A Dark Beginning: A China Dark Novel (6 page)

How much time passed, China neither knew nor cared. They were both startled out of this blissful rhapsody by the sound of a door slamming downstairs. China literally shook her head, as if waking from a dream. Finally she did wonder how long they had sat there and she looked down at her watch. It had only been ten minutes but it felt as if a whole afternoon had passed in their insulated bubble. The light coming through the window had darkened, presumably just a cloud drifting across the sun, and she shivered.

“I think I’d better get back to work. Let’s see how this ankle holds up then, nurse Mark.”

She stood slowly and the ice pack, no longer supported, fell to the floor with a frozen crunch. She tested her ankle gradually. It was still very sore but was at least now able to support some of her weight, even if there were dull shots of pain when she leant too much on it. She hobbled around the room, realizing she could walk as long as she took it very slowly. “I think I’ll be fine.”

She looked back. Mark was still kneeling in front of the chair, one arm still slightly raised, like a statue that had just lost an essential element. He seemed as frozen as the peas that were now spilling onto the floor. “Here, let me help you clear that up.” She started limping back over to where he knelt.

He broke out of his dream and stood up suddenly, almost making her jump. “No, don’t be silly. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”

She picked up her bag, the untidily rolled tights spilling half out of the top, and placed a hand on his shoulder, the first time since their initial hand-shake that she had actively made contact with him rather than the other way around. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m really grateful.”

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?”

“I think so. It hurts, but I’m a big girl.”

His eyes flicked down to her chest, and he looked about to say something but then stopped.

She sighed, “Boys!” then laughed and turned to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

As she walked out of the front door a shocking realization occurred to China. She was going to have an affair with Mark. There was no doubt in her mind now. Her thoughts span in a whirlwind of emotions, reproach, guilt, excitement and pure lust. She could feel her body reacting excitedly to this heinous thought, betraying her, but she could do nothing about it. The inevitability seemed wrong, but somehow she knew it was also right.

The afternoon passed by in a flash of cut-scene moments. She didn’t remember doing any actual work, and she hardly even remembered picking up her coat and awkwardly hobbling out of the office and onto the train home. That evening her husband offered to prepare the evening meal, pan-fried sea bass in a tarragon cream sauce.

“How was your day, dreamy head?” he asked as he sat next to her on the sofa.

“Oh, nothing special,” she said.

“Are you sure? You seem distracted.”

The question broke her out of her daydream. Could Philip read the guilt on her face. She was suddenly scared at the enormity of what she had been thinking. She was a faithful wife, a good wife. She had taken her vows with all sincerity, she had meant them and had every intention of keeping them. Of course she wasn’t going to have an affair with some strange man she had only just met. Or with any man for that matter, she silently added. Painfully conscious that she might be revealing too much of her emotions externally she offered the obvious excuse.

“I just tripped and hurt my ankle today.”

“I can see. I asked you about it when you came in, but you didn’t seem to hear me. Or anything else I’ve said to you this evening.”

“I’m sorry, love,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. “It’s just very painful. What with that and it being a mare of a day at work. I couldn’t seem to get anything done.” Well I’m not lying, she thought, and then felt a stab of guilt as she realized how she was already starting to strategize how she was going to conceal truth behind partial truths and omissions. But then again, there was nothing to tell Philip about anyway, even if she was being completely open. Not yet, she thought and then instantly mentally slapped herself for that treacherous contemplation.

“Never mind,” he said, returning her kiss. “Come and have your dinner and then we’ll put something on that ankle. Are you ok?” he asked suddenly concerned at how red she had just gone.

She turned away, struggling to control her emotions. “It’s nothing. You know. That time of the month. I’m just being silly. I hope you have some nice wine open for this. It smells delicious.”

They sat down to dinner, which was conducted in near silence. Philip seemed to be studying her particularly closely and it was beginning to annoy her, which made her feel even more guilty. Which annoyed her even more. She was just about to say something when he got up and started to clear the dishes away. When she started to rise to help out he said, “No, stay seated. Rest that poor ankle.”

When he had finished clearing away the dinner she had moved back to their sofa, her painfully swollen ankle raised up on a small mountain of cushions. He walked over with a pack of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel, this one was white she noticed, and carefully placed it on top of the ankle. Her tears emerged silently, hot, salty streams dampening her cheeks, the dam breaking as she struggled with her faithless thoughts. Philip sat down and put his arms around her. “Don’t worry,” he said. We all have days like that.”

That night in bed her husband hugged her tightly as they spooned. It took China a long time to get to sleep as her mind was turbulent with confused thoughts and battling emotions. She kept replaying the events of the day, wondering if she should, or even could, have done anything different, spoken different words, looked at Mark in a different way. Maybe she should have forced herself to think about Philip more during her interaction with Mark. She certainly did not love Mark. She found him interesting, she supposed, she wanted to know more about his life, but that wasn’t even it. The simple fact was that she felt a basic, primal lust for him. For the first time in ages, since the early days of hers and Philip’s courtship, she really wanted, no needed, to have sex with someone. That was all. Every time she thought of Mark it wasn’t to wonder what he was feeling, what kind of family he had, or what kind of upbringing. When she thought of him she pictured him holding her, touching her everywhere, entering her, filling and fulfilling her.

