Surefire Page 9

  I look from one to the other, baffled. “But I thought… Julia Montgomery said her firm was retained by Darke Associates. That’s your company. Your corporate lawyers…”

  Nathan smiles widely. “Our company. Our corporate lawyers. Who do you think’s the ‘associate’ part. Tom owns fifty percent. I started the company, and then Tom came on board. We just never bothered to change the name. I tend to lead on the regeneration stuff, construction projects, development. Tom leads on rural enterprises, renewable energy, that sort of thing. We each have a few other interests outside the company, small things really, but the bulk of our business activity is a fifty-fifty partnership. I’m the one who always gets rolled out in a suit, and yes, I tend to deal with the lawyers, but golden boy here’s the creative genius” He glances sharply at Tom. “You should have told her all this, bro.”

  Tom shrugs. “Never came up. ‘Till now. And if we’re all quite done airing our little secrets, unless you intend to stay and watch, I’d like you to bugger off now. I’m about to fuck my sub until she screams and I don’t intend to share.”

  Straight faced, Nathan gets to his feet, downs the remainder of his drink then nods politely to me. He turns to Tom. “Now that’s downright unsociable, but hey, I’ll leave you two to work up an appetite. I suppose I could always phone Eva and talk dirty with her—usually gets me my reward in the end. So, I’ll see you in the restaurant. Will an hour be enough time?”

  Grinning, Tom turns to me, hunched up on the bed, my face burning, mortified at their casual exchange. “What do you think, Ashley, can I make you scream in an hour? You were saying you wanted a decent fuck, and I did promise you a spanking too. Will that be enough time for you? I wouldn’t want you to feel—hurried.” He waits a moment, then, “Ashley? An hour?”

  My mind rapidly becoming a blank I mumble my response. “I, yes, yes—that should be fine. Thank you.” The door closes behind Nathan with a soft click, an instant before I’m grabbed and flipped onto my stomach, the towel sailing through the air.

  Chapter Nine

  As I snuggle up in bed next to Tom, the crisp white hotel sheets cool against my naked skin, I’m reflecting drowsily on what a bizarre day it has been. It started so normally with breakfast at Black Combe and ended here in Gloucester, stopping off at my mother’s fire-damaged house and custody suite at the local police station in between. I’m still deeply thankful not to be spending my first night back in prison. But for Tom, and Julia…

  Our evening meal in the hotel restaurant was a surprisingly convivial affair, given that my bottom was smarting from the attention it had received only an hour earlier, and I could only sit still for a few minutes at a time. Both men had knowing smirks on their faces, and Tom kindly offered to fetch me a pillow from the room to sit on. So considerate. I thanked him politely but declined, glowering at him.

  We planned what we needed to do, all three of us in agreement that the sooner we could get out of Gloucester and back to Yorkshire the better. Our first hurdle was to tell the police what had happened after I’d been released from their tender clutches, hopefully set them on the right track. I dreaded that, convinced they’d manage to find some reason to point the finger at me again, but in fact it went well. PC Tall and Stupid was no doubt off duty by the time Tom phoned the police station and asked to speak to someone in connection with the arson attack. As luck would have it, the young sergeant who came to see us at the hotel was sharp and polite and seemed to grasp entirely the significance of Kenny’s presence in Gloucester. Nathan had also noted the registration number of the van so, unless it’s stolen, it’s only a matter of time before the police start to round up my would-be abductors.

  After the police sergeant left, we considered our next moves over coffee in the hotel bar. We agreed to be at the offices of Hampson and Miller in time for them opening at nine o’clock in the morning, and from there we can instruct my friend Mr Miller regarding insurance, arranging the repairs, and so on. That just leaves the cemetery, a visit I’m anticipating with a mixture of dread and joy. But mostly joy. I really do believe this could be a chance, a real chance, at closure. My opportunity to move on, to really move on this time.

  Nathan was the first to head back upstairs to his room, I suspect for a late-night telephone conversation with Eva. Tom and I were not far behind. And we’re all agreed, we definitely don’t want to stay another night in Gloucester if we can help it.

