Hearts and Diamonds (16 page)

And it was coming – it was coming faster and faster, threatening to overwhelm her from the inside out.

It was so close, it was
there
. . . And then it wasn’t.

Jason removed his hands and his mouth and gave her one loud smack on her rump, waiting for her moan of protest to end before saying, ‘Thought I’d make it that easy for you, did you? I don’t think so, sweetheart. I want to get every penny of value out of your new gear.’

The next thing Jenna knew, Jason was lying with his head between her legs, looking up into the soaked strip of silk. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing her in, but he didn’t touch her. All he did was let out his breath slowly, so that it fanned her pussy lips and clit, all of which would have begged for his attention if only they could.

She made a sobbing sound, hoping it would make him take pity, but he didn’t.

‘Keep still,’ he said, when she tried to lower herself towards his face.

She huffed and tried again, but her reward was another sound smack to her bottom, so she decided to do as she was told.

‘Please,’ she whispered instead.

Another slow, warm breath circulated around her private parts.

Jason’s arms came up underneath her, his hands finding her nipples once more. He pattered his fingertips lightly on their swollen tips, then stroked, keeping up his slow, concentrated breathing between her thighs. It was so slight and yet so horribly arousing that she bucked again. Mistake. He left her nipples and brought his open palm down on her bottom again and again, six hard spanks this time.

‘Keep. Still,’ he said, accompanying the order with two more percussive slaps.

‘How long?’ she wailed.

‘How long what? How long is a piece of string?’

‘Nooo. How long do I have to wait for . . .?’

‘For this?’ He put his hands on her hips and lifted his face quickly to her lower lips, pushing his tongue inside her knickers for a deep, full stroke of her clitoris.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, whimpering with disappointment when he dropped his head back down to the bed.

‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. I like you like this, all quivery and wet and desperate and tied up. Oh! I know.’

He shuffled himself quickly off the bed, to Jenna’s considerable anguish. She couldn’t see what he was doing, her cheek pressed to the duvet, but she could hear the rustle of bags and tissue paper and she thought he must be getting the other underwear set out, for some reason. Or . . . oh no. The
other
thing.

‘Time for some artwork,’ he crowed.

‘Not too hard,’ she said hurriedly.

‘Oh, not in the mood?’ He paused, putting a hand on her bottom with what seemed to her like hesitation.

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she said. ‘Just . . . not too hard. That’s all.’

‘I want to see the picture it makes.’

‘So do I. Hard enough for that, then. But my skin feels sensitive and I’m not sure how much I can take.’

‘That’s OK, babe. Just let me know when enough’s enough.’

‘I will.’

Perhaps this exchange affected Jason’s confidence because the first stroke was a mere whisper, a sweet little brush that didn’t even snap.

‘Oh, it tickles,’ she said, wriggling so she strained in her ribbon tethers.

‘I think I’d have to do it harder,’ he said apologetically. ‘To make a mark.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said, suddenly brave. ‘Go for it.’

This was followed by a much more jarring blow, causing her to lurch forward and suck in a breath.

‘You did say,’ reproached Jason. ‘Are you OK? Ooh, that looks good.’

‘Is it pretty?’ she gasped.

‘Really pretty. If I can do a few more, I’ll let you look at it in the mirror after.’

‘Deal.’

She braced herself and breathed through the succeeding strokes, easing herself into the headspace that allowed her to accept them without rancour. Yes, now this was feeling good, the slow burn building between her already throbbing pussy lips.

Another seven or eight smacks of the strap ensued before Jason laid it aside and went to stand further behind her, a connoisseur admiring a masterwork.

‘Really nice,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to meet this bloke. I’m going to work on my design tonight.’

‘Can I . . .?’

‘Yeah. Hold on.’

He came around to untie her and took her over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. Over her shoulder, she saw a lacy pattern on her buttocks, bright red and creamy white, a kinky tattoo.

‘It really works,’ she said with some surprise.

‘It’s good, isn’t it? You have to be dead careful where the strap lands though. Need a good eye.’

