Tears of Ink (Tears of ... Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  “Please let me go so I can touch you.”

  He lifts his head, his dark gaze on my face. “I’ll let you go, but this is about you, not me.”

  “What? no.” I begin to pull away, struggling to get him off me. “I can’t do that; it’s not how it works.”

  He stops fighting me and does the simplest most beautiful thing anyone has ever done. He lifts my hands and kisses the sensitive skin on my palm. “I’m working out how it normally is for you.”

  I don’t have anything to say and I turn my face away.

  “Faith.” He turns my face back to his, planting a delicate kiss on my lips.

  His kiss unlocks a secret door deep inside, and with a deep shaky breath I lay back on the bed, lifting my arms above my head. I watch as he gives a slow smile and then returns to the pattern of kisses he was planting across my midriff.

  I won’t move. No matter what happens I won’t let myself run away. I close my eyes and give myself over to the sensation of his mouth on my skin. His lips are masterful no matter where they are. The stubble on his chin scratches and it’s almost as intoxicating as his kisses. His hand reaches back up for my breast, squeezing it gently, running the nipple under the palm of his hand. When his lips find it again, I stretch up and give him access to pull off my top and unhook my bra. He sweeps a gaze from under hooded lids along the various patterns over my skin and pushes me back down, kissing my other breast, sucking it deep into his mouth until fire shoots down to my core One hand palms down my stomach, unhooking the button on my trousers and slipping under the waistband. Normally, I’d pull away now, but I remember the promise I made to myself and hold my breath as his fingers slip under the band of my knickers, his middle fingers circling around my clit. Oh God. I scrunch the bedsheets in my fists as I fight the need to pull away, with an overriding ache to let him go further.

  “Relax.” He presses his other hand onto my tummy and pushes me back into the mattress. I didn’t even know I’d bucked off the bed.

  I close my eyes as he starts to sweep a steady rhythm in a circular motion. Every so often his fingers dip and dive, slipping between my wet folds, and each time he does I lift my hips to meet his touch. But before I can beg him to press deeper, to go some place I’ve never allowed anyone before, he settles back to a smaller, infuriatingly intense circle right over my clit.

  I think I’m going to die. My breath is coming in short pants as I try to keep up with the movement of his hand. I want to fight it off. I also want to drown in the sensations forever.

  I lift my hips, begging him silently to push his fingers further. My clit pulses and tingles as it loses his focus, and he dips one long finger inside me and then another.

  “Oh God, Eli.”

  His lips slant over mine and my breath rushes into his mouth in heady gasps. Another finger joins the others and I want to explode, then he twists them, finding a sensitive spot I didn’t even know existed. With every thrust he presses on the area and my gasped breaths become pants of exertion as I try to hold myself together.

  “Let it go.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t.”

  His fingers aren’t listening, and they won’t stop their pounding explorations. I spread my legs wider, against all my own willpower. My body takes over, leading to places I never want to go.

  A surging tingle begins in my toes and I push my feet into the sheets. It sweeps scorching hot up my legs. His tongue is in my mouth, his other hand holding me close as his fierce fingers push me over a vast edge. I cry and grunt at the same time, curling over his hand, clenching it between my legs as I shudder.

  I can’t look at him, but he won’t move his damn hand. It’s still jammed up my vagina.

  This is the bit when I walk away.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look at me.”

  Somehow, I force myself to open my eyes. He’s close, his breath hot on my face. He smiles slowly, and it calms me just a little, although not enough. My instinct to run is too deep. I wiggle my hips to try to get him to remove his fingers. “Can you move? Please?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “I said no. You aren’t running, Faith.”

  “Jeez.”

  He laughs. He actually laughs in my face.

  I hate him again even if he did just give me a thunderous orgasm using his fingers.

  To my absolute horror, he starts to dip his fingers deep within me again. Even more horrifying is the way my body reignites instantly. The heat which had only been quenched a couple of moments before is back like it never dissipated.

