‘Yes, please,’ Trudy said flatly. ‘I’d like you to record it.’
She couldn’t see the point in having to repeat herself.
He said it would take a moment for him to set up the equipment.
From the corner of her eye, Trudy could see that Charlotte was casting occasional glances in her direction. If not for the silence that had been stretching between them before, Trudy knew that Charlotte would have been bombarding her with questions about who she was talking to and why she had asked if they were recording the conversation.
‘OK, Trudy,’ Kevin prompted. ‘Tell us about the picture that shows you in a fast-food diner.’
‘Sure,’ she said easily. She laughed. The sound came easily because she was picturing Donny’s eye-bulging face as she continued to throttle him. She knew the laughter would sound natural and bright when the recording was playing. ‘It’s a picture that shows me sitting in a burger bar. I do that sometimes, usually when I’m having a burger. I’m not a food snob, Kevin. Yes, I work in a Michelin-starred restaurant. And, yes, I’m also a partner in Sweet Temptation, one of the country’s leading online suppliers of gourmet pastries. But I occasionally eat burgers.’
‘But you’re a gourmet,’ Kevin reminded her.
She laughed again, then said, ‘It’s kind of you to say that. But I’m not such a food snob that I pretend I don’t like fast food or I’ve never eaten it. I sometimes eat burgers. And I usually enjoy burgers when I eat them. Most of the fast-food chains I’ve visited know how to make something that satisfies the customer’s needs. As a chef, I respect that ability in any restaurant. That’s why I was sitting in that fast-food diner.’
Kevin left a lengthy pause when she’d finished and she suspected he was staying silent so it was easier to edit the conversation. Eventually he asked, ‘Can I give that recording to our news team?’
‘Of course.’
‘Can’t wait to see you back in the studio next week,’ he told her. ‘What sort of recipes will you be sharing?’
Trudy hadn’t thought that far ahead. She glanced at Charlotte from the corner of her eye and was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘I’ll be sharing my best friend’s recipe for a student Margherita,’ she declared confidently.
‘Pizza?’ Kevin sounded doubtful. ‘Isn’t that a bit …’
His voice trailed off as he went in search of the right word.
‘Trust me,’ she interrupted. ‘This was my most favourite meal whilst I was studying and I’m looking forward to sharing it with you and your listeners on Tuesday.’
He thanked her and ended the call.
It was only when the conversation had finished that Trudy realised the car had come to a halt. She glanced out of the window and saw they were parked outside Boui-Boui. Charlotte was a capable driver and she had covered the distance with surprising swiftness.
Trudy turned to her friend. ‘Are you coming in for a drink and a chat?’
‘Do you really think I’m seeing Donny again?’
‘No. Of course not. But there were circumstances. I had to ask.’
She climbed out of the car and said again, ‘Please come inside with me. We’ll have a drink and chat and sort this out.’
Charlotte shook her head. As soon as Trudy had closed the car door the Audi sped away into the night.
Chapter 24
Bill was waiting for her when she returned. He’d been sitting in the shadows of Boui-Boui’s front window. His face was solemn and, when he walked towards her, she momentarily feared that he was coming to tell her that she was no longer welcome at the restaurant or in his home.
It was a ridiculous idea, she told herself. He had said that he loved her on several occasions. He had written the words on the card that accompanied the roses. He had even insisted, on that card, that she should never forget that he loved her. But she still couldn’t shake the idea that he was about to end their relationship.
‘You’re still awake,’ she said numbly.
‘Yes. I didn’t know if you’d be hungry or need anything when you returned.’
She smiled at his thoughtfulness. Her fears now seemed facile and grounded in a childish lack of trust. As she was shaking her head she said, ‘There’s only one thing I need from you this evening, Mr Hart.’
It was true that they did need to talk. It was true that there were things that had not been resolved before she’d had to rush off earlier in the evening. But it was also true that she needed to be intimate with him and that seemed more important than any other consideration.
She pulled Bill close and stood on tiptoe so she could kiss his lips.
‘Was it just that kiss you wanted, Ms McLaughlin?’ he enquired. ‘Or did you require something else?’
‘I want whatever you want to share with me.’
It seemed they were the only words she needed to say.
He took her in his embrace and delivered a kiss that left her weak with growing need for him. His tongue explored her mouth while his powerful, masterful hands held her and his arms assured her of security. He lifted her off her feet and, when he carried her into the cottage, she tried not to think about what they would be doing. It was enough to know that Bill would make sure their evening together was wholly satisfying.
She half expected him to take her into the kitchen. Because they had shared so many pleasant times together there, Trudy thought it would be a natural place to play. But instead Bill carried her up the stairs to the spare bedroom.
It wasn’t a room that she had properly visited before. She had walked past it and seen that it was furnished with a substantial four-poster bed, carved from mahogany and looking sufficiently antique to have been as old as the cottage. Now, held in his arms as he carried her towards the four-poster, she decided she liked this room.
‘Mr Hart?’ she enquired demurely. ‘What are we doing in here?’
He shook his head and placed a finger over her lips. ‘No questions. If you continue talking I’ll make you wear a gag.’
