by Flora Dain
His voice is shrill now, his face contorted like an angry toddler taking home his ball. I half expect him to stamp his foot.
He may be outplayed but he still has the power to wound. His eyes flash. ‘And next time you torture your girlfriend while you’re boning her at least have the decency to treat her to some fucking Band-Aids afterwards, not solid freakin’ gold cuffs. Then maybe she’ll freakin’ heal, you freakin’ perverted freak.’
Darnley stands very still, his face stony as his men gather round us in a silent, solemn ring. From the house we hear protesting cries as more unseen visitors are rounded up and herded down the steps towards us, swelling the crowd.
All eyes instantly fasten on our little group, Darnley at its centre, his controlled fury like a force field.
In the tense silence he turns slowly to face me, his expression unreadable. ‘Go to the Lincoln Suite and stay there. This won’t take long. I’ll catch you later.’
I quail at the rage I sense building under his calm surface. I’m scared to speak in front of all these people but I give a faint nod to convey to him that I get he has things to do – Wolfe things – and our loving reunion must wait.
Unexpectedly he folds his hand slowly round my neck, tilts up my chin with his thumb and kisses me on the mouth. ‘See you later.’ His look is so intense, his touch so gentle, we might be alone here.
The others look on in silence.
He releases me slowly. His touch lingers in a statement of power, some kind of primitive signal to everyone here about territory or ownership. I’m unfamiliar with the finer points of male stand-offs but I feel a tiny spark of pride that he’s marked me out for this one.
As I make my way to the Lincoln Suite I’m already winding down when I hear voices. What?
In the doorway to our rooms I stand very still. There are three women in here. Two are casually eyeing up the Kandinsky, the other is sprawled on our bed. Her bright kaftan and fluorescent headband look outlandish, Greenwich Village going on Woodstock. They stop talking and look me up and down. One of them flicks a cigarette into a flower vase where it smoulders unpleasantly.
‘What do you want?’ A tall girl with sandals and a jutting chin scowls at me.
‘You’re in my room,’ I say evenly.
She arches an eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah? Who says? We got here first. Go find one of your own.’
Just then Bullen, Darnley’s driver, pushes past me.
‘Security alert, ladies. Everyone’s to report outside.’
They look affronted but Bullen’s blank stare and prominent holster are very persuasive. He turns to me and lowers his voice.
‘Two gunmen spotted heading this way, ma’am. One may be in the woods, one in the house. We’ve been ordered to clear the area.’
I make an effort to keep a straight face. Gunmen?
The women look scared as he herds them towards the door and sweeps the room with a professional two-handed gun pointed into corners, cupboards and even under the bed. Another guard appears and looks on in silence as Bullen checks the other rooms in the suite and then comes back to the door, his face solemn.
As I watch something clicks: G2. Two gunmen? Was that some kind of code?
The women push past me in their haste to get away. The other man follows them like a watchful sheepdog, ensuring they stay in line.
Bullen lingers in the doorway for a moment. ‘It’s OK, ma’am, it’s safe for you. I’ll send one of the maids to clean up.’
‘Thank you, Bullen. I appreciate that. Er, G2?’
His cliff-face settles into its familiar stony mask. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
While the maid’s changing the bed I watch from the window as the unscripted visitors are herded out onto the driveway and driven away. Eldon looks on helplessly, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally he and Darnley walk back into the house, Eldon still muttering angrily, Darnley in tight-lipped silence. They head for the sitting room and slam the door. I hear angry voices.
This may take a while.
Some three hours later, it’s well after midnight. I’ve washed and showered, filed my nails and applied some scent, caught up on some emails and checked over some lessons for the new semester, but Darnley’s still a no-show. What’s taking him so long?
I’m desperately sorry for him. He was looking forward to seeing Eldon again. Things between the brothers have always been stormy. Now it looks like they’re set to get a whole lot worse.
I get into bed, switch off the light and try to sleep.
