‘Put your back against that door. Then grab the top of it.’
He did as she asked. A look of mistrust strained his features as he held himself exposed for her. Because of his height he was able to hold the top of the door without stretching too much but the position raised his shirttails away from his exposed cock.
Amelia nodded, satisfied.
She stepped closer to him. She could see he wanted to protect himself but, because his hands now had something to do, he was able to resist the temptation. The sounds of metal groaning against metal told her that the hinge was protesting at his weight, but that consideration didn’t weigh too greatly on her thoughts. She still held the thistle in a hand protected by the cuff of her jacket. She offered the flower to Christian like a lover presenting a token to her betrothed. The dusky purple head of the thistle drooped lightly at the end of the stem.
As she watched, she saw a glistening ball of pre-come growing over the eye of Christian’s cock. ‘Which of us did you prefer?’ Amelia asked innocently. ‘Her or me?’
He had been staring warily at the thistle but his gaze shifted to her eyes. Scared, he looked away. ‘Yale said we weren’t to talk about her.’
‘I want an answer,’ Amelia grunted.
She stroked the head of the flower along his shaft. He groaned and twisted. His cries for leniency turned into a plaintive wail. The hinges of the door moaned softly beneath their abuse but they held his weight, for the moment.
‘Tell me which of us you preferred.’ Amelia rolled the head of the thistle over his cock, watching his seed catch in the feather-like petals. With a light caress, she drew the stem of the flower down his shaft. As it dragged along his rigid length the razor-edged leaves scratched his flesh. ‘You don’t have to use names. If it’s me, say so. If you preferred her, you can say her.’
Christian’s muted cries were a formless sob. He beseeched her with his eyes, then turned away when he saw her unrelenting expression. ‘That hurts,’ he hissed. ‘It’s absolute agony.’
‘Shame,’ she replied. Her tone was indifferent. ‘Answer my question, Christian. Which of us did you prefer? Me or my lover?’
He shook his head. At the top of the door his knuckles had turned white. His shirtsleeves had fallen down from the cuffs and she was treated to the sight of his broad, muscular forearms. Every tendon strained as he employed a Herculean effort to remain beneath her torturous hand.
‘I prefer you,’ he gasped softly. ‘You know I prefer you. I preferred you then and I still prefer you now, even though you’re a bitch who treats me like a whipping boy. I prefer you.’
Amelia scowled. ‘Liar,’ she hissed.
With an angry flick of her wrist she swiped the end of his cock with the stem of the thistle. She had hit him harder with the cat the previous night and she knew from her own experience he had taken more punishing blows for the sake of Yale’s art.
But she doubted they had been more agonising.
Every muscle in his face was twisted in a shriek for help. He rose on tiptoe as his hands gripped tighter at the door. Beneath his cries, the distant growl of the weakening hinges was barely audible.
‘Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,’ Amelia instructed. ‘Tell me the truth. Did you prefer her? Is that why you won’t say?’
He struggled for composure shaking his head from side to side. ‘I didn’t like her,’ he whispered. He spat the words through strained snatches of breath. ‘She was hard and cold and cruel.’
Amelia considered him for a moment. ‘Don’t you think I’m being a little cruel right now?’
He shook his head from side to side. His eyes were glassy with the threat of tears but she could see he was staring at her with a ferocity that could only come from someone telling the truth.
‘You’re just having fun,’ he gasped. ‘You’re hard, and you’re horribly cruel. But you’re not cold. You could never be cold.’
She frowned, suddenly annoyed with him. It had been irritating when she thought he was lying. Now, when she saw that he had understood a truth she had never been able to grasp, Amelia felt stupid and cheated.
‘You could just be saying that.’
He shook his head. ‘Yale needed a dominatrix for his paintings,’ he explained. He was regaining a little of his composure, although his nervousness was apparent in the glistening beads of sweat that speckled his brow. ‘Your lover was harsh, cruel and just plain nasty. You’re cruel, but you do it in the right way. You dominate with restraint.’
