In Too Deep (24 page)

‘Coffee?’ Daniel suggests, lifting the pot, his glance still lingering on my nipples or thereabouts. Oh, men, they’re so transparent, so focused on flesh.

Me, I’m focused on flesh too. Professor Daniel Brewster’s. I can’t see as much of him as he can see of me this morning, but I can remember every inch I saw last night. I can remember how it looked and how it felt. And how I felt feeling it. Which is much as I feel now, although I’m too tired and suddenly too shy to do anything physical about it.

I remind myself of the inconvenient truth of the matter:
that
, like an idiot, I’ve fallen in love with him. How typical of me to fall too hard and far too soon for a man who in many ways is pretty much unattainable. I’m under no illusion that I’m anything other than a diversion for him while he’s here researching at the library.

And yet somehow, something in his expression has altered even while I was waking up. Those eyes, whose vision sometimes lets him down, are full of shadows that don’t seem to be anything to do with his increasingly unreliable sight. I see doubt and uncertainty in them that mirror my own. Is he regretting the soul-stripping intimacy of last night, just as I am? And, if so, is it for a different reason than the one that’s beginning to plague and torment me?

I’ve given too much. I’ve plunged too deep. I’ve given my heart too thoroughly to ever get it back without leaving pieces behind. Does he feel the same, or does he just regret getting a little more entangled than he’d anticipated?

‘Gwendolynne?’ he prompts, his fine mouth twisting slightly. He’s definitely troubled.

‘Yes, please pour me some.’ I snatch a second robe that he’s thoughtfully placed within my reach, wriggle out from beneath the covers and slip into it. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. I just, um, need to use the bathroom.’

‘OK. Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk,’ I request, and scoot for the haven of the bathroom as if I’ve been scalded. Maybe I have, in a way. My fingers are metaphorically but very definitely singed and burnt. I’ve reached for a flame, a beautiful flame, and these are the consequences.

I do what I have to in the bathroom, strangely reluctant to leave my temporary sanctuary. I feel shy, ridiculous as it seems after all he and I have done together. But loving the man, and not being sure what he feels for me, just makes the situation seem more and more precarious.

Eventually I slink out, closely bundled in my robe and a thick cloak of wariness. Daniel is sitting up on the bed, a coffee cup cradled in his hands, staring at his feet. I take my own cup and perch next to him. I stare at his feet too. They’re very nice feet, quite big, but well shaped and immaculately kept.

‘I’ve got to go away again. Later today. For an operation.’ His words drop like a piano into a pond, so sudden and momentous that I wince. This is an even bigger shock than last night, if that were possible.

‘Oh … right …’ I can’t think of anything to say, but inside I’m screaming. Obviously I knew that he would be having treatment. He can’t
not
have any. But the actuality of it, and the fact it’s now, straight away, forces me to confront the horror of what’s happening to the one I love.

‘I’ve got to get this thing sorted.’ He pauses and rubs the back of his head, ruffling his curls. Where the damn thing lurks. ‘And the sooner the better, or the brutal fact is I’ll go blind … or worse.’ He draws a great breath, and I know he’s fighting a tidal wave of fear. Who wouldn’t be? I fucking well am! For him.

‘I’ve got to return to London, to the clinic, for a few more tests … then, in two or three days, I’ll be under the knife.’

There’s a loud moaning, which I realise, to my horror, is coming from me.

‘Hey, don’t worry! I’m young and fit and a pretty tough bastard for an academic.’ Cup abandoned, he puts his arm round me. I put my own cup shakily to my lips and try to drink. The coffee is excellent but I spill some of it down my robe, fortunately avoiding any naked flesh.

The spectre of him blind, or gone, is too horrible to comprehend. It’s as if everything inside me is crushed. Letting him take my cup too, I feel numbed yet frantic. And I start making deals, in my head, with the higher powers.

I’ll give him up, never see him again, just let him be all right.

Do something to me instead, just let him be all right.

I’ll give up all pleasures of the flesh and donate everything I own and earn from now on to the poor, just let him be all right.

‘Can I come with you?’ I hear myself say. ‘I can get time off work. I can be around. Do errands or whatever for you. I, um, I don’t mean in a serious-girlfriend sort of way with any claims or anything, just a helper or something.’

