But, she told herself, this wasn’t really the way to enjoy sex. Swallowing Harold’s come, she thought of Wayne in the lift. She could picture him now, waiting in the orange zone of the underground car park. A wicked grin crossed her lips as Sheridan realised he was going to be the perfect vessel for her to release the mounting tension within her own body.
She remembered her walk through the office building that morning and recalled the appreciative wolf-whistles she had earned. A sly smile crossed her lips. Any of those men would be happy to do more than just whistle for her. Once she was away from Harold she could forget about the curse of her convenient virginity and indulge herself properly. She only hoped Wayne could tolerate the punishing brand of pleasure that she enjoyed.
‘… so exquisite.’
Sheridan glanced up, realising Harold was talking to her. She released his softening length from her lips and fingers, licking the last droplet of his climax from her bottom lip.
‘Say again?’ she grunted.
He shook his head and smiled. ‘I was just praising you. I sincerely hope you and I can become close friends in the future.’
She stood up, allowing him to tidy himself away, and took a graceful step back. ‘Are you serious about getting a divorce?’
He fastened his zip and stood on shaking legs. ‘I’m deadly bloody serious.’
Sheridan’s smile was too cruel to hide. Aside from a handful of cursory chats in the office she didn’t really know Harold’s wife and felt no great animosity towards the woman. But she was happy to use Robyn as a tool to help her manipulate Harold into handing over Holbert Manor. The deliberate destruction of the woman’s marriage was a price Sheridan didn’t mind paying.
‘Do you think Robyn will go to bed with another man, now that you’ve given her your ultimatum?’
Harold’s smile was grim and uncompromising. He moved past his desk and retrieved his telephone without answering her. After connecting the line back into its socket, he listened to the receiver. Sheridan saw him smile when he heard the dial tone.
‘I suppose she’ll be trying not to give in,’ he admitted. ‘But she has needs – pretty powerful needs – and I doubt she’ll be able to resist them for any length of time.’
Sheridan frowned, puzzled by the remark. As she watched, Harold tapped a number into the phone. He paused for a moment, clearly listening to a ring tone, and then smiled when the call was answered.
‘Hello, Dominic. It’s Harold, at Art. Hold the line a second.’
Harold cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and graced Sheridan with a broad grin. ‘Robyn thinks that if she hides herself away at Holbert Manor she’ll be free from temptation. I’m just about to redress that situation.’
‘Redress the situation?’ She frowned. ‘Redress the situation how?’
‘I’m about to organise for a proven temptation to visit her.’
Sheridan grinned. ‘I’ll leave you to your phone call,’ she said tactfully. ‘Will I see you for dinner tonight?’
He watched her pull the zipper up over her breasts. ‘Count on it.’
‘And will you have the deeds for me?’
He smiled and nodded. ‘By the end of this evening, Holbert Manor will be yours.’
Before she left the office, Sheridan kissed him fondly on the cheek. That was exactly what she had wanted to hear. Now all she needed was to find a man who could satisfy the urgent pulse between her legs.
She walked briskly to the lift, entered and punched the button marked CAR PARK with the side of her fist. As the elevator plunged downwards she could feel her excitement build. The insipid taste of Harold’s come still lined her mouth and, despite the NO SMOKING sign in the lift, she lit a cigarette to take the taste away.
Her heart raced as she thought of the vindictive things she could do to the eager Wayne who was waiting for her. Every nerve-ending in her body was taut with anticipation. When the lift doors opened Sheridan shivered at the sight of him.
He gave her an eager grin and waved his hand.
Sheridan saw he still held his BlackBerry. He kept his fingers on the thing as though it was a baby’s comforter and she felt a healthy rush of animosity. It was good to despise those you fucked, she thought seriously. It made it easier to hurt them without any annoying bouts of conscience.
He was the only person in the dimly lit car park. It wasn’t yet eleven o’clock and the last of the day’s latecomers were securely parked, at least until lunchtime.
To Sheridan’s mind, that gave her plenty of time.
