Darker

by Ashe Barker

  “This is your show. How would you like this, darling? What’s your favourite way?”

  “Me on my back, you on top,” I whisper.

  “Excellent choice, if a little traditional. This okay?” His wonderful cock enters me, gently, slowly, delicately. My arms flung either side of my head, I writhe under him, loving the fullness, the stretching as he sinks fully inside me. My legs curl around his waist, my ankles hooked behind his back. He withdraws smoothly, to slide back in again, and I moan with joy. The feelings are so perfect, so exquisite, and he leans in to kiss me. The kiss is sweet, slow, open-mouthed and sensuous. Whatever he might say, or not say, I have never felt so loved as I do at this moment. His strokes continue, slow, lazy, easy, and my pleasure mounts, growing and curling around my body like smoke. No pain now, no shock or fear, just the delightful, beautiful joy of being filled by a man who cares enough to do this for me. With me. The sweet ecstasy of perfect lovemaking.

  My orgasm creeps up slowly, quietly, rolling over and through me as I shudder and squirm under Nathan, my small gasps of pleasure swallowed as he continues to kiss me, as he murmurs wonderful things into my ear. How much he wants me, how gorgeous and sexy I am, how much he needs me. The convulsions fade and with a last deep thrust I feel his semen shoot into me, hot and wet. Afterwards we cling to each other, every part of our bodies touching, and I’m not sure where he ends and I begin.

  For now, it’s enough.

  Chapter Nine

  “I guess we need to be heading for home. Black Combe. And Rosie. I wish…” My voice trails away—I’m not entirely certain what it is I wish.

  I feel Nathan’s arm tighten around me. “There’s no hurry, we can stay in bed all day if we want. I’ll do my best to keep you amused.”

  I roll over in bed, snuggling in close to Nathan, my cheek on his chest. I can hear his heart beating—or maybe it’s mine. A good sign anyway—at least one of us is still alive. But no matter how long we delay it for, we do need to be making for home sometime soon. And I can hardly bear the thought that our exclusive slice of time together is almost over. It’s been weird, an oasis, our own intense little exclusive bubble where we’ve focused in on each other, oblivious to the outside world. That hostile, demanding, intrusive world of home, family, universities, work, responsibility.

  So much has happened—awful and wondrous. I’ve faced my deepest fears and insecurities and I’ve touched my dreams. Played out fantasies I hadn’t even known I had. It’s a work in progress, I’m still a car crash in parts, but I’m getting somewhere. I’ve discovered new aspects of me, a me I like, a me who has fun. Who is fun. A me that will happily roll around naked in bed—and pretty much anywhere else—with a gorgeous and sexy man I’ve known for only a couple of weeks. I’ve discovered that there are other possibilities for me, other ways I can be. Will be. There’s no going back even if I wanted to and I know I will never feel the same way about myself, about the people around me, about my work, my talents, my future, ever again.

  I sigh and roll back over, ready to face reality. Eventually, in a little while. “I’m sure you’ll try your best, but you’ll appreciate my standards are quite high these days, Mr Darke.” Then, more seriously, “I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again, but it’s been so wonderful, and I don’t want this weekend to be over. And it’s just too much trouble to move. When are they expecting us?”

  “I’m confident I could find some way to convince you to move. But to answer your question, we’re not expected till late. I phoned Grace and told her we’ve got tickets for the ballet in Bradford. Still want to go?”

  Not straight home then. Marvellous.

  “Hell, I forgot all about that. The Nutcracker. I haven’t seen a ballet in ages. Do we still have time?” I start to sit up, suddenly eager, and clutching at the straw of extending our little twosome for a while longer yet. He chuckles at my powers of recuperation.

  “Yup, but we need to get moving. Glad rags again, Miss Byrne. Race you to the shower.”

  * * * *

  Hours later it’s turned midnight and we are, at last, heading slowly through the pitch black country lanes above Haworth, towards Black Combe. I can’t help but remember the last time I made this journey, just me and Miranda in the pouring rain. His usual sensitivity on overdrive, Nathan knows where my thoughts are and with a glance sideways at me he briefly touches my knee.

  “It felt like a different journey on your own, I expect. When you were coming up here for the first time.”

