by Flora Dain
He watches me lazily, directing me to lick, insisting I suck. From time to time I’m allowed to bite off a morsel of chicken and chew. At others he instructs me to hold a wing in my teeth for him to gnaw.
Our movements are delicate and refined while our bodies and the sheets become a disaster zone – rumpled with sex, smeared with food, sticky with dessert and stained with crushed fruits and escaped sweetmeats.
* * *
We take a long, luxurious bath and sponge each other down. He sluices suds all over my breasts and torments me with the showerhead as he douches between my legs. I massage his undercarriage with gel-smeared fingers, relishing his swollen manhood, letting my fingers admire his rough, craggy crevices, his taut, muscular butt, the hard, rigid thigh muscles, as I run my hand softly down his leg and press against him.
‘Hey, let’s get dressed. We’ll go out on the town. I’ve got a present for you.’
This is exciting. ‘Do we go with the bodyguards?’ I grin up at him, recalling the impact they made on the astonished poets this morning.
‘Sure. Always.’ He’s serious now, like bodyguards are normal.
I arch a questioning eyebrow at him but he shrugs as he towels himself dry, knots the towel at his hips and holds a fluffy bath-sized one up for me. ‘They’re just security. They’re what I do.’
‘I didn’t see many of your men hanging round Camp Akela. You let them off the leash when you’re on vacation?’
Frankly it was a relief. Their steady gaze makes me uneasy, even when I know they’re guarding me as well. I’m unused to watchful employees and creeping servants. Normal people have far more privacy than the pampered rich.
He senses my air of disbelief and pats me dry, lingering on my breasts and between my thighs far longer than strictly necessary. ‘At Camp Akela I’m with my family. It’s the only place I feel safe. Aaron has his own men so I give mine a week off.’
When I shake my head and try not to smile he tweaks my nipple and narrows his eyes. ‘They stayed on call. Just in case.’
‘What, in case you ran into any crazy poets?’
He grins for real now, drawing me into his arms and kissing my damp hair. ‘In case I miss one. I’m getting quite a taste for them.’
* * *
It takes longer than usual to get ready because he keeps fussing around me as I dress, easing his hand into my lingerie to test its fit, unzipping my tight sheath dress to admire my shape. When my hair’s dry he wants to caress it, when it’s piled up he wants to kiss my neck. At last my make-up’s fixed. He deliberately chooses my highest heels and watches as I arch my feet into them and then he spins me round. ‘Lovely. Time for your present.’
I gaze shyly into the mirror and wonder just how this morning’s blushing poetess was transformed into the slinky sex goddess I’m looking at now. He comes back into the room carrying a black box.
‘One reason I made a detour was to pick up these. I had them made in Boston. I hope they fit.’
He opens the box and flashes of light spray round the room. Inside, on a nest of ruched purple satin, lie two matching bracelets. They’re satin-finish white gold, about two inches deep and studded with a scattering of diamonds.
‘Darnley, they’re beautiful. They must be worth a fortune.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Forget about all that. Do you like them?’
I lift one out of the box, hold it up and turn it round in my fingers. It’s heavy and the diamonds flash fire as it moves. ‘Like them? Of course I like them. They’re spectacular.’
His eyelids lower. ‘Good. I should warn you they come with conditions.’
I grin. ‘I bet they do. Bodyguards, heavy insurance premiums …’ I tail off at his expression.
His face is stern, his eyes watchful.
I swallow. ‘What conditions?’
He’s stopped smiling. His voice lowers. ‘Try them on.’ He holds one open for my wrist. It’s hinged at one side. He snaps it shut and my wrist is imprisoned in a small fortune. I feel trapped.
While I swivel my wrist to admire it he holds up the other and does the same and now I’m cuffed and at last I understand.
‘Comfortable?’ His watchful gaze is making me uneasy but I lean up and kiss him.
They’re cold and heavy. The scariest thing about them – or the hottest, depending on how I choose to look at it – is how well they fit. I feel a pulse deep below and raise my eyes to his face. I keep my voice low. ‘Tell me about the conditions.’
