Darker (21 page)

I consciously relax my hand, my arm, and watching him over the rim of my mug I slowly take a sip of my tea. I put the mug down and place my other hand over his. “Go on.”

“I want you. It’s that simple. I want to fuck you till you scream. And I want to spank you, tie you to my bed, spread your legs and make you come in a million weird and wicked ways. I want to hurt you and then kiss it better. And as long as you never look back on any of it and think, ‘I really wish he’d not done that’, then I reckon we’re okay. But sometimes I want to fuck you slowly, and so gently that it makes you cry, and then I’ll hold you until you stop crying. I want to play with you, sleep with you, wake up with you. I want to talk with you, understand you, admire you. I want to care for you. And I want you in every part of my life. Stay with me, Eva. Please.”

“You want me to stay? But I thought I was… We’d already…”

“Yes, we have. But I’m not talking about a place to live. I’m talking about you being my…”

I wait, watching the confusion flit across his face as it becomes clear he has no idea at all what he now wants me to become. “Your trainee sub? Violin tutor with benefits?” I offer. I do try to be helpful.

“Do not take the piss, Miss Byrne. I’ve warned you.” There’s a familiar glint in his eye as his voice hardens, but I just gaze at him, unfazed.

“I do think you might benefit from some further training, and I would certainly enjoy providing it. But we both know you’ll never amount to much of a sub. You’re too stroppy, too ready to argue. Too ready to giggle at me, Miss Byrne.” His eyebrows lowered, he is trying to give me his very best stern look, but failing. With a wry smile, his head cocked to one side he leans back, watching me closely as he considers his next words. “And it cuts both ways. I’m a rubbish Dom around you. The first whimper of real pain and I’m safe wording like a bloody girl.”

“Whimper! I’ll have you know I was in agony. That cane was bloody killing me.”

“Yeah, and I just couldn’t do it. Don’t want to do it anymore. I’ve no stomach for hurting you, Eva, not really hurting you. So it’s just kinky fun and games from now on, nice, gentle fucking—but with bells on when we feel the urge. Sound good to you?”

“Bells?”

“Please don’t be obtuse, Miss Byrne. It’s beneath you. I’m talking about clamping your nipples, about butt plugs and floggers. I’ll tie you up, wax you frequently, and you have one hell of a spanking coming your way for all the grief you’ve just given me while I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel about you. Ah, I see by your face that you get my drift. But to answer your question, I want you to stay as my…lover. Will that do?”

I think for a moment, just to keep him on his toes, then I’m around the table and climbing into his lap. My arms around his neck I give my answer, “Yes, yes that will do very well. I’d be delighted to be your lover, Mr Darke.” I kiss him, then pull back. “But there’s one condition. And it’s important. To me. This is a deal-breaker, Mr Darke.”

He lowers one worried eyebrow, his mouth flattening. “Go on.” His expression is wary, hesitant. Maybe he feels he’s conceded enough ground already. Tough.

“I know there’ve been others. Many other subs before me.”

He nods slowly, and I think he’s getting my drift so I continue, “But I need to be the only one now. As long as we’re…together. No fucking anyone else. Is that agreed?”

To his credit, there is no hesitation in his response. “Yes, Miss Byrne. Agreed. Absolutely. And it cuts both ways. This is exclusive, as long as it lasts. As long as we last.”

I’d taken that as read. Hell’s bells, I might be a randy little slut these days but only with him. I’m hardly promiscuous. But, for the avoidance of doubt, I agree readily, “Of course. And there’s something else I need to say, before we leave this subject.”

“Oh. And what’s that then, Miss Byrne?” He leans away in order to look me fully in the face, wary once more, anticipating more un-sub-like demands I don’t doubt.

“Just that you are absolutely the nicest person I’ve ever met, ever known.”

His expression is one of shock, closely followed by a delighted smile. His next words are perhaps a belated and doomed attempt to re-establish some Dom-like authority.

“Nice? Is that the best you can come up with, Miss Byrne?”

“Nice with bells on then.” And, enough said, I go back to kissing him.

* * * *

Later, lying in bed—on my own—I reflected that as declarations of love go, that was up there with the best, even though we both managed to avoid the ‘L’ word. We held hands as we climbed the stairs and strolled slowly along the landing. Nathan kissed me at my door, and went to his own room. He said he’d explain things to Rosie first chance he got.

