Beyond Temptation (23 page)

The idea left her sweating with excitement.

An hour later they lay on the floor, side by side, holding one another in a tender embrace. Sheridan could have happily fallen asleep in the woman’s arms and she wondered what sort of change had come over her.

This wasn’t the sort of behaviour she normally enjoyed. The idea of tolerating someone else’s company without thought of profit or benefit ordinarily struck her as inane and pointless. There were more important things to concentrate on and she deliberately reminded herself that she had visited the office for a reason. She moved her mouth close to Gayle’s neck and nuzzled her gently.

‘You seem so close to Harold,’ Gayle said quietly. ‘I had thought you two might be having a relationship.’

Sheridan smiled, incredulous that the woman could be so commanding in some ways and so naïve in others. She shook her head and placed a kiss against the hollow of her throat.

‘Perhaps he’d like to get close, but he’ll never get as close as we just did.’

They laughed softly together and Sheridan found herself becoming mesmerised by the woman. It was a struggle to drag her thoughts away from Gayle, a struggle she didn’t want to win, but she forced her mind back to the real reason that she had visited the office. Trying to sound casual she asked, ‘Do you know if Robyn keeps any paperwork in here?’

She laughed at the stupidity of her own question when she saw Gayle glance at the file-lined shelves around them.

‘Particular paperwork, I mean,’ Sheridan amended. ‘Things like title deeds, papers of property ownership. Things like that.’

‘Do you mean the title deeds for Holbert Manor?’ Gayle asked.

Sheridan tried to keep the triumphant grin from her face but failed miserably. She nodded excitedly, then frowned when Gayle shook her head.

‘Harold came in here this afternoon, saying that he needed those papers.’ Looking conspiratorial, she whispered, ‘I gave them to him about three hours ago. He asked me not to say anything about him taking them. He was being very covert. It was almost like he was going to use them to surprise someone.’

Sheridan opened her mouth but said nothing. All thoughts of intimacy and affection were instantly gone.

‘I think Harold’s going to take the papers down to Holbert Manor when he meets with Robyn tomorrow,’ Gayle continued.

She spoke as though she was oblivious to Sheridan’s mood change.

‘I had thought it was going to be a pleasure trip,’ Gayle went on. ‘He and Robyn do have a couple of differences to reconcile. But I’m beginning to think it might be business if he’s asked you to go with him.’

Sheridan puzzled over the remark. Understanding came to her like pieces of a jigsaw finally fitting into place. Her mind raced to work out the shape of events and how they affected her. If Harold already had the papers then she wondered why he had pretended he couldn’t find them. The answer was so simple she felt like a moron for not realising what was happening.

Harold intended to surprise her with the title deeds. Thinking about what Gayle had said, Sheridan could see that he was going to hand over the deeds as they stood in Holbert Manor.

The romantic old fool, she thought with a familiar twinge of contempt. That really was quite pathetic.

She cursed herself as she remembered the embarrassing scene she had caused in the restaurant. An angry voice at the back of her mind told her she had come close to destroying all hopes of getting Holbert Manor, but she dismissed it. If Harold had the title deeds and had once planned to give them to her, then she knew she would still be able to get them from him. He was particularly prone to her brand of persuasion and, for such a prize, Sheridan was prepared to be very persuasive.

‘Where are you going?’ Gayle asked as Sheridan stood up and began to put her clothes on.

‘I’ve got something important to do.’

‘Would you want to see me again?’ Gayle asked softly.

Sheridan paused before answering. It would only be polite to say yes, and while she didn’t normally indulge in such platitudes, she thought Gayle deserved at least that much. As she contemplated her answer, she realised the woman had excited her immensely as they made love. The idea of seeing her again filled Sheridan with a delicious warmth and she wanted to experience that feeling more and more. Bending down to kiss Gayle, she said, ‘Of course we’ll see one another again.’

At the back of her mind, she wondered if she might not be better starting a new life with Gayle. Manipulating people, using them and then discarding them provided an income. But it made for a depressing and miserable lifestyle, full of animosity, anger and constant disappointment.

