Darker (12 page)

I sit in stunned silence for a while. I’ve got three hours so no real hurry. It won’t take me more than a few minutes to gather my stuff together, so I allow myself the luxury of wallowing in my grief.

I’ve never really thought about what ‘heartbroken’ might feel like, but I guess this is it. This feeling of rejection, betrayal, injustice. And of loss, emptiness. And, above all, loneliness. He might be a jerk, a heartless, intolerant bastard, but I did manage to somehow fall in love with him. And now he’s gone. He’s left me, dumped me, because I’m a freak. A bloody stupid, mentally unstable freak who couldn’t keep her mouth shut. And who couldn’t, wouldn’t take the risk of just telling him the truth.

I didn’t need to have that conversation about settling in Yorkshire at all. All I needed to do was book into a hotel at the end of my contract and there would have been nothing he could have done about it. He might even have been pleased I was staying, if we’d got on well, if I’d continued to be a good lay. But now, he just hates me. And I genuinely have no idea why. No idea what I did or said that was so wrong. He has his secrets, his privacy, and I respect that. And I’m entitled to mine, surely. If I came on too strong, too soon, it was a genuine mistake. I never meant to assume anything. And above all, breakdown or not,
I’m perfectly safe to leave alone with his daughter, and in his heart he must know that.

I may be a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. This is just an excuse. An excuse to dump me, to get rid before I become too clingy. He was looking for an exit route and I handed it to him. And now, it’s over.

Desperately wishing I could rewind, take us back to the easy companionship and passionate lovemaking of just a half-hour ago, I eventually force myself into action. I need to pack. My shredded pride tells me I need to not be here when he comes back. My head aching from crying, I push myself to my feet, giving myself stern lectures about pulling myself together, and make my way to the guest room where my new clothes are still piled on the bed.

Half an hour later I am ready. Dressed in a smart, black mid-calf-length skirt and plum-red wrap-around top, and defiantly wearing my fuck-me red heels, I drag my bags towards the door. I’ve called down and my taxi should be at the front entrance in a few minutes so I’d like to get all my gear downstairs. Why didn’t I think to buy a proper case? I curse as I balance carrier bags in a pile by the lift.

I turn to fetch the last couple of bags and I’m startled by the low swishing hum as the lift doors open. I glance back in surprise, and Nathan is there. He strides through the sliding doors, glancing sharply at my precarious heap of Harvey Nicks bags as he makes straight for me.

Three hours. He’d said I had three hours. He said he wouldn’t be back until six. Surely I’ve not taken too long…

I back away, not wanting to be on the receiving end of more of his contempt. Maybe I can just shove my stuff into the lift and go…

“You’re still here.”

“Yes, but I’m just…”

“Thank God. I’m sorry, Eva. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Before I can answer he is on me, lifting me, carrying me back into his apartment. Kicking the door shut behind us. I am slammed against the wall and he is kissing me. Desperately, hungrily. His tongue is thrust into my mouth, my throat. His hands are in my hair, holding my head still for his assault. He still hasn’t shaved and his bristly chin scratches my face, my neck. My hands on his shoulders I try to find balance as he lifts me off my feet.

Totally confused by this U-turn, and more than a bit pissed off at his blowing hot and cold like this, I try to get my hands between us to push him away. Who the hell does he think he is, to treat me like something he found under his shoe one minute and try to lick my tonsils the next? I may be crap at relationships, but even I know I deserved a chance to explain, to defend myself. He just lost his temper, for no good reason that I can see, and ordered me out of his home. Sacked me from a job I love, a job I’m good at. And now he seems to think he can just waltz back in and kiss me senseless, and it’ll all be all right again. No bloody chance!

I manage to get some purchase on his shoulders and shove hard. It’s nowhere near enough to dislodge him, but I do manage to get my message across that I’m not having this. Not doing this. He ends the kiss, lifting his head to murmur in my ear.

“Eva, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Truly. Please…”

It’s enough, feeble, needy creature that I am—that I seem to become around Nathan Darke. I give up the struggle.

His mouth hardly parts from mine as I am carried to his bedroom and dropped on the bed. “You’re wearing new clothes again, Eva, and you look absolutely gorgeous. Take them off.”

I stare at him, no longer afraid—after all, I am familiar enough with this side of Nathan Darke—but I’m totally confused. Does he want me, still? Am I to stay after all? Do I want to?

