by Flora Dain
After a while – minutes? Hours? I can hardly tell – there’s a light knock. I look up with a start. News at last? I hope it’s nothing bad. I can’t take any more shocks tonight.
It’s Darnley. He slips into the room and stands in the shadow by the door, letting it close quietly behind him. As I take him in I hold my breath. He’s wearing a short robe in black velour, tied at the waist. He looks lean and muscular. On his chest I catch a gleam from the small wolf’s-head logo embossed in silver. In the shadows he looks stunning, the hollows in his cheeks etched in the dim light from the lamp, emphasising the jutting, predatory cheekbones, the tough line of his jaw and the cruel possibilities of his long mouth.
He looks like he’s trying to make up his mind about me and fast losing patience because he’s still undecided. ‘Are you OK? You’ve been awake for hours. It’s late.’ He walks slowly across the room, his easy grace at odds with his troubled expression. ‘Can’t sleep?’
He runs a finger lightly over the taut knuckles clasped around my knees. ‘You’re cold. How long have you been sitting like this?’
He holds my gaze as he sits down beside me on the edge of the bed, prises my hands away and folds them into his. His warm clasp revives me enough to shift towards him and stretch out my stiff, cramped legs.
‘Did my lamp wake you?’ I shiver as feeling prickles back into my calf muscles in a shower of pins and needles.
His frown deepens and he folds his arms around me and pulls me close, his gaze stern. ‘Not exactly. The thought of you sitting in here with the light on is putting me off. What makes you sleep, Ella? What is it you need?’
I lean forward and breathe in his glorious aroma, heady and feral, and as I lift my eyes to his I see that he knows. He knows all about what I want.
At the same time a tiny part of me notices he’s still fingering the bones on my wrist, his touch gentle, warm, like he’s measuring, probing. It’s oddly arousing, just that faint, persistent touch. I’d no idea that part of me, just at the inner base of my hand, at the thinnest part of my arm, could be so sensitive.
Or maybe it’s because whenever he touches me there he seems unnaturally still.
The rest of me suffuses with deliberate, blatant lust. My breath quickens as my breasts graze the soft fabric of his robe through the thin satin stretched taut by their weight as I lean forward.
A flicker of awareness crosses his face. He can tell. The faint tilt of one eyebrow shows his reaction as clearly as if I’d said it out loud. ‘Really? Is that all?’
I reply with the faintest brush of my lips along the edge of his jaw. He sits very still for a moment as I move round to touch them to his earlobes, his neck and then the delicious hollow at the base of his throat. It’s a kind of homage but I’m powerless to invest it with any meaning. I’m simply reacting to the sensual force field that’s building around us.
‘Can I ask you a favour?’ His smile is friendly, his expression veiled.
My eyes widen briefly and then I kiss him again, scared he’ll ask me to stop and this might be my last chance.
‘Can I tie you up?’
He might be asking me to pass him a tissue. I sit up, wondering if I’ve heard him right. His expression’s calm. He’s waiting for an answer. I’ve heard about this. I’ve even heard it’s fun. But nobody’s ever asked me to do it.
My pulse shoots into overdrive, pounding in my ears and almost drowning out my instant, unthinking reply. ‘Yes.’
In minutes his velour sash is looped under the corners of the mattress and first one and then the other slim, quivering wrist is slip-tied to one of the loose ends. When he pulls on my ankles to drag me down the bed a little way, my arms are stretched wide over my head. Without the sash to confine it his robe swings open as he works, his movements brisk and efficient as he spreads my legs wide to get me into position.
I gaze entranced at the sight of his rippling skin, gleaming in the low light from the lamp as he bends over me to fix me into place for whatever enormity he’s planning.
The thought that he’s done this before – and, judging from the efficient way he’s tying me up, often – sends arousal rocketing through me in sheets of flame.
Now the power of his spell is overwhelming and I’m falling fast. I cling to reality by blurting out one more question, my voice shaky. It’s not from panic but real curiosity. It’s also a feeble bid to assert myself against the floodtide of his energy, its force so great it threatens any minute to sweep me away. ‘Why? Why are you doing this?’
