Diamond (18 page)

‘I’d have said no,’ he repeated after a pause. ‘You knew that. But you went ahead.’

‘I was doing it for you.’

‘No you weren’t,’ he said, the anger flashing back. ‘You were doing it for
you
. Your ego. Your satisfaction.’

She stared at him, open mouthed, wondering if he had a point.

‘And why not?’ he continued. ‘Because look at you. Look at Lady Muck of Muck Hall, queen of all she surveys, including this poor bastard here.’

‘Jason, no!’

But he spoke over her.

‘I might be
on
your property, but it doesn’t mean I
am
your property. You can’t do what the fuck you like with me and mine, not without my consent, my permission.’

‘I know that now, I’m sorry, please,’ she gabbled, but still he went on.

‘I know I’m only here to keep you happy in bed, and knock a few nails into walls, but you could at least
pretend
to have some respect for me.’

‘But I do.’ She rose from the mattress and stepped towards him, hands out, palms up. ‘Jason, I promise you.’

He held up a hand of his own, establishing distance between them.

‘What is it, Jen? Is it this place? Has it turned you into one of
them
? Made you think you can fuck the workers then sell them out? Is that it?’

She stared in horror.

‘You can’t think that of me. You can’t. I’m one of
you
. I’m a worker.’

‘Maybe you were once.’

‘I still am.’ She shouted it, desperate, wanting to grab him and shake him. ‘Our lives are not a stupid metaphor for Bledburn, so you can shut up with that.’

‘Right,’ he said, breathing hard and fast. ‘Right, I’ll shut up. I’ll clear off out of here. I’ll go somewhere I’m respected, even it turns out to be prison.’

‘No,’ she cried, launching herself at him, in an effort to bodily restrain him from throwing himself to the wolves. She clung to his arms for dear life, refusing to be dislodged. ‘I won’t. You can’t. You can’t go to prison for something you didn’t do. You can’t go.’

She was crying now, the tears falling into her mouth and making her voice quiver and jolt, but she kept it up as forcefully as she could.

‘I do respect you, I won’t go behind your back again, I’m sorry, I won’t. Please stay.’

She saw his eyes close, felt his resistance begin to ebb.

‘Let go of me,’ he whispered.

‘Only if you stay. Only if you stay.’ She kept repeating it until he grabbed her wrists and laid his head on her shoulder.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right. For now.’

They held each other, tight enough to make their ribs
ache, feeling the other’s chest rise and fall, feeling the heat, and the shaking, and the subsiding of rage.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked, once they were calmer.

‘It wasn’t for glory. Please don’t think that. I just thought that the world deserves to see your work.’

He shook his head on her shoulder.

‘The world deserves fuck all from me,’ he said. ‘Sweet FA.’

Jenna didn’t reply, but she understood what was at the heart of his objection and she could only sympathise.

‘Call your mate,’ he said, rocking back and forth now on his heels, taking her with him. ‘Tell her it was a mistake. Tell her to forget it.’

‘I will. I’m sorry.’

It had been too soon; she saw that now. She should have given him a little more time, waited until the legal nightmare was untangled. He would come round.

‘You’re a bit too free with me, Jen,’ he said after a while, loosening his hold enough that he could look her in the eye. ‘I’m not your toy. I think you need to learn that. I think you need to learn a lot of things.’

Jenna bristled at first, hating, as ever, to be told that she was not right and perfect in every way. After all, she’d grown so used to the sycophancy of the TV people in LA. It was a jolt to be seen as less than impeccable.

‘And you’re going to teach me, are you?’ she said, slightly sulkily.

‘Oh, don’t tempt me,’ he said with a hard little laugh. ‘I could have you begging for mercy on this floor in three minutes flat. Don’t think I couldn’t.’

He was infuriating and yet his words inflamed her so much that she felt weak in his arms, ready to take anything
from him.
Prove it
, beat her heart in an excitable tattoo.

‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back.
Mea culpa
. Can we move on from this? Please?’

‘Yeah, because that’d suit you, wouldn’t it?’ he said. Hot breath in her ear. ‘To get away with it.’

Her body was taut, knowing in advance that something was going to happen, preparing its defences. At the same time, her knickers were getting wetter and wetter.