She suspected part of the cause for these adulterous thoughts was the seed that her husband had planted in her mind with his silly but persistent cuckoldry fantasies. But she had to admit that despite this game of Philip’s having been present for most of their married life together she had never previously entertained the thought of being with anyone else. So there must be something different this time. Maybe this predilection to cheat had always been there in her and Mark just came along at the right point. A mad and depressing coincidence. Or maybe, more likely she thought, this could happen to anyone if they met someone with just the right look at just the right time in their lives. The latter reasoning comforted her slightly as she could believe the way she was feeling, the fantasy she was entertaining, wasn’t completely her fault. She was just a victim of hormones and circumstance. What she actually chose to do about the situation was now down to her, and no one else.

She cast her mind back to that moment of revelation earlier when she knew that she was going to have an affair with Mark. She wasn’t so sure now, as she lay wrapped snugly in Philip’s arms. The rational part of her brain was much better able to assimilate the consequences of any potential actions now she didn’t have Mark’s face mere inches from hers, holding her gaze with those inhumanly green eyes. And as she pictured that scene her resolve melted again and all she could think of was how she just wanted to lean forward and kiss him, push him back to the floor and literally ravage him. Warmth grew in her belly and she squirmed slightly, pressing her thighs together. Philip, half-asleep, pulled her in tighter and she felt the hardness of his erection pressed into the crease of her buttocks. She wriggled a little, settling his hard flesh deeper into that crevice, and imagined it was Mark behind her, pressed into her. She pressed her left hand between her thighs and pressed the ball of her thumb against herself, slowly rotating the hard knuckle through the material of her knickers.

Still only semi-conscious, Philip gently feathered the back of her neck with kisses. She sighed and pressed harder with her hand, rotating hard flesh against soft flesh, feeling a slow wave of pressure building up between her legs. Her stomach was almost cramping with the tension and she felt a nip of hard teeth pinching the flesh on the side of her neck, just where it curved into her shoulder. She gasped, her body shuddering as a shockwave of pulsing intensity flowed through her body and her mind crested that wave in a breaking sigh of pleasure. Philip continued to nibble her neck and kiss her as she descended slowly from her joyful climax, and in her mind all she could see were emerald eyes aflame with desire.

23:44: Tarb4u : Tell me what she’s wearing

23:45: Tarb4u : Better still, send me a picture

23:48: HornEnvy : I’ve just sent it

23:48: HornEnvy : Don’t forget to delete it

23:49: Tarb4u : Oh no, I’m keeping it ..

23:49: Tarb4u : .. as evidence

23:52: Tarb4u : Is that the best you can do ?

23:52: Tarb4u : It’s a bit tame

23:55: HornEnvy : I won’t be able to get better than that

23:56: Tarb4u : Never mind. I’ll send YOU a picture

23:56: Tarb4u : You won’t believe what I’ll make her to do for me !!

Her breath was starting to settle into an easy rhythm now, perfectly timed with the slap of her bare feet on the cold, rough pavement. There was a burn of stitch in the side of her abdomen but she was used to dealing with that. Many hours, and even more kilometres, spent pounding the streets in her seemingly endless marathon preparations had taught her techniques for dealing with physical and mental pain.

She had read, in many of the crime books that she was so fond of, that terror paralysed. Luckily for her, or maybe just in her case, that wasn't so. The blow she had received to the back of the head as she walked to the tube station had stunned her. A sharp pain that instantly brought stars to her eyes and made her stumble. As she had crumpled, grazing her knees on the pavement, her high-heels had fallen off. Another stroke of luck she calmly told herself as she paced her running carefully. She was only able to maintain this thin skein of calm, a tenuous skin that stretched so tightly over the fear that it threatened to tear, because the sound of pursuit wasn't getting any closer. It wasn’t dropping further back either.

The streets were empty. Empty, that is, apart from herself and her shadowy, relentless pursuer. When she had checked her watch, just before leaving the restaurant, it had been almost one o'clock in the morning. Much later than she had intended to leave. Her husband wouldn't be worried about her. In fact, she had thought as she walked out into the deserted streets, before the assault, he would have been even more excited than ever by her lateness.

It was hard to think about the earlier part of the evening, but she tried. It helped to keep her from panicking, keep her from thinking about the attacker sprinting along just fifty yards or so behind her.

She could hear his breathing, far more ragged than hers, and she was desperately hopeful that he would tire soon. For added insurance she put in a short burst of speed, the kind she was used to engaging to up the pace a bit and leave fellow marathon runners behind. It was harder without trainers on, the soles of her feet stinging with each new impact.

