CHASE
Flora Dain
THE WOLFE: BOOK 2

Copyright

Mischief

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.mischiefbooks.com

Copyright © Flora Dain 2014

Cover design: Head Design 2017, cover images: Shutterstock.com

Flora Dain asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007579594

Version: 2017-08-21

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

More from Mischief

About Mischief

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

These days it starts with the bracelets.

They look sensational. Trust me, when you’re out on the town with your wrists sheathed in custom-made, 22-carat white gold studded with diamonds, you look like a princess.

But the princess has, let’s say, obligations to her prince.

He has them too, like not going too far.

But I bet he’ll get close.

I try not to dwell on this. I love him. I want him to slay his demons because, until he does, this relationship’s going nowhere.

In a way I’m special. I’m the only person on the planet he’s ever trusted. So for him power play is not just a game, it’s therapy. Plus for me it’s a free pass into his heart. And if I can enter and warm it through, then maybe the ice that’s formed around it most of his life will thaw long enough for him to find happiness – if not with me then with someone else.

I’d sooner not dwell on that either. For now I’ll play things by ear. Bottom line, this complex man is well worth the struggle.

The bracelets are new. He keeps them for me. I could never afford the insurance. When I wear them people stare, dazzled by the gems or outraged at the bling, depending on how well they know me. They’re not my usual style.

Nor is he.

Darnley Wolfe – part businessman, part inventor, part visionary, part damaged, all male – is also my lover. But only part of him is available for love.

His company makes millions. It deals in surveillance wizardry, personal protection and, for me, an exclusive line in heartache.

Our first date was last year, a chance collision in a spectacular clinch that lasted nearly eight hours and shifted our universe. Our second date was in high summer. We collided in the Lone Star State, hot on the trail of my ex but soon hotter still for each other as we hurtled into a rollercoaster ride high on emotion, low on trust and powered by wild, pulsing sex.

Our third date starts tonight. Two minutes ago he snapped the bracelets on my wrists. They’re a signal for him and a safety net for me. But the gleam in his eyes tells me they’re a far cry from the handcuffs he’d sooner see in their place.

Now we’re holding hands as we walk through the luxurious spaces of Camp Akela. His parents’ lavish summer retreat looks much the same as it did when I came back here a few days ago but for us there are big changes.

Holding hands is one of them. Our relationship was under wraps when we first came here. Now it’s spectacularly open, thanks to the meddling of Ryan, my vengeful ex, who managed to splash pictures of us worldwide.

Deep down, I find it kind of hot that everybody now knows Darnley and me are an item. It means when people look at us they must be guessing what we do when we’re alone. And that thought burns me up because I actually do know and I glow with arousal every time I think about it.

The second change is the quiet. His parents, Aaron and Lydia, are now back home in Manhattan. His brother Eldon left too, along with my best friend Billy. They’ll catch up with us later. So we’re pretty much alone here, that is if you don’t count the fleet of staff and a security detail big enough to impress the White House.

And the third change – and for me the biggest – is the bracelets. I’ve agreed to accept them along with the conditions he’s attached to them. But now I’m scared. The conditions are specific about me but rather less so about him. They’re supposed to keep me safe, to warn him that I’ve accepted certain terms but also that he takes on certain responsibilities.

Like not hurting me in a fit of over-enthusiasm.

All I know is we’ll go new places. And from what I know of Darnley’s taste in travel, sex-wise at least, that could mean some pretty scary territory.

His hand tightens on mine as we walk through the spacious entrance area. ‘Got any plans for the evening?’ He sounds casual, like I might be dining out round the corner or popping into the nearest deli. Except we’ve already dined – the chef hung on for our visit – and the nearest deli is probably some three hundred miles downstate and there’s not a corner in sight. We’re surrounded by forest.

I press against him, leaning into his shoulder like a hungry feline. ‘Not right this minute. You?’

He wraps his arm around me and hugs me close. ‘Plenty,’ he murmurs. ‘Once we’re clear of the grounds.’

‘We’re going outside?’ This surprises me. So far all our action has been strictly indoors. We’ve disgraced ourselves on pretty well every surface, leaned against every doorway and steamed up virtually every window in the place.

Now he wants to start outside?

Like something just hotwired between us he pulls me towards the driveway and we walk quickly, past the golf course, past the lake and further still, pushing deep into the trees. I start quietly to fret. What now? What does he want to do out here that we can’t do in the privacy and shelter of our rooms?

The sun’s low. It may be a fine, warm, late-summer evening but it’s wild out here. There are little noises all around us, birdcalls from overhead, things creeping in the undergrowth as darkness closes in. Insects.

At last he stops walking and pushes me up against a tree, pressing me hard against the bark. ‘Kneel.’

His command is so abrupt, his tone so deep I stare for a second longer than allowed. All at once the look in his eyes becomes uncompromising. ‘Now.’

I obey, arousal spreading through me. I pant from the forced march. This part I understand. He craves my mouth, using me often and fully, delighted by my hunger. It surges now, a heat wave rising from deep in my belly. I salivate at the very sight of his warm, bulging crotch, already filling with his erection.

‘No hands. Open it with your teeth.’ He stands very still as I pull delicately on his zipper, taking care to go slow in case I snag the contents. He’s so big now he’s straining at the zip, eager for release.

Me too. It’s all I can do to manage this smoothly.

When his shaft finally springs free I admire it for a moment, letting the rich, earthy aroma lurking under the crisp scent of his shower gel warm my senses.

‘Shit, Ella. The way you do that …’ He’s husky now, both fascinated and stirred by my adulation. He wants me to suck him fast and hard, I can see. But at the same time he’s enjoying the view.

I try to picture what it is that turns him on so, to see what he’s seeing: its dark purple a startling contrast to my paler skin? Its contours a swollen outrage against the finer lines of my woman’s prim, more delicate face? Or does his curved, rigid girth look almost too big to push into my soft, moist lips?

I sense all this as I lean forward to lick him and he thrusts towards me. It’s always a shock to see his size. A primitive spark tingles down my spine at the thought that something so big and so primal can fit into my soft, tightly furled places, let alone enter my mouth.

But it always does. I bow my head over the crown and take him reverently, wetting as much of his shaft as I can before I have to plunge and swallow. Soon I can tell from his jagged breathing he’s getting very close.

‘Enough.’

Startled, I look up at him and we’re suspended in time and space as he absorbs me with his eyes, relishing the view and savouring my submission. I hold my breath as his monster twitches between my lips, poised on the brink of its pleasure.

‘I want you against the tree. Stand up.’ His voice is husky. He’s not smiling now. He’s in some new, scary dominant place where commands are short and sharp and my obedience is slow and sometimes painful. Down below I start to glow.

Game on.

His eyes encourage me to pull up my top and bare my breasts, letting them bulge forward provocatively. They sway gently as I pant, nervous now. His stern look directs me to loosen my linen crops. I push them down my hips and wait, an eyebrow arched for further tips on how to prepare for whatever we’re doing next. To my surprise he simply turns me round and pushes at my shoulders.

‘Bend over. Grab hold of the tree with both hands. Stick out your ass and arch your back.’

Yikes. I know what’s coming: a spanking. But out here? Won’t someone see? Or, even worse, hear?

‘Hold still. Don’t move.’

Heart in mouth I cling onto the rough bark, hoping none of his security detail are tuning in. And that’s before I start to worry about ants, mosquitoes. I’m very exposed out here. My arms are aching now as I lean forward. My cheeks burn with shame. I long to straighten up and cover myself.

Someone might see.

And then to my horror I hear him walk away. ‘Wait. Where are you going?’ I sound shrill, a lost soul out here among the endless trees. I turn round in a panic but now he’s out of my line of vision. All I can hear are his footfalls, padding away, and then coming closer. As his loafers come into view I breathe a deep sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness … Ow!’

I shriek as his hand lands on my rump with a stinging slap that stops my breath. As I open my mouth to drag in air it lands again and again. And again.

Arousal flares.

‘Quiet. Did I say you could speak? I said stay there. Keep your legs straight. I’m not going far.’

My bum is burning up and we’ve hardly started. I doubt he’ll leave it there. I rarely get away with just four slaps.

I’m scared now. What’s he doing? It’s taking an age. I strain to hear where he is but all I can hear are rustles in the bushes, the scrunch of twigs and the snap of a stick. Alarm spirals though me. A bear? A wildcat?

It’s worse: a Wolf. Once more I see his loafers coming towards me, and something else. I shiver. It’s the swishing end of a stout, springy stick.

I’m going to get caned. Or birched. Or twigged. Hit anyway, with whatever that thing is he’s holding.

He fondles my quivering backside with a caress so tender I shudder.

‘Hey, you’re cold. Don’t be scared.’ He pauses for a second. ‘Ella? You OK? You said you’d try it. We agreed.’

‘I’m fine.’ In the silence of the trees my voice is thin and reedy but it’s all he needs.

‘This won’t take long.’ Now he sounds brisk. ‘Don’t move.’

I stand rigid, part scared, part excited. Down below I burn. The rest of me chills as the scared part takes over and I strain to hold still and avoid his displeasure. Something about the way he’s swishing that stick warns me too much wriggling, even in happy anticipation, might be unwise.

But he’s moving plenty. I hear snaps, scratches and shuffles and now small bits of twig land on the ground near my feet as he strips the sapling, preparing it. I shiver as he swishes it a couple of times to test its strength.

His fingertips land on my rear, gentle and warm as he positions me precisely, and then he strokes me again, chuckling now. He’s enjoying this.

‘Six strokes to warm you up. Then we’ll take it from there.’

As the first lands I’m almost jerked off my feet. He waits while I writhe, fighting to stay in position but needing to move about to deflect the sudden sharp flash of pain.

Another strike. The shock makes me gasp but this time I’m prepared so it stings less.

The third blow is softer still. He pauses to feel me, his hand cool on the burning stripes he’s etched into me. And now he starts a new torment as his soothing caress turns into a slow exploration between my legs. He wants to know what’s happening down there. I’m already soft, swollen, wet.

With a satisfied chuckle he takes aim again, finishing the last two strokes with a flourish. He leans close and murmurs against my neck as I pant to catch my breath. ‘You OK?’

I swallow. ‘I’m fine.’

His kiss lingers on my neck. ‘More?’

‘No. I want …’ I tremble, unsure if this is allowed. But the bracelets mean I have a say now. At least I think that’s what he said.

‘What? What do you want, Ella? Tell me.’

He trails soft kisses along my spine while he draws the switch slowly between my legs, letting me feel every rough nick, every inch of its harsh, springy length. It slides perilously close to my eager sex, splayed for his delight. I can’t see the stripes but I feel them blend into a hot glow.

‘I want you inside.’ I’m ashamed to ask. I sound tinny and unreal in the gathering darkness of the tall trees all around us.

‘Where, Ella? Tell me. Here?’ He reaches down to feel the place and drops kisses along my shoulder blades.

‘Please,’ I say as the head of his erection grazes my burning bottom in a silky nudge of greeting. All at once he slams into me, jerking me hard against the tree with his power and his weight. He feels so good.

