Darkest (6 page)

My mind flashes back to that incredible experience on her nice, clean kitchen table. Nathan’s hands on me, and my powerlessness to resist. My first orgasm, so intense, so utterly wonderful. And so terrifying. And the fierce twist of desperation and need, and the bone-deep fear that nothing so beautiful would ever happen to me again, that drove me to agree to his crazy demands.

“Did you know what he was going to do? To me?”

“I had a good idea he’d try to persuade you to go with him. I knew he wanted you to go, to spend some time with him in his apartment in Leeds. And I had a good idea why. And you did go. And you stayed. So I’m guessing you were fine with it all. I was a little bit worried about you, though. You seem a lot more…inexperienced than some of those other women I made toast for in a morning. But like I say, Mr Darke is a nice man. He’s kind and generous. And gentle. I knew you’d be safe.” The sharp stare under quizzically raised eyebrows seeks my reassurance that I am, indeed ‘fine with it all’.

I relent, put my hackles down and put her out of her misery. “He—persuaded me. He can be very persuasive. Forceful, even. But yes, I’m fine.”

“I’m glad. And relieved. I hope he didn’t scare you too much. Still, it’s turned out all right. And he brought you back with him. And he spent the night in your bed before he left this last time…”

“How did you know?”

“Like I said, I’m a good housekeeper. I know which beds are slept in and which aren’t.”

I nod. Seems that just leaves Rosie then.

Meanwhile, we still need to put an end to this nonsense about nursing homes. I pull my phone from my pocket and press Nathan’s number on speed dial, ruthlessly squeezing my inner muscles tight as I recall our most recent telephone conversation.

“Who are you ringing? I don’t think you should be using that in here, love…” whispers Grace. “What about the heart monitors and scanners? What about the premature babies?”

“If any show up they can get their own phones,” I mutter whilst listening to the dialling tone. Nathan picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hi, gorgeous. Did you sleep well?” I’ve been phoning him every night, last thing, and his low-toned reference to last night’s erotic adventures has the desired effect and, despite my efforts, I feel my pussy clench in a way that is all too familiar these days. I turn in my seat, avoiding Grace’s interested gaze. Despite our frank conversation there’s no way I’m reminiscing about mind-blowing phone sex with her in earshot.

“Ah, yes, very well, thank you.” I rush on, before he can say anything else to make me disgrace myself further. “Nathan, I’m at the hospital, with Grace, and I need your help with something.”

“Oh? Is she okay?” His tone is suddenly sharp, all business.

“Yes, absolutely fine. More than fine, in fact. She can come out of hospital any day now.”

The relief in his voice is evident—I hear his breath exhale and realise he’s been holding it. So much for ‘just an employer’.

“So soon? That’s fantastic. We’ll need to hire a nurse.”

Yes! I knew it!

“Yes. It is fantastic. And I reckon we
will
be wanting that nurse. But you need to have a word with her first. She’s on about booking herself into some rest home somewhere instead of coming home, so’s not to be a nuisance to us. I’ve tried to talk to her but I can’t get her to see sense. So you’ll have to…pull rank or something. She’s here.”

I hear his muffled, “Pull rank? Yeah, right,” as I hand the phone to Grace and sit back, my arms folded mutinously while I let Nathan get on with it. I listen to the one-sided conversation, although to be fair Grace’s contribution is pretty minimal.

“I can’t… Well, that’s kind of you but… Now, there’s no need to go to all that trouble… Maybe we should… I… Well, I suppose I’ll have to do as you say, then. And, thank you.”

She hands the phone back, her eyes a little glassy from tears she’s trying not to let spill. I squeeze her hand as I press the receiver back to my ear.

“I guess it’s all sorted? What did you say to her?”

“Yes, it’s sorted. I told her she’s the closest I’ve come to a mother in years. Rosie loves her, we all love her, and as soon as the hospital chuck her out she belongs at home with us. That’s what a family’s for. So she’s coming home. I’ll text you details of the nursing agency I used before—would you mind ringing them and arranging cover for a couple of weeks.”

“Brilliant. I’m on it. I knew she’d listen to you. Thanks.”

His voice is low again, seductive. “No, thank
you
, babe. You’re the one holding it all together there for me. I really do appreciate what you’ve done. What you’re doing. I just wish I could finish up here and get a flight out.”