Amelia frowned. She was no longer sure she was still following him. But she didn’t think it mattered. She had received the response she wanted.
‘You’ve just given my cock a mild lashing with that thistle,’ he panted. He licked a nervous tongue against the sweat on his upper lip. ‘Your lover wouldn’t have been happy to just do that. She would have stamped it up my arsehole with one of her stiletto heels.’
Amelia nodded and considered him thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure if I agree with everything you’ve said,’ she began quietly. ‘But I do know one thing.’
He studied her uneasily. Amelia figured he had heard the ice in her voice.
‘You’ve just been talking about her,’ she reminded him. ‘And Yale expressly forbade anyone from talking about my lover.’
With a vicious swipe of her wrist, she thrashed the head of Christian’s cock with the thistle. She saw the prickly edges lash mercilessly against the swollen purple flesh and heard him bite back an anguished roar. Ignoring his cries, she continued to hit him with the flower, enjoying his muted pleas for her to stop. She caught the tip of his cock repeatedly, grinning when she saw that the blows weren’t spoiling his arousal.
On the contrary: the harder she struck, the more rigid his cock stood.
Amelia threw the thistle to the floor and began to rub Christian’s cock in a slow, punishing wank. The glistening ball of pre-come had now become a slow, clear stream. He moaned beneath her touch and she knew his orgasm was close. She moved her hand faster up and down his length.
He almost screamed when he climaxed. Instead of saying anything articulate, Christian simply groaned as she dragged him beyond the point of control. His cock twitched twice and she watched a stream of white liquid shoot from his shaft onto the gravel. Amelia noticed that his feet were no longer touching the driveway and realised, too late, that he was holding himself on the door.
She heard the protesting shriek of the hinges as metal sheared against metal. Christian was oblivious to the noise, still holding tightly to the door even when it fell to the floor.
With a frown, Amelia glanced from the door to the back of the motor home. Bernice stepped into the space with a curious, sleep-weary expression on her face.
Amelia ignored her. She stared at the back of the motor home.
Without the door, the opening looked like a gaping wound. Glaring at Christian, she cursed angrily.
‘You fucking idiot. What the hell did you do that for?’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Christian complained. ‘I was only –’
Amelia didn’t allow him to finish his sentence.
‘Yale won’t be happy about this. You might end up receiving a punishment.’ She glanced at Bernice and said, ‘Pass me Yale’s mobile if it’s still in there. We need to organise a repair.’
* * *
‘No.’
Even though it only came out as a whisper, Robyn wondered how she had managed to give voice to the word. She wanted Yale as badly as she had ever wanted any man. It was almost second nature to give in when that impulse touched her. She had given in when she saw Dominic at the dinner party. She had been giving in since the beginning of her marriage. Habit and reluctance made her refusal that much harder but she said the word anyway.
‘No.’
‘I don’t think you mean that.’ Yale reached forward to caress her neck. His mouth was inches away from hers. His warm smile illuminated the dark unfathomable depths of his eyes. ‘You’re saying
no, but every gesture you make seems to scream the word yes.’
Robyn wished she could tell him that wasn’t true.
They had been discussing Yale’s idea for an exhibition. Robyn had been enthusiastic about his proposal. He wanted to display a selection of his work and had been asking her advice about locations. He had initially made a wild suggestion that his art could be displayed in Holbert Manor, but Robyn believed she had put that ridiculous idea out of his thoughts. However, she did want to help him find somewhere to show off his work and the thought of being a part of his success thrilled her. And yet, while the idea of participating in a young artist’s first major exhibition was an exciting proposition, it was not nearly as exciting as the one suggested in the lilt of Yale’s smile.
Yale looked like he had the potential to be her perfect lover. If she had been asked to draw up a composite picture of her ideal man for the evening, she would have drawn Yale. Not only was he deplorably good-looking but his long dark hair lent a flamboyant allure to his appearance. Added to that was his wicked smile, cool, appraising gaze and lean, muscular body. She could have gone on to list the excitement she felt at his talent and extensive knowledge of art, but there was no need. The display of erotic paintings he had revealed was already igniting her libido. Her body tingled in its intense response to him.
