by Ashe Barker
I can’t help smiling back, but I’m not being sidetracked by compliments. “You married a sub? How? Why?”
With a sigh, he rolls me onto my back and kisses me again, properly this time. His tongue swoops into my mouth and after a few moments I stop resisting and let him have his way. For now. He deepens the kiss, sliding his hands over my body. He circles my nipples with his fingers, swallowing my gasps as arousal starts to spike. He lifts his head, gazing down into my eyes. “Like I said, sexy, exciting and bloody lovely. Now, are you going to shut up and listen, at least pretend to be a half-decent sub?”
I nod, smiling, and he rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
“Louisa liked it rough. Very rough. She loved to be beaten. Hard, and for a long, long time. She was exhausting. Stamina like an ox, and I guess a hide like one as well.” And with a nudge to my ribs, he continues, “She never fainted when I caned her, and I don’t recall she ever safe worded either.”
“Good for her,” I mutter.
“What was that, Miss Byrne?”
“Nothing. Go on.”
“Thank you, Miss Byrne. As I was saying, I first met Louisa when she was about seven months pregnant with Rosie. Her usual Dom wasn’t interested in anything not involving bondage, and even Louisa realised that being strapped down and whipped when heavily pregnant was not a wise move. As she couldn’t manage to get her usual supplier to engage in anything even remotely vanilla she’d been doing without sex for a while. She was frustrated and desperate when she contacted me through an online contacts agency and suggested we get together for some not-so-gentle fucking. As you might have noticed, my tastes are a little more…flexible and I could deliver the intensity Louisa was after without the brutality. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon and evening together, and after her baby—Rosie—was born she took up where she’d left off with her usual guy. I didn’t see her again for months.”
“It all sounds very…casual. Are all your relationships like that?”
“Yes, more or less. Until now.”
I smile to myself. That sounded good.
“Louisa and I got together a couple of times during the next year or so, and it was always a lot of fun. But bloody knackering. I couldn’t have done with her on a regular basis. One time I ran into her by accident. She was having a coffee in Starbucks, downstairs on the ground floor here. I’d called in for a latte on my way home, and there she was, with Rosie asleep in a pushchair. That was the first time I ever saw Rosie and I think she was about six months old or so then. I sat with her, them. We had a coffee, then another, and I invited her up to the apartment.”
“What about the baby?”
“Well, obviously I invited her too.”
“What, to watch?”
“Bloody hell, Eva, you’ve got a dirty mind. Of course not to watch. Jeez. No, we called in at Tesco Express, picked up a pack of disposable nappies, some formula milk and a jar of baby food, and came up here. Louisa fed Rosie, changed her nappy, and we played with her and watched TV until she fell asleep. Then Louisa settled her in the guest bedroom—the one you’ve been using for your clothes—and we…got started on our evening’s entertainment. Afterwards Louisa was dead to the world, fast asleep in my bed. I think by now you know how exhausting it is, especially for the sub. So when Rosie started crying at about three in the morning, Louisa never stirred. And rather than disturb her I went to see what was up.
“Rosie was awake, and pretty miserable. She was in a strange place, I guess, her nappy was wet and I think she must have been hungry too. I fed her, changed her, tickled her tummy a bit because she seemed to like that. And then I took her into bed with us. She soon fell asleep again. But I was in love. She was the cutest, sweetest little thing. I adored her. In the morning I persuaded Louisa to let me feed her again, and then they left.
“It would have been about eighteen months later when I saw Louisa again. She and her regular Dom had had a falling out and she was at a loose end, so she decided to look me up. That time was when I noticed the lump in her breast.”
He stops, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling, swallows a couple of times before continuing. Clearly this is a painful memory and I start to wonder if I should have just left it all alone.
