‘The bike quickly became a lifeline. My mate took a chance on me. I was being rejected because I had a conviction after a fight in a club got out of hand. He set me up with the bike, and all of a sudden, I was earning money; I had some structure. But more than that, I had the freedom to get up one morning after sleeping on a mate’s sofa thinking, I can get out of here for the day.’
We walked further along the uneven chalk path, Danny guiding me and checking I was coping in my heels. We followed the stream and sat down together after Danny emptied his backpack for me to sit on. On the grass beside the pile of sandwiches and snacks was a sketchpad with a tin of pencils. ‘I couldn’t bring much,’ he said, avoiding eye contact. I smiled at the unusually shy man sitting beside me. ‘I want to draw you. Can I? I’ve wanted to from the moment we met.’
‘That’s not true at all,’ I laughed.
‘Completely true.’
‘You were horrible to me.’
‘I’m horrible to everyone I first meet,’ he smiled.
‘Plus I happen to know that you did sketch me in the early days.’
‘Your legs; not you.’
I pushed the sketchpad towards him, giving him permission, and tried not to show my monumental excitement. He crossed his legs and balanced the pad on his knee before making me laugh by holding his arched fingers together, pretending to get the right angle and sticking his tongue out of his mouth in mock concentration. He looked down to the paper and started to draw, occasionally glancing at me but often lingering with a small smile on his face.
‘I’m having trouble here,’ he eventually said. ‘I’m trying to capture that amazing curve of your body. Shoulder down to waist, waist down to thigh. There’s a dip that, every fucking time I’m inside you, I have to trace with my fingertips. My hand fits perfectly, thumb against the bone and fingers around the flesh, like it was made to fit there.’
‘My hipbone; you're talking about my hipbone,' I gasped, and he continued to sketch, silence sweeping over us, but the faint sounds of our laboured breathing were loud like drums. ‘I've noticed that too. I've watched your hands there. I've orgasmed watching your hands there.'
‘Stay still,' he demanded. I did everything I could not to move, but every part of my body was shaking. ‘Your hair is a distraction. I'm trying to capture how it sits across your shoulders, but all I can do is imagine wrapping it around my fist, pulling your head back and exposing your beautiful neck. But that causes another problem because your exposed neck makes me want to kiss it and then I can't concentrate on this fucking drawing.'
I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together, squeezing my thighs together at the same time in the hope that I could tamper down the feelings he was causing so fiercely inside me. ‘Then there's your mouth. So full, so perfect. Always parted like you're gasping for air. I do that to you, don't I? Do you know how fucking hard that makes me?' Words didn't come, just heavy breaths and small moans. ‘Put your shoulders back slightly.' I immediately did as he asked. Like always. ‘That's right. Perfect. I can see your breasts and the arch of your waist. Don't hide them from me, Kate. Show me everything.' His words did something to me. They lifted my head, pulled my spine back, arched my legs, made me feel sexy, but above all, they made me feel worshipped entirely.
‘Move your legs for me.’
‘How do you want them?’ I smiled.
‘Over my fucking shoulders.’
‘You’re drawing me, remember? Something you’ve wanted to do since the moment we met.’
‘I wanted to fuck you the moment we met too,’ he growled. ‘Spread your legs for me, princess.’
‘Don’t call me princess,’ I muttered as I spread my legs.
‘Wider, Kate.’
I pulled my knees apart and slowly spread my legs, carefully pulling my skirt down so that I still looked covered but giving Danny a clear view of my underwear. His head fell back as I circled my finger along the material and slid the black lace to the side to show myself to him.
‘Fuck,’ he said, before smiling wide and shaking his head. ‘Fucking fuck, you were made for me.’
‘Was I?’ I replied as I ran my finger down my wetness.
‘You fucking know it.’
‘Tell me again,’ I panted as he discarded the notepad and started crawling towards me on his hands and knees, stopping a breath away from my exposed clit.
‘You were made for me, Kate, and it’s about time we accepted it. No more lessons. No more questions or doubts about what we are. You’re fucking mine. You know it. I know it. Let’s not pretend this isn’t turning into more than what we expected it to be.’
I swallowed a gasp and smiled as his hand slid up my leg, under the skirt that was still pulled down providing somewhat of a shield from potentially prying eyes. ‘I want to make you come, here, now, outside,' he moaned into my ear as his fingers found my pussy, wet and aching for more.
‘Can people see?’
‘It’s just you and me, Kate.’
‘That’s all I want.’
‘Fuck, you’re wet.’ He kissed me harder as our arousal increased, ‘Do you want me to make you come?’ he asked as I writhed on the grass, opening my legs wider to give him unrestricted access.
‘Yes,' I whispered. ‘Please.' I ached for his touch, and he didn't disappoint. His fingers pushed inside me, moving in a perfect rhythm, his thumb rubbing my swollen clit until everything around us disappeared.
‘You’re ready. I can feel your pussy tightening around my fingers.’ I was already there. I was almost there as he started to draw me. His words only encouraged my orgasm to crash through me harder and faster. I was left panting and bereft as I felt his body heat move away from me.
