by Flora Dain
‘And willing.’ I smile quickly, well aware that the thought that he’s held off so long has filled my eyes with silly tears. ‘I hate it when you go off like that.’
His eyes narrow. ‘I’m back now. Please don’t cry, Ella.’ He stoops to brush my lips with his, his tongue sliding over my lower lip for a precious second, and then he plunges deep, jerking me hard against the pillow. He locks on my gaze, the intensity in his look somehow forbidding me to look away as he leans on his hands and rides to his fill. I try to match his gaze, pouring into it all my love for him as his slow final strokes nudge me at long last to mine.
We sink into sleep still entwined, our limbs laced as tightly as vines.
As I drift along the edge of consciousness, an entirely unattached thought floats to the surface – Darnley also rides a motorcycle. And just before sleep finally claims me I think I hear a low, hollow boom, closer than I’d like but too far away to scare me back to full wakefulness and out of a warm comfortable bed to go investigate.
Chet’s cave troll? Or am I dreaming …?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘… And from the northern coastal area news of yet another bizarre attack that took place during the early hours of this morning. Police are still unwilling to give out too much detail in case of copycats confusing their investigation. In a statement released earlier they say only that the attacks are unusual, the attacker targets young men and there are signs that he – or she – may need psychiatric help. Now for today’s weather …’
It seems the cold and damp that pass for winter in these parts has little effect on the famed Californian lifestyle. Out here even sex attacks are wacky.
It’s nearly February. Back in Maine the snows lie deep. Here it’s unusually warm, more like a crisp spring day. Down in the bay a blue expanse of ocean glitters in the sunlight. Birds flit around the gorse patches on the headland.
I woke up alone this morning but as I start on my cereal at the breakfast bar in the kitchen Darnley strolls in. He leans idly on the counter and runs his hand over my cheek.
‘You free this afternoon?’
I grin. ‘Sure. Why?’
‘We’re flying downstate for an hour or two. Coming?’
‘Sure. Where are we going?’
His eyelids lower. ‘You’ll see.’ With a gleam he captures my mouth, his embrace full and unhurried. When he pulls away he’s smiling. ‘Love you. Especially at breakfast.’ In seconds he’s gone and the sunlight loses a fraction of its sparkle.
Later I leave for work. When I reach for my car key I pause, then turn out my purse. It’s not there.
Puzzled, I glance up and stare. My car’s parked at the far side of the driveway, the door gaping open. When I walk over my stomach does a flip.
On the inside of the windscreen there’s another drawing. I look round quickly. Darnley’s just left. There are still people about …
Someone must have seen who did this.
Chet again? This is getting serious.
After a few minutes I’ve cleaned the windscreen, but it’ll take more than tissue and cleanser to settle my nerves. Temper rising, I march into the garage to make some curt enquiries.
Minutes later I’ve drawn a blank. There are people about, cars being cleaned, deliveries arriving.
Nobody saw my car being moved. First anyone noticed it was already out on the drive. They all thought I’d moved it.
I vow to tackle the Newsons first thing.
* * *
‘You were at the beach house this morning? You won’t get in trouble, Chet. I just need to know.’
Chet wrings his hands, his eyes wide and scared. This has been going on for a good few minutes but he’s sticking to his story. ‘I tell ya, Mz Dean, I ain’t bin near the beach house all week. You ax Mz Freda. I bin here every day. All the time.’
His eyes fill with tears as he bites the back of his hand. ‘I ain’t a-goin’ back there, neither. Not till that cave troll’s gone. I’s too scared.’
The garage doorway darkens for a second as a slim, purposeful figure strides in and steps deliberately between us. Freda glares at me, arms folded. ‘What’s going on here? You bullying my mechanic?’
Her tone’s icy. I’m losing patience but I keep my voice low as Chet turns away, sniffling. ‘I have a problem at the beach house. I think Chet may know something.’ I explain about the graffiti on my first day, Chet’s card and the two episodes with the lipstick. ‘I wanted to get to the bottom of it before Darnley links them. He’s already seen the card,’ I add carefully.