“I told her, obviously. And urged her to see her doctor. After all, it might not be anything serious. Anyway, she did. And it was. Serious I mean. Serious and malignant. And aggressive. Not that she bothered to tell me any of that. Months went by and I didn’t hear anything from her. Obviously I wondered how she had gone on, but she wasn’t answering my calls or texts. In fairness, I didn’t give her a lot of thought, but one day I was in South Leeds, near where she lived, so I decided on a little social call. I was curious, and I suppose a bit concerned. I knew she had a flat in a tower block in Cottingley so I went round there. I got a neighbour to let me into the block and I went up, hammered on her door. It was ages before she answered. I’d have thought she was out and I might have left it, but I could hear a child—Rosie—crying, so I waited and carried on knocking. And eventually she opened the door.
“She looked awful. Haggard. She was obviously very ill. She’d had the first lot of surgery, and some chemo, which had perhaps slowed things down a bit. But it had come back. With a vengeance. It came back and from then the cancer developed so fast. Christ, even now I can’t believe how fast it spread. Louisa was just starting her second bout of chemo when I came banging on her door. And she was so alone. Except for Rosie, of course, but she was in no shape to look after herself let alone a toddler. I just shoved the pair of them in my car and brought them back here.”
I don’t know which is greater in that moment, my surprise or my admiration. The great, intimidating, stern Nathan Darke has his lighter side. His caring for the sick side. Who knew?
“How did you manage? A sick woman and a small child?”
“It wasn’t easy. I’d only just moved in here and just started Darke Associates so I was working all hours. I spent as much time with Louisa as I could, but it wasn’t enough. Wouldn’t have been anywhere near enough without Grace. Grace—Mrs Richardson—was working for me then as my cook-cum-housekeeper. She had a small apartment on the floor below and she helped me. A lot. With Louisa and with Rosie. I hired a nurse for Louisa, and a nanny for Rosie, and Grace sort of oversaw everything. She was brilliant and I’ll never forget it.
“There was never going to be a good outcome, though, we all knew that. Louisa was a fighter, and she struggled to fight the disease. At first, maybe, there was a bit of improvement—as much to do with being cared for, properly fed, as anything else. But really, she deteriorated fast. All told, she was only here for about eight months. She died more or less two years to the day from me first spotting that bloody lump.”
He stops, again gathering his thoughts, reliving what must have been the most harrowing experience I can ever start to imagine. And I’d thought I’d had a challenging time. God, this certainly puts my stuff into perspective.
“Louisa tried so hard to fight the cancer—she desperately wanted to live. For her little girl. But she knew. She knew she wasn’t going to make it. She saw Rosie turn three—we had a party round her bed—but she knew she wouldn’t see Rosie’s fourth birthday, or spend another Christmas with her. I knew it too. So did Grace. And we knew we had to sort out Rosie’s future. I’d asked Louisa if there was anyone, any family she wanted me to contact for her, but there really was no one. Her parents were dead. She was an only child.
“Then, one day, out of the blue, she asked me to adopt Rosie. To promise I’d look after her after Louisa was gone. It was the only solution, the obvious solution. And I loved Rosie. I’d always loved her since she was a baby and I got up to see to her in the night. So I thanked Louisa for her wonderful, cherished gift to me, and agreed. It was a no-brainer.
“We married a few days later, here, with Grace and the nurse as witnesses and Rosie as our bridesmaid. I bought Rosie a beautiful dress and she loved it. She has it s
till. I legally adopted Rosie on our wedding day so there could be no uncertainty when the time came. I was her stepfather, her legally adopted father. It was a done deal. Louisa died two weeks later.”
“Nathan. Oh God, Nathan.” Turning to him I just want to hold him. I can think of nothing to say. Nothing I might ever have imagined came close to this reality. This astonishing, profound generosity in the face of such utter tragedy.
“It’s okay, love. It was a long time ago. We came through it. Me, Rosie and Grace even. We came through it together. I’d acquired Black Combe about a year earlier. A client of mine commissioned me to design a scheme for him to turn it into holiday lets, but his finance fell through and he had to back out. I really liked the place, though, and thought the scheme was a winner so I bought the property at auction. I originally intended to convert it for holiday lets as per my original design but, like I told you before, when I realised I was going to need a family home I decided Black Combe was it. So I redid my designs, turned it into the place you see now. It took about six months, but we moved there as soon as we could.
