time to let go now.”

It takes a minute for me to settle myself, and then I’m checking the doors and setting the perimeter alarm, and taking the stairs two at a time to get to Haydee.

The minute I cross the threshold, feel the warmth of an already lit fire, and see the goddess waiting patiently on the Aubusson, I know I’ve made the right choice. Haydee is perfect. She’s brilliant and beautiful and caring and capable. But she is also a submissive at heart.

We need this. We both want it. And I have every intention of giving this stunning creature whatever she desires.

“For lighting the fire without permission,” I say, crossing the carpet to stand before her. “You’re going to pleasure me.”

Her eyes come up and watch me behind those dark lashes, then tip down when she nods her head in acceptance.

“For going to a bar with less than stellar security and service,” I add. “You’re going to take every single inch of me and then some.”

A small head nod is the only reply I get.

“Hands behind your back,” I order. She obeys. My cock is already throbbing.

I reach down, placing my crotch in her face, and secure her at her joined elbows with the chain. It will be uncomfortable, distracting. It will make her job harder to achieve. But punishments must be real.

It will also make her as horny as fuck and desperate to touch me, touch herself.

I pull back, undo my belt buckle and proceed to unfasten my trousers. I’m still in uniform. I’ve never had sex while still in uniform. I always undress first. But tonight’s a new beginning and Haydee is going to suck my cock while I stand before her in my work clothes. When she looks up she’ll see my badge, catch the glimpse of the crown and pip on my shoulders. She’ll know who she’s servicing. She’ll know whose come she’s swallowing. She’ll know who it is who holds her steady while he fucks her mouth without pause.

I pull my cock out, it’s rock hard. I stroke myself in front of her, watch as her pupils dilate as she licks her lips.

“Are you ready, pet?” I ask, my hand moving faster under her eager little gaze.

She nods her head.

“I’m not going to take it easy on you,” I add, placing the tip of my cock on the edge of her lips. “Lick it!”

She does. First the flat head, and then the sides, up and down, up and down. Her tongue presses into the groove at the top making my balls tighten.

“Oh, you’re a bad girl,” I say, gripping her head with both hands and holding her steady, lips to the tip of my shaft. “I like you bad,” I say and sink myself into her welcoming mouth, right to the base of my cock.

Fuck! How could I have forgotten how hot her little mouth is? How sweet and hard she can suck.

“Haydee,” I say as I start to fuck her between her lips. My grip on her head is punishing, but she takes it all. Balancing herself with her stomach muscles, making eager little humming noises as I sink myself in again and again and again. “Fuck, your mouth is pretty,” I say, staring down at my shaft covered in her lipstick and saliva.

I want to spend the entire night in here. But there’s so many other parts of her body I’ve yet to discover. The thought almost makes me pull out, tip her over the edge of the bed, and fuck her stunning behind.

But the scene has been set and my little naughty pet needs to learn a lesson.

“That’s it,” I say as she swallows. “Work your throat, take me all the way.”

I’m lost. She’s taking me there. She sucks and licks and takes everything I give her, and when I come in a torrent of ejaculate down her throat she moans a sweet, sweet sound.

I have her chain undone and her body up and on the bed and my face between her legs in the next heartbeat.

“Ethan!” she squeals, completely caught off guard.

I growl into her pussy.

“Master!” she purrs as I stick two fingers in her cunt.

“Your turn,” I say and then fuck her with my fingers and mouth.

She comes apart under my touch, at my command. She takes me with her. I curl her sated body into mine and watch her sleep in the light from the flickering fire.

I don’t know what Samantha’s murder will bring tomorrow. I don’t know if the person who followed Haydee is someone I need to take care of. I just know, that in this moment, I could conquer the world.

With this woman safe and trusting in my arms, it is I who am free. With this woman, I am invincible.

Chapter 9

“Yes, sir.”

I drop Haydee off in Takapuna beside her car in the morning and then make my way to my lawyer’s office. Calling him in on a Saturday is going to cost a fortune, but Jason was right. I need to cut this off at the knees, before it becomes a problem.

I laugh at myself, as I park my car and walk the short distance into Anscombe, Drake & Kline. As if this isn’t already a monumentally fucked up problem. Who the hell could have killed Samantha? And is it someone I know through the Inferno?

I’m sure Lara is asking herself all these questions and for a moment I wonder what it would be like to really see my daughter at work. The notion is short lived. I might have said my goodbyes to her mother, but it still hurts.

Dominic Anscombe is waiting for me at the front desk, and ushers me into a meeting room as soon as I arrive.

“Coffee?” he asks, I shake my head. I want this over and done with. “OK, this isn’t our usual area of expertise, but an affidavit is an affidavit. I’ve had it typed up; read it, and just sign here and here,” he points to the necessary locations, “and I’ll sign here and stamp here.”

I scan the document, letting my eyes rest on Samantha’s name and then several lines further, on Haydee’s. It’s all there, in black and white. Every time I met with Samantha. Every location. Every date. Too many. I hadn’t realised there were so many, until I went through my credit card receipts and jotted them all down.

I hadn’t even liked her that much.

I let a huff of breath out, run my finger over Haydee’s name, and then sign on the dotted line and date it.

Anscombe does his thing and then hands me the notarised copy.

“Will it do the trick?” he asks.

I fold it carefully and slip it inside my jacket pocket.

“I certainly hope so.”

“If this goes to court,” he says, I stop what I’m doing and wait for him to proceed. “There’ll be no way to keep it quiet.”

He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.

“I’m ready,” I say, because I am. I’m ready to walk away from the clubs and the submissives. I’m ready to turn my back on a lifestyle I’ve lived for twenty-five years.

At least, I’m ready to start Haydee’s and my lifestyle. Behind closed doors. For our eyes only.

It’s thrilling and immobilising at the same time.

I shake my lawyer’s hand and head out to my vehicle. Five minutes later I’m pulling into Central Police Station on Mayoral Drive. I search the underground carpark for Lara’s vehicle and am relieved to note it’s not there. Hart had promised she wouldn’t be here.

The affidavit feels heavy in my pocket as I ascend in the ancient lift up to the CIB floor. It burns a hole in my chest and I keep wanting to rub the spot above where it rests. Which, coincidentally, is exactly above my heart. I walk down the hallway and step into an empty open-plan room. A scattered array of over burdened desks and not a single detective working at them.

Either David Hart is a man of his word or his department needs a shake up.

I knock on his office door, noticing the blinds are already drawn. Professional courtesy, nothing more.

“Superintendent,” he says. “Come on in.”

I’m ushered into a standard police cell-like office, certificates hang on one wall, the New Zealand Police logo on another. The wall behind his desk is all glass. A fishbowl springs to mind.

“Have a seat,” he says, waiting for me to sit before he does. Inspector Hart is old school. I appreciate the fact he’s trying.

I pull the affidavit out and hand it over without a word. The less I say, the better.

He scans it, then re-reads, and finally sets it down on his desk.

“Who is Haydee Elizabeth Armstrong?” he asks, I don’t let him see my anger at his words.