What would it be like to simply take pleasure from being with someone and make that person happy? The concept sounded childishly simple but no less appealing for that. Instead of using people to further her own ends she could settle down with Gayle and enjoy the benefits of living a life that came from loving and being loved.

She dismissed the idea as facile. She had come too far to pretend she could simply settle down with someone she found endearing. And while she liked Gayle more than she was willing to admit, Sheridan also liked the plans for revenge that she had made. Perhaps, she thought, there would be a place for Gayle at her side when she became the owner of Holbert Manor.

Excited by the idea, she whistled as she left the office.

‘No, no, no!’ Yale screamed angrily. He hurled his paintbrush across the room with a furious sweep of his arm. The red paint on its bristles sliced a thin strip of blood from one wall before falling blamelessly to the floor.

Amelia sat up on the bed, watching him carefully. She had seen him angry before and the sight always excited her.

‘Piece of shit,’ he roared, punching his fist through the canvas. The taut fabric groaned as his hand went through. The easel moved back and toppled to the floor. Yale kicked it as it fell, sending it sprawling into one corner.

Amelia tensed and brushed careless fingers against her nipple. The gentle caress inspired a sweet thrill of pleasure and she suppressed the smile it evoked. She knew Yale well enough to realise he didn’t appreciate people grinning at him as he raged.

‘Fucking bitch,’ he growled, kicking the canvas that had fallen by his foot. ‘Neurotic, fucking nutter of a bitch.’

Amelia allowed her fingers to snake down over her stomach, through the short hairs above her sex. Her excitement mounted as she moved her fingers lower.

‘You hate it when you can’t get a model, don’t you?’

He fixed her with a contemptuous gaze. ‘You’d noticed?’ Glancing around the room, he looked as though he was searching for some other inanimate object he could attack. The Spartan furnishings and their lack of home comforts left him frustrated.

Amelia drew a deep breath. ‘You might want to release that tension a little,’ she suggested. ‘It can’t be healthy storing up all that fury.’

He glared at her, seeming to notice what she was doing for the first time. She touched her breast with one hand, squeezing the nipple between long fingers. The other hand moved to the lips of her sex and she stroked herself lazily.

‘I fully intend to release my tension,’ he told her. ‘And as soon as you stop wanking yourself and bend over, I can begin.’

Amelia shuddered. She slipped the finger away from her sex and passed it over her lips. The taste of her pussy was refreshing but it wasn’t the most exciting aspect of the moment. The fierce outrage in Yale’s eyes was already causing sparks to erupt in the pit of her stomach.

‘Where’s the cat?’

She tried to look blank at the question. It caused her even more excitement when she had the opportunity to increase his anger. It invariably meant he would punish her harder.

‘A cat? We don’t have a cat. I have an allergy to the horrid little things. They make me sneeze and they bring me out in a bright red rash.’

He slapped the palm of his hand across the cheek of her backside.

‘I’ll bring you out in a bright red rash,’ he threatened. ‘I’m in no mood for games. Get me the fucking cat, and stop trying to worsen my mood. You’re already going to suffer enough.’

Holding her stinging cheek, Amelia jumped from the bed and rushed to their suitcase. She was untroubled by her nudity as she ran, vaguely hoping the sight might excite him. She bent over and rummaged through the badly packed clothes before pulling out the long multi-thonged whip. She wondered if she should ask which of them would be wielding the whip and which of them would be suffering its wrath. Sensing his mood wouldn’t tolerate that degree of levity, she simply held the cat out for him as he glared down at her.

‘You won’t hurt me too badly, will you?’

His cruel smile was chilling. ‘No worse than you want,’ he assured her. ‘And no more than you deserve.’

He snatched the cat from her hand and tested its weight.

The tips sliced the air with a wicked whisper. Amelia caught her breath.

‘Bend over,’ Yale hissed.

She turned her back on him and stood in front of the bed where she had just been modelling. Lowering her head to the mattress she thrust her backside up for his inspection. The stance made her feel peculiarly vulnerable but that sense of disquiet only added to her arousal. He stroked tender fingers against her flesh, stirring a wave of excitement.

‘You have the most beautiful cheeks,’ he muttered. ‘Smooth and round with such soft, unbroken skin.’

She shivered.

