Diamond Read Free Page A

began to warm up, jogging on the spot in bare feet.
    Nothing stops me. I am unstoppable. One thing marks out the success from the failure, and that is how much they want success. Make it your hunger, make it your thirst, make it your lust, subvert all your appetites into this one drive
.
    The mantras calmed and focused her.
    She worked out until she was dizzy and her head pounded, then she fell back on the mattress and took a long drink from her flask.
    Still only 4 a.m.
    She was physically tired, but her brain ticked on. What would trick it back into sleep? What could she think about?
    Lawrence Harville. She thought of that creamy-coffee voice telling her to do things. ‘Take off your clothes, Jenna.’
    He would be sitting, legs astride a wooden chair, shirt undone, tie loose around his neck, looking louche and lecherous after perhaps a couple of brandies. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his face a mask of sensuality and desire.
    He would make her take off her cocktail dress, and underneath she would be wearing something daring. What would it be? Stockings and suspenders, and a tight bustier that lifted her breasts almost into her face. A tiny wisp of a thong. He would be able to see through the sheer lace triangle and, when she twirled for him, her bare bottom would be exposed, bisected by taut black elastic.
    ‘Come and stand in front of me,’ he’d say, and she’d pose, hands on hips, feet planted wide on the floor, trying to look insolently insouciant while his gaze raked her up and down and side to side.
    Without warning, he would clamp a hand between her thighs, smacking down on her sex lips, holding them in an iron grip.
    ‘What’s this?’ he’d whisper.
    ‘None of your business,’ she’d say, defiant, pretending not to want it.
    ‘No? What if I pay for it?’
    ‘You couldn’t afford it.’
    But he’d take a roll of banknotes from his inner jacket pocket and stuff them into the cups of her bustier.
    ‘Now?’
    Her knees trembled at the thought of being bought, of being property to be used.
    She nodded, looked down, instantly humbled.
    ‘OK,’ she whispered.
    ‘Money talks,’ he said, pushing stubby fingertips inside the gauzy thong to rub at her clit. ‘And money gets you wet, doesn’t it?’
    She nodded, all her defiance knocked out of her by this accurate assessment of who and what she was.
    ‘What kind of woman gets wet when she thinks about money?’ he asked.
    She knew the answer that was required of her.
    ‘A whore,’ she said.
    He laughed, running his fingers steadily over her nub, to and fro. With his other hand he reached behind her and smacked her bum.
    ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Get on your knees, whore.’
    She obeyed, regretting the absence of his touch at her most intimate spot.
    ‘Earn your money,’ he said gloatingly, opening his trousers. ‘Get that mouth to work.’
    She reached for his cock and warmed it between her palms, breathing down on its tip. It was big and firm, ready to do all kinds of things to her.
    She took it in her mouth and he held her hair and told her over and over that she was a cocksucking whore who lived to suck cocks until he filled her mouth with bitterness and she swallowed it down.
    But Jenna couldn’t come. The fantasy left her feeling desolate and empty and more than a little dirty. Was that what she was? Was it what she wanted?
    Deano had said that money was her only true love. He had been wrong, of course he had. She loved music, she loved the cut and thrust of business life, she loved the moments of glory and the little luxuries of her daily existence. And she had loved Deano, once.
    It did seem a long time ago now, though.
    She stiffened.
    Another noise – a muffled thud, two storeys up. It had to be coming from the attic or the roof. What was it?
    Whatever it was, she didn’t want to go up there. Every frightening urban myth she had ever heard crowded into her brain. Psychopaths on roofs, in adjoining rooms, making phone calls from