Far above us the sky remains light, pearly now as the sunlight fades. Down here in the growing darkness the bracelets gleam and flash as he pounds.

He reaches underneath me, teasing me open, his touch light, tingling like sparks. I close my eyes and sigh, treasuring the slow climb to rapture as he moves gently inside me, easing his stroke to slow us, to prolong the moment …

And then he pauses, quivers and slowly withdraws. ‘Know what? I’ve got a better plan. We’ll finish this in bed.’

Grr. My rapture’s on hold, poised at the peak. I straighten up. ‘Are you serious?’

He smiles at me calmly as he fastens himself. ‘Any objection?’ His voice is low and amused.

‘Where do I start?’ With an effort I unclench my teeth and he kisses me gently on the forehead.

‘Hey, chill. Good for you. Teach you some discipline. Come on, race you back.’

We run to the house, the way much easier downhill. He seizes my hand and drags me along the last few feet of driveway, his eyes dancing at the sight of my flushed cheeks, my wild hair and my heaving breasts. He’s still holding the switch, swishing it through the air and taking pretend swipes at my legs to speed me up.

The bracelets are heavy now, their weight and the movement from my running etching redness into my wrists. The diamonds flash in the glow from the elegant garden lighting that floods the grounds under the tall, graceful windows.

As we draw near the front entrance we pull up short.

A pale, haughty-looking man with a ponytail and a small pointy beard is coming down the steps. He’s wearing a lizard-skin jacket, tight jeans and stacked heels.

He eyes us with distaste. ‘Who the hell are you?’

CHAPTER TWO

I feel a moment’s pity for Ponytail. He won’t know what’s hit him.

At my side Darnley stiffens, then reaches for his phone. ‘G2.’ His soft murmur is barely audible in the hushed peace of the driveway. But now we notice things our fascination with each other blotted out earlier – voices from the house, movements in the windows.

We have visitors.

Darnley slips the phone back in his pocket as the butler hurries out to meet us, his face anxious.

‘Mr Wolfe, sir, these people are –’

At that moment Eldon appears in the main doorway. ‘Yo, bro’. How’s tricks? I brought some friends along. Thought we’d party now Mom and Dad have gone.’

‘Mr Wolfe, sir –’ The butler is still scanning Darnley’s face in a silent, urgent plea. It’s the first time I’ve seen this wooden individual so agitated.

‘Mr Eldon said –’

Tension crackles around us. Darnley shifts his gaze back to Eldon, his face a mask. ‘Have these people got clearance?’

Eldon’s face contracts. ‘Clearance? Why should they? Dammit, Darnley, they’re friends of mine.’

‘Everybody who comes here gets clearance. You know that.’ Like everything else about him Darnley’s rage is carefully controlled but somehow that makes him even more terrifying. His fury is aimed at Eldon but it raises a prickle of tiny hairs all over me, too.

Ponytail actually takes a step back. ‘Who is this? Eldon? What gives?’ His voice sounds squeaky.

Eldon’s locked into Darnley’s stern gaze, his mouth stubborn. ‘What? Fuck no. Why should they get clearance?’

‘Get rid of them.’

Darnley’s low snarl bristles with menace. Eldon holds his ground, his slack good looks shrinking into a tight scowl. ‘Fuck off, man. That’s just for when family are here.’

‘It’s for when anyone’s here, you moron.’

As Darnley squares up to his brother there’s another, higher, squeak from Ponytail. ‘Holy shit, Eldon. What is this? Invasion of the frigging Body Snatchers?’

From all around us men are emerging from the trees and from the sides of the house. I even spot one on the roof.

They’re dark and dangerous and they’re armed.

Darnley’s men.

Eldon takes one look around him and his eyes fill with tears of rage and frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake, Darnley, what’s the fucking matter with you? These are friends of mine. Film people. I got a possible film deal here, man. My first big break. And you have to go shit all over it with your fucking goons, you fucking megalomaniac control-freak.’

His voice is shrill now, his face contorted like an angry toddler taking home his ball. I half expect him to stamp his foot.

He may be outplayed but he still has the power to wound. His eyes flash. ‘And next time you torture your girlfriend while you’re boning her at least have the decency to treat her to some fucking Band-Aids afterwards, not solid freakin’ gold cuffs. Then maybe she’ll freakin’ heal, you freakin’ perverted freak.’

Darnley stands very still, his face stony as his men gather round us in a silent, solemn ring. From the house we hear protesting cries as more unseen visitors are rounded up and herded down the steps towards us, swelling the crowd.

All eyes instantly fasten on our little group, Darnley at its centre, his controlled fury like a force field.

In the tense silence he turns slowly to face me, his expression unreadable. ‘Go to the Lincoln Suite and stay there. This won’t take long. I’ll catch you later.’

I quail at the rage I sense building under his calm surface. I’m scared to speak in front of all these people but I give a faint nod to convey to him that I get he has things to do – Wolfe things – and our loving reunion must wait.

Unexpectedly he folds his hand slowly round my neck, tilts up my chin with his thumb and kisses me on the mouth. ‘See you later.’ His look is so intense, his touch so gentle, we might be alone here.

The others look on in silence.

He releases me slowly. His touch lingers in a statement of power, some kind of primitive signal to everyone here about territory or ownership. I’m unfamiliar with the finer points of male stand-offs but I feel a tiny spark of pride that he’s marked me out for this one.

As I make my way to the Lincoln Suite I’m already winding down when I hear voices. What?

In the doorway to our rooms I stand very still. There are three women in here. Two are casually eyeing up the Kandinsky, the other is sprawled on our bed. Her bright kaftan and fluorescent headband look outlandish, Greenwich Village going on Woodstock. They stop talking and look me up and down. One of them flicks a cigarette into a flower vase where it smoulders unpleasantly.

‘What do you want?’ A tall girl with sandals and a jutting chin scowls at me.

‘You’re in my room,’ I say evenly.

She arches an eyebrow. ‘Oh, yeah? Who says? We got here first. Go find one of your own.’

Just then Bullen, Darnley’s driver, pushes past me.

‘Security alert, ladies. Everyone’s to report outside.’

They look affronted but Bullen’s blank stare and prominent holster are very persuasive. He turns to me and lowers his voice.

‘Two gunmen spotted heading this way, ma’am. One may be in the woods, one in the house. We’ve been ordered to clear the area.’

I make an effort to keep a straight face. Gunmen?

The women look scared as he herds them towards the door and sweeps the room with a professional two-handed gun pointed into corners, cupboards and even under the bed. Another guard appears and looks on in silence as Bullen checks the other rooms in the suite and then comes back to the door, his face solemn.

As I watch something clicks: G2. Two gunmen? Was that some kind of code?

The women push past me in their haste to get away. The other man follows them like a watchful sheepdog, ensuring they stay in line.

Bullen lingers in the doorway for a moment. ‘It’s OK, ma’am, it’s safe for you. I’ll send one of the maids to clean up.’

‘Thank you, Bullen. I appreciate that. Er, G2?’

His cliff-face settles into its familiar stony mask. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

While the maid’s changing the bed I watch from the window as the unscripted visitors are herded out onto the driveway and driven away. Eldon looks on helplessly, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Finally he and Darnley walk back into the house, Eldon still muttering angrily, Darnley in tight-lipped silence. They head for the sitting room and slam the door. I hear angry voices.

This may take a while.

Some three hours later, it’s well after midnight. I’ve washed and showered, filed my nails and applied some scent, caught up on some emails and checked over some lessons for the new semester, but Darnley’s still a no-show. What’s taking him so long?

I’m desperately sorry for him. He was looking forward to seeing Eldon again. Things between the brothers have always been stormy. Now it looks like they’re set to get a whole lot worse.

I get into bed, switch off the light and try to sleep.

Much later I can still hear voices. With a sigh I slip into a wrap and tiptoe downstairs. I frown at a sudden burst of laughter from the sitting area. Quietly I peep round the doorway and hold my breath at the scene before me.

Eldon’s stretched out on one long sofa, hands behind his head. He’s partway through some joke, a pretty filthy one by the sound of it, his voice low and slurred and thick with laughter as he closes in on the punchline.

Darnley sprawls opposite, long legs straight out before him. The low table between them holds several beer cans, some upright, others at crazy angles. They roll on their sides, glinting in the low, flickering light from the fire. There are more empty cans on the floor.

As I watch, Eldon’s punchline arrives in an explosion of laughter from them both. Darnley leans forward and cracks open another can.

I tiptoe silently away, smiling now. I’ve lost my lover for tonight but it’s in a good cause.

Darnley’s found his brother.

I wake up in a shaft of sunshine, my face rammed into my pillow. The glare of the snowy linen almost hurts my eyes so I close them and drift off again. My arms are stretched around something. The dream is fading now but I strain to call it back, I was enjoying that … I was dreaming I was with Darnley, my face buried in his chest.

Something else hurts too. It takes me a few moments to work out what.

It’s my bum. It stings and burns in the hot sun. Someone’s stroking it, their firm touch turning the cruel stripes I got yesterday into burning, fiery gold.

I can almost smell him, his dark, animal aroma that lurks under his crisp aftershave like a predator, firing me into pounding arousal whenever I least expect it.

‘Hey.’

Shit. He is here. My eyes snap open and now I’m fully awake and his hands are on my backside, warm, stroking, sending waves of pleasure through me even though they remind me of the ferocity of that switch. That hurt. And what was more, if I’m completely honest, that was hot. And now his loving caresses are lulling me back to dreamland …

‘Wake up.’ To make sure of this he slips his hand deep between my legs and presses, his fingers searching into my private places, his touch, like his closeness, sparking instant arousal. Everywhere down south starts to throb.

Fully awake now I slide my arms out from under the pillow I’ve been hugging. I blink, dazzled, and then snap to attention.

I’m still wearing the bracelets. He keeps the key but he’s not removed them.

His low murmur flows around me, rich and dark. ‘I told you to wait up. Sleeping on duty? Disgraceful. You’re a very bad girl.’

He grins as he hauls me over him and finds my mouth, his hands sliding all over my lazy curves as he greets my quivering skin, now shimmering under his touch, eager for action. I lean along him and wind my fingers into his hair and kiss him deep, relishing the hard muscles rippling underneath my softer, swelling breasts and his column of hot, burning gristle lying directly under my belly.

He tastes so good …

I pull away with a smile and let my hair fall around us in a silky curtain. ‘You made a night of it.’

He kisses me again with soft touches of his lips and I see his eyes glow. ‘Yep. Now I’m making a morning of it. Sit up so I can admire the view.’

I do it, laughing and pleased his evening went so well. I arch my back and hold my breasts up for him, making them bulge a little, and then flick back my hair and pout with one finger in my mouth, fellating it gently like some porno tramp.

His eyes gleam. ‘Hey. How about the real thing?’

His eyelids lower as he watches me move back down his magnificent body and nestle between his thighs. I lean over his hot shaft and breathe deep. His earthy aroma fills my senses, still drowsy from sleep, and an instant throb of arousal drums between my legs. I lean forward to kiss the tip, letting my hair trail over his abdomen in a silky fall and thrilling to his sharp intake of breath as I do it.