Whatever you want to do, do it
.

‘I don’t want to get away with it,’ she said.

He moved one of his hands down, until it cupped the curve of her buttocks.

‘Good, because you’re not going to.’

He rubbed her skirt up and down, the light silky material rumpling over her bottom. Between her legs, the sensation quickened, causing her to hitch her breath and catch a little sigh.

‘So, what are you going to do about it?’

‘What am I going to do with you?’ His hand rubbed again, fingertips tracing the cleft of her buttocks over the thin material of her dress. ‘I’ll give you three guesses.’

She’d never thought of herself as really kinky, although she’d had a few fantasies of being tied up and used, but the craving she had for him to raise his hand and bring it down hard on her bottom, just then, almost drove her out of her mind.

‘Spank me?’ she whispered, and it happened.

It was so sudden and so loud that she didn’t feel the sting of it for a moment or two – too busy jumping out of her skin. But a handprint of heat soon seared through her and her legs came close to giving way.

‘Ten out of ten,’ he said. ‘Clever girl.’

‘That hurt,’ she said, reaching behind her to tend to her sore spot, but he grabbed hold of her hand and held it tight.

‘It’s supposed to,’ he said. ‘But you can take a little pain, can’t you? Especially when you know you deserve it.’

‘You won’t go too far, will you?’ she asked, wondering how much force he had in him, if what she’d already had was just a taster.

‘I won’t bruise you. Unless you want me to. But I’ll make sure you feel it for a while after. Trust me, babe. I’m an old hand at this.’

‘Are you?’

‘Uh huh. But this isn’t the best position for it. I need to be sitting down.’

She followed him like a lamb as he led her into the kitchen, which contained a row of breakfast bar stools, ranged like chrome sentinels, with little black leather pillbox hats.

He positioned himself on one of them, even his long legs only just able to reach the floor, and slapped his thigh meaningfully.

Jenna, her hand held in his to prevent escape, felt as if she’d entered Looking Glass World. She’d never had a man treat her this way, would never have dreamt that she’d ever find herself in this position. But now she was here, she had to let the drama unfold, and it was more than mere curiosity urging her on. The place where Jason had smacked her felt good: it pulsed with excitement, and the need to feel it again.

She had to fight her natural urge to reject anything that smacked of abasement or humiliation, of course, but Jason knew that, and he tugged her closer then
tumbled her over his thighs so that she didn’t need to continue with that struggle any more. It was done. She was there, bum up, over this horrible, attractive bastard’s lap, and there was nothing at all she could do about it now.

She could kick and flail, but her limbs came nowhere near the floor, and she was obliged to grab on to the metal legs of the stool to maintain balance, otherwise there was a real danger of sliding off his knees. Or, at least, there would have been, if Jason hadn’t put a firm hand in the small of her back, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

‘Keep your legs still or I’ll have to go harder on you,’ he said.

She let her muscles slacken at once and lay, shamefully docile, over her lover’s lap.

The helplessness felt alien to her, and she had to adjust more to that than to the position itself, which was awkward and graceless but sustainable. To know that she could go nowhere, do nothing, without Jason’s permission, gave a feeling in the pit of her stomach that wasn’t quite fear – wasn’t quite outrage – but included both of them. And yet the fear and outrage heightened the secret, shameful pleasure of it. A little nugget, hidden deep inside her, of intense realisation that she had been looking for this without knowing it. She had found it, the thing she had not known she wanted. Did she dare fully admit it to herself? Not yet. For now, she had to sigh and snuffle and complain and pretend that it was an ordeal for her. Even more so since she had the distinct impression that Jason had known she wanted this all along.

How dared he? He could he know her sordid, taboo
little secrets? It was unfair, and it laid her wide open to him.

She concentrated on her beautiful flooring; the polished granite tiles glowing and reflecting the subtle spotlighting. It looked good, even from this angle. Perhaps she’d mention that in her online review. Or perhaps not.

Jason was arranging himself on the stool, shifting into a more comfortable position. Anger seemed to have distilled into something else, judging by the burgeoning lump that made its presence felt beneath her pubis.