Stepping smartly towards him, she ignored the lacklustre brickwork, patches of mould and rising damp. A couple of cars beeped softly as her nearness primed their alarms but none of them gave the raucous response she was dreading.
When she reached her Mercedes, she brushed away Wayne’s clumsy embrace with obvious impatience. Hurling her cigarette to the floor, she grabbed his jaw between vice-like fingers and stared fiercely into his face.
‘Mention this to a living soul, and three things are going to happen. Are you listening to me?’
He nodded awkwardly. A glimmer of fear lit his eyes.
Sheridan was pleased to see she unnerved him.
‘Mention this to anyone else, and it will never happen again. I’ll also see that you lose your job and, after that, I will come after you. Those are the only three things you have to understand before we begin. Do you understand them?’
‘Yes.’ He spat the word with difficulty. Arousal and her grip on his jaw clearly made speech a problem. But it obviously wasn’t such a great problem that it prevented him from responding. ‘Yes. Of course. Whatever you say.’
With a reassuring smile, Sheridan murmured, ‘Then we have an understanding.’ Still holding his jaw, she pressed her lips over his and kissed him with a greedy passion. Her tongue snaked its way into his surprised mouth and she savoured the mingled taste of his excitement and fear. With a free hand, she pulled her panties down and then moved her fingers into his hair.
‘This is how we’re going to begin,’ she said firmly. With a powerful thrust of her arm, Sheridan forced Wayne down to his knees. She held his head inches from her sex, tugging hard on the follicles until she saw a grimace of pain in his face.
‘Lick me well, and I might reward you,’ Sheridan said glibly. ‘Fuck it up, and I’ll make sure you regret it.’
With the order given, she felt his tongue slide warmly against the burning wetness of her pussy lips. A thrill rushed through her and she squirmed happily at the touch of his mouth. Staring around the deserted car park, Sheridan felt a sudden sense of accomplishment. Things were going exactly as she wanted.
Chapter Five
‘Harder, you bastard! Fuck me harder! Fuck me harder!’
The words didn’t wake Robyn from a restful slumber. She had spent most of the night in a restless state, tossing and turning as sleep continued to evade her. Ever since she had climbed into bed she had started cursing the stupidity that made her lie there alone. Now, listening to the voices in the adjacent bedroom, she wished she had resisted the insistence of her conscience.
A woman – Robyn suspected it was Amelia – moaned as Yale fucked her.
In her mind’s eye, Robyn could see every torrid nuance of the scene. She could see Yale’s muscular, athletic body pressed naked against Amelia’s svelte hips. The image excited her. From what she heard, Robyn imagined they were fucking in the doggy position. The depth of the woman’s cries and the sullen squeak of the bed’s rusty springs had a familiar sound to them that she recalled from her own experiments with that position. She could picture the woman pushing her backside up for the rude intrusion of Yale’s long hard cock. She could imagine the pair buckling together as he slipped deep into her velvety wetness.
Trying not to listen to the sounds, Robyn put her hands up to her ears. She could feel the sweet warmth between her legs and wished that her pussy’s pulse didn’t crave satisfaction. As she moved her hands across her chest to cover her ears
, her wrists had brushed the febrile tips of her nipples. The sensation of being caressed so intimately left her shivering. Even the subtle touch of her own wrist had been like the stroke of a lover’s hand.
‘How many more things are you going to ruin for me today?’ Yale demanded.
The walls weren’t paper-thin but he was shouting loud enough for Robyn to hear the guttural roar of his Scots accent as he bellowed at the woman.
‘You rip the door off the bloody van, you come close to queering my sales pitch with Robyn, and now I find Christian’s bollocks look like a pair of overripe tomatoes because of you and a fucking thistle.’
Robyn wasn’t sure she understood everything he was saying, and there were parts of it that she was grateful for not understanding. But she had sensed enough to know that Yale was livid.
She could tell that from each powerful thrust he delivered to the woman. The bed springs squealed in protest beneath his vigorous assault. Amelia – and Robyn felt sure it was Amelia suffering beneath Yale – whimpered happily.