‘Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t want me. If you can do that I’ll move my hand away,’ he promised.
She didn’t dare to look into his eyes. The warm fingers that caressed her neck lit flames of passion. ‘No,’ she gasped firmly. ‘We can’t do this. I can’t.’
His grin was lewd. ‘You could if I showed you how.’
‘I’m married and my husband wouldn’t approve.’
He shrugged. ‘Does he have to know?’
Robyn bit her lower lip and nodded. ‘I can’t lie to him. He only has to look at me when he’s asking a question and I have to tell him the truth. It’s always been that way between us.’ She could have added that it had never been a problem until now. But that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with a comparative stranger like Yale.
He took a step closer to her side and placed his other hand on her waist. As he coaxed her tight against his body she was able to feel the thrust of his erection through his jeans. Uncomfortable with her involuntary response to his nearness, she tried to pull away from him.
‘I’ve said no,’ she insisted. ‘And I meant it.’
He shook his head. ‘You said the word, but we both know you didn’t mean it.’ The hand that had been at her neck fell to her front. He cupped her breast through the fabric of her T-shirt.
Robyn gasped. Her resolve weakened as her body demanded that she give herself to Yale. She allowed herself the teasing thought that her husband might not find out.
‘Harold doesn’t have to know about this,’ Yale assured her. He pressed his lips against her neck. ‘We can keep it between you and me. No one else would need to know. It would be our little secret.’
She wanted to believe him. She wanted him to continue kissing, working his lips downwards as he touched and excited her. She wanted so many things, but the voice of caution screamed loudly in her ear. Pulling herself from Yale’s grip, Robyn glared at him.
‘How did you know my husband’s name?’
He stared at her, seeming confused by the unexpected question. ‘Excuse me?’
‘How did you know my husband’s name?’ Robyn demanded. ‘I never told you he was called Harold. How did you know?’
He rolled his eyes and then shook his head. ‘I read your magazine,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m aware that you’re married to the editor of Art.’
‘Editor and owner,’ she corrected. She studied him suspiciously. ‘Have you met him?’
He glanced away from her before replying. ‘He’s never returned any of my calls and his PA doesn’t pass my messages on.’
‘You’re lying,’ she said abruptly. A thought struck her and she grasped at it as though it was the absolute truth. ‘You’re not just lying. You’re trying to deceive me, aren’t you?’
‘Are you a madwoman?’
She sneered. ‘Harold sent you up here, didn’t he? He issued that fucking ultimatum of his, and now he’s sent you up here to try and make me give in.’ Pointing a menacing finger at Yale, she hissed, ‘It won’t work. I know what you’re up to, and it won’t work.’
‘You are a madwoman,’ he decided. ‘You’re an absolute nutter. I’ve never met your bloody husband.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’ She sniffed. ‘Harold knows the type I go for. If I hadn’t heard about you from your friend Dominic, I would have thought he’d hired an actor for this role.’
Yale shook his head. ‘Nutter,’ he repeated.
She glared at him. ‘Perhaps I am a nutter,’ she agreed. ‘But I’m the nutter who’s telling you to get your fucking paintings out of here. If you want me to look at this stuff you can come to my office when I get back there.’
He sighed heavily. ‘Could we forget that I was trying to come on to you? I misread the signs you were giving out and I responded the way a man usually does in those circumstances. Can we both accept that and act like mature adults about this?’
She shook her head and pursed her lips. It didn’t matter whether he was telling the truth or not. It didn’t matter that Harold might not have sent him. As long as Yale was at Holbert Manor she knew she would be tempted. The need to succumb to her longing for him was irresistible but she valiantly struggled against the urge.
‘Go.’ She hissed the word between clenched teeth. ‘I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here.’ She could see he was going to argue his position. Inspiration struck as she realised there was one way she could be assured of getting him to leave the property. ‘If you stay a moment longer I’ll make sure any review I do is unfavourable.’
