Hard Choices (17 page)

Then was
not
the time for conversation. Definitely no likelihood I would get chatty any time soon. I shook my head and obligingly lifted my hands to the headboard. Nick tied them there, making use of my silk stockings from yesterday. He considerately tucked a pillow under my left wrist to support it in comfort.

“Perfect. Now, maybe a blindfold?”

I nodded again. This time I felt the cool glide of silk across my face, and could smell Nick’s cologne. His tie, most likely. Whatever, I lay still, cocooned in darkness and restrained as I waited for the main event.

Nick did not disappoint me. His touch was tender, light, the merest brush across the sensitive tip of my clit at first, then heavier as he began to rub, coaxing me quickly back to the brink of orgasm. This time, though, he drew back, again blowing on me as he waited for me to relax once more. No sooner was my body still, than he gently parted the lips of my pussy with his fingers, holding me open as he blew there as well before plunging his tongue inside, as deep as he could go.

I tried to lie still, but was subconsciously thrusting against him, seeking the release he was promising me, desperate then for his hard, firm touch.

He understood perfectly, as ever completely in tune with my response. “Be still, love. Hold it a little longer. It
will
be worth it, I promise.” The movements of his fingers and tongue slowed almost to a stop, and he was barely touching me, but I was acutely aware of even the slightest whisper of motion. Then, without warning, he took my engorged clit into his mouth, sucked hard, and held the tip between his teeth. His bite was light, not painful at all, but enough to hold my clit still while he flicked his tongue across it fast. I came, powerfully, my body arching from the bed as the waves of sensation pulsed through me. The starburst behind my eyes exploded into a firework display to rival yesterday’s evening celebrations over at Greystones. It seemed to me to continue almost as long, every glorious tingle intensified by the clip pressing sensuously on my clit. Nick slid three fingers into my pussy, and I’m sure it was three he pushed into my arse too. It felt so tight, I was so full. I twisted my wrists under the silk stockings, my plaster cast knocking against the wooden bedhead as I sought purchase, anything to ground me as I continued to spin out of control.

Eventually, the tremors died, and he slid his fingers from my body, at last releasing my still helplessly engorged clit. Then he shifted to lay above me, his weight supported on his elbows.

“Pull your knees up to your chest, love. Let me have your arse.” His voice was sexy, but commanding. I knew he expected me to obey immediately. I had no problem with that, and seconds later felt his thick cock slide right inside me, filling my arse fully, stretching me. He stopped for a moment, and the silk brushed across my face as he pulled the blindfold up to reveal my eyes.

“Look at me, darling.”

I managed to force my eyelids apart, though I just wanted to lay there under him and savour what he was doing to me. His gaze was deep and dark, his pupils so enlarged that the slate grey of his irises was almost gone, just a hint of the usual brilliant smokiness ringing the inky black pools.

“I’m guessing you’re okay, sweetheart.” His smile was slightly lopsided.

I managed the reassuring nod he seemed to require. He dropped a quick kiss on my forehead, then another less quick, on my mouth. I could taste my own juices on his lips, and on his tongue as it slid inside my mouth. It was exquisitely erotic, and I sucked eagerly, keen to share.

Then, he started to thrust and I lost all sense of anything apart from the wicked, delightful sensations in my arse. Within moments it seemed I was bubbling fast towards orgasm again, pulsing and convulsing around his cock. He made no suggestion that I try to resist the inexorable pull, instead thrusting harder, deeper until I arched helplessly under him as I spun out into orbit again. He was still plunging his cock into me as my release faded, but his own was now building. His ragged breathing was close to my ear, then his muffled, “Sweet, holy fuck, Freya” as he gave one final, powerful surge forward then went still, buried deep inside me. His cock seemed to tighten, then there was the warm rush of his semen as it pumped into me. I love the feel of his cum inside me, in direct contact with my sensitive pussy or my hot, receptive arse.

“Christ, I love you, baby. How did I ever imagine I could let some other Dom have you? You’re mine. Only mine.” His tone was low, almost a growl, a sexy, toe-curling snarl of possession. It required an answer.

