Hard Choices (23 page)

I think I must be managing to keep pace as I come twice more before he finally rams his cock deep, shuddering against my cervix as his balls tighten and pump the semen from his body. The warm wetness floods into me, fills me, slithering out and onto the duvet beneath us as he continues to thrust hard, relentless, until he’s fully spent. Only then, his weight suspended on his elbows, does he lean in and place his mouth over mine, the first kiss since he arrived.

It’s worth waiting for. His tongue plunges past my parted lips and wrestles with mine before he sucks on my tongue and pulls it between his teeth. His fingers are tangling in my hair as he holds my head still for this latest penetration, exploring, tasting, restating his claim. I don’t resist, I want him, want this. I want him back, and now I am at least part-way there.

* * * *

Half an hour or so later, and I’m curled up on the sofa in Nathan Darke’s huge living room, a cup of Earl Grey on the low table in front of me and a plate of tuna sandwiches on my lap.

“Not up to your culinary standards, but the best I can rustle up at a moment’s notice.” Nick smiles at me before taking a seat opposite and sinking his teeth into his own makeshift lunch.

We both chew silently for a few minutes, and as my stomach growls in appreciation I remember that I had no breakfast before I rushed off to the clinic this morning, and in fact not much yesterday either. In truth, I’ve hardly eaten for days now as I’ve wallowed in my misery and loneliness, which is not wise for a diabetic. I’m usually much more health-conscious than this.

Nick was silent, sympathetic, while I recounted the tale of Queenie’s final moments as we snuggled together in the heady aftermath of our frenzied lovemaking. He asked occasional questions, but mainly he just waited as I poured out the tale. I felt better for having put into words the chaos of impressions, images and emotions swirling around my head. The grief was crushing me, but now I’m feeling…not well, but better. A little bit. I’ve a long way to go and I doubt I’ll ever be completely over the loss of my horse, but it’s a start.

Now, I clear my plate and follow up with several restorative sips of the hot tea. Then I turn to Nick and set my cup down so I can sign. It’s his turn to explain, to fill in a few blanks for me.

“If you didn’t get my text, how come you’re here?”

He grins. “And here I was thinking you seemed pleased to see me…?”

“I was. I can’t tell you how much. But I don’t understand how you got here so quickly.”

“I had a call at about eight this morning, from Dan. He said your horse had developed some sort of complication and the prognosis wasn’t good. So I thought I’d come to the clinic, offer a bit of moral support. I expected to meet you there.”

I ponder that for a moment. It makes sense. Pat knows Dan, and had probably phoned him to consult about Queenie’s deteriorating condition. And, of course, understanding the implications of what was happening, Dan had thought Nick should know.

He continues his explanation, “I knew you were intending to come back to Kendal today, and I had planned to leave it a few more days before coming to find you. But when I realised this was all going on, my plans changed. I was on my way here soon after nine, I suppose, and about half an hour later I had another call from Dan to say your horse had been destroyed. I knew you’d be out of your mind with grief, I’d seen how much the animal meant to you. I knew then that you’d left the clinic and most of the way to Leeds I half expected to pass you coming the other way. At least your car would be hard to miss, though so not much chance of just passing each other. Then I got a call from Nathan.” He shakes his head wryly. “I thought Dan was overdoing it a bit when he kept on at me to get a helmet with Bluetooth installed, but I’ve been glad of it this morning. Anyway, Nathan told me you were back at his apartment, and apparently you’d taken it hard. So I headed straight here. Nathan phoned ahead, and security let me in.”

He paused, and I reflect on the implications of what he’s telling me. Regardless of how things stand between us, he dropped everything and came here at a moment’s notice, because he knew I’d need him. Just as he did when I phoned him the day I broke my wrist. And for the millionth time I wonder why on earth I let my deception build as it did. I can rely on Nick, I can trust him with anything. I have no hesitation about handing my body over to him to do whatever he wants with and I know he’ll never hurt me. Cause me pain, yes, but hurt, never.

“I’m sorry. Truly I am. About lying to you all those weeks, months.”