‘Let’s see if we can alter that last fact,’ he growled. Without another word, he snatched his hand away and raised the cat-o’-nine-tails. As he brought it down, the silence was rent by the sigh of its wicked tips.

When the ends snapped against her skin Amelia bit air. She was dizzied by heightened arousal. Her head tilted and she breathed deeper, relishing every exquisite explosion as it tore through her. Her buttocks were ablaze and her heartbeat raced with excitement.

‘Sometimes I puzzle over you,’ Yale grumbled.

He lifted the cat again and cracked it against her buttocks. She could feel herself scourged by the cruel tips. The impact was not particularly hard but the bee-sting agony of each bite was almost more than she could tolerate.

Yale seemed oblivious.

‘You dominate the others so mercilessly, yet you allow me to do this to you.’

He brought the whip down again.

Amelia groaned. An impending orgasm welled inside her loins. Her cheeks burnt from the punishment he had administered and she was torn between a need for him to stop and a desire for him to whip her harder.

‘You don’t
just
allow me to do it,’ he corrected himself. ‘You goad me into using the cat on you, and it seems you really enjoy it.’

‘I’d enjoy it better if you did more whipping and less talking.’

He slashed her backside twice more with the cat. Each passionate stroke was harder than the last. He used the instrument so fiercely she felt certain he would leave her bleeding if he continued to strike with so much force. She could already feel a growing wetness between her legs and, while she knew Yale had caused it, she doubted the liquid came from any injury.

‘Don’t try and piss me off with smart-arse remarks like that,’ he told her. ‘I’ve already warned you about that.’

Amelia said nothing as she relished each punishing blow.

‘I was just wondering how you equate it.’ He lashed the whip through the air as he asked the question.

The blow landed against her rear with a formidable crack. The shock of pain made her snatch a breath and squirm with a combination of agony and ecstasy.

‘How come you can torture Christian the way you did yesterday? Or go to sleep listening to the lullaby of Bernice sobbing like you did the other night in the motor home? How can you get off on those things with genuine enjoyment? But you still let me do this to you?’

She looked over her shoulder, trying not to tremble at the combination of pleasure and pain. ‘I can do it because I want to.’ Glancing at the cat, she asked, ‘Are you going to use that on me yet? I felt you tickling my arse a moment ago, but I didn’t think you’d started to whip me yet.’

‘You impudent bitch.’

He raised the cat high.

She grinned at him, aware that she had just provoked him into using more exertion than he had planned. The thought made her smile, and not simply because she was enjoying the discomfort. If he scourged her severely, Amelia knew that he would be a lot more malleable afterwards. More importantly, if she got him to use more force than he had intended, Amelia reasoned that meant she was the one who was truly in control.

‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’ he grunted.

Each word was punctuated by a ferocious blow from the whip.

Amelia was stunned by the impact. The vicious spatter of the cat’s tips sparked anguish in her cheeks. The breath was snatched from her lungs and a glorious cloud of satisfaction enveloped her.

‘Did you feel that?’ His breathing came hard and fast.

‘Just,’ she whispered through gritted teeth.

‘Do you want it harder?’

She swallowed, not trusting herself to reply without shivering. Her head bobbed up and down as she realised that her body was desperate to experience more of his joyous punishment, even though her mind was reluctant to let her be the victim. There was a fantastic dichotomy at work and she didn’t bother trying to understand it. She simply revelled in its mystery.

By the time Yale had hurled the cat to the floor her backside was ablaze. The punishing flames he had kindled licked between her legs and touched the soft, sensitive flesh of her sex. She didn’t know when she had started to moan but the echo of her shrieks still rang from the walls of his makeshift studio. Her throat felt hoarse from her half-hearted cries of protest.

‘Do you still want more?’

She didn’t dare to say yes this time. Consoling herself with the thought that there would be other times, she shook her head.

‘Then I think I know what you do want now,’ he said with a laugh.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him reach for the buckle of his belt and slide it through the loops. For one thrilling moment she felt sure he was going to use that on her. Her imagination, always active, presented her with the picture of Yale slapping the strip of leather against her bruised and burning cheeks. She could almost feel each punishing blow as she pictured the metal tip of the buckle grazing her aching flesh.