Behind the Green Curtain (31 page)

Chapter 47

Caton was painfully aware of each
passing minute, not just of their time alone together, but of time in general.
Every clock in the cabin grabbed her attention and held it, a mocking reminder
that her tenure with Amelia was rapidly coming to a close.

They had left the cabin only once
to go to a diner in a nearby town, where the pie was nearly as good as Amelia’s
salivating description. With their idle mornings and afternoons in bed that
stretched into evenings, the minutes should have slowly ticked by, but the
hours had passed in a whirlwind. Caton watched the last of them burn down in
the fireplace, flames leaping and crackling, and despite the distance, swore
she could feel them licking at her skin, just waiting to burn.

“Something wrong?” Amelia asked,
hand trailing Caton’s shoulder as she curved around the arm of the sofa,
eliciting a visceral response Caton wished could be tempered through will
alone.

“No,” she lied, not sure whether
she was sparing Amelia or herself.

“Tired?” Amelia asked, folding one
knee beneath her as she settled next to Caton on the sofa.

“A little.”

“We should start back early. It’s
supposed to snow,” Amelia replied, and she sounded distant, even as her arm
stretched across the back of the sofa, fingers toying with Caton’s hair where
it rested against her shoulder, a tenuous connection broken easily when Caton
nodded her response.

Caton tried to remember why there
was good reason in that, why they had to go back. Though there were many that
should have been convincing, in the end it was only the fact that, while the
cabin may have felt more like Amelia’s, it was legally Jack’s that forced
Caton’s concession. Given the option, she might have chosen to stow away with
Amelia for the rest of her life.

False smile flashing briefly before
she gave up the act, Caton rolled toward Amelia, fingers stroking along a
sculpted jawline as their lips met. With gentle pressure on the back of her
head, Amelia drew her closer, taking over, as she so often did, much to Caton’s
surprising pleasure. From the beginning, before Caton even understood what the
hell was happening between them, Amelia always seemed so certain in what she
wanted, and there were times when it felt as if Amelia’s conviction was all
they really had.

“Let’s go to bed,” Amelia
whispered, rising to push the glass doors closed in front of the fire before
Caton could deny her. Turning back as Caton made it to her feet, Amelia’s gaze
was withdrawn, obscured by thoughts Caton couldn’t read.

When Amelia took her hand, though,
to lead her down the hallway, Caton put one foot in front of the other,
following where Amelia led with full awareness, until Amelia flipped the switch
to turn the light off, sending them into temporary blindness.

Hand grasping tighter to Amelia’s,
Caton extended the other until her fingertips brushed the wall, assuring her
the world remained unchanged around them, whether she wanted it to or not.

The firelight from the living room
flicked after them, relenting at the bedroom door, and, feeling the doorframe
against her palm, Caton let go of the last vestiges of solidity and let Amelia
lead her into the pitch, air puckering her skin as Amelia turned suddenly to
yank her shirt over her head without warning and drop it somewhere in the
darkness.

It was by feel alone that they sent
the rest of their clothing to the floor and climbed into the slight chill of
the oversized bed. Reaching out for Amelia in the darkness, Caton sighed
against the warm lips that found her own, arching closer to the body that
sought hers, sinking into their combined warmth. Thigh settling between
Amelia’s, Amelia’s ankle wrapped encouragingly around her calf, fingernails
scratching down Caton’s back as she moved against her, digging in until Caton
felt welts rise in their wake, not wholly painful, but entirely possessive, as
if Amelia knew it was all slipping through her hands.

Each kiss a beat too long, the
darkness heavy around them, Caton felt faint as she pulled back to feel
Amelia’s broken breaths against her cheek. Eyes finally adjusting, she could
see Amelia beneath her, but only just, like a mirage or a ghost, and couldn’t
decide how much was real and how much was recent memory, seared forever on her
consciousness.

Closing her eyes, Caton gave in to
the pull of Amelia’s body, lips drawn to intimately familiar places, the dip
below Amelia’s sternum, the hard line of her collarbone, the yielding hollow
above. Further up, Caton’s teeth sank into Amelia’s shoulder, mouth pulling at
tender flesh until it grew hot against her tongue and Amelia canted up from the
bed, hands scrabbling at Caton in pain or need.

