Hard Choices (12 page)

He rolls into position, his cock at my entrance. But he’s making no move to fill me, and I realise he’s waiting for my answer. This time I give it in the form of a smile, and I reach up with my good hand to cup his cheek. He turns his head slightly, kisses my palm. And I arch as he plunges his cock deep into my pussy, the continuous whirring and fullness in my arse just enhancing the sensation, increasing the feeling of fullness. My orgasm is every bit as instantaneous as he demanded—in this matter I do not disappoint. Neither does he. He continues to thrust hard and deep as I convulse wildly around his cock, both my passages squeezing down hard on the welcome invaders.

My release seems to continue on and on, that familiar sense of weightlessness washing through me. I’m spinning, dizzy as the firestorm of flashing lights explodes in my head, and the crackle of electricity shoots through my veins and out through my fingers and toes. Delayed gratification may be a pig while it’s hanging there, tantalisingly out of reach, but it’s bloody wonderful when it arrives.

At last, though, the waves of sensual energy subside, and I remember his instructions for how this is to continue. I go still, willing my body not to respond, not to urge or squeeze or otherwise attempt to effect proceedings. My reward? He slows his movements right down. He’s frustratingly slow, but his angle of penetration is unerring with every stroke, rubbing my G-spot mercilessly. I’m conscious of only that, and I spread my legs wider, planting the soles of my feet on the mattress below me, my hands unrestrained beside my head as I concentrate on trying hard not to move. With a wry grin of amusement Nick slips his hand between our bodies to stroke my clit. I close my eyes, start to arch, but his low growl warns me to restrain myself. He’s doing this on purpose—I know he is—to test me. And I am sorely out of practice at controlling my orgasms of late.

Nevertheless, I manage to contain myself, at least for a while, chewing my bottom lip anxiously as the sensations mount. Despite his ridiculously slow thrusting, the impact is devastating, each stroke reaching deep and sure, filling me totally. I feel the familiar bubbling of impending orgasm, and I’m sure I can’t hold back much longer. I open my eyes, searching his face for any sign he may be approaching his own climax, but all I see is a knowing, sardonic smirk.

“Is there something you’d like to ask me, little slut?” The words are soft, his tone low and sexy.

I nod, start to lift my hands, but he takes both my wrists gently in his hands.

“No hands. Let me give you a clue…” He leans down, kisses me lightly, tracing the outline of my lips with his tongue before dropping his head farther to take my nipple in his mouth. Again I arch, and this time he bites me, not hard, but enough to remind me of my instructions. It’s a huge effort now to lie still under him, but I manage it, panting as every cell and every nerve ending clenches ready to burst into orgasmic life.

He lifts his head, and again he’s poised above me, his cock relentlessly sliding slowly, deeply inside me. I look up at him, and he smiles at me again. “If you want to come, you’ve only to ask me.”

I frown, baffled. My hands are gently secured, he’s instructed me not to move or squeeze or attempt to speed things up. How, then?

By way of answer he leans in and gently brushes his lips over mine again, and I suddenly remember. Way back, before the debacle with Dan, before he sent me away and then brought me back again, he taught me how to ask for an orgasm without words or hand signals. I blow him a kiss. He lifts one eyebrow, and winks at me before shifting gear.

And suddenly he’s pumping into me hard, each thrust now jolting me off the mattress. He releases my hands, and I take that as a signal that I’m free to move, to respond. It doesn’t take long—moments later I’m spasming again around his rigid cock, my legs locked behind his waist as he continues to pound into me. My climax is powerful, twisting my senses to send me spinning out of control again. And he’s right there with me this time. His cock twitches hard as he stiffens then surges forward for one last, powerful plunge. His growled “Holy fuck…” is the only sound I can hear above the furious beating of my own heart as we cling to each other and wait for the storm to pass.

Eventually, Nick rolls to one side, withdrawing from me. He turns to pull me into his arms.

“You okay, gorgeous? Worth the wait? Both times?”

I nod, kiss his chest and take this opportunity to nuzzle his small, flat nipples. He kisses the top of my head, rubbing my shoulder blades with one hand while he caresses my bottom with the other. Long, easy, relaxed moments pass as we lie still, savouring each other, enjoying the sensual aftermath of pleasure shared. Then, his voice low and sexy, he leans down to murmur in my ear, “I love you, Freya.”

