Darker (16 page)

“I do. I really do. So much. You’ve taught me, shown me, so much. And I want to satisfy you too. Completely. I want to make some efforts of my own.”

“Do I look to you like a guy who’s not entirely satisfied, Miss Byrne? What sort of ‘efforts’ do you have in mind to top what we just did?”

“What
you
just did. I’m a passenger, along for the ride.”

His snort into my hair tells me what he thinks of that. “Mind-blowing sex is hardly a solo performance, Miss Byrne. It takes two to tango and all that. And even you, Eva, the wonder kid, brilliant musician, linguist and mathematician that you are, and a sexy little hot bird into the bargain, would find it kind of hard to be the sexual aggressor when your hands are tied behind your back and you’re blindfolded. Your role is—was—to respond. Which you did beautifully, I should add. Passenger my arse!” To emphasise his point he nips my shoulder hard enough to make me yelp, then licks the spot, holding me still as I start to wriggle.

“Keep still while I bite you, that’s a good little sub.” His voice is playful as he trails his hands lightly over my body, using his teeth to scrape the point of my shoulder, my neck, my ear, his stubble scratching my skin.

“But that’s just the point, I’ve not been—a good little sub, that is. I fainted, duh.” Turning in his arms I take his face between my hands, gazing into his eyes. He shakes his head slowly, obviously puzzled, wondering what’s eating me now—the creases between his eyebrows deepening as his lips quirk up at one side.

“Are you still on about that? It doesn’t matter, love. Really it doesn’t. What’s one little caning malfunction between friends?”

“But it does matter. And it was a big malfunction, you were furious with me over it. It was part of the deal, the arrangement. Your sheet of dos and don’ts. It was a do.” I am staring at him earnestly. I need to make him understand, I mean to prove myself.

“I want to do it again. Now.”

“Now? Have a heart, love. Give me a few more minutes to recover then I’m willing to try if you really insist…”

“Not that, idiot.” I punch his shoulder. “Caning. I want you to cane me again, and this time I’ll do it. All of it. I’ll be able to see it through now, I know I will.”

Rolling forward he pushes me onto my back and leans over me, his weight across my chest pinning me down. This time it is him holding my gaze, his hands tangled in my hair. His eyes are no longer laughing, his expression is serious, intense. “I know what you meant, and you don’t have to do that. Ever. You never need to do that again, love. You’ve nothing to prove.”

“But I…”

“No, listen to me, Angel. I was angry when you fainted, that’s true. But not because I had to stop, not because I wasn’t finished having my fun with you when you passed out. I was angry because of the danger you put yourself in by not safe wording when it got too much for you. You scared me, really scared me. I thought I’d really hurt you. And I never, ever want to feel scared like that again. I don’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

“You’ve never hurt me, and you won’t. Not really. I know that now, and that’s why I can do it. I know I can. Please, you have to let me try again. I need to try again. I want to be… I want to be everything you want. Everything you need. Please, let me…”

For a long, slow moment he looks down at me, into my eyes, and I hold my breath. Waiting. Silently I mouth the word ‘please’ again. He starts to shake his head, but my expression must have stopped him from turning me down. Slowly he lowers his forehead to mine. Then he gently kisses me before whispering, “Okay, we’ll try again.”

“Now?”

“No, not now. Tomorrow, if you still want to. And I hope you don’t want to in the cold light of morning. And just so’s we’re absolutely clear, I’ve had more sex in the last few days than I’ve had for months. Mind-blowing, brilliant sex, the sort of sex I’ve only dreamt about. You are all my fantasies rolled up into one sexy little package, Eva. You absolutely delight me, in every way. You’ve done all I’ve asked, and more. I know you’ve been scared at times, embarrassed. I’ve outraged your modesty, taken your virginity in every which way I could think of and you’ve let me. You’ve responded to me, given me everything I wanted, given me pleasure by sharing your own. You may not be the perfect sub, but who gives a fuck? I don’t want just that from you anymore. By now you must realise you’re so much more than a sub to me. You’re in my home, my family, my life. You absolutely owe me nothing, Eva. You’re perfect being just you.”

