I’m my own woman. ‘Darnley, we’ve talked about this. I need my space during the week. I need to work.’
His eyes darken. ‘Me too. But I need you. I need you here. And know what? I need you now.’
He hauls the cover off me and kneels between my thighs, his expression purposeful as he caresses my thighs, pushes them apart with deliberate twitches of his fingers. Ignoring my laughing protests he lowers his tousled head and fastens on my most private place, where my throbbing, lively little bud is still aglow with orgasm.
At the first touch of his tongue I jolt, at the second I laugh out loud, but as he keeps on, his tongue urgent and compelling, I sink into the easy sea of pleasure swelling around me as another climax starts to build. Soon I buck and thrash in his jaws like a ravished doe as he triggers another earth-shattering orgasm. It ripples slowly away, leaving me glowing like molten gold.
He surges up over me and pulls me into his arms, laughing and triumphant. ‘See? That’s what you need. You need me.’
Later we lounge in bed with a breakfast tray and coffee brought in by a scuttling maid. Has she seen women here before? I’d sooner not know. As I sip he’s already pacing the room, checking his phone, issuing orders.
All at once he glances my way. ‘Tonight we’re due at the State House around eight. That suit?’
‘We are?’ I scan his face and swallow. ‘Are you sure you want me to come?’
His look instantly clouds. ‘Shit, Ella, don’t back down now. I thought you’d be pleased. Anyway, my mother wants to meet you.’
I sit up in alarm. ‘What? How does she know about me?’
For a full second he looks so surprised I wonder what I’ve said. Next second he’s swooped down to place his arms at either side of me on the bed, his face close to mine. ‘One, I told her. You’re the first girl I’ve mentioned to her, so she’s interested. Plus, she already heard of you. She likes your poetry.’
‘You’re kidding.’ I giggle as he sits next to me and slips his hand in my robe, fondling my breast. I arch my neck with excitement. ‘Is she a poet too?’
His face is deep in my neck now. I can feel his breath on my skin. ‘Not really, but she knows a lot of people, including your old professor. Chances are –’ his hand slips over to the other breast and now my arms are wound round his waist, pulling him closer ‘– he’ll be there too. Hey. Move over.’
I’d hoped for a long, lazy day, lunch al fresco followed by a long, lazy, poolside afternoon in the last of the sunshine before the weather turns cold. But as the afternoon wears on Darnley spends more and more time on calls. From his irritated tone I guess it’s about Cola again.
As we get ready to go out he prowls my room, looking carelessly perfect, occasionally adjusting his cuffs but more often glancing darkly at me. I grow uneasy as I adjust my tiny diamond earrings and put the finishing touches to my hair.
As he draws close my eyes widen. He’s brought the bracelets.
From the box the diamonds flash and dazzle. Their brilliance does little to calm my nerves. Now I’m on high alert. He raises my hand to his lips, drops a soft kiss on the inside edge of my palm and snaps on the first bracelet.
‘You’ll wear them all evening. Maybe longer.’
His low murmur and his dark, steady look send excitement pounding through me as heat flares deep down. At the same moment I feel a shimmer of fear.
I raise my other hand and he fixes the other bracelet in place, his gaze solemn. Our ritual has already begun, the air between us ablaze with bling and crackling with tension.
I’m still in my underwear, a porno-effect paper doll in heels, stockings and skimpy lingerie. His sweeping clinical look makes me burn.
‘Lose these.’ He fingers the lacy trim at the edge of my panties and wrenches it a little way down my leg. Hurriedly I step out of them, kicking away the wisp of designer lace that cost more than my last month’s food bill.
He slips a finger deep into my little valley. ‘Open your legs.’
Slowly he runs his fingers along one side of my swollen folds and then the other, holding each lip lightly in his finger and thumb. This is strangely intimate and very controlling, like a tailor feeling cloth. A shudder runs all through my belly and down the backs of my legs.
His eyes lock on mine, dark with intent, his expression grave. ‘I guess you know what comes first.’ He gives my folds a slight but unmistakeable downward tug.
I swallow. I’m learning to expect this, to yearn for it, even. We start the ritual with the classic submission he loves. But tonight I sense a new urgency about it.
The worship part is easy. I could do this for hours, if it pleases him, if it helps. But tonight his need for my mouth seems to go deeper than mere pleasure. As he towers over me, fully dressed now, easy and elegant in a suit that cost way more than my salary, I gasp as he frees himself and his erection looms before me. I love to do this, but the bracelets make it even more exciting. They bind me with more than metal.
I lick him with loving sweeps of my tongue and tease him with delicate kisses, fighting down panic. Will we be late? Will his sister walk in and find us? But he’s in no hurry.
As I lean over and take him deep I suck hard, scared I’ll screw up his evening by taking too long.
To my surprise he touches my hair and smiles. ‘Hey, easy. The party starts when we get there.’
So I go slow. When he finally groans I feel a deep swell of satisfaction, laced with a purely female hint of relief that my evening gown is still folded primly over a chair, innocent and unspoilt. Only my flushed cheeks and my pulsing, reddened lips will give me away – or maybe my air of primitive female pride.
I savour the moment. Who knows? It may be the best part of the evening.
The Great Hall of the Massachusetts State is House is ablaze with glitz. Its splendour has no effect on Darnley. As ever he’s casual and urbane. Cola quickly joins us. She looks bored, like she does this kind of thing often. But I’m overawed by the marble and the glitter and sincerely grateful my costly gown passes muster here with so many diplomats and dignitaries to see it.
As always with Darnley at my side, I feel like a princess. As always, his dark looks and fleeting smiles, like the firm, telling touch of his hand on my arm, my waist and my neck, make me feel like a queen. And as always the wicked thoughts that consume me when we’re this close make me randy as a cat.
He leads me over to a group where a slim middle-aged blonde with a regal air is holding court. ‘This is my mother, Señora Savoy Pemberton Castillo. Mother? Meet my girl. This is Ella. She’s a poet.’
The woman’s smooth, fine-boned face softens in a hint of a smile.
Darnley’s stepmother Lydia has the cautious air of a woman who’s come up in the world. Her face is still beautiful, her expression cool.
I sense a hint of the great outdoors. I recall his mother runs a stud farm. She sweeps me with a quizzical look as her son kisses her cheek but when she touches my hand hers is surprisingly