My eyes ping open, I scramble up to kneel beside him. Did I hear him right? He has told me this before, but never in a scene.

He repeats it, for the avoidance of doubt. And I smile, my heart bursting now as everything I ever thought I wanted, and couldn’t have, couldn’t buy, despite my wealth, drops into my lap.

“I love you too. I always have. Master?” I sign the words, and the question, back at him.

He smiles at me, his expression warm and sexy as he leans against the pillow propped behind his head. He kisses me before answering this time.

“Yeah. But you’re just quicker on the uptake than me, it seems. Still, I caught up eventually. So, is that how you want it to be between us then?”

I nod, absolutely no doubt in my mind that Nick Hardisty is the Master I want, will always want.

“Okay then, consider yourself claimed, Miss Stone. We can have a ceremony here, in the lifestyle if you like, and definitely a vanilla one to make it legal. You
will
be marrying me, you understand?”

In fairness, I hadn’t thought much beyond the claiming bit, but marriage to Nick Hardisty sounds like a reasonable way to spend a lifetime to me, so I nod happily.

“Well then, do I get to tell Callum the happy news? That he’s going to have a stepmum?”

I shrug. I guess it comes with the paternal territory. And he’s waited long enough.

Chapter Nine

It’s the day of Callum’s interview at Dan’s friend’s farm. Dan has gone down to Yorkshire already and will meet us at Greystones. He texted Nick with the details and Nick Googled it. The results are encouraging. Greystones is a working farm, but more besides. Its proper title is the Greystones Rare Breeds and Agricultural Heritage Centre, and it is here that it seems a new career awaits—provided Callum can convince the farm foreman that he deserves the chance.

Nick’s efforts at smartening his son up have met with mixed success. His hair is short at least, though I suspect this was achieved by Nick standing over him at Cutting Edge, the unisex hairdresser’s down in Cartmel where the versatile Carol lopped it into some sort of order. His clothes aren’t exactly traditional interview gear, but as Callum points out, they won’t want to see him in a suit and tie. Just as well because the black moleskin jeans and grey sports shirt are hardly that. But he looks smart, and I think he’ll pass muster. Most importantly of all, he seems keen. I just hope he gets that across to Mr Appleyard rather than burying it under a pile of teenage cool.

We decide to go in my Vanquish rather than the more practical automatic Cortina now gracing Nick’s forecourt alongside his motorbike. We retrieved the bike from the car park under my apartment as soon as the Cortina was dropped off by the hire company. Nick’s glad to have it back, though he hasn’t used it since. The prospect of driving my Vanquish down to Yorkshire is one he seems to find tempting.

The invitation to dinner will apparently involve a decent quantity of wine, too, so Dan’s brother has suggested we stay the night. Dan assures us he has plenty of room.

Callum scrambles into the tiny back seat, his overnight holdall next to him. Nick and I are sharing a bag, which is stuffed in the boot. I make myself comfortable in the passenger seat, and we’re off.

The journey takes about two hours, down the A65, the Yorkshire Dales to our left, the Lake District and Lancashire to our right. Callum is quiet in the back, content with his earplugs. Conversation between Nick and I is not easy as he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the road, so we pass the journey in companionable silence. We reach the outskirts of Keighley about an hour and a half later, and follow tourist signs for Haworth. It’s a place I’ve never been, so I’m interested in the quaint village, now transformed into a Brontë shrine. It looks suspiciously tinselly and touristy to me, with its tea rooms and gift shops and coach parks. But the village of Stanbury, about two miles beyond Haworth, is very different. Solid, stone-built houses line the narrow road, a tiny village school, two pubs, and just back from the road line the rolling hills of the West Yorkshire moors. I see footpath signs pointing to destinations such as the Brontë Falls and Top Withens, and wonder if we’ll have time to visit any of those places.

Dan has given us detailed instructions to find Greystones, and about three miles past the final cottages of Stanbury we take a right turn, then a left. Now it seems we’re to look out for a vending machine of all things, which will mark the gate into the farm. Sure enough, about three miles along the narrow lane, we spot a sandwich board beside the road proclaiming groceries and dairy products, available twenty-four seven. This must be it.

