Chase (12 page)

‘And if I want you to stop?’

‘Then just say so.’ He’s running his juice-laden finger along my lip. I lick it automatically, knowing that comes next. Right on cue he slips it into my mouth.

‘Good girl. Suck it clean.’

I do it, my tiny submission a kind of rehearsal for the far bigger thing that he’s planning, and all at once he pulls his hand away and starts. The blows are harsh and stinging, both hands working in an alternating frenzy that sends shockwaves through me. Each jolt drags at my wrists and every blow thuds straight to my groin, jolting me ever closer to release but never close enough.

As my arousal burns ever hotter he pauses to get his breath and fondles my burning backside, laying his cheek against it and licking deep, his hands cool now on my scorching skin. He leans over me, his erection freed. It jabs against the backs of my thighs, hot and eager, infuriatingly close.

‘How are things down there? Ready for more?’ His hands are caressing me without cease and my trembling eases as I lean into his touch, feral with lust. He drops kisses all along my back and ends up somewhere near my neck. ‘Well?’

He reaches round to tweak my left nipple as he says it and I jerk to attention. ‘Please. Sir.’

Is this helping him? Or inflaming him? I know so little about this. All I know is the effect he’s having on me. And that part hardly bears thinking about. ‘Do we get my side of the bargain yet?’

‘In a while. First we’ll try something stronger.’

He goes to a cupboard to fetch something. When he comes back I feel something being drawn slowly over my rear. It’s hard and flat and cool.

And now I’m scared. ‘What is it? I can’t see from here.’

‘It’s a paddle. Here, have a good look.’ He holds it up in front of me so I can see. His voice is thick with laughter now, like he’s really enjoying this part. I feel a shiver of dismay. It looks huge.

‘
Kiss it.
’ His voice is a low, menacing whisper.

I do it, feeling arousal jolt through me.

‘Good. You’re getting good at this.’ His hand slips between my legs and fondles me from behind, his fingertips reaching right up to my hot, swollen little centre. They flutter there for a moment, making me shriek in pleasure.

Oh, yes, oh, yes. More, please, please …

‘But you’re not coming just yet. Punishment first.’

‘I thought I’d had it,’ I say wildly, as my orgasm teeters at the brink, still cruelly denied. ‘What was all that spanking?’

He puts a finger under my chin and raises my face up to his. My dismay deepens. His look is cold, his eyes burning with some deep, suppressed emotion that comes from some terrifying place I’d sooner not know about. ‘That was just the warm-up. You thought you’d play a stunt like that today and get away with it? Big mistake. Now you’ll get the hiding you deserve.’

Before I can protest the paddle thing lands with a crash on my backside and then again, and again. The shock of it robs me of breath. Mercifully, the harshness of my spanking earlier has also deadened the effect. All I feel is fire, all the way down, all the way through. But as the blows go on and on I gather my wits and sense that somehow, somewhere this is wrong.
It’s unjust.

‘
Stop.
’
I writhe against the cuffs, my struggle making the metal bite deeper. Now I’m in real pain. ‘Stop. Stop.
Finish
,’ I yell again and again but he keeps on – and finally I haul in air and scream.

All at once he stops, panting. I hear the paddle clatter to the floor. I sob quietly into the sudden silence.

‘Ella?’ He sounds dazed.

‘Let me go. I’ve had enough.’

All at once he springs into action, releases my wrists and raises me up to face him. He’s sweating now, his face drawn and tense. ‘
Shit
, Ella. Are you OK?’

I look away and rub my wrists, swollen and sore now, the places marked with bright red welts. ‘That was wrong, you know it was.’ I sniffle as I raise my eyes to his face. ‘You’re angry. It doesn’t feel right.’

He’s ashen now. He pulls me to him, his face troubled. ‘
Christ
, Ella, I’m so sorry.’

I’m badly shaken. I refuse his offer of a shower because I know where that will lead. Still upset, I snatch up my things, march into my room and run a quick solo shower in the en-suite.

Afterwards I lie on my bed, swathed in a towel, my hair still damp. In my mind I run over all the awful things that have happened today. And the more I think about it, the more I think that running out on him now may just about count as the worst.

