Chase

This may take a while.

Some three hours later, it’s well after midnight. I’ve washed and showered, filed my nails and applied some scent, caught up on some emails and checked over some lessons for the new semester, but Darnley’s still a no-show. What’s taking him so long?

I’m desperately sorry for him. He was looking forward to seeing Eldon again. Things between the brothers have always been stormy. Now it looks like they’re set to get a whole lot worse.

I get into bed, switch off the light and try to sleep.

Much later I can still hear voices. With a sigh I slip into a wrap and tiptoe downstairs. I frown at a sudden burst of laughter from the sitting area. Quietly I peep round the doorway and hold my breath at the scene before me.

Eldon’s stretched out on one long sofa, hands behind his head. He’s partway through some joke, a pretty filthy one by the sound of it, his voice low and slurred and thick with laughter as he closes in on the punchline.

Darnley sprawls opposite, long legs straight out before him. The low table between them holds several beer cans, some upright, others at crazy angles. They roll on their sides, glinting in the low, flickering light from the fire. There are more empty cans on the floor.

As I watch, Eldon’s punchline arrives in an explosion of laughter from them both. Darnley leans forward and cracks open another can.

I tiptoe silently away, smiling now. I’ve lost my lover for tonight but it’s in a good cause.

Darnley’s found his brother.

I wake up in a shaft of sunshine, my face rammed into my pillow. The glare of the snowy linen almost hurts my eyes so I close them and drift off again. My arms are stretched around something. The dream is fading now but I strain to call it back, I was enjoying that … I was dreaming I was with Darnley, my face buried in his chest.

Something else hurts too. It takes me a few moments to work out what.

It’s my bum. It stings and burns in the hot sun. Someone’s stroking it, their firm touch turning the cruel stripes I got yesterday into burning, fiery gold.

I can almost smell him, his dark, animal aroma that lurks under his crisp aftershave like a predator, firing me into pounding arousal whenever I least expect it.

‘Hey.’

Shit. He is here. My eyes snap open and now I’m fully awake and his hands are on my backside, warm, stroking, sending waves of pleasure through me even though they remind me of the ferocity of that switch. That hurt. And what was more, if I’m completely honest, that was hot. And now his loving caresses are lulling me back to dreamland …

‘Wake up.’ To make sure of this he slips his hand deep between my legs and presses, his fingers searching into my private places, his touch, like his closeness, sparking instant arousal. Everywhere down south starts to throb.

Fully awake now I slide my arms out from under the pillow I’ve been hugging. I blink, dazzled, and then snap to attention.

I’m still wearing the bracelets. He keeps the key but he’s not removed them.

His low murmur flows around me, rich and dark. ‘I told you to wait up. Sleeping on duty? Disgraceful. You’re a very bad girl.’

He grins as he hauls me over him and finds my mouth, his hands sliding all over my lazy curves as he greets my quivering skin, now shimmering under his touch, eager for action. I lean along him and wind my fingers into his hair and kiss him deep, relishing the hard muscles rippling underneath my softer, swelling breasts and his column of hot, burning gristle lying directly under my belly.

He tastes so good …

I pull away with a smile and let my hair fall around us in a silky curtain. ‘You made a night of it.’

He kisses me again with soft touches of his lips and I see his eyes glow. ‘Yep. Now I’m making a morning of it. Sit up so I can admire the view.’

I do it, laughing and pleased his evening went so well. I arch my back and hold my breasts up for him, making them bulge a little, and then flick back my hair and pout with one finger in my mouth, fellating it gently like some porno tramp.

His eyes gleam. ‘Hey. How about the real thing?’

His eyelids lower as he watches me move back down his magnificent body and nestle between his thighs. I lean over his hot shaft and breathe deep. His earthy aroma fills my senses, still drowsy from sleep, and an instant throb of arousal drums between my legs. I lean forward to kiss the tip, letting my hair trail over his abdomen in a silky fall and thrilling to his sharp intake of breath as I do it.

I take the bulging, glossy head in my mouth and suck gently, eyeing him playfully from the shelter of his warm, muscular thighs and admiring his male landscape, the hills and valleys of his muscular chest, the dark hair snaking down his belly towards me where it curls and nestles at his root.

