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‘Not really,’ I whispered. ‘I don’t think it’ll ever be all right. But I’m telling you this because it’s relevant to what I’m going to ask of you.’
‘OK.’
‘Every time we get involved with each other, you hurt me,’ I said. ‘You hurt me when we played together as children. You hurt me when we had our … summer thing … And now you want to hurt me again.’
‘But this is different,’ he said eagerly. ‘This is a contract. A proposition. Not an affair of the heart or a messed-up thing like the bullying.’
‘I know, but I don’t want to spend the next five months in a state of acute self-loathing and paranoia. I’ve done that. I’m not doing it again. So before I let you hurt me, I want to hurt you.’
‘You mean literally?’
‘Yes, I mean literally. I want you to know how it feels to be hurt.’
‘I do know.’
‘By me.’
‘Ah.’
He sat back, chewing on a slice of tomato.
‘Revenge,’ he said, once it was gone. ‘You want revenge.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I want you to feel something like empathy. And I think it would help me to trust you – because on all those sites I surfed last night, the main thing everyone ended up banging on about was the importance of trust. Without it, there can’t be a D/s relationship, they say. And how can I trust you, given our history?’
‘You know, that’s a very fair point,’ he said. ‘Very fair. All right.’
He stood up, holding out a hand.
‘Take my body and use it as you will,’ he said with a flourish.
People must have heard us, and I felt like an idiot, glancing around to see how many eyes were levelled in our direction.
‘What, now?’ I said.
‘Why not? No time like the present. I’ve got the afternoon free – have you?’
‘I, uh.’ My mind was in no fit state to be fabricating pressing engagements. I had the only man I had ever loved standing right in front of me, looking more delicious than anything on the Trout’s menu, telling me I had carte blanche to do as I wanted with him. It was bound to knock me a bit off course.
‘Come on then. Or have you lost your nerve now? Did you only mention it to put me off and put an end to the whole scheme? Well, I’m calling your bluff. You have to put your money where your mouth is.’
‘Right. Put my money …’ I stood up, haltingly.
‘Though, I have to admit, I’d rather you put your mouth where my mouth is,’ he said, devilishly low.
He wasn’t playing fair. Seduction was not on the menu. It was strictly an arrangement, nothing more. Perhaps I should have some kind of contract drawn up. No cutting the skin, no plastic bags over heads, no thieving of hearts.
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Flirt. It isn’t fair. It’s unkind. And it creeps me out.’
Actually, it didn’t. But I thought it might stop him if I implied that I found his oh-so-charming attentions repellent.
He had the grace to look a bit crushed, and tossed his hair.
‘Are you going to sit there taking pot shots at me all day or are you going to come home with me and beat me into submission?’ he demanded.
‘You don’t want pudding then?’
He shook his head and slapped his stomach.
‘Bad for the waistline,’ he said. ‘Got to look the part if I’m going to be getting the old leather trousers out of the wardrobe.’
‘God, you aren’t, are you?’
He grew impatient of waiting for me to stand up and reached down for my hand, grabbed it and yanked me out of my chair.
‘To be honest,’ he said, once I was standing close enough for him to murmur into my ear, ‘I usually prefer a well-cut suit. But you’ll be wearing leather for me. And feeling it, too.’
Jesus. A flash of pure electrical sensation lit me up, starting at my crotch. This was really on the cards. A realisation of the danger I was in blared in my head like a siren. Run, Lucy, run.
But I didn’t run. I followed him to his car, leaving mine on the gravel.
Chapter Five (#ulink_a3b9757a-f3d6-5829-a53c-dc3f1dcfacaa)
The scaffolders were still at work on the east wing when we entered the Hall through the back-kitchen door.
‘Don’t want Fran to know I’m back,’ muttered Joss, leading the way through the hanging copper pots and pans and wooden worktops. ‘She’ll waylay me with a VAT registration form or something. I’m taking the afternoon off, as far as she’s concerned.’
‘Fran Woolley?’
‘You know her?’
‘Willingham isn’t exactly the metropolis, Joss, people do tend to know everyone in the village.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Nearly thirty and still clueless about real life, aren’t you?’
He looked over his shoulder at me, frowning.
‘Are you saying that my life isn’t real?’ he said.
‘No. But, for God’s sake, don’t ever check your privilege. You’d never get to the end of it.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you do. Look, I’m only joking. I’m nervous.’
I was pretty close to vomiting, actually, and after all the pickles I’d consumed this wasn’t an appealing prospect.
