Page 19 of His Toy

I sucked in a breath and looked around. With my mother’s death day approaching and negotiations with Eric for a full-service team underway, Eric and I would find ourselves in a room together soon, breathing the same air. Until I crushed his out.

But those days and nights would stretch on, if I had to look at Heather, and not touch her.

In the surveillance room, I glanced at the clock. Grant would report about the newest contract soon, and I needed to study martial arts. It didn’t matter how much you knew; you had to be fit, to be ready for anything, always learning the latest technique. Grant was slightly younger than me and a good sparring partner. Fighting was one way to get your mind off of a woman.

Heather walked across the different cameras, down the hallway, and into the shower room.

I didn’t leave many doors open for her. I instructed Donna and Grant to keep most of the house locked, but the luxury shower room was one I kept open for Heather. Forest green marble covered the walls, and on the floor, earthly stone. A glass stall that could fit a small room inside of it. Four rain showerheads.

She turned on one of the showerheads, then closed the stall, waiting for the water to warm. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she stripped down, her breasts free, her pussy exposed, covered with a touch of hair. She ran through the positions, glancing up at herself in the mirror, stark naked. That body had been within my grasp minutes ago and I hadn’t done anything. But it was the only way I differentiated myself from Eric, the only rule I always honored. I had to respect her wishes.

But I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about taking advantage of the situation, or of her.

There were a few more positions that I would teach tomorrow, including Surrender. I pictured her in Surrender, on the ground, her knees tucked underneath her, as if bowing down to what came to her, my hand reaching between her legs, holding her pussy, feeling her heat. Her need.

She ran through the positions once more, but this time, with her back to the mirror. She looked down at her ass, the red stripes turning into a purple bruise, resembling a sunset. I wanted to squeeze that supple ass, to feel her entire body moan in my hands, to feel her give into my demands. I wanted to make her cry, make her scream, to make her face her worst fears, to show her that she could survive it, and become stronger. Because when it came to dominance and submission, I relished making a strong woman like Heather come to her knees. On her own accord.

Which was why I had to stay away from her.

The only kind of people who enjoyed this kind of shit were fucked up people. People like Eric. People like me.

While I engaged in the occasional scene, I rarely kept a long-term relationship with a submissive. With my career, it wasn’t a good idea to get close to anyone, fortheirown good, and besides, I knew what I wanted, and I didn’t trust myself with anyone, especially not Heather. She deserved better.

Heather opened the door to the stall. Under the water, she washed her hair, the suds falling across her skin, her hair in dark streams across her chest. Those soft curves. She moved onto washing her body, using the provided gels. And once she was done, she kneeled on the stone, positioned herself in Closed, beads of water streaming down her face.

Fascinating woman. She continued to practice, even long after punishment wasn’t an option.

The glass steamed, and I shook my head. It was better that way. She was a decoy, not my submissive. Not my toy. She was a partner in my ultimate design.

But damn it, I wanted her.

Before I was about to leave and find Grant, Heather pressed her naked body against the stall, rubbing a smear in the steamed glass. Her breasts flattened, her nipples hard. The hazy image of her arms crossed behind her head, her ass out.

She was still practicing. This time, Inspect.

But then her hands untangled from behind her head, slowly reached down, covering her soft, wet curves, and found her clit. Resting her head against the glass, she touched her wet slit, still arching her back, rubbing herself in slow circles.

Heather was touching herself, in my shower, as she practiced high protocol. She yearned to please, to be controlled. She had my cock hard.

The door to the surveillance room was still closed. I squeezed the head of my cock, imagining myself in that shower room. Still dressed in a suit, I would remove my jacket, my tie, unbutton the top of my shirt. Roll up my sleeves. And Heather, the nasty little toy, desperate to submit to my commands,needingit, would press her body against the glass. In my imagination, through the thick steam, she wouldn’t see me approach, but she would be able to feel my presence. When my hand touched the cool glass, the thin wall that separated her stomach from my fingertips, where my hand traced to her breasts, her thighs, her sex, she would feel the heat of my skin. My desire for her. The need.

An alert dinged on one of the monitors. Grant. Good. I needed the interruption.

I met him in the operations room, an otherwise plain room with a long table, several chairs, a computer, a whiteboard, a large map, and a bookshelf with miscellaneous materials from my clients over the years.

“Mr. Watanabe?” I asked.

“He doesn’t want the full service. Only a personal guard, all hours. He believes it would be best if you were the assigned guard, but I said that isn’t possible.”

That was common with Veil Security Services. The clients often wanted me to protect them, to kill in their name, but I had a business to run. An empire to build.

“The length of the contract?”

“Twenty-one months.”

“Assign Carl,” I said.

I stood to leave the room, but Grant cleared his voice. “If I may, sir?”