Rich Promise (7 page)

I can feel this, right out to my fingertips. And it’s utterly divine.

“Summer? Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir. But…”

“Is there a problem? Surely not a lapse in your sluttishness?”

“No, Sir. I am a slut. Just yours.”

“Good answer, love. Now, enjoy. As long as you can. And I’ll count.”

His fingers work ceaselessly, caressing my pussy, my clit, opening me, finger-fucking me, then spreading my juices across my clit. At Dan’s urging, I look down to watch his busy hands. I can’t see everything, but my clit is swollen so much it’s peeping out from between my inner lips, pink and plump and twitching as he torments me. I watch his fingers sliding across it, pressing and shaping, and I come quickly, my release shuddering through me.

“Six.” Dan utters the one word, his fingers never stopping as he continues to rub and stroke.

Not satisfied yet, he plunges his fingers into my pussy. Just two, but it feels like more. I’m incredibly full, tight and impossibly stretched, the pressure from his cock filling my anus is transferred through the sensitive membrane. Every stroke and caress is magnified, extreme and intense. Dan positions his fingers to hit my G-spot, rubbing that bunch of nerve endings as he flicks my clit.

I lose it again.

“Seven.” He sounds triumphant now.

I might resent his arrogance if his confidence had been misplaced. It wasn’t, and I’m having a seriously good time. For how much longer, I’m not sure.

My next orgasm is slower in the making, or maybe Dan’s decided to slow the pace a little. He teases me, tugging and squeezing my clit until I’m on the brink of climaxing again, then lets me slither back. His fingers are still caressing my G-spot, but less intently now. I know he can kick it up another gear or three whenever he chooses, but for long, relaxing minutes he plays me like a musical instrument. There’s no urgency now, I’m sated, I could stop any time and feel content. He’s more than pleased me. But this is good. This is…nice, pleasant, soothing. I feel sexy and wanted and cared for, my pleasure his total concern. I’ve dealt with the Dom, now I’m getting Dan the tender lover. I need both, I love both.

He strokes my throbbing clit, drawing his thumb slowly across the tip, then repeats. I’m almost there. One more stroke, and I will be.
Will he?
He does. And I sigh happily as my pussy spasms again, the walls of my cunt clutching his fingers as they sink deep, my arse squeezing hard around his cock. The shudders of my release ripple for what seems like long minutes as Dan continues to massage my pussy lips. But I know I’ve had enough.

“Eight.”

The word slips around me like a silk scarf and I finally whisper my safe word, “Red. Red now, Sir.”

Dan’s fingers slow, the caress finally ends.

“Enough?” His tone is low, so gentle.

I nod, my eyes tight closed. If I opened them, I’m sure tears would flow. Happy, fulfilled tears, tears of a woman in love with a beautiful, sensual man.

“Mmm, what a sexy little slut you are. You did well. Now it’s my turn. Okay?”

“Of course, Sir. You don’t need to ask.” I draw a deep breath, my body totally sated, absolutely content. His thrusts have been long and slow, the motion smooth. He’s been so careful not to hurt me, whilst his possession of my body has been total.

He leans down, lays his lips across mine. My mouth opens under his as his tongue slips inside to start its tangled dance. My fingers are in his hair, combing through the messy length as I return his kiss. I’m tired, completely exhausted, but this is still sweet. He withdraws his cock, never breaking the kiss and he plunges back inside me. I gasp, but it’s not pain, just the intensity of the moment. He thrusts again and again. His cock leaps inside me, hardening yet more if that were possible. He withdraws, right to the tip, waits a moment, then drives it back inside. This time he fucks me hard, and it’s quite wonderful. I squeeze again, my reaction instinctive, urging him on.

“Holy fuck, I love you.” His oath is muttered against my mouth as his climax finally takes over, what seems like hours of restraint now shattered as he pumps semen into my receptive arse. It feels hot, slightly strange, unfamiliar but so intimate. He thrust again, one last, shuddering stroke as his balls empty, and he’s finally still.

* * * *

“Do you need to go in to work tomorrow? To the zoo?”