“I asked the nanny to stay on, but she was a city girl, didn’t fancy the wilds of Oakworth and I can’t really blame her I suppose. But Grace surprised me. I never expected her to come with us, but she did. She upped and moved with us, to look after the house, and Rosie. And Rosie had always wanted a dog. She begged and pleaded, and I thought it would be nice for her to have some company so we went to the Dogs Trust to find a nice rescue mutt. And met Barney. Rosie took one look and it was love at first sight.”
“I bet you got a shock when your cuddly puppy grew into a donkey.”
“He was about eighteen months old and fully grown when we met him so I knew what I was getting. He’d been there a few months already—not many people can find space for a dog that size. Or afford to feed one. But Black Combe is perfect for him. And he fitted straight in. No interest in sheep, thank God, so he and Rosie can roam the moors as much as they like. And I don’t worry about her when she’s with the dog. I can always find her if I need to.”
“What, because he’s so big you can see him from outer space?”
“Not exactly. I had a tracking sensor fitted to his collar. I can track him from my laptop or iPad, and where Barney is, so will Rosie be.”
I’m not sure if I find his methods of keeping tabs on his daughter shocking or brilliant, but opt for the former. “Bloody control freak…”
“I prefer concerned parent, but whatever you say…” Rolling to his side, he looks down at me, wanting me to understand, approve. Now he knows how I feel most of the time…
“Seriously, I didn’t move out to the wilds of Oakworth just so Rosie could stay indoors, nice and safe inside. I want her to be out there, enjoying her world, and this is a way of making it safe for her, more or less. There’ve been lots of times I’ve had to go out on the quad and fetch her home as it drops dark, and if I’d no idea where she was I’d be frantic. And at least a couple of times she’d have been out on the moors on her own after dark if I hadn’t known where to find her, which is a definite no-no. So, this works, everyone’s happy.” He looks hesitant. “Do you really think I’m weird?”
“Hey, how would I know? And anyway, I’ve cornered the market on weird.”
“A bit quirky, maybe, but not weird. Well, not very weird…”
As I aim a retaliatory punch into his ribs, he rolls off me, his feet hit the floor and he is away, grabbing his jeans from the floor. He pauses in the doorway, turns back to me.
“We missed Tennessee Williams with all your soul-searching and navel-gazing and digging into my murky past, but that’s no reason to starve. When did you last eat anything apart from chocolate Bourbons?”
My tummy gives a helpful little growl by way of indicating he may be onto something.
He smiles. “Thought so. Give me half an hour to sort out some food.”
“Should I dress for dinner?” I call out, halting him once more as he heads out of the door.
“Only if you can manage black tie. And nothing else.” He winks as he closes the bedroom door behind him.
Chapter Six
I carefully put the finishing touches to an artful Windsor knot, tugging it tight around my neck and making sure the two ends of the black silk tie I found hanging on the rack inside Nathan’s wardrobe door hang nice and straight between my breasts. It’s important to get the tie just so I think, because it’s all I’m wearing. In true, obedient sub style, I am otherwise completely naked. Satisfied, I make my way out of the bedroom, following my nose in pursuit of some mouthwatering smells. Hopefully I won’t run into a spotty pizza delivery boy out there.
Nathan is alone, thankfully, his back to me as he fiddles with something on the gas hob. He is wearing his blue denim jeans from earlier, and an untucked, unbuttoned light grey shirt. He appears to be cooking. I didn’t expect that.
Suddenly self-conscious at my near-as-makes-no-difference nudity I start to retreat back into the bedroom, but he turns. Obviously he heard me come in. He whistles and looks me up and down, his lustful expression unmistakable. Any second now I’m going to find myself flung on my back and soundly fucked, which is a nice idea, but really, I’d like to eat first.
