'Don't ask him about it,' Clive warns me. 'Just try to calm him down.' He gets to his feet. 'And don't let him come into work tomorrow.'
'He won't. He's on holiday.'
'And like an idiot, I told him what's going on at Fosters. We're having a few issues. He'll want to come in, Maya. Believe you me. And if he does, he'll be biting heads off left, right and centre. Keep him at home.'
'I'll do my best.'
Clive glances at the staircase one last time and stands up.
'I'd better get going. Good luck.'
As soon as he's gone, I make my way upstairs, slowly, warily, as if I'm about to surprise a complete stranger. He's not in the bedroom, but the door to the en-suite is open and I can hear the sound of running water. Entering the bathroom, I find him in the shower, hands resting against the tiles, head dipped under the water, motionless.
'Dan?'
He doesn't respond. Maybe he hasn't heard me.
Unnoticed, I take off my clothes, open the door and slip in behind him, running my hands around his firm waist and noting that his knuckles are bruised. He rolls his head against the tiles, straightens up and turns. Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses me deeply, urgently, and it's obvious that he's wound up tight. Pulling away, I take hold of his hand and inspect the knuckles. I want to tell him that he's gone too far, that he needs to be patient and leave it all to the professionals. But I'm going to act on Clive's advice. Instead, I wait for him to speak.
'It's all out of control,' he whispers, gazing at his hands. 'Everything.'
'You'll sort things out. You always do.'
'I can't think straight. I'm making bad decisions.'
'Then tell me what you need.'
He doesn't speak. He doesn't have to. I see it in his eyes as soon as they meet mine. He needs to escape, to hide, call it what you want. It's how he's always dealt with pressure in the past, and it's how he needs to deal with it now. Cupping his face in my hands, I take a deep breath. I'm about to offer him his very own brand of forbidden fruit.
'No baggage. No past. No connection. No hurt.' I can remember his words exactly, and it's all I need to say.
He understands immediately.
'I told you, I'm not going there.'
'And I'm telling you, this is what you need.' He doesn't deny it. 'Do whatever you need to do. Be whoever you need to be. It won't change a thing.'
He shakes his head. 'Maya, don't push me ...'
'Why not?'
'Because I'm really fucking tempted.'
'Then give in to temptation. One last time. With me.'
Exhausted, he leans back against the tiles and stares at the floor. And while he battles his way to a decision, just about every single part of me begins to quake. I have no idea what I'm letting myself in for, but if it's a choice between this – whatever this is – and watching Dan come to pieces, then it's an easy choice to make. Slowly, his shoulders relax, his breathing calms and his fists unclench. When he finally speaks again, his voice is detached, curiously devoid of feeling.
'Go and dry your hair. Wait for me in the bedroom.'
I've had just enough time to sort myself out when I hear the bathroom door open. Completely naked, he enters the room and throws his clothes onto the chaise longue.
'Eyes down,' he orders briskly.
Washed through with nerves and anticipation, I do as I'm told. Taking my hand in his, he leads me out across the hallway, and into our secret room.
I hear the door close behind me. I'm brought to a halt in front of the cross.
'This is it,' he says. 'The moment of no return. Do you want to change your mind?'
I swallow hard, taking in the leather restraints, wondering what on Earth he's going to use on me, how far he's about to go.
'Answer me.'
'No,' I whisper, my voice small.
Instantly, I'm grabbed from behind: an arm across my stomach, a palm across my mouth. His grip tightens. I feel his hard chest against my back, his penis at the top of my buttocks. Forcing my head back against him, he grinds into me and I fizzle at the contact.
'No talking. Understand?'
I nod, my breath quick and ragged against his hand.
'Unless I ask you a question. Then I expect your answer immediately.'
I nod again.
'I need permission to slap you.'
Slapping? My brain fires out. He wants to slap you? For fuck's sake, what the hell are you playing at? Get out of this now.
'All part of the deal, Maya,' he breathes into my ear. 'Control, remember? I'm used to a whip, but we're not going there. That's agreed.'
The hand slides away from my mouth and I'm turned to face him.
'But slapping?' I gasp, careful to keep my eyes trained on the floor.
'Across your thighs,' he explains. 'Only your thighs. And only if necessary.'