The sound of their lovemaking was too much, Robyn thought miserably. She had wanted Yale from the moment she opened the door to him. It had been a struggle to try and throw him out and she hadn’t managed it with any great conviction. If she had really wanted to be rid of him, she wouldn’t have allowed him and the rest of his retinue to stay the night. Lying alone in her bed, Robyn wished that she was the woman Yale was punishing. She imagined the bliss of his entry and the thrill of having him ride his length into her again and again and again.
The fantasy brought a heat to her loins that she hadn’t felt in months. Even while she was entertaining Dominic, Robyn hadn’t been this hot. She allowed the soft skin of her wrist to stroke the nub of her nipple again. The electric frisson tumbled through her body.
Aware that the couple might be able to hear her, Robyn sighed. She caressed her other breast and was amazed by its heightened responsiveness. Her body already felt close to the point of orgasm and she knew it would only take a small touch of her finger to reach the climax she needed. The pulse between the lips of her sex throbbed with an urgent demand that she couldn’t ignore.
Robyn listened to the couple’s moans and sighs, wishing she could do more than just hear them. The idea of watching and participating, touching and enjoying, added to her arousal. Robyn rolled her nipples between her fingers and thumbs. Her pussy lips ached for attention but she wilfully ignored their demands. The electric tingle that emanated from her breasts was breathtakingly intense.
Yale and Amelia had forsaken speech in favour of wordless cries and passionate grunts expressing their euphoria. Robyn felt a tear course down her cheek as she listened to them. She didn’t know whether it came from her own problems or from her jealousy of the fortunate Amelia. Whatever the source, she wiped it away quickly, despising her own weakness for crying. Regardless of the situation Harold had forced on her, she was determined that she wouldn’t be destroyed by his rules. And knowing there was only one option open to her as she hid in Holbert Manor, Robyn guided her fingers down to the lips of her sex. The sweltering warmth of her pussy was apparent long before she touched the burning flesh. The lips of her sex radiated heat and she wondered just how feverish her labia would feel to the touch of her fingers.
Her question was answered when she stroked the cool tip of her index finger against the searing skin. Her sex was sodden and she was unable to stop herself sliding the finger deep into the moist confines. The sensation of being penetrated was glorious. She had needed to feel something between her legs since she first saw Yale.
Finally, enjoying the act her body had longed for, she groaned.
As she slid the finger ever deeper into the velvety folds her cries grew loud. Ordinarily she would have died before allowing someone to hear her enjoying the bliss of solitary pleasure but her feverish desire for Yale had changed that. She could picture her cries interrupting him and his lover. She could envision the pair of them rushing into her room to see if she was all right.
The image was delicious.
In her mind’s eye, the pair of them had burst through her bedroom door and caught her in the throes of ecstasy as she finger-fucked herself to a climax. In her imagination they were both naked and their frowns of consternation became knowing smiles.
Then they walked slowly towards her.
As the fantasy took over, she slipped a second and third finger into the eager, slippery wetness. Her body was already racked by the first spasm of pleasure. She writhed in the twisted sheets, sliding the fingers slowly in and out as the climax washed over her.
Between her legs, her pussy demanded more. She felt so wet and pliant it had been a simple matter to slide the three fingers inside. As she rubbed them back and forth between the swollen lips of her sex her body insisted she deliver more punishing pleasure.
Robyn moaned as the fourth finger pushed easily into her straining hole. The sensation was satisfying, if not as fulfilling as a lover could have made it. Her wrist already ached from the uncomfortable position. But that realisation was faraway and unimportant. The knuckle of her thumb rubbed against the pulsing ball of her clitoris. The gentle friction sent her dizzy with elation. As she rubbed purposefully against the swell, another torturous orgasm wrenched its way through her body.
She supposed that even this could have been seen as a crime in Harold’s eye. Admittedly she hadn’t taken another man into her bed. But, from the perspective of her imagination, Robyn was now screwing Yale. She knew he was really in the neighbouring room. She knew he was riding powerful thrusts into the model with the cruel smile. But, in the fantasy world where she currently resided, Robyn was entertaining Yale as her lover.
