Folly (31 page)

He gasped as he plunged himself greedily into my needy, wanting flesh, pistoning inside me hard and fast, mashing his lips into my neck as his teeth grazed my skin.

I tugged vainly against the metal cuffs that kept me in check, fists clenched, my fingernails clawing painfully into my own palms in just the same way that I wished I could dig them into the smoothness of his back.

And then he slowed, the friction of his cock both languorous and delicious, and with every deliberate thrust he made inside me, his fingers squeezed tightly around my throbbing, clamped nipples. The touch offered pleasure and pain combined, but it was so unbelievably erotic I found myself pleading with him not to stop. I was being exquisitely tortured on a razor-edge of sensation. He was pushing me up against my own boundaries and revealing to me what lay beyond.

I felt my orgasm building, the almost unbearable pleasure flooding my body, and was suddenly sure he would deny me my release again. I arched my hips up towards him, desperate for the deep, fast rhythm I needed to take me over the edge. ‘Let me come now,' I begged. ‘Please, let me come.'

His voice was husky, breathless. ‘This time we come together, Emma.'

Rough and urgent, he rode me beyond the brink of pleasure into an ecstasy so intense and long-anticipated that I screamed and jerked under him with the bliss of the release when I came. He cried out with me, convulsing inside me, as he abandoned himself to his own orgasm. We collapsed onto the pillows and as our breathing slowed we lay in silence, joined as one, while our sweat slowly cooled.

Then Simon pushed himself away from me and carefully withdrew. He removed the clamps from my nipples and undid my handcuffs with gentle fingers, brushing his lips over each of my palms in turn before going to dispose of the condom. Unable to move, I stared at the flickering candle. Shivers of pleasure were still rippling through me, intensified by the enormous and unutterable relief of being no longer denied.

Returning to the bed, he touched my arm. ‘You have a raw spot on your wrist,' he said softly. I did? I hadn't even noticed.

He had disinfectant and a plaster with him, and he took my hand carefully in his own as he attended to the graze. The way he did it made me remember the first time he'd visited me in my dungeon, where I had accidentally drawn blood, and I wondered if he was thinking about that too.

I suddenly found myself blinking tears away.

‘Emma.' His voice was full of concern. He wrapped his arms tightly around me and held me close. ‘What's the matter? Are you all right?'

His tenderness made me want to sob my heart out, but I couldn't afford to do that. I gulped in a big breath and with an immense effort, bundled the sobs away deep inside me.

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘I just … I just feel a bit emotional.' I couldn't tell him why. I could never let him know how hard I was falling for him, or confess to him the strength of my feelings.

‘It's ok,' he said. ‘It's ok.' He held me for a while longer and I wrapped my arms around him, holding onto his lean, broad shoulders.

‘Would you like something to drink?' he asked eventually. ‘Water? Cocoa? Herbal tea?'

‘I'd love something.' My throat was so dry that my voice came out as a croak. ‘Herbal tea sounds great.'

When he'd gone to make it I tottered off, weak-kneed, to the bathroom. I was trembling all over, but my urge to cry was under control and so was the sharp pang of guilt triggered by his kindness.

I splashed water on my face and did my best to remove my smudged make-up – looking at myself in the mirror with new eyes. I'd surrendered to his control, and at his whim I'd endured pain, humiliation and pleasure.

And, thanks to his skill and sensitivity, I had loved every minute of it.

He'd borne my trust safely, and had returned it to me intact. He'd used my power responsibly, taking me to my boundaries but never beyond.

I got back into bed just before Simon arrived carrying two mugs of steaming ginger tea. I took one from him, breathing in the aroma of the honey he'd added.

‘Emma,' he said.

‘Mm-hmm?' I blew into my mug, cupping my hands around it.

‘Are you sure you're ok with what we did?'

I took a sip of tea just to help me gather my thoughts before answering him.

‘Very much so. It was …' I drank more tea. ‘It was disturbing. Intense. It dragged me right out of my comfort zone.'

‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘I felt that way too. Especially at the end.'

