Secrets After Dark (25 page)

‘I don’t believe that,’ Laura returns. ‘You’re ambitious and you want to make your mark. You might think you want a cosy life and domestic bliss, but you’d hate it soon enough. You’re made for adventure, Beth. Remember when you got back from Croatia? You were so excited and keen to do more travelling. Excuse me if I find the whole retirement dream a bit unconvincing.’

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But we all need a fantasy to retreat to, so I’ll keep my thatched roof and picket fence for now.’ I think for a second. ‘Actually, as it’s a fantasy, I’ll have the pretty cottage, and a flat in London, one in Paris and one in New York as well.’

‘New York!’ sighs Laura. ‘It’s my total dream to go there. The Empire State, Central Park, Fifth Avenue, subways, yellow taxis...’

‘The Met, the Frick, MOMA,’ I say longingly. ‘There’s some amazing art to look at. And I want to have a cocktail at one of those chic hotels you read about in magazines.’

Laura lifts her chopsticks, struck with sudden inspiration. ‘Hey – we should do it. Let’s go to New York together!’ Her eyes sparkle with excitement. ‘I might meet some gorgeous guy with a loft in the village, or wherever it’s really cool, and go and live with him. We’ll start a magazine, something cutting edge and influential, and I’ll leave management consultancy behind for a glamorous life as part of New York’s literary scene.’

I beam back at her. ‘That sounds fantastic. I never understood why you didn’t become a journalist like you always wanted to.’

Laura is lost in her fantasy for a moment, then pulls herself back the present, shrugging as she digs into a tray of pad thai. ‘My careers adviser told me that print was dead and I’d only be joining thousands of other out-of-work journalists. My dad told me that management consultancy would pay off my student loans quickly and get me on the property ladder. So that’s what I did.’ She gives me a congratulatory look with the faintest trace of envy in it. ‘Now you’re the one with the glamorous job.’

I feel sad suddenly that, without encouragement, dreams can fade away. I lean towards her. ‘Let’s do it. Let’s go to New York together. Maybe just before Christmas so we can see the decorations up in Bloomingdale’s. A girls’ weekend away. What do you think?’

Laura lights up again. ‘Do you mean it?’

‘Of course I do! Andrei’s paid me well for my work – let’s splash out on a trip and a really good hotel right in the heart of everything.’

‘I would
love
that!’ She smiles broadly at me. ‘Miss Villiers, you have a deal.’

‘Great. Now – do you want some more noodles?’

The day is cold and grey. The warm sunshine and blue skies have vanished for the moment. It’s time to dig out some warmer clothes, and I settle on a soft grey Fair Isle jumper over a cami vest, a dark grey miniskirt, tights and boots. I give it a little colour with a green scarf and a plum-coloured felt trilby, and then set out to meet Dominic.

It’s not far to walk from our flat in East London to Borough. As I cross Tower Bridge, I can see up and down the Thames. There’s the Tower of London, nearly a thousand years old, white, square and a little Legoish; the huge dome of St Paul’s topped by the cross of glittering gold, the chimney of Tate Modern, the London Eye and Blackfriars Bridge – which makes me think of the monastery in Croatia and how long ago it all seems.

From Tower Bridge I walk along the riverbank past City Hall and then up at London Bridge, where Dominic is waiting for me by Southwark Cathedral. He looks more gorgeous than ever in a dark-green striped jumper, jeans, boots and a navy cashmere scarf knotted at his neck. The colours bring out the hazel lights in his eyes, usually lost in the dark brown, and the chestnut glints in his dark hair.

Standing across the road, I get a few moments to admire him as he waits for me, unconscious of my presence. Then, as the lights change and I approach him, he sees me. At once a big smile illuminates his face, and he opens his arms for me to run into.

‘Hi, beautiful,’ he says, hugging me tight. ‘You look good enough to eat.’ He stands back and looks at me appraisingly. ‘Hmm, autumn suits you even better than summer. I’m a bit of a pushover for a miniskirt and boots. I should have been young in the sixties.’

‘Then we’d have missed each other by about... oooh, fifty years or so?’ I kiss him happily. He tastes of coffee and toothpaste. ‘What’s our plan today?’

‘I thought we could go and take a look at this place.’ He gestures behind him to the cathedral. ‘And after that, we’ll pick up some food in the market behind here.’ I can already see some stalls and smell some delicious aromas. ‘It’s a famous foodie haunt,’ Dominic goes on. ‘So we’ll get some goodies for later. Then we can take a walk and see where our fancies lead us, before we head for home.’

