‘Would you have come then?’ he insisted.
‘I’m coming now,’ she groaned.
She writhed on the seat as her orgasm shook her, pushing against his hand, trying to stifle the noises of pleasure that rose in her throat. Then she realized she need not have bothered. The stage act had finished and the audience were clapping enthusiastically. The sound would have drowned any gasps and moans she made. By the time she had recovered, the stage was blacked out again. Her legs felt sticky against the cover of the seat.
‘I’m wet.’ She grabbed one of the paper napkins from the table and tried to make herself more comfortable.
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said, taking another napkin to wipe his own hand.
‘What question?’ She screwed the napkin up.
‘Would you have serviced a total stranger?’ he asked. Suddenly she was angry with him. She just wanted to relax in the warm afterglow of her orgasm. She didn’t need a cross-examination.
‘Of course I would,’ she said, in an aggressive, clipped voice. ‘This is business, isn’t it?’
There was a pause. Then he smiled. ‘Strictly business,’ he agreed. ‘I forgot.’
‘And you’ve made me miss that act,’ she added. ‘I wanted to watch it.’
‘You wanted to watch Miss X getting spanked, did you? Why?’
‘I thought it would be a turn-on.’ She turned away and peered at the darkened stage. ‘Do you know who the girl was?’
He laughed. ‘Yes.’
‘Tell me!’
He shook his head. ‘No way. But you’d be surprised if you knew.’
‘If it’s such a secret, how do you know?’ she challenged.
‘I’m a regular here,’ he said. ‘I can be trusted. And I can tell you that the mysterious Miss X really loves performing. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself?’
‘Everyone should have a hobby,’ Genevieve agreed lightly.
‘Even if it’s only squash,’ he said dryly.
‘Or collecting pictures,’ she hinted.
He seemed unaffected by the reference. ‘You collect pictures, do you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I thought you did?’
‘What makes you think that?’
She had a feeling he was going to be deliberately evasive, and decided to be blunt. ‘There’s an artist called Ricky Croft. He draws erotic scenes.’ She waited for a response, but did not get one. ‘He’s always looking for customers. The last time I spoke to him he seemed interested in contacting you.’
‘I know of him,’ Sinclair said. His voice sounded cold. ‘He deals in pornography. I don’t need pictures.’ His hand touched her thighs, stroked up between her legs to her moist pussy. ‘I can always get the real thing.’
‘So you’ve never met him?’
The fingers on her leg tightened. ‘Why are you so interested, Miss Loften?’
She was tempted to say: because I want to know if you beat him up. And why. But she knew instinctively that even if she asked the question, Sinclair was not going to give her any answers. ‘Just curious,’ she said flatly.
‘Well, stop being curious,’ he said. ‘You’re not here to interrogate me.’ His hand moved from her leg to her breast. He cupped it and squeezed gently. ‘You’re here to entertain me.’ His fingers tightened. ‘Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ she said.
She felt the warmth of his skin against her flesh, and felt her nipple hardening in response to his handling. He relaxed his fingers and massaged her breast with his open palm. She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.
‘Does this turn you on?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
His fingers caught her erect nipple and pinched it, firmly. Startled, she opened her eyes.
‘And this?’ he asked. ‘A little bit of erotic pain?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘You like it all, don’t you?’ he said. He withdrew his hand. ‘Spanking, too. You enjoyed it when you were tied to my motorcycle. You loved it. You’d like it to happen again. Am I right?’
‘Don’t jump to conclusions,’ she said. ‘I simply said I wanted to watch that couple on stage.’
‘I’ve ruined your evening, have I? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll show you some experts at work, people who’ll make those two look like amateurs.’
‘When?’ she asked casually. ‘After you’ve come back from Japan?’
‘I thought I told you to stop interrogating me.’
‘You might have told me about it,’ she said.
‘Why? I knew you’d find out anyway. It’s hardly a secret. It’ll only be for a few days, and it makes no difference to our arrangements.’