He pauses as he kneels over me, his powerful thighs warm at either side of my face, the crotch of his boxers already thrillingly filled and bulging and very close to my mouth. I can smell the heady aroma of mingled spice and earth that pervades his body heat.
He shrugs off his robe and hurls it across the room where it flaps over a low chair like a defeated vampire. ‘Because I want you to keep still.’ His eyes glitter as he leans over me, his jutting erection making his intention plain.
He grabs my ankles and hauls me down the bed a little further, forces a pillow under my hips and then pushes my thighs apart until they ache. He leans back on his haunches to admire me for a moment before he swoops down to kiss me on the lips, his tongue insistent and probing, forcing gently into my mouth and then lingering, massaging mine in a gentle greeting – or is it staking a claim? – before pulling away.
He looks deep into my eyes and for a second I see a glimmer of heat. ‘And because I like it.’
He pulls away and moves back down my body to where I’m splayed wide, open to his inspection and now throbbing painfully, powerless and aroused to the point of numbness. ‘Are you always as swollen as this?’ He peers at me intently and begins to probe me gently with his fingers, easing into me with the sure touch of an expert.
I gasp at his touch, my thighs jerking back together in a reflex utterly beyond my control, but his response is swift and painful.
He slaps me hard on my inner thigh. ‘Keep still or I’ll tie your ankles too.’
Now I’m staring at him in shock, my neck aching from the effort of holding up my head to see what he’ll do next. I’m starting to tremble and it’s making me jumpy.
He probes again, his fingers intimate and wildly provoking. He watches me closely as he does it. ‘Hey, easy. Lie back. I’m not going to hurt you, Ella. I just want to try something.’
What kind of thing? I stare back at him, helpless in his gaze as he probes me again, his eyes fierce but his touch gentle as a whisper, as if to prove he can do nice as well as nasty. And all at once I want both, and fast. I grin at the enormity of my surrender, my lips parted to drag in air. ‘Yes.’
It’s all he needs. Triumph flickers in his eyes as he lowers his head and begins to feast.
His tongue could launch ships or start wars. I’ve never been so tormented, so teased or so relished in all my life. He sweeps its long, strong tip all along one side of my wide, splayed dip, skims the apex and then runs it down the other side, sending bolts of arousal shooting through me. Then he does it again. And again. And infinitely slowly he works his way into my folds, testing and tasting deep into my petals, parting each layer with patience and careful skill as if each hidden secret he finds there is precious and each act of separation an experience not to be missed.
I writhe and buck under his exquisite torment, tugging on my soft velour bonds like a captive doe in the hunter’s grasp. Each time I twitch out of reach he slaps me, and soon he growls low in his throat as he does it, the sound almost a snarl, inflaming me further. At last he reaches my centre and the first light, tingling touch of his tongue on my pulsing, swollen bud makes me scream aloud in rage and frustration.
He slaps me again, harder now. ‘Quiet. You’ll have half the hotel in here. Use some self-control or I’ll have to resort to discipline.’
He’ll what? Ye gods … what have I started?
He stays on target, his tongue edging back through my layers and probing deeper, below me this
time, to where my rump hovers, trembling over the void on its pillow hill. Now he brings his fingers into play, pushing them into me, first one, then more, and cruelly grazes my bud with finger and thumb, splaying me open with his other hand to expose me fully and deny me even the small satisfaction of feeling my own softness close and maybe tip me over the edge.
I whimper as his fingers continue to graze me, gentle and insistent, but never enough – never close enough, never hard enough – always easing away just as I think the pressure will make me erupt.
Now he cruelly abandons my quivering, pulsing, lustful little crater as he looms back into my line of vision. He leans up over me and continues his torment along my taut, rippling belly and finally reaches my jutting, heaving breasts. Here he takes his time, folding his hands around them and kneading hard, making them bulge and swell up before me like mountains. He smiles down at me as he rolls my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, softly at first and then increasing the pressure until I cry out.