Relinquishing the spot, Caton edged
downward, until Amelia halted her progress, hands on either side of Caton’s
face urging her back up. Lips crushing together, it turned into a contest until
Amelia suddenly wrenched away, cheek brushing against Caton’s as ragged breaths
fell over Caton’s ear. “Touch me now,” Amelia demanded. Or pleaded. From her
mouth, the two so often sounded alike.

“I am touching you,” Caton made the
effort to tease, to prolong, but her hand obeyed instantly, a restrained moan
leaking past her lips at how accessible she found Amelia, at how Amelia bucked
against her, flesh so hot it burned Caton’s skin. Over the last few days of her
life, Caton had taken every opportunity to explore Amelia’s body at her
leisure, had found every secret Amelia’s bones and muscles and skin could
possibly hold, but nothing had proven more gratifying than the moments when
Amelia simply wouldn’t wait.

Arching into her touch, Amelia let
out a relieved sigh as it moved inside her and lay back against the pillows,
her covetous embrace dragging Caton down with her. Fingertips grazing Caton’s
jaw to clutch at her neck, Amelia tugged Caton’s mouth to hers, body grasping
at Caton’s hand, beckoning her deeper.

Retreat met with a whimper, Caton
smiled against Amelia’s pouting lips as she increased the touch, hand sinking
surprisingly effortlessly into Amelia’s warmth.

“Caton,” Amelia breathed, and there
was no mistaking it was plea. Nor denying the exquisite throe of pleasure that
rippled from where Amelia’s lips brushed hers to the soles of Caton’s feet.
From the beginning, Amelia seemed so certain in what she wanted, and had hardly
been shy about it, but Caton still craved the reminders that there were times
when she was the thing Amelia wanted the most.

Retreating again, Caton gave Amelia
more, deeper, watching Amelia’s head tilt back against the pillow, a series of
gasps and senseless babble pouring from her lips that Caton drank in like
nectar on the air.

Amelia’s arms slackening around
her, Caton’s lips were free to trail down the column of Amelia’s throat, to
taste the sheen of sweat beading on Amelia’s chest, to pull a firm nipple into
her mouth, causing Amelia’s body to jerk beneath her, as if the extra sensation
might wrench her apart.

Lingering, then moving on, Amelia’s
hands alternately clutching and resting against her shoulders, Caton
rediscovered every small scar, every ridge of Amelia’s ribs, the toned stomach
muscles strained taut in exertion, and Amelia’s belly button, which was of
infinite interest to her.

She knew she needed to indulge, to
memorize, to savor every fleeting moment that remained, but Amelia’s leg
crooked beside her, heel digging into the mattress at Caton’s side, and her
hand buried itself in Caton’s hair as climax overtook her. Forever, it seemed
to shudder violently through Amelia’s body, then ended far too quickly. Resting
her head against Amelia’s hip, Caton felt the final pulses clutch at her hand,
before Amelia was pulling at her, drawing her upward, and she was forced to
extricate herself, despite the gentle resistance that tempted her to stay.

Amelia’s breathing came rough and
uneven, as she pulled Caton’s lips to hers, last strong breaths sacrificed to
the kiss. Finally fully depleted, Amelia let her head fall back again, eyes
slowly opening, and Caton swallowed thickly at the intent gleaming against the
darkness. Touch coming from nowhere, and everywhere, Amelia’s fingers thrust
into her without warning, and Caton caught herself on the mattress, hands
sliding against the sheet on either side of Amelia, a quiet curse leaking from
her lips as her eyes fell closed. Pressing them open again, she watched the
satisfaction stretch across Amelia’s face.

Hand firm against her shoulder,
Amelia pushed her up, and Caton sat shakily back onto her knees, the warmth
radiating off Amelia’s thigh heightening the feel of Amelia’s fingers driving
deeper. The blankets shook free from her shoulders, exposing them both, but
meeting each thrust of Amelia’s hand, Caton felt no cold.

At the brush of Amelia’s thumb
against her clit, she was set free. Hands clutching at the pile of blankets
behind her, she arched into the ecstasy, Amelia’s fingers sinking deeper into
her, her free hand alighting on Caton’s chest to stroke down her skin,
fingertips brushing against a willing nipple, sending new shockwaves after the
old, until it felt like there was nothing left to expel, as if she had been
utterly and expertly picked clean.