‘So it’s strictly a business trip?’
‘What else would it be?’ he asked lightly.
‘I’ve heard that Japanese women are very beautiful.’
‘So are English women. Are you trying to find out whether I’m going to sample any of them while I’m out there?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she said, quickly and untruthfully.
He laughed. ‘For a moment I thought you might be jealous.’ He ran his hands over her breasts, and down between her legs, touching her briefly and skillfully. ‘Foolish of me, wasn’t it? I’m just a business opportunity to you.’
‘And I’m just an entertainment to you,’ she countered.
‘True,’ he said. ‘And the evening’s not over yet. Get your coat. I’m hungry.’
‘Can we eat here?’ she asked.
‘We can, but we’re not going to. I’ve a good bottle of wine at home, and I’ve ordered a meal to go with it.’ The stage darkened again.
‘I’d like to watch the show,’ she suggested.
‘I’m tired of watching,’ he said. ‘And I call the shots, remember? Get your coat, but don’t bother to dress. You’ll soon be performing again.’
As she got out of the car and walked to the steps leading up to Sinclair’s house, Genevieve wondered why it felt so sexy to know that you were naked under a perfectly respectable-looking fur coat. She hugged the fur to her, feeling the cool silk of the lining against her skin. She had already removed her head mask and shaken out her hair.
The hall felt pleasantly warm. Sinclair opened a door. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘Pour yourself a drink. And take your coat off. You look overdressed.’
It felt even more sexy to be naked in this masculine room, with its subdued lighting, polished-wood floor and leather-upholstered furniture. There were two large armchairs, and there was also a stool with a padded seat. It was smaller than the room they had used on her previous visit, and she noticed that the door was not drilled with holes. One wall was completely shelved with books.
She poured herself a glass of wine and went over to look at them, searching for the kind of titles Sinclair’s reputation prompted her to believe she would find. The Kama Sutra, maybe? The Story of O? First editions of well-known erotic novels? Privately printed books on the byways of specialized sex? Instead she found poetry and astronomy. Books on ancient history, and a shelf of science-fiction paperbacks.
She finished her wine and moved round the room, looking at the framed prints on the walls, mainly old-fashioned hunting scenes and animals, and the occasional portrait of unidentified, grim-looking elderly men in high wing collars. She was standing in front of one of these, trying to work out who it was supposed to be, when she realized she was reflected from the waist upwards in the picture glass. She placed both hands under her breasts, lifting them until her nipples were in line with the portrait’s primly disapproving mouth. She giggled suddenly, and wriggled provocatively. I’ll bet this never happened to you in real life, whoever you are, she thought.
‘What the devil are you doing?’
The sound of Sinclair’s voice made her jump. She turned, her hands still under her breasts. He was standing in the doorway. He had taken off his jacket and his formal white shirt was now open at the neck, half-unbuttoned, the sleeves roll
ed up to just below his elbows.
‘I’m just looking at your pictures,’ she said.
‘It looked as if you were dancing.’
She walked across to him, her hands crossed in mock modesty over her breasts. ‘I thought the poor old boy needed cheering up.’
‘Oh, did you?’ He was standing close to her now. The subdued light shadowed his face and made his black hair gleam. He reached out and caught her wrists, pulling her arms down to her sides. He leaned forward as if to kiss her. She moved her face towards him but he dipped his head and his lips closed over her nipple instead. His tongue circled its tip briefly, lightly, and expertly enough to send a shudder of pleasure rushing through her. ‘Well,’ he said, after repeating the caress once more, ‘I don’t think that respectable old Victorian gentleman would have appreciated seeing a wanton woman flaunting herself in the nude.’
‘Wanton woman?’ She giggled again. ‘Do you mean me?’
‘Certainly.’ Suddenly he spun her round. With her wrists held captive in his strong grip he pushed her forward towards one of the chairs. ‘You would have been seen as a threat. A sex-mad female. You would have been punished. For your own good, naturally.’