‘Well, you’ve got that, haven’t you, da Vinci?’

He smiled at her reflection, revelling in the compliment.

‘OK, enough of the artistry,’ he said. ‘Back to basics. Get back on that bed, as you were, and spread those legs. You’re in for it now.’

And she was. She took everything he had to give her, tightening her muscles around his thick, thrusting length. She imagined his eyes on her patterned rear, gorging on his handiwork. He ran his thumbs over her bottom cheeks, exploring their texture and heat, the sensation adding to everything else that rioted inside her.

It was a hot, hard coupling, ramming her towards the wrought-iron headboard, exercising every muscle she possessed and a few that were still in development. He made her come twice before he was ready to unload, by which time her knees had given way and he was having to keep her upright on all fours with an arm beneath her ribs. She floundered like a rag doll, helpless to do anything but take what she was given.

Afterwards, they lay in salty languor, on damp sheets. Jenna’s thoughts were half-formed, little scraps floating by like the spots before her eyes.

‘I’d go there again,’ said Jason. ‘That shop, I mean.’

Jenna laughed an exhausted laugh.

‘I think what just happened constitutes a rave review,’ she said.

‘London’s all right, really, isn’t it? It’s not like I expected it to be.’

‘No? And what was that?’

‘I dunno. Like you see in films. Red buses and those soldiers in furry hats and that. It’s more like a real place, though, but bigger.’

‘You really are a Bledburn boy, aren’t you?’

‘Through and through. Never had any choice in the matter. But I’m starting to see that there’s a hell of a lot more to see and do.’

‘There certainly is. And your talent will take you wherever you want to go.’

He paused, staring up at the ceiling with depthless dark eyes.

‘It’s not just my talent, though, is it?’ he said. ‘I’ve always had that. It’s you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My talent never got me anywhere until you came along. It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, don’t think that, but it doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem right that you can’t get anywhere on what you’ve got unless some person with a big list of contacts notices you.’

‘Well, I see what you’re saying, but it’s the way of the world. There are lots of good artists out there, but we need filters, or we’d be overwhelmed with them.’

‘But there are probably loads and loads of people just as good as me who’ll never even make it this far. It just doesn’t seem right,’ he repeated.

‘I do get that, Jason,’ she said after a while. ‘And perhaps, once your name is made, you can do something to help those people. But until then, we have to work on getting
you
to the top of the pile.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘Where you belong,’ she whispered.

He sat up, suddenly enthused. ‘That’s what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘If I get famous and all that. I’ll set something up to find kids like I was, from dead end towns, heading into dead end lives. Catch them before it all goes to shit, like it so nearly did with me.’

Jenna struggled up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.

‘You’re a good man, Jason Watson,’ she said. ‘And I love you.’

‘It’s mutual, babe. Anyway, where’s that diary? I’ve got a feeling it’s about to get to the dirty bit.’

‘There isn’t going to be a dirty bit,’ said Jenna with a peal of laughter. ‘It’s written by a Miss Prim and Proper Victorian governess, you idiot. She may allude to some “slight discomfort” on her wedding night or something, but that’s as far as it’ll go.’

‘Don’t be so sure. She seems like a bit of a goer to me.’

Jenna shook her head, but she tottered on shaky legs to the drawer that held the diary and brought it back for a spot of bedtime reading.

February 21st

A month has passed since Lord Harville proposed to me, and I must apologise most profusely for being so errant in maintaining this journal, but there has been so much to do, to say, dear Lord, so much to think! Too much for me at times, I swear.

I try my best to continue to regard my altered status as exceptional good fortune but, alas, on some days it does not strike me that way.

What girl is luckier than I? I have caught a rich and titled man. Many women of much better birth and station do not do half as well. He is a little older than I, but certainly a fine figure of a man and many would consider him handsome.

Am I one of those many? Yes, I think I am. I do feel a great access of sentiment when he turns his eyes upon me, and in those glances I can forget all the difficulties that pertain to our attachment.

