Forbidden Heat (The Forbidden Series Book 2) Read online

  Which makes me want to try it, just to see the look on his face.

  I jump up and go to the door again. The house has gone dark and silent, so apparently Mrs. Jameson does as she’s told. As no doubt she would, if she wants to keep her job.

  Good thing I’m not here as an employee.

  After a few moments, my eyes adjust to the dimness. There’s no illumination on this floor, but a faint, soft glow comes from the first floor in the direction of the foyer. A light left on for Mr. Thorne’s return, no doubt.

  Afraid I’ll bump into something if I try to navigate in the all-but-total absence of light, I go back into my room and find the penlight in my purse. Once I’ve returned, it shows me that I’ve been quartered at one end of a long hallway. Moving confidently in the penlight’s beam, I step silently along the thick runner that takes up most of the hall, with a few inches of wood flooring visible on either side.

  At the other end of the hallway are heavy double doors. My heart kicks up a notch. The master suite?

  The knob turns easily under my hand. I bite my lip; I know I shouldn’t go in. It’s not like me at all to snoop. But Cameron Thorne has me more than a little curious.

  I’ll just take a quick peek. In and out. No one will ever know.

  Not surprisingly, the door opens smoothly and without any noise. No doubt Mr. Thorne keeps everything meticulously maintained, and besides, I can’t imagine anything in this house having the temerity to squeak against his will.

  It’s dark inside. I know he’s gone, but still I listen, carefully, for several long seconds. There’s no sound of movement or breathing. Finally, I aim the penlight into the room.

  The space is huge, dominated by an enormous bed. The comforter is a rich brown, the sheets a warm bronze, the whole room unstintingly masculine. I’m certain I’ve found his suite.

  I flick the penlight around some more, catching sight of a door that most likely leads to a bathroom, and floor-to-ceiling windows covered with heavy drapes that probably lead to a balcony. There’s a fireplace in one corner with a seating arrangement in front of it.

  That’s enough. Leave now. But I don’t. What could it hurt if I looked around a little?

  Cautiously, as though the room were rigged with motion-sensor alarms, I step inside, my light playing over the area around the bed. It’s on a raised platform, with nightstands on either side. Reading lights are mounted on the wall to either side of the heavy wood four-poster bed frame.

  I move slowly forward until I’m standing at the bottom of the bed. It’s so massive it looks like it could withstand an earthquake. The penlight explores the structure until something catches my eye.

  Something metallic … the light retraces its path until it comes on a ring set into the wood. A quick exploration reveals several more of them embedded in the frame. They could be merely decorative, but my hindbrain is insisting that they’re not.

  “Why,” I whisper to myself, “does he need rings in his bed?”

  “They’re for bondage.”

  I scream and drop the penlight as I whip around to face the door. Mr. Thorne is standing there, silhouetted by the hall light he must have turned on.

  “What are you doing here?” I shout. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake everyone.”

  He comes into the room, advancing at an unhurried, deliberate pace. I’m frozen in place, unable to move, but my mouth still works. “How many people are there?” I ask, back to a whisper.

  It’s a much safer question than anything having to do with the word that won’t stop echoing through my brain. Bondage. Bondage. Bondage.

  “At the moment, just the Jamesons. But I do have guests from time to time, and if I’m hosting an event there can be a number of people in the house.”

  “Okay.” I manage to say it in a fairly normal tone of voice, after clearing my throat. Mentioning that I won’t be here long enough for one of his events doesn’t seem like a good idea right now.

  Mr. Thorne comes to a halt just outside my personal space. That’s still close enough that I feel his presence, like a pressure against my skin. He doesn’t speak, just waits for me to hang myself.

  And I do.

  “I — um —” Bending down, I grab the penlight. Those few seconds of hesitation are enough for me race through my options and realize there’s no use trying to make up a plausible excuse. There really isn’t one; and I’d be violating the second rule.

  This seems like a really bad time to break one of his rules.

  So I go with the truth. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was restless, so I started wandering the house.” Unable to hold his gaze, even with his face in shadows, I drop my eyes. “I’m sorry. I know there’s no excuse.”

  Still he’s silent. With every passing second, my discomfort grows. Finally, I blurt out, “I’ll understand if you want me to leave.”

  “We’ve already discussed that.” His voice is calm, almost mild. “Infractions are not answered with banishment.”

  My pulse starts to race. “You … you want to punish me?” This sexy pirate of a man, who has a bed built for bondage … part of me is terrified at the kind of punishment he might deal out.

  The rest of me wants to know what it would be like.

  He moves an inch closer. I have a feeling if we measured the distance he’s just covered, it would be exactly one inch. But it’s enough; he’s in my space now, and I feel his energy against my skin. “What do you think your punishment should be?” he says.

  Why is he asking me that? It throws me into turmoil. I can’t say what I’m really thinking — would I like it if he spanked me — so I fall back on let the punishment fit the crime. “You could ground me. Confine me to my room.”

  “Do you think that’s appropriate?”

  It’s driving me crazy, to have Mr. Bossy suddenly asking my opinion. It makes something in me frantic. “I don’t know. Your house, your rules.”