‘Wow. You’re really something.’ His intelligent, predatory face creases into a lazy smile, the gleam in his eyes telling me he wants me hard and fast and he wants me now.

He gets me. He gets every twirl and lick of my willing tongue, every ounce of devotion I can summon up from my willing mouth and every spasm of my eager, hungry throat as I lunge and gag over him, eager to please and feral with lust.

But just as I think he’ll score he seizes my head in his hands. I hesitate with him still in my mouth. What’s wrong? Am I too fast? Too slow? Scraping with my teeth?

I’m wearing the bracelets. The consequences of inept performance could be dire.

‘Turn over.’

With an effort I pull away, breathless, and he rolls me over so I’m lying face down.

‘Up on your knees,’ he says softly.

I get in position and instantly he reaches between my legs and flexes his hand to splay my thighs wider and tease my eager, swelling mound with tiny touches of his fingertips.

‘Feeling skittish, are we?’

‘You bet.’ I catch my breath as he tweaks one of my soft outer lips, his touch ruthless and deliberate, challenging me to keep still.

‘Ah, but you’re wearing the bracelets. You’ve got obligations.’ His soft murmur thrills through me as he trails soft kisses all along my backbone, making me arch.

He keeps his hand on target, his fingers slipping into every hidden, private fold they find there except the main one. I writhe as I try to reach his questing finger and pair it to my eager little bud but instantly he guesses and takes his hand away.

‘Obligations?’ I bleat, desperate to reach his finger again as my climax starts to build, its distant drumbeat persistent and unmistakeable but growing slowly louder.

He curves over me, his thighs hot against my tender rear. ‘You call me sir, and you speak when I tell you. Understood?’

He scoops my hair into a ponytail and hauls back my head, drops a hot kiss on the side of my neck and then nuzzles against my ear. ‘Well?’

Whoa. This is hotter than I’m used to at this hour. ‘Yes, sir,’ I gasp.

He jerks my head up again and nuzzles my other earlobe. ‘Plus you’re a bad girl falling asleep on duty. Agreed?’

I feel a tremor as I guess what’s coming. A tremor ripples through me, not quite fear but something hot, dark and exciting. It raises goose bumps all over me. ‘Yes, sir.’ I hang over his moving hand, willing him closer, panting for release but resigned to my fate.

His voice continues to murmur at my back, his lips warm and stirring on my skin, his tone low and deadly as he lists my misdeeds. ‘And you’re still sleepy. So we better wake you up. What do you say?’

I swallow. ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure you’re right, sir.’

I hear him breathe a soft sigh of satisfaction and all at once he takes his hand away and holds his fingers over my face. ‘Lick.’

Now my fate is sealed. I draw his fingers into my mouth, closing my mind to what’s about to happen and homing in on the shape and rigidity of his fingers and the shameful taste of my lust.

When they’re licked clean my arousal burns hotter than ever, riper than a bursting peach. The bed shifts as he kneels beside me and starts to arrange me into the position he wants.

It’s the only breathing space I’ll have so I take deep breaths and will myself to relax. I clear my mind of everything except the nagging throb of arousal deep between my legs.

‘Head down. Knees up close to your chest, ass in the air. Hands out to the sides.’

His commands are short and sharp. I sense his growing excitement. His need fuels mine as I shuffle into position. The pose is hard to reach and even harder to hold.

He waits patiently. Is he enjoying my struggle or getting angry? All at once he commands me to keep still. ‘Twenty to start. Then we’ll see how it goes.’

His voice is low and serious. This should be fun but I sense it’s turning into something darker. We’re in new territory now.

Quivering with excitement I hold my breath as the first slap lands. It stings like crazy but I clench my teeth and groan into the pillow as the next blows land. After the fifth I draw in a slow breath and force myself to breathe normally as excitement shoots though me, sparks erupting at every jolt of stinging, flashing pain. As he carries on the sting eases and now his rhythm is steady and relentless.

Usually when we do this he pauses every so often to stroke me or fondle me, or even gives up altogether and we simply make love. But this time the pressure is unforgiving and the blows painful.