‘But it was so amazingly erotic. How did you know what to do? How far to go? It was like you read what was going on inside my head.'

He smiled slightly at that.

‘Funny you should say that, because I was so nervous about getting it right. Worried I wouldn't be able to give you what you needed. And you

– you probably know by now that you drive me crazy. You turn me on so

much that I find it very difficult to keep control.'

‘Oh.' I found myself smiling too. ‘That's good to know.'

‘Seriously, though, there's something I wanted to discuss with you,' he said, putting his cup down and pulling the duvet over him.

‘Go ahead.'

‘No. I can't ask you now.'

‘Why?'

He was silent for a minute.

‘Because I need my wits about me when I talk to you, and I don't have any right now. It'll wait till the morning. Sleep tight. And thank you for tonight. It was incredible.'

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before turning onto his side. My tea finished, I turned off the light and drifted within seconds into a deep sleep. My dreams were dark and intense, but by the next morning I had forgotten their substance.

Simon didn't mention his thoughts until we arrived back at my place. Or rather, at the entrance to the folly, since he'd never been to my house.

He was dressed in cycling gear – long pants and long sleeves, because it was much cooler than yesterday and there was a wintry nip in the wind. His bicycle was attached to the Jag's tow-bar carrier which I thought was quite funny – you don't often see a Jaguar transporting a bicycle – and his gloves and helmet were on the back seat.

He parked in his usual spot, got out, opened the back door and handed me my bag. Already, I saw, Bob the Cat had materialised from one of the flowerbeds and was winding himself around Simon's legs. The other cats were ignoring me – their uncaring mother who had dared to spend time away from home – but Bob gave his usual friendly yowl and flung himself on his back, asking for his tummy to be rubbed.

Both Simon and I knelt down to do his bidding and our fingers brushed against each other's as we stroked Bob's shaggy grey fur.

I was busy working out what I should say before he left. Thanks were definitely in order, but for what, exactly, I was finding it hard to specify.

‘Listen, Emma,' Simon said, but when I looked at him it was to find him staring intently down at the cat.

‘Listening,' I said, also directing my response to Bob's furry tummy.

‘I'd like you to know something.'

Bad news. It was going to be bad. Wasn't it always, when people said that?

‘Sure. What is it?' I replied, trying to sound calm. Telling myself it didn't matter. That whatever he was going to say, I'd at least protected myself. I hadn't revealed my feelings for him. I would not come across as foolish, or unprofessional, or besotted. I could simply thank him for his time, and walk away.

‘The arrangement we have now – it isn't working out like I thought it would.'

Fuck. Bad news all right. At least I'd steeled myself to expect it. And already I could feel, within the tidal wave of devastation, the tiny air bubble of relief that at least he'd never know how much of a liar I was.

‘You see, I'm blown away by you,' he said in a low voice, and so braced was I for the formal rejection that at first his words didn't make any sense to me at all. Then, when they sank in, I rocked back on my heels and stared at him in bewilderment.

He met my gaze, and in his dark blue eyes I saw vulnerability. And since I was still gaping at him with nothing useful to say in response he continued. ‘You are so very different from what I expected. You're intelligent, funny, incredibly sexy, so beautiful. I love spending time with you. And I want to do it more often.'

My head was spinning. In response to his compliments, I was simply without words.

‘I know it's a tricky situation because we have a … professional relationship. I don't know if it can work, or whether you want it to. In fact, worrying about it has been eating me up inside. I've been doing my best to stay away from you. I even tried booking in for a regular session with you last week, but I can't do it. It doesn't feel right.'

‘Is that why …?'

‘Yes. That's why I was so preoccupied. I was trying to fight this, really I was. But not even booking in for a sexless, brutal thrashing could change the way I felt. And I can't not tell you how I'm feeling; not any more. If I'm going to be honest, you need to know.'

And there it was.

That word. Honest.