He takes my hands in his, holding my gaze as the bracelets spray rainbows all round the room. ‘They’re symbolic.’
I smile gently. ‘I kind of guessed that.’
His gaze continues to hold mine as his fingers move gently on my palm, sending shivers through me. ‘They have a small key, which I’ll keep. Sometimes I’ll lock them in place. And when I do that you’re mine to command, for the rest of the night. If you’re prepared to accept that as a condition, you can have them. If not, I’ll keep them for you and you can wear them only when I say.’
I stare at him as the universe judders.
He wants me. He wants to control me. And something else flares deep in my belly – a jolt of sheer, wanton lust.
This is so hot.
‘And you think this will – help?’ The gleam in his eyes is making me throb.
‘I find the idea – pleasing. I thought it might bring some discipline into our relationship, set a time limit for what we do so it’s not too scary for you. Plus I want to mark your special day. It seemed appropriate. What do you think?’
It’s been a difficult day. Tears have been close for hours and now they start to sting. I fight them back but I’m sure he sees. ‘This is all new to me. Can we just try them for now?’
He grins, the sudden joy in his eyes telling me how much this means to him. ‘Tonight?’
I smile in assent and he holds up a tiny ornamental key. ‘OK. Here goes.’
He locks them in place and now we stare at each other. I feel I’ve crossed some line but I’m not sure what’s on the other side. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘… is the right question.’ He looks massively pleased. ‘What would you like to do? You have a say now. You must tell me what you want and then we’ll do it. If not you do what I want.’
I gaze at him, my juices pooling at the thought of the wicked things he might want. I also notice that he’s as aroused as I am. This is turning him on even more than me. I lick my lips. ‘I want to thank you.’
His smile is slow, amused. ‘Fine. Be my guest.’
Bingo. I sink to my knees and slowly, deliberately unfasten his flies. His erection springs free and I kneel up to take him in my mouth.
‘Hands behind your back.’ His abrupt command has a harder edge to it than I’m used to and all at once I sense the importance of accepting his gift. I’m taking on a new role and new responsibilities.
And one of them is his pleasure.
As I suck, I take care to keep my hands well apart so the diamonds won’t be damaged. Even this tiny restriction adds spice to my small act of submission and when I choke on the last few strokes to take him deep in my throat and he starts to pump I know that something has taken place between us that has real significance, like some kind of initiation.
* * *
The rest of the evening goes by in a whirl. We hit the clubs, we dance fast, slow, close. His bodyguards are never far away. Entry is no problem. With barely a glance at his air of natural arrogance, my bling, his bodyguards and the limo lurking on the sidewalk, bouncers wave us in.
I drink one cocktail more than is good for me, giggle too loud and earn a frown of disapproval. His disturbing whisper instantly announces that I’ve also earned my first punishment under our new regime and now I’m longing to get back to our room and taste it. But with a wicked gleam he insists we stay out late, making me suffer my first pangs of guilt and anticipation.
Back in our rooms he instructs me to kneel while he moves about the r
oom shedding his tie and checking his messages, then I’m allowed a few minutes in the bathroom. When I emerge he directs me to strip, crawl across the room and clamber onto his lap, and subjects me to a ferocious spanking.
Strangely, all the time he does it I’m no longer scared. The bracelets have given me a framework for what we’re doing. When he finally takes them off I feel almost bereft, my wrists cold and abandoned, my safety net removed. But the power is his for the rest of the night and now I’m cuffed for real and the delicious torment only ends when he finally releases me, collapses across me and falls asleep.
* * *
‘Fuck. Tell him I don’t want his source. I want the file format.’
I’m floating on a sea of diamonds, being clapped by thousands of people as I wave to the crowds. I smile as Darnley’s deep voice slices into my dream. What’s he saying? What do file formats have to do with diamonds?
Slowly I come to and the diamonds have disappeared. I’m looking at a ray of early sunshine glinting on the metal of the handcuffs, still hanging near my pillow only inches from my face.
Darnley is shouting into his phone.
‘This is a fucking disaster. Heads will roll for this. Find out where these came from and get back to me fast or yours will be one of them.’