‘Back to my drawing,’ he teased as he sat back, reassuming the position across from me and licking his fingers. He studied the drawing for a while, lifting it up and turning it on its side before putting the notepad down beside him. ‘I don’t know why I started this,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how I ever thought I could do you justice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t draw you, Kate.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because you’re too fucking beautiful.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We spent the rest of the afternoon in let’s pretend we’re in a committed relationship bliss. We ate his makeshift picnic, fed leftover jam sandwiches to the ducks, and he held my sandals as we paddled through the stream. We smiled at dog walkers, laughed at kids tumbling over on the wet rocks and made light conversation with a man sitting at an easel on the next hill painting the Peak Valleys.
Before we knew it, evening had arrived. Before we left for home, we had a meal in one of the local pubs. It was olde-worldle Derbyshire at its best, and according to Danny, the steak and ale pie was the best he'd tasted, and I didn't need much more persuasion to try it. We talked about his travelling plans. He told me that he had been saving money from the sales of some of his paintings. The wages from his courier job were also helping towards a backpacking trip around Asia. Initially, Ruth had saved his money in the safe at the centre, but after a break in where thankfully nothing valuable was taken, he opened a savings account giving his aunts address and keeping track of it through the bank's app on his phone.
Although his plans fascinated me, I couldn't help but feel sad that, at some point, he would be leaving. I was beginning to sense a familiar pattern threading through Danny's life. He was a runner. He loved the freedom of being able just to disappear when things got tough. Although I understood his need to do that, it also scared me and made me wonder about the possibility of any future together. He ran. I stayed. What kind of future would those opposite traits allow us to have?
Before taking me home, I asked him to stop at the embankment so that I could show him Elle and Abi's thinking spot and the inspiration for my painting that Ruth was so impressed with. We sat under the bandstand and talked as dusk started to settle. Under the safety of dim light in my fa
vourite place and the recent confessions from Danny, I gained some courage to explore what the future may hold for us.
‘Did you mean what you said today?’ I asked.
‘I said a lot today.’
I tapped my finger on the cold concrete floor hoping it would drum up more courage. ‘You said we should stop pretending. You also said that what we have has gone far beyond expectations.' I dropped my eyes to the floor and waited for the reaction, good or bad.
‘I can't pretend anymore,' he replied as I smiled and leant over to him. ‘But that doesn't mean I'm still not shitting myself. I meant it when I said I don't know what to do with my feelings. This is new to me and I know I'm probably going to fuck it up at some point. I'm just trying to contain it.' I pulled back but he turned my shoulder with his hand. ‘I'm scared, Kate. But I'm excited too.'
‘I understand,' I smiled. We may have had radically different sexual experiences with partners we didn't see a future with, but when we pulled back the flesh to expose the bare bones, we were both two people who had never really been in love. Not real love anyway. On that understanding, a roll of anxiety crashed through. How could he know that there was more between us than sex? Would I be enough for him? Would his addiction to sex run away from him again with me chasing behind him as he found his next fix?
‘How do you control the urges?’ I said out loud. ‘I mean, they must still happen.’
‘Rehab was the first big step to my recovery. Once I admitted I needed help-’
‘No, I mean your sex addiction. Do you have treatment for that?’
He sighed and looked away. ‘Yes, it’s part of my counselling sessions.’
‘How do they help you?’
He thought for a second before answering. ‘I can only describe my recovery as like starting again every morning, reinforcing the belief that I’ve made it this far so I need to keep going. Sometimes I need help to remember that, which is when I see Ruth. She helps me top up the belief when I’m running empty.’ I held my breath a little. ‘It happens, not often, but I’ve learned I need to get myself in check before I reach bottom again.’
‘I’m glad you found her.’
‘She found me.’
‘Do you talk to her about…us?’ I asked.
‘If I need to.’
‘She must worry that your addiction is getting out of control.’
He laughed before shaking his head. ‘Kate, my views on sex are always going to be a part of my treatment. That’s how I control it.’
‘Are you controlling it with me? Am I part of the treatment?’
‘Kate…’
‘Am I enough?’
‘Let’s not do this.’
‘I need to know if I’m going to be enough. You say you’re scared, which I understand; I really do. You’ve never felt this way before and I’m wondering how you’ll know if I’ll be enough.’ He finally met my eyes, nodding slightly. I wasn’t sure how my outburst was going to be received. Would he simply get up and take off? Would he answer and settle my mind, or would he shrug and tell me he didn’t know and probably wouldn’t until he did something that would push us apart forever?
‘Sex was always a quick fix. I didn’t feel anything apart from the rush of getting off and getting someone else off. I started to crave the power, knowing I was good at fucking and women wanted me because of it.’
‘Like me,’ I said.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘It’s true, isn’t it? I knew you were exciting. I knew you would make me feel things that I’ve never experienced before. I wanted it.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. You gave me lessons in sex, Danny.’