Her frown softens a little. She looks troubled now. ‘Thanks, I appreciate that. But Chet’s been here the whole time. He’s grounded.’ She flicks a remote at a couple of screens in the corner. ‘I assign the bikes myself. I’ve fitted a chip in each one. We scan them in and out.’
At my sceptical look she shrugs. ‘We have to keep records for maintenance and costing. Mileage, speeds, distances, rider ID. It’s my main task here. That’s why Darnley asked me to help out.’
‘Impressive,’ I say, sweetly. ‘So – which machine does Ryan use?’
Wiping that smirk off her face, it works a treat. Getting her on my side, not so much.
The shock in her face is real. ‘Ryan? He’s in Mexico, last I heard. I haven’t seen him in a while. Why? Have you?’
I hold her gaze. ‘Darnley said you’d made contact. And you didn’t answer the question.’
Her eyes flash. ‘That’s no question. You’re still bitching about that business in Texas. Ryan and I broke up. Not that it’s any of your business. And none of these bikes have been to the coast in days. I can show you the stats.’
I politely decline but she’s rattled, I swear. And time presses. After lunch I’ve got a date …
‘So – you’ll talk to Chet and Syra? If this gets any worse I’ll have to tell Darnley – I’ll have no choice.’
My threat works. She looks almost sheepish.
‘Sure. I’ll let you know. And Ella –’ She breaks off, looking uneasy now. ‘Please don’t tell him yet. Let me talk to them first.’
* * *
After lunch Darnley insisted we’d take the helicopter. He refused to tell me where we were going, even after my vigorous interrogation, during which I tried out my newest lingerie.
I finally gave up when he ran a finger along the line of my panties, where the lace curled in a thin ruffle across the taut skin between my hips. My hands were still locked tight behind my neck, as I rigorously obeyed his instruction to keep them high up and out of the way while he explored my tight, smooth curves and deep hidden valleys further down.
‘And you can lose these for the rest of the day.’
I sat up, faintly shocked. ‘No panties? All afternoon?’
In answer he lifted an eyebrow and held my gaze. I dressed slowly, feeling his eyes on me the whole time.
Now I’m nervous about where we’re going – and why. When I ask he puts his arm round my shoulders, takes my hand in his and strokes my palm. ‘I’m on vacation. And we’re paying some visits. Starting today.’
We fly south. Just north of Los Angeles we land in the secluded grounds of a vast mansion. It stands at the head of a valley, with views down to the ocean. At the entrance two men in suits and a slim brunette are waiting to greet us.
The woman gazes at Darnley like a dazed fish. He cheerfully ignores her. ‘Everything ready?’
One of the men nods. I recognise them from his security team and gather they’ve just done a sweep.
‘All clear, sir.’
The woman gapes and then springs into action. ‘Yes sir, all just as you ordered. I’ll start with the tour –’
‘No need. We’ll manage.’ Disappointment shows in her face, even as his brief smile paints pink in her cheeks.
I’m wondering whether to step in when he grabs my hand and pulls me indoors.
Inside we walk into a grand entrance area with a wide central staircase. Above there’s a central gallery, leadin
g to more rooms. What furniture there is looks sparse and sleek – just the occasional side table, or a carefully placed mirror. With a flourish Darnley leads me up to a vast double door and throws it open to reveal a traditional fitted library, complete with polished shelving and full of books with matching gilt-tooled bindings. And when I look closer, I find to my delight it’s almost all poetry, many in first editions.
I take a small volume of Tennyson off the shelf and run a finger over the soft gilt-edged leather. ‘These must be worth a fortune.’
‘Slightly more, I’d say. The collection’s managed by experts at Berkeley. It’s part of a national collection. Goes with the house. Some ex-movie mogul.’
I long to stay here but he prises the precious volume from my fingers.
‘Look at them later. There’s more to see.’ He fondles my neck for a moment, his thumb tilting up my chin, and kisses me lightly.
