Darker (5 page)

He lifts my hand, kisses it, quirks his lip, has the grace to look slightly awkward as he regards me over my clenched knuckles. “Your first orgasm? I didn’t realise that. I wasn’t very kind to you, was I?”

I shake my head, my face flaming with humiliation. No doubt he’ll notice me blushing again, be keen to fuck me at his earliest convenience. That should be nice…

“And I was none too gentle the first time I fucked you either. I didn’t realise then that you were a virgin, but all the same, I could have been more considerate.” That wry smile is back, his lip curling up at one side as he grins at me wickedly. “There was no real need to tie you up, I suppose, thinking back. You did say you weren’t going anywhere.”

More gallows humour, just at the right time to lighten my mood, restore my confidence. And re-establish that easy rapport from earlier. I grin back at him. “Well that’s just you, isn’t it, Nathan? I bet you can’t even get it up without the handcuffs and ropes. Without all your fancy props.”

He laughs out loud, his face split by a huge grin, broad, fun-filled. “Miss Byrne, are you angling for some hands-free fucking? You’ve only to ask, I’d be delighted to demonstrate.”

“Thank you, that will be most pleasant, I’m sure.”

“Pleasant! Miss Byrne, have a care for my ego. Your sweet little bottom is going to pay for that last remark. But first, we’ve an opera to catch. Time to go.”

As suddenly as it started the navel-gazing is over. For now. He throws both our empty Costa cups in a bin before grabbing my hand tightly and pulling me to my feet. Draping an arm round my shoulders, he kisses me soundly before tugging me off down the waterfront towards Leeds city centre.

* * * *

The opera was wonderful. James did well for us. We had seats in the circle, near the front.
Don Giovanni
has always been one of my absolute favourite operas, one of Mozart’s finest pieces. The performance was exquisite, passionate, humorous and engaging. And in the original Italian, one of my favourite languages. My Italian is fluent. I spent most of the three hours with tears streaming down my face. Opera invariably moves me, the passion, the musicality, the drama. And with my own Dom Juan sitting next to me, just waiting to seduce me again the first opportunity he gets, I could empathise with the infatuated conquests and victims. And I’m sure my mother would have found much common cause with the vengeful families.

Afterwards we caught a late supper at an old bank, now converted into a trendy wine and noodle bar. We giggled over chopsticks and chicken chow mein, washed down with a crisp, chilled Chardonnay. Then we strolled back across the dark, deserted city centre, Nathan’s jacket over my shoulders, holding hands again and snogging like teenagers in shop doorways. Me making up for lost time and missed opportunities in my far-from-misspent youth, and Nathan just having fun.

Nathan kept dropping change in the outstretched hands of homeless people, wrapped in an assortment of tatty coats and pullovers, as often as not accompanied by skinny little mongrel dogs on bits of string. And as often as not we found ourselves sharing the doorways with them. He was very generous, much to my surprise really. My mother always warned me not to give money to beggars. “It just encourages them,” she’d say, and in London I always scuttle past, not meeting their eyes.

“Maybe some of them are trying it on, scroungers like you say, but I always think you’d have to be pretty bloody desperate to want to make your living that way,” Nathan says, in answer to my query. “I’m just glad I’ve somewhere to go tonight. And a beautiful woman to go there with.” He hugs me closer. “If one or two of them have cheated me, I’ll survive it. I think most are genuine, though, and I know that life can be pretty crap.”

Well yes, no argument out of me on that one. But looking into the empty, hopeless eyes of the Leeds vagrants I think there’s crap, which is me a lot of the time, and there’s absolute total shit. I hug Nathan back.

Then, another of his mercurial changes of mood. “So tell me, Miss Byrne. Sorry, Dr Byrne—do you still have those cute little lacy knickers on?”

“What? No!”

“No knickers? Dr Byrne, you shock me.”

“Idiot. No. Different ones. These are pink.”

“Ah, gorgeous. I do like you in pink, sets off your gorgeous red hair. All your red hair. Everywhere. Which reminds me, I intend to remove it for you. I want you nice and smooth.”

“Remove it? Remove what?”

“Your hair. Your lovely red pubic hair, Miss Byrne.”

“What, tonight? Why? How?”

“Not tonight. Best not to get too near your sweet little fanny with sharp implements after half a bottle of wine. Might damage something precious. Tomorrow, though.”

