by Ashe Barker
“Bugger off, Barney, find your own lady.” Tom’s voice is gruff, urgent, and the dog gets the message, lumbers off the bed and out onto the landing. Then it’s just us.
Maybe it was the shock of nearly dying just yesterday, but all I can feel is desperation to have him inside me. And I can’t wait. I need the life-affirming impact of hard, fast, deep sex. And I need it now. When Tom would have likely stroked, caressed, made me ready, I pull at his belt impatiently, tearing his work jeans open and reach greedily for his cock. He’s already rising to the occasion, solid and hard and thick. My fist around his huge erection, I push him off me, onto his back. I suppose he could have it his way if he decides to insist, but he simply lets me take charge.
I climb on top of him, my thighs spread, and place my knees on either side of him. He’s still fully dressed and I’m naked but it doesn’t matter for what I have in mind right now, it heightens the pleasure if anything. One hand on his chest to steady myself, I use my other hand to position him at my entrance. But he rolls to one side, stops me from sinking onto him as I intended. At first I think, dismayed, disappointed, that he’s going to throw me off, that he’s going to roll on top and take over after all. But no, he just reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a foil packet, hands it to me.
“Be prepared, sweetheart.” His grin quirks up the edges of his mouth as he lies still, waiting for me to do the honors.
And I realize that I’ve never actually put a condom on a man before. Perceptive, he sees my indecision, my uncertainty, and takes the foil pack back. He rips it open, then hands me the rolled up condom.
“Just nip the end between your thumb and finger, like this”—he demonstrates—“and then put it on. Just roll it down slowly.”
My desperation mounting, there’s no time to waste. I shift back a little to sit astride his legs, his jeans crumpled beneath my thighs, and concentrate on my task. It’s remarkably easy, thank God. Complicated would be quite beyond me at this moment. The condom safely in position, I glance back at his face to see that his eyes are now closed. He’s grimacing, but I’m sure he’s not in pain.
“It’s done,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes. “Then, baby, I’m all yours.”
With no further ado I wriggle back up him, and with a soft moan lower myself gratefully onto his shaft. I groan. The sensation feels wonderful. Fabulous. I’m stretched, tight, almost to the point of pain. It’s near, but it’s not quite painful, not really. It’s more that I’m—full, complete. And in control.
For long moments I don’t move, and neither does he. My eyes are closed as I savor this—connection—between us. Then I open my eyes, look down into his glittering, emerald gaze. He smiles up at me, his eyes warm as he reaches up, the back of his knuckles delicately tracing my nipples, first one, then the other. He takes one between his finger and thumb and rolls it, gentle at first then firming his touch. His smile still light, he squeezes the hard little bud. I gasp, and startled out of my reverie I begin to move. I use my thighs to raise myself up then sink back each time, reveling in the feeling of being stretched, filled entirely. I concentrate on sliding up and down on his hard, thick shaft as I settle into my rhythm. I use my inner muscles to squeeze him, to clench around him. He groans, releases my nipple to take firm hold of my hips. And I’m no longer the one controlling this, I’m no longer alone in setting our rhythm. He holds my body as I continue to move on him, but he’s now thrusting upwards to meet me, filling me each time, angling the thrusts to hit my most sensitive spot. The pleasure builds and I share my power willingly—I arch, scream with the mindless delight of it.
I feel the boil of orgasm starting, deep within, bubbling, simmering, gathering heat, gurgling upwards and outwards like a volcano. It’s new, unfamiliar, as though I’ve never been so thoroughly fucked before.
And maybe I haven’t. At least, I’m only just starting to become accustomed to being fucked by a man I love.
With that realization comes release. I pitch forward, collapsing boneless, on top of Tom’s chest as my orgasm pulses through me.
Chapter Two
“I’d have brought you a coffee up earlier if I’d realized how grateful you’d be. If I throw in some toast would it get me a blow job?”
Tom’s grinning down at me, propped up on one elbow on the bed. He’s stretched out alongside me, still fully dressed.
“Definitely. Any time. It’s probably cold by now. Shit.” I groan to myself. I could murder a good hit of caffeine right now.
