Beyond Temptation

Laughing, he tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He looked on the point of saying something else when the door behind him burst open.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Harold demanded.

* * *

Two hours later the last of the guests had left.

As Robyn and Harold said their farewells and closed the door, she sensed the potential eruption of his volatile mood. Nevertheless, she was determined to make her point.

‘You really embarrassed me in the bedroom with Dominic.’

Harold’s glare was ferocious.

‘I don’t give a damn about you and your embarrassment. That was the last time I’ll allow it to happen. You have one last chance, woman, and I won’t be giving you a second one.’

‘One last chance? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I mean it, Robyn. That was your last fucking chance.’

Robyn stared at him, shocked by the vitriol of his outburst. ‘Darling? What do you mean? What’s wrong?’

‘You were fucking him, weren’t you? Don’t try and deny it because I know it’s true. I saw him licking you out.’

Robyn shrugged. She had never been able to lie to her husband and, on this occasion, she saw no reason to bother attempting an untruth.

‘If you were watching, you could have joined in. I’ve never been averse to a threesome in the past. I always thought you were rather partial to them. What’s wrong? Did Sheridan blank you?’

He wore a thunderous expression. His finger pointed at her in accusation. ‘I’d thank you not to cheapen Sheridan’s behaviour so that it equates with yours.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’ Robyn demanded.

Her husband’s anger seemed to have come from nowhere. She wanted to remind him that they were in an open relationship – and had always been in an open relationship – but she sensed he would tell her that she had been wrong about that. The idea that she had imagined the unwritten rules that they lived by was too bewildering for her to contemplate.

‘You’re fucking Sheridan,’ she reminded him. ‘And I fucked Dominic. Where’s the crime?’

‘I am not fucking Sheridan,’ Harold hissed.

Robyn sniffed.

‘Bullshit,’ she spat. ‘The pair of you have been inseparable all evening. I’ve seen Siamese twins who’ve spent more time apart.’

He slammed his palm against the front door. The harsh sound echoed around the walls.

‘I’m not fucking Sheridan,’ he growled. ‘And I’ve already told you not to drag her down to your standards. You’d better listen to what I’m saying, Robyn, because I’m beginning to lose my patience. I demand that you don’t make me a cuckold again.’

Robyn wiped the back of her fist across her eyes, smudging her mascara. ‘Have you been working your way through a seventeenth-century dictionary?’ she asked. ‘Who the hell uses words like “cuckold” nowadays?’

His lips tightened but he didn’t respond to her remark about his word choice.

‘I’ll say this once and only once, so you better stop trying to be clever and start bloody listening. You’ve had your final chance tonight. If you go to bed with one more person other than me, it’s the end of our marriage.’

Robyn stared at him, wondering if this was some weird beginning to a role-playing game. It was the last hope of a desperate woman and she knew there was no real chance of that being the case. She could see none of the usual mirth that sparkled in Harold’s eyes as he spoke to her. He looked earnest and sincere as he delivered his ultimatum.

‘Climb into bed with another man, and that’s it. Our marriage will be over. I’ll cut you off without a single penny.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ Robyn gasped.

The cruel set of his smile told her that he was more than serious. ‘Try me, and see just how serious I am.’

In the light of his sombre expression, Robyn knew better than to try him. And, as the tears began to well in her eyes, she wondered how she could have misinterpreted the rules of their open marriage so badly.

Amelia brought the cat-o’-nine-tails smartly across the woman’s backside. The tips of the whip spat at her skin like blistering fat on a griddle. If Bernice hadn’t been gagged Amelia knew the woman would have screamed. Instead, every muscle in her body stiffened against the sharp explosion of pain.

From the back of her throat Bernice released a muffled, guttural roar.

Because she didn’t know her victim particularly well, Amelia couldn’t decide if the noise was caused by ecstasy or anguish. Not that she cared now her own arousal was building. All that mattered to Amelia was the pursuit of her own pleasure. The heat between her legs was formidable as she raised the whip for a second time. Unconsciously, she caressed her breasts through the snug-fitting bodice of her leather outfit. The tips of her nipples responded to her touch, igniting a deeper thrill of pleasure.

Bernice whimpered.

The sound was muted by the gag in her mouth, but it was loud enough for Amelia to hear. Smiling cruelly at Bernice’s predicament, Amelia aimed the cat again.

She briefly contemplated Christian’s bare backside. Like Bernice, he was bound and gagged on all fours. His bare arse was being displayed for her use. From where she stood, Amelia could see the tight sac of his balls dangling beneath his anus. The rigid length of his shaft was mostly hidden from her view but she could see enough of it to know he was excited. With a fiendish grin, she considered striking the whip against the tender flesh at his scrotum. The idea had a dark appeal that heightened her longing’s fever.

After a moment’s reflection she abandoned the thought.

With a vicious sweep of her arm she brought the whip down again on Bernice’s arse.

Despite the gag, Bernice squealed. Every muscle in her body strained against her bindings. Her breath came in tortured gasps and she shivered. Beads of sweat erupted on her bare body. She pulled hard against her restraints.

From behind Amelia, Yale said, ‘Did I mention that you’re meant to be punishing both of them?’

His tone was conversational but Amelia detected ice in his words.

Glancing over her shoulder she studied him as he worked. Although they were all posing for Yale, and she was the central model for this set, she felt as though he hadn’t seen her. His interest seemed devoted to the canvas he was working on. His inscrutable dark eyes flitted sharply as he thrust his paintbrush at the image he was capturing. Occasionally he would flick his head to one side, brushing long hair away from his face so he could study the models more intently. But most of the time he kept his gaze fixed on the picture he was creating.

His paint-streaked shirt was open to the waist, revealing his sun-kissed torso and muscular chest. His tight jeans were distorted at the crotch, thrusting forward with the noticeable bulge of a sizeable erection. He glanced away from the canvas for a moment, his gaze fixing hers.

‘You do remember your instruction for this session, don’t you?’ he asked.

Amelia glared. ‘I want a cigarette.’

He rolled his eyes, ignoring her. ‘I don’t have time for temper tantrums.’ In his rich Scots brogue the words came out as Ah dinnae hae tahm fah tempah tantrams.

Amelia wished she didn’t find his forceful and challenging accent to be so arousing. But everything about Yale was a maddening switch to her desire and even his accent never failed to make her desperate for him.

‘I’m trying to be creative,’ Yale told her. ‘Now, get back to work.’

Nah gebback tah wark.