A gag? She wondered if he was referring to the spoon he had made her bite while he was caning her backside. ‘You don’t own a gag.’
‘I didn’t own a gag the other day when you first mentioned bondage.’
Her heartbeat quickened. Had she been the first one to mention bondage? On reflection, she realised she had. Did that suggest that she was just as degenerate as him? She suspected that might be the case. It was hard not to smile at the idea. She had worried that Bill and his unconventional appetites might be a corrupting influence. Now, she realised, as a couple, they were equals in depravity.
‘You didn’t own a gag,’ she repeated. ‘You’re talking in the past tense, Mr Hart.’
‘I bought a handful of items for us to enjoy,’ he said. ‘One of them happens to be a gag, so you’d better stay quiet, unless you want me to silence you with that.’
Her inner muscles trembled with liquid excitement. She found herself nodding, half wishing he would decide to use the gag anyway. She had enjoyed biting into the spoon but she still wondered what it would be like to be properly silenced during sex.
The prospect left her quivering.
‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘Whatever you say, Mr Hart.’
He lowered her gently to the bed and gave her another kiss on the lips. She basked in the comfort of the soft mattress and stared up at the sumptuous drapes that adorned the top of the bed. The linen, vibrant in reds and golds, had the look and feel of something from another era. The drapes reminded her of mediaeval tapestries. The cover had the opulent texture of crushed velvet.
It was the first time she had ever been on a four-poster. It felt so decadent she could understand why such beds were associated with luxury. This, she thought, was one of those nights she would remember for years to come. Fervently, she hoped she would remember it positively.
‘I made a few other purchases,’ Bill continued.
She regarded him curiously.
He pointed to the cabinet beside the be
d.
Along with the familiar alarm clock and mobile-phone charger, the surface was cluttered with a collection of black leather straps, shiny metal buckles and glistening silver chains.
‘Mr Hart,’ she muttered, crawling towards the side of the bed. It was hard to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘What the hell have you bought?’
He chuckled and stroked his fingers through her hair as she explored his purchases. Absently, she realised he was caressing her new highlights. She smiled, pleased that he had noticed.
On the bedside cabinet she found two sets of fur-lined leather cuffs in black. One pair was slightly larger and she figured the smaller set was meant for her wrists and the larger for her ankles. Had she really been so transparent in letting him know about her need for bondage and restraint? Was he offended? Did he think she was depraved? Or did he really want to play these games with her?
There was a coiled length of sturdy rope, metal cuffs and long links of chain. She could see candles and matches and a blindfold as well as the gag he had mentioned. There were other items: a vibrator, cuffs attached to each end of a long metal bar, a couple of latex rings that she thought might be for him, and a pair of metal jaws that she guessed were nipple clamps. There were crops, canes, a paddle and a small whip. The whole collection of paraphernalia looked obscenely excessive and pornographic. Her clitoris throbbed with need as she studied the items.
‘You got all of these for me?’
‘I got them all for us,’ he corrected. ‘And I’m serious about using that gag if you keep chelping.’
Chelping, she remembered, meant unnecessary talking. She clamped a hand over her mouth and tried to make him aware of her contrition with just her eyes.
He took her hand away from her mouth.
She had thought he was going to kiss her again, on the lips or the knuckles or the tips of her fingers. Instead, he placed her hand on his groin while he fastened the first cuff around her right wrist.
She could feel his hardness beneath her touch. He was throbbing with an obvious need that matched her own. She ached to have him inside her and it was a struggle not to say as much. She ran her fingers back and forth along his concealed shaft and was rewarded by the sight of his grudging smile.
He secured the second cuff around her left wrist and then made her stand up.
She liked the sensation of the fur-lined cuffs. They were tight but not uncomfortable. They also jangled musically because of the clip-ended chains that dangled like bracelets from their buckles.
Without a word, he unfastened the buttons on her blouse and then removed the garment. He unclipped her bra and allowed her breasts to spill free. His smile grew momentarily tighter as he studied her stiff nipples. Then he was unfastening her jeans and removing them for her.
She stood still and silent, savouring his attention.
When he asked her to step out of her jeans, and then her panties, she did so without speaking. She didn’t mind being naked for him. When he summoned her to join him at the foot of the bed, she followed obediently and watched. He placed her hands on either side of a corner post and clipped the cuffs together.
She swallowed.
As far as bondage went, she could see that this was simple but efficient.
Her heartbeat quickened. The muscles inside her sex rippled with growing need. She suspected she was about to enjoy herself more than she had in a long time.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t escape from the bindings at her wrists. If she had needed to, Trudy knew she could have awkwardly used one hand to unfasten one of the buckles on the leather cuffs and then worked single-handedly to release the other. But the immediate effect of the cuffs was to bind her securely to the bedpost and hold her in place. She was tied to the bottom of the bed, exactly where Mr Hart needed her.
She heard him step back to the bedside cabinet. She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder in case such behaviour wasn’t permitted.
When he returned he knelt at her ankles and secured a cuff around one. His hair caressed the bare cheek of her backside. The subtle tickle made her whimper.