Yes, there are many difficulties. We announced our engagement and set a date for the wedding of March 10th, but very few congratulations have been spoken.

Even my parents recoiled at the news, assuming straight away that I had allowed him to seduce me and was now in a shameful condition. In vain have I tried to convince them otherwise – I suppose I can only wait until time proves my cause.

The family of his first wife have refused their invitation to attend the wedding – imagine having no wish to meet the woman who will be mother to their own grandchildren! It is quite unnatural!

The servants seem to have made the same assumption as my parents, for none will talk to me, though perhaps it is jealousy that fuels their animosity.

Worst of all, though, are the girls. Maria and Susannah have been little beasts since they found out. They refuse to attend to their lessons and they whisper among themselves without cease, even as I try to teach them.

A few days of this broke my will to remain calm and I lost my temper with them, telling them in no uncertain terms that the marriage would go ahead with their approval or without it.

Maria spoke to me then directly for the first time since the announcement.

‘We think you are a witch, and you have Papa under your wicked spell. Release him or we will tell the police and have you burnt at the stake.’

I laughed, not from mirth but incredulity at their ignorance.

‘You goose,’ I said. ‘Nobody is burnt at the stake any more and nobody believes in witches. We live in an age of enlightenment and science.’

‘People like you have duped the world,’ said Maria. ‘But we are wise to your scheme. You mean to marry Papa and have some brat of a boy to take our inheritance from us.’

When I told Lord Harville of her words, he railed against them so fiercely that I feared for the girls.

He warned them that they must knuckle down and accept me as their new mother, or he would disinherit them both entirely and send them away to earn their own livings. What a threat to make to such young girls! But he would not be moved.

It certainly ended the accusations of witchcraft, although their demeanour remains sullen and hostile.

What is to be done? I only wish to befriend them but they turn their faces from me with every advance. I try to take their part with their father, but he says only that they must learn obedience and he will not indulge such behaviour.

I made bold to ask him if he loved them, and he was angry with me then – as angry as I have ever seen him.

I knew then that I love him truly, for the thought that all might be done with between us was more than I could bear. And he is so affectionate, so youthful, when we are alone. He even carved our initials on a tree trunk in the wooded part of the garden.

Jenna looked up at Jason. ‘I saw them,’ she said, catching her breath with excitement. ‘I saw their initials.’

‘In the garden? Go on. I’m still waiting for the dirty bit.’

‘I’m waiting for Lord Harville to stop being such a bastard to his children.’

‘You’ll be waiting a long time, I reckon.’

Jenna sighed, feeling that he was right.

‘He’s a stereotypical Victorian patriarch all right. Anyway. Back to the romantic gestures.’

‘I wear a sovereign that he gave me on a ribbon around my neck.
’

‘I saw that too,’ cried Jenna. ‘I found it, by that tree. No ribbon, but there was a hole in the sovereign that it could have gone through. Oh my goodness. What an amazing thing.’

‘Might be worth a bob or two,’ said Jason.

‘I’m thinking more of the historical value. Perhaps I should give it to Lawrence Harville, as a family heirloom or something.’

‘You must be joking. You don’t go near that bastard ever again, do you hear me?’

‘I don’t want to,’ said Jenna. ‘I’d give it to his solicitor or something. I just feel that it probably ought to stay in the family.’

‘We don’t know that she
is
family yet,’ objected Jason. ‘They haven’t got married. No kids.’

Jenna took the hint and read on.

‘I despair of ever winning the girls round. It seems all I have to look forward to is their bare toleration of me and nothing more. It breaks my heart to think of it, for we could be such dear friends if they would only relent.’

‘Can’t really blame them,’ said Jason. ‘They’ve only known the woman five minutes. Why’s Harville in such a hurry?’

‘I imagine he wants a male heir,’ said Jenna dryly. ‘They were mad for them back then. You’d think Frances would cotton on.’

‘Too blinded by it all, I suppose. It does blow your mind a bit when somebody so far above you takes notice of you. I should know.’