by Flora Dain
At that moment a butler hurries out to meet us. ‘Mr Wolfe? I hope you had a good trip, sir. Mr and MrsWolfe are in the garden area. You’re in the Lincoln Suite.’
Darnley leads me through to the vast paved area outside the picture windows where the rest of his family are waiting, clustered round the barbecue like any normal family and pointedly ignoring the hovering waiters, I assume like any normal millionaires.
I ask myself fleetingly whether maybe they should devote some of the spare time their money frees up for them to helping their younger son with his troubles. I warn myself instantly it’s none of my business. Families have their own way of dealing with things.
What still lingers is the incident I’ve just witnessed. It felt like more than sibling rivalry, a whole lot more. But from Darnley’s expression and the set of his jaw I sense he’s not going to talk about it any time soon.
I vow to tackle him later. And, failing him, maybe his parents can enlighten me. They’re turning towards me now, their smooth, socially attuned expressions polite, friendly and bland as they shake my hand and murmur my name like they welcome teachers into their glitzy world all the time.
But his brother’s wild, stricken expression still haunts me – almost as much as Darnley’s terrifying and unexpected reaction.
His family are all scared of him. Maybe this is why.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lunch is a barbecue but subtly different from the kind I’m used to. Here it’s a curious mixture of family males laughing a lot and doing normal things with greasy aprons, burnt steaks and dripping marshmallows and – to me – less normal but quietly discreet waiters passing round platters of things we can actually eat.
There are so many people here I lose my shyness in the race to remember all their names. I give up when it comes to the children, there are so many. Darnley stays close and fends off questions.
Lydia, his stepmother, is an impressive fifty and works at it. She’s slim and toned with matchless make-up and salon-perfect hair. I detect a whiff of the limelight about her – a former dancer, maybe? But there’s nothing phoney about her love for her stepson. It glows in her face.
If she’s surprised at his choice of companion she masks it well but she looks wary. When she asks how we met he tells her it was recent. When she hopes we’ll like the Lincoln Suite she’s prepared for us he turns to his father and asks how he’s enjoying his retirement.
Aaron Wolfe is handsome and tanned, with the hearty air of a successful politician. He seems genuinely pleased to see us. ‘Darnley. Glad you could make it.’ He aims a wink at me. ‘I guess he wants to show off his new girlfriend. Pleased to meet you, honey. Now let me guess. You’re a model too? Or is it a starlet this time?’ He puts his head on one side.
I sense his unease as he tries to place me. Clearly I’m not Darnley’s usual style.
He muses aloud. ‘No, no. Natural highlights, dreamy blue eyes … an outdoor type. Personal trainer, maybe?’ His knowing leer somehow invests this wholesome therapy with a strip-joint-ful of sleaze.
I feel awkward. Therapy and sleaze come closer than he knows.
Darnley cuts in, his tone icy. ‘Ella’s a poet.’
‘And I teach,’ I say quickly, ashamed to claim the heights of Whitman and Keats.
Aaron looks dumbfounded.
Lydia steps in. ‘Don’t mind him, Ella. It’s lovely to have you. In fact we rarely see Darnley here, with or without his friends. These days he moves in such different circles.’ Her swift up-and-down glance hints that teaching is one of them.
I smile politely and sip my champagne. At that moment Eldon appears at my side, still scowling.
With an effort I manage a friendly glance. ‘Hi again. Feeling better now?’
He’s lost the smell of fish but his temper’s no better. As Darnley turns away to talk to Lydia, Eldon leans close to me and lowers his voice. ‘How long’s this been going on?’
I lift my chin. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, are you always like this with strangers? You could try “Hello”, or “How are you?”’ I deal with sulky teens every day. If he wants to behave like one that’s how I’ll treat him. He looks taken aback so I slip in another question. ‘So tell me about the fishing. Have you got a boat or do you wade?’
Here I’m on safer ground. I grew up on the Maine coast and I still have a boat there – old and badly in need of some paint but still mine. I’ve even been out fishing with my dad once or twice, though without much luck. Eldon stares at me for a moment and then to my relief launches into fishing talk. I quickly learn what he catches and how often and that his vessel of choice is a large rowboat moored nearby.