What’s going on here?

At last it’s done and he leans close. ‘More?’

Along the covers I see the diamonds flash in the early morning light. It’s because of the bracelets. We’re in a strange place now, one new to me but scarily familiar to him. It comes with a new language and new rules.

‘Yes, sir,’ I falter.

‘Good girl.’ He grins against my ear, his lips warm and his low murmur soft.

I’m emotional now. I feel tears sting as a wave of heat scorches through me. He lands another, and then two more, and then all at once he pauses.

‘Are you ready?’ His low, dark murmur thrills through me as his hand moves softly over my punished, glowing backside, his touch making me burn, his breath so close to my ear making me shudder.

‘Yes.’ I grunt with frustration as he lands another blow, ferocious this time.

‘Yes what?’

I close my eyes. This is it, the power of the bracelets. This is what he wants me to accept, this mindless pattern of ritual and obedience.

It’s to keep me safe. And, amazingly, it’s getting to me. It’s weirdly arousing, having to do things, having to submit …

‘Yes, sir. I close my eyes and breathe out a deep sigh as he plunges inside, his delicious lunge robbing me of breath. He fills me up, over and over, until we reach our peak and climax almost as one and finally collapse in a spent, laughing heap onto the bed.

CHAPTER THREE

Boston, where I teach, is lovely in the fall. New England’s biggest city has ocean coastline, leafy avenues and friendly faces. As in any university city after Labor Day, the students are drifting back after the summer break. They bring with them an air of excitement. Longer evenings mean new faces, cold crisp mornings and hot new dates.

At our little specialist Academy the new semester has just begun.

Sunlight slants into the classrooms and the gym, the light pale and sharp now through the dark, late-summer green of the leaves as fall approaches. Our students’ lives are a universe away from the average Ivy Leaguer but they’re just as young, eager and full of hope.

Today’s Freaky Friday. We trade places with the students by dressing down while the students put on suits. I resist joining my female colleagues in full-on schoolgirl burlesque. Echoes of Miss Normal warn me this would be unseemly. Worse, dark Darnley-related images spring instantly to mind. Primly I resist bobbysox and mini-pleats but give in far enough to redistribute my daytime ponytail into kooky pigtails tied with silly bows. I complete my outfit with pedal-pushers and sneakers.

I aim for sporty but feel like an idiot.

Well aware that on weekdays Darnley’s a million miles away from my working life, I forget what I’m wearing the instant I arrive. The students love doing this and look surprisingly cool in their sharp suits. They even act more grown-up so maybe it does some good.

We have all kinds of students here – referrals mainly. None of them stay long. Some come from remand centres, some from rehab. Some are from wealthy backgrounds, some from the streets. Drama’s part of the programme on offer here to help them rehabilitate, boost their college prospects or work through personal problems. They mix with students from other backgrounds and age groups. Many are even older than me; I’m barely two years out of college and some of these ‘kids’ are in their early thirties.

We rub along. They pity my hollow, empty life and probably think I tuck myself into some cupboard at night with a cat, or maybe stay over, motionless as the furniture.

They, on the other hand, have busy, important lives poised on the edge of survival. When will they score next? Will they be beaten up on the way home? Does that boy or girl really fancy them or are they after their friend? Are their Converses cool enough? When will they eat?

They know I want to help them. Kindly they let me fill their afternoons with my patient efforts to explain drama and poetry like I’m some crazy, well-meaning aunt. Sometimes they enjoy it, sometimes they even get into it.

Attention spans vary from short to shorter but today they’re being very attentive. Drama class has never been so popular. Eldon has arrived with his camera, his blond, boy-band good looks and his fierce, uncertain temper laced with just that hint of danger he inherits from his family: that hint of Wolfe.

He should fit in well here. Like our students, he’s a little wild too.

He’s here to make a start on his movie and today’s a trial run.

Right now the slanting sunlight pools on their tense, focused faces as they work through the drama piece I’ve set them, one of my favourites. It’s from a play about love and loss, hope and despair, the twists and turns of fate and how a chance remark or a misplaced glance can lead to joy or death.

