Dark Melodies (The Black Combe Doms Book 1)

by Ashe Barker

  “Oh! Oh, that tickles.” I had steeled myself to expect something more—severe. The sensation is best described as lots of tiny pinpricks flickering across my skin. I am strangely disappointed.

  He lifts the wand away. “Not painful then?”

  “No, not exactly. More…odd. Is it supposed to hurt?”

  “It can be used that way, but I’m not intending that today. We’re playing, this is fun. So you’ll tell me if it starts to feel unpleasant, yes?”

  “It’s okay, I think. Could you turn it up a bit?”

  He chuckles. “Miss Byrne, you have a reckless streak. How about this?”

  He adjusts the dial on the side of the toy then strokes me again, this time drawing the wand down my arm and my ribs. I arch, savoring the slightly more intense champagne-like fizz it creates. The mauve glow and showers of sparks captivate me as I observe his progress in the mirror.

  “Like it?” he murmurs.

  “Yes. It’s…weird. But good.”

  Nathan just smiles and continues with his work. I twist and writhe as he traces the wand across my shoulders, down my other arm, my bottom, then turns his attention to my breasts. The sensation as he caresses my swollen nipples is incredible and I let out a little shriek.

  “Still okay?” He pauses, lifts the wand from my skin.

  “Yes. Yes, it’s fine. I… Please don’t stop.”

  “Let’s make this a little more interesting then.”

  As I watch him in the mirror ,he tucks the still whirring electrode into the waistband of his jeans.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” I ask, perplexed.

  He glances up, catching my eye in the mirror. “You know it doesn’t. I need to keep it away from my zip though. Metal and electricity can be an unpredictable combination. You’ll have noticed there are no buckles on your cuffs.”

  I hadn’t but now he mentions it…

  He moves in close to me, then leans down to kiss the tip of my shoulder. A sizzle of electricity arcs across even before his lips make contact.

  “Oh my god! You’re live!”

  “Mmm, so now, every time I touch you, wherever I touch you…”

  I let my head drop back between my shoulders, arching my back to thrust my breasts forward. Nathan takes the hint and reaches around me to cup my breasts in his hands. The sparkling ripple across my sensitive skin is exquisite, especially when he feathers his fingertips across my pebbled peaks. I turn my head to watch the stream of purple sparks reflected in the mirror, and marvel, not for the first time, at the wonders of physics.

  “Oh, holy fuck, that feels amazing. Like pins and needles, but different. It’s sort of—exhilarating.” I’m struggling to find just the right word to describe the peculiar but delicious vibrations snaking across my skin. I lean back, rubbing my body against Nathan and loving the throbbing sensation against my bare shoulders and buttocks as he continues his delightful exploration of my body. His lips, his tongue, his fingers all emit sparks wherever he touches me, and all combine to create that perfect ecstasy of pure sensation.

  He draws his palms up my legs and I spread my thighs wide without him needing to ask, but he stops short of touching me where I long for it most.

  “Nathan, please…”

  “Mmm, yes, Eva? What is it?”

  “Is it safe, you know, to use there?”

  “There?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean here? Watch.”

  Obedient, I lift my head to observe in the mirror as, in a trail of glittering sparks, he draws the backs of his fingers down the centre of my stomach, across my smooth mound, then straightens them to bring the tip of his middle finger within a millimeter of my clit.

  The affect is amazing. A zing of pure electrical delight shoots straight to my core and I let out a scream of startled pleasure.

  It’s quick, too quick, then it’s gone. Whimpering in frustration, I am thrusting my hips forward, seeking the contact, the intensity of his tingling touch. Nathan moves away, close to me still but not quite close enough.

  “What do you need, Miss Byrne?”

  “I need to come. Now.”

  “A good sub learns to wait. To control herself. And you want to be a good sub, don’t you?”

  “I do. You know I do. But how long? How much longer do I need to wait?”

  “You’ll wait as long as I say. You know that, don’t you? Because here, when I have you naked and tied to my bed, I’m in control, not you.”