‘I guess that explains the muscles,’ I say lightly, with a glance at his forearms that are sturdy and deeply tanned.
But all at once he glances over my shoulder and looks scared.
‘Making a play for my girl?’ Darnley has come up behind me. His low murmur has a startling effect.
Eldon’s jaw clenches. He darts me an angry look and abruptly turns away. He pushes through the crowd towards the rank of smoking barbecues where his catch is being skewered ready to place over the coals.
Lydia greets him fondly, her face lighting up when she sees him. Darnley looks on, his expression thoughtful.
‘Did you have to? I was just getting somewhere with him.’ My low hiss quivers with indignation.
‘So I saw. What were you talking about?’ His tone is sharp.
‘Fishing, if you must know. Why did you scare him off like that?’
‘Keep your voice down.’ He glances down at me, his face stern. ‘Did I? I thought you might need a hand. He can be unpredictable with strangers. If you’ve had enough of my relatives would you like to see our rooms?’
He looks at me pointedly, his face a steady blank. I give him a questioning look but he holds my gaze and says nothing.
He wants me alone.
Arousal flares and settles into a steady glow. I lower my eyes and try to look demure as I follow him into the house. As we pass the bowing waiters I feel their eyes on my back.
* * *
The Lincoln Suite is in a wing of the mansion that juts out into the forest. The walls are painted white and hold one or two striking art works – I spot a Lichtenstein and a Modigliani and my heart sinks. I suspect they’re genuine.
The picture windows reveal a sea of green from the sunlight shimmering through the trees onto banks and clusters of leaves. Nearby I see the sparkle of water where a small stream tumbles down the hillside.
‘It’s beautiful here. Was this always your room?’ I spot traces of a teenage Darnley – here a football pennant on the wall, there a heavy-metal poster.
He shrugs. ‘These are mine. So is the art. We came here in the summer sometimes. But the whole family uses the place, not just us. They’ve put this stuff in here to amuse me, I guess. Like the flowers they left for you.’
The huge vases of pale blooms fill the rooms with scent and a touch of glamour. As I turn back to say something I find him right behind me, his expression troubled.
I lower my voice. ‘Is it difficult, having me here?’
‘You being here is the only thing that makes it bearable.’ He takes me in his arms, pulls me close and drops a kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘You don’t have to work so hard with Eldon. He’s OK. He’s – he gets edgy when I’m around.’
I frown while he squeezes me to him, and the spicy, feral scent of his skin where the column of his throat emerges from his open shirt starts to work its magic. ‘What bugs him? What’s he got against you?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ The look of pain on his face tears my heart.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘That was a crass thing to say. But he seems so hostile. He’s a little old for that, surely? Sibling rivalry?’
Darnley’s expression is oddly opaque. ‘Half-sibling. He’s Lydia’s son. Try not to provoke him. He can’t help it. I irritate him, that’s all. We avoid each other.’
&nbs
p; ‘Does he need help?’
He pulls me even closer, his chest rising and falling as his face contracts into a frown. ‘Can we stop talking about my brother for ten minutes? Right now I need help. A lot of help.’
He touches his lips to mine. His heat and his taste are as thrilling as wine. I lean against him and grin, as helpless in the pull of his power as a flame in a draught. ‘How can I help you? Tell me.’ My soft response has a galvanic effect. He draws me over to the long, sleek sofa that stretches along one side of the room right underneath the vast Lichtenstein painting. In seconds I’m pinned below him and he’s devouring me with his mouth, his tongue urgent and filling, his heat and his burning lips flaring heat of my own as his swelling erection juts painfully against my hips.
With twitches of his loins he places himself at the precise angle where his manhood can tease my deepest, most sensitive female spot. He’s aligned perfectly, his jutting root hard against my gaping, eager mound as I spread my thighs wide under his weight and writhe with need.