“My girlfriend.”

“How long have you been dating her?”

“Is this to be an impromptu interrogation, Inspector?”

“Not at all, Keen.”

“Superintendent.”

He inclines his head slowly. “Superintendent,” is said even slower.

We stare at each other.

“Just seems like a handy alibi,” the Inspector finally remarks. “I wonder if it’s been hastily provided.”

“Are you doubting my honesty?” I query.

“Convenience,” he counters. “It’s very convenient. What would this Haydee…” He picks up the affidavit and reads Haydee’s name off it. “Elizabeth Armstrong say to one of my detectives if they turned up at her address? What would she say to Detective Keen?”

“You want my daughter to question the woman I intend to marry before she’s had a chance to meet her officially?” The words are out before I can stop them, but they settle on the air quite comfortably.

I’m going to marry Haydee. I’m going to make her mine completely one day.

But first I have to deal with this Neanderthal.

He whistles. “Really? Lara’s new mother.”

The blow is significant and yet I was somehow prepared.

I nod my head and smile, baring my teeth slightly.

“Come on, Inspector,” Hart says robustly. “You were with this woman all night?”

“All night,” I say pleasantly. “And all night last night as well, if you’d like to check.”

“But not get Lara to do it?”

“It would be a courtesy I would appreciate.”

“She’s working this case whether you like it or not,” he blusters.

“Then let her work it. I’m officially no longer a suspect.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mumbles.

“Pardon?” I heard him and he knows it.

He waves a hand dismissively.

“Then who do you think did it, Superintendent?”

“You want me to solve your crimes as well as clear one of your suspects off the list?”

“Hey now,” he says defensively. “You did sleep with the vic,” again his eyes dart down to the affidavit as he counts in a loud whisper, “one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven times. That you remember,” he tags on the end.

I shrug my shoulders. “Samantha was a lot of fun.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. A spark of predatory delight enters his eyes.

“She was, was she? Liked it a little rough from what we hear. Did you accommodate her?”

I stand up from my chair and straighten my sleeves and jacket.

“I trust the assistant commissioner has been in touch,” I say casually.

“He has. Was that your doing?”

“He, like myself, is concerned with how this investigation is progressing. Samantha Hayes was a lovely lady who did not deserve to be killed in such a fashion.” My words are vehement, I let him see my anger. In this I am righteously mad. “As requested, we’d like regular updates on the steps you are taking.”

“I don’t answer to you, Keen.”

“Superintendent or sir, Inspector. Don’t make me repeat it. And you will answer to the assistant commissioner.”

He stands up from behind his desk and stares me down, but he doesn’t correct me.

Walking towards the door he says, “I’ll add your affidavit to the case file. I won’t hide it from my detectives.” In other words, he won’t hide it from Lara. I can’t blame him; it’s integral to the case. To clearing my name. My daughter will know more than she has ever been privy to in the past.

I feel slightly ill at the thought.

“Well, then,” he says, but can’t seem to bring himself to say anything more. He opens the door and steps through it.

Immediately I spot Lara.

God, just once, just one fucking time, I’d like someone to cut me a break.

“Lara-Marie,” I say, taking control of the situation. “Working on a Saturday. I am surprised.”

The detective next to her, Pierce I believe his name is, gapes at me as if I have two heads.

“Crime never takes a break, sir,” she says and then instantly turns a shade too close to green.

“Are you all right?” I ask, immediately taking a step closer. She looks like she’s going to be sick.

“Doughnuts,” she croaks out. “Too many doughnuts.”

Pierce moves forward and offers a somewhat unhinged, “My fault. Can’t get enough of the things.” He picks up a greasy looking bag and holds it out in offering. “Would you like to try one, Superintendent?”

“The Superintendent has more important things to do than eat your damn doughnut holes, Pierce,” Hart exclaims. “I expect more from a Senior Sergeant than this!”

If it wasn’t so ridiculous I’d laugh. They’re like the bloody keystone cops.

“Indeed,” I say, trying my best to look affronted.

I turn to Hart. “You’ll deal with this as requested, then?”

He glares at me but offers a polite, “I’ll do what’s expected, sir.”

I nod my head. “Good. Right then. Good day.” And then force myself to walk out the door.

It’s difficult. I want to look back at Lara. I want to take her by the shoulders and yell at her to stay away from my private life. To protect herself from the fallout that’s about to ensue. She’s good at what she does. She’s made a name for herself in a male dominated profession. I’m aware my reputation could do more harm in this Police Force than just to me.

I slip into my car and check my watch. Haydee has agreed to attend the EMS banquet with me tomorrow, instead of sharing dinner with me tonight. I wanted both. I didn’t ask for it. I’d let her feel her way a little in this as well. But now, sitting in a police carpark having bared the darkest parts of my soul in a legally binding document, I’m not sure I can survive without her until tomorrow.

I start the car and head towards the Shore. She doesn’t teach on a Saturday, but she said she’d be touching base with some of her children at the Home. I might be overstepping the mark, but I feel drawn to her. I feel compelled to seek her out, wrap her chain around my wrist, and seal the deal with my lips caressing her mouth.

I need her and the need is growing exponentially.

My cellphone rings before I make it across the Harbour Bridge. I glance down and see Jason’s name lighting up the screen.

Hitting the Bluetooth device I say, “So he’s complained to you already?”

Jason whistles low. “You got some balls on you, Keen. I’ll give you that. Ropeable doesn’t even cover it.”

“I think I might have stepped on his toes,” I point out.

“That’s one way of putting it. Where are you now?”

“Heading across to the Shore.”

“The Shore? Oh,” he says, understanding dawning. “Your pet.”

I almost correct him. So close my mouth actually hangs open. I snap it shut. Jason isn’t ready for that amount of change, even if he’s the one to have instigated it.

“Well, if she turns you down, it’s poker night at Jimmy’s.”

“I’ll pass,” I say. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Yeah, well, the chances of a pet saying no is quite unheard of, isn’t it? Have fun!” he says and ends the call before I can remark.

They’re on my mind, Jason’s words, all the way down Lake Road. I pull into the Wilson Home and just sit there. There are rules to this lifestyle. But each couple is different. Each arrangement created to suit its own individual needs. What Haydee requires, another pet may not. And even if my requirements are changing, hers may not change at all.

Am I doing the right thing?

I sit there so long I am spotted; a willowy figure with short pixie-like dark hair wanders out of the main building and walks towards my driver’s side window. In an instant all my fears disappear.

I climb out of the vehicle and lean back against it, waiting for her to make my side.

She smiles and stops before me. The chain sparkles at her neck making me instantly hard. This reaction I have is almost comical, if it didn’t feel so damn right.

“Am I disturbing you?” I ask.

“Never,” she says softly. And then waits for me to fill in the silence. She’s not impatient. She doesn’t fidget. She calmly and serenely looks up at my face, expectant and attentive. Completely focused on me as if I haven’t just interrupted her plans.

“What is it you want, Haydee?” I ask, reaching forward and lifting up her chain. I have it wrapped around my wrist without even trying.

