Diamond (21 page)

Not today, though. Tomorrow. She cast her eye over the bag on the passenger seat and bit her lip. Whatever was going to happen at home, tonight, came first.

Clutching her paper bag, she ran up the front steps and let herself into the house. It was quiet, and motes of dust danced around in the late afternoon sunshine.

‘Jay?’

No reply. She put her head into the drawing room and the kitchen – the obvious places – then went up to the bedroom they’d been stripping. The walls were now bare plaster and a great pile of paper scraps lay in the centre. Her eye rested on the little message and then she blinked rapidly, trying to expel it.

Jason was not here. He must be painting in the attic.

But the attic was empty too, the great mural paintings surrounding a vacant space.

Jenna told herself not to panic, to breathe normally, to stop assuming the worst. Descending the attic stairs, she called his name again.

When no reply came, she ran in and out of every room, her pace increasingly hectic, her hands increasingly shaky. He was nowhere to be found. Finally, just as she was about
to drop to the kitchen floor and sob, she noticed that the back door was open.

She ran out in the wilderness of garden and found him, sitting on the low wall that bordered the kitchen yard, drinking a can of beer, with his shirt off and Bowyer purring at his side.

‘Jesus,’ she gasped, holding the lintel of the door for support. ‘Thank fuck. Oh, God. Don’t do that to me again.’

‘Do what?’ He squinted at her. She still held the paper bag from the sex shop.

‘I thought you … I thought … Gone. Been taken. Or just gone.’

She doubled over, panting out the remains of her panic.

‘Oh, come here, you daft thing,’ he said, crumpling the beer can and throwing it, with deadly accuracy, into an ancient water butt. ‘I’m not going anywhere, am I?’

She joined him on the wall, subsiding against him, welcoming the reassurance of his arm around her waist, cradling her head on his bare, sun-kissed shoulder.

‘If you’d gone,’ she whispered, ‘I don’t know what I’d have done.’

‘Looked for me, I hope,’ he said. ‘Hush.’ He kissed her hair, pulling her tighter into him. ‘I only came out to look for Bowyer. He hadn’t eaten all day and I was starting to worry.’

‘He seems fine,’ remarked Jenna dryly, observing the dark grey cat stretched out in the sun in a state of blissful laziness.

‘Yeah, he’s just found himself a favourite bush, that’s all. Can’t say I blame him.’

‘Oh, stop it.’

‘It’s a nice day, though. Thought I’d join him, that’s all.
Nobody can see into this back garden and, if they could, well, look around you.’ He sang the opening bars of Guns ’n’ Roses’ ‘Welcome to the Jungle’.

‘It’s a risk, though.’

‘Barely. Better than when I was skip-diving, before you moved in.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What do you think of that?’ He nudged his toe at a paving slab. It had a clump of weedy overgrowth on it that, when pushed aside, revealed a rusty iron ring.

‘Oh! The cellar? Do you think?’

‘Nah. I’ve tried pulling it up but it’s no good. I thought it might be though.’

On impulse, she threw her arms around his neck and made him kiss her. He had no objections to this, and they smooched in the mellowing sunshine, until the paper bag slipped off her lap and on to the flagstones.

‘You haven’t showed me your shopping yet,’ he said, with a sly smile.

‘No, and I’m not getting it out here,’ she retorted. ‘Not in front of that cat.’

Jason laughed. ‘He won’t mind. That cat’s seen stuff’d make his fur curl. I’m surprised it hasn’t.’

‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’

She shuffled off the wall, picked up the paper bag and walked demurely back into the kitchen.

By the time Jason followed, she’d emptied her purchases over the table, where they lay in stark relief on its sleek, stylish lines. Three cheap, garish sex toys, a long way from their natural home.

Jason picked up the flogger first.

‘Purple, nice,’ he said, running the strands through
his fingers, then winding and looping them around a forefinger. ‘Did you have loads to choose from?’

‘Yes. You said suede, though …’

‘Yeah, I think I did. Anything else take your fancy while you were browsing? Any paddles, whips, straps, canes?’

‘
Not
canes,’ she said with an involuntary shake of her head.

‘Oh? Why not canes?’

‘They just look so painful.’

‘That’s kind of the point.’

‘Not for me, it isn’t. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Fair enough.’ He unwound the little thongs and gave the table a sharp, downward stroke.

