by Flora Dain
My temper cools as quickly as it flared. All around me the house is silent and still.
What’s he doing?
There’s no sound from below, no footsteps, no music. Fear steals through me like ice.
He’s leaving soon. When he does I may not see him for weeks. Maybe months.
What have I done?
Miserably I start to get ready for bed. Maybe I’ll catch him in the morning. I reach for my short satin robe, knot the sash and head for my en-suite. A brisk wash restores me a little. As I start on my teeth I feel a movement in the air behind me as fabric brushes the backs of my thighs.
I stare at the mirror, my mouth frothing with toothpaste. From the mirror Darnley’s looking back at me, his expression stern.
A frisson runs through me, part fear and part dismay. Gently but firmly he prises the toothbrush out of my hand and bends me over the sink. His hand feels hot and strong on the nape of my neck.
‘Rinse.’
I do it, tiny hairs rising all over my back. Still holding me down, he splashes a handful of cold water over my mouth to wash off the foam. Instantly he hauls me back up, spins me round and fastens his mouth on mine in a full-on invasion of power and greed.
When he pulls away I stare up at him in shock, still breathless. ‘What are you doing? You’re scaring me.’
His eyes glitter in the bright lights of my en-suite. ‘If I have to leave without warning, or without telling you every damn thing about it, then that’s what I do. Deal with it. If I say it’s safer this way then it is.’
He tilts my chin up to face him, his eyes glinting. ‘Dammit, Ella.’ He finds my mouth again, his lips fierce, his tongue hot. ‘Now get yourself ready. We’ve got things to do.’
‘At this hour? What?’
He smiles patiently, like I’m a forgetful child. ‘What do you think?’ Slowly he unfastens the bracelets and takes something heavy out of his pocket. It clanks as he moves it, swinging it free. In the harsh light bouncing back off the tiles I see the cold, bright gleam of industrial-grade steel.
Handcuffs.
He fastens them slowly, taking his time. He makes me kneel while he does it, holding my hands up like they’re in prayer, and leads me out to the bedroom. He dims the lights to a deep, romantic glow. ‘Soon I’m going to South America. And this time it’s part work, part family. I’m playing Santa. Or maybe Cupid. If I’m lucky I’ll get back alive. If I’m even luckier I’ll still be in one piece.’
My stomach clenches in alarm. ‘Are Cola’s people – dangerous?’
He motions me to climb onto the bed and kneel in the middle. I wait for him to fasten the other end of the cuff to the rail but instead he leaves it swinging loose. The loose end knocks against me, the metal hard and cold on my ribcage.
‘It’s not her family I’m going to see. It’s her boyfriend’s people.’
‘The Harvard professor?’
‘That’s the one. Nice guy, by all accounts. But I gather he avoids his family. With good reason.’
He glances down at me, his skin gleaming softly in the low light. He looks sensational. ‘And if you keep looking at me like that you’ll make it very hard for me to go at all. Keep your eyes down.’
Hurriedly I look away, but not before I see him smile.
At least he’s still playing.
‘Is their feud that bad?’
‘Possibly. It goes back a while. Some property dispute. But now’s a good time to talk to them. I’ll be doing a lot of business out there.’
I shiver. ‘Why do you have to get involved? Is it worth the risk?’
He touches a finger to my lips. ‘Hush. It’s all fixed. That’s what I was finalising today. And, remember, say nothing. You want me to trust you? Fine. We’ll start now.’ He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. ‘And now we’re on Wolfe Time.’
He captures my mouth again, and this time he lingers, his tongue surging into me in a power-play greeting all about invasion and control. I sense it’s also urgent. At last he pulls away with a gleam and kneels up before me, his erection jutting in my face. ‘Please, Ella.’
I taste gently, resisting the urge to take him in my mouth too soon and too fast. The glow in his eyes as I do this tells me he approves, so I work down further, letting my eager saliva coat him with my welcome until his sturdy column gleams wetly.
‘Deeper now. Go easy.’
I do it, but the angle is awkward and the cuff clanks against my soft skin. ‘Do I have to have my wrists as tight as this?’