He leads me up stairs, past more views, more rooms and at last a master bedroom leading onto a wide balcony. As I lean over the rail I feel him lean close behind me. I stand very still as he folds his hand round my waist and feels lower, caressing the back of my thigh and then sliding his hand deeper, to where the fabric of my jeans gets tight where the seams meet.
Excitement ripples through me, making me sigh. He keeps his hand in place, stroking softly, his breath warm on my hair, his chest broad at my back. His other arm grips me tight, a signal that surrender is my only option.
I arch my neck, leaning back against him as he cups my sex, flexing me open a little. All at once the views fade as I home in on his fingers. ‘Why are we here?’
‘You’ll see.’ Now he’s unfastening my jeans. I quiver as his fingers brush my navel and he slips his hand way down inside. ‘Keep your eyes on the pretty fountain.’
I writhe as his finger finds and then circles my tightly furled money-spot. ‘Here? Someone may see.’
‘So you better keep quiet. Or they’ll hear too.’ He traps my waist, his arm hard as iron.
I give myself up to the power of his fingertips, clutching the rail with both hands in an effort to breathe normally as I lean back against him, helpless in his grip.
He pens me in, pressing hard against my back, his legs either side of mine. I can feel the heat from his erection where it juts hard against my back. I move gently against it, longing to reach back and stroke it. When I reach back he traps me.
‘No hands.’ He pulls me closer.
Startled, I stiffen. ‘Why here? Won’t someone see?’
‘Then they see.’ I feel him breathe against my ear. ‘Here’s the deal. We do this now, or later – with benefits. Which?’
It’s an easy choice. ‘Now.’ I push my waistband down a little way and thrust back towards him. I barely move but all at once he’s inside me, his first, glorious thrust pushing me hard up against the rail. After the first plunge he goes slow but now his fingers speed up.
I put a hand over my mouth to keep from crying out and convulse in seconds. He holds me tight, pausing as my spasms deliver, and then with a soft laugh he pounds to his finish.
When he’s done I swivel in his arms and cling to him, weak with content. ‘So who owns this place?’
‘We do.’ He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers, his thumb moving gently on my palm. ‘The minute we marry, under the current agreement. Unless we find another you like better. We’ve got a few more to see yet.’
‘You’re thinking of buying it? What about your beach house?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s just a beach house. We need somewhere to live. Somewhere private with space for family.’
I grin. ‘So they come to stay and we watch them fight?’
‘Not my family, Ella,’ he says softly. ‘Ours.’
He runs his hand over my breast and squeezes gently. I feel a ripple of electricity run though me as I wind my arms round his waist and lean my cheek on his. ‘A place this size? How big a family are we having?’
In answer he finds my mouth. I wind my arms round his neck as he runs his hands through my hair and teases my tongue with his.
When we leave the brunette’s still waiting out on the driveway, clipboard at the ready. She asks how we like it.
‘We like it just fine.’ His mouth twitches. ‘We’ll let you know about the house.’
* * *
On the way back he sits close, his fingers moving gently on my wrist. I lean back against his shoulder, letting excitement build, keeping my mind a studied blank. The other night was the first time I’d worn the bracelets since we got engaged. They came with conditions I’ve still not honoured. Maybe now’s the time.
To steady my nerves I ask about his NewsPeak issue. ‘Can I have a copy?’
He rolls his eyes. When we walk back in he disappears into his office for a moment and comes back holding two copies. ‘Here. The rest go in the trash.’
‘Trash? No way.’ I touch his cover picture with reverent fingertips. ‘And this is a terrific photo.’ I flip quickly through the article, while he looks on, frowning. ‘Man of mystery … New direction … Where now?’
I look up with glowing eyes. ‘Can I keep them?’
He takes them gently out of my hands. ‘Hey. How about the original?’
His circles my wrists with his fingers as he finds my mouth. As our tongues meet and his grip tightens I feel a deep, nagging throb somewhere deep inside.
Somehow it must translate into my kiss. When our lips part his look glints with new fire. ‘Shall we go up?’
My belly clenches into a tight, curled knot. When he slips his hand over mine and pulls me upstairs I’m already starting to ache.