She glanced down at her feet when she felt him working on the other ankle. The cuffs he was securing to her ankles were joined by the long metal bar. She had looked at such items online. This one, she remembered, was called a spreader-bar. She had to move her legs apart so he could fasten the second cuff. When it was in place she was forced to adopt an uncomfortable posture that made her available for his every whim. Her legs were wide apart, her wrists were tied to the bedpost, and her buttocks were thrust out into the air. The thought of what he might do made her giddy.
‘You wanted to try bondage,’ he reminded her. ‘And I still want to have you as my spankmaid. I thought this might be the perfect compromise.’
She was going to ask him how this was a compromise.
He was out of her line of sight and she dared to shift position to see what he was doing. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw him take a paddle from the collection of items on the bedside cabinet.
Instantly, she understood what he intended.
In that moment the rush of arousal was so strong she could have climaxed.
He stroked her cheeks repeatedly with the flat piece of wood. He delivered blows that were not painful but only served to remind her that she was under the control of a man who knew how to deliver a spanking. After lightly reddening the cheeks of her rear, he landed a quartet of sharp, smart blows and then tossed the paddle aside.
Trudy was panting and he seemed pleased with her reaction.
Her need for him was already akin to a desperate urge. She was clutching the smooth mahogany shaft of the corner post and had been thrusting her rear out for each slap of the paddle.
When she saw he had tossed the paddle to the centre of the bed she couldn’t help asking, ‘What now, Mr Hart?’
She twisted to glance over her shoulder and saw he was now brandishing a small cat o’nine tails. The multi-thonged whip looked deceptively innocent in his large hands. Trudy didn’t think it would hurt worse than the paddle although she suspected the wicked-looking tips of the whip might bite more severely.
Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. She turned away from him, stiffened every muscle in her body and prepared to endure the torment.
She was already teetering on the precipice of an orgasm.
She didn’t think it would take more than a few slashes from the cat and the climax would have ripped through her frame. She swallowed, shocked by her need to experience such discomfort.
He struck the whip hard across her shoulder blades.
Trudy hadn’t expected the blow to land there. The sensation was so stiff, so swift and so unexpected it wrenched the climax from her body. She stopped herself howling with gratitude and continued to clutch the corner post.
He didn’t pause while she was basking in her orgasm, but continued to strike her back and buttocks with the whip. The blows didn’t get stronger or weaker. He worked them across her bare skin with a mechanical application of evenness and uniformity.
The pleasure was so intense Trudy heard herself sobbing in response.
When he tossed the whip aside she didn’t know whether to swoon with relief or sob from frustration. She half turned, as far as her restraints would allow, and again watched him over her shoulder. He was back at the bedside cabinet again, sorting through the collection of whips and canes. His expression was the considered frown of a connoisseur making a reasoned decision.
Trudy shivered.
She watched him pick up a long black riding crop.
She could feel her knees wanting to give.
He stepped behind her and placed a kiss at the base of her neck.
‘This one might hurt,’ he murmured.
‘They’ve all hurt.’
‘Do you want me to stop?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
He chuckled and stepped back. She stiffened, expecting to feel a cruel blow. Instead he used the tip
of the crop to draw lines between her shoulder blades and down her back. He used the flat end to describe patterns on her buttocks and the tops of her thighs.
The pressure from the tip did not make for a particularly uncomfortable or unpleasant sensation. But, when he chose to slash the crop against her backside, the rush was so severe it left her in a dizzy haze of elation.
He delivered each stinging blow with enough power to make her wince. He drove the crop against her with enough strength to make Trudy yearn for more.
When he finally tossed the crop onto the bed alongside the paddle, Trudy had climaxed twice and was desperate to discover how far he could take the punishment.
‘Have you had enough of this bondage, Ms McLaughlin?’
She glanced over her shoulder and saw he had picked up his cane. Of all the items he had used so far, this looked to be the most formidable. Her heart had been beating swiftly before. Now it raced.
‘Please, Mr Hart,’ she whispered.
‘Please stop?’ he suggested. ‘Or please continue?’
She blushed. Lowering her gaze she saw the thrust of his arousal pushing at the front of his pants. It was clear that he was getting as much from the experience as she was. The knowledge that they were both being satisfied by the bondage and discipline dictated her response.
‘Please continue, Mr Hart.’
He sliced the cane against her rear.
The blow landed with a vicious crack. The stinging stripe was so intense it scalded. She stiffened, not sure if she should scream. The surge of a fluid climax rushed through her body. She could feel the wetness trickling down her inner thighs.
He slashed the cane down twice more. Each blow struck a different part of her rear. The cumulative effect of the discomfort pushed her body to a plateau of unexpected euphoria. She held her breath, aware that she was hovering on the brink of another devastating climax. When he sliced the crop hard against her for a fourth and final time she came hard.
The strength of the orgasm was enough to make her knees buckle.
The spreader-bar between her ankles meant she couldn’t stagger to maintain her footing. When her knees went she simply slumped to the floor. Her fingers fumbled to secure a better hold on the corner post but the awkwardness of the bonds didn’t allow her to get a good grip.
Turning Up the Heat Page 22
