by Flora Dain
Freda’s cool downward glance sweeps me again and then she turns away.
* * *
On the way back we say little. This time Darnley drives.
I’m still seething over this morning. He’s being simply Darnley. Silent and stern, alone with his thoughts. The set of his jaw hints they’ll stay his for a while.
As we come in sight of his sleek beachfront mansion I fold my arms and jut my chin. ‘So, are you going to apologise?’
He pulls his damaged convertible to a purring halt and turns to look at me, his eyes cold. ‘For what?’
I’m getting emotional now. It’s been a trying day. ‘For treating your new fiancée like a tramp. For humiliating me in front of the people I’m supposed to teach. Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep your dignity in a classroom? It’s crucial. And all for …’ I tail off. Don’t push this, I think.
‘For what?’
Cross now, I say it anyway. ‘For Freda,’ I mutter.
To my fury he grins. ‘Still bitching about Freda? Hey. Lighten up. We survived your driving, we can survive anything, even her. Come on in. We’ll clean you up and then –’ He kisses me unexpectedly on the cheek.
‘And then?’ I glower back.
He grins. ‘And then we’ll get you all dirty again.’
* * *
I feel better after some coffee. When he’s sure I’ve calmed down he hustles me into the shower and we linger under the jet. He smears gel all over my softest places and then teases me in the hardest of ways, with cold and hot water, and with firm caresses of his busy hands, until I’m warm, refreshed – and eager.
When he finally bundles me up in a towel and scoops me up in his arms I’m shrieking in protest and drumming my fists on his back. ‘You can’t do this. Put me down.’
‘Sure thing, ma’am. Right here?’
I land on my back and sprawl out on the bed as he lands on top of me. He musses my hair with the towel in a token attempt to dry it and then fastens his mouth on mine, splaying my arms wide and pinning me down with his tongue and his powerful, gym-honed body until my giggles die away, stifled in my throat. Soon I’m kissing him back, easy and content, warm and damp from the shower and his growing impatience.
‘You sleepy now? I owe you an apology.’
I open my eyes with a snap. ‘You do? That’s a first. I don’t want to miss that.’
I’m genuinely mystified – it’s not a word I’ve ever heard him use. And now the gleam in his eyes tells me it’s not for what he did to me this morning … it’s for what he left out.
He’s kneeling up over me, laughing. ‘I’ve been neglecting you since this morning. I think you need some serious attention. Hold still. Put your arms up over your head. I want a good view of your tits while I do this.’
Grinning now I obey. Instantly I clench as he kneels between my knees, spreads my thighs wide and starts to drop soft, gentle kisses all down the inside of one thigh and up the inside of the other, before swooping down on my splayed, pulsing gap. He gives me a slow, roguish smile, lowers his head and starts to feast.
His tongue is so busy and so urgent I find it impossible to keep still. Soon I give up the struggle and my hands fly down to his head. I thread my fingers deep into his hair in a futile attempt to pull him away, if only to give my flaring, scorching arousal a breather from his busy mouth. ‘Stop, stop. It’s so intense. I can’t –’ I break off and gasp. For some reason, all unbidden, tears are coursing down my hair and into the pillows.
He raises his head and frowns. ‘Ella? What’s up?’
‘I can’t – I’m so sorry. It’s too much. I thought …’
His eyes narrow as he surges up to join me, his expression stern. ‘What? What did you think?’
I stare at him as the reality of what I’ve been thinking hits me like a stone. ‘I thought you were angry with me. I thought …’
I tail off again, scared of going on, like saying it will somehow make it come true. I thought he’d stopped loving me.
I shake myself. I’m getting weepy. It must be delayed shock …
‘Nothing,’ I grin weakly as his cruel, slow smile brings me back to my senses. I feel a flare of heat deep down and a flame of arousal so fierce I wonder if he senses it. ‘Don’t stop,’ I murmur. ‘Please.’
His eyes narrow as he curves over my body and raises himself up on his arms. The power in his gaze shreds my will as his eyes burn into me. My feeble protest at his intimate, controlling caress has stirred something dark inside him, something feral.