Nathan apparently feels the same way. “Nice outfit. The tie will come in useful later, as a blindfold. Or maybe I’ll just tie you up with it. Now, sit down, make yourself comfortable. Here’s a little light reading to keep you occupied while I finish making your dinner.” He gestures to a tall stool alongside the worktop close to where he’s busy at the stove, and slides his iPad along the counter in front of me. I pick it up and press the ‘on’ switch, half expecting some more bondage paraphernalia to appear. But no, it’s an e-book reader app, displaying the title page of Douglas Adams’ Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.
“You’ll find the Babel fish in chapter ten I think, but start from the beginning. You’ll love it.” He turns back to the stove, and wordlessly I start to read.
He’s right. I absolutely do love it, the zany, quirky, clever humour mixing the gloriously improbable with the numbingly mundane. Before long I’m speed-reading, giggling like a five-year-old following the bizarre antics and fatalistic journeying of good old Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect. Nathan always seems to know just what to do to amuse me, to keep me entertained, interested. Without doubt he’s the best company I’ve ever had. Ever.
“Get that gorgeous arse over here. Dinner is served, madame.”
I turn, startled. I hadn’t been aware of him setting the table or serving out the food, but there it is. Two plates of juicy steak and chips and a bowl of crisp leafy salad, set out on the dining table, plates flanked by cutlery and tall wine glasses. A bottle of red is opened, breathing on the table. Nathan is standing, watching me, holding out my chair.
Self-conscious again but deliberately choking that back, I hop down from my stool and walk towards him, as gracefully as I can, then sit on the chair. He whips a serviette from over his arm and makes a great show of settling it on my lap, positioning it just so and finding it necessary in the process to stroke my breasts and slide his fingers between my legs. Needless to say, I’m wet. He straightens, licking his fingers, one at a time. Christ!
“Mmm, beats a prawn cocktail starter. Help yourself to salad.”
While I try to reel in my eyes, which must be out on stalks, he casually sits down opposite me, and pushes the salad bowl in my direction. I grab a few chunks of lettuce and some red stuff—peppers? Tomatoes? I’m too distracted to notice—and plonk them on my plate. The steak looks delicious, smells the same way too. Who’d have thought the luscious Nathan Darke could cook on top of all his other talents?
“Why thank you, Miss Byrne.” What? Did I say that out loud. Again? Must be losing it. “Comes with the territory—being a father. Can’t feed a growing girl on McDonalds and pizza, well, not all the time, so I had to learn to cook decent food occasionally.”
“Doesn’t Mrs Richardson handle all that
?”
“Mostly, yes. But she’s an employee so she has time off. Or holidays. So I need to be able to cook, plait hair, dress dollies, read bedtime stories. Would you like me to plait your hair, Miss Byrne?”
I stare at him dumbly, getting my head around this unnerving picture of domestic capability.
“A bedtime story, perhaps?” His head is tilted quizzically, a teasing smile quirking his lips. “No? Well, eat up then, while it’s hot.” He picks up his knife and fork and gestures to mine. I pick up the tools and start eating.
It’s absolutely fabulous. Juicy steak falling apart under the sharp knife, crispy chunky chips, soft and fluffy on the inside, and the salad crunchy and sweet. I munch the first few mouthfuls in silence, savouring one of the best meals I have ever had. After a few more bites I feel I really must comment.
“God this is wonderful. Where did you learn to cook? And when did you do the shopping for all this?”
“I like to cook. I’ve always been able to rustle up a meal. Maybe it’s a bit like you and learning languages, sort of a knack.”
I can relate to that. I nod and carry on stuffing my face.
“As for the shopping, I keep steaks in the freezer, and plenty of good red wine to hand. I phoned down to Tesco Express while you were fussing with your extensive wardrobe for this evening and got one of the assistants down there to run up here with a bag of salad and some spuds. Simple.”
I make sure my ‘extensive wardrobe’ is safely tucked behind my serviette—don’t want to dangle in the steak juices—and return to the matter under discussion. “They do deliveries? Tesco Express?”