  “Have you ever let anyone do that to you before?”

  I glare at him, my heart thumping in my chest all the while his fingers lick and stroke, teasing and warming me up from the inside out.

  “No. Why are you torturing me like this?”

  He frowns, and I regret my choice of words instantly. This is messed up. I’m so messed up.

  “Torture?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Torture, really?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  His hand is still between my legs. His fingers flex, and I let out a low moan.

  “Awful torture. It’s downright shitty of me to make you moan like that.”

  His fingers delve extra deep and he dips his head, edging the waistband of my trousers down, his lips following the exposed skin.

  Holy crap, he’s not…?

  “No. Please, Elijah. Please don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” He lowers further, opening my legs with his elbows. “This? Is it torturous?” His tongue sweeps along the super-sensitive skin of my clit, flicking, and then sucking hard.

  “Shit,” I bellow, bucking from the bed. He catches me, tilting my pelvis until it’s almost a cup he can drink from, as his lips suck and his tongue probes. His thumb slides inside me, massaging the walls of my vagina as I ride it out into his mouth. “Elijah!”

  When I’ve crested the wave of my second orgasm, he pulls back, pecking gentle kisses on every bit of skin he finds. Pulling down my trousers, he places my knickers back into a suitable position, but quickly discards the rest of my clothes onto the floor.

  “Come here, my runaway girl.”

  “I need to pay you back.” I look at him in confusion. Does he want to snuggle? Surely, he wants something in return?

  “Another night, Sunshine. It’s late. Come, we need to sleep.”

  I settle down next to him, but as his arm wraps around me tight and he slides his chin onto my shoulder, I have to ask. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m staying. It’s what you wanted.”

  My heart pounds for the millionth time tonight and I grin. And that’s how I go to sleep, breaking every rule I’ve ever made for myself.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Come on, Faith. I don’t know why you keep hiding from me.”

  I won’t meet his eyes. “I’m not hiding.”

  He chuckles and leans in for what seems like a genuine hug. “I’d never hurt you. I love you.”

  My skin tingles, my faulty flight-or-fight alarm sounds loudly in my brain. “It’s not right. I know that now. You need to stay away from me before I-”

  There’s a painful pause. “Before you what, Faithy? What are you going to do? You’re just as much to blame as I am, everyone would know that.” His fingers tilt my chin. “Everyone would know you begged me to, because that’s the type of girl you are. The type of girl you’ll always be.”

  The alarm in my head and heart screeches like a siren. Run, Faith. Run…

  I don’t. I’m frozen to the spot. The sirens screeching as my soul burns around me.

  “Faith, wake up.”

  I come around at once, blinking into the darkness. Elijah’s face is close, his hands on my face.

  “What?”

  His thumbs caress my cheeks. Even in the dark I can sense the intensity in his face and my heart which was pounding as it woke from sleep starts to speed and ra
ce.

  “You were screaming; shouting in your sleep.”

  I flush, thankful he can’t see it. “It’s just a bad dream, I have them all the time.”

  He shakes his head and his lips kiss the tip of my nose. Such a small action makes my heart squeeze with delight. The foul memories of the past fade away. “That’s not a dream, that was a terror.”

  “And what do you know about terrors?” I reach up and kiss his lips, leading the kiss with a bravery that’s easy to find in the darkness. I can’t believe he stayed, that he’s still here. More than the fact he’s still here, is the fact I’m okay with it.

  “Tabitha had them as a toddler, right up until school,” he says when I release his warm lips. “I used to be in the room next to hers and hearing her scream like that used to make my blood run cold. I’d run into her room and find her just staring through me pointing at things I couldn’t see.”

  I snuggle back down onto the mattress and shyly pull him down alongside me. This is all so odd, but at the same time I wouldn’t have it any other way. Elijah Fairclough is turning everything I know on its head. “It was just a dream.” I kiss him gently. “Forget about it and go back to sleep.”

