Heller’s Decision by J.D. Nixon

rapidly rising and falling. He was
rubbing me up in the most exquisite way.
    He cupped my breast with his hand, running
his thumb across my bikini-clad nipple, his voice as husky as mine.
“Because I want you to sleep with me, my sweet. I need you to. The
world doesn’t feel right when I can’t have sex with
you.”
    “ That’s not very romantic,” I said, unimpressed.
    He searched his brains trying to find
those magic words that men have hunted for thousands of years – the
words that make a woman say “yes”.
    He tried again. “The world doesn’t feel
right when I can’t spend time with you.” He paused a beat. “Time
having sex with you, an activity I enjoy quite a lot.”
    I laughed at his clumsy attempt at
‘romance’. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
    “ No,” he agreed. “But I want it.” And with
a deft couple of flicks
of his hand, he untied all the bows in my bikini set, leaving me
helpless, hastily clamping the loose scraps of material to myself
for decency’s sake, and only too aware of the security camera in
his hallway. I really had to stop wearing that bikini around
him.
    “Heller!” I squealed. It sometimes felt as
though I spent my whole life saying that one word.
    “ Better hide in here, Matilda. Looks as
though you’re having problems with your bikini,” he grinned evilly,
pushing me through the doorway to his flat, me shuffling, jammed up
against the wall, to keep my bikini on.
    But once inside he pulled my hands away
and my bikini fell to the floor leaving me totally naked. He yanked
off his towel and threw it over his shoulder, leaving him naked
again as well. And . . . well . . . neither of us left his flat for
the rest of the night.
    The next morning, I staggered down to the security section to
meet up with Bick again. And even though it was a Sunday, there
were still quite a few men standing around, trading crude jokes and
insults while preparing to go out on jobs. Security work never took
a break, definitely not a career for those who enjoyed the
structure of regular Monday to Friday, nine to five
employment.
    The atmosphere changed the second I
stepped inside the room. All the men stopped talking to look over
at me, speculative gleams in their eyes and grins on their faces. I scanned them, noticing
that Farrell wasn’t there. Heller’s insistence we have nothing to
do with each other made me hyper-conscious of his presence in any
environment.
    “ What?” I collectively demanded from the
room, immediately suspicious. “What’s going on?”
    “Enjoy yourself last night, Tilly?” asked one
in an innocent voice.
    “ I might have,” I said with a hint of
attitude. “Most people do on a Saturday night. Did you?”
    “ Not as much as some,” he smirked, and the room erupted
into a burst of snickering.
    What the hell? I appealed to Bick, “What’s
going on here?”
    He almost looked abashed as he gently took
my arm and led me to a quieter corner, leaning down to speak to me
discreetly . “Um, maybe a
couple of the guys in the surveillance section shared with the rest
of us some very interesting security camera footage taken in the
hallway to Heller’s flat last night.”
    “ No,” I denied, dismayed, not wanting to
believe that could possibly happen. Surely Heller wouldn’t tolerate
his men distributing footage of his private life. Definitely
not , I assured myself.
But that could only mean . . .
    I violently pushed past some of the men in my way and stormed
out of the security section, up the stairs again. I burst into
Heller’s main office, startling Daniel who was at his desk,
industriously punching numbers into a spreadsheet. I ignored him
and his greeting and headed straight for Heller’s enclosed corner
office, not even bothering to knock, slamming the door shut behind
me.
    He looked up from some paperwork, his
beautiful, expensive pen poised in his scarred hand. He raised a
cool eyebrow. “Matilda?”
    “ Tell me you didn’t know about this!”