I take the bulging, glossy head in my mouth and suck gently, eyeing him playfully from the shelter of his warm, muscular thighs and admiring his male landscape, the hills and valleys of his muscular chest, the dark hair snaking down his belly towards me where it curls and nestles at his root.

‘Wow. You’re really something.’ His intelligent, predatory face creases into a lazy smile, the gleam in his eyes telling me he wants me hard and fast and he wants me now.

He gets me. He gets every twirl and lick of my willing tongue, every ounce of devotion I can summon up from my willing mouth and every spasm of my eager, hungry throat as I lunge and gag over him, eager to please and feral with lust.

But just as I think he’ll score he seizes my head in his hands. I hesitate with him still in my mouth. What’s wrong? Am I too fast? Too slow? Scraping with my teeth?

I’m wearing the bracelets. The consequences of inept performance could be dire.

‘Turn over.’

With an effort I pull away, breathless, and he rolls me over so I’m lying face down.

‘Up on your knees,’ he says softly.

I get in position and instantly he reaches between my legs and flexes his hand to splay my thighs wider and tease my eager, swelling mound with tiny touches of his fingertips.

‘Feeling skittish, are we?’

‘You bet.’ I catch my breath as he tweaks one of my soft outer lips, his touch ruthless and deliberate, challenging me to keep still.

‘Ah, but you’re wearing the bracelets. You’ve got obligations.’ His soft murmur thrills through me as he trails soft kisses all along my backbone, making me arch.

He keeps his hand on target, his fingers slipping into every hidden, private fold they find there except the main one. I writhe as I try to reach his questing finger and pair it to my eager little bud but instantly he guesses and takes his hand away.

‘Obligations?’ I bleat, desperate to reach his finger again as my climax starts to build, its distant drumbeat persistent and unmistakeable but growing slowly louder.

He curves over me, his thighs hot against my tender rear. ‘You call me sir, and you speak when I tell you. Understood?’

He scoops my hair into a ponytail and hauls back my head, drops a hot kiss on the side of my neck and then nuzzles against my ear. ‘Well?’

Whoa. This is hotter than I’m used to at this hour. ‘Yes, sir,’ I gasp.

He jerks my head up again and nuzzles my other earlobe. ‘Plus you’re a bad girl falling asleep on duty. Agreed?’

I feel a tremor as I guess what’s coming. A tremor ripples through me, not quite fear but something hot, dark and exciting. It raises goose bumps all over me. ‘Yes, sir.’ I hang over his moving hand, willing him closer, panting for release but resigned to my fate.

His voice continues to murmur at my back, his lips warm and stirring on my skin, his tone low and deadly as he lists my misdeeds. ‘And you’re still sleepy. So we better wake you up. What do you say?’

I swallow. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right, sir.’

I hear him breathe a soft sigh of satisfaction and all at once he takes his hand away and holds his fingers over my face. ‘Lick.’

Now my fate is sealed. I draw his fingers into my mouth, closing my mind to what’s about to happen and homing in on the shape and rigidity of his fingers and the shameful taste of my lust.

When they’re licked clean my arousal burns hotter than ever, riper than a bursting peach. The bed shifts as he kneels beside me and starts to arrange me into the position he wants.

It’s the only breathing space I’ll have so I take deep breaths and will myself to relax. I clear my mind of everything except the nagging throb of arousal deep between my legs.

‘Head down. Knees up close to your chest, ass in the air. Hands out to the sides.’

His commands are short and sharp. I sense his growing excitement. His need fuels mine as I shuffle into position. The pose is hard to reach and even harder to hold.

He waits patiently. Is he enjoying my struggle or getting angry? All at once he commands me to keep still. ‘Twenty to start. Then we’ll see how it goes.’

His voice is low and serious. This should be fun but I sense it’s turning into something darker. We’re in new territory now.

Quivering with excitement I hold my breath as the first slap lands. It stings like crazy but I clench my teeth and groan into the pillow as the next blows land. After the fifth I draw in a slow breath and force myself to breathe normally as excitement shoots though me, sparks erupting at every jolt of stinging, flashing pain. As he carries on the sting eases and now his rhythm is steady and relentless.

Usually when we do this he pauses every so often to stroke me or fondle me, or even gives up altogether and we simply make love. But this time the pressure is unforgiving and the blows painful.

What’s going on here?

At last it’s done and he leans close. ‘More?’

Along the covers I see the diamonds flash in the early morning light. It’s because of the bracelets. We’re in a strange place now, one new to me but scarily familiar to him. It comes with a new language and new rules.

‘Yes, sir,’ I falter.

‘Good girl.’ He grins against my ear, his lips warm and his low murmur soft.

I’m emotional now. I feel tears sting as a wave of heat scorches through me. He lands another, and then two more, and then all at once he pauses.

‘Are you ready?’ His low, dark murmur thrills through me as his hand moves softly over my punished, glowing backside, his touch making me burn, his breath so close to my ear making me shudder.

‘Yes.’ I grunt with frustration as he lands another blow, ferocious this time.

‘Yes what?’

I close my eyes. This is it, the power of the bracelets. This is what he wants me to accept, this mindless pattern of ritual and obedience.

It’s to keep me safe. And, amazingly, it’s getting to me. It’s weirdly arousing, having to do things, having to submit …

‘Yes, sir. I close my eyes and breathe out a deep sigh as he plunges inside, his delicious lunge robbing me of breath. He fills me up, over and over, until we reach our peak and climax almost as one and finally collapse in a spent, laughing heap onto the bed.

CHAPTER THREE

Boston, where I teach, is lovely in the fall. New England’s biggest city has ocean coastline, leafy avenues and friendly faces. As in any university city after Labor Day, the students are drifting back after the summer break. They bring with them an air of excitement. Longer evenings mean new faces, cold crisp mornings and hot new dates.

At our little specialist Academy the new semester has just begun.

Sunlight slants into the classrooms and the gym, the light pale and sharp now through the dark, late-summer green of the leaves as fall approaches. Our students’ lives are a universe away from the average Ivy Leaguer but they’re just as young, eager and full of hope.

Today’s Freaky Friday. We trade places with the students by dressing down while the students put on suits. I resist joining my female colleagues in full-on schoolgirl burlesque. Echoes of Miss Normal warn me this would be unseemly. Worse, dark Darnley-related images spring instantly to mind. Primly I resist bobbysox and mini-pleats but give in far enough to redistribute my daytime ponytail into kooky pigtails tied with silly bows. I complete my outfit with pedal-pushers and sneakers.

I aim for sporty but feel like an idiot.

Well aware that on weekdays Darnley’s a million miles away from my working life, I forget what I’m wearing the instant I arrive. The students love doing this and look surprisingly cool in their sharp suits. They even act more grown-up so maybe it does some good.

We have all kinds of students here – referrals mainly. None of them stay long. Some come from remand centres, some from rehab. Some are from wealthy backgrounds, some from the streets. Drama’s part of the programme on offer here to help them rehabilitate, boost their college prospects or work through personal problems. They mix with students from other backgrounds and age groups. Many are even older than me; I’m barely two years out of college and some of these ‘kids’ are in their early thirties.

We rub along. They pity my hollow, empty life and probably think I tuck myself into some cupboard at night with a cat, or maybe stay over, motionless as the furniture.

They, on the other hand, have busy, important lives poised on the edge of survival. When will they score next? Will they be beaten up on the way home? Does that boy or girl really fancy them or are they after their friend? Are their Converses cool enough? When will they eat?

They know I want to help them. Kindly they let me fill their afternoons with my patient efforts to explain drama and poetry like I’m some crazy, well-meaning aunt. Sometimes they enjoy it, sometimes they even get into it.

Attention spans vary from short to shorter but today they’re being very attentive. Drama class has never been so popular. Eldon has arrived with his camera, his blond, boy-band good looks and his fierce, uncertain temper laced with just that hint of danger he inherits from his family: that hint of Wolfe.

He should fit in well here. Like our students, he’s a little wild too.

He’s here to make a start on his movie and today’s a trial run.

Right now the slanting sunlight pools on their tense, focused faces as they work through the drama piece I’ve set them, one of my favourites. It’s from a play about love and loss, hope and despair, the twists and turns of fate and how a chance remark or a misplaced glance can lead to joy or death.

We’re working on the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.

It’s going surprisingly well. They totally get the passion, the jealousy and the violence. They get the feuding and the loyalties, the sex, the interfering adults and the street fights. To them this is home turf. Even the language is just another gang speaking its own code. They don’t know the words but they get what they mean.

As they act it through I almost kid myself they’ll remember some of it; at least till they get back out on the street and real life kicks in again.

Foolishly I feel proud. I love my work.

Right now there’s a hushed silence as we all lean forward, keen to see how Winton, our new Romeo, gets it on with Suki, our Juliet. Their balcony greeting was a triumph – delicate and intense.

Winton has a problem with one of his lines. Unknown to him it’s one of the most famous in literature and one of the best loved in Shakespeare.

‘But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?’

Ever fascinated by their take on things I wait while they explore the image here.

Winton’s genuinely perplexed. ‘But soft? What’s he sayin’ to her? “Hi, Babe, your butt’s soft?” C’mon, man. He’d just say, “Hi.” Kin I say “Hi,” Mz Dean?’

There’s a ripple of laughter and another voice joins in. ‘High? Sure is if he thinks light kin break windows. What’s he on, man? Ms Dean, kin we break a window? Like – a sound effec’ or sump’n?’

Sometimes the students teach me more than I teach them. Behind his camera even Eldon’s grinning.

I’m calling a halt before we get too deeply into the precise dosage of Romeo’s pre-Juliet entertainment when a slender girl walks into our midst. She looks round calmly, seemingly unaware she’s interrupting something.

We all go into freeze-frame.

Early in the year the students here are edgy. I tend to get the odd stray wandering in from other classes. Today word will have gone round about the movie-making so I’m expecting several. Sometimes they even join in.

But this girl puzzles me.

She has the confident air of a socialite, plus she’s beautiful in a fair, haughty kind of way. She has high cheekbones, hazel eyes and silky hair. Her eyes fasten on me with a glimmer of satisfaction.

‘Hi.’ I speak low in the sudden silence. ‘Are you looking for somewhere?’

‘This the drama class? I just found it.’ She has a light accent. She tilts her head and smiles. ‘Mind if I watch?’

‘Sure.’ I grin. This one must be from rehab. Her manner is cool but something about her is tense, like she’s hiding something. They’re often like that. ‘Take a seat.’

Behind us the camera keeps on whirring. We carry on with the lesson and I’m deep into some complex stage instruction about facing to the front so their voices will carry when I hear a flurry of movement at the back of the hall. More visitors.

I ignore it, but now the silence lengthens as the students stare past me at something over my shoulder. Slowly I turn round to see who it is and I freeze.

Darnley? Here?

He’s standing just inside the door, flanked by his men. I watch spellbound as they fan out silently along the walls. The students are equally mesmerised. They’ve all seen hit men on TV. They know instantly these are the real deal. And all eyes, mine included, fasten on the striking figure at their head, his presence as arresting as his namesake predator.

