The Ice Seduction

by Sk Quinn

  ‘No more excuses,’ he says.

  He wraps my legs around his waist one at a time, and holds me tight to him as he carries me to the sofa and lowers me down. Then he crouches, pushing his body between my legs.

  His lips find mine, kissing me with such heat and passion that for a moment I don’t know where I am … even who I am.

  God. God. I feel like I’m burning. Melting. But at the same time, cold little shocks run through my whole body.

  I hear myself let out little murmurs and moans as his hands move to my legs, pulling off my boots, tugging down my leggings and panties, pushing up my skirt.

  ‘Wait—’

  ‘No more waiting,’ he growls. ‘There’s nowhere left to run.’

  I feel him freeing himself from his trousers, and gasp as the weight of him presses along my thigh.

  God good. Oh sweet Jesus. I need to be strong. I need to be …

  His hands push my legs further apart, and I see the glint of a condom packet before he plunges into me so quickly and deeply that I let out a startled cry – somewhere between shock, pain and pleasure.

  ‘Patrick. Oh Patrick,’ I murmur, all resistance gone. I can barely think, let alone protest.

  He begins to move and I moan.

  ‘Oh god, oh god.’

  He pushes me hard into the sofa, rocking me back and forth into him, and I melt beneath him.

  His eyes are locked on mine, and I know he’s right – there’s nowhere left to run right now. I can’t escape him. This had to happen.

  And I don’t want to escape him. I don’t want to be anywhere but here, under Patrick’s huge, strong body.

  There’s no tomorrow. No future. Only now, now, now. All I can feel, think, breathe, is Patrick inside me.

  My hands grasp at his backside, and I let out another long moan as I pull him deeper.

  He responds by pumping harder and faster, pulling all the way out, then plunging in over and over again.

  He groans an animal groan with every thrust into my body.

  We move together, harder and faster, and I’m overcome with pleasure.

  ‘Oh. Oh,’ I moan, feeling my body being pounded into the sofa.

  Just as heat builds up and up, Patrick pulls out.

  I feel cool air between my legs and a throbbing, aching feeling that cries out for him to be back inside of me.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ I cry. ‘Please.’

  Patrick flips me over so my face presses right into the sofa, and my backside sticks up in the air.

  ‘Please Patrick …’

  He rubs a rough hand over my buttocks, squeezing and releasing, and then I feel cool air as he steps away.

  ‘Patrick,’ I moan, almost panicking. ‘I need you. Don’t stop. Please …’

  ‘Tell me now that you don’t want this,’ says Patrick. ‘And I’ll walk away.’

  ‘Patrick,’ I beg, still pulsing between my legs. I’m literally aching for him to be back inside me. ‘I do. I do want it.’

  ‘Maybe in future you’ll realize I know what’s best for you. And take orders a little better.’

  I’m just about to protest, when he pulls my legs wide open and plunges so deeply inside me that I scream with pleasure.

  I clamp down hard against the cool fabric, my screams turning to stifled moans as he pumps harder and faster.

  I feel Patrick pushing his weight right against my backside so I’m rubbing and rubbing against the sofa. Every few strokes he pulls my legs wider and wider apart, going eye-wateringly deep.

  I bite my lip and moan, my fingers tightening and tightening on the sofa cushions. I’m so near to coming now that I want to scream out. To shout, ‘don’t stop!’ To beg him for more. But all I can do is make muffled moaning sounds as Patrick pounds away.

  Patrick picks up my backside and hips and puts my knees on the sofa so he can get even deeper, then moves a firm hand around to rub my clit.

  He does everything expertly. Like he knows my body so well. Like we’ve had sex a million times before. And within seconds of moving like that, a huge orgasm sweeps over me, going all the way from my shoulders to my toes.

  I bite my lip so hard that I honestly think I might draw blood, and I grab great handfuls of sofa cushion.

  I can still feel Patrick moving inside me, and every stroke makes my orgasm longer and stronger.

