Temptation Close

by Scarlett Rush

  The flash was so intense her eyes clamped shut. She couldn’t tell if it was the force of this or the shock of the huge, deafening thunderclap that lifted her off the ground. She felt suddenly very hot. Her head told her she was probably on fire. Her skin felt so tight, either because of the flames sweeping over her or the static atmosphere pulling up her hairs to the extreme. It didn’t hurt though, which was a comfort. Not yet anyway. She thought it might have split her in two. Strange that there was no sign of any ill-effects - nothing sensed other than the still fizzling adrenalin in her veins. It couldn’t be this easy, could it?

  She opened her eyes slowly, expecting to be confronted by a scene unimaginable to mortals. Instead it was just a field, seen through driving rain. She was not on fire; quite the opposite. The lightning had not touched her and she was still alive. However, there was an angel with her, ill-defined but there nonetheless. She blinked to help erase the flash image burned onto her retina, squinting through the downpour. There, thirty yards away and closing, was Hunter. In the background was the BMW, the driver’s door flung open to reveal the smooth black leather inside. He was hurrying to save her. The rain was so heavy he seemed almost like a ghost, but then he was in front of her, as solid and as safe as ever.

  In only that short time he had been drenched, like he had just walked from the sea. Since his kind can’t hide their emotion when closing in for the kill, she’d always assumed that when he came for her his face would be a mask of lustful malevolence. Here, beneath the hair plastered to his forehead, the brow was knotted in concern. He stood looking down on her, his hands upon her arms, as if she might need holding up. He could read her mind so there was no need to tell him how she had got momentarily lost, how she needed him to deliver her before he went away.

  The sky was still sparking violently and the thunder ripping the air around them but she felt no fear. He was bigger than the storm. She doubted he could look more handsome than now, this dripping hero. His mouth was slightly open and the breath came quite hard, although the eyes showed less alarm at her plight now. The water came off him in rivulets, running speedily down, his thin shirt showing pink as it clung to him. Hers must have been a forlorn figure but the distress that had so suddenly mounted had just as quickly disappeared. She knew her expression would now be that same one she always had for him, the one she tried to conceal but which always gave her away. It was one of wanting.

  So they stood in the lashing rain, chests rising in unison from their matching heartbeats, their eyes fixed, hers pleading. He had come for her and now she was ready to give herself in any way that he wanted. Nothing else mattered. The peril was forgotten. She felt elated and electric and she didn’t even know that the tree behind her, under which she had so recently been sheltering, was split and still smoking from the strike. She reached out for him now and he brought her closer, holding her tight. She felt so small. Next to him like this, there was nothing that could ever touch you. And this sense of safety could never leave you, even when he had let you go, because he would always be there for you in the nick of time.

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ she whispered, but only in her head, since her teeth were chattering too much to let her talk out loud. It didn’t matter. He would hear the words as clear as if she had shouted them. He would see it written all over her face, her longing. Then she could see it in his eyes too, that moment when the desire defeated everything else. He bent down and kissed her on her lips, the hot passion of him at odds with the colder drops that ran down to their open mouths. He pulled away again, towering over her, regarding her once more as if to check that she was indeed ready to give herself. You do not refuse his kind.

  He pulled his shirt open, the buttons coming away, and immediately the water cascaded down his bare chest, matting the dark hairs. She saw the scar, no doubt caused by a failed attempt to slay him by a jealous mortal. It was just more proof of his invincibility. Then, in one swift movement, he peeled her top up and off, discarding it beside them. It made her gasp. Her bra was already soaked through, her nipples already pushing hard at the transparent fabric. She felt no bashfulness, not even standing here, right out in the open. He held and kissed her again and she could feel the warmth from him transferring into her trembling body. She had always expected him to feel stone cold, so this was a welcome surprise. There wasn’t even any anxiety when she felt the zip at her side coming down and the skirt falling in a sodden heap at her feet. She had always known that when he took her it would be wild and reckless. She just hadn’t realised it would be quite so heart-stopping.