She looks down at the jewels, the sunlight sparkling off each one and reflecting up into her eyes. Then her face lifts to the sun and she closes her lids, long lashes sweeping down over smooth skin. She’s stunning. And so fragile. A beautiful, complicated creature.

“What is it you want, Ethan?” she says to the sky.

What a question. And how do I answer it?

Her face tips down and she smiles at me.

“More,” I say softly.

“Then ask,” she whispers back.

“Haydee,” I say, my lips dry, my throat parched. “Will you give me more?”

“More what, sir?” she says, and my heart swells, along with other parts of my anatomy.

“More of your time. More of your life. More of everything.”

“That’s a lot,” she remarks.

“It is, isn’t it?” I agree. We both smile at each other and then she sighs. It’s at once wistful and also full of… regret? No, not regret, uncertainty.

“You scare me, you know?” No, I didn’t know. This has me instantly worried. “I think you’ll take me places I’ve never been.”

Oh.

“I think you might just set me free.”

“I will,” I promise. Because somehow I know I can. Even if I make it my life’s work to please this woman, I’ll do it. I’ll never stop. I’ll never give up. I’ll always keep trying.

Isn’t that what a partnership is all about? Trust. Commitment. Dedication.

I am all of those things to this woman. All of them.

“OK,” she says.

“OK?”

She nods her head in that delightful measured way she has.

“More time. More life. More everything.”

“OK,” I say. “Ah, I’ve never done this before,” I admit making her laugh.

I like it. Her laugh is delicate, but full of life. Bright and bubbly.

“What about your wife?”

“Anna? Anna was different. Anna was…” I hesitate, trying to find the right word.

I find it and I’m not sure if I should use it. What does it say about us?

“Tell me,” Haydee presses, leaning in to me, bringing her soothing scent of vanilla and roses nearer.

“Anna didn’t need me,” I say carefully, watching Haydee’s eyes for a sign. For a warning I’ve gone too far.

“That must have been hard,” she says, surprising me. Of course, she surprises me.

“Hard?” I question.

“For a provider, a protector, like you.”

“Yes,” I say. “It was hard. But I loved her.”

Haydee smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

“Loved,” I repeat, almost to myself. Not love.

I reach up and cup Haydee’s face. “Can we work it out as we go?”

She nods, turns her lips to my palm and kisses.

“I’d like that,” she whispers against the same spot she’s just kissed.

“So would I,” I say, but the words are barely audible.

She straightens and looks towards the Wilson Home building. “Would you like to meet the kids?”

I can think of a million things I’d like to do more than meet the kids. But I don’t mention them. It’s quite possible she sees some of the more wicked alternatives in my eyes, all the same.

“I’d love to meet the kids,” I say.

She leads me into the building, her fingers laced through mine, her eyes flicking over her shoulder to look at me every few seconds. There’s an excitement there. She’s keen to show me her world. And suddenly meeting the kids is the most important thing in my life.

We spend several hours there. I even end up on the floor, sitting cross-legged, with toddlers climbing all over me. It’s the strangest afternoon I’ve ever experienced, and yet seeing Haydee’s smile and hearing the way she communicates with these beautiful, challenged children, fills my heart with warmth. She is sunshine on a cloudy day. She is the soft touch of a summer breeze. The delicate stroke of a snowflake as it dusts your skin.

She is stunning.

And I have every intention of letting her know that.

I follow her to her house in Bayswater, still on the North Shore. The journey she’s been undertaking to get across the city to my house finally sinks in. Part of me is honoured that I’m worth the effort. Another part is frightened the distance will be taxing.

“You like living here?” I ask, as she sweeps through her modest flat and starts pulling ingredients out of her cupboards for dinner.

“It’s close to work,” she says, seeming at peace with herself in the kitchen.

“I hadn’t realised you lived so far away,” I murmur, picking up a book she’s been reading from beside an armchair. I smile as I read the description. It could be our lives written there.

“I like the drive,” she admits. “It allows me to settle things in my mind. Switch off from work. Click into what we have.”

My head comes up and I look at her. She’s humming happily, not at all concerned about what she’s said. But I am. I walk towards her and enter the open-plan kitchen, moving until I’m right at her back. She senses my presence and moves to turn around. I still her progress, lean forward and place my hands on the bench on either side of her body, hemming her in. My lips come down on the side of her neck, hot breath against the skin there. Goosebumps rise up in a wave of chilled delight.

“You don’t think of me when you’re at work?” I ask against her ear.

“I do,” she whispers back.

I lean in closer, soak up the heat from her body, let her feel the hardness of mine. Solid, safe.

“What do you think of when you think of me when at work, pet?” I say, letting her know this has moved on from a casual conversation.

“I…” she starts, then licks her lips and closes her eyes.

I lift a hand up and wrap it around her throat, pull her back against my chest. She fits in just the right places. Her pert little arse exactly where my aching cock needs it.

“Tell me,” I order.

“I think of what you do to me. How you make me feel,” she says, her words breathless.

“And how to I make you feel?”

“Good,” she says immediately. “Safe,” she adds.

“Good girl,” I say, rewarding her with a nibble on her ear. “And what do I do to you?”

“Set me free,” she whispers.

“I make you feel good and safe. And I set you free?” I press.

She nods her head.

“Say it,” I demand.

“Yes, sir. You make me feel good and safe. And you set me free.”

I move my free hand down over her stomach, palm flat, fingers outstretched, lower, lower, and then grip the hem of her skirt and start to raise it.

“So why do you need to switch off from work? Click into what we have?”

My fingers find the edge of her panties and I slip under the material, drawn to her heat. She’s wet and I’d guess aching. I let my hand hover over her mound, but don’t touch anything yet.

“Haydee?” I push. “Answer me.”

“I…I don’t know,” she stammers.

I thrust two fingers inside her and rock my erection into her rear. She gasps, head falling forward in her signature show of surrender, chest rising and falling as she pants out her breaths. I fuck her with my fingers as I hold her still with my hand against her throat.

“Master,” she begs.

“Tell me,” I say softly. My hand slipping out from between her legs and making her moan.

“Two separate worlds,” she says, the words pleading, even though they aren’t a plea.

I bring my hand up to her face, wet fingers to her lips.

“Suck them clean,” I say.

She snakes her tongue out and immediately starts licking her juices off my fingertips, then I slip them into her mouth completely, holding her still and tipping her head back, face to the ceiling.

“I am part of your world, Haydee,” I say, moving my hand from her throat and bringing it ‘round to unfasten my trousers. “At work. At home. Out and about. And when you get in your car and drive across the Bridge to me.”

I free myself, then pull down her panties, letting them hold her legs together at her knees.

“There is no clicking into what we have, is there?” I say.

She shakes her head, moving my hand with the fingers still in her mouth, as she effects the motion.

“There are no two separate worlds, are there?” I insist.

Another head shake. I remove my fingers from her mouth, push her forward until she’s bent over the bench, and then thrust hard inside.