He scans the room, pointedly ignoring Eldon, and then fixes on me. For an earth-shattering second I feel slow heat rise in my cheeks then his gaze passes on without interest. A smile of surprised greeting dies on my lips as he fastens on the blonde, now gracing a battered canvas chair near the front of the stage, her slender legs in a model’s pose.

He strides across the room, grabs hold of her arm and hauls her roughly to her feet.

He knows her?

He speaks low but his angry words are clear and forceful. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She glares up at him, gives a sulky toss of her head and allows herself to be led away. As she goes she darts an angry glance at me. She snorts through small, finely drawn nostrils.

At the door Darnley turns to Eldon, his voice low like it’s an afterthought. ‘Ditch the camera.’

Instantly his men manhandle the camera out of his brother’s grasp and vanish out of the door after Darnley and his prey.

Eldon looks on, as astonished as the rest of us.

The whole episode takes about three minutes.

Eldon curses as he stares at the space between his hands where the camera was. He looks so comical the students burst out laughing. They think it’s part of the drama and he’s acting the clown. Mercifully the tension shatters and now he sees the funny side too. He grins round at them, an instant hit.

Crisis averted.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief while they break into excited chatter.

‘Wow, awesome.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Was he part of the play?’

‘Cool.’

Winton, my sulky new Romeo, is a petty thief here for help with anger management. He looks shaken, his best lines far upstaged. ‘What the fuck?’

The girls are still in shock, mouthing o-mi-god to each other like so many dazed goldfish as Darnley’s own special brand of stardust sparkles in his wake.

The diversion is a huge hit but now I’m in shock too.

Darnley? With a blonde? Here?

And even worse – the cold hostility of his look and his air of suppressed fury. I fight down my own and force myself to grin. Under the surface, questions bubble up and simmer, festering into rage. He could have warned me. ‘Don’t mind them,’ I say, airily. ‘They’re on loan from CSI.’

My joke causes a new flurry of excitement. As my phone signals I snatch it up.

It’s from Darnley. Pigtails?

Shit.

Eldon’s holding the class spellbound as he outlines their next shoot so I sneak a chance to text back, alarmed now.

Freaky Friday. We dress down.

The answer flashes up instantly.

The hell you do. Get your lick-able little ass round here straight after.

My stomach shrivels. Every wicked thought I’d suppressed earlier flares up again, fired by guilt.

Pigtails? Pedal-pushers? To a man like him they’re straw thrown at fire. Deep inside it burns in me, too. The pleasures we’ve missed all week now clamour for attention. Nameless, wicked desires prickle my belly with little points of flame.

It also occurs to me the word ‘lick’ has two meanings and I may be in for both.

With an effort I dismiss the class and hurry over to Eldon to thank him. I reassure him I’ll get his camera back in time for his next visit. It takes a while because the students are still crowding round him, wide-eyed now I’ve mentioned a real-live series. Now they think he’s from CSI they want his autograph and news of their favourite stars.

Eldon plays along happily, pleased with all the fuss. He even answers some of their questions with his superior insider’s knowledge. I look on fondly, glad he’s seen the funny side.

Meanwhile my thoughts are busy elsewhere, intent on revenge. Darnley may have issues with my outfit but I have issues too – blonde-related.

Tonight I have a date with Mr Darnley high-and-mighty Wolfe. I daresay diamond bracelets will be heavily involved, as will any number of dark, thrilling and so far unspecified, possibly unspeakable, activities.

But for now unscripted blondes shoot to the top of my agenda.

The sex can damn well wait.

I walk out of the Academy into the golden afternoon and pull up short. The car Darnley sends for me on Friday evenings is already here. He meant what he said. No chance to go home to the tiny apartment I share with my friend Billy to shower or change, or even squeeze into mini box-pleats and turn the whole thing into a joke.

Darnley’s residence is way out of town, over in leafy Lexington. I’ve shared with Billy on and off since we were students. Billy likes to work close to the centre to reach her office, me ditto the Academy, so I visit Darnley at weekends while Eldon, Darnley’s brother and Billy’s surprising new squeeze, conveniently takes my place in her apartment.

It’s early days but so far it’s working well. Happy families all round.

As the vast car pulls up in the spacious driveway I get out and breathe in quiet, scent-laden air from the lush gardens, a world away from the busy backstreets of Boston or the neighbourhood where I work. It’s peaceful here, with birdsong and the swish of leaves. It’s a calming prelude to what may turn into a weekend of hot sex, blistering arguments or even a new shift in our stormy relationship. Darnley can be difficult when he wants – part of his appeal.

In the light, art-filled spaces of his mansion I’m partway across the gleaming tropical hardwood parquet when something strikes me as out of place. One of the stunning artworks, a massive Lichtenstein and by chance one of my favourites, is tilted at a crazy angle in the hallway. Halfway up the stairs I see a scrap of filmy scarlet lace draped over the banister.

I frown. What’s going on?

At the top of the stairs, reality shifts. Am I in the wrong house? Walking casually across the spacious entrance hall below me is a female, semi-naked and wet, towelling her hair with the corner of a bath-towel loosely draped round the rest of her. Her bare feet trail wet prints across a precious antique rug specially shipped from China.

Through the open doorway on this floor I can hear a piercingly sweet aria by Mozart so I know he’s here somewhere. But the sight of the woman down there chills my blood.

It’s that blonde.

I stand very still as Darnley appears at the door to his sitting room. He looks casual, lithe, gorgeous, like he’s been freshly poured into the soft fabric of his costly tailoring. He could have stepped straight out of a commercial for fabulous, wealthy men. For men like him women wait in line, blondes especially.

At the sight of me he stops short. The blonde is looking up at me, her face furrowed with an unappealing frown. She looks less than pleased I’m here.

The feeling is mutual.

‘You again?’ With a flare of her nostrils she turns on one wet heel and disappears into some room on the left.

I descend the stairs. One look at Darnley’s beautiful, classical face and I firmly resolve not to allow my eyes to stray downwards over his muscular chest, his powerful thighs and further down.

I fail spectacularly.

He does just the opposite, feasting on me with his gaze, his look melting my will.

‘What’s happening?’ I glare at him, suppressing the urge to beat his chest with my fists. ‘You’re planning a threesome?’

‘With you in that?’ His eyes flicker. ‘No way.’

‘So who is she?’ I keep my voice low in case my outrage derails things before I can prise an explanation out of him.

His lip curls. ‘What, you want me to introduce you? I thought you two knew each other.’ His sardonic tone is a shock. So is the slight flare to his nostrils, proof it’s real.

Does he have any idea how close he is to sudden death? I take a step closer and raise my chin, keeping my voice low. ‘And why, precisely, should I know that?’

He frowns, like something’s not quite adding up. ‘She was in your class.’ His tone hints both that it’s my fault and that this explains everything. ‘Consuela’s over here for a while. She’s under my personal protection.’ He breathes out slowly, summoning patience.

‘I thought I was under your personal protection.’ All at once my voice sounds husky. It’s a minor miracle I have a voice at all.

I’m at a serious disadvantage here. She’s not only lissom and beautiful, she’s freshly showered and elegant in sexy satin. I’ve been working hard all day; I’m hot and tired and the hasty dab-wash I managed in the staff toilets did nothing to cool me down. I’ve no satin or scent to help me out, just kooky pigtails and too-tight, day-weary pedal-pushers.

I’m defenceless – alone and unarmed.

And as I stare at him, still not making any sense of all this, an awful possibility washes over me. Is this it? Is this how it’s done? Is this how he dumps me? Is this what happens when his mysterious love life ricochets from one dazzling beauty to another: skipping over the shy, awkward teacher-cum-poet he somehow got stuck with somewhere in between?

Famously crap at relationships: Ryan’s description. My ex should know. He was famously crap at them himself.

Darnley’s expression is unreadable. I want to scream and shout, tell him to get that woman the hell out of here. But something in his manner stops me.

He’s unnaturally still, his look unnaturally intense. ‘You are,’ he says at last.

I see a flicker in his eyes. There’s something under the surface here, something he’s not telling me.

And he’s pissed about it. Correction. He’s pissed at me.

‘No towels in here.’ The silvery voice slices between us as the woman reappears. She glances up at me. ‘Call me Cola, by the way. And you’re Ella?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘I said try the en-suite. Better still, go ask my housekeeper.’

She sighs heavily and pads off in the other direction.

Now Darnley frowns at me, his expression faintly exasperated. ‘She’s here with the South American trade delegation. Cola’s over here looking for an internship. She’s being stalked. I’m looking after her for now.’

He steps up close, touches my cheek with one finger, his expression thoughtful as he lowers his voice. ‘It’s a family thing, Ella. It can’t be helped. You really don’t know who she is? I find that hard to believe. But here goes. She knew how to find your class today. She even knew your name. So it looks to me like you two already met. But if we’re still play-acting, then here goes. She’s a friend of the family. She’s with my mother. They’re on a visit from Washington.’

I hardly have time to draw in a deep breath of joy and relief before he pulls me into his arms and fastens his mouth on mine. We kiss for an age – or no time at all. I lose track. He tastes wonderful – heaven and spice in one heady mix.

As he pulls away his expression hardens. ‘Hey, never mind her, it’s Friday night. We’re now on Wolfe Time. And we have things to discuss. Starting with these.’

I knew it. Arousal fizzes through me, scorching all my pent-up feelings into hot, hard lust. I bite my lip and look up through my lashes. ‘There’s a problem?’

His eyes narrow. ‘Damn right there’s a problem. You’re wearing it. And we’re going to deal with it right now.’ He pats my backside none too gently and hustles me into his room.

CHAPTER FOUR

At that moment there’s a commotion outside. I follow Darnley’s glance and see a large black sedan, flanked by an outrider on a motorcycle. They both have diplomatic number plates and small foreign pennants fluttering at the front.

‘Ah, Cola’s escort. Let’s hope she’s decent.’ He turns to me, the gleam in his eyes hinting that I am anything but. ‘I’d better see her off. You stay here.’ He steps up close and brushes his lips to my face. ‘And no touching.’ He runs a finger along my cheek, his lip curling at the corner, and then lowers his voice. ‘I’ll know.’

I wait by the window, breathless, while the fresh-washed spoilt brat is herded into the vast car, doors are slammed and she’s driven smoothly away. I draw in a long breath and let it out slowly as relief floods over me.

My relief lasts just forty seconds, the time it takes him to get back upstairs. The minute Darnley’s door closes behind him I know I’m in trouble. He folds his arms, his jaw stern. He looks lean and mean. I feel shaky.

I sense a wave of power emanate from him. Or maybe mine just ebbed away.

His eyes narrow as he steps closer. ‘Freaky Friday, indeed. Now you can tell me just what the hell you think you’re playing at dressed up like that.’ His eyes fill with heat.

I shiver, part playful, part scared, as he slowly lifts one of my pigtails and runs it through his fingers, letting the tight braid glide over his hand. His eyes stay locked on mine.

‘I was at work. Seriously, Darnley, I’d no idea I’d see you today.’