He’s trying to come to terms with something so bad I can’t think about it at all. But he has to think about it all the time, because he has to ward off its effects and he has to protect his family from its shadow and all at once I’ve plunged him right back in the thick of it and now I’m whining about a spanking …

What was I thinking?

Slowly I get up, unlock my door and go in search of him. From a door at the end of the corridor I can hear singing, something calm and beautiful. I think it’s Handel.

On bare feet I tiptoe into the room. He’s sprawled in an armchair, his long legs stretched out before him, his black velour robe knotted loosely at his waist. His beautiful profile is all I see at first. He looks up at I move close and holds out his hand, then draws me onto his lap.

He holds my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. ‘Forgive me, Ella. That was out of order.’

At least he knows.
It’s a small step but maybe we’re getting somewhere. I wind my arms around his neck and lay my cheek against his. ‘I’m OK. I’m still here.’

The melody plays on as I nestle down against his chest and he strokes my hair. ‘I can’t lose you. You’re all I’ve got.’

Later he gathers me up in his arms, carries me to his bed and we fall asleep together, wound round each other like morning glory.

I wake in the small hours, hot and sweaty, my chest and legs so tightly constrained I can’t breathe. It’s nearly dawn but something’s holding me down, stifling me … As I surface I realise it’s Darnley. He’s still clamped round me. He’s breathing heavily into my neck and he’s very erect, his burning column jutting into me like we’re barely minutes from rapture and I’ve been holding him off.
But he’s still asleep.

He must be dreaming … I reach back and stroke his leg to calm him. The muscles of his thigh feel rigid under my fingers but as I stroke he starts to relax. Soon he’s breathing normally again. When his breathing is regular I start a series of tiny movements to get clear of his arms and shift towards the edge of the bed.

‘Going somewhere?’

My eyes snap open.
He’s awake?
With a soft laugh he folds his arms and legs around me again, burying his face in my neck. My efforts to escape come to nothing as his powerful limbs clamp me even more firmly than before, and now he means business. One hand slips under his pillow. The rip of foil is muffled under the quilt. There’s a shift in the covers and all at once he caresses the underside of my thigh, his fingers travelling upwards to my curved, pulsing places jutting back towards him, inviting and eager in our private, sleep-warmed cavern of bedclothes.

I part my legs and wriggle for a moment, inviting him in, and all at once he surges up inside me. He breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as he starts to thrust, clamping his free hand between my legs with a low growl that makes me shudder with excitement as he presses me back to meet him.

Still sleepy, I thrust back towards him to match his rhythm as we lie perfectly aligned, his hips doing most of the work, his breathing our only music, his busy fingertips pressing into my centre with a gentle motion that promises more than dawn as my climax builds and we come together, locked in our embrace, perfectly in sync. We stay entwined until we drift back into sleep.

Daylight brings a new day and new friction.

‘But I’m at work.
A minder?
I’ll be a laughing-stock.’ I glare at him across his gleaming kitchen.

It’s been going on for a while. His kindly housekeeper is back on duty this morning and tries to avoid the flak as she prepares cereal for him, toast for me. Has she heard this kind of conversation before? I close my mind to his past girlfriends. It’s bad enough being one now.

‘So what do you want? Protection or not? We don’t do this by halves.’

As Verna clears our unfinished plates and quietly makes us coffee we reach a deal. He, or his driver, will take and fetch me on condition I stay on site all day. In return I must keep my phone switched on and call him the minute I sense trouble.

I decide to leave it at that. The argument about me going back to Billy’s apartment can wait for another day. One step, or fight, at a time.

Bullen drives me in and on the way I collect some lesson papers. Despite my shaky start the day goes well. Eldon is back today. Now his drama segment is in the can he’ll focus on other subjects: art, science and math.

I’ll have my work cut out to skewer the students’ attention after yesterday’s excitement so I’m setting up a mock discussion panel for them to critique their performance while it’s still fresh. I’ve even brought in microphones and a stenographer to make it more lifelike.

To my disappointment our Romeo’s not in today. He comes in on the subway and sometimes the trains are late, or so he claims. But by lunch he’s still not in. Maybe he’s got some problem at home. I’ll find him tomorrow.

I try to be patient but I’m jumpy as a cat. At the end of the day, long after the lecture room’s emptied, I’m so absorbed checking over my notes for tomorrow’s lessons I hardly notice a movement in the doorway. Assuming a student has forgotten something I look up, and freeze.