Oh, fuck! She’s wet, and tight, and explodes around me as soon as I sink in up to my balls. I clench my teeth as I suck in a sharp breath of air, and wait for her muscles to relax. They pulsate all around me, drawing me in further, drawing me in until I feel like I’m beneath her skin.

I want more.

I start to rock, pressing her up against the bench, making her have to bring her hands up to stop the hard thrusts from pushing her too vigorously into the kitchen cupboards.

I pound into her. I take what I want and in return let her know that she is mine. Always. Here at her home, in her kitchen. At school when she fantasises about me. In her car as she prepares to bare her body for my use. Everywhere.

This woman is mine and I tell her so.

I come violently. She shatters beneath me. Heaving breaths, high pitched keen, shaking around my cock as she leans her face down on the bench, hot breath steaming across granite.

“You are mine, Haydee,” I say to the skin at the back of her neck, my cock twitching and jerking inside her.

“Yes, sir.”

“No matter where,” I add.

“Everywhere,” she whispers, shuddering with delight as she delivers the promise.

God, this woman is perfect.

Chapter 10

“Good girl.”

The Emergency Services banquet is as boring as expected. We’re sitting at a large round table in the middle of the Great Hall in the Old Town Hall building. A banker and his pursed lipped wife sit opposite us. A real estate agent and his arm candy of choice are to the side. Some sort of land developer prattles on about capital gains taxes and all I can think about is getting Haydee into one of the curtained off areas and fucking her tight little pussy while my hand covers her mouth so she doesn’t scream when she comes.

I’m hard. I’m bored. And I’m distracted.

And then I spot Nathaniel Marcroft and my mood plummets.

The owner of Sweet Hell is in fine form, chatting up a paramedic, smiling lasciviously to a councillor’s wife. Eyeing the low neckline of a way too young woman as she sweeps by. I study him. Our acquaintance is an old, but odd one. He was my neighbour for close to eight years when Lara was young. We’ve grown apart since, but he was once a regular at our dining table. We see each other, of course. My invitation to the Irreverent Inferno was issued by the man himself. But he is no longer one of my close circle. Hell, David Gordon is more a friend than Nathaniel Marcroft these days.

But I can’t deny the man has made my lifestyle more accessible. He provided an environment, safe from the public eye, secure from exposure, and with a wealth of possibilities to try. Many of my pets were chosen from the Irreverent Inferno’s chamber. Many were referred to me from Nathaniel through Jason.

He knows me, I realise, better than I know him now. And the thought is uncomfortable.

I look to my side and watch Haydee for a moment. She looks beautiful. Not just her perfectly presentable cropped hairstyle, or the dramatic eye make-up that makes her eyes look larger than life. Or her glowing smooth skin under the accented lights. Or the black skimpy dress that shows off her figure and makes every man in the room drool. It’s her serene smile, her confidence and grace, and the fact that she hasn’t said a word to anyone unless I invite it. The control is heady, and I find myself staring at her chain as it wraps three times around her slender neck. I find my fingers twitching to reach out and twist my hand up in its length. To tie her to me in a way none here can mistake.

It is this preoccupation that makes me overlook his approach. Before I even realise it, Nathaniel Marcroft has taken a vacant seat at Haydee’s side.

I am startled out of my fantasies when his hand lands on hers on the table’s surface. My eyes dart up to his face; so affable. My spine straightens and my jaw flexes.

“Marcroft,” I say, voice low and threatening.

“Who is your pet, Keen?” Nathaniel enquires, voice only loud enough for us to hear.

“Remove your hand,” I demand, the urge to climb across the table and break his fingers makes my vision tunnel.

He lifts his hand up and stares at it, then winks at Haydee, as if it’s all some sort of game.

“Always was a bit possessive,” he says with seemingly genuine good cheer. “So, my dear. Is he sharing you yet?”

“No,” I say. One word. Nothing else.

“My son would so benefit from a lovely creature such as this,” Marcroft says with a sigh, his hungry eyes alighting on Haydee’s chain around her neck. “You always did have a knack for breaking them in wonderfully. I trust she is all trained up?”

“This conversation is over,” I say, standing from my chair and holding out a hand to Haydee. She takes it immediately, and gracefully moves to her feet. To look at her, you wouldn’t know she was perturbed by what is transpiring.

Marcroft rises to his feet as well.

“Come now, Keen. It’s an honest mistake.” He looks at Haydee again, a type of greed there that I don’t like. As though he’s eyeing her up as a commodity, not just a possession, but something to trade.

“Haydee is mine,” I say, succinctly. Annunciating each word carefully.

“And when she bores of you, Keen? Or you of her?”

“Never,” I say through clenched teeth. My control is alarmingly poor. I struggle to right myself. In front of this man, showing such weakness is unheard of.

And suddenly, I see him very clearly. A predator with no morals. A junkie trying to get his fix.

Jesus. Did he kill Samantha? Was he the one to follow Haydee outside the Dirty Martini?

“Watch yourself, Marcroft,” I say leaning in to issue the threat. “Cross me and you won’t live to regret it.”

It’s a stupid thing to say at an Emergency Services banquet surrounded by high ranking cops. But no one pays us any attention. I glance around to be sure and spot Lara.

Coming out from behind a set of velvet curtains. The irony is not lost on me.

“We’re done here,” I announce, and place my hand at Haydee’s lower back and lead her away.

I feel like I’ve escaped something very evil. I feel like we’ve just slipped through Lucifer’s noose. I glance down at Haydee, and then back up at Lara. Fuck, this day is just going to get worse.

Sweeping Haydee behind me as we pass through a narrow gap in dinner guests, I approach my daughter and the man I believe she is currently seeing. I shouldn’t be surprised to see them both here. He is a HEAT Investigator, heading up the Fire Investigation division, and she is a CIB detective. Both have every right professionally to be here.

But there’s more to it, and part of me wants to challenge Lara simply because I was unable to challenge Marcroft and my blood is already high.

We come to a stop in front of them, and my eyes can’t help sweeping over Lara’s slightly dishevelled frame. I recognise the dress immediately. It’s several years old, out of fashion, and one I purchased for her because she had no inclination to do so herself. A sense of regret swells up inside me. I may have provided for Lara as she grew into the capable woman she is today, but that’s all I did.

And now I’m paying for it.

“Superintendent Keen, I presume,” the Investigator says.

I stare at his outstretched hand and make him wait before I grasp it tightly.

“HEAT Investigator Michaels,” I reply, voice clipped. “Hardly the venue to seduce my daughter.” I may appreciate his acumen professionally, but this man is intimate with my daughter.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” he announces, in what has to be a blatant lie. Lara pretends I don’t exist anymore; she’d hardly waste her breath discussing me with her boyfriend. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet.”

“Lara hasn’t said anything about you,” I say steadily back. It’s beneath me, but the confrontation with Marcroft has left me out of sorts.

Should I tell Lara my fears? Warn her?

I don’t get the chance.

“Are you here alone, Dad? Or did you bring a date?” Lara asks.

I stiffen. This is it. The introduction. I have never introduced a pet to Lara before. Never.