I can only stare at him, wide-eyed, as the words sink in. The wonderful, affirming, empowering words, words that say I’m okay, that I’m perfect even. Maybe. Definitely? Me. And he means it, he really does seem to mean it. My lips are moving, but I have no words to respond. Nathan solves the problem by dropping his head and kissing me, lightly at first then deeply. He slides his tongue between my lips, stroking inside my mouth. His arms are around me and he is holding me, tightly, crushed against his chest, still pinned under him. Uncaring of the weight pressing down on me, my hands tangle in his hair as I return the kiss, desperately seeking to communicate this rush of feeling, this sense of belonging that is so new to me, so alien, and so wondrous.

Eventually he breaks the kiss, lifts his head. I open my eyes to find his gaze fixed on me holding my eyes with his own. “Is that absolutely clear, sweetheart?”

“Is what clear?” I whisper, uncertain.

“How I feel about you, about us, about what you need to do, or not do, to make me happy?”

“Yes. Thank you. Yes.”

“No need to thank me, love. It’s my absolute pleasure.” Then, in one of his trademark mercurial swings, he’s shooting off at a complete tangent, “Now, do you feel like going out? On another date? With me?”

Chapter Seven

“Out? You want to go out? At this time?” I realise as I’m saying it that I have no idea what time it actually is, but I feel sure it must be late. A belated glance at the window suggests not—it’s not quite dark yet. Nathan, who incredibly has managed to still be wearing his jeans, more or less, digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After handing it to me he sits up as I fiddle with the phone to switch it on and get a time check. Twenty-one twelve. Not even quarter past nine. The night is indeed still young…

“Where do you have in mind? We missed the theatre.”

“Mmm, pity that. Tennessee Williams will have to keep for another time. That leaves clubbing…?”

I am shaking my head. I don’t mind loud, thumpy music occasionally, but I have to be in the mood. And today I’m not.

“No? Fine, what about the cinema?”

I shrug, non-committal. “I’d just as soon snuggle up here in front of a DVD. And we just ate your lovely steak and Mrs Richardson’s even lovelier pudding, so a late supper might be a bit of an anticlimax.”

“Definitely don’t want an anticlimax, Miss Byrne. What about the casino then?”

Now he’s talking. I love casinos. I perk up immediately. “That sounds good. But we’d need to get dressed.”

“Yes, and a more traditional approach to black tie may be appropriate, I think. Going by that mountain of boxes and bags piled up in my spare room you must have another new outfit needing an airing.”

I nod enthusiastically, thinking of the classy little black slinky thing I picked up at Harvey Nicks. I wasn’t at all sure where or when I’d get to wear it when I was handing over my credit card, only to be informed that Nathan had everything covered, but it’s perfect for this.

Scrambling to my feet I’m itching to get going. “I need to get a shower, wash off what’s left of this sticky stuff—you’re a sloppy eater, Mr Darke. And I’ll need to do something with my hair. Give me half an hour…” I’m halfway across the floor headed for the spare room before his voice stops me.

“Grab your stuff and take it into my room, then use my shower.”

“What? Yours? Don’t you need to use that? I’m okay with the spare one.”

“I don’t want you, or your stuff, in the spare room anymore. Share mine. My shower, my room, my apartment. Move your stuff in. Share. Please.”

His shy smile, his uncertainty, is what breaks the dam, and happiness just bubbles up inside me. On impulse I run back to him. He gets to his feet just in time as I throw my arms around his neck. His arms come around me and I’m lifted off my feet as he swings me round. I wrap my legs around his waist and grab his face between my hands. I plant a huge kiss on his mouth before leaning back to look into his somewhat startled eyes. “I’d love to share with you, Mr Darke. I warn you, though, I’m messy.”

“Yeah, so I heard. A car crash. Still, we’ll manage I expect. Now, you head for the shower and I’ll move your stuff, okay?”

A quick peck on his lips again, and a pat on my bum, which is Nathan trying to show who’s boss, and I’m headed for the shower, this time in his—our—room. I realise I have absolutely no idea now where this relationship is headed or what Nathan wants long term, but I’m living for the moment. And we’ll see what it brings.

* * * *

“You look gorgeous.”

I’m perched on a padded stool in front of Nathan’s dressing table, my mascara and lip gloss scattered among his cuff-links and aftershave. Very domestic. Very intimate. His stuff and mine just blending, mingling, to become ours. I glance up, making eye contact with his reflection in the mirror, ultra smart in his evening wear. I’m happy, content, and I smile as much as I can while painting on lip gloss.

