Needing Harte

Available in digital October 6, 2010 from Ellora's Cave

"You have some information for me, Mr. Winters?"

"Jason, please. And, I hope you'll allow me the same intimacy, Harte?" At Harte's slight nod, he continued. "I think you know that I really wanted to talk to you about something other than your case. Specifically, Ramey Nichols."

"If that's the case, I don't really think we have anything to discuss."

"Wrong, Harte. Ramey is a friend of mine and I saw the attraction between the two of you. I also saw your faces before you left my office. Ramey would have gone down on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you'd commanded him to."

"Commanded?"

"Please, let's not trade semantics, Harte. I have a feeling you're more of a Dom than you're admitting, possibly even to yourself. Let's talk plainly, shall we? People with our 'taste'" Jason quirked an eyebrow then smiled.

"Well, we have very limited arenas for pleasure. Finding a treasure like Ramey when you least expect it can throw a man off-stride. Here's what you need to know about him. Ramey is submissive in many ways, but don't mistake that for insecurity. He knows who he is and what he wants. He wants a Master in the bedroom. Someone to take control, tell him what to do, push his limits. But he needs an equal outside of the bedroom. Someone to show him he's worth more than he thinks he is."

"I have no idea why you think I need to know this." Harte could feel his pulse racing but knew he betrayed nothing to the other man.

"Harte, there's one thing you need to understand about this particular bent to our lifestyle. Never lie to a Master. You think you've hidden your reaction to my information about Ramey, but I can see your pulse beating hard in your throat. I can see the dilation of your eyes, and you licked your lips three times while I was talking about Ramey. If those aren't the signs of a man with a serious case of lust, I don't know what are."

Taking a deep breath, Harte blew it out slowly then nodded.

"Okay. Say you're right. What if I don't know what to do with someone like Ramey? I've never wanted to beat up my lovers. A spanking now and then? Sure, I'm up for that. Some restraints from time to time? Yeah, I've used my handcuffs for more than arresting people. But I'm completely out of my element with what you're talking about."

They stopped talking as the waitress came by to see if they needed anything. Winters smiled at her as she refilled his coffee. As soon as she walked away, he met Harte's eyes again.

"No one said anything about beating your lovers, Harte. A flogging or caning, maybe, but not beating. Ramey has limits, as do most subs. A good Dom, and I think you have that potential, will push, but never break those limits. You'll force the sub into taking more than he thought possible, find yourself reaching to fulfill every need that sub has and in doing so, find your own freedom." Jason finished his coffee and set the cup precisely in the center of the place-mat in front of him.

"Someone gave me something. Told me I'd know when the time was right to use it. I think now is that time." Reaching into his pocket, Jason pulled out his wallet and extracted a plain white business card. Placing it on the table, he stood and picked up the check their waitress had left. "Use this and call me if you have any other questions."

With that the other man left. Harte picked up his own cup and finished a really fine cup of coffee, then set it down just as precisely as Jason had, also in the middle of his placemat. He picked up the card and turned it over.

"1-800-DOM-help? What the fuck?"

Tossing the card back onto the table, he got to his feet and left. It was going to be a long day and he had way too much to think about already. A help line for Doms? Really? Isn't that some sort of contradiction in terms?

Ten hours later, as he unlocked his front door and yawned widely, Harte was still mulling over what Jason Winters had said that morning. Moving across his comfortable living room toward his gun safe, he couldn't get the memory of Ramey and that kiss out of his mind either. What would it be like to have Ramey here, ready to do his bidding, wide open and ready for him to make love to, to fuck, whatever his mood? Suddenly coming to a stop, Harte realized something was off. Someone had been in his place. Looking around, he spotted what was wrong.

There, right in the middle of his coffee table, a plain white business card.

"Son of a bitch!" Picking up the card and confirming what he already knew, Harte yanked his notebook out of his pocket and thumbed through it until he found Jason Winters' phone number. As soon as the man answered, Harte tore into him. "You bastard! How did you get into my place?"

"Donovan? What are you talking about?"

"That card you gave me. I left it at the cafe and now it's here, in my house. How the fuck did you get in here?"

"I haven't been to your place, Harte. If the card is there, well, let's just say I'm not totally surprised. There's something almost mystical about that particular connection. Call the number and then, if you still need to talk to me, call me back." The bastard hung up. Harte stared at the phone in his hand then shook his head.

"We'll see about this bullshit." Dialing the number, he listened as the phone rang once, twice, and a third time. Finally a male voice answered. "1-800-DOM-help, this is the Operator. How may I direct your call?"