‘Won’t someone see us?’ I gasp, as his lips pull away for a brief moment and he reaches between us to free himself. ‘All these windows …’
He grins, his beautiful, regular teeth glinting white in the sunlight spilling into the room. ‘And? Anyway, the glass is reflective. In daylight we’re not visible from outside. Now stand up. I want to see you strip.’
I sway before him, taking off my few clothes with slow seductive movements. I rock a little, playing kitten, and bend low from time to time so he can admire the goods. When I’m down to bra and panties and facing away from him he hooks his fingers into the lacy trim along my thigh, pulls me towards him and edges my panties down a little way. Then he places both hands on my hips and draws me close.
‘Bend over. Keep your legs straight. Touch the floor with your fingertips.’
Obediently I plunge my fingertips into the soft white pile of the fluffy rug at our feet and spread my thighs wide. With a broad sweep of his hands he strokes my backside, still glowing from last night’s attentions. It stings like crazy but his touch instantly fires hot, pounding arousal.
‘Don’t move.’
I stay in position, puzzled, as he moves across the room. I hear him opening and closing doors in the en-suite and finally he comes back and resumes his seat. ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He starts to kiss me, his lips and his tongue stinging and hot on my punished skin.
I tremble as he kisses lower, his lips edging closer to my eager, exposed sex, now splayed wide before him as my feet slither apart at each teasing flex of his fingers between my soft inner thighs. All at once I feel a slick of lube, his hand gliding with an intimate, questing touch that almost sends me over the edge. He takes his hands away and warms another spurt from the can, his fingers shiny with it now as he pushes them deep into me, smoothing my sensitive folds till I moan, aching for the money-touch on my throbbing bud. But he carefully avoids it and I whimper as he probes deeper, his fingers thrusting into me, flexing to stretch me open.
‘Hold still.’ His voice is low but has an edge of command. ‘See this?’ He holds something in front of my face, a slim, tapered object with one end pointed and the other flaring to a wide base. ‘Do you know what this is?’
I gasp. I do know but only from pictures. It’s the first one I’ve ever seen for real. ‘Is it a butt plug?’
Now I’m scared.
I hear him laugh. ‘Very good. Now take it in your mouth and suck hard. It’s also a pretty effective gag. We don’t want to scare the guests. Get yourself over my lap.’
He pushes the thing into my mouth and I feel impossibly filled. It’s not as big as his erection but it’s an awkward shape, the tip of it tickling the back of my tongue and the widest part forcing my teeth wide apart.
Heat flares in my groin as he gets me into position and then his hand lands on my bottom, slapping first one side and then the other, really hard. I squeal deep in my throat, the sound effectively muffled by the plug. Below me I feel his erection leap at each blow. Or maybe I simply jolt at his touch as his punishing slaps bring tears to my eyes and blood rushing back into my still lively backside.
Somewhere above me his deep voice lowers. ‘This is partly to keep you in the mood and partly because I feel like it. Keep your legs straight.’ He slaps me hard again unexpectedly as I relax my knees. I yelp, the sound still muffled, and he lets me breathe for a moment before he slips the obscene thing out of my mouth.
‘Now I’m going to push it in. We’ll take it slow. Try to relax and it’ll be easier.’
I whimper again. Down below I throb so hard I think I’ll come on the spot but without his fingers I know that’s impossible.
As it is I’m spread over his knees, my hands still gripping the carpet, my ass splayed wide for him. He steadies my hip with one hand and pushes the thing in with the other, preventing me from flinching away. Slowly it inches into my tight little opening, its invasion lewd and shaming and surprisingly, unbearably hot. Luckily the lube saves the day and despite my nervous clenching the thin end of it slides in with ease.
‘If I let you up, you promise to keep your hands behind your back? No touching.’
I close my eyes as the obscene thing probes again, pushing in even deeper. ‘I promise.’
‘Good girl. Then you deserve a treat. This’ll help you relax. Open wide.’