‘And that makes it OK, does it?’ He arches an eyebrow but his voice lowers a notch, making me shiver.

I lower my eyelids, thrilled at where we’re going but determined to hold my ground. Down below my belly contorts in an agony of arousal. At this rate I’ll come where I stand. ‘It’s for work. We all do it. Anyway, I’m not exactly slutty schoolgirl …’ I tail off at the sudden gleam in his eyes.

‘That’s for me to say. How many people saw you today?’

I stare at him, confused. ‘Hardly anybody. It’s just for work, Darnley. I’d no idea you were going to walk in and play Die Hard in my drama class.’

He flicks my pigtail with one finger and then seizes the other and pulls me towards him. ‘I know a bad girl when I see one. And I also know when she’s digging a hole for herself. How many, Ella?’

He’s grinning now but watchful, poised for some kill. I shiver as he draws me into his arms and his hand runs down my side to my tense, tightly clad backside. I haven’t worn pedal-pushers in a while … He squeezes gently as he presses against me and now I know instantly from the hard, jutting column of power that burns up against my belly that he’s suffered as much as I have while we’ve been apart, maybe even more.

And I sure as hell know what he needs now.

Now I know where we’re going I hardly care how we get there. What’s more, I can take all the time I like over my journey. I smile up at him through my lashes and go for broke. ‘No idea. Let’s say … about a hundred?’

If I’d said a thousand he couldn’t look more pleased. He masks it quickly, stern now as he looks me over, assessing all the possibilities of my silly, kooky outfit and the fake innocence in my eyes, growing wider now in real alarm.

He doesn’t play at this. And as he senses my hesitation his eyes gleam with a new awareness.

Playtime just got serious.

I try for a quick distraction. ‘So it’s really bad, this stalker thing?’

His eyes flicker. ‘Her family think so. Her father’s got business rivals here – and something of a reputation. She’s OK in Washington but coming to Boston stretched her team a bit. And anyway, you’re stalling.’ His expression hardens. ‘Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. Come here.’

I flow into his arms like wilful honey. For a long minute we fuse together, our mouths fully engaged, our hearts beating as one, barely millimetres of flesh between them as our bodies re-acquaint.

Mine, pulsing steadily, already glowing lower down, maps his hard, jutting landscape with a deep, belly-warming thrill. His, stronger, leaner, more powerful, tests my softness and my warmth with hot, probing flexes of muscle and sinew, his hands easing over the curves of my lower back and along my sides, lingering on my hills, easing deep into my valleys while his swelling erection thickens between us – our connection and our divider.

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ My soft whisper fills the space between our lips when he finally eases away, the glimmer in his eyes warning our separation will be brief.

‘Me too. You think this weekend thing will work? It drives me crazy thinking of you out there in the city without me. All week.’

He steps away, his hands still gripping my shoulders, his thumbs moving gently on my skin. ‘And now look.’ He shakes his head slowly, his mouth twitching faintly at the corners. ‘See what you get up to when I’m not around? You just can’t be trusted, can you?’

I grin, alarm and lust blending into a flare of excitement. ‘Trusted? To do what?’

He’s pulling me towards the bed now, his grip suddenly painful, his fingers closed on my wrist like a vice. ‘Not to dress like a tramp. Slutty schoolgirl? Without my express permission? Disgraceful.’

He sits down suddenly, his grip still like iron, and pushes me away to arm’s length, still holding me fast. ‘You’re going to undo the top button of your pedal-pushers and the first inch or so of your zip and then you’re going to put that eager, wicked little hand right in there and you’re going to feel yourself. Now.’

In a panic I scrabble with my left hand and edge my zip down a little way, keeping my eyes on his as I force my fingers down into the skin-tight split cutting into my groin where these damn pedal-pushers have been causing me grief all day as they pressed hard on my private places, making me ache every time my thoughts strayed anywhere near Darnley.

He watches in silence, his eyes locked on mine, waiting for the tell-tale flicker in my face that tells him his command is being rigorously obeyed.

‘Keep feeling. I want to see that wicked little fingertip working that greedy, needy clit. And if you dare to come –’ his voice lowers to a predatory growl ‘– the spanking you’re about to get will become even longer and a lot harder.’

‘Like something else I could mention?’ I arch my neck as he lowers my zip a fraction further, his fingers lingering on my navel as he does it, skimming the edge of my slim, straining wrist where my hand is wedged into my crotch and my gently working finger is already edging me ever closer to my doom.

All at once his fingers skim my wrist and clamp around my slim bones, his grip so fierce I look down at him in alarm.

‘Don’t stop.’ He sounds husky, and now I see his eyes are fixed on my wristbone and the places where it disappears easily into his circling, vice-like thumb-to-finger circlet.

What now? What tiny facet of my flexing, delicate wrist has caught his attention? It’s like he’s transfixed, his chest barely moving. Has he forgotten to breathe?

I ruffle his hair with one hand and stoop to kiss it, my lips barely touching its mass of springy, fresh-washed chestnut, gilt-tipped now in the low sunlight slanting in from the dying sunset that bathes the vista outside his vast windows in a wash of gold.

‘Darnley?’

He looks up slowly, his eyes dark with purpose and the prospect of hidden, complex pleasures. ‘Nearly there?’

I shudder as his sudden question sparks a violent jolt of arousal from my swollen, fiery bud, thudding with building excitement as my finger obediently torments it towards climax.

‘Good,’ he says, softly. ‘Now take your hand away and get over my knee, you naughty girl. Dressing like a tramp and feeling yourself? You think that kind of behaviour goes unpunished for long round here?’

I stare at him as flames flicker through me, well aware that in seconds he’s going to find I’m shamefully aroused. I may even show.

His eyes flash. ‘Well?’

Startled, I forget my moistening shame for a second and jerk back into play. ‘Yes, sir,’ I jabber. ‘Er, no, sir.’

He arches an eyebrow, his query cynical. ‘Well? Which? It goes unpunished or not?’

My breathing’s faster now, my cheeks filling with colour as my excitement builds. ‘It goes unpunished. I mean it goes punished. Dammit, Darnley, just do it already.’

I collapse over his knee, laughing now, but confused. Everywhere down inside my pedal-pushers glows in a lake of flame as my tormented bud presses into the tight fabric. I curve low, the lacy line of my thong an extra torment and painfully tight as I bend over. At the same moment he forces my thighs apart and chuckles softly as he discovers my shame.

‘And what’s this? You’re close? And we’ve barely started? Wicked girl. This earns extra strokes. Open your legs. Keep them nice and straight. Put your hands behind your back and keep them there. I’ll make a couple of tiny adjustments to improve the view.’

I strain to hold position while he wrenches my top down below my hanging breasts, scooping their weight out of my fancy bra-cups so they bulge out over the ridge of fabric. In the mirror opposite I look like a porno ad. He looks – as always – like some classical god.

So unfair.

I watch him, entranced, as he gazes down at me, his perfect profile motionless, rapt now as he peels my straining pedal-pushers down a little way over my hips to the place just below the tops of my thighs where they start to split apart. He pauses a moment, dips his head and drops a kiss on both sides of my now exposed and, I assume, deliciously quivering rump, thrust high up under his face in two pink, shivering mounds.

Breathless, I watch him in the mirror as he does it. Is he always this reverent when he looks at me down here? He’s very still, like he’s found some precious treasure and wants to savour the moment of discovery. It’s a kind of worship.

It brings tears to my eyes. For a few precious seconds I feel his hot breath on my skin and the whisper-soft touch of his lips on first one and then the other cheek of my backside.

The next moment he brings even more tears to my eyes as his hand rises high in the air and comes down hard. I yell in shock and surprise, even though I knew perfectly well what to expect. It’s always a shock, that first shattering blow. I screw my eyes tight, not wanting to look any more.

He leans down close to my ear, his breath hot again.

‘Quiet. Or I’ll gag you.’

‘I’ll try, sir.’ I grit my teeth. All at once this whole spanking thing gets even hotter as blows fall. I clench my teeth to stop crying out, twisting my fingers into a knot at my back to avoid fending him off. And sure enough, just like always, something about this sends flames flaring through me, every jolt of my mound on his hard, muscular leg a bolt of electricity straight to my thudding centre.

When he pauses to fondle me his touch ripens the dark burn of his punishing blows with a wave of tenderness so arousing I feel giddy with desire. I’ve already fingered myself to frenzy. Now he’s soothing me to another as my secret places burn and scorch, pooling with need, flexing with hunger, endlessly denied the bliss of release.

At last he pushes me off his knee, his breathing ragged. He takes firm hold of my pigtails and pulls me to him with a dark, meaningful grin, scoops both pigtails into one hand and frees himself with the other. His erection springs before me, hot, hard and bulging. Now it’s my turn to worship as he guides my head, pulling my hair painfully tight as he twists my pigtails round his fist and torments my breasts with the other, a painful tweak on my nipple making me open my mouth.

His eyes dance. ‘Take it in your mouth. And keep your eyes on my face. Get it nice and wet.’

I lunge forward, letting his grip on my hair signal how far, and start to lick eagerly. I push forward along his shaft a little way, then draw back at his tug.

‘Now you can finger yourself till you come. But keep your eyes on mine. I want to watch.’

This is the hardest part. I’m shy under his amused, steady gaze. My climax erupts almost at once as my teasing finger lands on my hot, throbbing little place but the rush of pleasure that follows lowers my eyelids in rapture and jolts through my mouth in a spasm of pleasure. It’s an effort not to graze him with my teeth. He pushes in a little further, filling my mouth to stifle my moans. As my orgasm ripples away he grins, pulls away from my lips and rises to his feet. He hauls me upright, his fist still knotted in my pigtails. I wince, tears of pain and pleasure smarting now.

‘You’re still a bad girl. Bend over.’

He pushes me down onto the bed and I clutch the cover as he forces my legs up to the edge of the mattress and separates my legs with his knee. ‘A hundred, I think you said. You’ve already had thirty or so. So we’ll make it a round –’ he delivers a sudden hard slap to one side of my glowing backside ‘– forty.’

He slaps again and this time follows through with a few more while I gnaw at the cover and lose count as my excitement builds again.

‘So we’ll have sixty left for later. But for now, we’ll finish with this.’

I barely hear the rip of foil or his low snarl of satisfaction as he finally plunges inside. All I hear is the roar of the blood pounding in my ears, the whimper of pleasure from my parted lips and the grunt of content that growls from his as he thrusts again and again, filling me up, ramming into me with the heat of a furnace and the power of a lion.

My belly takes over, hauling him in. All the muscles that craved his entry are now blissfully at work while my head thuds into the mattress and his tight grip on my hair fixes me in place. And when he stills and starts to pump, his warm gush glows in my belly like sunrise.

We lie together on the bed, our lips saying ‘Hi’ with tiny kisses but our eyes doing all the talking. His are fond, fading to thoughtful. Mine are … how do I know? Foolish? Adoring? Still smarting from my spanking and a-glitter with tears?

Or maybe he’s thinking about something else …

‘So, tell me about your visitor.’ I’ve no idea why I say this. Maybe it seems a quiet, neutral time to talk family.