But then Haydee is no longer just a pet.

I turn slightly and allow Haydee to step forward. The instant she makes my side the world rights itself. I am calm.

“This is Haydee,” I say, pride too obvious in my tone. I bring my hand up to the back of her neck, unable to resist touching her, touching the chain. This woman is mine, I want to shout. See, I want yell. Mine.

Haydee smiles with genuine affection towards Lara, but her silence is for me.

God, I love her.

“Hello,” Lara says, pleasantly. I’m grateful for her gentle tone. Haydee should be treated gently. By all but me when we’re alone. “I’m Lara,” my daughter adds. “Ethan’s daughter.”

I’m too busy gazing down at the goddess at my side to gauge Lara’s reaction.

“This is my boyfriend Damon,” my daughter says, and I realise the silence that follows is now awkward.

“It’s strange to see you at an event like this,” I say, wrapping a protective arm around Haydee’s waist while I do it.

“I’m on the clock,” she blurts.

“Ah,” I manage, unsure what else to add, then fall into old habits. “Clearly CIB has changed its tactics since my day.”

“We utilise all avenues available to us,” Lara replies in a mechanical voice that tells me I’ve hurt my daughter.

Regret is an emotion I know well. I watch as her lover steps closer, giving her solace and support, but allowing her to lead. I study him. Maybe he isn’t a bad choice after all.

“I can see that,” I say carefully. “How is your case progressing?”

“Slowly,” she admits and I let out a little breath. Not for the progress or lack thereof on the case, but because this is territory I am familiar with and can handle. “We have suspects,” she adds.

And that just raised the bar, didn’t it?

“Narrowing it down?” I query, not letting her see she’s hit the mark.

“Making some headway, but I could use your advice.”

“Of course,” I say automatically, the conversation falling into old tried and tested patterns lacking any emotional depth.

“Do you have a moment now?” she asks, looking around for somewhere for us to go.

I don’t want to leave Haydee. I don’t want to have this conversation in front of the woman I love.

“I’m not sure now would be appropriate,” I say, knowing Lara won’t back off, but hoping against hope that something will finally go my way.

It doesn’t.

“Just a few minutes,” Lara insists. “I’m sure Damon could take Haydee for a drink.”

Not what I expected and not welcome one little bit. I stare down Michaels, but reluctantly have to admit defeat. Lara will not let this go. And she’s in danger. If Marcroft is who I think he is, she needs to know.

“Very well,” I say and turn to Haydee. “You know what to do.”

She smiles and my heart soars. I want to kiss her. I want to sink myself under her skin.

I watch them walk away, a part of me leaving with her. But she wears my chain. She’s a good pet. She won’t say a word and she’ll come back to me.

I turn to Lara and follow her lead, walking over to a two seater sofa that is a little too close to the curtained area she and Michaels just came out from. I stare down at my daughter and wonder if she inherited any of her mother’s traits. Or if she is more like my Haydee.

I quash that line of thought immediately.

“So, how can I help?” I ask, settling into the settee.

“You can tell me if you signed an NDA with Sweet Hell.”

I want to laugh out loud. Lara has run out of patience. I should think the gag order all Irreverent Inferno members must sign is causing her no end of blocked doorways.

“A non-disclosure agreement would make it impossible to confirm or deny that,” I try.

“No, it wouldn’t. It would prohibit you from speaking about the subject of the agreement, not whether you had signed one.” Good girl.

I sigh as I stare off after Haydee. I want her back by my side. But this has to be said. Has to be done.

“I never wanted you to be aware of my lifestyle,” I say with feeling. I don’t look at her. I can’t look my daughter in the eye.

“Excuse me?” she says, shocked.

Shocked at my words or that I’ve finally admitted them?

“Your assumptions are correct,” I say, but can’t find the will to add more.

“You’re a full member of the Irreverent Inferno,” she concludes. Then, “Why tell me now?”

This is perhaps one of the most uncomfortable conversations of my life.

I shrug my shoulders, trying to ease the tension across my upper back. It doesn’t work.

“It will come out if this reaches court. You need to be prepared,” I offer.

Silence, but unlike Haydee’s silence, this one leaves me empty.

“That woman,” Lara says softly. “What’s with the silence?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I snap back; a knee jerk reaction I immediately regret having.

I regret so much where Lara is concerned. I can’t do this anymore. I’m a coward. But it was only ever meant to be for her protection.

“OK,” she says, an edge having entered her voice. When she speaks again, she has it under control. “When did you last see Samantha Hayes?”

But I’m not nearly in control enough to discuss that with my daughter.

I stand up, straighten my shirt sleeves, my cuff links, and walk away. It’s what I’m good at doing with Lara. I walked away from her childhood because it was too painful to see my wife in her eyes, in her hair, in everything that my daughter was. It damn near killed me.

I think it might have done the same to Lara.

I need Haydee. Dear fucking God, I need Haydee or I’m going to run screaming from this room.

She’s there. Before me. Immediately attuned to my desires. She smiles softly, her head tilted in understanding, and I’m in front of her in three quick strides.

“Did he hurt you?” I demand. She shakes her head, her eyes sad. Sad for me. Sad for my daughter. “I need you,” I admit, looking up and over her shoulder, spotting the perfect location for us to be. “See those velvet curtains over there, Haydee,” I say.

She turns her head and looks toward where I indicate. She nods gracefully when she looks back up at my face, a small smile already curving those fuckable lips.

“I’m going to walk through them and I want you to wait just on this side,” I instruct. I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “When I’m ready, you’re going to make your body available to me. You’re going to let me fuck you in this public place, just out of sight. You’re going to let me take my pleasure in your beautiful body, seek my release wherever I choose. And you’ll not deny me a thing, will you, sweet?”

She bites her bottom lip and nods her head.

“Are you ready, pet?”

Another nod. I walk away, towards the curtains, knowing she’s trailing behind. Knowing she’s already wet and wanting. Knowing I’m about to use her and she’ll love every second of it.

I take a surreptitious glance around the banquet hall and then slip through the curtains to the other side.

The alcove is small, a curved plaster wall that houses nothing. Maybe it should have had a statue in it, or an overlarge pot plant, but whatever it was designed for is now gone. Just parquet flooring, smooth white walls and dark, thick curtains at my back. I glance up at the ceiling as I turn back around and smile.

Then peer out between the curtains.

She’s there. Head tipped down, eyes to the floor, hands loosely held in front of her. That smile is tickling the edges of her lush lips. I reach through the gap, grasp the length of chain as it hangs down between her breasts, and pull my pet inside.

The curtains swish shut behind her. I visually check to make sure they’ve sealed us in adequately. I can hear the dinner guests, the clink of glasses, the titter of laughter. I can smell the floral arrangements from in the centre of the tables mixed in with the lamb and chicken and fish we’d all consumed for the third course.

I look down at my goddess, who stands patiently, but expectantly, and reach up to tip her face towards mine, finger under her delicately pointed chin.

“You are stunning,” I say softly. She smiles.