Soon I’m stripped and ready to play. But the shower is my first test. He insists I take it blindfold. This instantly sharpens every fierce drop of the spray and torments me into shivers as he switches from hot to cold to hot again, giving me barely any time to process the difference in temperature. Soon I’m gasping for breath and twitching with laughter and all the while burning up with impatience. ‘Enough already. How about me washing you?’
I feel his honed body step in beside me, thrillingly naked. He holds me tight with one powerful arm as the spray douses us both.
‘OK, you can try me with the gel now. But be warned – you’re not to touch yourself.’
‘Would I?’ I grin under my sodden sleep mask, massage gel into my palms and feel him all over, lingering on the parts that matter most. Soon I’m regretting my bold claim as I encounter his jutting, rigid girth. My hands slick the smooth, scented gel all along his erection, my soft fingertips exploring every inch of his hard, twitching heat. I feel lower, teasing deeper between his legs, where my gentle searches make his breath quicken.
‘Hey, easy on the software.’ With a light laugh he tweaks one of my nipples, which are already glowing from a thorough and attentive wash only seconds before. I clench my fists in delighted reflex and the gel shoots out of my hand and clatters on the tiles. I shriek as he tweaks the other.
‘You’ll have to reach it for me.’ I plead. ‘How can I find it? I can’t see anything.’
‘Then you’ll have to lean down and find it with your fingertips.’
As I hesitate he almost laughs out loud. Now I dimly guess my fate as he spins me round, takes firm hold of my hips and pushes me down.
‘Bend over,’ he says softly. ‘And keep your legs straight.’
I stoop low, hanging from his hands as I pretend to grope for the gel. All at once I feel him nudge hotly at my eager opening, splayed wide now and pulsing with excitement at all the gel and all his touching. The warm spray adds a steady ripple of warmth to his touch, extra sensation that makes me tingle as he surges repeatedly inside. My shrieks of excitement ring round the en-suite.
‘Whoa. What’s this? A prison movie?’
Above me he’s still laughing. ‘From up here you look like every man’s wet dream.’ His hands fondle the globes of my splayed, upthrust butt, his hands slick with gel. His silky touch sparks
through me like wildfire.
‘And you’re making way too much noise.’ He leans over and kisses my back, his lips hot and still amid the running water and the tickling drops of spray trickling past and dripping off me. ‘And we all know where that leads.’
To my fury he pulls out of me just as I’m swelling into the full bloom of climax. I grit my teeth in frustration, soaking wet all over but my smallest place of all infuriatingly high and dry.
When he slips the mask off my face I blink in the light. He pats me dry with a vast, fluffy bath towel and leads me over to the bed, his face focused and stern. Nervous, I towel my hair for a few moments while he dries himself and then he sits on the edge of the bed and signals me to sprawl over his knees.
‘Too much noise, I think we said? Twenty for that. And this time you’ll keep quiet, or you’ll get twenty more. And the mask’s back on.’
I even have to count. My damp, enforced darkness makes everything far, far worse – or maybe it’s far, far better. Everything heightens, intensifies. Arousal pounds in a steady glow, his every touch sending a jolt though me.
The blows, when they come, are harsh on my softened ass. He strokes more gel onto me – I thought to soothe, but instead it cruelly intensifies each blow, making the sting linger. Each slap jerks through me.
I writhe in vain. He shows no mercy. Soon I’m heady with excitement. I manage the twenty without mishap but now it’s getting to him, too. His breathing is ragged. I can feel the heat from his jutting erection, the silky skin taut as a drum.
‘Ready yet? Or simply willing?’ He steadies me over his knees, his hand sure and hot.
‘Still willing. Sir,’ I add quickly, in case we’re into etiquette issues.
I shiver as he caresses me for long, precious seconds, firing more sparks. ‘Good. Kneel, then.’
With my senses heightened in my private darkness I slip to the floor, my fingertips gliding along his sturdy thighs as he nudges the silky, rounded head of his cock towards my lips.
‘Take it slow.’