He gazes at me, his expression cool, neutral. He’s not angry, definitely, but the warmth is no longer there. I shudder inside. So, now it starts.

“I don’t want to wait. I want to settle this now. Please.” I add the last word as his expression darkens.

Doms bent on meting out discipline are not, as a rule, amenable to demands from their submissives regarding time, place, or anything else.

Sure enough, “Not your call, Freya. I know you’re still hurting from losing Queenie, and what I have in mind for you will not be pleasant. Now is not a good time.”

I’m desperate and quite prepared to beg if I have to. “Please, I want you back. I’m sorry, you must know that. I can’t bear this. Please…”

“You have me back. You never lost me, not really.”

“It felt like I did. Still does. Please, no more. Let me just accept whatever punishment you think is fair, and we can move on.”

He regards me solemnly, and I realise I’m twisting my hands in my lap. It’s an old nervous habit of mine, one that I haven’t noticed myself doing in quite a long time now. At last, he speaks, “I am going to punish you, and I can guarantee you
will
hate what I intend to do to you. This will be a lesson you’ll remember for a long, long time, because I intend never to have to repeat it.” He pauses, shakes his head. “In some ways we’re right back at square one. Do you remember that first night at the club? We talked then, before I spanked you, because I wanted to be sure that when I punished you, you were quite clear in your head about why you deserved it. And here we are again, and once more we need to talk. Because I need to know what you perceive this relationship of ours to be.”

I stare at him, bewildered. He must know how I feel.

Apparently not. He waits, impassive, for some sort of response from me. Eventually he prompts me, “Well, Freya, tell me about how things are between us. Now, please.”

My hands are shaking as I frame my answer, “You’re my Master. I love you. I obey you, or I try to. I screw up sometimes, and sometimes I screw up massively, like now, and when that happens you’re entitled to punish me, to teach me how I need to behave. I welcome that, I need it. I want to please you, because I’m your submissive.”

His smile is sardonic and arctic cool. “All that’s very nice in theory, and I’m very impressed that you’ve learned your lines so well. You’ve clearly been listening, or reading up on the subject. But it’s just words to you, Freya. I don’t believe you mean it, because you don’t really understand what trust is about. And a Dom/sub relationship is founded on absolute trust, total honesty. We live this lifestyle with our hearts and minds, and what you do, how you behave, is much more important than any pretty words you might trot out. If you trusted me, you’d have shared every aspect of your life with me long before now. If you accepted my authority as your Master, you would not have deceived me in this, not least because you know how I feel about any sort of deception. I made that clear to you that first day, and it’s been reinforced many times since. Honesty is non-negotiable between us, you knew that from the beginning. Yet still you kept up this façade.”

His response dumps cold water over all my convictions about how our relationship works. How can he be saying this? How can he think this? I do trust him, absolutely, totally. I start to frame my protest, but he places his hands over mine.

“I do understand why you didn’t tell me that first night. For all you knew I was a stranger, someone you might never meet again, let alone play with. Even during your training it could make some sort of sense to keep personal information to yourself, if you were just my trainee and nothing more. But almost from the start you were making your position obvious, showing your attachment to me even when I was rejecting your overtures. You made it clear you wanted a long-term relationship, and that’s when you should have shared. Shared everything.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I can’t quite pinpoint the moment things swung, when the balance tipped, but there definitely
was
such a moment, somewhere back then. He goes on, “I didn’t tell you much about myself at first. You didn’t know I owned the club in Lancaster, let alone any others. You didn’t know about the skydiving either, why would you? But I told you pretty soon, as we talked, as we got to know each other. As things came up in conversation, I told you about my life. I included you in it when an opportunity came up, although I daresay you had a good old chuckle that I offered you a job paying twenty-five grand a year. That’s just the small change you’d keep in your back pocket, isn’t it? And I involved you in my family, too, when Callum showed up, painful though that was.