Much later I can still hear voices. With a sigh I slip into a wrap and tiptoe downstairs. I frown at a sudden burst of laughter from the sitting area. Quietly I peep round the doorway and hold my breath at the scene before me.
Eldon’s stretched out on one long sofa, hands behind his head. He’s partway through some joke, a pretty filthy one by the sound of it, his voice low and slurred and thick with laughter as he closes in on the punchline.
Darnley sprawls opposite, long legs straight out before him. The low table between them holds several beer cans, some upright, others at crazy angles. They roll on their sides, glinting in the low, flickering light from the fire. There are more empty cans on the floor.
As I watch, Eldon’s punchline arrives in an explosion of laughter from them both. Darnley leans forward and cracks open another can.
I tiptoe silently away, smiling now. I’ve lost my lover for tonight but it’s in a good cause.
Darnley’s found his brother.
I wake up in a shaft of sunshine, my face rammed into my pillow. The glare of the snowy linen almost hurts my eyes so I close them and drift off again. My arms are stretched around something. The dream is fading now but I strain to call it back, I was enjoying that … I was dreaming I was with Darnley, my face buried in his chest.
Something else hurts too. It takes me a few moments to work out what.
It’s my bum. It stings and burns in the hot sun. Someone’s stroking it, their firm touch turning the cruel stripes I got yesterday into burning, fiery gold.
I can almost smell him, his dark, animal aroma that lurks under his crisp aftershave like a predator, firing me into pounding arousal whenever I least expect it.
‘Hey.’
Shit. He is here. My eyes snap open and now I’m fully awake and his hands are on my backside, warm, stroking, sending waves of pleasure through me even though they remind me of the ferocity of that switch. That hurt. And what was more, if I’m completely honest, that was hot. And now his loving caresses are lulling me back to dreamland …
‘Wake up.’ To make sure of this he slips his hand deep between my legs and presses, his fingers searching into my private places, his touch, like his closeness, sparking instant arousal. Everywhere down south starts to throb.
Fully awake now I slide my arms out from under the pillow I’ve been hugging. I blink, dazzled, and then snap to attention.
I’m still wearing the bracelets. He keeps the key but he’s not removed them.
His low murmur flows around me, rich and dark. ‘I told you to wait up. Sleeping on duty? Disgraceful. You’re a very bad girl.’
He grins as he hauls me over him and finds my mouth, his hands sliding all over my lazy curves as he greets my quivering skin, now shimmering under his touch, eager for action. I lean along him and wind my fingers into his hair and kiss him deep, relishing the hard muscles rippling underneath my softer, swelling breasts and his column of hot, burning gristle lying directly under my belly.
He tastes so good …
I pull away with a smile and let my hair fall around us in a silky curtain. ‘You made a night of it.’
He kisses me again with soft touches of his lips and I see his eyes glow. ‘Yep. Now I’m making a morning of it. Sit up so I can admire the view.’
I do it, laughing and pleased his evening went so well. I arch my back and hold my breasts up for him, making them bulge a little, and then flick back my hair and pout with one finger in my mouth, fellating
it gently like some porno tramp.
His eyes gleam. ‘Hey. How about the real thing?’
His eyelids lower as he watches me move back down his magnificent body and nestle between his thighs. I lean over his hot shaft and breathe deep. His earthy aroma fills my senses, still drowsy from sleep, and an instant throb of arousal drums between my legs. I lean forward to kiss the tip, letting my hair trail over his abdomen in a silky fall and thrilling to his sharp intake of breath as I do it.
I take the bulging, glossy head in my mouth and suck gently, eyeing him playfully from the shelter of his warm, muscular thighs and admiring his male landscape, the hills and valleys of his muscular chest, the dark hair snaking down his belly towards me where it curls and nestles at his root.
‘Wow. You’re really something.’ His intelligent, predatory face creases into a lazy smile, the gleam in his eyes telling me he wants me hard and fast and he wants me now.
