Behind the Green Curtain (10 page)

For a moment, Amelia simply existed
there, where there were no rules, no expectations, no duties she had to return
to fulfill. Fleetingly, she wondered if Caton could tell she was no expert,
that the single time she had done this before was so long ago it was from
another life altogether.

Knowing more time had to have
passed than it seemed, Amelia at last gave in to the inevitable, settling back
on her heels and looking up as Caton’s eyes opened. She let the dress fall back
into place, grabbing the edge of the desk on either side of Caton to pull
herself up, fabric warm and soft against her legs as she reached for her wine
glass and lifted it to her lips.

On shaky arms, Caton pushed herself
up, sliding off the edge of the desk, and Amelia didn’t move as their bodies
lightly brushed. When Caton’s hand slid over her hip, pulling her closer,
Amelia allowed it, the intimate press of their bodies, for only a moment.

“I have to get back,” she said,
watching disappointment flash and turn quickly to resignation on Caton’s face.

It was almost enough to change
Amelia’s mind, to make her step closer to Caton instead of away, but Caton
released her immediately, as if she expected nothing more, so without further
explanation to herself or to Caton, Amelia moved for the door before she lost
her will.

“Could I have my panties?” Caton
asked as she turned the lock.

Glancing back, Amelia watched Caton
uselessly attempt to brush the wrinkles out of her dress, before glancing down
into her hand. Surprised to find Caton’s panties clutched in her fingers,
picked up from the floor and carried off with her like some kind of trophy, she
realized there would have been no explaining it away if she had walked back
into the dinner party with Caton’s panties firmly in hand. Not that she would
attempt to go back without a few touch-ups. If there was anything Amelia knew
about the crowd in her dining room, it was that they were trained to look for
imperfections.

Almost smiling at the realization
of what she had done, Amelia glanced to Caton again. “No,” she replied, thumb
stroking over soft cotton as she walked out the door

Chapter 19

Slipping out of the house while
Amelia returned to the dining room, and the holiday festivities within, felt
much like Caton suspected it would feel to escape through a window while a
lover distracted her unexpected spouse in the living room. Amelia’s spouse had
been present the entire time, though, a fact conveniently ignored by Caton’s
desperate mind in its quest for exactly what Amelia had given her.

Caton didn’t know what the hell to
call whatever it was she was doing with Amelia, aside from disconcerting and
invasive, but she was actually starting to understand, much to her repugnance,
the rules by which they were playing. Even when Amelia changed them without
warning.

It was a symptom of insanity, she
acknowledged, accepting such a pivotal role in her own downfall. Whatever
Amelia was trying to do, Caton was a willing accomplice, and she knew she would
continue to be willing the moment she walked into the kitchen Monday morning to
find Amelia standing behind the counter, juice from a mango dripping from her
fingers as she looked up with a rather proud smile. Averting her eyes, Caton
wondered when exactly she’d become that easy to turn on.

“Good morning.” She aimed the words
at Sole, who moved about behind Amelia doing her own morning’s work.

“Good morning.” Sole stopped to
smile at her. “How was your drive?”

“Not that bad,” Caton responded,
glancing out the window toward the falling snow. White and sparkling against
the sky, she wondered if it could somehow purify her thoughts.

“Do you want some coffee?” Sole
asked.

Eyes flicking back into the
kitchen, they caught again on Amelia. The grin had faded from Amelia’s lips,
but Caton could still see subtle traces as Amelia carefully observed her. “No.”
She struggled to draw breath. “I’m going to head upstairs.”

Ducking back through the doorway,
she paused on the other side, legs oddly numb. Nothing had changed, she tried
to remind herself. Amelia would continue to be exactly as Amelia had been.
Seeing her standing there, though, looking unusually natural with her hair
pulled back and the morning light streaming in through the window, Caton had a
momentary lapse. Despite how well she was adapting to the rules, and how
adamant she knew Amelia would be in their enforcement, for a split second, she
wanted nothing more than to lunge across the counter and invent a few of her
own.

When she finally made it up the
stairs, Caton settled at her desk and waited for work to come. When it didn’t,
she spent the morning staring into space, head too full to do anything else.
She saw Amelia pass the door on her way upstairs and again, fully-dressed, on
her way back down. Amelia never stopped, though, and by the time lunch came,
Caton was almost afraid to leave her office.

At last giving into her body’s needs,
despite the fact that it was that very thing that had caused her plight in the
first place, she passed Amelia’s empty office on her way downstairs, and found
Sole alone in the kitchen. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sole returned. “Are you all
right?”

“Yeah,” Caton responded, frowning
slightly at the notion that her precarious emotional state was clearly on
display, and glanced over her shoulder as she walked up to the bar.