‘Sounds perfect.’ I smile and take his hand.
This is real happiness. Being a couple like any other, spending a lovely Saturday together, just the two of us. Except, of course, no one else is quite as happy as we are.

Holding hands, we descend from the bridge to the cathedral garden, where people sit drinking coffee and children play, jumping up and down over the low walls and racing about. Inside the cathedral, we wander about, looking and absorbing. There are famous graves within – John Gower, the English poet is buried here – and a stained-glass window adorned with characters from Shakespeare, whose plays were performed not far from here and who almost certainly came to services in this very place. The thought fills me with awe as I try to imagine the great dramatist sitting here, looking at the same stones and the same arches and windows. After Dominic and I have tried to identify all the characters but not quite succeeded, we head back outside, out of the cathedral grounds and into the bustling food market just across the way. This place is a feast for the senses. Everywhere I look I see something to delight me: piles of white and yellow cheeses, barrels of olives, meats, fruits, vegetables, bread and cakes, sweets, nuts, delicacies from all over the world. There are chocolate stalls, stalls piled high with fish and crustaceans, or hung with poultry and offering choice cuts of beef or lamb, or the new season’s game. Other stalls sell wine, in bottles and casks, or else hot to drink now from a paper cup, unless you prefer mulled cider, spicy with cinnamon and cloves and sweet with honey. There are coffee stalls, doughnut stalls and crêpe stalls; some are dedicated to gluten-free pastries, others to organic eggs. And then there’s the street food: burgers and bacon sizzle on hot plates, ready to be put in a roll and smothered with ketchup. There’s paella, the yellow rice studded with goodies and unbelievably aromatic, and falafel in pita breads; meatballs in a rich sauce served with spaghetti, or soup, thick and wholesome. There’s fish and chips; venison steaks to eat in an envelope of brown bread with a tangy relish; or wraps of soft tortillas filled with grilled chicken, rocket and mayonnaise; there’s pancakes and ice cream and churros, those delicious pastry twirls to dip into chocolate sauce. It’s all to eat now, with a plastic fork, or a spoon or with greasy, sticky, salty fingers.

We browse to our hearts’ content, stopping to taste cheeses or breads or olive oils, or anything that’s offered to us, until we almost don’t want anything else, except that we can’t resist a hog roast, and buy soft buns full of meltingly soft pork and apple sauce. Loaded with shopping bags of delicious food we’ve bought to cook tonight, we return to the cathedral gardens to eat.

‘This is so lovely,’ I say to Dominic as we eat sitting on the low wall in the autumn sunshine, the shopping around our feet. The pork is sweet and delicious.

‘I know,’ he says, his expression happy as the wind ruffles his dark hair. ‘It’s days like these that I love London better than anywhere else. I’m so happy to be back here – with you.’ He looks at me a little closer. ‘And by the way, you’ve got apple sauce on your chin. Here... let me.’ He wipes it away with a finger and follows up with a kiss.

‘I can’t imagine being more happy,’ I say. ‘Let’s always be like this.’

He looks serious for a moment. ‘You know what, Beth, I truly never have been more happy. I know that now. It was a shock to me, almost too much to handle, when I realised how you made me feel, because no one else ever has. I think that’s been my trouble – I haven’t loved properly before. That’s why I got everything so confused in my mind, about how sex works and what it means. It hasn’t always been about loving the other person, not in the way I feel about you.’

‘Wow,’ I say, feeling humbled and thrilled at the same time. ‘I... I’m so glad I make you feel like that.’ The words sound inadequate but Dominic seems to understand that they are completely sincere and that I feel almost overwhelmed by what he’s saying to me.

‘You truly do.’ He takes my hand. ‘I don’t want to lose this. Ever.’

We gaze into one another’s eyes, reading there the promise of what is to come tonight and then, all being well, night after night. It seems to occur to us both at the same moment that we have the rest of our lives to feel this happy – and, despite our rolls and greasy fingers and drips of sauce, neither of us can resist the impulse to hug each other hard and laugh with joy.

This is love. This is normality. I think we’re through the worst. It will only get better now.

I am kneeling on the floor of the boudoir. My hands are bound tightly behind me, and when I tug lightly to test the strength of the bond, it is firm. I cannot move my wrists even a centimetre. This feels different from being tied to the bedrail. Even though I’m less exposed, I feel more vulnerable. A flutter of fear goes through me and I try to subdue it by breathing calmly and thinking,
he will not cause me real harm. He wants me to prove my obedience to him.