I feel the muscles of his arm around me tense and stiffen. I’ve said something stupid, I know. But I just want to be there for him, so I’ll know, as soon as is possible, that he’s all right.

When I turn to him, he looks worried and perplexed. He sighs heavily again.

‘I need to do this on my own, Gwendolynne.’ He shakes his head slightly, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s saying and actually thinks he’s being a fool but can’t help himself. ‘I … I … don’t want anyone I care for around me. I don’t want people to see me weak.’

‘Oh, that’s just bloody stupid!’

Shocked by my outburst, he actually flinches. His beautiful mouth compresses, and I realise that, even at a critical time like this, a brilliant scholar like Daniel Brewster can be as stubborn as a caveman. Mercifully, his arm remains around me.

‘Maybe it is, Gwendolynne, but that’s the way I want it.’ His angry look softens. ‘It’s not you, love, it’s me. I just need to do this alone. To prove to myself I can.’ He gives me a squeeze. ‘I do care for you, a lot, a helluva lot, but … I can’t explain it, this is the way I need it to be.’ Touching my face, he makes me look into his eyes, dark and shadowed behind his glasses. ‘Please. I’ve got to do this my own way.’

‘But it doesn’t make sense. If it was me, I’d want someone there.’

Then I think … would I? For the fear and the darkness, yes. But presumably there’ll be head-shaving and tubes and all sorts of medical gruesomeness. Nothing like that would ever diminish what I feel for Daniel, not in the smallest degree, but there’s a vain, silly part of me that would cringe at him seeing
me
that way. And men can be vain and silly too, when it comes down to it.

We cling to each other for a while, at an impasse.

‘Are you
sure
I can’t come with you?’ I say eventually in a small voice. It’s not a whine, except inside my head.

He’s silent for a while. His arm and his body are very still against me.

‘Look, there isn’t anyone else who’s going to be there, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ he says suddenly, taking my hand in his free one. ‘There’s no one in my life but you, Gwendolynne, I swear it.’

It had crossed my mind. Indeed it had. As an explanation for the fling-type thing, originally, and now for his reluctance to let me support him through his coming ordeal. I should be grateful, but my own stubbornness won’t let things lie.

‘I believe you … but all the more reason for me to be there then. If there’s no one else.’

‘No!’ he says sharply, his mouth settling into a stern, immovable line.

I feel pretty stern and immovable myself. I want to insist. I open my mouth to protest, to insist on being heard and say any damn thing to make him concede, then I bite my tongue. The man I love is under duress. How can a person think straight and logically in the face of what lies ahead of Daniel? If I love him, I have to indulge him and let him deal with his operation and its perils in his own away. No matter how much it pains me.

‘OK,’ I say softly, ‘I get it. You want to deal with this on your own.’ I feel deflated, lost, wanting still to be there for him. As if the breath has all gone out of me, I slump against him, and he puts both arms round me, holding me against his body.

‘I’ll be OK, Gwendolynne. I’ll go in, and get the op, and I’ll be right as rain again in no time.’ He strokes my hair, slowly, rhythmically. ‘And as soon as I get the all-clear, maybe we could have a holiday or something? Somewhere nice and warm and luxurious where we can laze on a beach and you can go topless and I can spend all day ogling you with my restored vision.’

Ah, the dream holiday with the perfect man. Something I’ve always fantasised about and never quite achieved. Why does the prospect of it finally happening have to have such a terrifying rider attached to it? To reach our idealised getaway we first have to pass through the valley of death – and Daniel won’t even let me hold his hand while we traverse it.

I shake and sob and wish that life wasn’t so complicated. It’s as if I’m crashing somehow, and I’m the one facing horrendous surgery. Daniel holds me tighter, and his hands are, oh, so tender. But after a few minutes of falling apart, I’m strengthened by his warmth and his presence. I should be strong for him, his rock, not act like a lily-livered ninny. I should accept the truth of the matter, and be there for him in whatever way he needs me to be. Even if that means me
not
actually being there.

And I need to give him the best possible send-off. I seek his mouth with mine, find it and initiate a kiss. I feel his firm, coffee-scented lips curve beneath mine. He gets what I’m up to. Our tongues duel for several minutes, hot and slippery. I try to push him back against the mattress, intending to blanket him with pleasure in any and every way I can think of, but he holds firm.