Jenna found herself pitying the table. The sound of the flogger making contact with the Corian top had been startling and swift and, soft as the suede was, she could imagine it would have hurt on bare skin.

‘This is nowhere near as nasty as the cane,’ he said. ‘It can tickle, too. You’ll see.’

‘I hate tickling.’

‘Ah, see, you shouldn’t have told me that.’ With a devilish grin, he flicked the tails at Jenna’s bare arm. She squeaked and tried to dart out of range, but he grabbed hold of her and began to drape the flogger up and down her back, lifting up her vest to let it feather over her exposed skin.

‘Oh, don’t,’ she protested, squirming and trying to knee him away. ‘It
tickles
.’

There was no way she could get away from him, though. She thought he must have been doing press-ups, or sit-ups, or something when she went out, because his grip was iron and his body felt solid against hers.

‘Wait till you feel it further down,’ he whispered.

‘Nooo,’ she moaned.

‘You will,’ he promised then, to her breathy relief, he put it back down.

The next thing he picked up was the cuffs.

‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘And a blindfold, too. Is that a hint?’

She blushed. ‘Might be.’

‘Taken,’ he said, reaching over and fitting it around her eyes. The velvet dark was instantly disorientating, making her more aware of the soft sounds of the summer evening beyond the kitchen door and the hot male scent of Jason.

‘I think I’m ready for some experiments. Are you?’

He turned her around with a hand on her shoulder, and she heard sounds that made it clear he was putting the rest of the toys back in the bag. Then he guided her towards the hall. She heard the scrunch of the paper bag in his hands and felt the weight of his palm on her, heavier than usual. Was that the blindfold?

‘Do you trust me, Jen?’ he asked gently. She felt the flooring change from granite to wood. They were out of the kitchen, the smell of newness changing quickly to one of age and damp, mixed with polish and the vase of lilies on the side table.

‘I think I can,’ she said. ‘I hope I can.’

‘I’m going to show you. On that nice, new bed of yours.’

‘Ours,’ she corrected without stopping to think.

‘What?’

‘That nice new bed of ours.’

He bent and kissed her ear, stopping by the drawing room door.

‘I didn’t pay for it,’ he said.

‘No, but I think you’re earning your keep.’

He nipped her earlobe.

‘Aren’t I just?’ he said, nudging her through the doorway.

The smell changed again. Less musty, more lived-in, with a hint of her favourite perfume from where she had sprayed it into the air before leaving the house.

Halfway across the room, Jason came to a standstill and turned her around to face him.

‘Arms up,’ he said, placing his hands in her armpits as a prompt.

She raised her hands in immediate surrender and let him lift her vest up and off her, leaving her in bra and jeans.

‘Should’ve got you to buy some of their pervy underwear,’ he said. ‘Nice PVC corset or something. Next time.’

He slid one hand into the small of her back, holding her steady while he used the other to trace the outline of her bra cups, then hold her breasts in his palm, rubbing and kneading them under the padded satin.

‘You were never tempted to get a boob job then?’ he said. ‘These are one hundred per cent real.’

‘No, no. I had Botox, and fillers, and a few bits and bobs but nothing major. Why, do you think I should have had my boobs done?’

‘Fuck, no. Shagged a girl with implants once, was like feeling up a melon. Weird. I like a bit of give.’

‘And a bit of take,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah,’ he said, and she could picture the lascivious smirk on his face. ‘A lot of take.’

He ran his hands over her ribs, her sides, her back and shoulders, then he edged her backwards until her thighs
met the side of the bed and she tumbled into a sitting position.

Then he was unlacing her shoes and pulling off her socks, holding each bare foot and giving it a stroke that came perilously close to a tickle until she curled up her toes and tried to kick him off.

‘Oi, feisty,’ he warned. ‘You need to watch yourself, madam. I’m the one with the whip.’

It was a good point. She twisted her ankles, as if using them to plead and wheedle. He pulled her back to her feet and unbuttoned the waistband of her jeans.

‘What’s in here, then?’ he murmured, pushing his hand down inside.

She held herself as straight as she could, gasping as he delved between her thighs, forcing them apart. His fingers pushed up at the gusset of her knickers, making the cotton rub and bunch inside her pussy lips. She felt like falling backwards, her knees beginning to buckle, but he put a hand on her hip and kept at her, rucking the thin material of the knickers until it was fully inside her lips, a thick strip covering her clit.