The back stairs were like old friends with whom I’d been unexpectedly reunited and, in just the same way, they brought a lot of memories to the fore as I climbed them behind Joss.
Chief among them was that first time, treading cautiously on the creaking boards, feeling that I was being allowed inside a sacred inner sanctum. And knowing that, by the time I came down, I would no longer be a virgin.
Joss had been holding my hand that day, looking down at me from time to time with ardent eyes. Oh, how I missed those ardent eyes.
He’d asked me at the bedroom door if I was sure. I wasn’t, but I said I was.
Certainty came when we fell together on the bed, all wrapped up in each other’s heat and scent, kissing as if we’d never get the chance again.
He was so sweet with me, so gentle and kind. He wasn’t the same person who’d whipped my legs with a bramble, he just couldn’t be.
I was so stupid, but at least I’d had the excuse of youth.
What excuse did I have now?
The upstairs landing was just as I remembered it, but shabbier. Everything had a faded, regretful look. Outside Joss’s bedroom door was a recycling box full of bottles.
‘Nice touch,’ I said. ‘Classy.’
‘Fuck off,’ he said, quite reflexively and without real malice, then he spun around to face me and said, ‘God, sorry. I don’t mean that. Don’t fuck off. Please.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, with a little grin. ‘I’ll make you pay for it.’
He smiled back, but nervously.
‘I’m sure you will. Anyway – enter the palace of delights.’
The palace of delights, also known as Joss’s bedroom, had seen better days. The four-poster bed was still splendid and glamorous, but the duvet was on the floor and the antique bedside table overflowed with clutter.
I picked my way over a discarded dressing gown and slippers, aiming for the window.
‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, snatching them up as I negotiated my path. ‘I would have cleared up if I’d thought … well, I wasn’t expecting us to end up here. Not yet.’
‘Does he use this room?’ I asked, looking out over the park. ‘You know – your Mystery Man.’
‘No. He uses the east wing. Had it all done up to his tastes when he signed the lease.’
‘I’d like to take a look.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’
He was embarrassed. He was smiling too much.
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s had a security door put in and, to tell you the truth, I don’t have a key.’
‘He’s locked you out of your own house?’
Joss shrugged.
‘It’s only the east wing. I didn’t use it much anyway.’
‘No wonder you want him out.’
Joss said nothing but stood behind me at the window, so that I felt his shadow falling over me. He was close enough for me to smell his aftershave. Too close.
‘What if it works, Joss?’ I said. In the distance, a deer streaked through trees.
‘What?’
‘Your hare-brained scheme. What if it works and I get my scoop and he abandons this place and releases you from the contract? You’re back to square one. You can’t afford this house. You’ll end up at Wragg’s Caravan Park.’
‘There are other ways,’ he said. ‘Tourism. Opening up the grounds. There has to be a better way than this. I didn’t realise when I signed up for it quite how –’ he swallowed, ‘– humiliating, yes, humiliating, this was going to be.’
‘How are the mighty fallen,’ I said.
‘I haven’t reached rock bottom yet,’ he said. He put his fingers very lightly on my arm, just a whisper of a touch but it made me quiver like a bowstring.
‘Speaking of bottoms,’ I said, pulling away from him and stepping back, unable to resist an evil smile. ‘Wasn’t there something we were going to do?’
There was a slightly manic quality to his answering tightening of the lips.
‘Let me show you my box of tricks,’ he said, crouching down to pull something out from under the bed.
It was a battered old suitcase.
‘Of course,’ he said, fiddling with the snap locks, ‘my collection has nothing on his. He has everything, the most expensive, the best, the latest. Mine is a bit of a ragbag in comparison. But …’
He opened it. It didn’t look like a ragbag, it really didn’t.
My skin prickled and I clamped my thighs together, noticing how my pussy tightened in response.
He looked up at me and his face crumpled in sympathy.
‘Oh, darling,’ he said. ‘You’re pale. Don’t be scared.’
He put out a hand. I took it and knelt down beside him.
‘I’m not scared,’ I lied. Whips and chains were all very good in principle, pretty sexy in the imagination, but when you saw them up close and full-sized it was somehow extremely intimidating.
‘Think of them as toys,’ he said, picking up a cat-o’-nine-tails-type affair with a red leather handle. ‘It’s all they are, really. Feel the strands – they’re soft as anything.’
‘You’re trying to tell me this wouldn’t hurt?’ I said, running my fingers through them. It was rather pleasurable and they felt lighter than air.