As he slaps me again I feel something drip somewhere, I can only hope on the pillow. It tickles madly, adding to my torture, and right on cue he releases one breast and searches down below with his hand. ‘Someone wet already? We’ve got a long way to go yet.’
Keeping one hand busy on my breasts he leans back up and now his face is close to mine as he runs his hand lightly along the soft inner skin of my taut, captured arm. His fingers rest on my wrist and linger where the sensitive skin slants away from the loose binding because of the angle he’s forced me to take. He probes the skin under the loop with his finger, testing gently, and all at once I see a gleam in his eyes and a new stillness in his look. At the same moment his erection jerks painfully against my flank.
Whoa. What is this?
I hear him draw in a long, deep breath. ‘Beautiful.’ He looks back at me with a glimmer of heat so intense it scares me. It lasts only a second and then his expression veils once more and he returns to my breasts, his mouth hungry now. His teeth nip and tease at my nipples.
Something has changed, intensified. There’s a new urgency about him. Now each time I cry out he slaps me hard but I hardly feel it, I’m so excited. The places are beginning to join up into a hot glow. Each new blow from the hard flat of his hand simply stokes one more flame in a growing fire that rages everywhere down south and threatens to burn me up.
At last, as I whimper and thrash in my bonds, he takes pity on me and returns to the eager, pulsing furnace between my legs. His hungry mouth fastens once more on my most private place.
This time his hunger overwhelms even mine and I feel the power of his jaws as he sucks forcefully, bringing so much more heat to the surface I think I shall erupt. And at long last he fastens on my aching bud and sucks hard. I come in seconds, screaming aloud, and he instantly clamps a hand over my mouth. I scream against it until my throat aches, mewling and thrashing under his jaws. The force of my climax slowly ebbs away but he stays rigidly in place, feasting over and over, sucking on my throbbing, tormented bud time and again until I start to shudder and weep from the sheer depth of my forced pleasure.
Finally tears of weakness run down into my hair in a continuous stream. He pulls away and leans up over me to fasten his hungry, busy mouth on mine. And under his powerful, juice-laden tongue I yield all over again, weeping freely under his kiss in a desperate attempt to thank him for my pleasure.
When he pulls away he hauls out the pillow from beneath me and places it gently under my head. I watch bewildered, half expecting him to claim his own satisfaction. I wonder fleetingly if I have strength left to pleasure him like I should. I owe him. ‘That was sensational,’ I whisper.
In reply he simply smiles down at me, kisses away my tears and then leans over each balled fist, still securely bound in velour. He loosens first one knot and then the other and draws the sash out from under the mattress and loops it over his shoulder.
He leans down and touches his lips to mine. ‘Now get some sleep.’ He folds the quilt around me, turns off the lamp, retrieves his robe and heads for the door.
With the room in darkness all I can see is his outline, a darker shape against the night. From somewhere beyond the drapes at the open window his eyes must pick up a hint of moonlight because they gleam briefly in the darker shadow he’s now become, darkness on darkness as he smiles a final goodnight.
The door closes softly behind him and in seconds, thanks to the blistering storm of orgasms I’ve just endured, I’m adrift on some warm sea, glowing and content. As I drift I think I hear a man’s voice close by. It’s not Darnley, but it’s oddly familiar. Another guest? Someone in the corridor?
I’m too sleepy to care. Maybe I dreamed it.
I wake in the early light to find my thighs on fire and a note on my pillow.
It has just three words written on it. ‘Mitchell in contact.’
I groan, turn over and go back to sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘No, Darnley. I’m being sensible.’
Morning’s here and already we’re arguing. Our food smells delicious – ham and eggs, warm pastries and coffee. Our intimate table for two is shining with silver and vivid with fruit juice. Our breakfast sparkles cheerfully in the sunshine.
Darnley glowers at me, his expression stormy.