His eyes flash steel and now I feel a twinge of fear. He lowers his face to mine, his look stern. ‘Yes. Any more questions?’
Something in his tone warns me into silence. This is part play, but partly something else. He’s had a rough ride these last few weeks, stirring up things he’d sooner forget. Now he’s feeling the aftershock.
Do it. Whatever he wants.
‘Lean on your elbows and stick out your ass. Keep your hands in the air. I want to see them.’
His voice is husky now. We’re getting closer to it, whatever it is he needs. As he shifts around to kneel up behind me I shudder with pleasure as I feel him touch my flanks. He runs his hands all along my sides, from the heavy bulge of my breasts, into the dip of my waist and then out again, sliding in soft curving caresses over the swell of my rump.
‘Open your legs. Wider.’ He reaches underneath me and finds my heavy, jutting nipples, already stiffening at his touch. He keeps one hand firmly in place over them and the other lands with a hard slap on my backside, followed by another, and another.
Each blow sends a jolt of arousal straight to my groin. I long for him to touch my sex. I swear I’ll come the second he does. Cruelly he holds off, his fingers easing instead over the soft skin of my inner thighs.
I resist the urge to cry out. After a few more stinging blows he pauses to caress me, then plunges inside, hotter and harder than ever before.
‘Are you close?’ His harsh whisper makes me shiver.
‘Do I have to tell you? Yes. Very.’
‘Good.’ He chuckles, riding me slower now, but I’m uneasy. Something about the way he says this is harsh, unnatural. He’s doing this differently … He pulls out of me, leaving me gasping.
My belly yearns for him, reluctant to lose him, desperate for fulfilment. Everywhere down south burns in frustration. I dart him a furious glance over my shoulder.
‘Keep your eyes down. We’re not done.’ His voice is still low, his tone cold, almost mechanical.
He shifts round to the front again and faces me. His expression is tense, his eyes solemn.
‘Stroke me. With your hands tight together, like that.’
Surprised, I do it, thrilling to his size. I watch my pale hands sliding up and down, up and down …
Above me I hear him groan, and then his breath starts to catch. Nervously I look up. He’s holding one hand over his eyes. The other is resting on my head, willing me on. But something’s wrong.
As I hesitate, his breath catches again and I hear him murmur, his voice low and harsh. ‘Keep moving. Don’t stop.’
But now I’m scared. His skin has a faint sheen of sweat. And he’s gazing ahead, like I’m not even here.
‘Darnley?’ He says nothing so I speed up my stroke, trying hard to ignore my own burning, urgent arousal. I need to stay rational if I’m to help him. He’s huge now, his column dark and bulging. Perfect.
I long to kiss it, to tease him like he’s teased me. I want it so much I feel sweat prickle all over me. With an effort I resist the temptation to touch him any more than he’s asked. Something tells me now’s not the time.
He’s at some kind of crisis. One wrong move and anything could happen.
As it is my tightly clamped hands are still sliding over him, up and down, up and down … As I do it the cuffs clank against me, beating out the rhythm in an urgent, angry bass line.
He glances down at me but in his eyes I see no recognition, only a flicker of pain. My fin
gers slide easily, rhythmically over his engorgement, so big and so hot I can almost feel its ache. Down below I’m burning up.
He stares at me, his eyes wild. ‘That night … in the garage …’ He tails off with a shudder.
Does he even know who I am? ‘Go on.’ I’m barely breathing. Something’s coming back.
He’s staring ahead now, his lips parted. ‘It’s late, real late. It’s dark. I’ve come back here. He’s still sitting here, in the car …’ His chest starts to rise and fall like he’s been running. I feel a spike of alarm and with it a surge of excitement. He’s remembering …
‘There’s somebody else in here …’
I hold very still and gently slide my hands off his erection, hot and proud and barely seconds from release. ‘Who is it?’ I whisper.
He’s still staring ahead, not seeing me. He’s frowning. When he speaks his voice seems to come from a long way away. ‘What the –? What’s she doing in here?’