She’s here.
The woman in pink is standing in the doorway, chewing gum. Her hair is scraped back in a tight knot. Her eyes are cold and blank. This close she smells of stale sweat and cigarettes.

I put down my folder, rise slowly to my feet and edge around to the other side of the desk.

‘Mz Dean? I been tryin’ to get ya alone. Ya always got folks with ya.’

I open my mouth but no sound comes out. I clear my throat and try again. ‘Who are you?’

She leans against the doorframe, easy now, like she owns the place. ‘My name’s Lola Forman. We ain’t met. This is a bit of a long shot, but I need help. You’re maybe too young to remember, but back in the day there was this popcorn guy on TV all the time? He was called Korn Kraik.’

I take a deep breath and shred a shedload of prejudice. This woman may have scared me witless but if this is about Kraik
I need to hear this
.

Now we’re up close I’m surprised she’s so edgy. She seems more scared than I am. I try an encouraging smile to loosen things up. ‘Sure. Fire away.’

‘Not here.’ She shifts from foot to foot, still chewing. ‘Kin you come round to our place one night? I need to show you sumpn.’

I lick my lips. Front-line staff avoid one-to-one sessions with parents. We’re supposed to let other professionals see them. Conversations can turn violent.

‘So you’re a parent? Guardian? Of whom, exactly?’

‘Oh, no, my boy don’ come here.’ She looks scared. ‘I’m jes’ a cleaner. I see your picture in the paper back in the summer. In the paper it said you was datin’ one of the Wolfe family, them hotshot lawyers? I once heard Kraik say he was real friendly with them. He used to brag about it, how much time he spent with them, an’ all.’

I breathe out slowly. ‘OK. So, let’s talk about this now.’

Her eyes flash. ‘Wassup? You too classy to visit? Please, Mz Dean. ’S real important.’ The heartfelt plea in her eyes is both direct and shaming.

I smile brightly. ‘OK, no problem. When shall I …?’

‘I’m workin’ nights this week. Have to be Monday. You gotta pen?’

She gives me the address – a house number somewhere deep in downtown Roxbury, some street well off the lower Washington Road. Then she’s gone.

As I collect my things to leave, the classroom doorway darkens again.

Darnley.
‘Was that the woman? I waited outside. You OK?’

I nod and manage a rueful smile. ‘Turns out she knows something about Kraik. She wants to talk.’

‘
Kraik?
’

He moves closer, his powerful elegance and his immaculate suit a startling vision here in my workplace, like an ad in a magazine where classical perfection is purposely set against a crude backdrop – in this case my messy chalkboard and scattered workbooks. But unlike a magazine the central figure here is disturbingly real, his animal magnetism already working on my senses, a heady mix of power and purpose.
But he’s gone white.

His eyes flash. ‘She wants to
talk
? Why you? Why now?’

The fury in his eyes fills me with dismay.
He’s already deciding whether to believe me.

I’m not yet forgiven.

Chilled at this thought, I hold his gaze and remind myself sternly that I’m the professional here. Maybe it’s time I behaved like one. ‘She wouldn’t say. She wants me to go round to her place. She’s working nights so it has to be Monday.’

He frowns. ‘Why not in the daytime?’

Helpless in the blast of his fury I feel a surge of heat so explicit I wonder if he senses it. I try to focus. ‘Maybe she sleeps,’ I say gently.

He turns brisk. ‘Fine. We’ll go together. I’ll talk to her too. This could be a trick. But she may know something about this other business.’

‘But –’ I break off, startled at the sudden gleam in his eyes.

‘You object?’ He’s watching me.
He’s guessed I’d sooner go alone
. And he’s already asking himself why.

I give in gracefully. ‘Sure. We’ll go together. Should be interesting.’

That’s putting it mildly.

Bullen is waiting outside in the car. As we pull away into the traffic I see Darnley frown at my wrists. ‘You covered them today?’

‘They’re fine. No big deal.’ I bite my lip. This morning the marks were still vivid. I put on some ointment and pair of unused wristbands from the staff sports locker.

Now he takes my hands in his lap and fingers the places, his expression still and focused. ‘Take these off.’