I’m snuggled up close to Dan, draped across his chest, drifting happily between sleeping and waking. My body aches in places I never even imagined I had, but I’m totally content.

“Not necessarily. I usually do though when I’m on call at the weekend. Saturday’s the busiest day of the week. Shouldn’t make any difference to the animals, but it does seem to. I usually get called in at some point, and it’s easier if I’m already on site.”

“I don’t mind if you have to go. Maybe I could come too, say hello to your lemurs.”

“I’m sure they’d love to meet you. Okay then, we’ll drive down there tomorrow.”

I wait for a few minutes before speaking again. “The animal park, it’s quite close to Barrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes. A couple of miles. Why?”

“I was thinking…”

“Of course, I forgot. Your family lives in Barrow. Were you wanting to call in?”

“I thought I might. Maybe if you’re busy doing vet things I could nip round there.”

“I’ll come with you, if you like. I should be able to get away for an hour or two.”

“No!”

He stiffens, and I know my reply came out more sharply than I intended. But there’s no way I want Dan going to Barrow, meeting my mother, working out where I come from. What I came from. “I mean, no, you don’t need to do that. Not in the middle of a busy day. I’ll just go round there for a quick visit, and be back before you’ve finished whatever it is you do with your lemurs.”

“When I’m on call, it could be anything, not just lemurs. Tiger toothache, lion laryngitis.”

“Hippo herpes?”

“Miss Jones, you disappoint me. I’ve never seen a hippo with herpes. Are you sure? About going to your mother’s on your own? I could do with getting on with things, really.”

“Quite sure.” I manage, I hope, to keep the relief from being too evident in my voice. I snuggle in again, and within minutes Dan’s breathing slows to an even, steady rhythm. He’s asleep, and I soon follow.

Chapter Four

The animal park is a lovely place, in my view, one of the best zoos in the country. It also holds vivid memories for me as this was where I first met Dan when I brought my injured badger here, intent on my mission of mercy. At the time he confused and terrified me, though I now realize it was my own gut-churning anxiety and lack of self-worth that caused me to run from him. He invited me to dinner—how different things might have been for me if I’d accepted. Or perhaps not, as I’ve ended up here anyway. I’ve come full circle.

The zoo sprawls across hundreds of acres of Cumbrian countryside, a collection of huge enclosures home to big cats, rhino, giraffe, baboons. Many of the enclosures are open for visitors to stroll through and get up close and personal with the animals. The lemur enclosure is one of those, and Dan points me toward a rough carved bench with instructions to sit still and be quiet while he gets on with some weighing and measuring. The small creatures, somewhere between a squirrel and a cat, scuttle around quite unconcerned by either Dan or the dozens of visitors passing through their home. There are signs up warning people not to feed them and that the lemurs might bite, but this seems like a distant threat. The friendly, inquisitive little faces are delightful—I can perfectly understand Dan’s fascination.

One of the park staff comes in with a bucket full of assorted fruits—apples, bananas, melon. She scatters these around the enclosure, and the visitors coo and gush over the cute antics of a lemur dinnertime. I watch for a while longer, wondering whether Dan intends to spend the entire day in here. We could do worse.

The mobile phone attached to his belt trills, and Dan reaches for the handset. A few curt syllables, then he turns to me. “There’s been a fight in the hyena enclosure. Two young males. I expect there’ll be some stitching up to be done. Do you want to wait here?”

He’s already starting to walk away from me, clearly in a hurry. I seize my opportunity. “No. If it’s okay with you, I’ll nip round to my mother’s while you do what has to be done.” I stand up, reaching for my bag and car keys. We drove down here in my Discovery. Well…Nathans, strictly speaking.

Dan is already unfastening the gate to exit the lemur section. “No problem. I’ll leave word at the main entrance so you can get back in again. Get me on my mobile when you’re back and I’ll tell you where to find me.” He waves and is already striding across the tarmac.

“Fine. I hope the hyena’s okay,” I call after him.

He waves again, but doesn’t turn back.

* * * *

Less than thirty minutes later I’m pulling up in front of the tiny little terrace house in Barrow, scene of so much as I was growing up. I shudder, reluctant to even get out of the Land Rover, let alone go into the house. I sit, watching the windows for several minutes. There’s no movement inside, but that means nothing. They could be watching television, eating, sleeping. It’s early afternoon, but my mother doesn’t keep regular hours exactly.