They were standing in front of one of the armchairs now. Genevieve leaned back against Sinclair, relishing the warmth and strength of his body, enjoying the smooth feeling of his shirt against her bare skin. He leaned forward and placed his mouth close to her ear.
‘The Victorians were great believers in punishment.’ He shifted his grip to hold her wrists with one hand. His free hand roved over her bottom. She shivered. ‘Corporal punishment,’ he added softly.
Suddenly he spun her round, sat down in the chair and pulled her facedown across his knees. The movement was so unexpected that she offered no resistance.
‘He would have loved this,’ Sinclair said. She heard a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘He would have thought this was just what you deserved.’
The flat of his hand landed on her bottom and she yelled in startled surprise. She kicked out, but he moved expertly and trapped her legs between his own. His hand landed three more times in quick succession. They were sharp, hard blows and yet the stinging pain, and the uncomfortable position he had trapped her into, aroused her as much as a soft caress.
‘And I agree,’ he added.
Another flurry of slaps landed on her unprotected flesh. She struggled ineffectively. Even the movement of her body against the hard muscles of his thighs excited her.
‘I’m beginning to see why the Victorians enjoyed this kind of thing,’ Sinclair said. His hand landed again, harder this time.
‘You pig!’ she yelled. ‘That hurt.’
He leaned over and she felt his breath against her tangled hair.
‘And you love it,’ he whispered. ‘Admit it?’
Her answer was to struggle more violently. ‘Admit it,’ he repeated. ‘It turns you on.’
‘It doesn’t.’
She knew it was a ridiculous lie. She did not expect him to believe it, and she was right. He reached forward and found her breasts, found her nipples, hard as berries. His hand explored her, his thumb rubbing, teasing her. Her body shuddered convulsively. When he stopped fondling her she gave a small gasp of disappointment.
His hand stroked over her tingling bottom and slipped between her thighs. This time her gasp was one of desire. Then he stood up, pulling her with him. With a strong push of his arms he spun her round and sat her down in the chair. He knelt in front of her, between her outstretched legs. He grasped both her wrists and forced her hands over her breasts. She felt her nipples pushing against her palm.
‘Proof,’ he said. ‘Corporal punishment turns you on, Miss Loften. I’ll bet that’s something you never knew before.’
She had to admit that it was true, but felt like adding: it depends on the administrator. He moved her hands slowly, forcing her to massage herself.
‘Now turn me on,’ he said softly. ‘Turn me on some more.’ She gazed at him through half-closed eyes, waiting for him to start pleasuring her with his tongue. But he did not move.
‘I want to watch you,’ he said. His voice was hoarse with suppressed excitement. She was about to move her hands from her breasts but he stopped her. ‘Let me see you do it,’ he murmured. ‘Let me see how you do it when you’re alone.’
She moved slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. She rolled her nipples between her fingers. She felt no embarrassment because she knew it was arousing him. She relaxed back in the chair.
‘Make yourself come,’ he instructed. ‘You’re ready for it. I’m not going to touch you. You’re going to do it all.’
The excitement in his voice acted like a potent aphrodisiac. Again she felt in control and powerful. She opened her legs lazily and reached down to touch herself. The physical manhandling that he had given her had aroused her even more than she realized. She had barely begun to caress herself before she felt the sensations building.
‘Make it last, baby,’ he muttered. ‘Nice and easy. Nice and slow. Make it last.’
But for once she was incapable of obeying him. She wanted to come, and the desire blotted out everything else. Her orgasm was intense and lengthy. She writhed in the chair, her body stiffening and shaking with pleasure. When it was over she sighed deeply and relaxed.
She felt his hands under her arms as he lifted her up and then a pressure on her head as she was made to kneel in front of him. He unzipped his trousers and pulled her towards him. He was so erect and so excited that her mouth had barely touched him before he came, his own release as violent as her own.