I’m damp from the shower, my hair a curling, rebellious mess, and I’m wearing only the thin waffle-cotton robe supplied with our thick, luxurious towels. He’s fully dressed, his soft silk tie carefully knotted, his suit immaculate, no hair out of place.
He looks stunning.
I feel soft and pink and ready for bed.
His cheeks slant into deep hollows over his clenched, stubborn jaw. He’s already been at work a good two hours on seemingly endless business, most of it baffling and technical.
He’s just poured a third cup of coffee so he can stay at table long enough to make me eat the croissant he put on my plate before I sat down.
I’m not hungry. I’m trying to be reasonable. I’ll eat when he sees sense.
We’re arguing about Ryan and I’m gaining ground.
‘If Ryan’s gone to Fort Worth there must be some reason. And I want to talk to him alone. You’ll just get in the way. Or you’ll bully him into saying something he’ll regret.’ My affection for Ryan is long gone but I’m no fan of blood sports. Exposing Ryan to Darnley’s wrath without prior warning would be like pushing a puppy into the den of a leopard – or a Wolfe.
Darnley’s exasperated. ‘It makes no sense. You want to meet him. I want to meet him. We’ll go together.’
‘He wants to meet me,’ I insist, my temper rising. ‘And I want to hear his side of the story.’
The wave of anger from across the table hits me like a blast from a furnace.
‘His side? So I’m a liar now?’
I roll my eyes and start on the croissant, hoping this tiny concession will calm him down. ‘There’s two sides to everything and so far I’ve only heard yours. I know him. I can’t believe he’s as bad as you make out. Maybe you’ve got this all wrong. Maybe it’s all a mistake.’
He gulps the last of his coffee and crashes the cup back onto the table. ‘Fine, if you insist. At least let me put you in a decent car and send somebody with you. It’s a long drive. You don’t know the city. You’ll never make it in that death-trap rental you came in yesterday.’
I slam my knife down on my plate, spraying flakes of pastry all over the cloth. ‘It’s a perfectly reputable company and the car’s fine, thanks very much. It’s less than an hour from here. It’s hardly Timbuktu. If it makes you any happier I’ll get them to send a bigger car.’
‘Eat.’ He slumps back in his chair and I relax. If he’s scolding me about my calorie intake then I’ve won on the car. I cram flaky morsels of croissant and peach conserve into my mouth and pretend to chew. His sullen, furious gaze has made my mouth go dry. A hasty sip of fruit juice helps.
But I don’t hold his a
ttention long. I’m starting to realise that running an empire is hard work. The time he devoted to me last night must have been filched from a tight schedule. I woke to the deep, steady staccato of his voice as he strode about the suite making call after call, taking others in between. They’ve carried on without cease.
He’s switched off his phone to pick a fight during breakfast but the fifteen minutes he’s given up to me and my problems are fast running out and now I see his eyes stray repeatedly to his watch.
With any luck he’ll soon leave me in peace. And as I finish the last of my croissant he heaves a long sigh, gives me an exasperated look and gets to his feet. ‘Fine. Do what you like.’
I get up from the table in a flurry of crumbs and shake out my damp, knotted hair. As I run my fingers through it he notices my wrists and frowns again. All at once he seizes my hands, turns them over palm upwards and inspects them carefully. Last night’s passion has left faint rosy rings on the outside edges where I tugged repeatedly during our glorious – my glorious – ordeal.
I recall with a faint blush that he held back from taking his own pleasure. I hold my breath and try to pull away but he grips me harder and glances up, his eyes dark as graphite. ‘Are you OK? Should you put something on these?’
‘I’m fine.’ I smile airily, my tone light. ‘The marks will be gone by evening. Anyway, what’s the big deal about letting me out alone? Scared somebody else will tie me up?’
His eyes flash and for a split second I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I breathe out slowly as his eyes narrow.
‘You don’t get it, do you? You might be in danger, Ella. You’re worth money now to the right people. You seem to think industrial secrets are a walk in the park but if there’s big money at stake – and I assure you there could be – you’re at risk. I just want to keep you safe, that’s all.’