He gets me. He gets every twirl and lick of my willing tongue, every ounce of devotion I can summon up from my willing mouth and every spasm of my eager, hungry throat as I lunge and gag over him, eager to please and feral with lust.
But just as I think he’ll score he seizes my head in his hands. I hesitate with him still in my mouth. What’s wrong? Am I too fast? Too slow? Scraping with my teeth?
I’m wearing the bracelets. The consequences of inept performance could be dire.
‘Turn over.’
With an effort I pull away, breathless, and he rolls me over so I’m lying face down.
‘Up on your knees,’ he says softly.
I get in position and instantly he reaches between my legs and flexes his hand to splay my thighs wider and tease my eager, swelling mound with tiny touches of his fingertips.
‘Feeling skittish, are we?’
‘You bet.’ I catch my breath as he tweaks one of my soft outer lips, his touch ruthless and deliberate, challenging me to keep still.
‘Ah, but you’re wearing the bracelets. You’ve got obligations.’ His soft murmur thrills through me as he trails soft kisses all along my backbone, making me arch.
He keeps his hand on target, his fingers slipping into every hidden, private fold they find there except the main one. I writhe as I try to reach his questing finger and pair it to my eager little bud but instantly he guesses and takes his hand away.
‘Obligations?’ I bleat, desperate to reach his finger again as my climax starts to build, its distant drumbeat persistent and unmistakeable but growing slowly louder.
He curves over me, his thighs hot against my tender rear. ‘You call me sir, and you speak when I tell you. Understood?’
He scoops my hair into a ponytail and hauls back my head, drops a hot kiss on the side of my neck and then nuzzles against my ear. ‘Well?’
Whoa. This is hotter than I’m used to at this hour. ‘Yes, sir,’ I gasp.
He jerks my head up again and nuzzles my other earlobe. ‘Plus you’re a bad girl falling asleep on duty. Agreed?’
I feel a tremor as I guess what’s coming. A tremor ripples through me, not quite fear but something hot, dark and exciting. It raises goose bumps all over me. ‘Yes, sir.’ I hang over his moving hand, willing him closer, panting for release but resigned to my fate.
His voice continues to murmur at my back, his lips warm and stirring on my skin, his tone low and deadly as he lists my misdeeds. ‘And you’re still sleepy. So we better wake you up. What do you say?’
I swallow. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right, sir.’
I hear him breathe a soft sigh of satisfaction and all at once he takes his hand away and holds his fingers over my face. ‘Lick.’
Now my fate is sealed. I draw his fingers into my mouth, closing my mind to what’s about to happen and homing in on the shape and rigidity of his fingers and the shameful taste of my lust.
When they’re licked clean my arousal burns hotter than ever, riper than a bursting peach. The bed shifts as he kneels beside me and starts to arrange me into the position he wants.
It’s the only breathing space I’ll have so I take deep breaths and will myself to relax. I clear my mind of everything except the nagging throb of arousal deep between my legs.
‘Head down. Knees up close to your chest, ass in the air. Hands out to the sides.’
His commands are short and sharp. I sense his growing excitement. His need fuels mine as I shuffle into position. The pose is hard to reach and even harder to hold.
He waits patiently. Is he enjoying my struggle or getting angry? All at once he commands me to keep still. ‘Twenty to start. Then we’ll see how it goes.’
His voice is low and serious. This should be fun but I sense it’s turning into something darker. We’re in new territory now.
Quivering with excitement I hold my breath as the first slap lands. It stings like crazy but I clench my teeth and groan into the pillow as the next blows land. After the fifth I draw in a slow breath and force myself to breathe normally as excitement shoots though me, sparks erupting at every jolt of stinging, flashing pain. As he carries on the sting eases and now his rhythm is steady and relentless.
Usually when we do this he pauses every so often to stroke me or fondle me, or even gives up altogether and we simply make love. But this time the pressure is unforgiving and the blows painful.
What’s going on here?
At last it’s done and he leans close. ‘More?’
