by Flora Dain
It does to me, too. I’m almost numb with longing.
‘I’m ready. Really ready,’ I plead through clenched teeth. ‘I can’t take much more of this.’
Mistake. Instantly he swoops down close to my ear, his hand on my rear end, the other fastening over my clamped wrists, where his fingers fondle my swollen ridges of flesh forming at the edges of the hard, unforgiving metal. ‘You take what I say you can take. That’s the deal. Understood?’
His voice is harsh. I’ve no idea whether this comes from his past or his reaction to me now but I know instantly I must go with it.
I want him inside me. I want him so badly I ache. ‘Understood,’ I say quietly. All at once the unnatural pose, the tightness of my aching arms, the fierce, predatory power of this strange, beautiful man fuse together and I know this is all I want, all I’ve ever wanted, and if this is how he gets his pleasure then it sure as heck is how I want mine.
And with a sudden move behind me I feel his hands grab at my thighs, forcing them even wider apart, and then I hear a blissful sound – the rip of foil. In seconds he plunges inside, and for long, glorious minutes he pounds into me while my belly tugs at him, pulling him in, loath to let him go. When he stills and quivers, just on the point of pleasure, I feel him grin at my ear and bite hard on my neck as his hand reaches round to fondle me with a merciful caress and in seconds I come too. We fuse together, his body clamped over mine, his hand still moving gently in my soft, pulsing folds, sucking at his fingers like a living thing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We stay locked together far longer than I expect. Some orgasms fade in seconds, others take a while.
This one, for me at least, was so moving that my belly glows long after the spasms ripple away, leaving me tranquil and sated. And this time, much to my surprise, he lingers too, covering me with his powerful body, filling me with his softening heat. I feel safe, warm, fulfilled.
He feels my breasts, his hands tracing the seams of my tight corset, exploring the places where the lace cuts into my soft, constricted flesh and probing gently, his fingers slipping into the edges of the lace like he’s mapping me.
At last he flops down next to me, a colossus at rest. His hands still explore me, unwilling to break contact, not daring to believe his luck. ‘How are you feeling?’
I spare him the detail but I smile at him sideways over my straining arms. My wrists ache as my body sags a little. I feel limp and content. I want to flop down too, nestle in the crook of his arm and sink into sleep. ‘Wonderful. That was …’ I tail off. He can see how it felt. My slickness tells him everything. ‘Are you going to unfasten me?’
He reaches for a small bottle of water, tips a little into my mouth and then splashes some on his face and hands. ‘Can I ask you a favour?’
Surprised, I grin. ‘Sure. Anything.’
‘Will you stay like that for a while?’
What? Alarm prickles along my back. My grin vanishes. ‘Why?’
His eyes flicker with concern as he runs a finger over my bonds and then sweeps his hand under my taut, quivering arms where I’m sensitive to the point of ticklish.
I writhe.
He snatches his hand away but not before I catch his gleam of satisfaction. ‘It’s just – it’s been so long since anyone agreed to this … if I let you go now you’ll be too sore to fasten again …’ He sounds husky.
This is important to him. He’s pleading with me like a small boy who wants another half-hour with his new toy. I glance at his erection. It’s softened now, lying large and plump along his thigh. It stirs again even as I watch. Why does the sight of me like this move him so deeply? It moves me too. I feel an answering throb deep below.
I swallow. ‘Can I have some more water?’
I drink deep, aware that even as I arch to reach the bottle he’s watching me. He’s very still as his finger traces the line of my throat. Even this simple act of submission stirs him, makes him catch his breath and speeds up his pulse. He inspects me closely, making me burn anew. ‘Can I make a few minor changes?’
My eyes widen. ‘Sure. Go ahead.’ In the last few seconds I’ve made some changes too. I’m thrilled this is working so well. Something tells me we must be over the worst. If I can turn his terrors into some kind of game it may push the horror away, or at least scale it down.
He starts to untie the lacing and I sigh in relief. ‘Wow. That’s a lot better –’
I break off as his deft fingers pull the satin even tighter. He reties the knots with a flourish.