His hand slides underneath me and his fingers cluster in my dip as he pushes again, and this time his fingers pinch and curl round my swollen, stiffened bud. In seconds I feel my climax build round his slick fingers. As I bear down, my muscles slackening towards rapture, the thing drives in hard. All at once it snaps in place and a massive orgasm washes over me, loosening everything down south. I’m panting now, the spasms rippling away as he pushes me off his lap, still holding me firmly by the hips.
He murmurs low in his throat, a primitive growl of satisfaction. I grin, high on sex and ridiculously happy. ‘You sound like an animal.’
‘When you’re around I feel like one. Keep your legs straight.’
‘Is this thing coming out?’ Light-headed now I giggle again, curious.
Something large and hot and smooth prods against me – his erection.
‘Not till this thing has gone in.’ With a glorious lunge he surges into me, impossibly big, impossibly hot, stretching me wide as the unforgiving plug already in place resists, every thrust a thrilling reminder just how much of me it fills.
‘OK?’ He pauses for an instant as I draw breath, rigid with shock.
I’ve never felt so full. Everything is stretched wide and now the unexpected pressure is having a startling effect as he moves in me again and resumes his stroke. I feel another massive climax start to build, higher and higher … This time we shout together and as I convulse in his grip he swivels me round so my head butts deep into the couch, muffling my groans. He rams hard into me, each stroke a thumping, punishing invasion of hot, powerful gristle, and all at once my belly flares with the heat of his climax and he collapses over me, panting and spent.
When we finally ease apart he kisses me gently on the neck and turns me round to face him. ‘Shower?’
My legs are like jelly, my will even weaker as my body grows limp. ‘Yes, yes,’ I whisper. ‘Anything.’
* * *
When we finally rejoin the family it’s getting dark. Children have been lured to bed or to some distant TV room and servants are pouring fresh drinks. The dining room is set for a formal meal.
As we walk in I get the distinct impression their conversation cuts off as they turn to stare at me, their eyes hard. Were they talking about me? After a moment the feeling passes but it leaves a nasty taste. So I’m not good enough for their precious son …
I pause at a window to gaze out at a swarm of fireflies shimmering under the trees. Darnley unexpectedly winds his arms around me and breathes softly on my hair, ignoring the people around us in a private moment that’s also a very public statement about why I’m here. I’m surpri
sed and touched but a cynical part of me suspects it’s also a good way to fend off questions.
We sit near the head of the table, close to Lydia and Aaron. Eldon sits opposite next to a younger female cousin who chatters to him happily, seemingly unaware that he’s taking no notice. He’s watching us. From odd remarks I catch across the table I gather he’s a college dropout and trying to set up a tiny film company.
Lydia turns to me. ‘Darnley tells me you’re a poet. Is that what you teach?’
When I mention it’s only a hobby and in fact I teach literature and drama, and go on to describe the kind of students I work with, she looks vague.
Now Eldon fixes me with a hostile glare. ‘You work with remedials? What, rubbing their noses in Shakespeare? I bet they find that really useful when they’re fighting for survival out on the streets.’
I hold Eldon’s gaze. ‘Not always Shakespeare. Plus it stretches their vocabulary and teaches them how to express themselves. It helps some of them, especially if they tend to lash out. It can be very humiliating to be lost for words. I know how awful that feels. I try to help them a little.’
‘Helping yourself too, I see. Any idea what my brother’s worth? Quite a bit more than a teaching salary, I’d guess.’
At Eldon’s open sneer the room falls silent. At my side I feel Darnley stiffen.
Aaron chips in quickly, trying to lighten the tension but also to reassure the other millionaires here that I’m just passing through. ‘Bet you meet some weird types in your line of work, eh? Pretty different here.’
I hold his gaze, my temper rising. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. They’re just the same in some ways.’
Aaron frowns. ‘The same? In what ways?’
I manage a careless smile. ‘Well, take Eldon here, for instance. My students don’t have mansions to live in or two loving parents or food on the table – or even a table – but they can be just as offhand on a really bad day.’
I glance round at the shocked faces of the now silent guests. ‘In fact Eldon seems to go one better. From what I hear he’s like it every day.’