“I seriously doubt it. That’s got to be one of the fastest fucks on record.” He stretches over me to reach my still steaming mug, hands it to me. “There you go. Don’t scald yourself.”
I sit up and sip the coffee gratefully. Tom lies still, watching me. Eventually he breaks our companionable silence.
“So, I’m guessing you feel okay again. Quite lively, in fact, going by how you jumped me just then. Migraine all gone?”
“Yes, totally. Thanks for the painkillers earlier. And I’m sorry about, well, I just…couldn’t help it.”
“Any time, Ashley.” He shakes his head, his grin infectious. “Amazing. You sure you’re okay? I’ve never known anyone seem so ill and recover so fast.”
“I didn’t seem ill, I was ill. It’s difficult to describe, when it hits it comes on suddenly and just knocks me sideways, it’s like being clouted on the head with a sledgehammer. Wipes me out completely for a day or so. Then it’s gone. Just gone. And I’m back, absolutely fine, as though nothing’s happened.”
He looks thoughtful. “I remember a kid at my school who used to get migraines. I don’t recall it ever brought him to his knees like you were yesterday, though. Have they always been so severe for you? Isn’t there any treatment?”
I nod, glad to be able to do so once more without expecting the roof of my head to shoot off. “I had more frequent attacks as a child but less severe. It’s definitely worse now. And yes, there’s some medication I can use and that prevents attacks, pretty much. But it’s only available on prescription and I’ve not managed to get registered yet with a GP here.”
“Yes, you said. Yesterday, when the doctor asked you. Why not? Why haven’t you registered yet, you’ve been here for weeks now? Especially as you obviously need regular medication.”
I shrug, try to pass it off. “It doesn’t matter, I just never got round to it.”
Spotting the lie immediately, he reaches up to take my empty cup, places it behind him on the floor. Then he takes my chin in his hand, brings my face around close to his, catches my gaze, holds it.
“Why no GP, Ashley?”
Trapped, I know I’m going to have to explain—if I can. I close my eyes, take a deep breath.
“I— They would have needed my medical records. I’d have had to give my real name. I just wanted to leave all that, the past, behind me. And I was worried that Kenny might find me, might somehow trace me.” Even as I hear myself trying to explain, I know it sounds silly, but those genuinely were the reasons I didn’t pursue the registration process. The receptionist at the health center in Haworth was ever so friendly, couldn’t have been more helpful. She gave me the forms, asked for suitable ID. And I just thanked her, stuffed the forms into my bag, walked out of there, and gave up. I abandoned the effort. Hence, I’ve run out of Amitriptyline and have no prospect of getting a new supply.
Tom just continues to hold my gaze, slowly shaking his head. Then, “Right, as soon as the surgery opens up again after New Year we’re going down there, get you registered. We’ll get through the paperwork, and you’ll come out of there with a repeat prescription sorted out.”
“But…”
“No buts. We’ll do it. Look, even if Kenny is bright enough—and sweetheart, he really didn’t strike me as bright—do you honestly think he’d be able to access your medical records and trace you?”
Put like that I can see how silly it seems. But I resent having my old self still hanging around, clinging to me
like some unpleasant smell. No matter how hard I try to shake her off, little Sharon Spencer just hangs on in there, with her migraines and baggage and prison record, ready to pop back up first chance she gets. But he’s right, I know he’s right. I flatten my mouth in distaste, but I know when I’m beat.
“Okay. I’ll dig out the forms.”
A few minutes later, my coffee cup, now empty on the floor beside the bed, I remember that I was only the supporting cast in yesterday’s little drama. Mortified, I turn to Tom, grab his arm. “Rosie, is she okay do you know?” That should have been my first question, my first concern, rather than gratifying my own immediate needs for hot sex and fairly hot coffee. Feeling guilty, I’m now anxious to know how Rosie is after her ordeal out on the moors.
Tom turns his head, smiles warmly down at me. “Yes, she’s fine. Thanks to you. Nathan texted last night. A badly sprained ankle and mild hypothermia. The hospital kept her overnight for observation but she’ll be home today. Might be there already. Shall I check?”