Eventually, I know I can put this off no longer. The sooner I get this meeting over with, the sooner I’ll have an idea what I’m up against. And the sooner I can get back to Dan. I’m not expecting my mother to just agree to let Lucy and Maisie come and live with me. Not that she takes her maternal role especially seriously, but there’s the Child Benefit to think of. And knowing her, she’ll want to bargain with me over it, make me pay her off in some way.

I’ll have what I want eventually, I’m certain of that. There’s no alternative, in fact. It just has to be. But how difficult will she make it for me? And can I prise her and my sisters apart without Dan and my new employers being any the wiser about my chequered background?

I hop out of the Discovery and march down the short front path. I knock on the door before I have chance to chicken out, and wait a moment for some rustle of movement from inside.

Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing, so I try the door. It’s locked.

Now this I didn’t expect. Even if my mother’s out, or in bed, whether working or otherwise, surely Lucy or Maisie would be about? It’s not as though my mother’s likely to take them out for the day. I stand back, stare up at the window, thinking. They could have gone shopping, I suppose. People do, on a Saturday afternoon.

I knock again, hard this time, and start to wonder if I should leave a note. I’m rummaging around in the bottom of my bag for any slip of paper I might use, when I remember the back door. My mother lives in the middle of the terrace so it’s a bit of a detour to get round to the back, but worth a try, surely. I check that the Land Rover is securely locked, then set off along the street.

My pace is brisk. I never much liked the back yards here when I was in residence. I definitely don’t trust them now. The back walls are high, over head height. There’s no telling who’s lurking or what they’re up to. Talk about designing in crime—whoever came up with the plans for these close-packed streets should be drummed out of the architects union or whatever they have. Or maybe it’s just me. I’m used to something better now, more spacious certainly—first with Freya at her fancy apartment, and now at Black Combe where the wide open spaces spread in every direction. This closed in, trapped feeling is alien to me these days, and I intend for it to stay that way.

I arrive at the back gate and try the latch. It opens, and I peer through into the tiny rear yard. There’s a large wheelie bin on its side. It should be tucked away nice and neat inside the outhouse, which used to be the outdoor toilet. The plumbing was long since removed by the landlord when internal facilities were installed, but the sturdy little stone built cubicle remains in place, testimony to an earlier age when sanitation was more basic.

Not that much more basic, though. My mother’s house is not exactly overflowing with mod cons. I pick my way around the up-turned bin to the back door. I don’t knock, just try the handle. This is locked too. I peer through the window into the tiny kitchen, but detect no sign of life. Or of recent occupation. No pots draining beside the sink, no half-drunk cup of coffee, no tea towel draped over the worktop.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think no one lived here. But I do know better. They must be around somewhere.

I make my way back round to the front, feeling more than a little relieved to see the Discovery still where I left it and not devoid of any important bits. Like wheels. My resolve to remove my younger sisters from this environment hardens. I’d begun to let myself forget how awful it is here.

I march back up the path and step across to look through the front room window. The net curtains are grimy, but I press my face close up against the glass to peer inside, my hand shielding my eyes from lateral light. The usual, familiar messy jumble meets my eyes—cushions askew, a newspaper tossed carelessly on the carpet. No evidence of a vacuum cleaner in a while. Maybe it’s broken. Again. This house is every bit as depressing as it ever was, and the memories no less vivid. The old churning starts in my gut again, that sense of everything being out of control, ungovernable. It’s a sense I’ve not experienced in a while, at least not so forcefully.

I’m so intent on pressing my nose up to the window I don’t hear the light tread behind me.

“Thought it was you. Hello, Summer.”

I whirl, to see my mother’s next-door neighbor leaning on the remnants of the gate post. The gate itself was nicked years ago, just before bonfire night one year. My mother never replaced it and never saw fit to keep the rest of her perimeter in decent order either. And the landlord couldn’t care less, as long as the rent came with reasonable regularity.

“Not seen you in a long time. Are you moving back in here then?”