‘How many times do you think I’m going to make you come tonight?’ he asked as he worked on her.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, her thoughts reeling away from her.

‘Guess. Go on. How many?’

He pushed the wedge of fabric up and down, making sure the friction against her clit was just enough to be maddening.

‘Three,’ she said at random.

‘Oh, I think I can do better than that. Let’s see, shall we?’

He took his fingers out of her crevice and pushed the jeans over her hips and down to her ankles. Once she had wriggled her feet free, he pulled her into an embrace and stood with her clasped to him, kissing her fiercely with one hand on her bottom, inside her knickers.

Once she was as hot and melty as she could be, he laid her on the bed, kneeling over her, and kissed her from her throat to the elastic of her knickers. On the way, he unclasped her bra and freed her breasts, treating them to a thorough tongue bath. She was twisting this way and that, her back arched, her gusset soaked, every cell of her body begging for more, harder, longer, when he rolled her roughly over and began the business of cuffing.

One velvet restraint was buckled on to her left wrist, then the connecting chain was drawn up and looped around one of the bars in the wrought iron headboard. Her right wrist received the same treatment, leaving her with arms spread out on either side of her head, and her hands quite helpless. She could waggle her fingers a little but, in effect, she was defenceless and bound. Now, she would find out how much she trusted Jason – and how much he deserved her trust.

This could go terribly wrong, and yet she had faith that it would not. Was it faith, or was it sheer excitement, tripping through her veins and sparking on her skin?

‘Oh yeah,’ he crooned, and she felt his knees press her legs together, the denim rough against her bare skin as he straddled her like a cowboy on his mount. ‘My prisoner.’

He put his hands underneath her, coming between her nipples and the bedspread, holding her breasts firmly while he fed hot breath and kisses into her ears and neck. The mattress creaked softly as he rocked back and forth,
pushing his still-covered erection against her bottom until it had made a considerable dent in the cotton, right in the crease of her cheeks.

‘Have you ever done anal?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘No.’

‘Wrong answer,’ he murmured, right into her ear. ‘The right answer was “not yet – but soon”.’

She squirmed, feeling the tension of the cuffs on her wrists, and loving it. She was completely lost to this man, in thrall to the obscene education he was giving her. She wanted to pass all the tests, move on to the advanced level, make him proud.

‘I’ll have your arse,’ he continued, his voice like filthy honey, sending its dirty sweetness way inside her. ‘I’ll make it mine, babe. All mine. You’re all mine.’

He kissed her neck again and sucked it, reminding her of the old days, in back alleys behind tawdry pubs and clubs, with Deano. Those no-holds-barred, hands-all-over-everywhere days. God, they’d been good. How did they end? Why did they end?

He released her breasts and shuffled further down her legs, peeling her knickers off as he moved lower.

‘Are you wet, love?’ he asked, removing them completely. ‘I think you are. Are you?’

‘Mm-hmm,’ she said, feeling the burn of her cheeks, even though they were buried in a pillow.

‘Oh yeah,’ he said, an explorer discovering his promised land – except in Jason’s case the promised land was Jenna’s pussy and the explorer was his fingers. ‘God, dripping. So wet. And you reckon only three?’ He chuckled. ‘We’ll see about that.’

He smacked the backs of her thighs, once each, smartly but not especially hard.

‘Spread ’em,’ he said, in bad imitation of a US cop show.

She parted her legs, trying to imagine what he could see. Everything open and available to him, nothing off limits.

‘OK,’ he said, and she heard the rustle of paper. ‘Because you’re such a bad girl, I’m going to start with …’

She guessed he was going to use the flogger, and clenched her buttocks.

He loomed over her from behind. She could almost feel his shadow.

‘Relax them,’ he said, rubbing her bottom with his palm until she obeyed and let her muscles loosen. ‘I’m not going to beat seven bells out of you, for Christ’s sake. It’s supposed to feel good.’

The first stroke fell, a pleasant little spatter on her skin, not in the least bit painful. It was like being flogged with silk ribbons – the sting was only just detectable with serious concentration. But she knew he’d made it so deliberately, and that it could hurt a lot if he just used his wrist a bit more.