All at once I feel a stab of fear. If he’s losing it I’m in danger. I’m still trapped in the cuffs.
I know what’s coming. I’ve longed for this moment ever since talking to Freda.
But I have to stay practical. If he freaks – or, worse, passes out – I can’t get out of these. I take a deep breath and raise my voice, batting the free end of the cuffs hard against his leg to get his attention. ‘Darnley? Darnley? Take these things off me.’
For a full second nothing happens and then he stares down at me, his expression blank, like he’s seeing a ghost. ‘Ella?’
All at once he leans over to reach for the key, slips it into the cuffs and springs them open. ‘Shit, Ella.’ He captures my wrists in his hands and holds them up to his face, inspecting the marks carefully. His voice lowers to a whisper. ‘What have I done?’
And now he starts to kiss my wrists, turning them over slowly in his hands and touching them with his fingertip like I’m fine porcelain. Slowly I kneel up and pull him down onto the bed beside me. His erection springs between us, larger than ever, hot and gleaming, utterly neglected.
‘Ella?’
‘I’m here.’ I wind my leg over him and pull him close.
He shifts in my arms and looks at me with eyes full of pain. ‘Can I come inside? I want you so much …’
I move against him, inviting him in, but to my surprise he hangs back. I can feel his body rammed against me, his muscles rigid and quivering. But still he holds off.
‘It’s fine. I’m here,’ I whisper. ‘It’s OK. Truly. You can come in now.’ I touch a fingertip to his upthrust shaft where it strains against me, crushed against my soft, eager belly. His face is glazed with sweat as he gazes into my eyes. I can almost taste his hunger, but he’s still hanging back.
‘I’m not sure … I may hurt you …’
His eyes scare me now. They’re full of pain. And worse, a touch of fear.
Now I’m afraid too. He still thinks he’s a monster.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘Darnley? Speak to me.’ I wind my arms around his neck and start to kiss him with small, soft touches of my lips all over his tense, sweat-soaked face. I see his eyes flicker and he slides in all the way, keeping his eyes fixed on mine.
He speeds up as I clamp my thighs round his waist. I hold him tight as he thrusts, my heels locked at the small of his back, pulling him into me with every ounce of my strength, greedy for pleasure as he rides to completion. Moments later my own climax crashes through me as his final thrusts batter my sex.
His head sinks into the curve of my shoulder and he breathes out a long, juddering sigh in the fold of my neck, his body still heaving.
‘Are you OK?’ I’m furious with myself. He was just starting to remember, and I had to break in to unlock the damn cuffs. Goodness knows when he’ll recall that again, if ever.
He’s panting now, out of breath. A trickle of sweat runs down his jaw and slips along my cheek. ‘I’m good. Ella?’
Riven with disappointment, I lean against his cheek and nestle deeper in his arms. ‘I’m here.’
‘Freda. It was Freda. In the garage.’
I stop breathing for a second, hardly daring to believe my luck.
He’s muttering against my skin, his lips barely moving. ‘I remember now. She was in there too. When I walked in she was leaning over him. He was still sitting in the car where I’d left him, in the cuffs. He was breathing, but he looked like he’d fainted or something. I shouted at her, told her to get the fuck out of there. I think I pushed her away and then dragged her out.’
I pull him close, dizzy with relief. ‘Go on. Anything else?’
‘It’s weird … I felt her tug at my arm, hanging back. We struggled. I was still shouting. It’s hazy but I’m pretty sure I yanked her out and dragged her up the driveway to the house. We met Lydia. She didn’t say anything, just pushed past us. That’s it. That’s all I remember.’
There’s a long pause, while he breathes softly against my ear. ‘Ella?’
Once more I hold my breath, scared to break the spell.
‘There were other people around that night. After me, there was Freda, then Lydia. Security people. There was a party, dancing. People all over.’
I can feel the tears sting, but I press them back. ‘Yes. There were.’
‘He was shouting. Other people must have known. Other people could have saved him.’
‘Yes, Darnley. Other people could have.’ I hug him close and kiss his ear. ‘But nobody did.’