We’re working on the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet.

It’s going surprisingly well. They totally get the passion, the jealousy and the violence. They get the feuding and the loyalties, the sex, the interfering adults and the street fights. To them this is home turf. Even the language is just another gang speaking its own code. They don’t know the words but they get what they mean.

As they act it through I almost kid myself they’ll remember some of it; at least till they get back out on the street and real life kicks in again.

Foolishly I feel proud. I love my work.

Right now there’s a hushed silence as we all lean forward, keen to see how Winton, our new Romeo, gets it on with Suki, our Juliet. Their balcony greeting was a triumph – delicate and intense.

Winton has a problem with one of his lines. Unknown to him it’s one of the most famous in literature and one of the best loved in Shakespeare.

‘But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?’

Ever fascinated by their take on things I wait while they explore the image here.

Winton’s genuinely perplexed. ‘But soft? What’s he sayin’ to her? “Hi, Babe, your butt’s soft?” C’mon, man. He’d just say, “Hi.” Kin I say “Hi,” Mz Dean?’

There’s a ripple of laughter and another voice joins in. ‘High? Sure is if he thinks light kin break windows. What’s he on, man? Ms Dean, kin we break a window? Like – a sound effec’ or sump’n?’

Sometimes the students teach me more than I teach them. Behind his camera even Eldon’s grinning.

I’m calling a halt before we get too deeply into the precise dosage of Romeo’s pre-Juliet entertainment when a slender girl walks into our midst. She looks round calmly, seemingly unaware she’s interrupting something.

We all go into freeze-frame.

Early in the year the students here are edgy. I tend to get the odd stray wandering in from other classes. Today word will have gone round about the movie-making so I’m expecting several. Sometimes they even join in.

But this girl puzzles me.

She has the confident air of a socialite, plus she’s beautiful in a fair, haughty kind of way. She has high cheekbones, hazel eyes and silky hair. Her eyes fasten on me with a glimmer of satisfaction.

‘Hi.’ I speak low in the sudden silence. ‘Are you looking for somewhere?’

‘This the drama class? I just found it.’ She has a light accent. She tilts her head and smiles. ‘Mind if I watch?’

‘Sure.’ I grin. This one must be from rehab. Her manner is cool but something about her is tense, like she’s hiding something. They’re often like that. ‘Take a seat.’

Behind us the camera keeps on whirring. We carry on with the lesson and I’m deep into some complex stage instruction about facing to the front so their voices will carry when I hear a flurry of movement at the back of the hall. More visitors.

I ignore it, but now the silence lengthens as the students stare past me at something over my shoulder. Slowly I turn round to see who it is and I freeze.

Darnley? Here?

He’s standing just inside the door, flanked by his men. I watch spellbound as they fan out silently along the walls. The students are equally mesmerised. They’ve all seen hit men on TV. They know instantly these are the real deal. And all eyes, mine included, fasten on the striking figure at their head, his presence as arresting as his namesake predator.

He scans the room, pointedly ignoring Eldon, and then fixes on me. For an earth-shattering second I feel slow heat rise in my cheeks then his gaze passes on without interest. A smile of surprised greeting dies on my lips as he fastens on the blonde, now gracing a battered canvas chair near the front of the stage, her slender legs in a model’s pose.

He strides across the room, grabs hold of her arm and hauls her roughly to her feet.

He knows her?

He speaks low but his angry words are clear and forceful. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She glares up at him, gives a sulky toss of her head and allows herself to be led away. As she goes she darts an angry glance at me. She snorts through small, finely drawn nostrils.

At the door Darnley turns to Eldon, his voice low like it’s an afterthought. ‘Ditch the camera.’

Instantly his men manhandle the camera out of his brother’s grasp and vanish out of the door after Darnley and his prey.

Eldon looks on, as astonished as the rest of us.

The whole episode takes about three minutes.

Eldon curses as he stares at the space between his hands where the camera was. He looks so comical the students burst out laughing. They think it’s part of the drama and he’s acting the clown. Mercifully the tension shatters and now he sees the funny side too. He grins round at them, an instant hit.