  “Too right. God, I was so nervous. Terrified, in fact. I was lost. And late.”

  “And I didn’t help, crashing into your car and yelling at you, in the rain. You looked like a drowned rat, a little lost waif and I was a total bastard to you.”

  “Well, I was a bit of a cow myself, I daresay. And your lovely car was all bent.”

  “My penis substitute…”

  “Christ, did I really say that? You should have fired me on the spot.”

  “I probably would have if I’d realised you worked for me at the time. I was so fucking angry that night and you got the full benefit of it. Crashing my Porsche pissed me off, but I wasn’t just pissed off at you. I’d had a really bad day, and then an even worse evening and you got the fallout, both barrels. At first I had you down as some nasty little petty thief looking for pickings at a lonely house. I was intending to rough you up a bit and then hand what was left of you over to the police. When I realised you were a girl I decided just the police would have to do. Still, I’ve roughed you up a fair bit since…”

  “I’ve survived it. So far.”

  “Indeed you do seem to have, against all the odds, and I’m very relieved. You’ve given me some nasty moments.” Pausing for a moment to change down through the gears for a particularly sharp bend, he’s suddenly back with one of his Mr Mercurial moments. “Are you happy, Eva?”

  That was unexpected and I glance across at him. Caught off guard, I blurt out my answer. “Yes. God, yes! I’ve had a wonderful time, here at Black Combe and with you in Leeds. I’ve just had the best weekend of my life. And I am glad to be back too. Or I will be.”

  “Really, Eva? The best weekend ever? All of it, are you sure? The waxing? The caning?”

  I pause to think, but not for long. I have absolutely no regrets about any of the things I’ve done, things I’ve agreed to. Things I’ve let him do to me. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do again—except the obvious cock-up, but we’re past that now. “Yes, all of it. Even those bits. But especially the fucking, as you’d put it. I prefer to think of it as making love, though.”

  “I didn’t have you down as a romantic, Eva.”

  I decide to ignore him—this is too close to my heart and I feel raw, uncertain of where I stand with him now that our beautiful time together is over. And anyway, I realise, it’s not about romance, it’s about self-respect.

  I continue on as though he never interrupted me. “And I’ve loved the laughing, the walking through the city centre late at night, the casino, the opera, your guitar, your apartment with the sheep on the roof and your huge bed. All of it. And I love Black Combe too. The house, the moors, these wide open spaces and twisty little roads. So I’m glad to be nearly home. Glad to be seeing Rosie and Mrs Richardson again. And Barney.”

  “Are you a romantic, Eva? Tell me why you prefer making love to fucking.”

  So much for my attempt to change the subject. Evidently not happening. And he knows just the right question to ask. He’s not letting up, and as ever he’s ready to precision bomb my least defended areas. This bombing raid bears some thinking about so I sit in silence for a while, turning over his missile in my head, carefully constructing my answer to it. The minutes pass as we draw closer to home and for once he’s patient, waiting, allowing me the time I need to work this through. At last, as we make the turn into the narrow lane leading to the Black Combe gates, I respond.

  “I love them both, and I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins
always. I love the excitement, the pleasure of hard, rough sex that makes me scream. I like the toys, the erotic games—even the ones that hurt or scare me at first. All of that’s fucking, I think. But then there’s the holding me while I cry, while you’re still inside me. There’s the kisses, the sweet words, the kindness and generosity. Sending me a waterproof coat because you think I need one, offering to take me to my father’s grave. That’s lovemaking. And I can’t untangle them. Love and lust, in perfect harmony. That’s how it looks to me.”

  A brief, considering silence, then he continues, “Good answer, Miss Byrne. You did say you were a fast learner. This conversation in not done with yet. We’ll take it inside.” The car glides through the opened gate and comes to a halt on the crunching gravel in front of Black Combe. The house is in darkness as we get out in silence, leaving all my new clothes safely stowed in the boot. We walk around to the back door. Nathan pulls the key from his pocket and lets us in. Apart from the thump thump of Barney’s tail hitting the flags as he recognises his nocturnal visitors and Nathan muttering something along the lines of ‘some bloody guard dog’ as he strokes the huge head, the place is silent. Mrs Richardson and Rosie must be long gone to bed.