That thought comforts me, because I love Dominic, my master, and I want to offer him my body to do as he pleases with it. This way, I will prove my love to him, and he will reward me with delicious pleasure.

I can see nothing – a silk mask has been tied over my eyes. I’m also wearing a kind of harness made of rope that is wrapped around my chest under and around my breasts, pushing them upwards. Dominic has done all this with speed and skill, taking me almost by surprise. Now I sit here, waiting, not sure what he has in mind for me, or when he’s going to do it. All I know is that he took great pleasure in preparing me for this moment, stroking me gently, running the rope over my skin, coaxing me to touch it, lick it, kiss it. As he began to bind me, he flicked my nipples lightly and ran the rope over them to stimulate their delicate nerve endings with its pleasing roughness. And, almost as if by accident, he brushed against my sex, taking the rope between my legs occasionally so that I could feel it sliding over me like a relentless slender snake. Its slithering made me begin to swell with desire as my hot blood responded to its movements, while Dominic nipped at my neck and shoulders with tiny little bites that made me shake a little with excitement. Then, when my harness was complete, he bound my hands, saying, ‘You look a little different. A bit more toned and athletic.’

‘I’ve been kick-boxing.’

‘Good. That will make you stronger for some of the things I’d like you to experience.’

Now I kneel waiting, anxious but with tingles flashing up and down my vagina whenever I think of him watching me, planning what he’s going to do me, and enjoying seeing the rope biting just a little into my flesh.

I feel something new. It is more rope being threaded through my chest harness, and now there is another sensation of tightening, although not around me. Then I’m pulled to my feet.

‘We’re going on a little journey,’ Dominic says, his voice stern but loving. ‘Not far.’

I’m walking behind him, relying on him for guidance, taking tentative steps but not lingering in case it looks like disobedience. The carpet beneath my feet disappears and is replaced by something smooth and cool. We are in the hallway. He moves me into position and says, ‘Something to keep your mind occupied.’ I feel a hard clamp squeeze down on my nipple and gasp. It is immediately followed by a clamp on the other nipple. It hurts, but not too badly, it’s bearable; but he’s right, it makes it hard for me to think about anything but the burning pressure on my delicate buds and the way that it’s causing me to get wetter and more ready.

I’m in the position that he wants and he grunts, satisfied. Then he guides me downwards so that I’m kneeling on the floor again. Now I feel his penis at my lips, its soft head hot and insistent, rubbing at the rim of my mouth. I open obediently and he slides his shaft in. I lick and suck as he presses in, hoping that’s what I’m supposed to do. He gives three quick thrusts and withdraws, very slowly. His length is wet with my saliva now, I can feel it as he pulls out between my lips. I’m being raised up again now and pushed back onto a long narrow leather seat that slopes upwards. I know this chair. It is one I’ve taken rides on in the past, and I sigh and shiver with anticipation as I feel its cool smooth leather at my back. Another rope tightens somewhere and I can tell that I’m bound to the chair. I wonder how I must look to him and the picture I see in my mind is exciting: a naked girl with a corset of ropes that thrust her breasts out, her arms bound behind her, is lying on the white leather. He moves my legs so that one is either side of the seat. I know I am a glistening ruby jewel of arousal, open and ready. I wonder how long he wants to wait before he plays there and it’s only a matter of a few seconds before I feel him at my entrance, eager to thrust into me. He pushes his erection forward and it slides in, easing my tightness in a delicious movement, filling me up with his girth. He’s not touching any other part of my body, I can only feel that column of hot flesh deep inside. Then he starts moving, withdrawing almost to my entrance so that he pauses just for a second, his penis held inside me by the circle of muscle there, and then pushing back hard, making me gasp with the impact. But it’s so delicious, that sensation of expanding around him, that I only want it again. I don’t have to wait for long as he thrusts forward into me, and back again, like the waves receding up a beach only to break again with even more power. As he moves in and out, still touching no other part of my body, I am aware of how open I am to him, how vulnerable. My body, tied up and lashed to a leather seat, is powerless and I can only accept what my master decides to give me. I find the idea thrilling in a way I never have before, even though I still feel the fear and nervous anticipation of what Dominic will choose to do to me. I understand now that this fear is an essential part of the process and that, for Dominic, seeing my courage in giving myself to him and putting my trust in him, is highly exciting. He adores the sight of my body accepting him and everything he chooses to do to it, and he loves me all the more when I take what he gives me without complaint.