Instantly his expression veils. ‘I was hoping you’d tell me about her.’

I smile at him, bleary with orgasm. ‘Ask me? What could I possibly know about her?’

He’s unnaturally still, his gaze like steel. ‘That’s what I wondered. Since the stalker thing started she’s been using a special phone. It has a security device to block outside calls. Today we had to upgrade her security to twenty-four-seven personal protection because she made an unmonitored call. It gave away her location to anybody who might be listening in. Now it’s possible her stalker knows precisely where she is.’

This is far too technical for me. I’m only half listening as I run a finger along his perfect jawline and touch his finely sculpted lower lip. I grin as he catches my finger in his teeth. ‘So? What’s that got to do with me?’

He releases my finger, his gaze steady. ‘The call came from your phone.’

CHAPTER FIVE

I stare up at him, numb with shock. It must show in my face because he watches me closely for a moment and then kisses first one nipple then the other and looks up with a smile. ‘So? Any ideas?’

My mouth’s gone dry. ‘Anybody could have used my phone but nobody would. The students all have their own, far newer than mine. Anyway, I trust them.’

I think fast. Like all the staff I leave my valuables in my locker. But today …? ‘I left it on a chair at the back of the hall to signal the rehearsal segments for Eldon’s filming. I had trouble slipping it in and out of my pocket because …’ I tail off.

He’s watching me steadily. ‘Go on. Because what?’

I swallow. ‘Because my pedal-pushers were so tight …’ I falter again at the glimmer of heat in his eyes. His slow smile and a twitch from his nether regions warn me today’s rash choice of costume may still have a sting in its tail.

‘You don’t say?’ His velvet tone hints at scary possibilities. ‘We’ll explore this later. For now I’m guessing you need a shower. My treat.’

My shower is carefully stage-managed and deeply disturbing. He has a new toy – a battery-operated cone with suction pads that he’s fixed to the tiles.

When he tells me what it’s for and what it does I gaze at him open-mouthed. ‘You’re not serious?’

He’s serious all right – seriously laughing. The glee in his eyes melts my soul. His outrageous suggestion is irresistible.

He makes me lean against it, forcing me onto it so my most private and personal place is splayed open and then I must control my squeals as he navigates the buttons and the speeds, making me shudder with arousal in all the right places while the thing vibrates in all the wrong ones.

At the same time he hoses me off with the spray and, as I’m bent almost double to accommodate the thing, I’m encouraged to pay detailed attention to his glistening manhood. This is so exciting that shower time takes a while. We finish breathless with laughter, me tingling and stretched, both of us far wetter than necessary.

Towelling me off takes a while too as he fingers my newly loosened opening, grinning like it’s a perfectly normal place to loosen. ‘One day we might have some fun in here. We’ll see.’

The cone was way more fun than I like to admit; luckily the spray sluiced off most of my tell-tale excitement. I can only hope he’s teasing. Finally he drops a kiss on my shoulder and with it another bombshell.

‘Now put on something pretty. We’ll have a sexy night out.’

I fling my arms around his neck. ‘Must we? What happened to our sexy night in? I was looking forward to it.’

He smiles slowly, his expression dark. ‘Me too. You can’t believe how much. But I feel like showing you off on a dance floor. Plus it’s my cook’s night off. Anyway, you deserve it. Tomorrow we’re invited to a civic reception to welcome the South American delegation to Boston.’

I laugh and nuzzle his neck. ‘What, this is your revenge on me for causing you all this hassle in the first place?’

His face grows stern. ‘Nope. This is both a family and a professional duty.’ He kisses me gently, his look hooded. ‘My revenge on you comes later.’

We agree that first I have to call in at Billy’s tiny apartment to pick up some things for the next two days, since I arrived earlier than planned at his residence and was unaware we’d spend most of it black-tie. My trip across town is swift. I dive into the apartment and snatch up my bag, ready-packed for a wicked weekend but lacking any significant evening wear. I grab my cocktail dress and my newest long gown, drape both over my arm and make for the door. As I glance out of the window I pause a moment.

There’s a woman standing across the street.

People wait across streets from places all the time. Nothing special about that.

I must be getting jumpy. Darnley’s obsession with security rarely gets to me but the thought that our weekend could be derailed this easily makes me nervous. Also, something about this woman is oddly familiar. I’ve seen her outside the Academy. And more than once, now I come to think of it. She seems to be staring right at my window. A chill runs through me.

I slam the door impatiently and head for the stairs. I’m getting as paranoid as Darnley. Then I run back and double-check the lock, race back down to Bullen and try to forget about it.

Getting ready takes a while because Darley insists on supervising every stage of my dressing and make-up, leaning casually on the dresser in my room and tweaking my nipples to hard pebbles to show under the modest neckline of my semi-respectable, tight-fitting cocktail dress and then scooping it down a little to spoil the effect, modesty-wise, so it ends up showing far more of me than I usually allow.

I lift my chin, hoping to look unconcerned, until he runs a finger along my lowered neckline and grins, ruining that effect too.

At last we climb into the car. Tonight the security detail comes with us. Two men sit silently in front, two in another car behind. I gather we’re on the lookout for Cola. We start out sleek and high-end and work slowly down through the nightspots. But when we finally reach a nightspot popular with the Harvard crowd Darnley squeezes my arm. ‘Hey. Look over there. In the middle of the dance floor.’

It’s Cola, dancing with abandon. All at once she spots us and bids a hasty farewell to her partner, who disappears into the crowd. She hurries over to greet us, but now I see Darnley tap a message into his phone. As she takes us both by the arm and leads us over to the bar, she chatters eagerly while we order cocktails, and happily settles onto a barstool, like she always hangs around in bars on her own. Darnley remains tight-lipped.

Soon she sidles up to me. ‘Powder room?’

We go together, arm-in-arm.

‘Having fun?’ I smile at her, puzzled. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. She’s a world away from the sullen child I met earlier.

I search for something to say. Babysitting spoilt rich kids is no way to use up our precious weekends. ‘I hope you enjoyed the play. You’re welcome to sit in any time.’

She puts her head on one side. ‘Thank you. It’s such a sad story.’ All of a sudden her lip trembles. ‘And please, don’t tell him about me next time.’ Her lovely eyes fill with tears.

She looks unbearably sad and now I sense real pain. Poor kid, but it’s a relief there’s something real below her brittle spoilt-brat surface. I look at her with new interest.

‘I didn’t tell him that time,’ I say gently. ‘You did that by using my phone.’ It occurs to me that maybe Darnley would sooner conceal his methods. It might be diplomatic to gloss over her casual phone use.

It also occurs to me that she was on-site for some reason. If she’s on a roll she’s troubled in some way. Our students don’t just wander in off the street.

I pat her hand and say nothing.

Definitely rehab.

I hover while she fusses with her hair and make-up and finally slips into a cubicle. As another one frees up I do too, listening out for her. Other women come in and chatter and leave. When I emerge all’s quiet but she’s still in there so I hang around to wait.

Minutes later I frown. Is she on something? Darnley will never forgive me …

‘Cola?’ I push at her cubicle door.

The cubicle’s empty.

Panic rising, I reach for my phone then pause. Maybe she’s back at the table. I glance round the door but Darnley’s sitting alone at our table, his men nearby.

Is she dancing? If I go back in without her Darnley will freak. Think.

I check the small corridor I’m standing in. The locked doors are all marked ‘Private’ except one marked ‘Fire exit’, right at the end. When I push it I find it leads outside.

Could someone have come in? I reach for my phone, seriously alarmed now. As I do it the door swings open and Cola appears.

‘Where the heck have you been?’ I sound shrill. ‘I thought …’

‘Thought what?’ She dashes a hand to her face, like she’s been crying.

‘You OK?’ I touch her arm.

‘You spying on me too?’ She snatches her arm away and now she’s back to the charm-school dropout. ‘I wanted some air, that’s all.’

‘Darnley’s worried about you. He says –’

She pushes past me. ‘I know what he says. I want to leave now. I’m tired of dancing.’

Back at our table Darnley takes one look at her sour expression, so different from a few minutes ago, and frowns at me. ‘What happened?’

I roll my eyes. ‘How should I know?’

I’m still dizzy from her mood-swing. The rehab’s definitely not working.

We drive back in silence, thankfully without Cola, who’s now en route to her hotel. Darnley’s expression is unreadable. As we walk in and we’re finally alone he glares down at me. ‘What’s going on? How much do you know about all this, Ella? A call came from your cell. You take for ever in the powder room. Now she’s upset. What happened?’

‘She slipped out by the fire exit. Just for some air,’ I add quickly. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say she was meeting somebody. Darnley, what’s wrong with her?’

He frowns. ‘How do I know? Stalking’s a nasty business. It gets to people. Lucky one of the men was stationed outside.’

At my furious look he smiles and pulls me into his arms. ‘Hey. Just testing. Forget about her. Now for my revenge.’

His mouth fastens on mine before I can catch my breath or prepare. His kiss is urgent and hungry, tasting me like I want to be tasted, lingering like I need him to linger. His tongue has a language of its own and now its subtle signals reach every part of my body, sending sensation rippling out all over me.

When he pulls away his look is veiled but strangely intense. ‘I like to see you out on the town. But tonight something tells me you’re uneasy. Why? Is it because you’re with me? Or because we had company?’

I press against him, warmed through with his glorious male heat. I can feel him swelling against me. Little shifts and flexes of his muscles tell me I’m wanted and tell me how much. And one part in particular is telling me very clearly indeed. I can feel it stiffening, ready for action.

‘It’s just … I’m not used to the security detail. Kind of cramps my style.’

His expression hardens. ‘Too bad. That’s how I work.’

I gaze up at him in despair. ‘Yes, but it’s hardly normal, is it? Most people have fun without an armed guard in tow.’

His arms wind around my back, then one hand eases down my zipper and the other slips inside my dress and splays out all over my tender rump, where the effects of his spanking are flowering fully under the tight satin. ‘It’s just for a couple of days. And they’re not here now. Or hadn’t you noticed in all the excitement? I like this dress, by the way, but we’re going to have to rearrange it a little.’

The rearrangement is swift and dramatic. He bunches it round my hips, hauls the top down to pin my arms and lifts me bodily over to the bed. In seconds he’s kneeling over my face, his eyes burning down into me with all the fire he’s kept hidden so long.

Excitement flares. The pressure at his flies is startling now. I feel an answering pressure down below. With an effort I lean up to try to unfasten him with my teeth, one of my most effective party tricks whenever we reach this point.

With a grin he pushes me back down. ‘Not so fast, missy. You’ve still got some ground to make up from your schoolgirl antics earlier. I’ll do the honours here.’ He’s smiling as he frees himself. His massive column juts in my face, my doom and my delight, and as he edges it just within reach of my eager lips I lap eagerly, the light scent of his shower gel blending with his body heat in a heady mix that stirs my senses and sends a fierce glow straight to my groin.

‘Whoa, easy. Leave some for later.’ His voice comes out in a rasp, surprising me a little. Why is he so moved by this? Why tonight? He’s been watching me all evening, like he can’t get enough of me. Now he’s close to the finish line already and we’ve hardly started …

‘Lick it a little. All the way. I like to see your tongue. You look like a kitten with cream.’