What’s happened? Still blurred with sleep, my belly glowing from repeated orgasms, I sit up.
Darnley ends his call and slips the phone into his pocket. ‘Get up.’
I stare at him, my sluggish brain trying to make sense of his furious expression, his blazing eyes and his tense, white face. ‘Something wrong?’
‘Just this.’ He snatches up a stack of newspapers from a chair, strides across the room and starts to drop them onto my knees one by one. I stare in horror as I see the headlines. CAPTURED WITH THE NEWEST TECHNOLOGY –NOT-SO-LONE WOLFE FINDS A MATE, WOLFE’S SECRET LOVE LAIR – SPYWARE TAKES A NEW TURN and BIG BAD WOLFE’S MYSTERY MISTRESS – A TRIUMPH FOR A NEW INVENTION are just the first three. Others are far worse but they all say much the same thing over a selection of pictures of us. We’re on the hillside at Camp Akela – him whirling me round, smiling down at me, folding me in his arms – me looking clean and fresh, hair scraped back in a wholesome ponytail and both of us looking blissfully happy. The strapline stresses the wonders of the latest gizmo to hit the stores and the difficulty of capturing shots like this.
‘Oh, Darnley … how dreadful.’
And how cruel. To defile such a tender moment – the first time he’d ever confided in anyone, the first step he’d taken to get help and the first time I’ve ever got close to him, really close.
I’m with my family. It’s the only place I feel safe. But all the time someone was watching.
He’s standing over me, eyes blazing. ‘You knew about this?’
I shrink back against the headboard. ‘What? No. How could I?’
He’s looking down at me with a strange expression. ‘You said that once before.’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘OK. First off, we’d better split up. For a while anyway.’ At that moment his phone sounds again and he snatches it up. ‘Wolfe.’
He listens, his profile rigid. ‘Fine. Keep me informed.’
He turns to me, his face gaunt. ‘That was Hilary, my PA. She just confirmed the file format’s one of ours. It’s unique. So far it’s only been featured in a new device we’ve just developed for the military, a long-range camera app that blends given data with heat-source technology. Bottom line, it takes recognisable pictures through low-density obstructions like fencing or undergrowth. This is a cut-down version, usable but less accurate. We withheld it from the general market as untested and unethical. Too intrusive.’ His glance is full of fury, his tone bitter. ‘We’re pretty sure Mitchell took those shots. It looks like he’s decided to go it alone.’
I’m only half listening. As I leaf through the pictures I pause at one that’s different. It’s not one of us. It’s of a naked woman, taken from the back. She’s wearing fetish gear.
I frown. ‘Darnley? Who’s this?’
He jabs the paper with his finger. ‘You spotted it too? That’s the problem. You have to leave. Now.’
‘But – why? What does it mean?’
His jaw clenches and he looks away, uneasy. ‘It means you’re in danger.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Danger?’ I stare at Darnley, genuinely bewildered. ‘I’m in danger because of a photo?’ My eyes narrow. ‘You’re stalling. Would this be a picture of Freda, by any chance?
For the first time ever, he looks rattled. To my horror I see a film of sweat on his forehead. This is serious.
‘What? No. It’s … a message, Ella. We have to split up for a while.’
I hate arguments first thing in the morning. Now I erupt. ‘What, I’m not good enough for you, is that it? I’ve seen your family whispering in corners, looking at me. Why not come right out and say so?’
His eyes blaze. ‘What? Of course not. Why should I give a shit what they think? It’s not that. They like you. But you’re not safe with me. Ryan’s still out there somewhere. And that photo warns me he’s trying to get at you. And he knows more than he should about the family.’
‘So it is Freda?’ Fury flares, waking me fully and making me rash. ‘Why can’t you answer?’
I wince as he grabs my arms and presses me down into the pillows. ‘It’s – complicated. I can’t explain now, there’s no time. Just do as I say. Get up and get out of here, fast. I’ll try to find out what he wants.’
So it’s Ryan again. And maybe Freda’s right. This is a family with secrets. And Darnley’s still not told me everything.