  Nathan picks up the kettle and with one inquiring eyebrow arched offers me a drink. I nod and sit at the table, idly tugging on Barney’s ears while Nathan fixes the drinks. He waggles a packet of Earl Grey teabags at me, and I nod again. A few minutes later he is seated opposite me, both of us clutching a mug and looking at each other across the table.

  With a warm smile across his handsome face, Nathan holds out his hand to me. I take it, and for a few moments just concentrate on the smooth play of his thumb across my knuckles. He takes a deep breath, breathes out slowly then starts.

  “I’ve done a lot of fucking. A fuck of a lot over the years. With a lot of different women, a lot of different subs…” His wry smile is mischievous, but I know better than to be fooled. I wait, and his hand tightens around mine. He tugs it towards him and lifts it to his mouth, kisses each of my finger ends before lowering it to the table again. “But very little lovemaking. Pretty much none, actually. Until just recently and I just sort of drifted into it. With you. I care about you and I have absolutely no idea how and why.”

  Insulted, I stiffen and try to pull away, but he’s stronger and not letting go. “Well, maybe I’m starting to have an idea, now that I know you and I’ve found out what a wonderful, fascinating, exciting, beautiful, intelligent woman you are. You captivate me, Eva. You take my breath away.”

  I’m staring at him, open-mouthed. This I did not expect.

  “I wanted you from the first time I saw you and I tried to make you into my sub because that’s what I’m used to. I understand that sort of relationship and it satisfies me. Or always did, till now. But you’re a pretty unimpressive submissive, we both know that. And, Eva, please stop looking daggers at me and trying to pull your hand away. You do know how forceful I can get if you challenge me and now’s not really the time. You so do not want to be tied up and your nipples clamped when we’re having this conversation.”

  I consciously relax my hand, my arm, and watching him over the rim of my mug I slowly take a sip of my tea. I put the mug down and place my other hand over his. “Go on.”

  “I want you. It’s that simple. I want to fuck you till you scream. And I want to spank you, tie you to my bed, spread your legs and make you come in a million weird and wicked ways. I want to hurt you and then kiss it better. And as long as you never look back on any of it and think, ‘I really wish he’d not done that’, then I reckon we’re okay. But sometimes I want to fuck you slowly, and so gently that it makes you cry, and then I’ll hold you until you stop crying. I want to play with you, sleep with you, wake up with you. I want to talk with you, understand you, admire you. I want to care for you. And I want you in every part of my life. Stay with me, Eva. Please.”

  “You want me to stay? But I thought I was… We’d already…”

  “Yes, we have. But I’m not talking about a place to live. I’m talking about you being my…”

  I wait, watching the confusion flit across his face as it becomes clear he has no idea at all what he now wants me to become. “Your trainee sub? Violin tutor with benefits?” I offer. I do try to be helpful.

  “Do not take the piss, Miss Byrne. I’ve warned you.” There’s a familiar glint in his eye as his voice hardens, but I just gaze at him, unfazed.

  “I do think you might benefit from some further training, and I would certainly enjoy providing it. But we both know you’ll never amount to much of a sub. You’re too stroppy, too ready to argue. Too ready to giggle at me, Miss Byrne.” His eyebrows lowered, he is trying to give me his very best stern look, but failing. With a wry smile, his head cocked to one side he leans back, watching me closely as he considers his next words. “And it cuts both ways. I’m a rubbish Dom around you. The first whimper of real pain and I’m safe wording like a bloody girl.”

  “Whimper! I’ll have you know I was in agony. That cane was bloody killing me.”

  “Yeah, and I just couldn’t do it. Don’t want to do it anymore. I’ve no stomach for hurting you, Eva, not really hurting you. So it’s just kinky fun and games from now on, nice, gentle fucking—but with bells on when we feel the urge. Sound good to you?”

  “Bells?”

  “Please don’t be obtuse, Miss Byrne. It’s beneath you. I’m talking about clamping your nipples, about butt plugs and floggers. I’ll tie you up, wax you frequently, and you have one hell of a spanking coming your way for all the grief you’ve just given me while I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel about you. Ah, I see by your face that you get my drift. But to answer your question, I want you to stay as my…lover. Will that do?”