Above me he’s laughing softly. ‘Sure is. Big improvement.’
I gasp. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘You look stunning. Especially at this angle.’ He strokes my bare ass, high in the air and open wide for inspection, my cheeks bulging provocatively under the taut satin trim. ‘Irresistible. And now, if you permit, I think we should do something about these …’
He wants to spank me. He starts, permission forgotten in the heat of the moment. Forget about light, playful taps. These are hard, ringing blows that make me jerk painfully against the cuffs and remind me that my sex is still wet and still hot. Each stinging contact of his hand makes me ache for him all over again. Every blow jolts me closer but never close enough.
After the first few slaps they blend into a hot, burning glow that smoulders deep in my belly and sends flames shooting all over me. Soon everywhere down south is fiery and hot, consumed by pain and flame, too needy to work out which is which.
After a while he pauses to fondle me, his hand cool now on my punished globes, his breath searing hot against my ear. ‘Still OK?’
How can I answer this? I’m shaky and tearful now, bewildered by so much action, confused by my feelings. My arousal is white-hot but fuelled by fear.
I never knew it was possible to mix the two. My body’s enchanted but my mind is appalled.
He eyes me with concern. It’s vital that I answer but I don’t know what to say.
‘I can’t tell. I don’t know what’s happening to me.’
‘Will it help if I show you what’s happening to me?’ With a soft laugh he kneels before me again, his thighs pressing down painfully on my aching arms as he thrusts his erection in my face, arrogant and proud and even hotter than before. I kiss it lightly, the brief touch of my lips making it jolt and quiver. I reach out to lick it, tasting the heady mix of spice and salt, and I see him grin. ‘Easy. You’re too good at this. You look lovely from up here.’
The thought that I’m pleasing him so much by doing this gives me a rush of pleasure and I burn even hotter.
He reaches over me to feel me and I strain into his hand as he cups my sex. ‘Impatient, are we?’
I cry out as he slips his fingers deep into me, primed and ready as my eager opening sucks shamelessly at his fingers.
I brace myself at the rip of new foil and in seconds he plunges into me again. This time he takes it slow, his first hunger appeased. He thrusts into me and drives away in a slow, even rhythm while my tight corset, my aching arms and his busy fingers all do their worst on my pulsing, flaring mound. Soon I shriek as I plunge over yet another cliff of pleasure but his fingers stay relentlessly in place while he laughs cruelly against the back of my neck.
‘Was that the distinctive cry of a coming female? You’ll come twice more before I join you. That’s an order.’
Moving gently inside me, he lets my belly pull him in, easing away with a groan each time as his busy fingers keep their promise. In minutes I do come twice, the first time quickly, writhing against the tight, unforgiving metal still gripping my hands, and the second time more gently as a third stunning climax washes over me, lapping softly against his busy fingers like a leaf on the sea. And now he speeds up and at last he comes again with a low, husky shout of his own, pumping his fill, his sweating body weighing me down as his powerful chest drags in air. His heartbeat drums on my back as he leans over me once more, dropping hot, hungry kisses on my neck.
This time,
at long last, he releases me. I collapse into his arms as he breathes into my hair and we lie panting together like we’ve run a race. In a sense we have. I’ve yet to find out how far we’ve come or where it will end.
After a while he raises my arms to inspect my scorched, aching wrists. Scarlet marks are already forming where the metal bit in. He touches the places with his lips and fingers them gently, easing the sting. I shiver at the sight and against all reason I start to throb again. I’m finding this hot?
My arm muscles ache and the places hurt but the skin’s unbroken. I’ll live.
‘Still OK?’ He’s watching me closely. He’s scared he’s gone too far.
I kiss his shoulder. ‘I’m fine. That was sensational.’
His breathing’s easier now. ‘You too.’
Later still we drift into sleep. When his breathing becomes steady and regular I try to get up but he clamps me down with one arm and growls in my ear. ‘Stay here.’
Surprised, I sink back down again.