The hand on her spine moved to the hollow between her shoulders, while his other rested on her bottom, ready to deal more of what she had already experienced. How many? she wondered. And for how long? And how hard?

For a moment, fear claimed the upper hand in her turmoil of spirit.

‘Are you going to hurt me?’

He patted her bottom.

‘I told you. Nothing you can’t handle. Just enough to show you I mean business. If it gets too much for you, just ask me to stop. I can’t believe you wouldn’t.’

Of course. It was obvious. But Jenna was shocked that this hadn’t even occurred to her. She had swallowed Jason’s authority whole, to the extent that questioning it seemed
verboten
. How had he done this to her, so effortlessly?

Her fear fell like a stone to the lowest reaches of her emotions. Now he was raising the skirt of her dress, revealing her knickers, causing her to squirm a little in his lap.

‘Don’t,’ he said softly. ‘Still.’

He lowered her knickers to her knees. She felt excruciatingly small and humble, reduced to her lowest
status since childhood. She took the feeling and, instead of fighting it, sank into it, letting it seep into her overtired being. How light she felt now, how ready for what was coming to her.

When he laid the first stroke, she gave a sound that was more purr than plaint. Yes, she remembered it right, it had felt
good
. A wake-up call to her skin, to her flesh, to her sex and to that inner kernel of submissiveness she had ignored for all these years.

She knew he was holding back, testing her. The first few slaps were not much more than pats on her bare bottom, but together they joined and spread a festive warmth across her rump.

He paused to stroke her curves.

‘Is that OK?’ he asked, and she realised then that all the power was not with him. He had got her where he wanted her, but he wasn’t going to abuse or overstep her trust. She was safe.

She nodded, then added, ‘Quite nice, actually.’

‘I knew it,’ he said, laying a hard and hearty smack that made her yelp. ‘I knew I was right about you. I’ll stop pussy-footing around then, shall I?’

And he did. She had to hang on to that stool for dear life while he made her bottom scorch and her body flail and her sex melt into a flood of pure need. His palm was hard and his arm had a surprising amount of stamina, considering that it didn’t do much more than hold a paintbrush most days.

But the longer he spanked her, the more she felt she could take. She didn’t mind the sting, didn’t mind the burn – in fact, she found it cathartic. She embraced it, pushing up her bottom for more. It was a good few minutes of
solid smack-smack-smack before she began to struggle and emit breathy little cries. But still she didn’t ask him to stop.

Towards the end, he started to speak to her, in gruff, broken sentences.

‘So-won’t-be-doing that-again, eh? Ask-me-next time.’

Words seem to coincide with strokes.

‘Yes, yes, I will,’ she gasped. ‘Won’t do that again … Owww.’

‘Not so easy, now?’

An ‘Ah’ like the escape of gas was all she could manage.

He stayed his hand and laid it on her hot rounds, rubbing them.

‘Bright red,’ he said. ‘I think the lesson got through, don’t you?’

‘Mm,’ she said meekly.

‘What’s that? Didn’t catch it.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘So,’ he said, his hands heavy on her sore flesh. ‘What was the lesson?’

‘I won’t do anything that concerns you without talking to you first,’ she said.

‘Is that all?’

‘Um?’ She didn’t know what else he wanted her to say.

‘I mean, I think you learned something about yourself, didn’t you?’

His hand slipped slyly between her thighs, much as she tried to clamp them together. Her face, she thought, must be as scarlet as her behind. He had the true measure of her. He knew that the way he treated her turned her on beyond her understanding.

‘I don’t know,’ she whimpered.

He pushed his fingers in between her lips, soaking them.

‘You don’t know?’ he said, dipping and stroking, slow and steady. ‘Oh, I think you do. What happened here?’

‘Ahhh.’ The blessed relief of having her clitoris touched was enough to unstring every nerve.

‘Tell me, Jen. Why are you so wet?’

He took his fingers away.

‘No more until you tell me.’

Oh cruel, so cruel!

‘It got me hot,’ she blabbed.

‘What did?’

‘The … What you did got me hot.’

‘What I did? Sit on a kitchen chair, you mean?’ He let his fingers hover so close to her clit that she could almost feel them – almost. She tried to wriggle closer but he held her just that fraction apart from them.