Weakness chasing euphoria, Caton
dropped forward, landing at Amelia’s side, bodies just touching. Using her last
surge of energy to press her lips to the perfect curve of Amelia’s shoulder,
she let her head fall to the pillow as Amelia situated the covers back around
them, clutching Amelia’s hand when it reached out for her in the darkness.

~ ~ ~

It was muted footsteps on the
hardwood floor that pulled Caton from sleep in the middle of the night.
Blinking into awareness, she watched Amelia’s graceful silhouette vanish
through the doorway, knowing Amelia had tried and failed not to wake her.
Distantly, a phone hummed and ceased, and Caton closed her eyes, dozing in the
resumed silence.

Waking again, the bedroom felt
colder. She didn’t how long Amelia had been gone, but it felt like too long.
Rolling to the edge of the bed, Caton reached in vain for her clothes on the
floor, finally giving up the pursuit and pulling the quilt around her.

Halfway down the hall, she picked
up on the quiet sounds, following them to the living room, where the fireplace
doors once again stood open. Soft light dancing against the fabric of her silk
robe where she stood before the flames, Amelia held a small stack of papers to
the fire, letting the edges ignite before dropping them atop the faux logs.
Watching the pages crinkle into ash, the relief Caton felt at finding Amelia
turned to nausea, despite not knowing exactly what she was seeing.

Turning to grab more papers from
the pile on the sofa, Amelia jumped at Caton’s unexpected presence. “I didn’t
mean to wake you,” she said quietly, hand going to her heart. She looked lost
for a moment, as if she couldn’t remember where she was, before remembering the
slightly larger stack of papers in her hand and turning back to the fireplace,
the flames inside rising dangerously high as Amelia sent them to a fiery end.

“What are you doing?” Caton asked,
the smoke on the air seeping into her voice.

“Destroying evidence, I imagine,”
Amelia responded, her tone as nonchalant as her actions, as, rotating back to
the sofa, she plucked more papers from the pile.

“What?” Caton questioned
disbelievingly, drifting forward to look at the pile at Amelia’s back, even as
Amelia sacrificed the papers in her hand to the blazing fire.

“Jack said to empty the drawers in
the desk and burn everything,” Amelia answered. “I don’t know why else he would
tell me to do that.”

“Well, what the hell are they?”
Caton found her emotion, looking to the pile again. Numbers and text trailing
across the pages, there was nothing instantly identifiable, explicitly
incriminating.

“I don’t know,” Amelia replied,
reaching back again.

Fetch and destroy. Fetch and
destroy. Amelia was a disassembly line of one, dismantling the faulty goods
someone else had built.

“So, you’re just doing it?” Caton
questioned, staring at the side of Amelia’s face, scarcely recognizing her.

“Jack told me to,” Amelia stated,
the subservient response sending a chill down Caton’s spine. Of all the excuses
Amelia might have given, Jack’s word as law was the last she expected to ever
hear from her.

The papers in Amelia’s hands
floating into the fire, she turned again.

“Stop!” Caton shouted, rushing
forward to grab the stack from Amelia’s hands, hearing the papers rip between
them. Amelia was barely surprised at the attack. She barely reacted at all.
“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” she
returned, face finally showing a trace of confusion, as if Caton’s actions were
the ones that should be questioned.

Disturbed laughter rising in her
throat, Caton looked harder at Amelia, trying to see the woman she knew, or
even the woman Amelia had pretended to be before she knew who she really was,
beneath the stranger who stood before her.

“Jack asks you to go to an event so
he doesn’t have to, he tells his friends to send you their problems, he treats
you like you’re his secretary, and now he calls you in the middle of the night
and tells you to burn papers, and you just do it?” She didn’t realize how much
Amelia’s total compliance with Jack’s demands bothered her until the words were
flowing without censorship, and, for a moment, Caton was sure Amelia felt
something, if only a trace. It flashed in her eyes, instant and brief. Then the
curtain fell once more, hiding the Amelia she knew behind the one she would
never know.

“I have to,” Amelia responded far
too calmly, rotating back to the fire like some perfectly-aligned gear in a
machine.

Papers in her hands tossed back
toward the sofa, Caton grasped the silk at Amelia’s chest, jerking Amelia
around to look at her, eyes searching desperately for a flicker of anything
other than apathy. “Jesus Christ, Amelia,” she sputtered. “Listen to yourself.
You are a fucking slave!”