‘No,’ he replied firmly.
‘How am I different from the others?’
‘Because I never had feelings for the others.’ He shocked me with the intensity of his words. We both sat in silence, his voice still ringing around us as he took my hand and threaded our fingers together. ‘I used them. I didn’t give a fuck about them. I wasn’t interested in relationships or love. I didn’t want that, thought it would never be for me…until I met you.’
‘Tell me how I’m different,’ I whispered.
‘You make the high bigger.’
‘I do?’
‘You make me want more.’
‘You want more?’ He placed his hand over my mouth but I dodged him until he pulled me closer and placed his lips over mine slowly. Pulling back, I stroked my finger across the frown lines across his forehead.
‘You’re making me start to like myself. I want to be a better man, someone you’re worthy of. Do you know how fucking big that is for me? To put someone else first?’ I nodded and closed my eyes, forcing tears to drop. ‘But do you also know how terrifying that is?’ I nodded again, unable to think, my breathing shallow. ‘I need you to know.’
‘I know,’ I replied, wanting to take in the enormity of what he’d just said but still feeling that he would run at any minute. ‘Thank you for being so honest with me.’
‘I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying.’
‘I’ll support you. I’ll do whatever you need to make sure your belief is topped up.’
‘Walk with me,’ he said, pulling me up and taking my hand.
We walked along the embankment until it turned late. There was a slight evening chill, so I nestled against Danny until I didn't notice it anymore. We talked, we laughed, and we held onto each other. It was all I could do. I decided that whatever Danny could offer me for however long, I would be willing to take it.
When we returned home, Danny agreed to stay the night. It was late and we were both tired. As the front door closed, the tiredness fell away. He took me in his arms and led me to the bedroom, where we took things slower than we'd ever done before. Our usual frantic rush to connect was replaced with the need to savour each other, take our time, and love every part of ourselves with a deep aching need.
Something had changed between us.
Something I wanted more than my last breath but was scared to lose in equal parts.
Danny came through from the kitchen with a glass of water and two headache tablets. I'd developed a headache after the long day, and he'd picked up on it without me having to say anything. ‘Take these,' he said, offering me the pills and putting the glass to my mouth as I swallowed them. ‘I've just run a bath for you. Go and relax, princess.'
‘Don’t call me princess,’ I whispered and smiled as I wrapped my small hand around his wrist.
‘I noticed your birth records counselling report on the kitchen table. I’d like to read it,’ he said.
‘Of course. I'd like that.' He kissed my head and went through to the kitchen, leaving me alone in the bedroom. I slipped the silk of my dressing gown off my shoulders and opened the bathroom door. A candle had been lit on the windowsill and the water was full of lavender foam. He'd put a towel on top of the wash basket and hung up a fresh lace camisole on the back of the door. I was beginning to wonder where this Danny had been hiding and I was so pleased that I was finally encouraging him to come out.
After the bath, I dried myself with the towel he'd put out and pulled on the white lace camisole, knowing it was one of his favourites. I was disappointed that he didn't come and join me, or at least sit on the floor beside me to talk, but then I remembered that he had asked to read the background information report and thought it must have grabbed his attention. Still, the flat seemed eerily quiet as I walked down the hallway.
I knew from the silence pushing against the walls that he'd left. Nothing around me was pulsing or alive. I felt heavy and still, which I only felt when he wasn't near to me. It felt like my heart was starting to shut down or the beat taken down a few notches. I entered the living room. Empty. I walked into the kitchen. Empty. Stupidly, I opened the door to the storage cupboard. His bike helmet had gone, along with his backpack. There was a can of Coke that was still cold on the kitchen table, but the chair was pushed far back like he'd left in a hurry. The ba
ckground information report was folded over at the staple halfway through the pages. I picked it up and slid it back into the envelope before clutching it heavily to my chest.
I was a master at over-analysing, which sometimes took the form of inventing ridiculous scenarios and situations to explain the unexplainable, if only to cushion the blow of reality. I couldn’t let my mind go there. After texting Danny for the seventh time in the last thirty minutes and ringing him twice, only to get his abrupt leave a message demand and making up explanations that ranged from a stomach upset to being called into work, I finally admitted defeat.
He'd gone, but I had no idea why.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Nine days later and I still hadn’t heard from Danny.
His phone rang out until it went straight to voicemail. Messages had been read but not replied to. He hadn't been near the centre, which had led to him missing art therapy sessions and counselling appointments with Ruth. If I weren't so bloody furious with him, I would have been worried about his mental health. It just so happened that his mental health could go fuck itself.
Gem's birthday celebrations didn't lift my mood, and, of course, the girls noticed my personality transplant. Nothing got past them. Abi had to gnaw the bones of her fingers to stop herself from saying I knew you’d get hurt! But to her credit, the words never escaped her lips even if they were printed across her forehead. Elle hugged me until the sobs subsided, and Gem tried to ply me with alcohol as a very convincing cushion to the pain I had climbing up my back.
Let Me Be Your Truth Page 18