Later, when she had bathed and dressed again, and sat opposite him enjoying the delicious Chinese meal he had ordered, she reflected on how civilized they both looked: a lady in a neat black dress and a man in his dark dress-suit trousers and his formal shirt now loosely undone.
She felt warm and comfortable. Was that what good sex did for you? She wondered if he felt the same. Certainly he had gone out of his way to be charming and entertaining during the meal, and once again she was impressed by the range of his knowledge. He was informative without being pedantic, and his conversation proved that his interests were as wide as his choice of books implied.
She made only one effort to bring up the subject of Japan. ‘Not that again?’ He raised one eyebrow quizzically. ‘Why are you so fascinated with my trip to the exotic East?’
Well, she thought, I can hardly say: because I want to know if you’re going to make love to Jade Chalfont while you’re out there.
‘I’m not fascinated,’ she said untruthfully. ‘Just—mildly interested. Mounting an advertising campaign that appealed to a Japanese market would be quite a challenge for us.’
‘Always the businesswoman, aren’t you?’ His voice hardened. ‘And what makes you think you’re going to get the chance to do a Japanese campaign?’
‘If your negotiations are successful…’ she began.
‘I’m not your client yet,’ he interrupted.
‘I didn’t think there was any doubt that you would be,’ she said coolly.
‘Obviously you can’t count, Miss Loften,’ he said. ‘The ninety-day agreement still has some time to run.’
‘Forgive me for saying so, Mr. Sinclair—’ she was icily polite now ‘—but there are times when I suspect that you’re just using me.’
‘You’re right.’ The trace of a cynical smile touched his mouth. ‘And very nice it is, too.’
‘I meant, there are times when I doubt if you mean to keep your word.’
It was the first time she had really seen him angry. She sensed the tension in his body.
‘I hope you don’t mean that, Miss Loften. I’ve got plenty of faults, but breaking my word isn’t one of them.’ There was ice in his voice, and in his eyes.
She realized then that James Sinclair would be a very dangerous man to cross. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. And meant it.
‘Good,’ he said, curtly. ‘If
anyone breaks our agreement, it’ll be you.’
But only if you force me, she thought. And the way he was looking at her now she felt he was more than capable of it. The thought was not a comforting one.
‘Maybe if I offered you a pound?’
Genevieve came back to the present with a start. George Fullerton was standing in front of her desk, smiling.
‘You didn’t seem interested in a penny,’ he said.
‘A penny?’ she repeated.
‘For your thoughts. You were miles away. Thinking about work?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said. ‘In a way.’
‘Did you hear the latest about James Sinclair?’
‘The Ricky Croft rumor?’ She nodded.
‘Do you believe it?’
She remembered Sinclair’s brief, cold anger the night before. ‘Mr. Sinclair is quite capable of thumping someone,’ she said. ‘But I can’t imagine why he should choose Ricky Croft.’
‘Neither can anyone else,’ Fullerton said. ‘Have you heard anything more about the Japanese trip?’
‘Only that it’s definitely on,’ she said.
Fullerton nodded. ‘Mr. Sinclair is fast becoming a very desirable property. And despite the fact that he’s still flirting with Lucci’s and their attractive swordswoman, I’m sure you’ll win the battle of the sexes in the end.’
Genevieve wished she was equally confident. The brief glimpse of Sinclair’s anger showed her that there was still a lot about him that she did not know. Was he really the manipulator that so many people claimed? A man who used others as a kind of hobby? Was he really just using her, confident that he could get her to break their agreement any time he chose? It had certainly sounded like it.
She was still not sure when she received a parcel of paper napkins with the message: I’M SURE YOU CAN FIND A USE FOR THESE. But she knew that she would find out before long. She was running out of time. The ninety days would soon be over.
Chapter Seven
Although she knew Sinclair would not ring her from Japan, Genevieve still half expected to hear his voice every time she picked up her phone. Instead the calls were routine contacts from friends, and one from Philip claiming that he was going to remain celibate for the duration of his college course.
The Ninety Days of Genevieve Page 19