He winds around me and buries his face in my hair, his voice drowsy. ‘Don’t leave me.’
I stay.
* * *
The following morning I wake alone in a mess of rumpled sheets and crooked pillows and hear voices. The room beyond seems full of people. Startled I sit up. Figures stride about as Darnley appears at the door, leans in and calls across to me.
‘Awake now? Make yourself decent. They want to pack your things.’ He tosses his robe across the room. It lands on the end of the bed in a small heap, soft as a cat, the black velour still damp from his shower.
I snatch it around me, tie it at the waist and push up the too-long sleeves and venture into the next room. Someone shows me to a sparkling breakfast table and someone else pours me some peach juice. Darnley is already showered, shaved and dressed, his suit and shirt sharp but discreet. He’s talking earnestly to Cliff Face, who answers respectfully, his eyes flickering towards me and then away again.
I can’t make out what they’re saying but Darnley darts me a look as well and I guess I’m somehow an issue.
‘Miss Dean? Can I pack your evening gowns with Mr Wolfe’s suits? You don’t seem to have a dress case in here.’ One of the maids hovers at my elbow.
Darnley snaps at her from across the room. ‘That’ll be fine. Get on with it, we’re running late.’
I gulp my juice. ‘We’re leaving now?’
He strolls over and helps himself to another coffee. ‘Thirty minutes enough? The jet’s already here.’
‘Any news of Ryan?’ I reach for some cereal but all the activity around me shrinks my stomach. After a spoonful I push it away.
Darnley frowns. ‘Eat something.’
I munch a spoonful while he watches. It tastes like gravel.
‘We got a trace on his phone. He’s travelling north. Don’t worry about him. Your case is nearly done now. Get dressed so they can pack the rest.’
I take my coffee into my room and slip into the shower. When I emerge, fresher now, my case is already packed and my make-up and necessities lined up neatly on the bed next to my purse. The maid gives me a nervous smile as she clears the last of the hangers.
Is this how he travels, with all this bustle? It’s bewildering.
I don’t often meet people rich enough to vacation near presidents, so to meet his family I choose linen crops and a slim jacket and team them with some sandals. If we’re going by jet the trip should be swift and cool, unlike my slow drive here in the hot Dallas traffic. With luck I’ll look reasonably fresh when I land.
Do the rich always arrive like this, ready to make an entrance? What a life.
* * *
His jet is compact and shiny. Inside it smells new like a showroom car. The carpet and the seating are all pale and the engine noise muted. After take-off we’re offered drinks and Darnley starts taking a series of calls, all apparently to do with business and mostly to someone called Hilary. During a gap in his calls I ask who he is.
‘She. Hilary’s my PA. Why?’
‘Just curious. If you talked to me in that tone of voice I’d leave. You give your staff a hard time.’
He shrugs. ‘People who work for me work hard. People who play with me play hard. Any complaints?’ His eyes gleam as he says this.
I feel colour rise in my cheeks.
* * *
Over lunch he’s watchful. I struggle to make small talk. There’s a lot I want to ask but we’re not alone. Crew-members are discreet but close at hand. Afterwards I lean back in my seat and watch the landscape below sharpen and fade and sharpen again as we fly through occasional wisps of fleecy cloud.
Finally I close my eyes and recall last night. Before sleep came I had to check up on something. ‘Darnley? Can I ask you a question?’
He pulled me close. ‘Sure.’
‘You called me vanilla. That’s a term used in bondage play, isn’t it? Does that mean you use other things – whips, and so on?’
He leaned up on one elbow and ran a finger over my lip. ‘Sometimes. It depends. Why? Does the idea scare you?’
I swallowed, trying to make out his face in the gloom. All I could see was a glitter from his eyes. ‘A little.’
The glitter became a steady gleam. ‘Good.’
* * *
‘Hey. Wake up. We’re here.’
My eyes snap open.