“Yes, please. I’d like to know how she is.”
Tom reaches into his jeans pocket, pulls out his phone then hits a couple of buttons. The phone to his ear, he waits for Nathan to answer before he speaks.
“Hi. How’s Rosie? I’ve got my own walking wounded here, wanting to know.” A few seconds, then, “That’s great. Yeah, I’ll tell her that. And tell Rosie Barney’s still here with us. He’s fine.” Another brief pause, then, “Excellent. Email it over, would you?” He pauses once more, listening to whatever’s being said on the other end, then, “Best leave it till tomorrow. Barney’ll be fine here till then. I’ll text you. Give our love to Rosie.” He hangs up and turns to me. “Did you get all that?”
“I think so. Sounds as though Rosie’s come through it all right. Thank goodness.”
“Thank you, Ashley. If you hadn’t spotted her, got the air ambulance out, who knows? You did well. Nathan asked me to pass on his thanks, but I expect he’ll tell you in person when he sees you.”
Somehow I doubt he’ll thank me. I may well have got the air ambulance out, but I also left her up there with the paramedics, I didn’t stay with her in the helicopter. Nathan Darke is fiercely protective of his daughter, would definitely have expected more from me. At the very least I should have stayed with her until he or Mrs Richardson arrived at the hospital but I put my own needs first. There was also Barney to take care of, I suppose, but I can’t help thinking he’d have made his own way home perfectly safe despite Rosie’s worries on that score. I rather think Nathan will have a few choice remarks for me when he next sees me. Despite our ‘truce’ of sorts, I know perfectly well what he thinks of me. What he really thinks of me.
My doubts must have been obvious because Tom catches my chin in his palm, strokes my face gently, his expression puzzled.
“What is it, love? Why look so worried? Rosie’s fine.”
I give myself a mental shake, push Nathan Darke from my thoughts. If he wants to have a go at me he will. And I’ll survive it. Again. I know I did the best I could yesterday, in the circumstances, and as long as Tom thinks I did good then I’ll settle for that. And clearly he does. I stare at him. His face is serious, as though this is of much more significance than it seems to me. I can’t see why. Anyone would have done what I did. It was just a phone call, just a matter of dialing nine-nine-nine. I try to explain, to say that.
He shakes his head. “But that’s not all you did, is it. You went all the way up there, waited with her, brought her dog home.”
I snort at that. I abandoned Rosie with strangers, even if they were highly trained air ambulance staff, and I hardly brought Barney home. I didn’t even manage to bring myself home.
“You put yourself in danger, took a huge risk to help a little girl. Nathan knows it, I know it. Take credit for what you did yesterday.”
“I’m just glad it all turned out okay, that Rosie’s fine, and that you found me when you did. I thought I’d be stuck there all night. And I’m so grateful I had Barney with me.”
“Me too. Or I might not have found you till this morning. And that could have been too late.” He reaches for me, pulls me into his arms, buries his face in my hair.
I hear him breathing, breathing me in.
I wait a few seconds while the significance of his words sinks in. “Why? What do you mean? How did you manage to find me? In fact, how did you even know I was up there?”
He lets go of me, eases himself up against the headboard. I scramble up after him, snuggle against his chest. He loops his arm over my shoulders, idly sliding his hand under my hair to stroke my back.
“Okay, here’s how I knew. I coordinate the fell rescue team in this region so I get informed as a matter of routine every time there’s any sort of incident in my patch. Yesterday afternoon I had an email telling me an eight-year-old female had been airlifted from the moors. It didn’t take much to work out it was probably Rosie. Especially when I checked with control and found out the name of the informant, one Ashley McAllister. The incident report was logged at two thirty-seven, and the air ambulance reached the casualty at three thirteen. Left the scene at three thirty-two.”
Fell Rescue. Bloody hell. Makes some sort of sense though. Not that Tom seems like much of a fell walker to me, he always uses his Land Rover or the quad bike. I comment to that effect, not that I want to be too picky, though, considering.