I could only nod, wishing then that my hands were free to respond more fully, either by touch or word. He knew, instantly he knew the moment I wanted to be released and reached up to untie the restraints. Then my hands were on his face as I kissed him hungrily, still aware of his cock impaling me, and loving the feeling of it there. It was long moments before he withdrew from me slowly, gently, then reached down between us to release the clit clip. Then, rolling onto his back, he pulled me across his chest and there I stayed.

Chapter Twelve

This is it. My moment. I’ll never get a better chance than this. Nick’s in a good mood. More than good. I’m about to wreck that, but at least it’ll be fresh in his mind why I’m worth the trouble. It’s most definitely fresh in mine.

I’ve rehearsed this in my head a thousand times. I know exactly how I intend to start my confession. Once the first few words are out there, the rest will be outside my control. But the first few lines are clearly printed in my memory. I sigh, deeply, and press my hands against his chest to shove myself into a sitting position.

“Keep still, baby. I think I might be dead.”

Well, one of us might very well be, soon.

His arms tighten around me, but I manage to slip away. Somehow. He opens one eye before reaching for me, intending to pull me back where he wants me. I stiffen, back away. The other eye opens.

“Problem?”

I drop my gaze. Too right there’s a problem. I take another deep, steadying breath, then lift my gaze back to his.

My moment is wrecked by the trilling of Nick’s phone. He lifts one eyebrow in enquiry, and I know if I’d shaken my head he wouldn’t have taken the call. Instead, like a coward, playing for time, I gesture to him to go ahead. Big mistake. He reaches for his phone, casually dropped on the floor beside the bed, and hits the green icon on the touch screen.

“Nick Hardisty.” His voice is clipped, businesslike. Who’d have thought only minutes earlier he had his cock deep in my arse. He listens for a few moments, then, “Is there no one else? What about Will? Or Mattie?” A few more moments’ silence at his end, then, “Okay, okay. But I’m a good couple of hours away. Could you put the first drop back, say till around one?”

What? A good couple of hours away from where? From what?

With a few more brief comments and a promise to be there by twelve, Nick finishes the call. He drops the phone back onto the floor before turning to me.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ve got to go back. That was Pete. Pete Mason, the guy I franchise Lakes Sky to. Do you remember I said I occasionally help out if they’re a pilot short? Well, today they are. Two of the regular staff are off sick, and Pete has a corporate event booked in for today. Twenty-five executives all wanting to bond, and thinking a shared adventure with extreme sports might do the trick. Lots of money involved, it’d be a disaster for Pete if he can’t deliver. Do you mind, love?”

I shake my head. Of course I don’t mind. No point minding, but it does rather take a coach and horses through my plans for today. No way can I drop my bombshell on him now, not when he’s about to spend the rest of the day swooping over the south lakes in a tiny aeroplane, or worse still leaping out of that plane with some whizz kid strapped to his chest. Instead, “How soon do we need to be off? I’d like to say goodbye to Ashley and Summer as well as Eva.”

“No need for you to trail all the way back if you don’t want to. You’d only be bored anyway. Why don’t you stay here? I’ll be back by tomorrow.” He’s on his feet now and heading for the bathroom.

I catch one last, delightful glimpse of his bum before he disappears. I follow him into the en suite, just as he’s stepping into the shower.

“You joining me?” He holds out a hand in invitation.

I shake my head sadly, lifting my still plastered wrist.

“Ah, right. When does the pot come off then?”

I perch on the edge of the toilet seat, settling down to watch the show as he seems to have no objections to an audience.

“End of next week.”

“Good. I miss you in my shower. Pass me the shampoo please. Would you like me to wash your hair before I go?”

I do as I’m asked, then, “Will you be back in time for the board meeting tomorrow?” I sign the question as soon as he takes the bottle of shampoo from my hands. “And there’s no need for you to wash my hair. I can do it myself.”

“Not with your wrist in plaster, you can’t. And why would you want to when I’m here to do those sorts of things for you? Run yourself a bath and I’ll pamper you a bit before I go. And yes, probably. The meeting’s not till two.”

“Would it be all right for me to be there too?”

“Of course. I’d assumed you would be.”

With that the conversation pauses as he applies himself to soaping, shampooing and rinsing, and I run my bath. Finally he asks me to pass him a towel. He brushes his teeth as I slide into my warm bath.