I take her by her chain and move her so her back is to the curved wall, right in the centre. She’ll be able to see the curtains over my shoulder. Know who and what is just the other side of them. She’ll watch them, aware that someone could peer through them, pull them back, at any time. She’ll be unable to look away.

Already she’s breathing too quickly.

I grip her chain and say, “Hands behind your back.”

She obliges.

I reach around, brushing my lips across her cheek, unable to stop myself, and wrap the chain securely around her wrists at the base of her spine. It tips her head up, so far that all she can see is the ceiling. She gasps.

“Do you like it, sweet Haydee?” I ask, knowing what she is seeing. “They’re not real stars, but they’ll do nicely, don’t you think?”

She blinks back tears as she gazes at the myriad of tiny LED lights dotted all across the ceiling like a blanket of stars.

“You’re tied up,” I say. “I’m not going to undo the binds,” I add. “You’re under the stars,” I whisper, “waiting for me to touch you. You can hear the voices of people nearby. You know they’re there. You just can’t see them. So,” I say, voice nothing more than a deep rumble. “Now I’m going to fuck you, Haydee Elizabeth Armstrong. I’m going to fuck your body for my pleasure and in the process set you free.”

She whimpers. My beautiful girl.

“Are you ready, pet?” I ask. She gives a minute nod of her head.

I undo my trousers, watching her face as she listens to the zipper slide down. She’s panting. I thrust them and my underwear down my legs, letting my cock spring free and slap against my stomach. She moans. I reach forward and then slide my hands down over her sides, over her hips. She shivers. And continue down each thigh, then walk forward until my chest hits hers, forcing her to lean back against the curved wall.

In a smooth, lightning quick move I lift her up and wrap her legs around my waist.

Her head is pressed against the wall, her shoulders are back as far as they’ll go with her hands tied behind her, she’s looking at the stars but very much aware of the curtains and the low hum of conversation coming from behind them. I reach between her legs and snap the crotch on her teddy open, then thrust deep inside.

She makes a sound, it would have been drowned out by the banquet, but my hand comes up and slaps over her mouth in any case.

“Shh,” I say, as I rock into her welcoming heat. “That’s it,” I encourage. “Take all of me, little pet. Every inch of my hard cock as I take what I want.”

The noises she makes behind my hand make me dizzy. I start to fuck her harder. The chain rattles noisily at her back with each hard thrust forward. Air is pushed from her lips as I rut against her body, ensuring each rock stimulates her clit as my cock slides past it.

“Ohhh,” she groans, muffled behind my hand. “Ahhhh,” she moans as she spasms around me.

Beautiful.

Stunning.

Free.

I fuck her with long strokes and everything I have for a few more seconds. I claim her, own her, consume her every thought and sensation, then empty myself deep inside. I’m shuddering as I slip out of her centre and lower her to her feet. She’s shaking as I release the chain and check her neck and wrists. A tear slowly rolls down her cheek. I kiss it.

“Are you all right, little pet?” I whisper against her lips.

She nods.

“I think I’m in love with you,” I say and kiss her because I might have just said too much.

I have to pull back several blissful moments later, as it’s getting hard to breathe for both of us. I rest my forehead against hers and catch my breath.

“Did you like your stars, Haydee?”

“I loved them,” she whispers back.

“Stay here and recover, and then slip down the wall behind the curtains and come out by the coat stand. I’m taking you home to fuck again.”

She smiles. It’s blinding. My heart damn near bursts out of my chest.

“Good girl,” I say, and straighten my clothing and then turn away. My mind is on what part of her body I’ll be fucking when I get her home to Redoubt Road, as I slip through the curtains and come face to face with my worst nightmare.

It takes everything in me not to look over my shoulder to check that Haydee is safe.

Chapter 11

“I am now.”

“Well, this is cosy. A Redoubt Road reunion,” Nathaniel Marcroft says as my eyes scan those surrounding him.

Dear fucking God, really?

Lara and her HEAT Investigator boyfriend stand there. She looks pale. He looks amused. Kyan, Nathaniel’s son, is trying valiantly to get his father to behave. And Nathaniel? Nathaniel is the cat that just got the cream.

I’m so fucking furious I have to work not to clench my fists and punch a hole in the wall behind me. How could I have been such a fool as to walk into this?

Haydee. Thank the stars that Haydee is behind that curtain and about to make her escape. I have to delay matters. Entertain this vile creature while my goddess makes it to safety. I do not want Nathaniel Marcroft anywhere near my woman.

“Dad,” Kyan urges, moving closer and laying a hand on his father’s arm. “I think it’s time we should go.”

“Nonsense,” Nathaniel counters. “We’ve only just all arrived.”

Oh, yes. He’s in his element. Can Lara see it? Is she already aware of what this man is capable of?

I watch it all play out with a sense of desperation that thunders through my pulse. Desperate for Haydee to be safe from the likes of this man. Desperate for my daughter to survive this case and catch Marcroft before he can do what he did to Samantha to someone else.

I’m sure it’s him now. I just hope Lara is as sure, as well.

“We have a late afternoon meeting, Dad,” Kyan is saying. “I’m sorry,” he adds, looking at everyone at once. “But we’re expected and must leave.”

“Not a problem,” Lara says, cheerfully. The act is brilliant and I realise I’m getting my wish: Watching Lara at work. “The day is still young, after all.”

“Indeed,” Marcroft says, drawn into Lara’s expert trap. She knows. My daughter knows, even if she hasn’t quite worked it all out yet. She knows what type of man Marcroft actually is. “You never know what the night will bring,” he says lasciviously.

She smiles at him with a blank look that has never been one of Lara’s. She really is quite brilliant at this.

“You two make a fine couple,” Marcroft offers, ignoring the continued efforts of his son to get him to move. His eyes rake over Lara and Michaels as he adds, “We should have an official reunion, Ethan.” Oh, so I’m to be used in this confrontation as well? “Lara-Marie brings her Damon,” Marcroft says and then turns piercing eyes towards me. “And you bring your latest pet.”

Everything narrows down to just him and me and I let him see the challenge I issue. One more word, and I’ll cut him in two. I am so sure of my ability to end this man’s life as he knows it. I’m so sure, that I let everyone present see it.

Lara glances at me and I force myself to meet her eyes, dreading what I’ll see there. But she’s in her role as detective, playing it to perfection, a million miles out of Nathaniel Marcroft’s stratosphere.

She gives me a nervous look. Lara is never nervous. And then says, “I’m sure Mr Marcroft doesn’t mean that.”

Brilliant.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Marcroft’s son immediately offers, grasping his father’s wrist and starting to haul him away. “Too many glasses of champagne,” he adds, as his grip tightens.

“We’re all family here,” Nathaniel declares merrily. The man is completely insane.

“Come on, Dad,” Kyan says encouragingly, and finally his father agrees to be ushered away.

The son looks up and meets Lara’s eyes. There’s a challenge there my daughter meets beautifully. “It doesn’t help,” he says, “that we spend our nights surrounded by every manner of vices.” I remain very still and wait for the axe to drop. “Sometimes I think my father wishes the rest of the world were as open as those who frequent Sweet Hell.”