I’m puzzled, but what the hell? “Okay, if you want to. But why?”

“Because it’s so pretty afterwards. And so erotic while I’m doing it. And when I say I want you naked, Eva, I mean properly naked.”

“How will you do it?” I think of the sharp implements. “Will you shave it off?”

“No. Too bristly and scratchy. I’m thinking a nice wax job. Smarts a bit, but very effective.”

“Waxing! There! You’re joking. What about cream?”

“We haven’t known each other that long, I do realise, but have you ever known me to joke about what I intend to do to you, Miss Byrne?”

“Er, no…”

“No. And cream’s not safe to use on genitals. Must think of your health and safety, Dr Byrne. So a Brazilian wax then? Tomorrow. Agreed?”

It does indeed seem to be settled. “I… I suppose so. Does it hurt a lot?”

“Not too much. If I do it quick. And I’ve done much, much worse to you already. You’ll be fine with this. Don’t look so worried.” His hand on my bum takes my mind off tomorrow’s events, reminding me there are more immediate matters to attend to.

We continue to stroll in the direction of the waterfront once more, and arrive back at Nathan’s apartment around midnight. As soon as the lift doors close he is on me, kissing me, exploring my mouth with his tongue while pulling my shirt from my pants. Deftly undoing the buttons, before I know it he has my hands caught behind my back, tangled in the sleeves. Lifting his head to glance appreciatively at my new, pink lacy bra he cups my breasts, squeezing gently, lowering his head to kiss the mounds visible above the lace. “So sweet, Eva, so pretty,” he breathes, and I vaguely wonder if he means my underwear or my body. Who cares? He flicks open the front fastening of my bra to bare my breasts for his ministrations. With his mouth and clever fingers my nipples are brought to swollen, aching hardness before the lift arrives at the penthouse, and the doors glide open.

It’s only when he takes my elbow to tug me forward into the apartment that I realise my hands are effectively tied behind my back, still caught up in my discarded blouse. I wriggle, trying to free myself so I can kiss him back, hold him, but he smiles down, knowingly. I realise he’s done this on purpose. And that he won’t free me until he’s good and ready. After dropping a light kiss on my lips, he opens the door to the apartment and gestures for me to enter before him.

Once inside, Nathan leaves me standing, topless, in the middle of his living room as he goes over to the fridge. Pulling out a chilled bottle of wine he quickly uncorks it and pours one glass. Strolling back towards me, the glass in his right hand, his eyes are on my breasts, admiring, lustful. I realise my usual inhibitions might be diminishing, but have not yet disappeared as I wish I was better endowed, curvier. Nathan doesn’t seem to mind, though, as with his free left hand he cups and massages my breast whilst he reaches with his right hand, still holding the glass, to curl it behind my neck. He pulls me close, kissing my ear, nibbling the lobe before dropping his face to my neck.

“Christ, Eva, you are a beautiful sight. Perfect. Exquisite.” He kisses me again before sipping the wine.

“Would you like a drink, Eva?”

I nod. “Yes, please. But you’ll have to hold the glass.” I roll my shoulders to indicate my bound hands.

He smiles. “Ah, yes, anything to be of service, Miss Byrne.”

He lifts the glass to my lips, tipping a little of the crisp chilled liquid into my mouth before immediately following it in with his tongue, tasting the wine before it disappears down my throat.

“I do like to share, Miss Byrne,” he murmurs before taking another sip himself. This time, though, he catches my mouth in a deep, open-mouthed kiss, letting the liquid pour from his tongue onto mine. It feels sensuous, intimate, delicious. I moan, swallow quickly in surprised contentment.

“More, Miss Byrne?” he asks softly, his dark eyes shining inches from mine.

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Several wine-kisses later he is back to nuzzling my neck. “This is a good wine, don’t you agree, Miss Byrne? Chilled enough for you?”

“Yes, yes, I think so.”
Who cares how cold it is? Just keep on kissing me with it…

In the next moment I suddenly do care. Very much.

“Ah, that’s good then. Because I intend to drink it off your nipples, Miss Byrne. But first, I need your pretty little tits to be thrust out at me, just a little more.”

