Darker Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Ashe Barker
it, before reaching across the table. Taking my chin in his fingers he tips my face up, forcing eye contact. His dark chocolate eyes are soft, kind, compassionate. “Talk to me, Eva. I’m listening. Were you scared of me?”
I take a deep breath, and jump off the cliff.
“Not you. Well yes, you. But generally, not just because of the towel.”
“You were scared of me? And you hadn’t even seen my whip collection then.”
I laugh, appreciating his dark humour. “I’m scared of everyone. Well, all men. Please don’t take it personally. No offence.”
“None taken, love. And now? Are you still scared? Of me? Or of all men?”
Again studying our linked hands my reply is quiet, but stronger, more certain. It’s getting easier to share this stuff. With Nathan.
“Men—yes, probably. I think I always will be. I’m sort of—inhibited—I suppose you’d say. I’m very shy. Usually.”
“I know you’re shy, love. You blush a lot. It’s one of the things I first noticed about you. Because you’re so pretty when you blush, it makes me hard, makes me want to fuck you. And it brings out the worst in me, I’m afraid. It makes me want to talk very dirty to you just to make you blush more.”
I look up, startled at the unexpected sexual compliment. I feel myself starting to become wet, just anticipating the aforementioned fucking. He’s not done, though.
“But we were talking about being scared as well as shy. Are you still scared of me?”
I think for a moment, then answer him honestly, “Yes, definitely. Sometimes. And sometimes not. And sometimes there are times when you scare me so much I think I might just die of it. Is it possible to die of fear?”
“No. Maybe. I’m not sure. You won’t die of fear, though, not with me. Because you know, in your heart you do know, I won’t ever hurt you. Do you believe that, Eva?”
“Yes,” I whisper, so softly he has to lean forward to catch it. But he does. Now he knows. I do trust him. And now I know it too.
Suddenly something else bursts out, before even I know what I’m about to say. “I don’t like to be touched. No one ever touches me. I don’t allow it.” I pull my hand away, to prove my point. I stare at the table top, half expecting to see my words wriggling there, like black, ugly worms.
I hate worms—just one more of my many, many hang-ups. And I hate no longer being able to keep my secrets safe. My dam is breaking. I’m terrified of what might escape next.
Unruffled, Nathan reaches across, takes my hand back. Calm. Gentle. Firm. “I’ve done nothing but touch you since the night you arrived at my house, Eva. And I know for a fact you liked it. Mostly.”
I babble. In my bewildered, chaotic state I just pour out my confusion. Tip more wriggling worms onto the table. Let him sort them out. Make sense of it if he can.
“But that’s just it. Only you. No one else. Ever. Not even my mum. But I sat still and let you dry my hair. And I let you kiss me, on the lane when we were stargazing.” I am looking at him now, wide-eyed, baffled. His head cocked to one side he listens, saying nothing, letting me continue. “It felt different when you did it. It was nice. It felt right. I think. Sort of. I was so surprised, so delighted, I don’t know how it happened. I just wanted more. I wanted you to never stop touching me.” Embarrassed, I fall silent.
“Is that why you agreed to come to Leeds with me then? To let me touch you some more?”
It would be easy to just agree, leave it at that, but my relentless honesty is in full flow now. I want to tell it like it is. “No. I agreed because you had me flat on my back, topless, on Mrs Richardson’s kitchen table. I was so close to my first orgasm, I needed it, so much. And you kept on at me. Bullying me. I was desperate, scared you’d just stop if I didn’t do as you wanted, just dump me, leave me hanging.” My voice faltering, I stumble on, whispering now, uncomfortable and vulnerable.
I take a deep breath, and jump off the cliff.
“Not you. Well yes, you. But generally, not just because of the towel.”
“You were scared of me? And you hadn’t even seen my whip collection then.”
I laugh, appreciating his dark humour. “I’m scared of everyone. Well, all men. Please don’t take it personally. No offence.”
“None taken, love. And now? Are you still scared? Of me? Or of all men?”
Again studying our linked hands my reply is quiet, but stronger, more certain. It’s getting easier to share this stuff. With Nathan.
“Men—yes, probably. I think I always will be. I’m sort of—inhibited—I suppose you’d say. I’m very shy. Usually.”
“I know you’re shy, love. You blush a lot. It’s one of the things I first noticed about you. Because you’re so pretty when you blush, it makes me hard, makes me want to fuck you. And it brings out the worst in me, I’m afraid. It makes me want to talk very dirty to you just to make you blush more.”
I look up, startled at the unexpected sexual compliment. I feel myself starting to become wet, just anticipating the aforementioned fucking. He’s not done, though.
“But we were talking about being scared as well as shy. Are you still scared of me?”
I think for a moment, then answer him honestly, “Yes, definitely. Sometimes. And sometimes not. And sometimes there are times when you scare me so much I think I might just die of it. Is it possible to die of fear?”
“No. Maybe. I’m not sure. You won’t die of fear, though, not with me. Because you know, in your heart you do know, I won’t ever hurt you. Do you believe that, Eva?”
“Yes,” I whisper, so softly he has to lean forward to catch it. But he does. Now he knows. I do trust him. And now I know it too.
Suddenly something else bursts out, before even I know what I’m about to say. “I don’t like to be touched. No one ever touches me. I don’t allow it.” I pull my hand away, to prove my point. I stare at the table top, half expecting to see my words wriggling there, like black, ugly worms.
I hate worms—just one more of my many, many hang-ups. And I hate no longer being able to keep my secrets safe. My dam is breaking. I’m terrified of what might escape next.
Unruffled, Nathan reaches across, takes my hand back. Calm. Gentle. Firm. “I’ve done nothing but touch you since the night you arrived at my house, Eva. And I know for a fact you liked it. Mostly.”
I babble. In my bewildered, chaotic state I just pour out my confusion. Tip more wriggling worms onto the table. Let him sort them out. Make sense of it if he can.
“But that’s just it. Only you. No one else. Ever. Not even my mum. But I sat still and let you dry my hair. And I let you kiss me, on the lane when we were stargazing.” I am looking at him now, wide-eyed, baffled. His head cocked to one side he listens, saying nothing, letting me continue. “It felt different when you did it. It was nice. It felt right. I think. Sort of. I was so surprised, so delighted, I don’t know how it happened. I just wanted more. I wanted you to never stop touching me.” Embarrassed, I fall silent.
“Is that why you agreed to come to Leeds with me then? To let me touch you some more?”
It would be easy to just agree, leave it at that, but my relentless honesty is in full flow now. I want to tell it like it is. “No. I agreed because you had me flat on my back, topless, on Mrs Richardson’s kitchen table. I was so close to my first orgasm, I needed it, so much. And you kept on at me. Bullying me. I was desperate, scared you’d just stop if I didn’t do as you wanted, just dump me, leave me hanging.” My voice faltering, I stumble on, whispering now, uncomfortable and vulnerable.