“She’s not here.” Sole picked up on
the gesture, and Caton realized it was her own fault if Sole could see
everything. She wasn’t exactly being subtle. Relief and disappointment warring
within her, she turned sheepishly back to Sole.

“Pumpkin bisque?” Sole offered.

“Please,” Caton said, more grateful
for the change of subject than the free food.

Dishing out two bowls, Sole brought
them to the bar and settled on the stool next to Caton. Half of the time spent
sipping bisque, they spent the other half talking about nothing of consequence,
and Caton tried not to consider how long Amelia might stay gone this time.

~ ~ ~

Much to her surprise, it was only
late afternoon when Amelia returned to the palace. Regardless of her attempts
to think about other things, Caton had spent the entire day with one eye on the
clock before she finally heard Amelia’s footsteps on the stairs, followed by
the familiar sounds of her moving around in her office. Amelia took her time in
making her presence officially known, alighting in the doorway in pressed
slacks and a fitted button-up just as it was time for Caton to go home.

“Come into my office for a minute.”
Amelia tilted her head in that direction, not waiting for Caton’s response
before walking off again, seeming to know without doubt that Caton would
follow. It was like being called into the office in a wealthy school district
where the extremely hot principal could afford to drop a year’s salary on her
wardrobe.

Trying to ground herself before
following, Caton realized that was impossible. She knew the rules, and the
first rule was that she never knew what was coming next.

Inside the door of Amelia’s office,
Amelia waited to press the door closed at Caton’s back. She gestured to one of
the chairs, returned perfectly to its position since their last encounter, and
Caton took the seat offered her, accepting the fact that things went more
smoothly in her life when she did as Amelia requested.

The rewards were greater too.

Hovering at the side of her desk,
fingertips clutched on the edge, Amelia looked strangely ill at ease, and Caton
rolled her shoulders, feeling the conversation they were about to have was
going to be a decidedly uncomfortable one.

“How are you?” Amelia finally
asked, the socially-courteous question entirely unexpected.

“How am I?” Caton returned as if
was the most bizarre thing she’d ever been asked. Coming from Amelia’s mouth,
it may very well have been.

Sighing, Amelia seemed to know the
question was ridiculous, and her aberrant unease made instant sense. With all
Caton had witnessed the other woman excel in, genuine conversation wasn’t one
of them.

“I’m fine,” she responded. The last
thing she needed or wanted was to give Amelia insight into what she was
thinking, and, without her help, Amelia didn’t seem to know where to go next.

Eyes trailing over Caton, she gave
up the effort of coming up with something else to say, making a sudden
approach, and Caton felt every nerve-ending fire in anticipation as Amelia
curved out of sight behind her. Hands landing upon her shoulders, her body
responded a dozen ways at once as Amelia’s fingers started gently kneading the
flesh at her neck, finally relaxing into the touch when she determined it meant
her no harm.

This made it easier for Amelia,
Caton realized, knowing she was in control, that she had the power to bewitch
in her fingertips, and that Caton was helpless to resist it.

“Thank you for taking care of
everything,” Amelia said in a hushed voice that added to the quiet more than
disturbed it. “Jack wasn’t completely thrilled, but I thought it turned out
well.”

“I’m sorry,” Caton responded, only
half conscious of why she was saying it. Thumbs stroking up the muscles in her
back, they slid to the base of her neck, edging inside the fabric of her shirt
to meet bare skin, and she was only half conscious of anything beyond Amelia’s
touch.

“I'm not asking you to apologize.”
Amelia’s voice surrounded her. “You did nothing wrong. This is what Jack does.
He demands and he complains. Personally, I thought you made some interesting
choices.”

“That doesn’t sound positive,”
Caton replied, shakily exhaling as one of Amelia’s hands slipped over her
shoulder, smoothing along her clavicle before dipping beneath the fabric of her
shirt.

“It is,” Amelia replied quietly. “I
like people who think differently than I do.”

Caton wasn’t sure if it was a
compliment or a challenge, and found it difficult to care. She was far more
concerned with the way Amelia’s voice kept catching over her responses, panting
breaths falling between the words.

“Stand up,” Amelia said, the
breathless whisper right at Caton’s ear, and the air fled Caton’s lungs in a
rush.

Following the command without
delay, Caton arched into Amelia’s hands as they moved down either side of her
back, until one hand fell away and the sound of the chair being tossed aside
filled the office. Amelia’s other hand propelled her forward with enough force
that Caton had to catch herself on the desk, sending a pile of papers to the
floor, but Amelia showed no concern for the mess they were making.

