Flora Dain - Capture

I’m blurry from sex and bewildered by the time zones when he finally tells his driver to slow down to show me the view.

‘There it is. See it, down there along the cliff?’

I grin up at him, pleased he’s so happy, eager and carefree as a boy. Then I blink. ‘But it’s massive. I thought it would be some kind of shack on stilts.’

‘I don’t do shacks.’ He’s laughing now, nuzzling deep into my shoulder, sending sparks of excitement all over me as I gaze out over the sleek glass palace that millionaires like him call a beach house.

But as we get closer I frown. On the longest wall, looking out over the bay, I see something odd.

‘That’s weird. Some kind of artwork?’

Weird though it looks to me it’s entirely possible that’s exactly what it is. His world’s a universe away from mine. I’d sooner not seem naïve.

But at my side I feel him stiffen. He pulls away from me and picks up his phone and now I sense that, art or not, something’s very wrong here.

He mutters into his cell, his tone low.

This is serious. Alarmed, I tune in to what he’s saying. He’s using the part code, part command string he uses for emergencies.

As we pull up outside the house, we gaze at it; him in silence, me in growing horror. All along the gleaming, white-glazed wall someone has scrawled a vast message in vivid scarlet paint. It’s been done in a hurry with a very thick brush. Trails of paint trickle down, still wet. Crude splashes of crimson spatter the immaculate driveway and pool in the cracks between the slabs.

This was done only minutes before we arrived.

‘Wel cum home fokes!’

From a distance it looks like a joke punctuation mark. But up close we see it’s a crude six-foot-high drawing of something else – something very much male. Below it thin rills of wet paint drip onto the driveway.

‘ Whoa. Looks like somebody’s pleased to see us.’ I speak without thinking. Luckily – and for once in my life – it’s the right thing to say. Darnley’s hand tightens briefly on mine and then he grins. One of the men in the ashen-faced group hovering nearby actually laughs.

I glance at Darnley, heart in mouth. Will he freak? And now I get another shock – he’s looking at me, his expression troubled. ‘Ella?’

I step closer. Around us there’s a bustle as men rush forward to tackle the paint. Between us the intensity of his expression somehow creates a private, quiet place. He takes my hand in his and gazes deep into my eyes. ‘I meant to warn you before …’

‘ Warn me?’

The touch of his fingers on mine is sending tingles up my arm. I press closer. All at once something flickers between us, hot and explicit. I see him swallow. ‘Talk later.’

He turns away and addresses his men, his voice louder now. The hard edge in his tone slices into the activity all around us. ‘I want to know who did this. Find out. And fast.’ For a second the air quivers and then his voice lowers. ‘And get this cleaned up.’

Once more they spring into action, but now I sense a shift in the air. His sudden command has changed things. What just happened?

‘Some homecoming.’ Darnley grins as he leads me indoors. ‘Kind of unplanned. Let’s hope we can make things up for you.’

I hardly hear him as I gaze round open-mouthed at what he calls a beach house. My first impression is of light and space. All the walls seem made of glass, all the views vast. The polished stone floor gleams softly in the sunlight flooding round us. It has ancient sea creatures embedded in it, polished to a perfect gleam. Beyond the windows, the beach curves round the headland like a giant yellow ribbon, sloping gently down from the house to meet the expanse of cool, blue-green ocean.

No artworks here, crude or real – just sleek walls and low furniture. But as the light changes I see the vast white wall opposite the entrance is decorated with some kind of giant mural sprayed in gold. It glitters like sunlight on water. But, as the light moves, portions of it vanish, so it seems to shift, like the ocean.

‘Like it?’

Darnley’s standing behind me, so close I start to tingle. I feel the hairs rise on my arms and I shiver. Excitement? Arousal? His touch on my arm, his warm breath on my neck, work on me like incense.

‘It’s stunning. It’s an original work?’

I feel his lips brush the side of my neck.

‘Got a guy in San Francisco to do it.’ He turns me slowly round to face him. ‘It’s got a kind of – hidden secret.’

For a long moment my gold-dazzled retinas see him only in shadow, a dark shape against the light as he slowly descends on my mouth.

When he pulls away he looks almost dazed. ‘Hey. Let’s talk art some other time.’ Once more he seizes my hand, then drags me behind him, making for the stairs.

He hurries me past a selection of pale, elegant rooms – a kitchen, a vast sitting area, even a TV room with a giant screen and a dozen rows of seats. Everywhere has vast windows and spectacular views.

In the bedroom the windows are draped in fine gauze, blowing gently in the soft breeze from the sea. The bed is low and pale, with a lower and paler bench running along the head and a sturdy-looking rail along the foot. Sturdy enough to take clips, rope or – cuffs ?

Knowing his tastes I notice these things. A tiny part of me notes primly that once I’d have assumed merely dressing rooms, a hidden wardrobe. But now the mirrored wall opposite the bed hints at intricate, thrilling possibilities. My belly clenches at the thought of what we could do in here. Already he’s pulling me slowly towards him, his look dark and intense.

‘I’ve waited a long time to see you in here. Strip. I want to watch.’ He throws himself back onto the bed and leans on one elbow.

‘Do all your girlfriends do this?’ I’m only kidding, but as I say it I feel a twinge of fear. Suppose he says yes? Do I really want to know how many there are? How beautiful, how – exotic ?

‘You expect me to answer that?’

I fight down a sudden wave of shyness. Is it the thought of showing my all in this vast glass palace, or simply being compared to – others ?

So what? I’m here now. With a tiny thrill of possession I firmly ignore the vast mirror behind me and keep my eyes locked on his. My slim sweater, fine for travel in the chilly North East but a little warm this far south, peels away first. I tease him with it for a little as I start to wriggle out of my travel jeans and bend over a few times to show him the goods. As I reach back to unfasten my bra, getting into this now, his patience snaps and he pulls me gently towards him.

‘Enough. I’ll do the rest. Keep your hands over your head.’ He uncurls and rises to his feet in a single lithe movement that dries my mouth and shrivels my belly. As he towers over me, his dark gaze locked on mine, he swiftly removes my jeans, my panties, my bra and what’s left of my self-control. I can almost feel his heat.

‘Bend over.’

I feel a spike of alarm. ‘Now I thought we’d moved on from all that?’ The sudden gleam in his eyes hints he’s some way to go yet. The sudden flash of arousal deep down in me hints I have too.

We’re in Wolfe territory now. Rash words can make for sore backsides in the flash of his hand.

‘You did ? Well, guess what – you were wrong. Head up, tits out. Put your hands in the small of your back and lean on the bed to balance.’

What follows is so hot and so sharp I’ve no idea how I manage not to yell. After the first few blistering seconds I drag in air and prepare to bellow but his hand’s punishing rhythm gets to me, so I hold off. Instead I breathe deep, willing him on, letting his ferocious energy fuel my fire. In minutes I’m burning up, inside as well as out, jolting with arousal at every blow, as his steady drumbeat jolts straight to my groin.