Along the covers I see the diamonds flash in the early morning light. It’s because of the bracelets. We’re in a strange place now, one new to me but scarily familiar to him. It comes with a new language and new rules.
‘Yes, sir,’ I falter.
‘Good girl.’ He grins against my ear, his lips warm and his low murmur soft.
I’m emotional now. I feel tears sting as a wave of heat scorches through me. He lands another, and then two more, and then all at once he pauses.
‘Are you ready?’ His low, dark murmur thrills through me as his hand moves softly over my punished, glowing backside, his touch making me burn, his breath so close to my ear making me shudder.
‘Yes.’ I grunt with frustration as he lands another blow, ferocious this time.
‘Yes what?’
I close my eyes. This is it, the power of the bracelets. This is what he wants me to accept, this mindless pattern of ritual and obedience.
It’s to keep me safe. And, amazingly, it’s getting to me. It’s weirdly arousing, having to do things, having to submit …
‘Yes, sir. I close my eyes and breathe out a deep sigh as he plunges inside, his delicious lunge robbing me of breath. He fills me up, over and over, until we reach our peak and climax almost as one and finally collapse in a spent, laughing heap onto the bed.
CHAPTER THREE
Boston, where I teach, is lovely in the fall. New England’s biggest city has ocean coastline, leafy avenues and friendly faces. As in any university city after Labor Day, the students are drifting back after the summer break. They bring with them an air of excitement. Longer evenings mean new faces, cold crisp mornings and hot new dates.
At our little specialist Academy the new semester has just begun.
Sunlight slants into the classrooms and the gym, the light pale and sharp now through the dark, late-summer green of the leaves as fall approaches. Our students’ lives are a universe away from the average Ivy Leaguer but they’re just as young, eager and full of hope.
Today’s Freaky Friday. We trade places with the students by dressing down while the students put on suits. I resist joining my female colleagues in full-on schoolgirl burlesque. Echoes of Miss Normal warn me this would be unseemly. Worse, dark Darnley-related images spring instantly to mind. Primly I resist bobbysox and mini-pleats but give in far enough to redistribute my daytime ponytail into kooky pigtails tied with silly bows. I complete my outfit with pedal-pushers and sneakers.
I aim for sporty but feel like an idiot.
Well aware that on weekdays Darnley’s a milli
on miles away from my working life, I forget what I’m wearing the instant I arrive. The students love doing this and look surprisingly cool in their sharp suits. They even act more grown-up so maybe it does some good.
We have all kinds of students here – referrals mainly. None of them stay long. Some come from remand centres, some from rehab. Some are from wealthy backgrounds, some from the streets. Drama’s part of the programme on offer here to help them rehabilitate, boost their college prospects or work through personal problems. They mix with students from other backgrounds and age groups. Many are even older than me; I’m barely two years out of college and some of these ‘kids’ are in their early thirties.
We rub along. They pity my hollow, empty life and probably think I tuck myself into some cupboard at night with a cat, or maybe stay over, motionless as the furniture.
They, on the other hand, have busy, important lives poised on the edge of survival. When will they score next? Will they be beaten up on the way home? Does that boy or girl really fancy them or are they after their friend? Are their Converses cool enough? When will they eat?
They know I want to help them. Kindly they let me fill their afternoons with my patient efforts to explain drama and poetry like I’m some crazy, well-meaning aunt. Sometimes they enjoy it, sometimes they even get into it.
Attention spans vary from short to shorter but today they’re being very attentive. Drama class has never been so popular. Eldon has arrived with his camera, his blond, boy-band good looks and his fierce, uncertain temper laced with just that hint of danger he inherits from his family: that hint of Wolfe.
He should fit in well here. Like our students, he’s a little wild too.
He’s here to make a start on his movie and today’s a trial run.
Right now the slanting sunlight pools on their tense, focused faces as they work through the drama piece I’ve set them, one of my favourites. It’s from a play about love and loss, hope and despair, the twists and turns of fate and how a chance remark or a misplaced glance can lead to joy or death.