He glared at her in disbelief.
‘I mean it,’ Robyn promised. ‘I’ll call it comic-book artwork. I’ll say it’s only as good as the stuff in low-budget magazines.’
He bristled, but she could see the threat had been effective.
‘Nutter,’ Yale mumbled angrily. He turned his back on her, collected his paintings and stormed out through the door.
Robyn heaved a sigh of relief as she watched him walk away. The need to have him had been powerful. She still felt touched by arousal. How she had resisted him was a mystery and she was surprised by her own restraint. Hurriedly she ran to the door and slammed it closed. Sure she wouldn’t be properly safe unless she took every precaution, she turned the key in the lock.
Of course, she knew she was stupid for thinking that Harold had sent him. But the idea nagged at her like toothache. Regardless of who had sent him, she knew that she would have been powerless to resist Yale had he remained in the house any longer. The thought made her shiver, although she couldn’t decide if that was a response to excitement or to fear.
A pounding at the front door brought back the feeling of disquiet.
She hesitated before twisting the key and then opening it. Yale stood defiantly before her. His expression struggled to conceal his hostility.
‘I’ve got a bit of a problem with my vehicle,’ Yale said carefully.
Robyn glanced behind him and saw that the back door had been torn from the motor home. Yale’s models, Amelia, Christian and Bernice, all stood beside the vehicle looking round-shouldered and dispirited.
‘I know you won’t be happy about this,’ Yale said quietly, ‘but my friends and I would appreciate it if you could lend us a couple of rooms for the night.’
Chapter Four
There were no explicit rules about what should be worn in the office. Jeans and T-shirts were the usual choice of the copy staff. Short skirts and tight blouses were the norm for the typists, temps and secretaries. Trouser suits, Lycra leggings and low-cut tops were all accepted. Cleavage was allowed to be seen. Some women thought it was a must to display the tops of their thighs
. And some of the male staff wore jeans so tight you could see the denomination of their loose change. The office dress code was so lax that almost anything was permissible.
But if there were still some unwritten rules, Sheridan came close to violating every one of them. Her skirt was short enough to show off the gusset of her panties. The fact that her skirt was black PVC, as were her pants, helped to mask this fact. But anyone who gave her a passing glance could see how boldly she was dressed. And there were a lot of passing glances as she walked down the corridor.
Her outrageous appearance was enough to draw the attention of every male head in the building. Her suit jacket was also black PVC, laced with shiny silver zippers that screamed the punk style suggested by her multicoloured hairstyle. One functioning zipper ran down the front of the jacket. It had been tugged low, revealing her ample cleavage for the approval of anyone who dared to look. A dusting of pink blusher darkened the valley between her breasts, enhancing their allure. The short cut of the jacket meant she could show off her pierced belly button at the same time. A thin line of her flat stomach was clearly visible, revealing the gold banana semi-circle she wore against her flesh.
On her legs, she wore a pair of dark fishnet stockings.
She had considered wearing deliberately laddered hosiery but she thought that gave her ensemble the look of an accident victim. The fishnets she had donned this morning were a brand-new pair. The dark tops showed beneath the short hem of her skirt and she knew this was adding to the excitement enjoyed by her voyeuristic admirers.
She drew a handful of wolf-whistles as she stepped into the lift.
Acknowledging the appraisal good-naturedly, she smiled at the men who were ogling her and waved her hand in a small farewell as the doors closed. Normally, the attention of so many admirers would have improved her mood but she had other things on her mind this morning. There was something she wanted from Harold and it was about time he started giving it to her.
After punching the button for the floor where Art had its offices, Sheridan realised she wasn’t alone in the lift. A man stood behind her, his appreciative gaze fixed upon the tops of her legs. In one hand he held a BlackBerry and constantly stroked the keypad with his thumb. Sheridan watched him caressing the gadget and wondered if he knew how distasteful the habit was.
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