  * * * *

  The meeting with Mr Miller went incredibly smoothly. He was visibly shocked at the attitude of the police, shaking his head at the idiocy of the whole idea. “Pity they didn’t interview me before leaping to conclusions. Anyone with a commercial head could have told them this was no insurance scam. That house is a sound investment, turning a respectable profit. Very respectable indeed. It would make no financial sense at all for Miss McAllister to destroy her business.” More head shaking, more disgruntled muttering, then down to business. Given that the police have now been disabused of their foolish notions regarding my part in this whole affair, he assured us that there would be no barrier to submitting the insurance claim on the basis that the fire was started deliberately, by persons unknown. Well, persons not yet proven—I’m pretty certain who did it even if I’m at something of a loss as to exactly why. Mr Miller was happy to arrange for estimates for the repairs, complete the insurance forms and to oversee the works in due course, consulting or reporting to me as required. We left his office knowing the matter was now in safe hands.

  Our next, and final, stop is the cemetery. We cruise up the central driveway in Nathan’s Porsche, my own car waiting for us back at the hotel. Huge imposing gravestones tower over us on both sides as I direct Nathan first to the small, discreet plot where my mother was buried a little over a year ago. Nathan parks the car nearby and we all three walk in silence to the graveside, the small headstone announcing the presence there of Susan Spencer—

  1970—2012

  A much loved mother, sadly missed.

  I’m thinking that maybe I should commission something grander, something more in keeping with the wonderful woman she was. Dry-eyed, I reflect on a life cut cruelly short, and I wish she could have seen me now, enjoying the future we planned together and expected to share. I particularly wish that she could meet Tom, that she could hear all about my thriving new business, visit me in my new home, meet my friends.

  But it’s not to be. I’ll always miss her, but her legacy is me, and the life I now have, in a large part due to her. I thank her silently, philosophically, and feel I’m at last ready to move on.

  This next visit is much, much harder for me. Much more painful. The loss of my mother was devastating, but I know I survived it intact. The loss of my child, though, killed a part of me, too. Part of me is buried here under this cold earth, and I’ll never again feel quite whole without him. Tom and Nathan stand quietly back, flanking me a few yards behind as I stumble forward to the plot in the stillborn babies’ garden where David is actually buried. Tears stream unchecked as I recall that dreadful day when my mother and I stood here and watched as David’s tiny, tiny coffin was lowered into the ground. I think of what might have been, what he might have become, what he might have achieved. He’d have been around eighteen months old by now, a toddler probably. I wonder what he’d have looked like. Would he have taken after me? Or—God forbid—Kenny? I think about what my life might have been like but for this tragedy. If David hadn’t died I might well have still been with Kenny now, struggling to bring up my child, maybe even pregnant again, God help me. God help all of us.

  I shudder, not yet ready to think in terms of silver linings, but I do thank whoever might be out there listening for my second chances. And maybe I’ll have a second chance at motherhood, maybe it could be different the next time. I look over my shoulder, my gaze still watery, and I see Tom a few yards away, silent, patient. He smiles briefly, his head cocked to one side, asking permission. I answer by holding out my hand and he comes to me, takes my hand
then he folds his arms around me and just holds me.

  I hear the crunch of gravel as Nathan walks away to wait for us in the car.

  * * * *

  As we walk back into the farmhouse that first day back, Tom slams the door shut then shoves me up against it, promising me a decent fuck in some privacy at last. I respond along the lines of preferring something rather more on the indecent side, and with a knowing smile, loaded with wicked intent, Tom calls my bluff. I should have known better. He walks over to the fridge, grabs a couple of cold Pepsis then takes my hand to tow me up the stairs behind him. He leads me into our bedroom and instructs me to undress. Fast.

  I do as I’m told, quickly shedding my jeans, hip length tunic top and underwear, all the time watching Tom out of the corner of my eye. He glances at me, his warning clear. I know the rules and I drop my gaze, stand perfectly still, looking at the floor. I hear as Tom reaches under the bed, draws out one of the ‘toys’ he keeps there. Out of the corner of my eye I see it is the spreader bar. He turns to me, and with a brief flick of his head indicates I’m to get onto the bed. I do as he’s asked, but turn to look at him over my shoulder. He stops, one eyebrow raised in query.