Yes, it’s as bad as I’d feared it would be.

“Open about their sexuality, Kyan?” Lara asks without batting an eyelash. I stare at her, a part of me wanting her non-reaction to be true.

Another part aware that my predilections are an entirely different thing than a semi-stranger’s.

“Any vice, Lara,” Marcroft junior offers. “We’re a gambling establishment which caters to the many sins known to man.”

“Those would be what exactly?” Lara presses, immediately. Going in for the kill, but even I am surprised by her next words. “Lust? Gluttony? Greed?”

Oh, she is very good. Lust, greed and gluttony, three of Dante’s nine circles of Hell. Lara’s cracked the Irreverent Inferno. I’m so fucking proud even as I’m appalled she is now much too aware of my lifestyle.

“Come now,” he says jovially. “Surely you’re not entirely unfamiliar with any of those. You do see some interesting things in your line of work, I should think.”

“Yes,” Lara agrees, keeping eye contact. “It makes it easier to see the truth amongst the treachery.”

Brilliant.

“Well,” he replies softly. “A worthy trait for a police detective to have.”

He nods his head towards me. I don’t return the favour. Then does the same to Michaels. But Kyan Marcroft can’t look Lara in the eye. He’s involved, I realise, as I watch him walk away toward his waiting father. He’s as much involved as his old man.

Interesting.

“Are you aware of any illness, mental or otherwise, that Nathaniel Marcroft might have?” Lara says into the stunned silence, her eyes on both Marcrofts, but the question undoubtedly for me.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Lara-Marie,” I say softly

“One you think I’m not adept at,” she counters, feathers ruffled already. I want to sigh.

Instead I murmur, “On the contrary.” She is brilliant my daughter. “I think you play it better than me.”

I nod towards Michaels and then walk away. Lara will have this crime solved before breakfast, I have every faith in our daughter.

Anna, I think as I move towards where Haydee is waiting. She did all right without us, my love. So much like her mother.

Anna doesn’t answer, but then I don’t wait to hear her imagined voice. My eyes have found Haydee. Hers have found me. I walk up to her, seeing my future, seeing it flowing out in front of me and shining under the stars. I wrap a hand around the nape of her neck and pull her in for a soul searing kiss.

“I’m in love with you,” I say against her cheek. I bury my face into the crook of her neck. I can smell her scent here. I can feel the chain press against my chin.

“Me too,” she whispers, lifting a hand up to stroke my hair.

I pull back and look down at her.

“Excuse me? What was that, little one?”

She smiles up at me, mischief and something heated flaring in her dark eyes.

“I’m in love with you too, master.”

“Oh,” I say, chuckling. “I’m going to have you repeating that when my cock is deep, deep inside.”

She sighs, lowers her face so she is grinning at the floor and waits patiently. Gracefully. Serenely.

This woman would let me lead her anywhere.

For now, I am leading her home.

She’s silent in the car on the drive from the city centre south. But I couldn’t be happier. I’m unsure where things will go with Lara, but I have faith that Haydee can help me open up to my daughter just like she’s helped me open up to her. There’s something about this creature beside me, something compelling and intriguing and addictive. But also so very calm. She soothes me. She evens me out. Balances the rough with the smooth.

She’s the half of me that has been missing. Perfectly matched. Beautifully crafted. Made just for my pleasure.

I let a small laugh out as I pull into my drive. I know her eyes are on me. What does she see?

I turn and offer a wink, then slide out of the car and swiftly walk around to her side, opening her door and helping her alight from the vehicle. She knows to wait for me. She knows this is something I like to do. For her.

I slip our hands together, fingers laced and lead her up to the back door.

“Have you got your key?” I ask before we reach it.

She nods her head.

“Then unlock the door.”

She fishes it out of her evening bag and with steady hands slips the key in the lock. She’s only used it when I’ve already been home and waiting. But this feels significant. Important. A stepping stone I didn’t even know I needed to take.

“Open the door, pet,” I say and watch her smile.

Haydee’s heart might be my woman, but her body is all my pet.

“The code is 58214, “ I say and watch as she enters it into the alarm system. “Lock the door behind us,” I instruct and walk through the utility room into the kitchen.

I glance around as I hear the click of the lock on the door. I haven’t had Haydee in our kitchen before. Or the den. Or the library. Or any of the guest bedrooms. I guess we’ll be christening the entire house before long, but this evening I want to feast on my woman.

I turn back and slap my hand down on the large wooden bench in the centre of the kitchen. It’s an old country kitchen, with rough hewn tiles on the floor, shaker style cabinets, and a pot rack hanging directly above.

“Up you get, sweet one,” I say, indicating the bench. “Stand up and strip for me.”

She drops her handbag and slips out of her shoes. I allow it. Climbing up onto kitchen benches in high heels could be dangerous. Then, as if she’s a gymnast, she vaults up onto the bench and lands on her rear. The move is playful, not sensual. And that’s what I love about this girl. She has fun. She takes while I take. And it just makes me want to give her more.

She’s up on her knees, and then is standing, before I’ve taken a seat at one of the bar stools that rim the serving bench off to one side. I pour myself a Scotch and lean back, elbows to the bench as Haydee begins to slip out of her dress before my eyes.

The window over the sink is bare; I don’t bother with curtains in here, but if a neighbour should look over the fence they could get an eyeful.

“Are you worried about the window?” I ask between sips of my drink.

She shakes her head. It is darker in here than outside still, but I get up from my chair and switch on the light, bathing her near naked body in a warm yellow glow.

“And now?” Another head shake. She trusts me.

My neighbours work late on the weekends, I know no one is home.

I smile at her and settle back in my seat as she pulls off first one stocking and then the other.

“Leave the garters,” I say. “And raise your arms above your head, wrapping your hands around the rack.”

Her chain glints in the lights. Her body glistens.

“I’m going to tell you my fantasy,” I say, and she beams down at me. “It involves the body of a goddess and the soul of a saint. And a heart so big and beautiful it brings tears to your eyes. But that’s not the best part,” I add, placing my drink down on the counter and pushing up from my seat.

I walk towards her, our eyes locked on each other.

“My fantasy is stealing her away from the world. Keeping her for my very own.”

I start undoing my bow tie, slipping out of my jacket.

“Of worshipping her body and cradling her heart. Of soothing her soul.”

My shirt comes undone and then my trousers.

“She sings to me in her silence. She screams for me when she comes.”

My shoes and socks are gone and I’m naked, worshipping before my goddess.

“She lets me take and take some more,” I say, as I climb up on the bench with her. “She fills me up when I empty myself deep inside. She’s mine,” I whisper. “In every way.”

I lean forward. I don’t touch her chain or her body, just move my lips until they are just above hers.

“As I have been hers from the very first day.”