“Me too. But it won’t be long now, hopefully. We all miss you…” My voice trails away as I realise that Grace is listening intently, all her matchmaking instincts on red alert.

“Phone me tonight, babe. I’d like to thank you properly.” That soft, caressing tone is full of promise. I hang up, trembling in anticipation. Grace just smirks.

Chapter Four

I’ll never tire of this moody, untamed landscape, ever-changing from one moment to the next. A fireburst, an eruption of vivid colours—vibrant reds, oranges, golds, greens—glittering and sharp, brought to life by the bright sunlight sparkling through wispy clouds. And as the clouds shift this is transformed before my eyes to become a gently smudged, muted blend of greys, blues and browns, layered in the hazy half-light. Only to burst into life, the moors once again awash with glittering, hectic frenzy, glowing with summer freshness as the skies clear and bright sunlight streams back over the heather and gorse.

And the wildlife is as changeable, as sharply contrasting as their volatile home. The grumpy chatter of jackdaws squabbling with the raucous squawk of wild ducks, their wings graceful as they glide across the tarn, their long necks outstretched, following their leader. Even the sheep are rugged, resilient, independent little souls, nibbling their unhurried way across coarse meadow and through rough bracken. Their hooves scramble carelessly over the remains of ancient walls now tumbled into piles of hard, black stone, the best pieces long since carried away to be reshaped, timelessly recycled, resurrected.

The three of us—me, Rosie and Barney—have covered miles on foot these last few days. Rosie knows every inch of these rolling hillsides, which surround her home, and has shared them with me—all her favourite places. I’ve dropped pebbles in a gently babbling stream crossed by an ancient stone bridge, and crouched behind a rushing waterfall, fierce and overflowing from the recent rain. I’ve walked through ancient ruined farmsteads, dignified in their echoes of a life long gone, and I’ve leaned over new garden walls to admire tastefully designed barn conversions, gracious modern living reborn from the heart of traditional moorland stock. Rather like Black Combe.

We’ve climbed, panting, up the towering grassy slopes to stand at the top of the world, to gaze across miles and miles of unbroken wildness. We’ve turned our faces to the far horizons, often hazy, frequently obscured by mist, but sometimes glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. And always beautiful in all her moods, always grand, timeless and solid. I look forward to seeing this landscape changing with the seasons—watching the moors shift from autumnal auburn shades to a wintry platinum blonde. Then to burst into golden life again as spring creeps back across the hills.

This is our last day of just the two of us—three if Barney counts. And I suppose he does. Grace is coming home tomorrow. She’s due at four, and the agency nurse is lined up to arrive at two o’clock. We’ve prepared a spare room for the nurse, but we got Tom to help us move things around in the dining room downstairs to make space for a hospital style bed in there. We don’t want Grace tucked away upstairs.

There’s no prospect yet of Nathan coming back any time soon, but our erotic phone conversations have become a nightly habit, and I find myself counting down the hours. I always phone him, as soon as I get Rosie settled for the night, usually by around ten o’clock, which is midnight in Turkey. My nipples harden and my mouth goes dry just thinking about his gorgeous, gravelly voice, whispering softly in my ear, the gloriously wicked things he tells me to do to myself, or tells me he’s doing, thinking of me. Imagining doing to me.

I know when he returns I’m in for a gruelling session of pleasure-pain—he’s promised it and described exactly what he intends to do. We will need the spanking paddle. And the vampire gloves, which he explained when I asked about the strange spiky things I found in his room. The spreader bar too, although, as I pointed out, he’s never had any real difficulty in getting me to open my legs.

Christ, I miss him.

* * * *

I stop trying, eventually. He’s not there. Or not picking up. Or he’s got no signal. Or his battery’s flat. Whatever—each time I try to phone him the call goes straight to voicemail. Disappointed, frustrated, my stomach churning with unrelieved sensual tension, I face the fact that I’m getting no hot and heavy phone sex tonight. I don’t bother to put on any pyjamas, just lie down and try to get some sleep.

My head is buzzing with questions. Where is he? Why doesn’t he answer? He knew I’d be phoning tonight, like I’ve done every night since Grace’s accident. I sit up, grab my phone for one last try. Voicemail again. I give in and settle for a text instead.

Tried to phone u. R U OK? Pls ring me.

And, eventually, I sleep.