He’s leaning close to me, his expression warm. ‘You missed the bluegrass plains of Kentucky and the towers of Manhattan.’ His sardonic smile holds a hint of warning. His world is way more formal than mine. The crew have to be thanked, the driver greeted. I’ve been shamefully off-duty.
I’d no idea I’d even been asleep but now I see we’re coming in to land.
As I fasten my belt a glance out of the window shows we’re surrounded by forest. I’m happier here than in the raw heat of Texas. This landscape’s closer to home. It even looks like my native state of Maine. Tree-covered hills march into the distance, skirting the occasional glitter of a lake. But at their edges I see the roofs and shiny blue patches of swimming pools belonging to the great mansions where the elite spend some of their summer.
I’m still in a foreign country.
* * *
On the landing strip two cars are waiting. Cliff Face and two other bodyguards pile into one. Our luggage is already being stowed in the boot. We climb into the sheltered privacy of the other. As we start off I glance across at him, anxious now.
He eyes me calmly. ‘You OK?’
I nod. ‘Nervous, mainly.’
‘You’ll be fine. They’re just folks. They don’t bite.’
‘In a place called Camp Akela full of people called Wolfe?’ I grin and he covers my hand with his and gives it a squeeze, his face instantly serious.
‘Leave the talking to me. Be vague about being together. It’s none of their business. And say nothing about …’ He tails off with a flicker of pain.
I squeeze him back and dart him a look. ‘You have to ask?’
* * *
The first sight of his parents’ summer home takes my breath away. It’s a vast, sprawling mansion shrouded in trees. Beyond the immaculate lawns near the house I see a lake and beyond that a rolling landscape of forested hills.
But the first person we meet looks utterly normal, a man not much older than me in jeans and a checked shirt. He’s walking up to the house from the lake. He vaguely resembles Darnley – so his looks are arresting – but he’s shorter, fairer, with an untidy, stubbly beard, and carries a bag of fishing tackle slung over one shoulder. In the other hand a couple of trout dangle from a short piece of fishing line.
‘Hi, bro. How’s things?’
Darnley’s face lights up. He turns to me with a careless grin. ‘Ella, meet my brother Eldon.’
His brother is glaring at me, his boyish good looks contracted into a sulky scowl. I smile back automatically, instantly at home. It’s an expression I see often in the classroom. But this is no teenager. He’s younger than Darnl
ey but in his mid-twenties at a guess, older than me. Too old for sulks when he meets his brother’s guests, surely?
Spoilt rich kid. My heart hardens. ‘Hi.’ I hold out my hand in an automatic greeting. He glances down and freezes. To my horror colour starts to leach from his face. Too late I snatch my hand back, keenly aware of the angry red marks still vivid from last night.
Eldon slowly raises his eyes and stares at his brother over my shoulder like I’m not even there. ‘What the fuck happened to her wrists?’
Bewildered, I stare at him, genuinely puzzled. This is no longer kid-brother or spoilt rich-kid sulks. This is weird. His eyes are wild, his face is white and he’s broken out into a sweat.
He needs help.
‘They’re fine –’ I stop, alarmed. I glance at Darnley, hoping for some hint as to how to deal with this.
But Darnley’s expression scares me even more. He’s staring his brother down, his eyes on fire, his teeth bared in something very like a snarl. I’ve rarely seen him look so like his animal namesake.
It’s terrifying.
‘Nothing,’ he snaps. ‘Nothing’s the fucking matter with her wrists. You’re seeing things. Anyway, what’s it got to do with you?’
Eldon seems to shrink. He actually takes a step back and then turns and walks quickly away, around the side of the house.
‘Are all your relatives like him?’ I try to keep things light but to my alarm I see him frown.
‘You should have covered your wrists.’
‘You should have said you had a brother. How was I to know? Anyway, what’s the matter with him? Did it happen to him too?’
He stares at me wildly, as rattled as I feel.
He’s not used to people knowing.
‘No, no. Nothing like that. His problem’s – different. A childhood accident. Look, please don’t mention it. You’ll make it worse. I’d have warned you but I didn’t know he’d be here. He’ll be fine.’