Before I can respond, or even think straight, he has placed the wine glass on a side table and turned me around. Taking the straps of my bra still loosely hanging from my arms, he uses them to form loops around my elbows. With a few deft twists he has tightened the loops to pull my elbows closer together, forcing my shoulders back and my breasts out. The position is slightly painful, stretching the muscles across my chest. Turning me around to face him again he glances down.

“Much better, Miss Byrne. Are you comfortable?”

“It feels a little…tight.”

“Good. You’ll get used to it.” Without further conversation he undoes the button and zip on my chinos, before pushing the trousers down over my hips to pool at my feet. My pink lace knickers soon follow and I am naked again, since my blouse and bra can hardly count.

“Kneel down, Miss Byrne.” I comply, and he drops to sit next to me, still fully clothed. I shiver involuntarily as his hands skim my breasts, my nipples. After reaching for the wine glass, he places it on the floor beside us, dipping his finger into it. He smears the wine across my left nipple, admiring his handiwork before repeating the action with my right nipple. Then he bends his head, takes my left nipple in his mouth and sucks, hard. I gasp, the sensation almost painful in its intensity as my defenceless breasts are pushed forward for his attention. My right nipple gets the same treatment, and this time I gasp in pleasure/pain as he bites the swollen tip, not hard but enough for me to feel it. Really feel it.

“Ah, Nathan, please…” I throw my head back and I realise he is supporting my weight, one arm behind me, holding me still for his mouth to do its work.

“Nathan, please what? What do you want, Eva?” His voice is low, soft. “More of this? More wine, Eva?”

This time he pours the liquid directly onto my throbbing nipples, smiling as I wince at the chill. Swirling his tongue around my breasts he licks the wine off, grazing me with his teeth before taking my right nipple firmly between his lips and flicking it hard with his tongue. He then treats my left nipple to the same tender care. The sensation is so intense that I try instinctively to pull back, but his arm tightens behind me, holding me in place.

“I think the wine is getting warm, Eva. Can’t have that.”

Releasing me he is suddenly on his feet, walking away. Confused, I watch him open the fridge again, but this time he’s in the freezer compartment. With a sharp snap he has dislodged a handful of ice cubes from a tray into another wine glass. He brings the ice back to me, rattling the cubes inside the glass. He drops back down to sit beside me once more.

“For chilling the wine,” he says, dropping a cube into the crisp sparkling liquid. “And for cooling you down. Are you hot, Dr Byrne?”

“I…I’m not sure…maybe.”

“Yes, I think you may be too.” Slipping an ice cube into his mouth he leans in, kissing me and gently transferring it to my mouth. “Suck, Dr Byrne. Is that good?” I nod, and he smiles. “Enough? Okay, my turn…” He leans in again, taking the ice cube back into his mouth. Holding it between his lips he rolls his tongue over it for a minute or two, all the while gazing at me and rolling first one nipple then the other between his finger and thumb. He is gentle now, his touch light, teasing. I want more, more firmness, more pressure.

With a quick smile he again transfers the ice cube to my mouth before dropping his head to take my nipple between his chilled lips. The sensation is—exquisite. Cool, soothing, promising more.

This time he puts the wine glass in front of my mouth. “Open, Miss Byrne. Drop it.” I drop the now much depleted ice cube into the liquid with a plop. He takes a sip of the wine before lifting it to my mouth, offering me another drink. I sip, swallow, wait.

After putting the glass behind him he takes another ice cube, places it in his mouth, held firmly between his teeth. I open my mouth, expecting to receive it, but this time he dips his head, touching the ice directly onto my swollen, hard nipple. I shriek, and he tightens his hold as I struggle to escape the sudden shock, the intense sensation shooting through me. My nipple swells even further, if that were possible, throbbing, hard. Holding me immobile he moves to the other breast, treating that engorged tip to the same icy caress, drawing the ice across and around until that nipple too has swelled, hardened. Only when I stop struggling, lying still under his chilly mouth, does he reach out for another ice cube, taking that in his fingers and picking up the action again with my other nipple. I lie still now, breathing hard, panting even as he rubs the ice slowly over both my nipples. After a few moments I realise that the cold is actually numbing the sensations. It’s no longer especially cold. Or painful. It feels strange, other-worldly, as though I am detached from what he is doing to my body. I am aware when he drops the ice cube back into the glass and takes my nipple between his finger and thumb, squeezing, pinching tight. I can feel the pressure, but no pain through my frozen flesh.