Wounds of Passion

She didn’t know him. She didn’t recognise his face. He looked so different, darkly flushed, features set and remorseless, harshly male, terrifying. The stranger in the dark was back and Antonia began to fight him off, struggling and gasping with fear.

She was too late to stop him. She felt the force of his body enter her and fought, instinctively using the only weapons she had—digging her nails into his back, her body writhing, heaving, kicking.

‘Stop it, Antonia, I thought we were past all that!’ Patrick said harshly, lifting his body, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked down at her.

She couldn’t speak, but now that he was lying still and heavy on top of her she stopped fighting and breathed hoarsely, eyes closed, tears trickling down her face.

‘I...you...’

‘Am I hurting you?’

She shook her head.

‘What did I do that triggerred off that outburst, then?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her hands shifting nervously on his back. She felt the scratches she had inflicted, biting her lip.

‘I hurt you,’ she wept. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Patrick said impatiently.

‘It does. I didn’t mean to; I’m sorry,’ she said, tears still welling up in her eyes. His back was so smooth and powerful. She badly wanted to stroke it again, to let her fingers follow the deep indentation of his spine downwards to the firm buttocks, but she couldn’t now; she had spoilt everything.

‘Stop crying, Antonia! I can’t stand hearing you cry like that; you sound like a sad little girl. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone on, but I thought you were ready; I was so sure you wanted it too.’

He moved and she knew he was leaving her; she couldn’t bear it. She clung stupidly, both arms round him and felt his body tense, felt the deep intake of his breath.

Roughly he muttered, ‘Make up your mind, Antonia. What do you think you’re doing to me

? I’m only flesh and blood; I can’t play these on-off games without losing control sooner or later.’ He lifted his head and stared down at her tear-stained, flushed face. ‘It’s up to you; it always has been. You’ll have to say it. Do you want me or don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely, her legs closing round him too, moving restlessly, invitingly, underneath him, and Patrick began to breathe thickly.

‘Well, just don’t change your mind again; I won’t be responsible if you do.’ He bent and lightly kissed her wet eyes, his mouth brushing across her long, damp lashes. ‘No more tears, though.’

She sighed. ‘If only I could forget that night ever happened!’

He was silent for a second, then he said softly, ‘Pretend it didn’t, if it helps—tell yourself that that other night was just a nightmare. Tonight is all that matters.’

The words echoed in her head—tonight is all that matters; this is all that matters—and she knew it was true, that the only thing in the world that mattered to her now was his body moving on her, inside her, a tormentingly slow, sensuous intimacy that only began to build in rhythm and power when at last she moved with him, excited past caring if it hurt, arching to meet the deep thrust of his body with a sensation that was way past pleasure, on the borders of ecstasy.

She cried out his name, sobbing it. ‘Oh, Patrick...Patrick...’ She was boneless, so weak that she was melting into him, surrendering herself to the hard, naked flesh which had become a part of her.

And then, as they moved together towards the climax of their pleasure, a voice called from downstairs. ‘Tonia! Where are you? Aren’t you dressed yet? Need any help?’

Flushed and breathing wildly, they both froze, their bodies still vibrating.

‘Alex!’ whispered Antonia, distraught.

Patrick gave a hoarse, frustrated groan. ‘I didn’t even lock the door!’ he muttered through his teeth.

A second later he was on his feet beside the bed. Shivering, Antonia watched his naked body move silently across the room to the door. He locked it, then began dressing in a tearing hurry. Antonia stumbled off the bed just as footsteps sounded on the stairs. A moment later, Alex tried the door, knocked on it, then shouted through it teasingly.

‘Tonia? Aren’t you ready? We’ve got a surprise waiting for you downstairs!’

Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘Sorry, after my bath I had a short nap on my bed, and I haven’t got my dress on yet. I won’t take very long; I’ll be down in about ten minutes.’

‘Need any help? Shall I get Susan-Jane to come up and give you a hand?’