  There’s a long silence. I’m still not looking at him. Finally, he turns and walks away. Lights come on, low, around the room, and then the door shuts with a soft click.

  Now we’re well and truly alone. My heart pounds as he comes back to me. When his hand cups my face, I can’t hold back a tiny gasp.

  He tilts my head up so I’m looking at him. “For some people,” he says softly, “pleasure and pain are intertwined.”

  “Yes.” I know that’s true, even if I don’t really understand it.

  “For me, discipline and control are intrinsic to who I am and how I live. But pain … it’s a pathway to pleasure. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not sure.” It’s not quite a foreign language he’s speaking, but it’s close. His hand is so warm against my skin; I want to kiss it, bite it, lick it.

  “I’m talking about sex.”

  “Okay,” I breathe. Sex and this man go together like a hand in a glove, but I sense that there’s more that I’m not grasping. “You … like sex to hurt?”

  “No. I use pain to enhance pleasure.”

  I stare at him. “That’s a very strange concept.”

  “And yet, for many people, a true experience.”

  “Are you saying …” My brain finally, belated, starts to connect the dots. “You want to have sex with me?”

  “I’m saying that for me, punishment and sex are two parts of a whole. But ... it’s not why you’re here. In this house.”

  Disappointment stings at the backs of my eyes. “I understand,” I say, turning my head away.

  He brings it back, gently. “I couldn’t cross that line with you unless you said you wanted it.”

  Oh. Suddenly, everything makes sense. This is about consent. And knowing that, my whole body lights up with yes. “I want it. I want you.”

  “Even if that comes with punishments and pain and me being in control?”

  “I don’t — I’ve never — I don’t know if I’ll like it.” I suddenly feel like I’m walking through a minefield. “
But I want to find out.”

  4

  The Game

  Am I really doing this? Asking my old mentor’s daughter if I can initiate her into my world? I know it’s foolish, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

  It’s only been a few hours since Haley walked into my house, and she’s already tested me, intrigued me, aroused me, more than most women ever do. Her sweet, round ass, turning pink under my hand … fuck, yes, I want that.

  And hearing her moan my name while I make her come. That, too. I want to feel her vise around me while we drive each other mad.

  I seldom second-guess my instincts, but I’m doing it now. They’re telling me that once I get my hands on her, everything will be fine. Maybe; but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

  “One punishment, then,” I tell her. “If it turns you off instead of on, then we’ll know this isn’t a good fit for you.”

  She worries her lower lip between her teeth. Her expression, though, isn’t anxious or fearful. A little nervous, yes, but more excited. “Yes, all right.”

  I lead her away from the bed, to a chair against the wall. She’s still wearing the outfit she arrived in — jeans and a t-shirt. The clothes hug her curves, but I’m restraining my more carnal thoughts for now.

  If this doesn’t work, I don’t want to set myself up for too great a disappointment.

  Taking a seat, I tug her down and run my hand over her denim-class ass. Her breath goes shallow; so far, so good.

  I start off slowly, a few swats followed by gentle rubbing. Her breath catches, but she doesn’t say anything. “If you need me to stop, Haley, just tell me.”

  “I will.”

  With that, I force all thought aside. A good spanking requires me to be tuned in to her; if I’m stuck in my head, I won’t be able to give her what she needs.

  Pure instinct guides me as I build her slowly up. She’s breathing hard when I stop, but that’s all. “Stand up,” I tell her gently, and when I’ve helped her to her feet, “Jeans down.”

  She bites her lip again, but complies, working them down to her knees. When she’s across my lap again, her French-cut panties give me a glimpse of her ass, beautifully pink. I’m instantly hard.

  “Remember,” I tell her. “If it hurts too much or you get too scared, tell me to stop.”

  “All right.” Her voice is a little shaky, but I’m not certain if it’s nerves, excitement, genuine fear, or some mixture of them.

  This time, I capture her wrist and pin it against her back before I go on. Without the heavy fabric of her jeans in the way, she’ll feel these a lot more.

  As soon as my hand cracks against her ass, she jerks in my hold, her hand instinctively trying to get free. She’s got enough presence of mind to stop me if she needs to, so I keep going, and before long she starts to kick.

  When I stop again, she still hasn’t cried. Time for phase three. I start to work her panties down, and she sucks in a breath but stays silent. “Lift your hips,” I say, and she does, so I can get the panties completely out of the way.

  When the scent of her arousal reaches me, I have to steel my nerves so I can finish, and not just throw her on the bed and eat her pussy for the next few hours. I hadn’t even planned to go this far, but she’s responding beautifully. A good cry, and she’ll get her endorphin rush for the evening.

  It doesn’t take long. A bit more force and briskness against her bare skin, and her tears begin to flow. When she’s crying hard, I sit her up and cuddle her against me, stroking her hair.

  I’m ready to explode, but I’ll take care of myself in a bit, once I’ve seen to Haley. “How are you doing?” I ask when her tears subside.

  “I … that … wow.”

  Her head’s tucked into my neck, so I let myself smile. I wouldn’t want her to think I’m making fun of her. “Not too much?”

