Beauty and Pain Read Online Free PDF Page B

to an end. “We really ought to get going.”
    He grinned. “I thought we’d already done that.”
    I returned his smile, moving my finger from his lips to trail it down to the collar of his shirt then swirl it over the knot of his tie—a tie I’d very much like binding my wrists while he wielded that stick of his again. Either stick, actually. His tie was red, and an image of it on my wrists—that were just as red from chafing—flicked through my mind.
    “Make sure you wear this,” I said, tugging the tongue of his tie. “And”—I went on tiptoes to glance over his shoulder—“you might want to get that device of yours. You left it on the shelf there.”
    He stepped back, me still holding his tie, and reached blindly for the stick. After finding it, he slid it into his inside pocket, and before I knew it, he was looming over me again. He kissed me—long and hard and oh so bloody toe-curling—then let me go, abruptly, as if I’d given him a shock.
    I cocked my head and stared at him, disguising my surprise.
    “I need to get away from you, woman,” he said, holding his hands up. “Because if I don’t, I’ll spend all day fucking you on this train. We may well go to Swansea and back and we wouldn’t notice.”
    Relieved he hadn’t meant something else entirely, I laughed. “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”
    “No, and that’s the problem. I have an important meeting today. I can’t miss it. And believe me, if I could, I would. You’re far too tempting.”
    “Delilah to your Samson?”
    “Something like that.”
    He stared at me for what seemed a long time, and I kept a steady gaze, unwilling to let it waver. I had a feeling he was once again trying to prove I was a sub—to make me look down or at least shift my eyes left or right.
    He wouldn’t win this battle.
    A tinny voice came from a hidden speaker, announcing the stop before ours. He glanced at the door. I allowed myself the beautiful taste of victory. It spread through me, giving me the shivers and resulting in a tremor in my pussy.
    Oh, God, the things he does to me…
    “Normally,” he said, “I’d say ladies first, but in this situation I think I’ll leave before you. In case that man’s out there again.”
    “And if he is?”
    “I’ll distract him so you can come out.”
    He moved toward me, touched his fingertips to my cheek, then walked out of the door.
    It closed behind him, and I went to it, opened it a tad to peek into the buffet carriage. Gabriel was at the other door. He turned and jerked his head. I left our little room and followed him into our carriage, but I didn’t sit when he did.
    Instead, I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to the toilet. I want to look at my arse. Sir .”
    He stared up at me, clamping his lips tight as though if he didn’t, he’d say something he wouldn’t want others to hear. The man next to him had left, but the woman beside my seat was still there, this time with her headphones dangling around her neck.
    I left him and made my way to the toilet. Inside, I yanked up my skirt, pulled my knickers to my thighs and turned so my bum faced the slim mirror secured to the back of the door. I stared over my shoulder, pleased to see angry red lines on my backside. Now I knew what they looked like, I could think of them during the rest of the day.
    Pulling my knickers back up then sorting my skirt out, I turned to look at myself. Yes, I had smudged mascara, but more than that, I had a round pink mark on my face.
    The imprint of that drawing pin.
    For some reason, that pleased me as much as the red marks on my arse. Perhaps because it was visible for anyone to see. Other passengers, my work colleagues… My boss.
    I left the toilet without fixing my mascara, without rubbing at the mark to make it go away. I’d wear them as proof of what had happened and wouldn’t give a damn if people stared at me. I’d had a fantasy and I’d taken the bull by the horns and had gone out