Now it’s Wednesday, three days later, and he still hasn’t found the chance. We’ve had a lovely few days with Rosie, walking the moors, tenpin bowling, even ice skating, which was an unmitigated disaster as far as I was concerned. My bum still aches, and not in a good way. Me and Rosie have got back into our lessons, and each teatime has seen us playing the violin together to our audience of three. Four one time, when Tom dropped in to bring the quad bike back.

Nathan is a lot of fun as a dad and Rosie adores him. I love watching them together, laughing and cuddling and playing stupid games. Whoever heard of Poohsticks for Christ’s sake? With Mrs Richardson and Barney we make a reasonable version of a happy family and I love it. And talking of family I’ve even started to return my mother’s calls, just to assure her that I’m still alive and doing okay. She asks a lot of questions and I’m quite good at being evasive—years of practice, probably. I’m not sure why I don’t want her to know I’m shacked up with Nathan Darke in the middle of nowhere, but I just don’t. Not yet.

Life at Black Combe is contented, happy and very, very chaste.

I can hardly look at Nathan without wanting to jump him. I can’t believe how desperate I am to get laid—our few days in Leeds really whetted my appetite, an appetite I hadn’t even known I had. I do now.

There’s plenty of touching, kissing and once even a particularly wonderful grope in the garage when he slid his hand into my pants and made me come in about five seconds flat. I offered to suck his cock in return, but he was having none of it. Rosie might come in.

I understand. I do completely understand about being careful around Rosie. But still…

I guess Nathan’s just as frustrated as I am because later that day, while we were all enjoying a late breakfast together around the kitchen table Mrs Richardson announced her intention of doing a spot of shopping in Bradford followed by perhaps lunch at Nando’s and then a film. She asked for volunteers to keep her company and Rosie spilled her cornflakes as she jumped up and down in delight. I was a little surprised—Grace had said nothing earlier about intending to go out, when we were chatting over coffee. Indeed, I’d had the distinct impression she was planning to spend the day gardening. Still, Nando’s is always tempting so I was about to offer to join them myself, but was otherwise engaged grabbing a tea towel to mop up the mess.

Before I had a chance to make any hasty decisions, and as it turned out spoil a seriously good day, Nathan leapt in with plans of his own. He needed to go over to Greystones, he told us, some stuff to talk through with Tom, details for the festival and such like. And would I like to come with him?

Nando’s is nice, but the prospect of some ‘just us’ time with Nathan is much, much nicer. A no-brainer really. I smiled, said I’d love to go to the farm with him.

“I thought we’d walk rather than take the car. That okay with you?” Nathan’s smiling at me as we wave Mrs Richardson and Rosie off.

“Yes, lovely.” Greystones is only about half an hour’s walk away, straight across the moor. It’s much quicker on a quad bike, I gather, but that’s a skill I’ve yet to master. Walking’s good, though, especially as today is one of the few days this summer when it hasn’t rained. I nip off upstairs to find my lovely hiking boots, the ones Nathan gave me as a surprise present soon after I arrived here, and decide to take my waterproof jacket along just in case.

Ten minutes later we’re strolling, hand in hand, along a footpath marked with bright yellow acorns, heading uphill onto the moors behind Black Combe. Barney invited himself along with us so he’s ambling behind. We pass a couple of other intrepid souls coming in the other direction, Brontë Way enthusiasts no doubt, maybe headed for the
Wuthering Heights
shrine at Top Withens. Everyone’s sociable out here on the moors so we nod, murmur our “good days”, and carry on. I glance back and see our new friends are taking a somewhat muddy detour from the path, giving Barney a wide berth. He’s just standing watching them, bless him, but he is definitely a formidable sight. I take pity and click my tongue for him to stop tormenting the tourists and catch us up.

The landscape is particularly eye-catching today. The late summer wildflowers are glittering, their bright whites, golds and purples contrasting sharply with the lush greens brought about by the copious amount of water that’s descended upon us this year. I remember vividly my first encounter with the Oakworth moors—I nearly bloody drowned that night in rain of biblical proportions. I recognise some of the flowers—the purple candle-like flowers of the vervain, and the bright orange snapdragons in the marshy spots. I can also pick out clumps of touch-me-nots hiding in the shade, and the pretty white flowers of the virgin’s bower as it clambers and trails its way through the hedgerows.