I obey eagerly, nervous at first and then eager, thrilling to the salty, silky surfaces he shifts to present to me, making it easier for me to reach. His breath is uneven now as he holds off from release, determined, as always, to make me beg.

Just when I’m sure he must erupt into orgasm he pulls away with an effort, wrenches my dress a little further down my arms, scoops my breasts out of my lacy bra cups and plunders them with his mouth.

I writhe below him as he feasts first on one and then the other, his kiss deep and arousing as he fastens on each swollen, stiffening nipple in turn, bringing heat to the surface of my areolae and nibbling my hard, rumpled little pebbles to tight, quivering numbness.

Pinned and helpless in my bunched satin sheath I can only plead, rigid and inflamed as his eager mouth travels slowly down to my wide-splayed thighs, still sheathed in black nylon, my arching feet still poised in my achingly high heels. With delicate, skin-rippling precision he eases the tip of his tongue under the tight, lacy edge of each stocking-top and licks, leaving a taut, wet trail around the top of each thigh, achingly close to my pulsing centre. With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snarl he finally lands on my fully exposed, quivering sex and starts to feast.

I shudder with excitement but his angry look quells me to silence as his tongue-tip works deep into my private places, sending heat and shame through me, equally fierce, equally inflaming. Slowly, tasting as he goes, he makes his way back up towards my face and when he leans back over me I see a glint in his eyes as I hear the rip of foil.

Focused and stern, he holds my gaze as he plunges inside. Now my rigid position has one big advantage: I’m trussed so tight his thrusting loins ram hard against my pleasure centre at every plunge.

His expression softens as he pounds. ‘Keep looking at me. I want to see this.’

He watches my pleasure build. Bliss creeps closer but my pleasure must dawn and flower under his steady gaze as he observes my surrender.

Amazingly it works. As his eyes lock ruthlessly on mine, my rapture swells.

‘Here it comes, my pet. Sing to me.’

It’s too much. My climax explodes inside me, more intense than I’ve ever felt before, and I sing. Not singing in the usual sense of the term, more a strangled wail, but the light in his eyes seals my rapture as he laughs deep in his throat as he speeds to his finish.

‘Shit, Ella, you’re like a miracle.’

CHAPTER SIX

In the morning we wake up together. We do this so rarely it takes me a second to adjust. I open my eyes feeling like I’m six and it’s Christmas. Then I feel heat all along my side and a strong, muscular arm draped over my waist and I remember where I am: heaven. Or somewhere close.

His eyes are closed, his amazing, angular face close to mine, his breathing regular and long like he’s deep in sleep. I drink him in for a few moments before it occurs to me this is doubly rare. On the few occasions we’ve fallen asleep in the same bed he’s usually up, shaved, dressed, hired, fired and made a couple of million before I come to. But today, briefly, he’s all mine to cherish and admire.

It’s maybe the closest I’ll get to this man of mystery.

‘You trying the goods? Or just licking windows, as they say in Paris?’

He’s awake. And a dark glitter along the line of his lashes warns me he’s laughing. He leans on one elbow and grins down at me. ‘Sleepyhead. Turn over.’

I resist, laughing too. ‘They lick what in Paris?’

Warm and lazy from his body heat I swivel in his arms and now his vital part prods at my behind, his manhood triumphantly awake and every bit as eager as I am to start the new day with a bang.

He seizes me between the legs and cups my mound. His warm, firm pressure has only one purpose: to make me horny. Like I need to be any hornier than I am right this minute.

‘Windows. Lécher les vitrines. French for window-shopping. And know what?’

At the rip of foil I splay my thighs, my lower belly pulsing already with an aching, persistent throb as I pant with excitement. ‘What?’

I lean back against him as he pulls me close, his middle finger sending a bolt of electricity through me as it slips between my legs and finds my money-spot. Delight makes me gasp as he surges inside, his full length gliding in easily as my pulsing places respond eagerly to his wake-up call and rouse my sleepy belly. My muscles flow around him, drawing in his jutting, arrogant power-tool like I’m quicksand.

He’s still laughing against my ear, his breath hot and disturbing. ‘When I take you to Paris I’ll lick something way more fun than windows.’

I writhe in his arms as my climax builds.

‘This, maybe.’ His soft chuckle shudders through me as the wicked rhythm of his fingers drums me to a climax. Seconds later he explodes inside me in a gush of heat, our fusion all the sweeter for being stolen so early and snatched from sleep.

I lie in his arms for a while, too wakeful to sleep, too sleepy to talk anything but nonsense. Like a fool I try to lighten the stalking thing by telling him about the woman outside my apartment. ‘And she was outside the Academy this week.’

‘How often?’ He breaks in, his voice harsh.

‘Three times, maybe four. Does it matter?’

‘Shit, Ella. You might have said.’

I tease his lips with my finger. ‘Don’t get mad. She’s probably waiting for a bus.’

He pushes me back down, leaning over me with a growl. ‘This settles it. You’ll have to move in.’

‘What? Here?’ I stare up at him as the idea takes hold of me. Live here, in this palace, with this stunning man? And now I come to think of it, my friend Billy’s back soon. She’ll want space to entertain Eldon …

I fight down temptation. I’m my own woman. ‘Darnley, we’ve talked about this. I need my space during the week. I need to work.’

His eyes darken. ‘Me too. But I need you. I need you here. And know what? I need you now.’

He hauls the cover off me and kneels between my thighs, his expression purposeful as he caresses my thighs, pushes them apart with deliberate twitches of his fingers. Ignoring my laughing protests he lowers his tousled head and fastens on my most private place, where my throbbing, lively little bud is still aglow with orgasm.

At the first touch of his tongue I jolt, at the second I laugh out loud, but as he keeps on, his tongue urgent and compelling, I sink into the easy sea of pleasure swelling around me as another climax starts to build. Soon I buck and thrash in his jaws like a ravished doe as he triggers another earth-shattering orgasm. It ripples slowly away, leaving me glowing like molten gold.

He surges up over me and pulls me into his arms, laughing and triumphant. ‘See? That’s what you need. You need me.’

Later we lounge in bed with a breakfast tray and coffee brought in by a scuttling maid. Has she seen women here before? I’d sooner not know. As I sip he’s already pacing the room, checking his phone, issuing orders.

All at once he glances my way. ‘Tonight we’re due at the State House around eight. That suit?’

‘We are?’ I scan his face and swallow. ‘Are you sure you want me to come?’

His look instantly clouds. ‘Shit, Ella, don’t back down now. I thought you’d be pleased. Anyway, my mother wants to meet you.’

I sit up in alarm. ‘What? How does she know about me?’

For a full second he looks so surprised I wonder what I’ve said. Next second he’s swooped down to place his arms at either side of me on the bed, his face close to mine. ‘One, I told her. You’re the first girl I’ve mentioned to her, so she’s interested. Plus, she already heard of you. She likes your poetry.’

‘You’re kidding.’ I giggle as he sits next to me and slips his hand in my robe, fondling my breast. I arch my neck with excitement. ‘Is she a poet too?’

His face is deep in my neck now. I can feel his breath on my skin. ‘Not really, but she knows a lot of people, including your old professor. Chances are –’ his hand slips over to the other breast and now my arms are wound round his waist, pulling him closer ‘– he’ll be there too. Hey. Move over.’

I’d hoped for a long, lazy day, lunch al fresco followed by a long, lazy, poolside afternoon in the last of the sunshine before the weather turns cold. But as the afternoon wears on Darnley spends more and more time on calls. From his irritated tone I guess it’s about Cola again.

As we get ready to go out he prowls my room, looking carelessly perfect, occasionally adjusting his cuffs but more often glancing darkly at me. I grow uneasy as I adjust my tiny diamond earrings and put the finishing touches to my hair.

As he draws close my eyes widen. He’s brought the bracelets.

From the box the diamonds flash and dazzle. Their brilliance does little to calm my nerves. Now I’m on high alert. He raises my hand to his lips, drops a soft kiss on the inside edge of my palm and snaps on the first bracelet.

‘You’ll wear them all evening. Maybe longer.’

His low murmur and his dark, steady look send excitement pounding through me as heat flares deep down. At the same moment I feel a shimmer of fear.

I raise my other hand and he fixes the other bracelet in place, his gaze solemn. Our ritual has already begun, the air between us ablaze with bling and crackling with tension.

I’m still in my underwear, a porno-effect paper doll in heels, stockings and skimpy lingerie. His sweeping clinical look makes me burn.

‘Lose these.’ He fingers the lacy trim at the edge of my panties and wrenches it a little way down my leg. Hurriedly I step out of them, kicking away the wisp of designer lace that cost more than my last month’s food bill.

He slips a finger deep into my little valley. ‘Open your legs.’

Slowly he runs his fingers along one side of my swollen folds and then the other, holding each lip lightly in his finger and thumb. This is strangely intimate and very controlling, like a tailor feeling cloth. A shudder runs all through my belly and down the backs of my legs.

His eyes lock on mine, dark with intent, his expression grave. ‘I guess you know what comes first.’ He gives my folds a slight but unmistakeable downward tug.

I swallow. I’m learning to expect this, to yearn for it, even. We start the ritual with the classic submission he loves. But tonight I sense a new urgency about it.

The worship part is easy. I could do this for hours, if it pleases him, if it helps. But tonight his need for my mouth seems to go deeper than mere pleasure. As he towers over me, fully dressed now, easy and elegant in a suit that cost way more than my salary, I gasp as he frees himself and his erection looms before me. I love to do this, but the bracelets make it even more exciting. They bind me with more than metal.

I lick him with loving sweeps of my tongue and tease him with delicate kisses, fighting down panic. Will we be late? Will his sister walk in and find us? But he’s in no hurry.

As I lean over and take him deep I suck hard, scared I’ll screw up his evening by taking too long.

To my surprise he touches my hair and smiles. ‘Hey, easy. The party starts when we get there.’

So I go slow. When he finally groans I feel a deep swell of satisfaction, laced with a purely female hint of relief that my evening gown is still folded primly over a chair, innocent and unspoilt. Only my flushed cheeks and my pulsing, reddened lips will give me away – or maybe my air of primitive female pride.

I savour the moment. Who knows? It may be the best part of the evening.

The Great Hall of the Massachusetts State is House is ablaze with glitz. Its splendour has no effect on Darnley. As ever he’s casual and urbane. Cola quickly joins us. She looks bored, like she does this kind of thing often. But I’m overawed by the marble and the glitter and sincerely grateful my costly gown passes muster here with so many diplomats and dignitaries to see it.

As always with Darnley at my side, I feel like a princess. As always, his dark looks and fleeting smiles, like the firm, telling touch of his hand on my arm, my waist and my neck, make me feel like a queen. And as always the wicked thoughts that consume me when we’re this close make me randy as a cat.

He leads me over to a group where a slim middle-aged blonde with a regal air is holding court. ‘This is my mother, Señora Savoy Pemberton Castillo. Mother? Meet my girl. This is Ella. She’s a poet.’