There was I, kneeling on the patchy dry grass near the entrance to my folly, the place where my own truth stopped. I wasn't who Simon thought I was. For a start, I wasn't single. I was married, just like Paula. He needed to know that and it might well be a deal breaker on its own.

And then there was my financial situation.

If we entered into a relationship – God, even the thought set me tingling – I'd have to invite him into my home. He'd see where I lived. He'd see my half-finished house, my ancient jalopy, and realise that instead of the tough, funny, independent woman he thought I was, he'd just hooked up with a beggar. Someone who was scrabbling away from the brink of financial destitution and didn't even own a stove. Or a kitchen sink. What a catch!

I'd told him lies and I didn't think I'd be able to satisfactorily explain the truth, because the truth would be unpalatable.

The tumult of my thoughts was overwhelming. My indecision must have shown in my face because he simply squeezed my hand and stood up, preparing to leave.

I scrambled to my feet as well, brushing dry grass off my knees.

‘Simon …'

‘Emma, I have to go. I'll call you this afternoon, if that's all right.'

‘Can you call a bit later?' I asked. ‘I've got to go out to lunch, but I should be back by five or so. We can discuss this …'

He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me and I clung to him, holding tightly, breathing in his smell, not wanting to let go. My actions, at least, speaking the truth that I could not voice.

Then he got into his car, started it up and drove away. I stood, staring at the trails of dust as he headed back down the road.

He wanted things to go further.

He wanted what I had dreamed about, obsessed over, never daring that it might come true. Now I knew that he felt the same way that I did when we were together, and the world seemed brighter and full of promise.

But in the moment of him saying yes, I'd realised that I could only say no.

Chapter 32

J
ust after I'd returned to the house and fed the cats, my phone rang. It was Bee-Bee.

‘Oh, hi, Emma. Gavin asked me to ask you what time you and Mark will be arriving,' she said.

I paused, honestly thinking for a minute that I had misheard her.

‘Mark's at Rest Haven.'

‘Gavin said you'd be bringing him.'

‘You didn't say, when you invited me, that I was going to have to do the transporting.'

‘Is it a problem? You see, Gav's only back from golf at one-thirty, which is too late, and of course I'm going to be busy getting everything ready.'

‘What about Tamlyn and Adrian?'

‘They're also doing things in the morning.'

‘All right, then,' I said. My voice was neutral but inside I was seething with frustration at their blind selfishness and overt manipulation. I should have realised all along this was why they'd invited me.

I tried to console myself by repeating the mantra that it was just this one time. One last time. And I'd have help at both ends of the journey. The nurses would be able to assist me getting Mark into the car, and at the other end his damn brothers could do the heavy lifting.

The outing would be part of my birthday gift to him, I told myself. My gift to my husband, forever trapped in his deadened mind and unresponsive body.

I'd even wrapped the thick blue jacket that I'd bought the previous week. When I reached the care home I took the parcel in with me.

‘Look what I've brought for you,' I said in my most cheerful voice, walking into his room where he was sitting up in his wheelchair with his head lolling to one side. ‘Happy birthday, love.'

My use of that word sent a tremor of guilt through me. What was love, really? Talking to this man, slumped, unresponsive, in the wheelchair in front of me, I was using the word but not feeling the emotion. My words to my husband were a falsehood. Love had been with me last night, the one I spent with Simon, in every touch, every breath, every moment we had shared.

I knew then that I needed to explain my situation to Simon as soon as possible; to try to unravel the lies I'd become entangled in. I wished I'd thought of what to say to him at the time. I wanted to call him now.

‘Here we go.' Mark's eyes opened slightly as I placed the gift on his lap and ripped it open, the smell of wrapping paper and new clothing temporarily displacing the institutional whiff that seemed to linger forever inside these walls.

‘Happy birthday,' I said again. I held the jacket up and shook it out, the movement causing the torn paper to slip off his lap and rustle down onto the floor.

It was too warm for him to wear it; he'd already been dressed in a thick jersey and had a blanket over his knees, so I tucked it under my arm while I wheeled him out of Rest Haven, with three nurses following rather doubtfully behind.