I leap of bed and hurtle round the room, snatching up clothes and shoes and pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. Darnley takes endless calls. In a short gap between them we argue.
‘You’re getting out of here. Now.’
I screech to a halt in front of him. ‘No, Darnley. I’m staying. We’ll fight this together.’
His face softens for a split second then stiffens. ‘Ella, listen to me. No one knows who you are. You’re just some mystery woman. You’ve no idea what’ll hit you if the press get hold of your name. They’ll never leave you alone, or your family. They could hound you for years. It’s not so bad for me. People with my kind of money are always of interest. They pick up on my social life sometimes but I’m used to dealing with press intrusion. Plus I’ve got good lawyers. But an unknown like you? They’ll scent blood. Reporters are already out front but there’s still a chance for you if you leave now. Bullen will drive you somewhere, anywhere you like. Your folks live in Maine? Perfect. Go there. This should blow over in a week, ten days maybe. Then you can get back to work.’ He touches my cheek. ‘My people will stay in touch. If anything happens let them know. They’ll handle it. If necessary we’ll relocate you, put you in witness-protection mode, full lock-down. But we’ll try this first. And if anyone does get through to you, say nothing about Camp Akela or my family. A couple of weeks ago we met to discuss your poetry reading. Yesterday I read it for you, made a donation to the Institute and that’s it.’
I stare at him, trying to take all this in. I want him to hold me, to kiss me and tell me he wants me, that we’ll see each other again soon. He says none of these things. His manner is brisk and businesslike. My lover has vanished with the night, as completely as his animal namesake. I’m talking to a fast-thinking, efficient stranger.
He fixes me with a cold stare that’s scarily like his logo. ‘And for the last time, did you know about this?’
I shake my head, bewildered. His eyes lock on mine as he takes out his sound recorder and clicks a button. I hear a grainy hiss and then my own voice. ‘Go invent something new.’
I freeze as I hear Ryan. ‘Know what? I just did. I’m trialling it this week. You’ll love it.’
Darnley switches off the tape. His deep voice cuts into the silence. ‘My security people trawled through house footage from Camp Akela and found this. Explain.
’
‘We were arguing. I thought he was kidding.’
His face contracts. ‘You could have mentioned it. Christ, Ella.’
I feel wretched. We’re back at square one. Everything’s somehow my fault and I’ve no idea why.
He avoids my eye as he jams clothes into a holdall and zips it shut. ‘No calls, no texts. Got that?’ His accusing glance is full of pain and fury. It’s the last thing I see as Hilary’s light tap at the door distracts me.
Now there’s no time for tearful goodbyes. She hurries me down the back stairs and through the kitchens to the hotel loading-bay where an unmarked car is waiting to drive me away.
* * *
My parents live in a small village on the Maine coast. When I get there they’re delighted to see me. I usually visit around now to round off my long vacation and recharge my batteries before I go back in the classroom, so my sudden arrival raises no eyebrows.
Mercifully they’ve heard nothing about the pictures and still know nothing about Darnley. It’s like going back in time to a soothing place where this awful thing never happened.
Mom’s feeling better from her virus. She scolds me for not phoning. ‘You’re late, dear. We were expecting you days ago. How was the poetry reading? I’m so sorry we missed it.’
I quickly reassure her, secretly delighted. It would have been too hard to explain away. As they regale me with tales of their cruise and set up a slideshow I start to relax. They’re so full of their travels, nobody asks about me – so I tell them the reading went well and leave it at that.
And now, alone with my thoughts in the heart of my family, I go into full Darnley-withdrawal. I jump like a rabbit whenever the phone rings. I stare tearful and unseeing into the darkness in the small hours of the night and listen to the pounding of the waves on the cliffs.
Usually I love going home; it’s fun being made a fuss of, and soothing to hear the voices and eat the food of my childhood. But now my head’s full of Darnley. After our closeness it’s torture to be torn apart like this. I’m at the mercy of my demons. I hear his voice in the roar of the waves, see his eyes glint in the sunlight on the water, feel his power in the thunderous boom of the waves beating on the cliff.