  “Who’s Aiden?” His question freezes my insides into sharpened icicles.

  “No one.” My heart’s beating so fast. “Come, let’s sleep.”

  “Still want me to stay?” His question is low and soft, and it melts the ice in my gut.

  I grin, a stupid wide smile. “Yes.”

  My eyelashes flutter shut and try to push the remnants of the dream away. It’s not easy and I’m floating in and out of a light sleep when a phone rings. “Al!” I launch myself from the bed. My palms slick with cold sweat as the call I’ve been dreading arrives.

  Elijah catches my hand. “Faith, it’s okay. It’s my phone.” He leans over the edge of the bed and rifles in his pockets to look for his mobile. When he has it in his hand he frowns. His sleep smeared face is illuminated by the glow of the back-lit screen and I watch as he answers and mumbles a hello. My crashing nerves start to settle for a whole two seconds until he jumps from the bed, his lithe athletic frame moving with more speed and grace than I’ve ever seen. He really is beautiful, even when it’s silly o’clock in the morning and he’s jumping out of my bed.

  “When did this happen?” He’s pulling on his jeans and I’m guessing that’s the end of my first ever all night snuggle.

  I watch silently, sitting on the bed covered in a sheet, as he runs his hands through his hair and tugs on his trainers.

  “I’m not in London but I’m leaving in five.” He pauses, and I think he’s forgotten that I’m actually there because the expression of pain that carves his face steals my breath. “Just wait, I’ll get this sorted. Don’t let him speak to anyone until I’m there. An hour most.”

  An hour? Bowsley Hall is more than hour away from London.

  He turns to me as he disconnects the call. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Really?” My reply is tarter than I intended.

  “I’m sorry, something’s come up.”

  “Sure.” Something’s always coming up. This is what he does. One minute he’s here, the next he’s gone. He’s done it the entire time I’ve known him. “Want to share? Can I do anything?”

  I already know his answer before he says it. “Not now.” He leans down and lifts my face, placing a tender kiss on my lips. “I know you think this is my get out, but it’s not. And if you promise to not hold a grudge all day, I’ll explain later.”

  I greedily eat up his kiss despite myself. “Don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t make everything about you, some pity parade. I’ll be back, and I promise to talk.”

  “Seriously. I said don’t worry, I hate talking anyway.”

  “Then I’ll think of something else to do, but right now I need to go.” He’s still hesitating, so I make it easier for him by lying down and turning my back. I think he’s gone; the door opens and a sliver of dawn slides across the room. But then his lips are on my cheek. “Thank you for last night, Sunshine.”

  Then he’s gone.

  And I don’t know why he calls me “Sunshine”, because in truth it’s always been the furthest thing to what I am.

  I sleep for a couple more hours and then make my way down to breakfast. It’s a full house and I groan inwardly. That last glass of wine and lack of sleep are giving me a headache I could happily live without. I grumble a hello and slouch my way to any empty chair as far away from the perfect shiny white bob of the Wicked Witch of the West. Jennings is hovering with a pot of coffee and the moment I’m in my seat he pours me a cup and bends low to speak into my ear. “I believe you like it strong.”

  “Hmph.” Is my exceptionally mature reply.

  He turns and goes, but is back before I’ve even taken a sip, sliding a plate of crispy bacon towards me. “Master Elijah said you’d need breakfast before the arrivals came.”

  I go to push the plate away, a sour taste turning my lips down at the edges, but I am bloody hungry. I can’t even ask Jennings how Elijah managed to tell him I’d need breakfast when he left at four in the morning, but he fills in the blanks for me. “Sir called from his office and explained you’d be running today by yourself.”

  The Wicked Witch of the West tuts. “I knew this would happen. We will have hapless youngsters trapping all over the Persian rugs and Elijah won’t be here to take responsibility for them.”

  I glare at her as I chew a piece of bacon and swallow. “I have responsibility for them. That’s my job, what I was hired for.”