  “I didn’t ask you to stop, so I guess it wasn’t.”

  “And now that it’s over?”

  “It was ... really intense. Was I supposed to cry?”

  “Yes. It releases endorphins; it’s very cleansing.”

  “Yeah, I can feel that.” She hasn’t moved away, is still pressed close, her swell of her breast a sweet agony. “Is that how it usually goes?”

  “Yes. With other things before, or after, depending on circumstances, but that’s the basic pattern.”

  “What other things?”

  “We’ll explore some of those another time.”

  She looks at me with dark eyes still luminous from recently-shed tears. “But you said …”

  “Yes. But tonight it’s late, and you need time to recover. And if you remember exactly how and why we’ve arrived at this present moment, you’ll understand why I say you shouldn’t have too much fun just now.”

  There’s a moment’s silence while she ponders that. “You mean, sometimes there’s punishment for actual infractions, and sometimes it’s just part of … playtime?”

  “Yes, exactly. But in truth, most of the time the infractions are part of the game, once you’re accustomed to it.”

  “Ohh.” She huddles a little closer. “I think I like this game.”

  “Good.” I stand with her in my arms. “And now I’m going to take you back to your room, and you’re going to stay there until morning.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Thorne.”

  The half-teasing, half-seductive note in her voice almost undoes me. I carry her down the hall and inside her room, where a light is still on. Setting her carefully on her feet, I say, “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Breakfast. Right. What time is that?”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  I start to leave, but Haley says, “Mr. Thorne?”

  Tomorrow, we’ll sort out what she calls me when. For now, it seems appropriate to let that touch of formality remain. “Yes?”

  “I heard you talking to Mrs. Jameson. You said you’d be gone for hours.” She flushes at this further admission of guilt. “I know it’s none of my business, but … why were you back so soon?”

  Inquisitive girl. By rights I shouldn’t tell her anything; but some impulse has me answering, albeit vaguely. “There was a situation. It resolved itself while I was en route.”

  Her eyes go bright with curiosity, but she doesn’t ask. “Good night, Mr. Thorne.”

  “Good night, Haley.”

  On the way back to my rooms, I abandon my plan to rub one out in the shower. Forcing myself to wait for my satisfaction until I can find it with Haley will put an edge on things.

  Minutes later, I’m lying in bed, my mind full of unbidden images of Haley with her hand between her legs, and cursing myself.

  The sooner I can seduce her, the better.

  5

  Revelation

  “More salmon?” Cameron says.

  “Yes, please.”

  The two of us are eating in the dining room, as we do each day, morning and evening. It’s been a week since he found me in his room, and I’m about to lose my mind.

  Not only has he not spanked me again, he hasn’t done anything else, either. Not overtly, anyway. He often finds excuses to touch me casually; a hand on my shoulder, maybe, to get my attention or direct me somewhere.

  And that next day after it all happened, he told me, “If you’ve been naughty and you’re being punished, you may call me Sir, or Mr. Thorne. Otherwise, I’m Cameron.”

  Which certainly led me to believe we’d be playing more of those games. But so far, nothing. Nada, zero, zip, zilch.

  It’s starting to make me anxious.

  Sometimes Cameron works from home, and we see each other during the day. Last weekend, he took me boating on the lake near his estate, and also horseback riding. He had me all alone, and didn’t even kiss me.

  Maybe I’ve misunderstood the whole situation. “Cameron,” I say quietly.

  “Yes, Haley.”

  “Have I … displeased you somehow?” It takes all my willpower to ask it in a normal tone of voice.

  �
�On the contrary.”

  I stare at my plate, unable to find the words I need. The next moment, Cameron’s hand closes over mine. “Come with me.”

  He draws me up and away from the table, and we leave our half-eaten dinner and wind through the house until we reach his study. Cameron keeps it locked when he’s not in it, and now he inputs a code on the keypad to open the door.

  It’s a traditional study, all dark wood and leather and shelves full of books. Two armchairs angle toward each other against one wall, floor lamps behind them. A large desk occupies the center of the room.

  Closing the door behind us, Cameron takes one of the armchairs, bringing me with him so I’m sitting on his lap, curled against him, like I was after my spanking. “You expected things to proceed a certain way after that night, and they haven’t,” he says.

  It’s disconcerting that he reads me so well. “Yes,” I say softly. “I … must have misinterpreted some of the things you said.”

  “You didn’t.”

  Relief quickly gives way to frustration. I can’t keep it in anymore. “Then why?”

  “You are still under my protection.”

  I frown. “But—”

  “Let me finish. Given our situation here, if things progress between us the way we both would like them to, we’ll have an … ongoing arrangement.”

  My heart beats faster. “Yes.” I certainly want it to be ongoing.

  “I would not be doing right by you, or indeed myself, if I allowed us to enter into that kind of intimacy on a few hours’ acquaintance. What happened that night was a special set of circumstances, but on further reflection I realized that both of us needed more time before we went further.”

  “Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment from my voice, and the corner of Cameron’s mouth quirks up.

  “My impatient Haley. Is it so hard, waiting?”

  “Yes.” I don’t care if I sound dramatic. “It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Well, then.”