“Your clothes, Eva. Please?”

Yes. I do want to. Wordlessly I strip, and lie back.

“Is this to be my punishment fuck then?” I whisper the words, hoping that once he’s done we can, perhaps, somehow, get back to how we were before.

“No, Eva. It’s a forgive me fuck. I’m a stupid, heartless bastard, and I want you to forgive me. Let me try again. Can you do that?”

“I… Yes, yes, I can. And I don’t need to forgive you. It was me, my fault. There’s no need for this. Really, Nathan, it’s okay. We need to talk, not…”

“We’ll talk later. For now, let me do this. For you. Just shut up, lie back and enjoy it.”

Kneeling beside the bed he grabs my legs and pulls me towards him, spreading my thighs wide. His mouth is on me, and I stop thinking, stop trying to work out what’s going on. He flicks my clit with his tongue then slips it into my vagina. I can feel his stubble, abrasive against my tender skin. Usually clean-shaven, this is a new and exciting sensation. He tongue-fucks me until I am moaning with pleasure, then suddenly he slips his hands under my bottom, lifting me up. He uses his tongue to rim my anus, and I scream. The pleasure is overwhelming. Quite, quite exquisite. Holding me in place with one hand, easily, he brings his other hand round to stroke my eager clitoris and I am lost. I come, fast and hard, gasping his name as the sensations burst through me, bolts of lightning streaking out through my fingers and toes. I am convulsing wildly, out of control, as he relentlessly works me with his mouth, his tongue, his fingers.

Even as the orgasm subsides he isn’t done. He continues to work on me, his thumb now sliding in and out of my pussy as he gently nips my clitoris, taking it between his lips to suck me, hard. Incredibly, my arousal spikes again, and within moments I am caught up, tossed around in a second orgasmic tsunami. I am thrashing on the bed, nearly mindless with pleasure, and still he continues, relentlessly dragging a third climax from me.

Exhausted at last, I need to stop. It’s too much. I can’t take any more. And I remember.

“Red. Red. Please stop,” I whisper, my limbs weak, my breath catching in my throat. He hears me. And he stops.

“Enough, sweetheart? Am I forgiven?” The gentle question is whispered, soft, compassionate. Caring.

“Yes, enough. And I told you there’s no need for forgiving.” I lie still for a few seconds, just breathing, my senses returning. Then, my heart rate returning to something nearer normal, I continue. “God, that was incredible. The best ever. But my head’s a mess. I need to rest, I need to recover. And, soon, we need to talk.”

He lifts his head, looks into my eyes, smiles that sweet, sexy smile, and slides up onto the bed to lie next to me. And I realise he’s still fully dressed. As ever it seems, at my moments of greatest weakness, greatest vulnerability, he is fully dressed and I’m naked.

“Overdressed as usual, Mr Darke,” I mutter grumpily.

“Force of habit, Miss Byrne.”

“That’s Dr Byrne to you.”

“Ah yes, Dr Byrne. I’m trying.”

“Very.” And I turn to snuggle against him as his arm comes round me, holding me tightly against his chest, draped bonelessly across him. And, again, I sleep.

Chapter Five

“Get your bloody clothes off!”

I don’t honestly care whether we’re both naked or both fully clothed, but there’s no way I’m going to even attempt a serious conversation with our respective states of dress—or undress—so unbalanced.

He doesn’t move to oblige me, so I punch him in the ribs. “Either you get naked or I get dressed. And then, only then, do we talk.”

“Jesus, Eva. You’re just too fucking bossy to make a decent sub. Christ knows what I ever saw in you.” Grumbling to himself, he quickly gets his shirt off, soon followed by his jeans and shorts. I note somewhat in passing that his erection is still pretty impressive, or maybe that’s more or less his permanent state. Or maybe it’s just his usual state around me—what a lovely thought. Quite encouraging really.

Throwing himself back down alongside me, he’s still grumbling. “Bloody women, never satisfied.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly satisfied. For now. I’ll let you know when I’m not.” The worm is turning, it seems. Nathan seems to approve because he is kissing me. Again. At last he raises his head to look into my eyes, and rubs his nose against mine playfully.

“I was so scared you’d have left already. Scared I might not get back in time to stop you. Christ. I might never have found you again. I don’t even have your address in London.”