Crisis averted.

I breathe a deep sigh of relief while they break into excited chatter.

‘Wow, awesome.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Was he part of the play?’

‘Cool.’

Winton, my sulky new Romeo, is a petty thief here for help with anger management. He looks shaken, his best lines far upstaged. ‘What the fuck?’

The girls are still in shock, mouthing o-mi-god to each other like so many dazed goldfish as Darnley’s own special brand of stardust sparkles in his wake.

The diversion is a huge hit but now I’m in shock too.

Darnley? With a blonde? Here?

And even worse – the cold hostility of his look and his air of suppressed fury. I fight down my own and force myself to grin. Under the surface, questions bubble up and simmer, festering into rage. He could have warned me. ‘Don’t mind them,’ I say, airily. ‘They’re on loan from CSI.’

My joke causes a new flurry of excitement. As my phone signals I snatch it up.

It’s from Darnley. Pigtails?

Shit.

Eldon’s holding the class spellbound as he outlines their next shoot so I sneak a chance to text back, alarmed now.

Freaky Friday. We dress down.

The answer flashes up instantly.

The hell you do. Get your lick-able little ass round here straight after.

My stomach shrivels. Every wicked thought I’d suppressed earlier flares up again, fired by guilt.

Pigtails? Pedal-pushers? To a man like him they’re straw thrown at fire. Deep inside it burns in me, too. The pleasures we’ve missed all week now clamour for attention. Nameless, wicked desires prickle my belly with little points of flame.

It also occurs to me the word ‘lick’ has two meanings and I may be in for both.

With an effort I dismiss the class and hurry over to Eldon to thank him. I reassure him I’ll get his camera back in time for his next visit. It takes a while because the students are still crowding round him, wide-eyed now I’ve mentioned a real-live series. Now they think he’s from CSI they want his autograph and news of their favourite stars.

Eldon plays along happily, pleased with all the fuss. He even answers some of their questions with his superior insider’s knowledge. I look on fondly, glad he’s seen the funny side.

Meanwhile my thoughts are busy elsewhere, intent on revenge. Darnley may have issues with my outfit but I have issues too – blonde-related.

Tonight I have a date with Mr Darnley high-and-mighty Wolfe. I daresay diamond bracelets will be heavily involved, as will any number of dark, thrilling and so far unspecified, possibly unspeakable, activities.

But for now unscripted blondes shoot to the top of my agenda.

The sex can damn well wait.

I walk out of the Academy into the golden afternoon and pull up short. The car Darnley sends for me on Friday evenings is already here. He meant what he said. No chance to go home to the tiny apartment I share with my friend Billy to shower or change, or even squeeze into mini box-pleats and turn the whole thing into a joke.

Darnley’s residence is way out of town, over in leafy Lexington. I’ve shared with Billy on and off since we were students. Billy likes to work close to the centre to reach her office, me ditto the Academy, so I visit Darnley at weekends while Eldon, Darnley’s brother and Billy’s surprising new squeeze, conveniently takes my place in her apartment.

It’s early days but so far it’s working well. Happy families all round.

As the vast car pulls up in the spacious driveway I get out and breathe in quiet, scent-laden air from the lush gardens, a world away from the busy backstreets of Boston or the neighbourhood where I work. It’s peaceful here, with birdsong and the swish of leaves. It’s a calming prelude to what may turn into a weekend of hot sex, blistering arguments or even a new shift in our stormy relationship. Darnley can be difficult when he wants – part of his appeal.

In the light, art-filled spaces of his mansion I’m partway across the gleaming tropical hardwood parquet when something strikes me as out of place. One of the stunning artworks, a massive Lichtenstein and by chance one of my favourites, is tilted at a crazy angle in the hallway. Halfway up the stairs I see a scrap of filmy scarlet lace draped over the banister.

I frown. What’s going on?

At the top of the stairs, reality shifts. Am I in the wrong house? Walking casually across the spacious entrance hall below me is a female, semi-naked and wet, towelling her hair with the corner of a bath-towel loosely draped round the rest of her. Her bare feet trail wet prints across a precious antique rug specially shipped from China.