Despite the civilised veneer, he’s in a dirty, sexy mood apparently. “I’m just going to smear all that so you’re wasting your time.” His runs his fingers through my hair, lifting the smooth amber and copper waves, artfully cut, courtesy of Damien, to kiss my neck. It tickles so I shiver—our gazes lock in the mirror. “Why did I have to suggest we go out? Why didn’t I just leave well alone and keep you here, with me, all night. I still could. I want you again. Now.”

I’m caught between the rush of wetness already forming between my legs—God, I hope I don’t stain my lovely new dress—and disappointment that we may not make it for our night out after all.

He sees, relents. “Oh well, I suppose you’ll keep. For a couple of hours anyway. But any longer than that and I swear my balls are gonna explode. So, you’ve been warned, Miss Byrne. You’ll be very thoroughly fucked as soon as we get back. It’ll be hard and fast, and you’ll just have to try to keep up. Okay?”

I nod, dumbly, my lip gloss forgotten. I’m getting used to his crude directness a bit, but it still shocks me. No one else I know—have ever known as far as I can remember—speaks like that around me, about sex and fucking and body parts and, well, everything. And no one has ever made my nipples stand to attention and my pants wet just by making a few crude suggestions. But Nathan can. Does. All the time. It’s wonderful.

After shrugging into his own jacket, he picks up mine from the bed, a loose floaty affair in pearl grey that I thought would go with anything. My dress is a black silk sheath, mid-thigh-length and drapes in soft folds around my body. The back is low, the front decent but fragile-looking, as though the folds could drop away at any moments to expose my breasts. It’s actually a lot tougher than it looks. Nathan tested it thoroughly earlier, when I first modelled it for him, finally finding his way in by sheer determination and sucking my nipples until I stopped wriggling. He declared a distinct preference for strawberry mousse flavour so I just hope there’s plenty more in the freezer. And now, at last, we’re ready to go.

The casino is nearby, about a five-minute walk along the side of the dock. Well, ten minutes in my favourite fuck-me red heels, but we’re in no hurry. This is a very handy place to live, I’m finding. Who needs a car or taxis? Theatres, the opera, ballet, shops—everything I like within about twenty minutes on foot. Except the moors, of course, but Black Combe and the Brontë countryside seems like another life just now. And while on the subject of other lives, I’m turning over in my mind whether to tell Nathan about my previous experience with casinos…

Maybe I should tell him that I am a fairly regular gambler. Well, very regular. Frequent, in fact. A frequent visitor to casinos, that is. The truth is I’m not much of a gambler, strictly speaking, as it’s not really a gamble for me. I invariably win. I take a deep breath. Best get it over with…

“Do you come here often?”

“My, my, what a traditional pick-up line, Miss Byrne. But I’d have thought we were past all that now.”

I dig him in the ribs. “No, idiot. I mean do you come to this casino often?” I can see now that we’re close that the casino is one of the Alea chain. I have an account with this lot so I probably do need to come clean before we get there. There’s a good chance I might be recognised—they rotate the staff around different sites and my face is quite well known in these circles.

“No, not often. I’ve been a couple of times—they offer special introductory packages for locals to try to drum up regular trade. I’ve popped in, I like an occasional flutter, but I can manage to lose my money perfectly well through my business in this bloody recession. I don’t need to gamble it away as well. Don’t worry, though, I don’t mind blowing a couple of hundred quid on a good night out.”

“Well, that’s just it. You won’t be blowing it, probably. Well, I won’t. I’ll win.”

He gives my shoulders a quick hug. “Maybe once or twice. But eventually everyone loses. That’s how these places stay in business.”

I stop, turn to face him. “Not everyone. I don’t lose. Well, hardly ever.”

His head is cocked to one side as he considers this. By now he’s learnt not to underestimate me apparently. “Eva? Is there something you’ve not told me?”

“Nothing bad, honestly.” I pull my light jacket around me. He might disapprove of professional gamblers for all I know. Although I don’t usually think of myself as a professional, exactly, it’s just that this is an easy way to make ready cash and I’m not above using my talents when I need to.

“It’s, well, it’s not unusual, quite common really… For people like me… For…”

“Eva, just spit it out.”