The baby was gurgling, pushing against her breast. She’d had enough. Dora detached the child from her nipple, put Angel over her shoulder and gently rubbed her back. Angel burped.

‘Good baby, good girl,’ murmured Dora, then Donny stood up and came across the little room.

Dora tensed. ‘What . . . ?’

Donny took Angel from her mother’s arms, lifted her up. Angel fussed a bit, but when Donny put her in the cradle fed and happy, she quickly settled. He turned to Dora, grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet.

‘My turn,’ he said, and pulled her in close. To her shock, he then kissed her so hard he took her breath away.

70

That was when Donny Maguire first truly exerted his power over her – took her to his bed and had her so completely that she was wrung out, exhausted afterwards. It was then that she realized he had total control of her; not only in everyday life, but sexually, too.

After two hours she literally stumbled to her feet at Angel’s cry. She was sore and aching. Then she had to sit down hard on the edge of the bed to stop herself from keeling over onto the floor. She took a deep breath and started reaching for her clothes, but Donny said: ‘No. Stay like that.’

Angel’s cry had become a demanding wail.

‘She’s hungry again,’ said Dora.

‘Then feed her.’

‘You haven’t left her anything,’ said Dora.

Donny had literally devoured her, sucked her dry. She felt limp, bewildered. She’d never known anything like this before, never felt anything even remotely like this with Dickie or Frank. She wanted to be alone, to think this through, to try to get her bearings once again because he had knocked what little composure she had left all to hell. Over the past two hours she had shuddered and screamed and even cried, caught in the grip of a crushing, greedy lust that astonished her.

‘Get her some formula feed then,’ he said, lying back in the bed, leisurely smoking a cigarette, his eyes fastened on her body as she stood up, moved naked across the room.

Dora was shivering. There was no heat in the flat. She went into the little kitchenette and pulled a tin of formula feed out from under the sink, mixed it up, warmed it, then took it through to Angel.

With the baby fed and changed, she pulled on her robe and went back into Donny’s bedroom and started gathering up her clothes. Donny was now sitting on the edge of the bed, the glowing cigarette held loosely in one hand. He’d turned on the radio and Pat Boone was singing ‘Love Letters in the Sand’.

‘I told you. No clothes,’ he said, and grabbed her wrist and pulled her between his legs, untying her robe, shoving it off her shoulders so it fell to the ground. His eyes roamed over her. ‘Not many women look better nude than clothed. But you do,’ he said, his hands moving over her now, cupping her breasts, sliding down over her waist, to her hips, holding her there when all she wanted to do was get away.