  “Yes, I know that.” I turn from the mirror, twisting my shoulders to look directly at him. “But if I beg you, would you relent?”

  He quirks his lips in an almost-smile, his stern features softening. “Well, there is always that possibility, Miss Byrne. Are you going to beg me to release you or to let you come?”

  “To let me come. And yes. I am begging. Please. I can’t—”

  He stops my pleading with a quick, highly charged kiss which leaves my lips quivering and my pussy clenching. His hands are on me again, one reaching between my legs from in front, the other from behind. He stokes my labia, long, slow caresses which send shockwaves through my body. I widen my stance, gyrating my hips in a silent appeal.

  He circles my anus with one hand and strokes my clit with the other. The thrill sets every nerve ending alight, all my senses attuned to the exquisite torture. It is intense, utterly exquisite. The pins and needles snake across my pussy, then focus briefly, centring where his clever fingers direct their energy. The sensation dissipates as he moves his fingers out of range again, across my buttocks, my inner thighs.

  Moments later he’s back, and this time he inserts one finger into my pussy, the wetness there making his entry easy. The thrumming against my inner walls is amazing, the vibrations sinking deep, satisfying. He withdraws, then uses the moisture he has gathered to ease the tip of that same finger into my arse.

  He withdraws it as quickly as he entered, but the intimacy of his shimmering touch is enough to send me hurtling past the point of no return. I am shaking, shuddering as the feeling mounts, grows, intensifies. I’m close, very close, reaching for my climax, straining for it. I’m panting, begging him to help me. His wonderful, thrilling fingers are again traveling across the rest of my body

  “I have you, angel. Come for me. Come now.”

  The whirring stops, and I let out a moan. The sound is strangled in my throat as Nathan takes my clit between his finger and thumb and squeezes, gentle at first, then firmer.

  I am still begging for release when he reaches up and unclips the connector holding my cuffs together and I slump into his arms. He lays me on the bed on my back, parts my legs and buries his face between my thighs.

  His mouth closes around my greedy, swollen clit. He sucks, and I am gone.

  * * * *

  Thirty minutes later, I emerge from the shower, once again swathed in Nathan’s bathrobe which he was considerate enough to bring in from the lounge. I perch on the end of the bed to towel dry my hair and comb out the tangles. The case containing the violet wand is still here so I open it to examine the contents. Who would have imagined particle physics could be put to such erotic use? I regard Ben Franklyn, the guy who is generally credited with discovering electricity, with a new-found respect.

  I can hear the low mumble of the television out in the lounge so I assume that must be where Nathan is. I’ve had enough solitude for now. I have questions about what else might be in his toy box so I head off in search of him.

  Nathan is lying on the settee. At first, he doesn’t realise I am there, his attention riveted on the wall-mounted flat screen where Team GB is gearing up for great things in the Olympic velodrome. I approach soundlessly, planting a kiss on the top of his head from behind.

  His reflexes are good, I’ll grant him that as he shoots out his arm, grabs me and tumbles me forward over the back of the settee. I land in his lap, my bathrobe unceremoniously tangled around my shoulders leaving my bum exposed. Never one to miss an opportunity Nathan holds me, wrig
gling, across his knee and lands several hard slaps on my rump. I squeal, laughing as he lets me go and I scramble up to take his gorgeous face between my palms and kiss him again, deeply. He is badly in need of a shave and the stubble is scratchy, sexy. I lift my head to look into his twinkling, dark chocolate eyes, and he winks at me.

  “Nice shower, Miss Byrne?”

  “Mmm, lovely. What now? What else are we doing today?”

  “You’re insatiable. For now, we’re chilling. Watching the Olympics. Care to join me?” He shifts me around, so I am lying alongside him on the settee, our legs intertwined.

  “Sounds great. Mind if I get a cup of tea and a snack first, though? I’m starving.”

  “Is that a hint I’m not looking after you properly, Miss Byrne? Stay there.” He pushes easily to his feet and heads over to the kitchen.

  “I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to disturb you. I can get my own tea.”