  I think for a moment, just to keep him on his toes, then I’m around the table and climbing into his lap. My arms around his neck I give my answer, “Yes, yes that will do very well. I’d be delighted to be your lover, Mr Darke.” I kiss him, then pull back. “But there’s one condition. And it’s important. To me. This is a deal-breaker, Mr Darke.”

  He lowers one worried eyebrow, his mouth flattening. “Go on.” His expression is wary, hesitant. Maybe he feels he’s conceded enough ground already. Tough.

  “I know there’ve been others. Many other subs before me.”

  He nods slowly, and I think he’s getting my drift so I continue, “But I need to be the only one now. As long as we’re…together. No fucking anyone else. Is that agreed?”

  To his credit, there is no hesitation in his response. “Yes, Miss Byrne. Agreed. Absolutely. And it cuts both ways. This is exclusive, as long as it lasts. As long as we last.”

  I’d taken that as read. Hell’s bells, I might be a randy little slut these days but only with him. I’m hardly promiscuous. But, for the avoidance of doubt, I agree readily, “Of course. And there’s something else I need to say, before we leave this subject.”

  “Oh. And what’s that then, Miss Byrne?” He leans away in order to look me fully in the face, wary once more, anticipating more un-sub-like demands I don’t doubt.

  “Just that you are absolutely the nicest person I’ve ever met, ever known.”

  His expression is one of shock, closely followed by a delighted smile. His next words are perhaps a belated and doomed attempt to re-establish some Dom-like authority.

  “Nice? Is that the best you can come up with, Miss Byrne?”

  “Nice with bells on then.” And, enough said, I go back to kissing him.

  * * * *

  Later, lying in bed—on my own—I reflected that as declarations of love go, that was up there with the best, even though we both managed to avoid the ‘L’ word. We held hands as we climbed the stairs and strolled slowly along the landing. Nathan kissed me at my door, and went to his own room. He said he’d explain things to Rosie first chance he got.

  Now it’s Wednesday, three days later, and he still hasn’t found the chance. We’ve had a l
ovely few days with Rosie, walking the moors, tenpin bowling, even ice skating, which was an unmitigated disaster as far as I was concerned. My bum still aches, and not in a good way. Me and Rosie have got back into our lessons, and each teatime has seen us playing the violin together to our audience of three. Four one time, when Tom dropped in to bring the quad bike back.

  Nathan is a lot of fun as a dad and Rosie adores him. I love watching them together, laughing and cuddling and playing stupid games. Whoever heard of Poohsticks for Christ’s sake? With Mrs Richardson and Barney we make a reasonable version of a happy family and I love it. And talking of family I’ve even started to return my mother’s calls, just to assure her that I’m still alive and doing okay. She asks a lot of questions and I’m quite good at being evasive—years of practice, probably. I’m not sure why I don’t want her to know I’m shacked up with Nathan Darke in the middle of nowhere, but I just don’t. Not yet.

  Life at Black Combe is contented, happy and very, very chaste.

  I can hardly look at Nathan without wanting to jump him. I can’t believe how desperate I am to get laid—our few days in Leeds really whetted my appetite, an appetite I hadn’t even known I had. I do now.

  There’s plenty of touching, kissing and once even a particularly wonderful grope in the garage when he slid his hand into my pants and made me come in about five seconds flat. I offered to suck his cock in return, but he was having none of it. Rosie might come in.

  I understand. I do completely understand about being careful around Rosie. But still…

  I guess Nathan’s just as frustrated as I am because later that day, while we were all enjoying a late breakfast together around the kitchen table Mrs Richardson announced her intention of doing a spot of shopping in Bradford followed by perhaps lunch at Nando’s and then a film. She asked for volunteers to keep her company and Rosie spilled her cornflakes as she jumped up and down in delight. I was a little surprised—Grace had said nothing earlier about intending to go out, when we were chatting over coffee. Indeed, I’d had the distinct impression she was planning to spend the day gardening. Still, Nando’s is always tempting so I was about to offer to join them myself, but was otherwise engaged grabbing a tea towel to mop up the mess.