'Will it hurt?'
'I thought pain was your thing.'
My breath falters and I take a peek at him, surprised to find that the transformation is already complete. He's gazing at me now from beneath hooded lids, his eyes cold and inquisitive, his entire stance altered. With his shoulders arched and every single muscle tautened, he's clearly primed for attack. Focussed yet unemotional, utterly in control, and with an air of command that expects complete compliance: I'm looking at the dominant, pure and simple.
Locking an arm around my back, he grabs a handful of hair.
'Look at me,' he orders.
I comply, and his blue eyes pierce me to the core.
'You wanted this. You asked for it. I need your permission.'
'Then I give it.'
'Good. And now you'll do as you're told. Is that clear?'
I waver.
'I said is that clear?' he demands harshly, tugging at my hair.
'Yes.' I wince.
'Move backwards. Stand against the cross.'
Hesitantly, I do as I'm told. He moves forwards, slowly, making no eye contact whatsoever, his face expressionless. Concentrating on the job in hand, he takes my left hand and raises my arm, securing the leather strap of a manacle around my wrist and checking for comfort before he does exactly the same with my right arm. And then he kneels, tapping my feet, signalling for me to spread my legs. When he's satisfied with the position, he sets about attaching the lower manacles to my ankles, pinning me firmly into place.
'Comfortable?' he asks, getting to his feet.
'Yes.'
He takes a step back, surveying my body, every last bit of it, and my skin heats up under his gaze. Good God, he's being all mean and hot and moody, and bloody hell, it's turning me on. My pulse is racing now, my heart pounding, my crotch throbbing with need, and I'm struggling to breathe.
Silently, he makes his way over to the wardrobe. Pulling back the door and opening a drawer, he picks out a length of black material, tightening it between his hands as he prowls back over to me. He takes a moment to examine my eyes before he raises the material and I'm plunged into darkness. I feel his breath against my cheek, the warmth of his taut body against my chest as he fastens the blindfold behind my head. When he's finished, he stays exactly where he is, pressing his crotch against me, easing his hands over mine.
'I'd love to gag you,' he murmurs into my ear.
'Then do it.'
The right hand is removed. I'm slapped hard on my left thigh. Hearing the crack of flesh against flesh, I jolt, gritting my teeth against the sting.
'Did I say you could talk?'
'No,' I whimper.
'Then don't.' He pauses, his breath against my mouth now. 'You may need your safe word. What is it?'
'Coffee.'
'Coffee,' he confirms.
And then, as if he's reminding me of our connection, he kisses me, long and hard, demanding full access to my mouth with his tongue. Moving away, he leaves me bereft, suddenly chilled by the air and on high alert. I hear the sound of his footsteps, the soft clink of metal. Knowing exactly what he's got in his hands, I feel his fingers on my right nipple, squeezing, pulling, elongating.
'I'm going to clamp your nipples,' he informs me. 'Tell me now if you've got a problem with that.'
I remain silent. Ever since I first clapped eyes on those things, I've been intrigued.
A hand grabs my chin.
'You asked for this, Maya. You know the way out.'
He waits for a response. I shake my head.
And then I sense the cold edge of metal against my nipple. It closes in on me, tightens, and I cry out at the onrush of pain. Letting my head fall back, I soak it all in: the flood tide of chemicals, the afterglow of adrenalin. Slowly, carefully, he applies the second clamp to my left nipple. It grips me, gently at first, and then with an increasing force.
'Tight enough?'
'Yes,' I moan.
'Well, I'm about to go further.'
The clamps are tightened again. He tugs at the chain between them, sending lightning bolts of agony right through me. For a few seconds, my nerve ends are on fire. My brain empties itself of any thought. My entire body tenses and I scream. And then, as the pain recedes to a dull throb, I groan … gasp for air … relax.
'You want more?' he asks, his voice suddenly tender.
'Yes.'
'Why?' He smooths my hair.
My brain scrambles for an answer, finding nothing.
'I don't know.'
'Think.'
Still struggling for breath, I shake my head. Again, he tugs at my hair, pulls at the chain. I brace, fighting to control the sensations, to keep my lungs working. It's clear that he's not giving up any time soon, and I need to say something quickly, before he drives me insane.