“It’s not as though you never had an opportunity. I asked questions about your life, about your past, but you evaded me. That was no accident. You did that deliberately, put me off with omissions and half-truths, calculated to deceive, to throw me off the scent, to create an entirely different impression. You let me think you were a frivolous young woman, lacking motivation or purpose when the reality is just the opposite. You’re astute, cautious—your business instincts are superb. I can see all that now. And finally, to drop the whole lot on me in front of a roomful of other people… What on earth was that about?”

I sit, unable to find any words to so much as start to defend myself. There are none. It was about me being totally and utterly in the wrong, that’s what it was about. As he itemises his grievances I feel more and more ashamed. No wonder he’s so disillusioned, so disappointed in me. Nick’s low opinion, though, is nothing compared to the disgust I feel for myself. I’m a total failure as a submissive, I see that now. I had no idea. He’s right—I sort of sliced up my life into neat compartments and managed to convince myself that I could keep Nick in one of them, and my lottery winnings and the life that went with owning such wealth in another box entirely. While he was giving me his whole self, I had sold him short. Well short. If I were him I’d wonder what the hell he ever saw in me.

Lost for words now I start to sob, the enormity of the implications falling into place with a resounding thud. He might just dump me, even now, after rushing all the way here to help me when he knew I needed it. Unless I can manage to convince him that I get it at last, that I really do get it, he might still decide to cut his losses.

His fingers under my chin, he tips my face up, ignoring the tears once more streaming across my cheeks. “Listen to me now, Freya, and listen carefully. I tried for weeks to convince myself that I didn’t want to master you, that you were the wrong submissive for me. It didn’t work. Eventually I came to my senses, or maybe I lost them. Whatever, I claimed you. You accepted me, though I suspect you may have been harbouring some fond illusions about what that actually meant. I didn’t, though, I knew exactly what I was getting into. And that’s why I’m here now. That’s why I’ll still be here tomorrow, and the day after. Next week, next year. I don’t intend to dip in and out of this relationship as it suits me. You’re mine, Freya, for better or worse, and it’s up to me now to teach you what that means. But only if you want to learn. Only if you truly want to submit to me, totally and genuinely. Is that what you want?”

I nod. I sign, “Yes. Please.”

His answering nod is almost imperceptible. “And you’re ready to accept the consequences of what’s happened? You’ll accept my punishment, learn from it, then apologise to me and mean it?”

Again I nod. “I know what I have to do. I want you to teach me. I
will
make you proud.”

“You already make me proud, Freya. I don’t doubt your courage, and you’re one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met. You’re beautiful, sexy, generous with your body. It’s your emotional commitment I want, though. I need that too. Can I have it?”

“Take it. Do what you have to do, and take it.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done, but I won’t take anything from you. You have to give your commitment willingly. I want all of you, and in return you have all of me. It’s that simple.”

“Then let me prove it. Do it now. Punish me, in whatever way you think I deserve, whatever it takes to help me learn. There’s everything here you could need…”

He glances around the apartment, his smile wry. “A punishment beating? Oh yes, I daresay Nathan has all the apparatus I could want. And yes, a beating is part of what I have in mind for you, Freya. But that’s not all. You like a decent whipping far too much for that to really work. Even if I laid it on harder than usual, and believe me, there’s a lot in reserve, I bet you’d still be wet when I finished. Wouldn’t you?”

I usually am. I gaze at him now, my stomach churning with apprehension. So it’s to be a punishment beating, that much is clear, plus… What? Some added extra to make things really unpleasant. My mind starts to do cartwheels as I imagine the range of possibilities. The one that springs most readily to mind is the prospect of an audience. He must know how I felt about being asked to play with Dan—what if he’s decided to whip me publicly? Or, worse still, ask someone else to do it? Maybe at one of his clubs? How could I ever work as a manager after that?

I quell that notion as swiftly as it forms. This is not about me and my feelings, it’s about Nick and what he considers necessary to get his message across to me, and to make sure it sticks. He wants to create a lasting impression—he wants to be sure he’ll never need to remind me of this again. So I won’t protest, no matter how repugnant his decision is. He wants commitment, compliance. He’ll have it.