Now, here was the thing, it was all very well shadowing her, but how he to end the chase. He could rugby tackle her to the ground, but that seemed ungainly and ungentlemanly. He could tap on the shoulder and say “Tag, you’re it,” but he doubted she’d appreciate the humour. Instead, he got as close as he could to her and grabbed her from behind, hugging her at her waist and pulling her off her feet. Her legs kept flailing. She could have easily hit him in the face with an elbow. She didn’t. She relaxed and he moved her round so he was holding her in his arms properly. She looked up at him adoringly and reached out to touch his face. He reached down and kissed her and she moved up to meet his lips.
So what now? he thought. Damn it, did a cat agonize over what to do when it caught a mouse? Was there any doubt that the pursuit had been sexual in nature? He imagined himself back to those sexual education classes he’d had in secondary schools (“Well, Miss Williams, you see she was wearing these boots…”, “Now, Neville, it’s incredibly toxic to assume a woman is a willing partner just because she’s wearing [finger-quotes] ‘slutty’ clothing.”, “Yeah, but Miss…”) He was keenly aware that this was the first time he’d ever touched her, clothed or naked. He’d held her on her naked waist, back and thighs. They were his prize and he’d won them squarely according to her rules. He had the right to take her here and now and it was what she wanted, that much was clear. He could always ask her, of course, but it seemed they were better at running than they were at communicating.
Still, they were in the middle of the moors, with open space all around. He hadn’t noticed during the chase, but the wind was up again. Where the ground wasn’t wet it was stony. He cast his mind back to his only occasionally misspent youth and his explorations of the local area. He turned around three-hundred and sixty degrees and tried to gauge his position. With a sudden heft, he pushed her up and over his shoulder and set off to the south.
6. The Consummation
The cave was only about a mile away, though some of that was uphill and carrying a burden in pitched blackness was never easy. Neville coped better than he’d expected. He wondered what Emily weighed — not more than 8 stone surely. She was manageable. He stopped after the a few steps to put his coat around her. He didn’t ask her to get off and walk; he liked having possession of her. He did put her down from time to time and, about halfway through the journey, she climbed on his back and stayed there.
There were some spectacular caves in the moors that could keep spelunkers active for days. Roberts’s Cave was not one of them. If it had been in a video game it would have contained two orcs and a single treasure chest. It was a great shelter out of the element however and gave them some privacy. He sat her down on a rocky outcrop.
“Wait here,” he said. She would obey he was sure; she was exactly where she wanted to be. He scoured the immediate vicinity, picking up twigs and moss as he went. After about five minutes he hit pay-dirt, a fallen birch tree. He snapped some of the choicer branches off and headed back. He tried remembering back to his Duke of Edinburgh Award camping trips. His mam had insisted he go, as they would ‘make a man of him.’ He smiled to himself — it looked like her prediction was about to come true, if she’d only known. It’d been a few years – what were the rules of making a fire? Never light one in a cave, that was obvious. He chose a section just outside. You also had to clear the ground around of grass and moss so the fire didn’t spread any further. There was some more complicated stuff about using an underlay of bigger bits of wood at the bottom to get circulation, and ideally you’d split them in half, but he had no tools with him, so he did the best he could. He lit the fire by banging to two stones together. Back in his camping days, he’d wimped out and used matches, but he’d watched some of the other boys do it. It took him a while to get the knack and the angle to the strike right, but when he managed to get the wood to catch, he was immensely proud of himself. But then fire-building was a science, maybe the first ever, and he’d always been good at science.
The light was as welcome as the heat. He studied her face, all bathed in flickering red. He took his clothes off – shoes and shirt, then trousers. He pulled his boxers off quickly, lest embarrassment get the better of him. He put them on rock close to the fire to dry. He’d sweated a lot, both on the chase and on the carry. As he did so, Emily unlaced and slid out of her boots. Now he and Emily were equal.
He sat back down next to her, still wordless. She put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulders. He felt her breasts push in against his arms.
“Well, here we are,” he said.
“Here we are,” she repeated. “Your place?”
“Yeah, well you know, my ancestors put the payment for the mortgage down back in the Cretaceous era, but just another couple of million years and it’s all mine.”
She smiled. He didn’t really understand her sense of humour, but he guessed she’s smile at anything, right now. They kissed. It went on for a long time, him just looking at the reflection of the fire dancing in her eyes. As they explored each other’s mouths, he became erect. Without breaking the kiss, she moved herself round and came to sit on his knees, his cock pressing into her belly, her arms around his shoulders.
Eventually, when they parted lips, he said, “So, is this your idea of a perfect first date?”
She looked him straight in the eye and put a hand on his cheek. “No, it’s my idea of a perfect wedding night.”
He let out half of a snorted laugh and then stopped himself. She hit him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m serious. About you. Tell me you’re not.”
Neville considered his options. Getting up and leaving seemed a bit of an anti-climax after the evening he’d had and he was having difficulty thinking about anything except how much he wanted her. And she was, right — if it was their wedding, it was just about perfect.
“So, that’s your idea of marriage is it? I hit you over the head with a club and drag you back to my cave?”
“You’d never hit me and the first thing you did when we got here was you built me a fire. I suspect cavemen did the same — the nicer ones anyway. They can’t all have supported Millwall.”
Then for a precious moment, they were not talking or kissing, but just looking at each other.
“I don’t have a ring,” he finally said. It was his way of answering a question she hadn’t quite asked.
“It’s okay. We’ll let the darkness bind us.”
Then they were kissing for a third time. After a pleasurable five minutes, Neville got up sheepishly and went to retrieve his wallet from his trousers.