‘Too late.’
His low growl rumbles through me like distant thunder. The effect settles in my groin and sets up a steady, nagging pulse.
‘You missed your chance. Now it’s my turn.’ He’s nudging my thighs apart with his knee as he flows over me in a lithe, unstoppable flood of power and muscle, his eyes pinning me into submission. And with a grunt he plunges inside, his first thrust sending me into hyperspace as my trembling belly clutches round him and grips him tight.
His dark smile warns me he can feel my hunger and knows I’m powerless in his grip. He withdraws slowly, his eyes searching my face, watching every trace of my reaction. His next plunge ebbs away just as slowly and sets our rhythm. Soon we’re fusing together, my hips arching to meet him, matching my own pleasure to every touch of his pounding loins.
His flood of energy takes me over and I’m afloat on his tide. Each powerful thrust fills me up, each slow, lingering withdrawal draws me to him. The heat in his gaze as he finally brings me to fruition stirs my heart.
He touches his lips to mine, murmurs soft things into my ear, scolds me for not paying attention when my looming orgasm starts to transport me, and finally leans down close, threading his fingers into my wet hair as he shudders to his own completion.
It tells me that however grim his thoughts were on the way home, and however much I still resent that scary, alpha-male demo thing in my boat, he still loves me and needs me.
And I love him too. Far more than I’d ever admit.
* * *
‘The attacks mostly take place just north of San Francisco. Nobody has so far been hurt or directly molested but state police warn some bizarre aspects of the attacks suggest the attacker may need help. Today’s weather? Mild and sunny inland but if you’re on the beaches take care in those foggy stretches. And now for news closer to home …’
I switch off the radio and pour myself another cup of coffee. No Darnley this morning. He’s vanished into the fog, along with the glorious views of the bay from his windows, and the warm Californian sun.
He’s gone over to the complex on business, the convertible is in for repair and a respray and I’ve got a date with my boat.
They’re right about the fog. As I make my way down to the beach thick mist settles over me in a damp, white blanket. It mats my hair, chills my skin and muffles my footsteps as I crunch my way down the shingle.
No chance of skinny-dipping in this – even without Darnley on hand to demand a forfeit. Without its fabled sunshine the air out here is dank enough for New England, the quiet splash of the waves hidden by the mist as eerie as the white winter silence of the Maine woods. I shiver and pull my goose-down jacket tighter.
As I reach my boat I stop short.
It’s decorated with seaweed.
It’s beached well above the water line and beyond the reach of the waves so it’s not decorated by chance. There’s been no storm.
Someone has looped festoons of it along the sides. All at once I hear a low, roaring boom.
Fear prickles along my back. I stand very still and peer into the mist. Now I sense sounds, little shuffles in the grasses along the path, small rustles from further away. A clank, like someone’s moving something heavy, made of metal.
‘Hello?’ My voice falls short in the stifling fog. It seems to reach no further than I can see. ‘Anybody there?’
The boom comes again, a terrifying, hollow sound, like an echo but louder. All at once
there’s a flurry of movement and a crash as somebody lands on the shingle behind me.
I spin round to see a leather-clad figure in goggles peering at me out of the mist.
If I had any voice I’d scream. As it is I’m paralysed for a whole two seconds, unable to speak, squeak or even run as the figure before me slowly removes its goggles. ‘Ms Dean? I came to warn ya.’
It’s Chet Newson, his eyes wide and scared.
He’s not nearly as scared as me. Shakily I gasp air.
‘Kin you hear it?’ He’s leaning towards me, his face contorted. ‘That’s him. That’s the cave troll. He’s here. You don’ wanna mess with them things, miss. They’s real dangerous.’
The boom comes yet again, louder than ever now. He shrinks back and starts to jabber.
Now I’m scared too, but I’m also puzzled. I don’t believe in ghosts – even though, right this minute, some part of me wants to jabber too.
‘Calm down, Chet,’ I snap. ‘It’s probably nothing of the sort. Anyway, what are you doing here? You came all the way out here just to tell me that?’
