I focused on the huge roller door. I’d checked last night to see if there was a way out, but of course, there wasn’t.

Kite007: You took a while to reply. Did you pleasure yourself?

Throwing myself back into Kite’s sexual world, I replied.

Needle&Thread: I’m coming now. Both hands are between my legs, twisting my clit, feeling how wet I am. I’m crying out your name over and over. The neighbours might hear me I’m so loud.

Rubbing the head of Squirrel, I smiled. “Don’t tell him I released my tension by crying myself to sleep with you in my arms.” Lowering my voice, I added, “And don’t tell him I’ve never had an orgasm.”

The dog cocked his head, an expression of confusion on his face.

Kite007: I like it when you talk dirty. Keep going. I have my cock in my hand and want you to make me come.

My heart sped up. Reclining against the hay bale, I bit my lip. I’d never made anyone come. The drunken night of losing my virginity didn’t count because we were both so intoxicated it was a miracle he found the right place to stick it in. After a few half-hearted thrusts, he’d rolled off me to throw up, and I’d pulled up my knickers. I’d been silently horrified at the blood on the sheets.

The copious amounts of alcohol had stolen any pain I might’ve felt when he penetrated me. It’d also stolen the rush of entering womanhood, swapping it with age-old regret.

The night definitely hadn’t been a success. Or the next day. Because no matter how hard V tried to hide my hangover from Tex, he couldn’t prevent me from vomiting on my dad’s shoes when he plucked me from my bed and took me to the doctor.

I groaned in remembered embarrassment. “He found out, you know.” I scratched Squirrel behind his large ear. “The doctor told him I’d been taken advantage of. We’d used protection but it didn’t stop the endless STI tests or pregnancy exams.” Another hound slinked closer, plopping next to me, looking for a scratch. “That was the last time I was alone with a man other than my dad or brother. Sad isn’t it?”

The new dog panted, looking as if I’d told the world’s best joke.

Maybe Tex prevented you from dating, so when they came for you it was only his heart you broke—not a husband or children.

The sudden thought stole my vision with horror.

Was the overprotectiveness to shield others? Had he kept me locked up like some princess in a tower, all to stop me being my mother?

He’d fallen in love with my mother.

They’d had children young.

They’d come for her.

I rubbed my chest, unable to stop the epiphany shedding my father in a new light. Was it selfish of him to protect me from living, knowing I was destined an early grave? Or merely a tragedy that he prevented others enduring heartbreak by loving me.

Vaughn.

He would sense the moment my life was snuffed out. We were linked more than spiritually—but soul-glued and breath-bound. I’d known when he broke his collarbone from kayaking. He’d known when I’d dropped my heavy Singer sewing machine onto my foot.

Linked.

Don’t think about it. It hurt too damn much. Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them back, trying to remain in my false little bubble of sexting. This was all I had. I could flirt with Kite with complete safety, knowing I would never be able to break his heart when the time came.

In a way, his fastidious request for distance protected him. And for that, I was oddly grateful.

Running a hand through my long hair, I sighed, re-grouping myself. I smiled softly at Squirrel. “If a drunken whoopsy daisy was my only attempt at making a man come, how the hell am I supposed to do it via a faceless message?”

Be someone you’re not. Act. Pretend.

“Fine.”

Swiping at the dirty mixture of hay, dog hair, and dust from the blanket Jethro had given me, I prepared to embrace my inner sex-kitten.

Needle&Thread: Imagine your hand is my hand. I’m holding you firm, tight. I’m kneeling at your feet while you sit on a large chair. A throne. Your hand wraps in my hair, pulling me forward. I obey because I know what you’re asking me to do. Your eyes don’t ask, they tell, and I lower my head into your lap. My mouth waters to taste you. You’re big. Smooth. Begging for my mouth.

My breath came faster; my mind playing out the fantasy in crystal detail. The warmth I’d been looking for spread from my core like a tentative sunrise.

Kite007: Fuck me, woman. Why haven’t you been talking to me like that all along? What was with the shy bullshit? Fuck, keep going. I’m so damn hard. I want your mouth so fucking much. Give it to me.

My skin broke out in goosebumps. The power. The approval. Kite was a wanker, an arsehole, and a complete shallow prick, but he approved of me. He wanted me.

Needle&Thread: You’re holding your cock while I lick you once at the very tip. You want me to swallow you, but you don’t force me. Because you know I’m going to swallow every drop.

Kite007: Did you taste it?

I frowned.

Needle&Thread: Taste what?

Kite007: My precum. Fuck, I’m so close. I’m in your mouth. I’m fucking your lips. I’m holding your hair as I drive so deep down your throat. What do I taste like to you?

Needle&Thread: You taste…

“Hell, I don’t know.” Looking at the cluster of muscular 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 fucking 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 comforting clack of 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.