Darker (20 page)

The painkillers are working and the pain in my bum has dulled to a mere throb. I manage to struggle onto my side, to face Nathan still stretched out alongside me. He is staring at the ceiling, but turns to me as I place my hand on his chest. His hand comes up to cover mine.

“Are we all right, Angel?”

A simple enough question, but I can only stare at him, dumbly, rifling through my brain for some term of reference for this. Nothing comes to mind. So I settle for the only response that seems appropriate.

“I love you.” And I’m beginning to wonder if it’s possible, just possible, perhaps, that he might, possibly, love me back. I wait. Now’s a good time to tell me if he does. The silence stretches between us, but his eyes are deep, dark, looking into mine. Eventually I can bear it no longer. He clearly has nothing significant he needs to tell me and wishful thinking will get me nowhere. Meanwhile, he made me a promise I intend to call in.

“You said you’d make love to me. Afterwards. It’s afterwards now.”

His face breaks into a slow, easy smile, sexy and playful, that familiar gleam back in his eyes. “Indeed I did promise you that, Miss Byrne. Are you ready?”

“Oh yes.”

He pushes me flat on the bed and leans over to kiss me—long, deep and tender kisses—gently nudging my lips apart with his tongue then darting inside to taste me. The kiss is unhurried, exploring, testing, taking, and I open my mouth to accept. My tongue tangles with his, and he sucks it into his own mouth. I join in the game of dart and thrust, running my tongue along his teeth and trying to pull my tongue back when he nips it lightly. He’s not letting go, and we roll together until I’m on top, kissing him. Tunnelling my fingers through his long dark hair, silky and soft, I lift one leg to straddle him. The pain in my backside is still there, but not enough to slow me down now.

While I’m busy kissing him he’s busy untying my blouse and sliding it from my body, closely followed by my bra.

Then, satisfied that I am now naked, he rolls again and I am underneath. Now his mouth is moving down, across my chin, my neck, my shoulders, to suckle my nipples. God I love this, and I arch under him in silent approval. He gets the message and the pressure deepens, only slightly, but enough. Then he is going lower, dipping the tip of his tongue in my navel before nibbling downwards, across my sleek, smooth body and between my legs. I open them without any encouragement, wide, welcoming. Needing. His tongue circles, then flicks my clitoris and I gasp, my hands again sinking into his hair to hold him there. He continues to lick my clit, pausing occasionally to graze it with his teeth, and I cry out as the sweet sensation builds and bursts. As my climax starts to subside he gently slides two fingers inside me, angling to press that one spot deep within where all the nerve endings seem to meet and I go off again like a firecracker. He coaxes two more orgasms out of me with his tongue, his teeth and his clever fingers. My limbs feel weightless, boneless, when at last he stands up. He undresses quickly, all the while watching me as I lie there, waiting for him. In seconds he’s back.

“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.”