For all that he’s lived here for four years, Nathan seems to not know any of the names of the flowers, although he agrees with me that they’re very pretty. But can I please get a move on and stop poking about in the grass! I smile sweetly at him, and poke some more.

Eventually we crest the rise overlooking Greystones, and can see the stone farm buildings below us in the distance. The house is solid, sturdy like Black Combe, though not as big. Three, maybe four bedrooms. I know that the ground floor has a large kitchen, and a spacious lounge with a huge wall-mounted television, site of many laddish football and beer fests in the past, I gather, though Nathan hasn’t spent any evenings here since I’ve been at Black Combe. There’s also a dining room, but I get the impression it’s not used a great deal as pretty much all activity is centred on the kitchen—if it involves food—or the television.

There’s also a huge barn, set at a right angle to the house. The two buildings share a cobbled yard where chickens tend to scratch around and Tom’s two border collies try to round them up. Today, though, the dogs are nowhere to be seen, and neither is Tom’s Land Rover.

“Looks like he’s out. Was he expecting you?” I’d assumed Nathan had arranged to meet Tom here, but apparently not.

Nathan just shrugs. “He’ll be around somewhere. We’ll wait for him.” He catches hold of my hand and tugs me in the direction of the farm.

Ten minutes later we’re in the cobbled farmyard being investigated by a crowd of fractious chickens and two extremely belligerent and very noisy geese. I’m much happier poking at wild flowers than cosying up to hostile poultry so I stick close to Nathan. He seems unconcerned, just marches up to the front door and tries the knob. It’s locked.

“You’re right, he’s not here.”
Well, duh, no Land Rover, big clue.

I just nod, thinking it’s been a lovely walk anyway, in spite of all the squawking and hissing now coming from the guard-geese.

“Come on, let’s have a look round.” Again, Nathan grabs my hand and tows me off, this time in the direction of the barn. I follow willingly, anything to put a bit of distance between me and those geese. The massive barn door opens off the courtyard. Originally it would have been designed to accommodate a cart, presumably laden with hay or whatever farmers of yesteryear needed to shift about the place, and is now well big enough for a tractor. Nathan lets go of my hand and shrugs off his waterproof jacket before heaving it open. He leaves his jacket dangling from the oversized handle on the outside of the door and steps inside. I follow him. Barney seems not inclined to join us inside, preferring to plop himself down close to the outer wall, in a patch of shade. The geese, mercifully, seem satisfied that they’ve successfully defended their territory and driven us out of the courtyard. Barney clearly doesn’t count. They quieten down and make no attempt at pursuit.

The barn is huge and dappled with light streaming in through windows high up in the roof. Nathan has moved to the middle of the building and is standing looking up into the loft above his head. I stay where I am by the door, a little awed at the size of this space. Despite its use for animals, and farm storage, the place is remarkably clean. The floor has obviously been recently swept, and the structure is watertight and sound. I suppose Tom Shore would insist on that—he seems the type to want things in good order.

There are no animals in residence just now, unless you count the semi-wild cats slinking around in the loft. I point a couple out to Nathan.

“Yeah, Tom likes to keep cats around. Controls vermin.”

I shudder. “Vermin? You mean rats? Are there rats in here?” I’m looking around me wildly now, and I rush to get close to Nathan again. He can fight off any rats. And the geese if it comes to it.

“Can’t see any. I expect the cat strategy works pretty well.”

I certainly hope so, but I’m not sure I’m totally convinced. Nervous, I try to steer Nathan back towards the door. “Well, there’s no one here. Shall we go? We can always come back later, when he’s in. Maybe phone him to make sure…?”

He’s not going anywhere, apparently. Instead, he turns to me, a familiar gleam in his gorgeous dark eyes. “You’re right again, Miss Byrne. He’s definitely not here.”

Miss Byrne?

He continues, “But we are. Just the two of us. I think we could put this barn to good use. Fancy a little ball game?”

“I… What?” Ball games sound sort of interesting, but the thought of those rats lurking in the corners, hiding, watching me. Waiting…

His tone is slightly mocking as he continues. “You heard. And stop looking so worried—there are no rats here. Or is it me you’re scared of?”