  Just as the waves are easing off, I hear Patrick moan and thrust extra hard into me, pulling me onto him, grasping my thighs to his and resting his face on my back.

  I feel his chest moving up and down against my back as his breathing slows. He’s grasping my thighs so tight that I know I’ll have red finger marks.

  After a few moments of bliss, Patrick slides free of me, and I roll over to face him, feeling oddly shy all of a sudden.

  I push my skirt down and look around for my panties and leggings.

  Patrick laughs. ‘Whatever you’re trying to hide, I’ve seen it already.’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ I say, reaching down for my panties. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen. You do realize that, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course it was,’ says Patrick.

  ‘Maybe once. To get it out of our systems. But …’ My words trail away. ‘I should go.’ I climb into my panties.

  Patrick grips my arm. ‘Go where?’

  45

  ‘Anywhere. Away from here. Away from …’ My voice falters.

  ‘Away from what?’ says Patrick.

  I shake my head at him. There is no answer to that.

  Patrick runs a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first moment I met you. And I know you feel the same way about me.’

  ‘You’re pretty confident,’ I say, climbing into my leggings. ‘But even if you’re right, how many times do I have to say it? This can never work. I’m here to do a job. Not to have sex with my boss.’

  ‘Is that what you think this is?’ says Patrick. ‘Just sex?’

  ‘What would you call it?’ I ask, standing.

  Patrick stands with me, his grip still tight on my arm.

  ‘It was more than that.’

  I laugh. ‘Patrick, you hardly know me. You don’t know anything about me or my life. If you did, you’d run a mile.’

  ‘This isn’t about knowing. It’s about feeling. Are you telling me you feel nothing?’

  ‘I … maybe I feel something, but …’ I swallow, finding my strength. ‘No. Patrick, what just happened was sex. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘It was more.’

  ‘No,’ I say, pulling away from him. ‘You have to leave me alone now Patrick. Please. For my sake. Please.’

  God knows how, but I manage to stumble across the room, tear the door open and rush out into the corridor. I run down hallways and up stairs until I reach my bedroom.

  Once my bedroom door is slammed closed, I pace around.

  Oh shit, shit, shit.

  For a moment, my mind wanders to my motorbike parked up outside.

  I could jump on it and just leave. Get the hell out of here and forget all about Patrick Mansfield.

  But I can’t leave Bertie. I know that.

  I’m just going to have to bear it. It’s as simple as that.

  My body throbs at the thought of Patrick’s touch, his body, his lips … but what I said to him was true. He and I … no matter how amazing we feel together, this is the real world. And the two of us can never be in the real world.

  He’s lord of the manor and I’m a poor girl from Camden. The only thing that could ever happen between us is throwaway sex. And that’s over and done with.

  As I’m pacing my bedroom, I hear a vehicle outside and watch a battered green Land Rover creep over the gravel.

  I see the familiar and beautiful shape of Patrick’s broad shoulders in the front seat, and those long, strong fingers tapping the dashboard.

  As the car reaches the little lane that leads to the main road, the engine revs and the Land Rover go
es shooting along it, dust flying.

  So he’s gone then. For now.

  I wonder where?

  Thank god, I tell myself.

  It should be a relief, but … the truth is, I feel a little cold knowing he’s left the castle.

  Just be glad he’s left. Be glad that you have some space.

  46

  I spend the rest of the day wandering around the grounds and woodlands, and exploring the castle.

  Anything to take my mind off Patrick and what happened this morning.

  There are so many locked doors, I wonder what’s behind them all. And another thought creeps into my mind too. Where does Patrick sleep?

  Does he stay in the castle overnight? I guess he must do.

  Stop it Sera, why should you care?

  But I do care. I really do. Much as I try to shake away thoughts of Patrick, he is well and truly in my mind. And my body.

  What happened this morning – I still can barely believe it. If it wasn’t for the tight soreness between my legs and the loose, light feeling in my body, I would think it was all a dream.

  After supper, a snowstorm blows up and it’s too windy and cold to go outside. Bertie still isn’t back, so I explore further into the castle, going into the South Wing, which Vicky tells me is being developed for guests.