And then I’m kissing her. My arms wrapped around her body, one hand up and securely holding the back of her neck, the other cupping her butt cheek. Our tongues dance as she sways on the pot rack, not releasing her grip until I say. My cocks rubs up against her body, pressing back into mine when she tries to get closer. Hungry little noises spill from her mouth as I lick and bite and suck on her lips, my tongue flicking out and diving in deep, tangling us together.

I know the feelings now. I’m familiar with them. As though they are part of me somehow. I want inside her. I want under her skin like she is under mine. I want to live within her, bathe in her beauty, float free on her sighs.

I want it all.

“Tell me,” I breathe into her neck, my hands roaming down her body until I pick her up and wrap her legs around my waist, like they had been back at the banquet. I know she’s remembering. Her head tips back looking for the stars and only sees brass pots and clattering utensils.

“Tell me,” I repeat as I sink myself deep inside. Bliss. I start rocking, my eyes on her face, her breasts bouncing between our bodies, her gasps filling up the heated air and competing with the cooking equipment.

“Tell me,” I urged, as my fingers dig into flesh and my cock impales her on long, hard thrusts.

She bites her lip and then smiles at me.

Little minx.

I increase my pace, revel in her moans of ecstasy. She’s close. She thinks she’s in control. She draws me in, holds me prisoner, all with a soft pant, a pliant roll of her hips, a tight, wet welcoming.

I am home.

“Still won’t tell me, little pet?” I ask between small grunts of exertion. I give her everything.

She shakes her head and then lets out a squeak, followed by a moan, when I circle my hips, surprising her with the change of angle, and then stealing her breath away with a purposeful thrust deep inside. I endeavour to reach the very heart of her with each long, hard pound of my cock inside.

“Oh,” she manages and receives another limb quaking, body possessing thrust.

“Tell me,” I demand, fucking her harder, letting our skin slap together in a rhythm as old as time, counterpoint to the rattle and sway of the pots and pans above our heads.

I time the rhythm. Thrust of my cock, gasp of air as she takes me, circle of my hips. Rinse and repeat. She’s lost. She’s free. She’s taking me with her. She’s coated in sweat now, and I watch as she moans and writhes on top of me. She’s about to come, and I want her to say the fucking words.

“Tell me,” I say, going perfectly still. She wriggles. I tilt my head to the side and raise my brow. I’m sweating, shaking, black spots dance before my eyes with the strain to hold back.

I see the moment she releases she won’t get what she wants until I do.

Her eyes meet mine, her smile is my undoing.

Or so I thought, until she says the words.

“I’m in love with you, Ethan.”

Oh, fuck.

I grab her hands from the rack, wrap them around my shoulders, feel her nails dig into flesh and then take her. My kiss is hard. My cock is pounding into her harder. And my careful hand around her throat promises protection and my kind of freedom.

She comes, her mouth open, her eyes glazed, her scream silent. I release my hold of her neck and watch as oxygen rushes back in through gasping lips, watch as the imprint of my fingers turn from blue, to white, to red as blood flows back through her system.

Fuck! I stare at the sensational sight as I come; my release goes on forever. I give her all of me, even as I take and take and take.

“Haydee,” I say, clinging to her. Or she is to me? “Fuck, Haydee,” I add, and somehow manage to get us both down off our stage.

I sink to the tiled floor with her wrapped around me, sitting chest to chest, knees on either side of my hips. I’m still buried inside her. I may never leave.

“Wow,” she says, and the word is raspy.

I chuckle and pull back, then check her neck again, feeling myself harden.

She raises an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you all right?” I ask. She offers me her signature serene smile and nods her head.

“I’m not finished with you,” I warn, making my cock jerk inside her to prove my point.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she teases softly.

“Must I gag you, Haydee?” I ask, with mock grimness.

“Please, master,” she purrs in my lap.

“Naughty pet,” I scold playfully and then move up to my knees, and push up from the floor.

I’m not letting her go.

I take her up to my bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat up. I realise she’s looking up at me. I glance down.

“Beautiful,” she whispers and I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a woman say that to me before.

I’m fifty-one years old. I’m fit and athletic, well toned, but there’s grey threaded through my dark hair. I have tiny wrinkles around my eyes and I know I do not smile enough to have caused them. When I let my beard grow it is almost all silver. I don’t understand pop culture. And until recently I hadn’t spoken to my daughter in more than six years.

And this woman thinks I’m beautiful.

We stare at each other, no words needed. This moment will last our lifetime.

I step into the shower, under the water, and then make love to my sweet pet, my goddess. I move slowly, I look deep in her eyes, I don’t break contact, I tell her every sweet thing I can think of, words tumbling out of my mouth as we gasp and moan and slide together.

I watch her sleep again. I can’t help it. I’m in heaven. I lie down beside her, her body curved into mine, heated and sated and well used. I will guard her with my life.

The phone ringing has me scrambling to answer it before she awakens. I made love to her twice more during the night unable to stop myself. I crave her even now. I know the next time I take her, she may be wrapped up in my chain, suspended from a light fixture, and begging for mercy. But tonight, was all about reverence.

I put the cellphone to my ear and whisper, “Keen.” She sleeps on splendidly, a kitten curled up in my embrace.

“Did I wake you?” Jason’s voice says, equally as quietly.

“Haydee’s sleeping. I wore her out.” Old habits. What can I say?

Jason chuckles down the other end of the line and then sobers.

“They caught him. Samantha’s murderer. It was Nathaniel. His son helped cover it up.”

I let that sink in. Then I pull my precious goddess closer and thank God for the gifts I’ve been given.

“Lara?” I ask, once I’ve gotten myself under control again.

“All on her. Hart is praising her name to whoever listens.”

“Huh,” I say, a smile spreading over my lips and unbidden tears filling my eyes.

Somehow Haydee senses my emotions. She sits up and cups a hand to my cheek, staring down at me with big, beautiful, dark soulful eyes.

I smile back.

“Just thought you’d want to know,” Jason says.

“Thanks,” I whisper, my eyes on Haydee.

“Don’t mention it.” A pause, then, “Take care of your lady.”

The line goes dead and I know my friend knows.

I’m in love with this woman.

And I’ll never hear the end of his matchmaking skills.

“Are you OK?” she whispers. I throw the phone to the side and reach up and cup her cheeks, staring into her eyes and losing myself willingly there.

“I am now,” I whisper back, the words coming from somewhere deep inside me and meaning more, much more, than they ever should.

She smiles. My heart is so full it threatens to explode.

I’m twisted up in this woman, I realise. Tied to her as if it is I who wears the chain. Connected by something intangible, but immutable. Something larger than me, bigger than us. I have never felt so small in the face of such vastness. Never so insignificant, and yet at the same time never so full, so complete.

Haydee heats up my days and burns through my nights. She is an hypnotic flame that ignites me. A fuel my body craves.

She is everything.

My secrets are hers to keep. My needs hers to satisfy. And in return I’ll keep her safe. I’ll protect her with my body, with my soul.

And most miraculously, most importantly, I’ll protect her with all of my heart.

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About The Author

Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

She has a passion for all things supernatural, spiced up with a good dollop of romance - as long as they include strong characters, alpha males and capable females, and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

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