‘No, my way,’ he says in a fierce voice, holding me by the
shoulders
and attacking my mouth again, forcing it open, plunging in his tongue in a way that makes the pit of my belly flutter and melt.

I push away all notions of condemned men and hearty meals and just allow myself to succumb, thrilled by his strength and his take-charge handling of me. When he sweeps over me, forgetting the darkness becomes sweet and easy.

He kisses hard, the onslaught so exciting it’s almost like being fucked before we’ve even got our robes off. His long, elegant hands start to rove, caressing me roughly through the towelling, using its texture as an extra stimulant. Eventually, though, he rips my robe open and bares my body. Then, jerky and impatient, he pulls the sash roughly out from beneath me and grabs my wrists and pushes them over my head. In a series of loops and knots that a Boy Scout would be proud of, he secures my hands to the brass head-rail of the bed and tests the bonds to ensure that my wrists aren’t too uncomfortable.

A sense of wild panic crossed with delicious, submissive weakness sluices through me. I didn’t expect this, not at all, not at this strange, emotional juncture. I’m just not ready for it, yet I’ve been waiting far too long. Automatically I start to wriggle, and a smoky fire begins to smoulder in Daniel’s eyes at the sight. My compulsion to test my bonds seems to please him, and his beautiful mouth curves devilishly. His obvious pleasure makes my skin feel hot and tingly.

Still robed himself, he leans over my exposed form, bringing his face close, and I realise that somewhere along the line he’s removed his glasses. He doesn’t seem to be having too many problems seeing me, though. In fact he’s happily ogling everything he wants.

Without warning, he dips down and licks my nipple, his tongue warm and tricky as it caresses the puckered tip. The
sensation
shoots down to my clitoris, making it throb, and as he bites lightly, and at the same time slides his thumb into the dent of my navel, I moan and whimper.

‘Hush,’ he mutters against my breast, then closes his teeth again, ever so lightly. They feel very sharp and very threatening. He lifts and tugs and circles, drawing out the soft flesh like a little cone. I bite down hard on my lip to suppress my groans, while my pussy protests silently, burning and aching to be touched.

For a while he plays intently with my breasts, handling them, cupping them, fussing with my nipples until they stick out lewdly like fat dark studs. As I fight not to go crazy – and occasionally fail dismally, hefting my hips about on the bed – his fingertips sometimes stray to other zones, before returning to my navel, prodding and probing in a way that makes me jerk and wriggle. Sometimes he just draws the tips of his nails up and down the groove between my belly and my thighs, the indentation of my groin.

Studiously, and very scrupulously, he avoids my sex.

But I can’t avoid it. It seems to have taken over my entire consciousness. It feels swollen, tense, open, stretched by agonising desire. It seems to pout between my thighs, glistening with juice and almost steaming, it’s so hot, hot, hot for his attentions.

I’m almost dying to come, and to feel anything of him down there. Finger. Tongue. Cock. Yet, somewhere in the still, cool heart of my consciousness, I recognise that, even though I’m on fire for him, this interlude is about Daniel, about him being in control, about him losing himself in the game and forgetting what lies ahead of him. My intense frustration, the torment of temporary denial – these are sweet gifts I can give him to distract him.

I open my thighs wider, twist my hips against the sheet, lift
my
pussy, show myself to him, offering total submission, letting him know that my flesh is his, completely, to do with as he will.

Finally, he sits back. His eyes look hazy, but I don’t know whether it’s from lust or the hateful thing that afflicts him. He throws off his robe and he’s hugely erect, his cock vital, powerful, full of magnificent life and strength. As he inclines over me again, kissing along the lines of my collarbone and circling my nipples with his thumbs, the hot bar of his masculinity drags silkily across my thigh.

‘I wish we had more time,’ he says in a low, hard voice, then reaches into the drawer for a condom. ‘I’d like to drive you insane with pleasure. Spend hours on you. Make you come and come …’ As he speaks, quietly and with suppressed anger at his fate, he rolls the sheath on to himself. ‘I’d work you into such a pitch of lust that you wouldn’t be able to remember your name and you’d scream your throat raw when you came.’

Before I can stop myself, I suddenly break out of my role and say, ‘I’ll take a raincheck …’