I’m dreaming of Nathan, his gentle, skilful hands running across my body. My breasts cupped in his palms, his thumbs stroking then squeezing my nipples. He’s behind me, his warm, hard chest close up to my back, his low voice whispering in my ear.

“Wake up, baby. I need you. Now. I need to fuck you, now.”

“Hmm.” I wriggle contentedly, snuggling my bottom against the hard shaft nestling between the cheeks of my bum.
God that feels so real. This is one shit-hot dream
!

“Eva, wake up now or so help me I’m fucking you anyway. And you’ll not want to miss this, baby.”

“What…?” I dreamily roll onto my back, one arm flung across my face, only to yelp in surprise as my legs are pushed apart—none too gently—and two, then three fingers slide into me. I hear the familiar sound of wet, sensitive flesh sucking on slick fingers and struggle to gather my scattered thoughts. Before I can prise my eyes open he enters me with one quick, hard thrust—and I know this is no dream. Nathan is here, he’s back, and he’s inside me. I groan, arch, and link my hands behind his back. At last I open my eyes and smile into that gorgeous face, all masculine beauty and tight with sexual tension, his mouth a harsh line of need.

“Welcome home.” The words are whispered, but none the less passionately delivered. No one was ever more welcome, I think, than Nathan at that moment.

He curves his lips slightly to smile back, leaning in to drop a brief kiss on my mouth. “Hello, beautiful.” His words are ground out. “This is gonna be fast. Try to keep up if you can. If not, don’t worry, I’ll be back for you.” Then he loops his arms behind my knees, bringing my legs up and forcing them wide to let him in. His thrusts are hard, deep, fast. I scream, the sound muffled into his shoulder, the pleasure beyond imagining. His orgasm is there in seconds, I feel the hot wash of his semen filling me, flowing up and across my cervix, and forced back down around his shaft by the sheer bulk of his erection. I feel the dampness on the sheet below me. He pauses, his first crisis of need met, and he leans in again, this time to kiss me long and deep. He plunges his tongue between my lips, tasting me, stroking the inside my mouth as he is stroking my core with his solid, thick cock, hardening again inside me, stretching me in that glorious, delightful way he has. I feel…wonderful. Complete. Full.

I manage to gasp out a welcome. “Oh God, Nathan, it’s so good to see you. When did you…?”

“Later. Now it’s your turn, sweetheart.”

His thrusts are slow, easy, carefully angled to hit that inner spot I now know so well. Nathan knows his way around me even better than I do—definitely no need for the proverbial torch and compass to find my G-spot. I writhe under him, circling my hips and squeezing tight around his thick, hard shaft. He slides his hand between us to stroke my eager clit, and I groan. He pushes himself up to kneel above me, still deep inside but with his legs under mine, my thighs spread wide, my body open to him. Using his thumbs he gently, lazily strokes my clit and I come immediately, once, hard and brutal, then again, more slowly. I’m grasping the pillow beside my head and my eyes are closed. I can hear his voice, urging me on, ordering me to come again. I do. His rhythm is slow, powerful, accurate. I am draped over him, unable to move even if I want to. But there’s absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be. Ever. I’m passive, greedy, riding on a wave of pulsing sensation, rocked by the firecrackers of multiple orgasms shooting through me, tingling, shattering my senses. Christ, he’s so very good at this.

Eventually his own release is pressing again, and I feel his increased urgency, his thrusts stronger now as he flexes above me. He groans, swears viciously, and I feel the wet warmth of semen again filling me, flowing out.

At last he stills, withdraws. But he’s not done. He slides down, kissing and nibbling his way across my breasts and belly until he’s between my legs again. And this time it’s his tongue doing the fucking, licking his own semen away. It’s intimate, thorough, and so tender. I gasp, moan with the sheer mindless pleasure of it, his tongue dipping into me, and sliding out to swirl around the lips of my vagina or flick my quivering clit. His teeth and lips are busy too, the contrasts between soft, warm licks and the harder pressure of his gentle bite assaulting my senses. Then he uses his thumbs to spread the lips surrounding my clit wide and closes his mouth around the sensitive nub, drawing it in before he sucks on it. Hard.

I whimper with pleasure, my mind blown by the kaleidoscopic explosion of fireworks behind my eyes. The crackles of lightning shoot through me, along my arms and legs, and out of my finger ends and my toes. I am shaking, my inner muscles clenched and trembling in the aftershocks.