  “I’d like to ask you something, if that’s allowed. Just now, I mean.”

  I detect a flash of irritation, then it’s gone. “Is it important?”

  “Yes. To me it is.”

  “Very well then. And would you prefer to turn around, and face me while you talk?”

  “I would. Thank you.”

  He nods, and still kneeling, I turn. He doesn’t approach me, continues to stand, towering over me, waiting. I place my hands on my knees and drop my gaze to them.

  “I thought we agreed you could face me. Look up, Ashley. Look at me. And tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I lift my gaze, and without preamble tell him what I want. “I want another baby. I want to try again.”

  He has the presence of mind not to register surprise if that’s his reaction. Or maybe it isn’t. Those long minutes earlier today, spent beside David’s grave together, convinced me that I could re-write my future, choose a different course. Maybe he felt it too. In any case, now he simply nods.

  “I expected that. Not quite so soon, perhaps, but I did expect it. Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure. This is what I want. This is how I can put it right, regain control…”

  “Control? A strange choice of word, especially just at this moment.”

  “I mean, control of my life, my future. That’s okay, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve never said…”

  He raises his hand to silence me, smiles at me. “Yes, you do control what happens to you. Always. Even here. Nothing happens that you don’t want, that you don’t agree to. You know that. And if a baby is truly what you want, then as far as I’m concerned you can have that too.”

  “Really? You mean it? I can stop taking the pill and, and see what happens.”

  He smiles wryly. “Well, I think we both know what’s likely to happen, but yes. You can if you want to. It’s your choice. Always your choice, Ashley.”

  I start forward, intending to throw my arms around him, but he stops me with one of his imperious Dom gestures and I subside back onto my knees, my eyes downcast although inside I’m singing. And he knows it.

  “Are we done talking for now? Can we continue?”

  “Yes. Yes, Sir.”

  “Excellent. Then please turn around.”

  Again, I turn away from him and wait.

  “Lean forward please, put your hands on the bed in front of you.” His instruction is delivered in his soft Dom tone, firm, commanding, but infinitely courteous.

  I do as he’s asked, and he steps forward, placing his palm on my bottom to gently caress each globe there before sliding his hand down the back of my left leg. Reaching my heel, he gently slides his hand underneath, lifts my foot to slip the ankle strap from one end of the spreader bar onto my left ankle. He tightens it, sliding his fingers under it to make sure it’s secure but not uncomfortable. He then repeats the action with my right ankle.

  “I’m going to push your ankles apart now. Don’t try to resist, you’ll end up with unpleasant bruises, just open your legs wide and support yourself on your hands. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I place my weight on my arms as he pulls my ankles wide apart, the spreader bar opening between them. At last—satisfied he has me positioned to his liking—he stops and locks the bar in place. I push myself up on my hands, turn to look at him over my shoulder. “Is this a spanking position?”

  “Could be. Not this time though. This time, it’s your arse I’m interested in. Give me your hands, the right one first please.”

  Puzzled, I reach back, unsteady now as I try to balance on my widely spread knees and just my left hand. He takes my hand and quickly secures my wrist to my right ankle. “Now your other hand.” The outcome now obvious, I let him position my left hand and secure it to my ankle, forcing my weight forward. I turn my head, my cheek flat on the bed, my shoulders now taking my weight. My bottom is in the air, my thighs spread wide, offering a perfect view. Tom straightens, stands back to admire me from the foot of the bed.

  “Looking so good, Ashley, so damned good. I love you so smooth, so truly naked. Are you comfortable?”

  “I—not exactly.”

  “Oh, dear, sorry about that. This better?” And he slips one long finger inside me, fast, hard, deep. I cry out, and he immediately withdraws it. “Better with, or without? Which do you prefer, Ashley?”

  I gasp, clench around the emptiness inside me, then respond, “With. It’s better with.”

  “Then say ‘please’.”

  “Please. Please…”

  “Please what?”

  “Please, Sir.” I grind out the words, my body desperate now for some contact, for friction, for anything. I can feel the wetness gathering, flowing freely now as my anticipation mounts, my clit and pussy quivering, aching to be touched again as he makes me wait. Makes me beg.