  “If you’re feeling energetic get the guitar and show me how well you can play it. I fancy another of your private little concerts, Miss Byrne. Then I might have to jump your bones again, sadly. Can’t be helped. You’re very, very sexy when you play, do you know that?” He tosses the careless compliments back over his shoulder as he grabs a couple of mugs from a cupboard and fills the kettle.

  Always in my element when playing music, whatever the instrument, I’m happy to comply. I look around for the guitar and spot it still propped against the kitchen worktop where I left it. I scramble off the settee and fetch it. Coming back, I perch on the edge of the settee, cradling the instrument across my knees, strumming lightly and listening to the tone. Instinctively I turn the tuning keys ever so slightly, quite unnecessarily as I tuned it only a couple of hours or so ago. Nathan comes back, placing a tray on the coffee table in front of me, carrying two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate Bourbon biscuits.

  “My favorites.” He smiles, nibbling on one as he sits on the settee opposite me, leaning back to enjoy my performance.

  “Any requests?” I ask, glancing across at him, remembering that first time I played for him, in the kitchen at Black Combe. His answer is the same now as it had been then. “No. You choose.”

  I nod and strum a few experimental chords before picking up the old Ralph McTell classic, Streets of London. Never much of a singer I hum along, bending over the instrument, rocking slightly and glancing up from time to time to find his attention unwavering, fixed on me. When I finish I sit back, smiling. I’m not an especially accomplished guitarist, not by my normal standards, but I can get by well enough. And I love music, I just love playing, whatever the instrument.

  Nathan clearly appreciates my efforts. “As ever, Miss Byrne, you impress me. I get hard just looking at you with an instrument in your hands. Particularly mine.” He winks. “Maybe you could give me guitar lessons. And did I mention how very sexy you are when you’re performing for me? That first time, when you played Bolero, it was all I could do not to fuck you senseless there and then. Interesting choice of music that night, I must say. Very sensual, provocative. I rather thought you might be gagging for it. I was, definitely. But with Rosie and Grace there, I thought best not…”

  Entering into the spirit I return the banter. “Pity. I can see your problem, though. And you’ve so made up for it since.” I grin at him cheekily, loving the suggestive tit-for-tat, another first for me. Then, my curiosity and innate seriousness getting the better of me, I ask the question uppermost in my mind at this moment. “How come you’ve got a guitar, but you don’t play? And a piano?”

  I am puzzled. I just can’t see why anyone would own two such beautiful instruments and never use them. The beautiful piano back at Black Combe graces the large dining room but had stood there untouched, for years I gather, before I got my hands on it.

  “The guitar was a present from my brother. He thought I needed a hobby. And I bought the piano because I like it. It’s a nice thing.” He reaches for another Bourbon.

  “Hmph, your brother obviously doesn’t know you very well. If he knew where your interests really lay he’d have bought you whips and a set of handcuffs. Don’t you two get on?” The words slip out before I realise what I’m saying, and I look up tentatively.

  To my relief Nathan is still smiling, leaning forward to pick up his mug. He takes a sip. “Me and my brother get on just fine, Miss Byrne, and I suspect Daniel has an idea regarding my ‘interests’ as you put it. I rather suspect he shares them—sort of a family failing you might say. But I already have lots of whips and handcuffs, as you well know. And now I have a guitar too. Which would you prefer to play with this afternoon?”

  “Does he know about your whips and chains? Daniel?”

  “I’m sure he does. And, Miss Byrne, it’s handcuffs, not chains. Although I prefer a nice piece of rope personally. You seem very determined to discuss my other toys. Should I fetch a pair of handcuffs for you, demonstrate how they work? Or would you rather play me another tune?”

  In response I grip the guitar neck and bend over it again. Feeling a little of the same challenge I felt that first night at Black Combe I’m determined to use this opportunity to show off my skills, my talents. And quite consciously to manipulate the situation, if only to prove to myself I can. I want to play something sensual, sexy, arousing, and after a moment or two’s thought I settle for an acoustic version of Something, by George Harrison.