And he was proving every bit as satisfying as she had expected.
She tried to shut the artist from her thoughts but it was impossible.
Still needing more, Robyn slid her thumb underneath the rise of her clitoris. Her labia were already stretched tight as four fingers moved slowly in and out of her sex. With a determined effort she slid her thumb alongside the rest of her hand and into the tight wet passage.
This time, as the pleasure swept over her, Robyn didn’t whimper – she screamed. As she revelled in the heady pleasure of sliding her entire hand into the tight hole the cacophonic shriek of her climax rang in her ears. When the waves of joy began to subside, she realised that, despite the smile of elation, she was sobbing softly.
Wiping the tears from her eyes with her free hand, she started to ease the fingers from her cleft. The prickle of excitement as they slipped out of her left her panting. Within a moment of releasing her hand she pressed one finger back against the hot, sodden flesh. Her body was stricken by the need for another orgasm and she knew it was going to be an endless cycle that could only result in one of two outcomes. She could either wank until she eventually collapsed from exhaustion, or she could give in to her body’s true needs and visit Yale’s bedroom.
With an unhappy sigh, she teased the tip of her finger against the trembling lips of her pussy. Once again, she drew slow circles around the pulsing bud of flesh. The touch of the slippery finger brought a sigh from her lips and she bitterly realised it was going to be a long night.
* * *
In the room she shared with Christian, Bernice couldn’t hear Robyn’s screams. If the house had been silent, she would have heard them clearly enough, but Yale and Amelia were making more than enough noise to cover any other sound. A posse of burglars could have ransacked the lower half of Holbert Manor and she knew she wouldn’t have heard the noise above the passionate roars of pleasure from Amelia and Yale. Their voices carried effortlessly through the adjoining wall. The sounds of their lovemaking were like the backbeat of a nuisance neighbour’s intrusive party music. Bernice realised that, like her, Christian was trying fervently to ignore the sounds.
‘How is it now?’ She nodded at his lap.
‘Do you think someone could take the pain away, but leave the swelling?’ he joked gl
ibly.
She passed him a weak smile and glanced at the bottle beside his bed. The cap had been replaced loosely and a chalky residue of spilt calamine lotion had trailed down its brown neck. ‘Are you ready for some more of that?’
‘I can do that myself. You’re employed as Yale’s model, not my nursemaid.’
Smiling, Bernice climbed from her bed. She was naked and she didn’t doubt the sight of her bare body would arouse him but she and Christian had modelled together so often she felt confident and comfortable being near him. Also, after enduring the torture of a night alone in bed in the motor home, she didn’t want to go through the same upset again this evening. She felt sure Christian wouldn’t make her suffer as she had underneath Amelia’s hand.
Placing her bare backside on the mattress close to him, she reached forward and tugged the sheet away from him.
‘Ooh,’ she whispered, studying his cock. ‘It looks very painful.’
‘It is,’ he murmured ruefully.
Reaching for the calamine lotion, Bernice adopted a no-nonsense approach. ‘You need some more of this,’ she told him firmly. Pouring a fistful of the thick cream into her hand, she began to massage the calamine into his length.
Christian groaned. He glanced down and watched as she worked the viscous pink-white fluid against the raging red of his bruised and battered cock. His body trembled. He held his breath and then released it in a long-drawn-out sigh.
Bernice smiled at him, pouring more calamine into her palm. ‘Why is Amelia such a bitch?’ she asked quietly.
‘I guess she needs to be a bitch to be Yale’s principal model,’ Christian replied. ‘And she’s a pussycat compared to Yale’s previous principal model. But Yale needs to have a bitch of one type or another for his paintings.’
‘Couldn’t he just use someone who was pretending to be a bitch?’
She rolled the wet palm of her hand over the purple dome of his cock.
Christian’s reply was broken by a small groan. ‘He says not. He maintains that he’s painting the models, not fantasising about them. He needs to paint a bitch being a bitch, not some woman just pretending. He says that would spoil the truth in his art. Then he rambles on about the dichotomy of truth in art and it all descends into university-level arty-farty bullshit.’
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