  She gives a dainty snort. What is her problem with me? I’ve never said more than a few words to her, but she literally hates me on sight.

  Jennifer cuts in and pulls my pointed glare away from her mother. “Faith, do you think once the afternoon session is completed we can talk about the summer ball? We need to discuss the ballroom and how you plan to display the art you are going to be producing over the next few weeks.”

  I stare at her blankly because I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about. “I’m sorry, summer ball?”

  “Yes, The Bowsley Ball. It is held every year in the second week of August, and this year we will be showcasing your project. Elijah hopes it will bring in backing for future events.”

  “Oh, okay.” This is all news, but I can sense the shrewd gaze of the wicked witch on me and I refuse to be flustered. “Any particular theme? I could use it to guide the work I do with the kids.” I shrug. It sounds vaguely professional and like I might stand a chance of knowing what I’m talking about.

  “Theme is your choice, but I will need to get invites sent out by next Monday if you could confirm by the weekend?”

  “Sure. And this is held after the end of the project, so I don’t have to attend?” I nod encouragingly.

  “Of course you will attend.” Jennifer frowns in confusion. “Elijah wants all the students here, and their families.” There’s a loud tut from the other side of the table. “The press will love it.” Ah, and here we have the real reason why Jennifer is so onboard.

  It’s not easy to force a smile in her direction as I nod my agreement.

  “And Saskia will be able to help you with your dress. The estate will cover the cost of your outfit for the event, it would be only fair.”

  Oh my god. That’s it.

  “I can assure you I’m more than happy to purchase my own dress.”

  Jennifer waves her hand at me as if the conversation isn’t worth continuing with, but the wicked witch pipes in with, “It’s okay, Saskia is highly skilled. She will find something to cover those tattoos.”

  I clatter my cup down onto the saucer, and Tabitha, who hasn’t even spoken a word, looks at me in alarm.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” My chair almost tips again as I push back from the table.

  It’s not Jennifer who speaks. It’s evil Granbaroness. �
��I can assure you it is.”

  I begin to walk away. I don’t have to deal with this. I’m not part of their family. Their rules don’t mean anything to me. She speaks louder. “And could we please ask you don’t take Tabitha out into the village without our prior approval?”

  I spin on my heel and meet her serene, oddly unlined face. There is no sweet granny in sight here. “She’s eighteen. She can go to the village if she wants.”

  “You, my dear, may have been allowed to run wild as a child, but that is not how the Fairclough children behave.”

  Children...?

  I have nothing to say to this, so I walk from the dining room and along the plush patterned carpets to the outhouses, where I can breathe, sliding my phone out of my pocket.

  Faith Hitchin: Ball? Saskia? Are you all still considered minors?

  I don’t get a reply until much later. I’m too busy to look anyway before we grab a bite to eat at lunch.

  Eli Jones: I was going to mention the ball, I promise.

  I stick my tongue out at the phone.

  Faith Hitchin: Sure you were

  I have another thought.

  Faith Hitchin: Does Saskia dress you, too?

  Eli Jones: Lol. Only my suits.

  Did he just lol me?

  Eli Jones: I’ll be home later, we can talk.

  Faith Hitchin: I thought this wasn’t your home?

  Eli Jones: It’s growing in appeal.

  With a grin, I put my phone back in my pocket. I should have asked how his four in the morning emergency went. God, I’m like a selfish teenager who can’t see past herself.

  I walk into the studio and look at all the tiny little squares of blue glass we’ve spent the morning cutting. The room is crowded with glass and people, and honestly it’s breaking me out in an unladylike sweat. “Okay, who wants to make a sculpture?”

  “I thought we were making windows?” Dylan quips.

  “For a doll’s house?” I shake my head in mock dismay.

  He shrugs, and everyone else laughs.

  “I’ll tell you what we are going to do.” They all lean in, ready to do something other than cut squares out. “We are going to make a sculpture so damn awesome Elijah Fairclough won’t know what’s he’s seeing when he gets home later.”