  His hands stayed down there, him having to bend and reach down to hold her in by her behind. Then he was lifting her, just taking her weight as if she was a feather, his large hands grasping under her thighs so that she could put her legs around his waist. She wrapped herself around him, kissing him with hunger. She could feel one hand of his working quickly to release his own zip. Then he was there, the engorged tip pressing at the soaked pointlessness of her underwear, nudging the fabric away to leave her bare. She could picture how she would look: all glistening and lewd and ever ready for him.

  She pulled her lips from his to whimper as he relaxed his grip from beneath and had her ease down upon him. He filled her with that one slide and her whole body trembled with the current it sent through her, his hot shaft feeling almost like it was burning her insides. She had stayed as she was, panting hard, her head stretched over to one side to lay open the point at which he would want to strike. He took the hint. As she was fully impaled he buried his mouth into her neck. She could feel some sharpness of contact, but it was only fleeting and slight, not the tearing agony she had envisaged. Maybe the sweep of bliss all across her nullified this single sensation. As she shook and came on him she could feel it flowing down over her breast; a warm flow like blood - although it might only have been the effect of the still cascading rain over her enlivened nerve endings.

  He fed on her just momentarily, but it would be enough. Then his cheek was at hers and he was holding her tight as the tremors went through her in waves. Her moans had been loud and abandoned but she felt no shame, not from doing what she had done or where she had done it, right out there in the open, with only the weather to force prying eyes away. As the buzz in her head lessened she realised he was carrying her, taking her slowly away from the direction of the trees, him still rock hard inside her. Even though she had lost weight he bore her with ridiculous ease, like she was just a rag doll.

  A car door was opened. He eased her up and off him - a disappointment even though he had already given her such a powerful release. She was placed down and helped into the car, and she kept her eyes shut even when she heard the sound of his door shutting and knew he was next to her. It was the blood. She didn’t want to see it all down her front, feel the shock of its loss. The journey took no time and passed in silence. She tracked it in her mind’s eye and knew he had parked in his drive. He took her out and led her by the hand, not caring that she refused to open her eyes. In they went, him guiding her up the stairs, into one room then another. She heard the sound of the sliding door and then the hiss of more water, even faster and more powerful than the rain.

  Her underwear was swiftly removed and she was manoeuvred into the hot shower, the spray immediately raising the hairs all over her once more, the heat enlivening her body. He was with her again and they were kissing. She wouldn’t open her eyes and break the spell until all the red had been washed away. The double cubicle meant there was no need for crammed clumsiness but she wanted to be as close to him as possible. She wanted to be on him again. She grasped around the back of his neck and almost lifted herself into position. The shiver was no less great this time. He felt like a perfect fit, a beautiful match for her. The joy made her cry out. Before he had just stayed still inside her but this time she moved upon him, grinding and rocking against his body. His hands were braced against the back wall, so she had to cling behind his neck and g
rip hard at his waist with her thighs to keep herself in position.

  She felt like she was truly fucking him, this most potent of specimens. It was the first time she had ever felt remotely grown up when it came to sex. All the times with her husband were like their first times as boyfriend and girlfriend; swift inexperienced fucks that lacked proficiency and real connection. She had never known closeness like this. He let her have her way for a while, never showing signs of flagging. Then he turned her, so that it was her hands braced against the wall this time, the water cascading over her back.

  When the heat and steam threatened to become too much he took her from the shower and carried her to the bed, still dripping. She could open her eyes and watch him now, the water having washed everything away. She could see that he didn’t carry the lustful fury in his eyes that she had expected, more a softness and patience that mirrored his lovemaking. She was exhausted by the time he let her go and she could have slept forever, although caution meant she had to leave. Her underwear was still soaked, two tiny ineffectual scraps. Her outer clothes were presumably still discarded on the field, unrecognizable as hers since she had never worn them in public before. Imagine what would go through the minds of all who came upon them! She found herself grinning at the idea.

  He gave her a shirt in crisp white cotton, one from a row of similarly fine examples in his wardrobe. She kissed him one last time, leaving him there on the bed.