He comes to crouch behind me to pour water over my hair from a jug. Then he massages shampoo into it, piling it on top of my head in a soapy topknot. Satisfied at last, he rinses it before finger combing conditioner through the long strands. I lie still, enjoying the sense of being well cared for. There are distinct advantages to having your arm in plaster, I suppose.

“So, you happy to stay here then? And is it okay if I use your car?”

I nod on both counts. I know Ashley and Eva are planning a ride on their quads up onto the moors because Ashley wants to take some shots of a particular view, and today’s weather forecast was just right for what she wanted. I might be able to scrounge up a third crash helmet and hop on the back of one of them.

Summer and Dan have disappeared somewhere together. They left late yesterday evening, and once again Summer didn’t tell me where she was going. She’s with Dan, though, and he at least is expected back tomorrow. One way or another, the board meeting will be eventful. I’m not sure just when Nick will be able to get back here, but I doubt there’ll be time to make my confession before the meeting now.

* * * *

There
is
a spare helmet. Tom drops his off at Black Combe for me to use. Eva’s on Nathan’s bike, the bigger of the two, so I’m riding with her. Ashley arrives over the rough moorland on hers. Even Rosie is coming with us, on her own mini-quad, her birthday present from Nathan and Eva last month. She’s not allowed to ride it on her own, and Nathan has promised to have it carted off and scrapped if she so much as thinks of riding it without her crash helmet.

Eva gives me a quick spin around the yard at Black Combe so I can get the feel of it, but really, it’s simple enough. A lot of fun, though. I definitely want one of these, though I dread to think what risk category Max will put it in. By late morning we’re all four of us, five if Barney counts, rolling up the steep hillside towards a spot that Ashley picked out when she first came here a year ago. She returns every couple of weeks or so and takes the same shot, from exactly the same spot and angle. Apart from a series of landscapes showing the scene in all weathers and seasons, the different colours and moods captured on canvas, she’s working on a sort of moving digital exhibit. She explains to me as we make our way uphill that she’s been layering each picture on top of the last to create a sort of slideshow, the Yorkshire landscape through the seasons, shimmering and constantly reshaping, timeless but constantly on the move. I’m fascinated, I’d love to see it, but she’s adamant that I’ll have to wait until it’s finished.

We reach Ashley’s special viewpoint and she sets up her gear while Rosie and Barney wander off up the moor on foot now. Eva and I perch on a dry stone wall close by and watch Ashley at work.

“Did you ask her yet, about Summer?”

I shake my head. “No opportunity yet. I will, though, this afternoon if I can.”

“I’ll go rabbiting with Rosie and Barney after lunch. You’ll have a chance then. And is Nick happy for you to be at the board meeting?”

“Yes. He said he expected me to be there anyway.”

“That’s okay then. My interpretation services still required?”

“Please.”

She nods, tactfully not asking me why I expect to want to speak, and we both get to our feet to rummage in the quad saddle bags to see what goodies Mrs Richardson has tucked in there for our lunch.

Eventually, it’s just me and Ashley. She’s finished her work, and we’ve guzzled our way through a huge pile of sandwiches—tuna, cheese, and ham salad—all washed down with homemade lemonade. Mrs Richardson even tied a note to the bottle declaring it sugar-free. When Nick texted Nathan to thank him for inviting us to dinner that first evening he mentioned that I’m diabetic. Mrs Richardson made it her business to research a suitable diet for me, and she’s come up with some real treats. There was even a sugar-free section at yesterday’s wedding buffet. We’ll be exchanging recipes before I leave.

Ashley and I lay on the springy heather watching Eva and Rosie disappear over a hilltop about half a mile away, Barney bounding along behind them. I drag my phone from my pocket and bring the notepad app up. Ashley glances sideways at me, and waits for me to pass her my message.

“That does it. I’m learning that sign language of yours. It’ll be a nice quiet hobby for me when I get as big as a house and Tom locks me in the bedroom for safekeeping.”

I smile, strongly suspecting that she won’t be on her own in that bedroom. I pass her my phone.

Eva tells me you might be thinking of hiring a wedding planner?