  It’s kind of okay, the south part. Clearly someone has spent some money on fixing it up, but it still looks gloomy. And it has a lonely feeling. I guess that’s because it’s empty.

  Down one of the corridors I smell chlorine and find a gorgeous bright blue swimming pool behind oak double doors.

  I hear a noise – a manly, puffing, grunting sound coming from the room behind the swimming pool.

  Who’s here?

  My curiosity gets the better of me.

  I creep a little closer, and see gym equipment through an open door.

  Then my heart stops.

  Oh holy Jesus.

  It’s Patrick.

  He must have come back while I was eating supper.

  Patrick is lying on his back, lifting a heavy barbell up and down.

  He’s wearing no shirt, only loose grey cotton tracksuit bottoms and his hard, firm muscles are tensed as he lifts and drops.

  I notice that tattoo again – the eagle on his collarbone, just above his chest.

  I begin to panic. I hadn’t expected this. I hadn’t expected to see him again so soon.

  God, if he sees me …

  I mean to turn away, but the sight of him lifting and dropping those weights – for a moment I’m just mesmerized.

  The way he makes it look so effortless … the determination on his face … the fact that I can tell, even though I don’t know much about his time in the Olympics, that he’s a champion.

  Why does the idea of him and me together scare me so much? Because it does. The fact that he’s so masterful and in charge. The fact that he’s a leader. It both turns me on and scares the shit out of me.

  I watch for a moment longer as he puffs the bar up and down, his beautifully muscular arms tightening and releasing with each stroke. Then I know I have to leave. Before he sees me.

  As I back away, a part of me hates to go. I could watch him all night, truly I could. But I have to be strong. And anyway, Bertie could be back by now.

  That thought makes my feet start moving and I hurry away, back to Bertie’s bedroom.

  47

  When I reach Bertie’s room, he’s in there playing Xbox with Daphne.

  She’s laughing and swaying around as she moves her controller. They’re playing football, but I don’t have to worry about Bertie losing and throwing a tantrum – Daphne is barely able to move her team around, let alone score goals.

  ‘Hi,’ I say gently. I don’t want to interrupt – it’s good to see Bertie with his grandma. But at the same time, I’m being paid to do a job, and I want to make sure that Daphne knows I’m here if she needs me.

  ‘Seraphina!’ Daphne looks away from the TV screen. ‘We’ve had a delightful day. Bertie did something he’s never done before. He took me to a bookshop.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘Oh yes. And he knew exactly what he wanted to buy. Just William.’ Her eyes are shining. ‘Jamie used to love those stories.’

  Should I tell her about finding the room with Jamie’s things in it? I think she’d probably understand, but … I don’t want to cause her any pain.

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ I say.

  ‘Bertie didn’t want me to read it to him, though,’ says Daphne, with a little frown. ‘Just to put it by his bedside.’

  I notice a sparkling new copy of Just William resting on Bertie’s collection of horror tales.

  ‘Maybe I can read it to him,’ I say. ‘It must be nearly his bedtime. Has he had his supper?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Daphne. ‘More liquorice and milk, just like always. And he’s brushed his teeth. He’s all ready.’

  ‘Then I guess I’ll read it when you’ve finished that game.’

  Bertie’s head springs away from the TV, and he follows my gaze to the new Just William book. Then he gets up and snaps off the television.

  ‘Well!’ Daphne smiles. ‘I guess we know what Bertie would like. Wonderful. Bertie. You have a story with Seraphina. Grandma has to go now, anyway. But I’ll be back soon. Okay, my lovely little man? And of course, your mama will be coming to visit tomorrow. Very early. More family for you!’

  She goes to kiss him, but he pulls back and she ruffles his hair instead.

  ‘Ah, my beautiful little boy.’

  She gets up and comes to me, and to my surprise kisses me on both cheeks. ‘So good to meet you today, Seraphina. I hope to see you again soon. For my sake as well as Bertie’s. This castle needs a little lightness and that’s exactly what you bring. Well. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ I say smiling. ‘Oh. Wait. Ms Cote—’

  ‘Call me Daphne.’