  I have Nathan’s complete attention, as before. He leans back in the settee, his eyes never leaving me. Even though I never look up from the instrument I can feel his dark, brooding gaze on my bent head as I stretch my fingers across the neck of the guitar to form the chords, strumming softly. Eventually the soft melody ends, and the last strains die away. Neither of us makes a move. Not wanting to discuss whips and handcuffs again, at least not for a while, I decide to try something a little more ambitious. This is a lovely instrument, responsive. I’ve become attuned to it, this might work.

  I lean over the guitar again and start another piece, this time a classical melody but one made famous as a film soundtrack, as so many are. This piece is written for classical guitar and sounds superb when played unplugged. Under my fingers the sensuous, romantic, melody of Cavatina by Stanley Myers floats into the room, haunting, atmospheric. And it seems to fit the mood today quite well.

  Nathan is listening idly, obviously content to let me strum away, but he comes to attention as I start this last piece, as he recognizes it. His eyes are on me, I can feel them, intense, burning, even though I never take mine off the neck of the guitar where I’m carefully working the steel strings with my fingers. The fingering is complicated, and I’m playing pretty much by ear—I need to concentrate. The lovely, haunting melody fills the room, soars around us, caresses us. The passion and tragedy within the piece is drawn out by the nakedness of the delivery, just as it was intended. No frills, no fancy electronic treatment. Just me, a guitar and a beautiful piece of music.

  “I recognize that, I’ve heard it before somewhere.” Nathan’s words are murmured softly as the last strains die away. I glance up, meet his eyes, which are dark, almost black. This time we’re alone, and I know what comes next.

  “That was superb, again, Eva. What was it?” The question is voiced softly, Nathan leaning forward to gaze at me.

  “Cavatina, by Stanley Myers.” His blank look tells me he needs more. “It was the theme tune to The Deer Hunter.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember now. A lovely piece and played so beautifully. And deliberately? I think you know the effect it had on me, and what happens next?” I do, but still he makes no move. And then, “Is that how you think of me, Eva? As a hunter? A predator? Have I caught you?” The soft voice is gentle, caressing, the question a serious one.

  Appreciating the significance of the moment I don’t answer immediately, considering his words. Maybe my choice was not so random after all. I suspect that nothing ever is in my world.

  At last, I answer, “I happened across your path, and you caugh
t me. Perhaps. But it was me who was hunting. And I found.”

  Smiling softly he reaches over to take the guitar and places it back in its case. “You certainly did, thank God. And so did I.” He hesitates, watching me, then continues, his voice low and seductive, “You know I need to fuck you now, don’t you? I think that was the idea, yes?”

  “Yes,” I whisper, marveling at my own new-found power to affect events.

  “Here?”

  It seems I have a choice of location too. Is there no end to my powers? I nod. “Here’s good,” I whisper, looking across the coffee table at him. He holds my gaze, his chocolate eyes sexy and sensual, his arousal obvious.

  “Any particular preferences, Little Eva? What would you like to do?”

  I think for a moment, then smile, remembering. “That thing you did last night, when you were inside me and you stroked me, stroked my clit, until I came. And came. And came. Can you do that again? Please?”

  “It will be my absolute pleasure, Miss Byrne.”

  And it was mine too. Absolutely.

  * * * *

  Later, our long cold teacups replenished, Nathan sits down next to me on the settee. He picks up my mug and places it in my hands. “Here, drink your tea before it goes cold again, you insatiable little beast. I made Earl Grey for you. Fancy a Bourbon?”

  I sip and nibble in silence, his arm lightly slung over my shoulders while Nathan’s attention drifts back to the Olympics. The cycling has long since given way to high diving, and find myself watching enviously as the lean, athletic bodies angle gracefully through the air to land with hardly a ripple.

  I murmur absently, “I wish I could swim.”

  “What’s this, Miss Byrne, something you can’t actually do? Maybe there’s hope for my battered ego yet.”

  “I never learnt. It looks like fun, though. And you never know when it might be useful. When someone might toss you into a huge bath and try to drown you, for example.” I peep up at him, and he tightens his arm around me.