“Hell, I don’t know.” Looking at the cluster of dogs, all watching me as if they knew what I was up to, I swiped a hand over my face. “What the hell does a man taste like?”
Needle&Thread:You taste of expensive liquor, making me drunk as you come. Spilling over my lips, dripping down my chin. You don’t want me wasting a drop, so you capture the liquid on your thumb and push it back into my mouth.
The instant I sent it, a chill darted in my blood.
Thumb. Mouths. Sucking.
Him.
My taste buds brought back the crisp taste of Jethro. His unyielding hold on my chin as I licked his finger. He hadn’t really had a taste. Just the cold precision of stone. But having him dominate had given me the permission to feel a flutter in my core, to not be embarrassed of wanting more. Of becoming wet.
Kite007:Fuck me. I haven’t come like that in a while. It’s all over me—splashed up my chest, sticking to me like glue. I like you like this, naughty nun. You’re more...relaxed.
My voice was soft. “That’s what happens when your life is no longer your own and there’s nothing you can do to control your future.”
Squirrel yipped in agreement.
“That’s also what you do to survive. You become different. You change.”
As much as I hated the Hawks, they’d given me something I’d been searching for all my life.
My little kitten claws were growing, prickling. Still too new to scratch with—but there.
My battery flashed again and I knew this would be the last time I’d have the luxury of using it until Jethro let me charge.
Ignoring the emptiness inside and the sharp twinge of letting Kite use me, I sent my last message.
Needle&Thread:I’m glad. I’m licking you clean. I’m drunk on everything you’ve given me. I’ll be here for you when you next need a release, but please...don’t call me naughty nun anymore. Call me Needle.
* * * **
Jethro came for me at eleven a.m.
The horses across the yard were gone—to do what, I had no clue. I’d spent an hour or so listening to the grooms prepare them and the comfortingclackof their metal shoes disappearing into the distance on cobblestones.
I pictured myself commandeering one and galloping away. Not that I knew how to ride. I’d never had time. Sewing had been my one obsession.
Squirrel and his gang of hounds had left not long after I finished messaging Kite. A piercing whistle summoned and they’d charged from the kennel through a small dog-size exit down the back. I’d tried to follow—to get free—but it only opened if a coded collar was in range. A password programmed to every dog allowing them access.
So, I’d spent the remainder of my morning alone. Alone with thoughts I flatly ignored.
It was odd to sit and do nothing. I had nowhere to rush off to. No emails to reply to. No to-do list to attack. I was in limbo, just waiting for the man I loathed to appear.
My stomach was a ball of knots wanting him to get it over with, whilst my jangled heart wanted him to stay away forever. I’d never felt so jumbled inside.
Hunger pangs growled for food—the empty ache only grew worse.
Jethro swung open the top partition of the barn door, leaving the bottom closed. Resting his arms on the top, he nodded. “Ms. Weaver.”
The sun took the liberty of bouncing into the gloomy kennel, silhouetting Jethro. His face remained in shadow but his thick hair was wet and messy from a shower.
He’d shed his charcoal suit for a more casual grey shirt, the diamond pin twinkling in his lapel. I’d grown to recognize it as his signature piece, linking him to whatever organisation his father ran.
Is it a gang?Did they rob and cheat and kill?
It wasn’t my issue. I didn’t care. I was the innocent party—their hostage.
I didn’t return his greeting, deciding to stay bundled in my blanket and glower.