Nick turns into the gateway, and stops when I tap his arm. I get out of the car, keen to get a proper look at this vending machine. In fact it’s two vending machines, one refrigerated and one not. The refrigerated one contains milk, butter, cheese and bacon, and the other one bread, eggs and potatoes. A neatly typed sign on the front of the machine advises potential shoppers that other groceries are usually available at the farm, and assures them that visitors are welcome as long as they close all gates and keep dogs on leads. Sounds reasonable to me. I open the gate and stand beside it as Nick drives through. He waits, the engine humming softly while I swing the gate shut behind us and clamber back into the car.

Less than a minute later we’re purring into the neat cobbled farmyard at Greystones. The main house is directly ahead of us and a large barn to the left, its huge double doors opening into the yard. Other outbuildings are arranged to the right-hand side, forming an informal third side to the yard. Behind us, as far as I can see, is rolling moorland. It’s not unlike Cumbria in some respects, a similarly wild landscape, though the colours look different to me, more purple and orange rather than the greys and pale lilacs of the western Cumbrian hills. Nick pulls up alongside a sleek black Porsche and a battered Land Rover, both parked close to the house. He kills the engine then gets out of the car, tilting his seat forward to allow Callum to clamber out too. Then he heads around to open my door for me, but there’s no need, I’m already out, standing on the cobbles gazing around. The place is clean, very tidy, well maintained. All the paintwork is a uniform shade of turquoise blue, the whole place exudes an overall air of well-ordered prosperity.

Nick loops an arm across my shoulders, and smiles at Callum. “Right, let’s see if we can find someone then.”

We don’t have to look far—before we can get close to the front door to knock, we hear voices coming from the barn. Turning, we see three men emerge through the huge door. One of them I recognise immediately. Dan. The other two are both stunning, though in entirely different ways. One a dark Vampire, the other a blond Viking. I have an unerring instinct for these matters, and I know that these two are Doms too. All three see us at once.

“Hey, you’re early.” Dan strolls forward, smiling broadly, hugs me then Nick. He smiles at Callum and throws an arm across his shoulders. “Well, you scrubbed up fine…” He returns his attention to Nick. “Find the place all right then?”

Nick nods. “Yeah, no problem.” The Vampire and the Viking catch up with Dan, the Viking’s hand outstretched in greeting. Nick takes it, they shake.

“I’m Tom Shore. Mr Hardisty?”

“Nick, please. And this is Freya.”

I stick out my hand, not entirely sure what the protocol is for meeting new Doms outside a club environment, but deciding that this is essentially a business meeting and I’ll behave accordingly. The Viking, Tom Shore, seems quite happy with this, shakes my hand and says how pleased he is to meet me. I nod and smile, waiting for Nick to make my usual excuses. He doesn’t get the chance. The Viking turns to his companion, the Vampire, who is circling my Vanquish with a distinctly hungry look on his face.

“For Christ’s sake stop drooling over that bloody car. Not that it isn’t lovely of course…” He nods at Nick, assuming the Vanquish is his. “Come and say hello.”

The Vampire reluctantly tears himself away from my car and joins us, hand outstretched.

“Hello, welcome. I’m Nathan Darke. And you’re all coming to dinner at my house this evening, yes?”

Nick smiles. “That’s very kind of you. I hope we’re not putting you to any trouble.”

“No trouble. I don’t often get to meet my little brother’s friends.”

Dan never seemed particularly little to me, but I suppose all things are relative. And suddenly the focus of attention shifts to Callum, who’s managed so far to hang back. Despite all his bravado when goading Nick, he’s actually very shy, unsure of himself. From his reaction I get the impression that Tom Shore has recognised this immediately. “So, Callum, Dan tells me you’re interested in engines. Have you ever ridden a quad bike?”

Callum’s expression is one of pure wonder. Tom has him instantly.

“No, sir.”

Sir?
Both Nick and I exchange a look, but keep out of it. Tom Shore’s doing fine.

“Just Tom. Right, I think Dan explained that my farm foreman, Seth Appleyard, actually does all the hiring so he’ll have a chat with you and let me know whether he wants to take you on or not. And you need to impress his wife, too, because you’ll be staying with them while you’re here, at least at first. And it’s worth making an effort—she’s a damn good cook.”