The woman’s smooth, fine-boned face softens in a hint of a smile. ‘With those eyes? Of course she is.’

Darnley’s stepmother Lydia has the cautious air of a woman who’s come up in the world. Her face is still beautiful, her expression cool.

I sense a hint of the great outdoors. I recall his mother runs a stud farm. She sweeps me with a quizzical look as her son kisses her cheek but when she touches my hand hers is surprisingly warm. ‘I’m so glad to meet you, Ella. And do call me Savoy. Everyone does. So you’re Petronella Dean? I love your work. When I heard Darnley had read your poem Life in landscapes at the Institute I hoped I’d get to meet you.’

I’m touched by her courtesy. ‘You know my old professor?’

She smiles, warmer now. ‘Oh, yes. We go back a way. He’s here, somewhere.’ As she looks vaguely round, I notice Cola slip away into the crowd.

Savoy watches her go, pressing her lips together as she lowers her voice. ‘I’m so sorry to spring Cola on you both. This business scared the wits out of all of us. And she’s so moody, poor child. Do forgive her. I’m sure she’s been difficult.’

As she tells me about their trip I lose focus a little. She walked out on her son. How could any woman do that? When I tune back in to what she’s saying we’re still on Cola.

‘… So she begged me to bring her. But I mustn’t keep you. Do come over and visit the ranch sometime. We’d love to have you.’

Now I search out my old professor while Darnley drifts over to a group from MIT. Through gaps in the crowd I catch glimpses of Cola talking to someone in the group from the university. I can’t see who it is but what catches my attention is her expression. She looks quite different, her face lit up.

It’s a look I know well: it’s how I feel when I’m with Darnley.

I greet my professor with only part of my attention as a small drama plays out on the fringe of my vision. Now Darnley and his mother have seen her too. He mutters into a phone as his men close in. At the same moment Cola breaks away from the person she was talking to and he slips away into the crowd. She comes back over, her pout firmly back in place and her eyes troubled.

The whole episode takes barely a few minutes but it’s very revealing.

I wonder if Darnley knows she’s in love.

At last I bid a fond farewell to my professor and Darnley comes up close.

‘Had enough?’

His look is so intent my heart skips. ‘Don’t you want to talk to your mother a little longer? You must have a lot to say …’

‘Ella, please. We’re hardly close. And she’s around for a while yet. We’ll catch up.’

After a round of brief farewells we head for the open air. His car is already waiting. In the back seat I lean back and smile at him as his dark look warms me. The bracelets are heavy now, loading my slim wrists like lead weights – just how he wants them. They attracted a lot of attention this evening. Now they’re nagging at mine.

His fingers slide around them, his touch like electricity on my skin. I feel my nipples stiffen under the thin satin of my gown and his look darkens as he notices. One hand reaches forward to brush the places with the back of his finger, his gaze intent.

I arch my neck as my breasts react to his soft caress with a slight swell, my nipples now tense and numb, my rapid breathing straining the satin of my neckline. ‘What – what’s Cola enrolled for?’

His fond smile blanks. ‘Enrolled? Where?’

I blink, my breasts now burning, my nipples throbbing as numbness tenses them and fades again. ‘At the Academy. We only teach referrals. She has some kind of problem? Is she in rehab?’

He frowns. His hand stays in place, his fingers lingering in my neckline, easing the low curve of the fabric downwards so I risk spilling out altogether. ‘She’s not enrolled at all. I was hoping you’d tell me how she knew about you.’

He still won’t trust me. My heart sinks, and then hardens. This may not be the moment to hint she’s involved with someone. ‘Your mother knows about me. Maybe she mentioned my name.’

He’s still frowning. ‘But how did she know where to find you?’ His hand pauses on its journey. His cold look chills my heart.

Why can’t he trust me? ‘Why not ask her?’

‘I do. She just clams up. So now I’m asking you.’

‘I tell you, I don’t know. What else can I say?’

His eyes glitter dangerously as we draw to a halt.

I glance out of the window and stare. ‘Where are we?’ We’re nowhere near the open spaces around his mansion. We’re still in Beacon Hill, only a few streets away from the State House, in one of the oldest and most exclusive parts of town. The colonial-fronted houses are elegant and secluded.

‘After you.’ I’m ushered out of the car and he leads me up to an imposing side entrance that swings slowly open to let us in and then closes behind us. We’re in a plain, white-painted corridor, all hushed carpet, gilded antique mirrors, low lighting. There are doors leading off but all are closed except for one partly open at the end. He murmurs into his phone as we approach it and I gather our arrival is being checked and some kind of clearance given.

He ushers me into the open doorway and I gaze around me while the door behind us closes softly, the final click of the lock the only sound in this soft, muffled chamber.

I turn to him, my heart thumping against my ribs. ‘Where the hell are we?’

He says nothing, but I can sense his excitement. His slow smile tells me where we are, like I didn’t already know.

It wasn’t a question, it was a cry for help.

We’re in a dungeon, or the next best thing in these safety-conscious, sophisticated times. It’s all here: the padded walls, the gleaming chains, the smell of leather.

And on the rail screwed to the centre of the floor, placed directly under the glare of the spotlights, like it’s the treasure at the heart of some temple of doom, hangs a gleaming pair of handcuffs, hard and uncompromising. They’re waiting for me.

It starts with the bracelets. It leads me to this.

Thrill of the chase.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Scared?’

Amid all this terrifying paraphernalia he seems perfectly at home, but I sense he’s watchful. He’s waiting for my reaction. I refuse to feel cowed, scary though this is.

It’s just a game. I can play too.

I lean up to kiss his jaw, a tiny act of submission to set the tone. ‘I’d say yes if I thought it was that simple,’ I say, softly. ‘I’m not sure what I feel.’

His slow smile sends a tremor through me. ‘Hey. That was a brave answer. You never disappoint.’

He may not know it but I could, easily. Right now I feel about as brave as limp tissue. I keep my eyes firmly off the glittering cuffs. ‘You do this often?’

He’s shedding his jacket and loosening his tie. ‘No, I told you. I lack the patience to commit fully to this. I talked it over with Freda and we thought it might –’

‘Freda?’ I stare at him, resentment burning.

His cousin Freda stole Ryan, my ex. She’s a techno wizard too and seems to have some hold on Darnley. What scares me is he seems unaware of it. His jaw hardens. ‘I told you, we trained together. She’s staying here.’

‘We’re in Freda’s house?’ Outrage builds, but curiosity beats it back. I need to know about this.

As he peels off his shirt his honed muscles emerge into the gleam of the spotlights like an Adonis. It’s an effort to keep my rage fixed on his face as his chest swells slightly, filling my vision, reminding me he’s beautifully built and, in here, all-powerful. And on the point of proving it …

All at once he pulls me into his arms and starts reaching into my hair, removing pins, a diamond clasp or two, and sweeping my hair back from my face. As he scoops it back he finds my lips, his expression unreadable. ‘No, Ella. We’re in my house. Freda rents a small part of it. She works for me. She manages – and occasionally uses – the facilities. And now we’re going to.’

My stomach’s tied in a knot. ‘Were you going to ask me about this at some point?’

He frowns, impatient now. ‘I did. When I gave you the bracelets. You said you’d try it. Remember?’ His face grows troubled. ‘Ella, you promised.’

I gaze at this beautiful man, at the peak of his powers, in the heart of his world, so different from mine. I’d try anything to reach him. But this?

Take me somewhere … ‘We’ve done this in bedrooms and in our house. You’ve worn a stud, you’ve made me ….’ I swallow at the memory of some of the things we’ve done. An instant fizz of arousal surges through me and dries my mouth. I bite my lip and try to stay focused. ‘Why here?’

Mostly I want to ask where Freda comes into this, but it’s too late. He’s already unzipping my gown and braiding my hair into a loose single coil, his fingers scarily deft, like he’s done this often.

The thought makes me shiver. It also makes me hot. ‘I hope this will be fun.’ I give him a playful look, trusting to the power of my arousal. I can do this …

Instantly he grows silent and purposeful. With a stern look he presses a finger to my lips to ensure my silence and then slowly peels my gown away and lays it along a polished cabinet. My stockings and heels meet with approval but he scoops my breasts out of my bra-cups and rests them on the double rim of lace, testing the shoulder straps for resilience and tightening the straps a little at the back so they bulge in a perfect horizontal.

His touch is light, almost clinical.

He gathers my hands together as if in prayer, clamps my wrists into the glinting steel ring awaiting them. This part I understand – we’ve done this before, but here, under a spotlight and with all this kit bristling round the walls, it feels much more intense.

I try to focus on his power and his strength. Maybe some of it will rub off on me.

I don’t want to seem scared. It might be unwise.

‘Do you trust me, Ella?’ His eyes are full of heat, his voice thick with need.

This is my last chance to wriggle out, but all at once I need this too. And I want it to work for him. ‘Yes. I’ll always trust you.’

He kisses me on the forehead – the calm before the storm – and all at once he’s brisk. ‘Good. You’re going to wear this.’

Before I can protest he slips a sleep mask over my head and everything goes black.

‘Bend over.’

I bend low as he pulls lightly at my hips and splays my thighs. I know what’s coming now. Heat flashes through me in spurts of flame as fear and adrenalin surge and blend. With light blotted out my other senses sharpen instantly, primed with fear. I strain to hear what he’s doing.

‘Relax. You’re very tense. You’re shivering.’ His hands are smoothing my quivering shoulders, sliding round my tense, clenched rump, easing my bunched globes apart, his fingers warm and invading, testing and quelling my urge to stay tight. He lands a few experimental slaps on my backside and I fight to keep still as I whimper with excitement.

He walks away for a moment, leaving me bereft, my skin super-sensitive to the sudden emptiness around me. Now he’s moving around the room. I hear a drawer open and close, a rail of equipment clatter. What’s he going to use?

‘What’s happening?’

An explosion of pain at my rear end makes me gasp.

‘What’s happening, what?’ His voice is husky.

I hang in the cuffs, rigid with shock, my mind a blank. ‘What’s happening – sir?’

His hand lands again, gentle now, and soothes me once more until my quivering eases. ‘That’s better. No more talking now. Use a safe word if you have to. “Finish” will do it, if it gets too extreme. Got that?’

I breathe deep and fight for calm. I can play too. ‘Yes, sir. “Finish.” I’ll remember. Sir,’ I add quickly.

I hang my head as he starts to kiss my back, his mouth hot and hungry. He’s feeling me all over, reaching round to fondle my breasts, teasing and tugging at my nipples, smoothing long, loving caresses all along my flanks and my inner thighs where the soft skin quivers at his touch, almost ticklish. And all at once I feel it, the slick of leather as he draws something across my back – a flogger.

I was sort of expecting it but it’s still a shock. And now his hands leave off and the whip takes over, its touch lingering and cruel, the strands like long, evil fingers.

When it slides under my body and up over my front it grazes my nipples. I clench my teeth, desperate not to cry out as they harden and tense into puckered pebbles. When the leathery snakes cruise back through my legs and slither slowly through my splayed, pulsing gap I do

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.