Capture. Flora Dain
it?’
Darnley’s standing behind me, so close I start to tingle. I feel the hairs rise on my arms and I shiver. Excitement? Arousal?
‘It’s stunning. It’s an original work?’
I feel his lips brush the side of my neck.
‘Got a guy in San Francisco to do it.’ He turns me slowly round to face him. ‘It’s got a kind of – hidden secret.’
For a long moment my gold-dazzled retinas see him only in shadow, a dark shape against the light as he slowly descends on my mouth.
When he pulls away he looks almost dazed. ‘Hey. Let’s talk art some other time.’ Once more he seizes my hand, then drags me behind him, making for the stairs.
He hurries me past a selection of pale, elegant rooms – a kitchen, a vast sitting area, even a TV room with a giant screen and a dozen rows of seats. Everywhere has vast windows and spectacular views.
In the bedroom the windows are draped in fine gauze, blowing gently in the soft breeze from the sea. The bed is low and pale, with a lower and paler bench running along the head and a sturdy-looking rail along the foot. Sturdy enough to take clips, rope or – cuffs?
Knowing his tastes I notice these things. A tiny part of me notes primly that once I’d have assumed merely dressing rooms, a hidden wardrobe. But now the mirrored wall opposite the bed hints at intricate, thrilling possibilities. My belly clenches at the thought of what we could do in here. Already he’s pulling me slowly towards him, his look dark and intense.
‘I’ve waited a long time to see you in here. Strip. I want to watch.’ He throws himself back onto the bed and leans on one elbow.
‘Do all your girlfriends do this?’ I’m only kidding, but as I say it I feel a twinge of fear. Suppose he says yes? Do I really want to know how many there are? How beautiful, how – exotic?
‘You expect me to answer that?’
I fight down a sudden wave of shyness. Is it the thought of showing my all in this vast glass palace, or simply being compared to – others?
So what? I’m here now.
‘Enough. I’ll do the rest. Keep your hands over your head.’ He uncurls and rises to his feet in a single lithe movement that dries my mouth and shrivels my belly. As he towers over me, his dark gaze locked on mine, he swiftly removes my jeans, my panties, my bra and what’s left of my self-control. I can almost feel his heat.
‘Bend over.’
I feel a spike of alarm. ‘Now I thought we’d moved on from all that?’ The sudden gleam in his eyes hints he’s some way to go yet. The sudden flash of arousal deep down in me hints I have too.
We’re in Wolfe territory now. Rash words can make for sore backsides in the flash of his hand.
‘You did? Well, guess what – you were wrong. Head up, tits out. Put your hands in the small of your back and lean on the bed to balance.’
What follows is so hot and so sharp I’ve no idea how I manage not to yell. After the first few blistering seconds I drag in air and prepare to bellow but his hand’s punishing rhythm gets to me, so I hold off. Instead I breathe deep, willing him on, letting his ferocious energy fuel my fire. In minutes I’m burning up, inside as well as out, jolting with arousal at every blow, as his steady drumbeat jolts straight to my groin.
At last he stops, his breathing ragged from the sudden exercise. He shakes his hand with a rueful grin. ‘Wow. You’re coming on. I expected half the state in here from all the yelling.’
I swivel my head and eye him from under my lashes. ‘Is that what you wanted? State troopers joining in?’
His eyes glimmer. ‘Hey. Don’t give me ideas. The mood I’m in I just might. Now come up here.’
As he speaks he sheds his clothes, sending his boxers spinning across the room with a flick of his foot. He sprawls out along the bed and hauls me up on top of him, finding my mouth with a sigh of welcome that tells me how much he’s wanted this and, thrillingly, how much he’s wanted me here.
‘Ride me. Tease me first. Please, Ella.’
His soft request is a surprise – usually by this stage we’re long past the need for permissions. Eagerly I curve over his erection and lean forward to taste. It twitches in my mouth, glossy and hot, as impatient as me.
He lets out a low groan. ‘Whoa, easy. You’re too good. Now get yourself up here.’
I climb along him and lower myself onto his hot shaft with a low growl of pleasure. I put my hands on his shoulders and gaze into his slanted, intelligent face as he surges up inside me, his hot, hard length filling my belly, its shape losing focus as he thrusts, blending into the soft clutches of my lower muscles. Now all I feel is his heat and his drive.
The fire in his eyes spurs me on and I speed up to ride him. He jolts in response, his power and his strength overwhelming mine, his rhythm taking me over. In minutes he’s rolled over on top of me, taking charge with easy male grace.
‘Having fun?’ I mean to tease but instantly his expression clouds.
‘Ella? You’re right. What was I thinking? Ladies first. Fiancées especially.’
And to my joy he slows, grinding against me with the prowess of an athlete, his honed body slicing into me with his superior power and his urgent, pounding drumbeat until I’m scorching and ready, poised at the brink of massive, blessed release.
In seconds I come with kind of long, low moan, the feral call of my inner female. His answering grunt seals our pleasure and soon we’re lying full length, bundled together in love, as the sinking Californian sun paints us gold where its reflection shines from the mirrors opposite.
* * *
Later he shows me round the house. It’s even larger inside than it looks from a distance, so much of it hugs the low-slung cliff. From outside I see it’s built at an angle to capture the best views of the sea. It stretches down a couple of further floors for staff, garaging and deliveries.
We walk along the beach a little way and explore part of the cove. As we crunch along the shingle he skips stones across the water but his dark glances make me burn deep down as his answers to my eager questions – how did you find this place? – who else comes here? – get shorter and shorter. Finally I tail off as he pulls me close.
‘Hey, let’s eat. I’m starving. You can explore tomorrow. And I’ll show you your Christmas present.’
Our meal is light and fun, a platter of exotic seafood arranged by his Mexican cook – icy caviar, light and salt; small rosy shrimps, soft and sweet; oysters like liquid heaven. Darnley pours champagne and we sip from tall flutes and nibble rough chunks of fresh home-made bread, dipped in small bowls of pale melted butter and hot, tasty sauces. I make merry in his arms as the night grows late and he plays old blues records.
When we finally get to bed the quilt has been smoothed again, fresh flowers left in a bowl, the lighting low. But it’s a long time before we sleep.
* * *
I wake with a start in a shaft of moonlight. I can feel his arms folded around me. But all around us is a wall of noise, like wild, roaring thunder. ‘What the …?’
I stare wildly around as Darnley, heavy at my back, starts to stir.
In a panic