  I smile more widely. ‘Daphne. I … do you know where Bertie got all those other books? The horror ones? I … I guess I was just wondering. I don’t know if he reads them, or …’

  ‘Or they’re just for show,’ Daphne finishes. ‘Yes. I’ve often wondered. I know he has a tutor, but they’re still very difficult books for his age. I can’t imagine that he’d understand them all that well. And yet … I’ve seen him with them. Holding them, turning the pages …’

  ‘And do you know where he got them?’

  Daphne shakes her head. ‘Truly, I have no idea.’ She frowns. ‘I don’t like him having them. They’re nasty books. I’d take them away from him if I could, but I’ve seen Margaret Calder try, and Bertie smashed up everything in sight.’

  ‘Mmm.’ I tap my lip with my finger. ‘Did he … I mean, did they come to the castle with him?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ says Daphne. ‘He didn’t get them here. No, they were in the little brown suitcase he brought with him.’

  ‘And where was he before he came here?’

  ‘In a boarding nursery near his mother.’

  ‘And before that?’

  ‘With his grandfather. And before that Jamie and his girlfriend. Jamie is my other son. The younger one.’ Her eyes drop, and she whispers, ‘But he passed away.’

  ‘I heard,’ I say. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Daphne softly. ‘I’ll never truly get over it. Nor will Patrick. Or any of us. But he was very much loved.’

  God, the poor woman. To lose a son … I mean, there are no words. I know if anything happened to Wila, I’d just die. And she’s not even my daughter.

  My hand reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she grasps my fingers in hers, pressing them against her arm.

  Tears appear in her soft brown eyes.

  We both nod at each other for a moment, knowing words won’t do. I can’t possibly feel her pain. But I can let her know I care.

  Daphne reaches up and strokes hair from my face. ‘I’m glad you came here, Seraphina.’

  I end up readi
ng Bertie the whole Just William book again. After every story he wants another, and I’m happy to read for as long as he wants.

  When I put the book down and turn out the light, Bertie looks up at me with a soft, happy face that makes my heart leap.

  I pull the duvet over him, but his little hand reaches out and grabs my arm.

  ‘Do you want a bedtime cuddle?’ I ask him.

  Bertie nods, and I lean over the bed and give him a big hug and a kiss.

  ‘Night, night little soldier,’ I say. ‘Sweet dreams. I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?’

  Bertie smiles and nods his head.

  48

  The next day, I wake early and go to Bertie’s room. But he’s not there.

  For a moment, I panic. Has he run away or something? Then I remember that his mother is supposed to be visiting today. Early, Daphne said. Maybe she’s here already.

  I head down to the great hall, and find Bertie already sitting at one of the long tables.

  Beside him sits a pretty, very thin blonde girl with bright white skin.

  She’s wearing a sort of posh college-girl outfit of spotless tight-white jeans, a tucked in blouse and a loose chiffon scarf around her neck.

  I guess she must be Bertie’s mother, but she looks young and absolutely terrified of him. She and Bertie are sitting a good foot apart, and she’s watching him like he’s some sort of poisonous spider.

  When I come into the hall, she jumps and throws her hand to her chest.

  ‘Oh! Hello,’ she says.

  ‘Hi,’ I say with a smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘No, no.’ The girl shakes her head. ‘It’s okay. It’s me, not you. I’m just the jumpy kind. I’m always anxious.’

  ‘You must be Bertie’s mum,’ I say, reaching out my hand.

  ‘Yes,’ says the girl with a timid smile. She shakes my hand. ‘Anise. And I know who you are. The new nanny. Right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Good to meet you. Patrick has told me good things. And since you arrived Bertie seems … calmer. I think it must be down to you. I hope you end up staying.’

  ‘Oh, I will if I can,’ I say, throwing a glance at Bertie. ‘It’s good to meet you too, Anise. What do you have planned for Bertie today?’