She forced her mind back to earlier in the evening again. It had all gone perfectly, exactly as planned. The man was charming and oh so good looking. She couldn't believe her luck. When she and her husband had made contact with him online a good rapport had developed almost instantly, but the photos he sent through had looked just too good to be true. So she was pleasantly surprised, no that was a gross understatement, she was astonished when she met him for the first time that evening. He was perfect.

The meal had been good, but she hadn’t been concentrating very much on the food. The company had been too compelling. His smile was simply breath-taking. He was easy to talk to, quite interesting actually, a real bonus. They had flirted outrageously, and she was amazed at how easily that had come. None of the awkwardness she had expected from a first real life encounter with someone who she had already virtually agreed to have sex with. But tonight hadn't been about that. It was intended as a 'suck it and see' evening. Her husband and her had laughed at that expression, but all had agreed there would be no actual 'sucking' that evening. The intention was for her and the 'bull' to meet up and see if there was a real connection, a physical attraction to back up the online interaction. There most definitely was. She had been tempted to break that no sucking rule, but had just about managed to contain herself. Anticipation would only sweeten the reward she knew. This was her first time doing this kind of thing so she hadn’t wanted to rush anything, no matter how tempting that thought was, and she couldn't believe how well it had been going

Until some fucker had tried to cave in the back of her head that is. As she had fallen her attacker was instantly upon her and she saw the flash of metal that looked scarily like a long bladed knife. She had kicked out and her strong leg muscles had been very effective. She had heard a satisfying grunt of pain as she caught her attacker on the side of his thigh. He had staggered backwards and she suspected he had a dead leg. Her survival instincts had then taken over and she leapt to her feet and started to run, glad that she didn't have to waste time removing her shoes. He hadn't taken as long to recover from his dead leg as she had hoped, and was soon keeping pace, albeit a good distance behind her.

Suddenly, a stone dug into the heel of her naked foot and made her cry out in anguished pain, hobbling for a few steps. She could hear the renewed vigour of her pursuer. His panting came faster, as did his footsteps. She tried another sprint but was struggling with the bruising pain in her right foot. She could hear him getting closer.

She pumped her arms harder, raised her knees higher in an attempt at lengthening her stride, but each time her right heel landed on the unforgiving pavement she winced and her leg almost gave way. She tried to run on just the front of her damaged foot but that slowed her down even more.

Panic was starting to rip through the thin fabric of control as she heard her attacker rapidly gaining ground. His panting sounded wet now, as if he was salivating at the prospect of finally catching his prey, a wolf that had patiently tracked along behind the doe, waiting for the moment to strike with slavering jaws. An uncontrolled whimper escaped from her mouth and she could feel the sting of tears adding to her myriad of other pains.

With a broken sob she stopped and turned to face her nemesis. His slender silhouette was within ten yards now and she could see the rapid flashing of the blade as it caught the meagre streetlight, and noticed with almost professional detachment his unskilled, spasmodic running technique. Tears were blinding her, and her panicked brain tried to think what she could use to defend herself. She would punch and kick, though she couldn't rely on the luck that had delivered her first blow. He would be ready for her to fight back now so she would have to fight dirty. If only these damned tears would stop, and she could see clearly.

Abruptly the shadow leapt sideways into the bushes of a front garden, and her eyes were blinded further by the bright lights of an approaching car. She stood slightly bent, sobbing uncontrollably as the car drew up alongside her. It was a black taxicab. A middle-aged man wound down the window and leaned across. "What's the problem, sugar?"

She couldn't answer, angry at herself for her lack of control, but she was so scared that her crying just would not stop.

"Hey look. Just jump in. I'll take you wherever you need to go and you can tell me all about it. If you want."

As soon as she heard the click of the taxi door releasing she leapt into the warm sanctuary of its dark interior. Her breath hitched in her chest and she was totally failing to gain any sort of control, but the feeling of intense relief that washed over her was overwhelming.

To his credit, the driver remained patiently silent as he waited for her instructions. When she was finally able to speak, all she could do was blurt out a barely intelligible "Thank you" and her address. The driver smiled at her, sympathy and concern creasing his face, but without a further word he drove on and she sank back into the warm dark leather of the rear seat and let the remaining tears flow like a river. The back of her head stung where she had been hit with God-knows what, and the stitch in her side was an agonising fire, but slowly and surely her breathing settled from broken, gasping sobs into a more comfortable pattern.

She should call the police as soon as she got home but how the hell would she explain her reason for being at the restaurant that evening? They'd want to talk to her new companion, and she only knew his first name, his mobile and his moniker on the online cuckold dating site that her and her husband had recently joined. They'd want to look into that, most definitely. He would want no part of any investigation, and neither did she in reality. She was hurt but alive. The shame of talking to the police about her most secret fantasies would be unbearable. Her husband would feel the same way. Slowly, the tears stopped flowing, and she just felt dreadfully tired. Sleep crept up and numbed her pains as the warmth from the vehicle's heater blanketed her troubled mind.