Seconds later his soft, steady breathing tells me he’s asleep. I lie in his arms in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, as tears of joy run down my face and trickle into the pillow.
He’s healing. At last.
‘Ella? Wake up.’
I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I know he’s shaking me awake.
It’s morning now. He’s already fully dressed, his suit and tie a shock in the early light. I smile up unto his face and hold out my arms. ‘Going somewhere?’ But as my sleepy brain takes him in I realise he’s not smiling. I feel a twinge of alarm. ‘Something the matter?’
‘Yes. Me. I’m leaving.’
I stare at him, my stomach tied in a sudden knot. ‘What, now?’
‘Now. I told you I’d be going away soon? I brought it forward.’
I sit up, my feelings in free-fall. It’s not what he’s saying, it’s the way that he’s saying it. His voice is harsh, his eyes stern, focused.
‘Last night I lost it again. I can’t risk that happening when I’m with you. I don’t trust myself.’
But he’s just remembered what happened that night. Surely he’ll feel better now? ’But after last night I thought –’
‘Last night scared me. If I can only deal with the past by putting you at risk then I’d better go and do it somewhere else for a while. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way. I have to think about things.’
He leans over and kisses me, his eyes full of pain.
Seconds later he’s gone.
I’m still thick with sleep and my lover has just walked out of my life.
I thought he’d found himself. I thought I’d helped. And, fool that I am, I thought that brought us closer.
Now, horrified, I see that for him it means something very different.
Finding himself means he has to lose me.
My sleepy brain jolts into action. I scramble out of bed and race to the head of the stairs, only to hear the front door slam and a car driving off.
And now I’m alone.
Stunned, I go on auto-pilot. Everywhere I go I see excited children, happy adults and Christmas cheer. Inside my heart’s all ice.
How could he do it? Leave me so soon, just as he was coming back to life?
But a small, bitter part of me understands only too well. He thinks I’m at risk. How can fate be so cruel?
Aaron and Lydia are now in Florida. Billy texts me from Paris. My colleagues are home for the holiday. Even my parents call me, eager to know if I’ll
be home for Christmas. His mother Savoy calls me from Buenos Aires and Lydia calls me from Key West. They pump me for information. Sadly, I’ve nothing to tell them.
My parents are philosophical. His mother and stepmother are both mad at me. Savoy simply signs off, her tone icy.
Lydia sounds irritable. ‘But you must know. You know him better than anybody.’ She made Aaron help him as a favour to me and now she thinks I’m back in my shell and letting her down.
I’ve no idea where he is or when he’ll be back.
All I know is, it’s all my fault. He’s had to leave, to keep me safe.
He could even be in danger.
I lie in bed late into the night and imagine all manner of horrors are happening to him. I dream he’s gagged and bound, sweating and bloody, holed up in some shack in the rainforest or lying at the side of the road, set about by bandits and left for dead.
At last it’s Christmas week. The horrors playing out in my head form a weird backdrop to the jingle bells and fun in the streets. I check on Billy’s empty apartment, wish the staff Merry Christmas and finally I do what I always do this time of year, when I’m weary, lonely or just plain sick at heart.
I go home.
My trip home is like travelling through a giant Christmas card. I take the train, nervous of driving on the snowy roads in my little car. I gaze out into the endless Maine woods where the snows lie thick, too bright to soothe, too cold to heal but crisp and antiseptic.
Thoughts of Darnley consume me. Is he safe? Will I ever see him again?
At my parents’ home a stray Christmas card is waiting for me. It’s from Ryan, my ex.
I see from the postmark that he’s now in Vegas
Inside he’s scrawled a message. ‘Hi El, Happy New Year. Enjoy it while it lasts.’
I put it in the trash. Next morning trash is scattered up the path. Dad says it’s a skunk. He’s closer than he knows.
Christmas Eve dawns bright and sharp and I’ve still heard nothing from Darnley. Is no news good news? Maybe not. Wearily I resign myself to a quiet, homely yuletide with just my parents and a few neighbours for company. For a busy teacher it’s usually enough.