It occurs to me that I’m alone here and he may mean well but he may have – urges. I swallow.
Suddenly he slips his hand into his jacket and I take a nervous step back.
‘They say you’s a poet, Miss. I writ you a poem. Here.’
He stuffs a card in my hand. I stare at it for a moment. It’s a Wolfe Security business card, like the one Darnley left me once, a long time ago. As I turn it over I see something scrawled on the back.
‘Wel cum home fokes!’
It’s the same message we found splashed on the wall in crimson paint.
And the same spelling.
As I look up the boom comes again. This time Chet shrieks and scrambles back up the shallow sloping cliff, sending rocks and loose stones pattering down as he scrabbles for a foothold.
‘Wait,’ I shout. ‘Chet? Come back here. Did you write this?’
He’s already halfway up, clawing at tufts of sea grass and dipping ledges where seabirds have worn holes. He looks down, his face contorted, as he shouts down. ‘Who, me? No’m, I cain’t write. It wus him. He did it. The cave troll.’
The mist is lifting now. As he reaches the top, scrambling the last few feet in his panic to get away, I see the fuzzy silhouette of a motorcycle emerge from the mist. It’s parked on the top of the headland.
He springs onto the seat, kicks the motor and with a roar the powerful machine curves away in the direction of the highway and disappears into the mist.
CHAPTER SIX
I’m still staring at the card when I hear a shout from the house. Darnley’s back. My heart leaps as he strides down the path to greet me. I race into his arms and fling mine round his neck. ‘How’s the car?’
‘Back tomorrow. Miss me?’ He breathes in my ear before finding my mouth. When he does, we kiss for so long I almost forget my stunning news. As he pulls away a little I beam up at him and his eyes glow.
He pulls me closer. ‘Needs a new door and a respray. When I found you gone I wondered where you were.’
‘You could have let Bullen take it.’ I give him a play-frown, but his smile fades.
‘I had business to see to.’
In San Francisco? His tone is calm but I sense trouble.
I decide not to pry. Instead I tell him my exciting news. ‘I think I’ve found your culprit. Chet Newson? He was here just now. He came here on a motorcycle. And he gave me this.’
Darnley frowns at the card. ‘Weird.’
‘Pretty damning, surely. Will you have him arrested?’
He’s still frowning when he looks up with a sigh. ‘He’s an employee, not a recruit, so you won’t see him in class. But he’s an illiterate. He’s a keen mechanic so Freda lets him work in the garage. But he’s not capable of writing this.’
I stare at him. ‘But the motorcycle yesterday – that must have been him.’
He’s still frowning as we turn and walk slowly up the beach. ‘Must it? You saw him when we got back to the complex. Freda said he’d been there all afternoon. And those engines were cold – we felt them all. If he used a bike it wasn’t one of those. And why should he take another? He’d no way of knowing we’d turn back and ask. Anyway, Freda said –’
‘Freda? She said what?’
My fury must show in my face. His instantly contracts. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ella, will you –’
He breaks off as the boom comes again, fainter now but still terrifying in the rapidly dissolving mist.
I feel my blood chill. ‘What is that? Chet thinks it’s a troll. That’s what scared him.’
Darnley eyes me, his eyebrow arched faintly. ‘And you a teacher? You’ll be telling me you believe in fairies next. There’s a cave just round the headland. You can’t see it from here. You can only get there by boat. At high tide the waves set up an echo.’
He glances at his watch. ‘It was high tide about twenty minutes ago. So by now the sound should be easing off a little.’
I frown. ‘But surely the tide’s up roughly twice a day round here? So why haven’t I heard it before?’
He shrugs. ‘How do I know? Maybe the conditions vary. Maybe it depends on the wind or the height of the waves.’ He nuzzles against me, his hand reaching down to fondle my butt. ‘Maybe you should go ask the cave troll.’
I laugh, feeling happy and safe now.
Much later I realise I forgot to tell him about the seaweed on my boat. But by then we’re so busy it hardly seems to matter any more …
Later Darnley assures me he’s had a word with Freda and Chet is grounded for a while. I’m glad to hear it, but I wish he left out the part about Freda.