He just chuckles. “You’re right. I hate bloody hiking, too much like hard work. I’m more of a caver myself, that’s my specialism. And I can abseil which comes in useful sometimes. But most of the farmers around here are volunteers with fell rescue. Local knowledge, you see? We know these moors better than anyone else. If you’re lost up there, we’re the ones who’ll find you. Eventually.”
I nod. I’d never thought of that before, but it does seem logical, I suppose. Who else? And the sequence of events so far all sounds about right to me.
“By the time I got the notification it was turned five. First thing I did was phone Nathan to check how Rosie was. I caught him at the hospital and he told me she was fine. Shaken, pretty cold, and her ankle was sprained. She’ll be off that leg for a couple of weeks. And she was desperate to know that Barney was okay. He told me that according to Rosie you were on the quad and you rode up to where she was, sat with her till help arrived. When the helicopter left with Rosie on board the dog stayed with you, and as far as she knew you were taking him home.”
I nod again. So far so good.
“So, I came here first, looking for you. If you recall, you texted me what seems like a bloody lifetime ago saying you’d see me tomorrow. Which would have been yesterday, if you follow…”
I do, more or less.
“But there was no sign of you here so I went to Smithy’s Forge. No sign of you there either, you or Barney. And no quad either. I began to get worried. I could see no reason why you’d be anywhere else except here or at your cottage. And you’d had ample time to get back by then, especially on the bike. It would have been going up to six by the time I checked out Smithy’s Forge. The only other place to look was Black Combe, but I didn’t expect you’d have gone there. It’s further away, and anyway, there’d be no one in. They were all at the hospital with Rosie, and you’d have known that. So I phoned Jazz…”
“Jazz? Who’s Jazz?”
“Jasmine Abbas. The medic on the helicopter. She was off duty by then, but I have her mobile number. It’s a small world, fell rescue. We all know each other.”
Yes, I guess they would.
“Anyway, she told me you had indeed set off, with Barney, riding the quad. She saw you leaving, was watching you from the helicopter as they headed off toward Airedale General with Rosie. She also told me she gave you medication for a headache, that you’d seemed unwell but said you’d be okay to get home. She said she’d checked you over and found no other signs of injury or illness, and you had transport, so she let you go.”
“I see. But I still don’t understand
how you found me so quickly. How you knew where to look. And even if you’d known where I set off from, how would you have known my route if you didn’t know whether I was headed here or to my house?”
“I didn’t find you. I found Barney.”
No answer to that. At least, not one that springs to my mind at this moment. So I wait.
“So I knew for sure that you’d set off, heading for home—whether here or your place—with Barney, and that you hadn’t arrived at either. It was dark, you were overdue, presumably still up on the moors. I knew there had to be something wrong. But one thing seemed certain—both Jazz and Rosie had said you were with Barney. So I went up to Black Combe. I have keys to the place so I let myself in there and went into Nathan’s office. Fired up his computer and accessed his GPS. You probably didn’t know, no reason why you should really, but that bloody great collar that Barney wears is fitted with a GPS tracking device. Nathan had it installed when he first got the dog and Rosie took to disappearing with him up onto the moors. Rather than make her stay near home he just insists she always has the dog with her. And that way, wherever Barney is, so is Rosie. Or, last night, where Barney was, so were you. I located Barney’s signal easily enough, so I knew then exactly where he was, just above Top Withens. I assumed he was still with you, otherwise he’d have simply made his own way home. And I could see that the signal was stationary. Again, not a good sign.
“I got back in the Land Rover, headed straight up there to where I knew I’d find Barney. And hopefully you too. It was dark, rough going, I needed to pick my way slowly. I’d have been no use to you stuck under an upturned Land Rover. It took a lot longer than I’d have liked. God, I was so scared, I didn’t know what had happened, why you hadn’t made it home. Christ, Ashley…” His arm tightens, his face sinks into my hair.
“When I found Barney alone on the moors, at first I couldn’t see you. The great mutt was barking, leaping around the land Rover and charging off behind that wall. But I got the message, brought the land Rover around until I caught you in the headlights.”