Foot wedging between Caton’s, she
nudged Caton’s legs apart, and Caton pressed back as the heat of Amelia’s thigh
slid between her own. Hands skating around Caton’s sides to slip beneath the
hem of her shirt, they exposed Caton to the room’s chill for only an instant,
before those hands warmed the skin they uncovered. Caton’s muscles clenched at
the thought of where Amelia’s touch would move next as her hands continued
upward to cup her breasts.

Strength faltering as Amelia teased
through her bra, Caton’s arms shook as Amelia pinched her nipples and they grew
firmer at the touch. It was when one hand disentangled itself to sweep Caton’s
hair aside and Amelia’s lips attached themselves to her skin, though, that
Caton was sure she would topple them both.

Mouth hot against her, Amelia’s
tongue trailed the throbbing vein in Caton’s neck, and Caton wanted to turn, to
force her way around to face Amelia, see if she could coax Amelia’s mouth to
her own. When Amelia’s hands dropped suddenly to her waistband, though, it was
enough to distract Caton from any rogue thoughts.

She felt her pants go slack at her
waist, and then Amelia was sliding away, moving down her back, hands dragging
her pants and panties down her legs until they sat like shackles at her ankles.
A blast of cold air hitting her, it occurred to Caton how exposed she was, but
when Amelia wrenched her shoe from her foot, Caton lifted her leg to free it
from her binds, as if she felt no shame at all.

Amelia paused on her way back up to
sink her teeth into the flesh of Caton’s left buttock, hard enough that Caton
knew she would have a mark, soft enough that she wanted Amelia to do it again.
Then, Amelia was back in place at Caton’s back, hand slipping between Caton’s
thighs from behind without preamble, finding the indisputable evidence that
Caton had been thinking about her all day, and Caton’s hands skidded over the
desktop as she tried to find center.

“I probably should have asked if
this was okay,” Amelia whispered.

“You’ve never asked before,” Caton
reasoned, voice catching. “I don’t know what we’d do about it at this point if
it weren’t.”

“Good point,” Amelia acknowledged,
voice as seductive as ever, but touch turning hesitant. With no choice but to
prove her consent, as if she hadn’t proven it a hundred times already, Caton
pressed back into Amelia’s hand, demonstrating her acquiescence.

Reassured, Caton could only assume
- though it was difficult to imagine the woman who just pushed her down on a
desk and yanked her clothes to her ankles needed any type of reassurance -
Amelia’s touch returned with its usual assurance, circling around, over, against
Caton, skimming up and down, teasing at more without giving it to her.

Amelia’s fingers gliding back,
Caton’s breath held, desperate need gripping at her, before Amelia returned to
the same excruciating caress, unceasing, always effective, but never as much as
Caton wanted. The fingers sliding back again, Caton strained toward them in
invitation. Or maybe she was begging. She simply couldn’t tell anymore.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please what?” Amelia breathed.

She knew. Caton could tell by the
way Amelia’s hand danced away every time she moved toward it, intentionally
refusing her what she wanted, holding tight to the control she never let slip.

Fingers clutching at the desktop,
Caton pressed toward Amelia’s hand again, but Amelia avoided her with just as
much intent. Eyes squeezing shut, Caton felt tears form at their corners, the
sound escaping her lips almost a sob.

“What do you want?” The breathless
command at Caton’s ear was just another caress, working against her last
bastion of dignity. “Tell me.”

The only power that remained to her
was that Amelia didn’t know how much she wanted her, how much she thought about
her, how much she craved these moments, how much she craved her touch. How
deeply she craved her touch.

Amelia’s fingers moved back again,
circling desperate flesh, and Caton thrust against them, groaning when Amelia
moved away from her in perfect time.

“Amelia.” The name sounded
undeniably needy on Caton’s lips.

“What, Caton?” Amelia’s voice
turned unnaturally soft. “What do you want?”

“Fuck,” Caton hissed, trying
desperately to do without, to be content with enough, instead of pleading for
more. “I want you inside me.” The confession, a rush of broken syllables. Her
breaths, no longer her own, but the notes of Amelia’s conducting.

Amelia’s ragged exhalation filled
Caton’s ear, but her touch still refused Caton. “That's a little intimate,
don’t you think,” she husked. “For a cold bitch?”

“I don't...” The words caught on a
sob. “I don’t... think... you're a cold bitch.” Forcing the words out, she
strained toward Amelia, perspiration rolling down her hairline as she grasped
at what was so close.

“Yes, you do,” Amelia replied, lips
brushing Caton’s ear, the small intimacy almost painful. “Remember this.”

How Amelia thought she would ever
forget it was the question. The instant Amelia’s touch moved inside of her, a
pervasive sense of release eased through Caton’s entire body, calm so profound
she went utterly still, letting the euphoria wash over her in waves. For a
moment, she was without thought, without fear, every heightened sense aware
only of Amelia.