“My mother’s address. Remember. And you could have found me through the agency. But anyway, I wasn’t going to London. I was going to Black Combe.” I run my fingers through his long, soft, gorgeous hair and at his start of surprise I decide to put him out of his misery. “For my violin and the rest of my stuff. And then I was going to look for somewhere to rent. Like I said, I’m staying. In Yorkshire.”

“You don’t need a place to rent. You have somewhere to stay. Black Combe.”

I push myself up on one elbow to look down at him, more than a little taken aback. “Only until the end of my contract, strictly speaking. That’s about three more weeks. Are you suggesting I stay on? Why? Earlier you seemed so dead set against me moving in.”

He reaches up to run the backs of his fingers down my cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Not move in exactly, well not like you might think. It’s awkward, Eva.” Slipping his hand to the back of my neck he tightens his hold as I begin to pull away, not wanting to hear him tell me again that he doesn’t want me, or at least that he doesn’t want me there. In his home.

“Just listen, will you?” He pulls me back down, tight up against his chest. “Black Combe is Rosie’s home. I’m her father. She needs safety, security. She needs to know she can always trust me, that she comes first with me. That’s just how it has to be with kids. So, I never take women, girlfriends, there. Never.”

“No Dom-sub stuff at Black Combe then?” I ask innocently. “No whips or canes? No nipple clamps? No butt plugs?”

“God, no!”

“Pity, could have been interesting. But I understand the situation, so, that’s agreed. I’m so glad we got that clear. And I’m assuming no girlfriend stuff either? No kissing? No cuddling? No stripping me to the waist and sucking my nipples until I have an orgasm on the kitchen table?”

“Shit, Eva, that was different.”

I giggle. He’s so easy to wind up sometimes. “Calm down, idiot. I care about Rosie too. I know we need to be discreet. And I somehow think I’m going to be better at discretion than you. I’m Miss Inhibitions 2012 remember?”

He pats my bum, and I get the distinct impression he’s thinking of doing rather more. I need to go easy on the teasing. For now, though, he’s fine. We’re fine. “Yeah, you probably will be. Discreet’s your middle name, Miss Byrne.”

“And there’s such a lot in a name, with you, isn’t there?”

“Excuse me?”

“My name. Or rather, names. You have different names for me according to what I am. At that moment. What I am to you. And how you are feeling, how you want me to feel…”

Glancing up I can see his genuine bewilderment written all over his gorgeous face. “What are you talking about, Eva?”

“Ah, so now I’m Eva. Eva’s my girlfriend name. Or when we’re out in public. You call me Eva when you’re angry too, or being serious like now. I’m not sure I always like being Eva.” He’s silent, waiting, still at a total loss it would seem, so I continue.

“Miss Byrne, or Dr Byrne when you remember, is my teacher name. That’s what you call me at home, at Black Combe. And it’s my sub name. You always call me Miss Byrne when you have a whip in your hand.” I shudder involuntarily. “Miss Byrne is the me you hurt. And often she’s the me you fuck, especially when it’s not the gentle sort of fucking. Being Miss Byrne scares me. And excites me too.”

I hear his muffled “Christ” in my hair, but there’s more I need, want to say.

“And then there’s Angel. I love being Angel. Angel is the me you like, really like, really care for. Like my dad did. And you call me Angel when we make love, when you come. And sometimes when I come. And that’s not like my dad. That’s just you.”

I wait, silently, for him to respond.

“Jesus, Eva…”

“Eva?”

“Eva. Miss Byrne. Angel. You’re clearly a woman of many parts, sweetheart. And too damned bright for me, I reckon. Okay, so you got me sussed on all that name stuff. And while we’re on the super-sensitives, having this little heart to heart, are you going to tell me now about Oxford? About why you left?”

I stiffen, my heart plummeting as I get ready to do battle again, but he just drops it this time, goes on. “No? Okay then, if we’re not going to discuss the past let’s talk about the future. About your plans. You’ll be living at Black Combe, that’s settled. As some sort of girlfriend, no doubt—we’ll have to work that out. With Rosie. But what about work? Somehow I can’t see you being satisfied doing nothing for long. And with all your many and various qualifications you’re not going to be looking for a job in Oakworth bread shop.”

“I like bread.”

“Eva.” His warning growl suggests I need to get serious. And, in fairness, I have been giving this some thought.