* * *
Next morning, I tune into the news again as I bolt my cereal. The sex attacker’s still in the area, the day’s set to be unusually warm and sunny for the time of year and high tide’s expected around noon.
Darnley’s busy over at the complex today, and it’s my last day of freedom before I start work with my new students and meet some of my colleagues. I’ve made what preparations I can. Brushed up on some stuff about more obscure special needs. But today’s a lovely, sunny day and I have plans. I’m going to make the most of my new present and try out my beautiful little boat.
Plus I’m going to hunt some troll.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. I stiffen for a second, then make myself relax. Motorcycles are everywhere around here – but not last night, thank goodness. We slept in peace.
When we eventually did sleep.
I sip my coffee and grin. When I woke up in the small hours Darnley’s arms and legs were wound tightly around me, his twitching ramrod jutting deliberately against my derrière. Sometimes when he does this I’m too sleepy to do much more than lean back to fondle him and guide him inside. But this time I spun round and slipped my leg underneath him, so he fitted nicely into the soft flesh of my thigh, and I wound my other leg over him, trapping him by the waist.
‘You want to fuck? Fuck me then – but there’s a price, Mr Neglectful Fiancé.’
His breath was hot on my neck. ‘Oh, yeah?’
I smirked into the darkness as I plotted my revenge. I was still smarting from yesterday’s humiliations in my new boat and later at the complex where I had to meet the people he wants me to teach, for Chrissakes.
‘I want to come three times,’ I murmured sweetly. ‘And unless I do I’ll wake you up early in the morning and you’ll arrange it then.’
He stiffened in my arms, his business centre glowing warm and hard between my legs as I moved against him, thrilling to the feel of his muscles flexing between my thighs, and the glow from his leaping manhood as it made an instant response.
‘And how do you suggest I manage that?’ He whispered low, his lips barely moving on my skin. ‘Any ideas?’
I giggle, warm and dozy in his arms as he stiffens again. ‘Nope,’ I murmur, sleepily. ‘I’ll leave all the tec
hnical stuff up to you.’
Whoa.
With a surge of power he pulled away from my loving grip, hauled off the quilt and switched on the lamp. In the low light he crouched over me, his eyes blazing, his long mouth etched in a cruel smile. A sardonic twitch at one corner warned me, too late, that he’d been lying in wait.
I’d unleashed something wild, possibly dangerous.
His tone was low and menacing. ‘Do I understand you’re dishing out orders, Miss Dean? In my own house? I should warn you, Mr so-called Neglectful Fiancé has pretty strong ideas about that. Get up on your hands and knees. Now.’
Scared now, and waking up fast, I hurried to obey. The power tool jutting between his legs was already dark, reddish purple, the head glossy and slick. It twitched as I looked longingly at it, mocking me now it was out of reach.
But that big, and that hot? He must be close.
But as he lovingly patted my limbs into position I saw I’d missed a trick – I was in for a spanking. And the gleam in his eyes hinted that we’d not done it like this in a while. He’d been waiting to pounce.
Pounce he did, with a ferocious slap on my rear that almost jerked me flat. His hand landed again and again. He knelt beside me, the heat of his tense, muscular thighs burning into my side as he swung his arm. The jolts jerked me hard into the pillows and muffled my cries.
Each blow fanned a hot flame of arousal deep my groin. Each flame tingled in my throbbing little centre, pulsing for release.
‘How many orgasms did milady order? Three, was it?’
His low growl almost made me come on the spot as the blows paused and he swooped down to fondle my glowing, burning rear with a cool, loving hand. ‘First one coming right up.’
I writhed as his fingers searched out my money-spot and made short work of my resistance. The glow that started at the first slap on my backside now erupted into a blast of heat as he pressed home, his rhythmic fingers working me to frenzy. I convulsed around his hand, panting with pleasure and release.
I had precious little time to savour it.
‘Sit up.’ The calm in his eyes warned me we were on Wolfe Time now. This could get serious.