  “You’re very wet, Ashley. Tell me, what makes you wetter? This, or this?” He plunges two fingers inside me, at the same time as he reaches under me with his other hand to flick my clitoris. “Which do you like best?”

  I groan, desperate to move, to raise myself up farther, press against him, but I’m completely immobilized, helpless. His fingers are still inside me, but unmoving now. I squeeze around them, clenching.

  “Ah, baby, that feels good. I want you to do that to my cock soon. Will, you do that, if I put my cock inside you will you squeeze me like that?”

  “Yes, yes, anything. I just, please, I need you to…”

  “This? Is this what you need? What you want?” And at last his fingers are moving, sliding in and out of me, thrusting, exploring, probing. He angles them to hit my inner pleasure spot, stroking it, pressing on it.

  I scream, stiffen under his hands. Again he reaches for my clit, this time tracing his fingertip lightly along its length, front to back. I’m gasping now, moaning, rocking as I try desperately to achieve the release I need. My climax starts to build, I feel it surging deep within me, my senses all coalescing on that spot where he’s exploring me with his fingers, stroking, pressing hard. I start to shake, to stiffen ready for the inner pyrotechnics just moments away now. And he stops. Again he stops. I’m almost crying now, my frustration painful, unbearable. I’m swearing under my breath, always dangerous around Tom in Dom mode and this is no exception. He slaps my bottom hard, once, twice, three times.

  “Be polite, Ashley. Now, we’ve got you warmed up a little, so it’s time for some proper fun.” There’s a faint squelch of lube as he squirts it onto his fingers, then directly onto me, onto my anus beautifully displayed and positioned for him. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to as his intentions are perfectly clear. Even so, I gasp as he penetrates me with his finger, gently but firmly circling to open the sphincter. Quickly he works a second finger inside me, and I groan as he presses deeper.

&nb
sp; “Am I hurting you? I’m doing this quickly today. You do seem to be opening nicely, but I can slow down.” His fingers are inside me, but he stops, waits for me to respond.

  And I do. “No, I’m fine.”

  So he continues. His firm, thrusting movements make short work of any further muscular resistance, and soon three well lubricated fingers are thrust fully inside my anus. Holding them there, and using them to keep me in position, he again reaches for my pussy, finger fucking me mercilessly until I’m on the point of climax once more. And this time I’m not surprised when he stops a fraction short of the mark. I’m frustrated, desperate, ready to weep, to beg, to promise anything if he’ll only let me come. But not surprised. Pulling his fingers from my pussy but continuing to possess my bum, he leans over me, lifts the hair from my face.

  “Look at me, Ashley. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” His voice is quiet, soft and low and seductive. I open my eyes, and he holds my gaze, smiling, knowing. “Do you want me to let you come now?”

  “Yes. Please. Please, Sir…” I can hear my ragged breath, the catch in my voice.

  “And what if I say no? What if I decide you haven’t earned an orgasm? What then? Maybe I should let you wait a little longer, you’d appreciate it all the more.”

  “No, please don’t. Please, Tom, Sir, I need you to— Please make me come now. I can’t bear this…”

  He smiles at me as he nods, the expression warm and sensual. “Okay then, lovely Ashley. As you’ve asked me so nicely. I’m going to let you come, then I’m going to fuck you. Here.” He jerks his fingers in my anus to make sure I’m under no illusions about what’s coming.

  I close my eyes again, wait for him to make good on his promise. And this time I don’t have to wait long. He trails his clever fingers once more along my clitoris, but this time pressing firmly, rubbing harder as I start to writhe and moan, as the orgasm fluttering just below the surface surges forward, past the point of no return, and continuing to work me as I convulse and clench and scream as the sensation overwhelms me. Wave after glorious, delicious wave of sensual delight washes over me, through me, starting at my quivering core and rushing outwards, then back again as he draws every last tingle of my response from me, wrings every last gasp and moan from my throat. At last, it’s done. At last I start to calm again, to regain my senses. I’m boneless, my muscles useless. I’d collapse fully onto the bed but I’m held in place, unable to move a muscle.