  ‘You really are very beautiful. I hope you know this,’ he said, as she was leaving the room. She didn’t look back although the glow made her want to whoop her joy. She snuck out in just his shirt, ducking behind his car to lessen her exposure time before she reached her door. In truth she felt too strong to care if she had been seen. Let her husband know. Better lookers than him, better lovers, better people all round valued her and wanted her and she was no longer in awe of the man she married. Her true worth was reflected in these better people. Hunter had freed her. She had become her own person, in control of her destiny and able to take decisions that put her in charge of her life. He had filled her with confidence and optimism. It didn’t matter now that he would leave. He had left his venom inside her and so part of his power would always be with her. The storm had gone and the sun was out amidst blue skies, and it would stay that way from now on. One day he would come back and take her again, but that was something to keep at the back of the mind as a comforting insurance policy. She would no longer will the day.

  Later, when she was lying in her bed smiling to herself, her head clear, she realised that his parting words represented only the second time he had spoken to her. He certainly always knew what to say! Then it struck her that, to this man - the one who had ruled her thoughts day and night, who had wrought every emotion from her, saved her, and even somehow allowed her to live out her most intricate fantasy - she had never, in all the nine months that she had been his neighbour, said even one single word to him. Lucky his type could always read minds.

  Trophy Winner

  Eva had won the prize. She never doubted that she would, even though it had taken way longer than she had anticipated. Those other bitches were nothing on her. All it had taken was raw sexuality: just great looks and the body of a minx, which just went to prove how much sexier she was than any of the others. But she already knew that. He had no choice but to fall for her, however much he wanted to keep the whip hand. Now they were off on the Great Adventure, just the two of them, leaving everyone in their dust. It was just a shame there wasn’t more time to rub the others’ noses in it.

  One month was all he had given her but it was enough. In truth the timing had been perfect. She had given notice to the letting agency that same day. The first draft of her book had been submitted and well received, the publishers giving it immediate attention in order to secure the rights. She had made her deal and it was every bit as good as anticipated. A lucrative future awaited her. She had decided to celebrate by bagging the last of the street’s husbands - just a little secret to keep from Hunter and use when the time was right, just the final piece to leave the whole street in tatters when she left.

  Maybe because she assumed it would be easy she hadn’t made a great effort of it. OK, yes, it was a pretty poor effort in truth, but the message had been clear even if it hadn’t been slickly delivered. She used the line about shoe size relating to big cocks, catching the Nerd unawares on his front lawn just the other day, perhaps catching herself out by acting on the spur of the moment without a clear plan of attack. He’d looked a bit dumbfounded at her blunt proposition but it must have been the biggest shock of his life, having someone like her showing interest in him. Can you believe it, he turned her down? Big Foot - he of the dorkish physique and manners, him with the lanky, nearly tit-less, slightly insane hippy wife - actually had the temerity, or more accurately the complete lack of balls, to not say yes to her.

  What a useless, cheeky bastard! Of course, as soon as he’d sidled off inside, stuttering his polite refusals, with that silly face blushing crimson and that pathetic, apologetic grin, well then he would have realised what he’d just let slip through his fingers. Well, too late! Yes, she was perfectly aware that he was married, for fuck’s sake! What kind of crap excuse was that? She felt like pointing out that it hadn’t stopped any of the other husbands in the street. His feeble excuses had been pathetic, but still she had felt rather stupid walking away empty-handed, even if it was all down to his non-existent cojones, rather than any failing on her part.

  The bottom line was that it would now be this thing, this embarrassment, an undeserved blot on her prefect record. If she wasn’t moving away she would have had to crush him, to blow him away, to keep it from her consciousness. It was not a thing to be reminded of. She certainly couldn’t entertain the thought of sitting in a pub with that grinning twat sat nearby, harbouring this secret. Nor, actually, did she now want to share any of her valuable self with most of those other ridiculous husbands, either in the pub or otherwise. If she’d had to wait any longer than the month she’d surely have to move onto their wives. As it was, a month was all that was given, exactly enough time for her to give notice on the house and arrange storage for her stuff. Two weeks of that was already up. In a fortnight she would be driving into the sunset, Hunter right behind her.

  It had shocked her, this sudden change in plan. He’d told her he could not be involved with her whilst her previous conquests were neighbours. If she wanted any kind of partnership - an odd phrase for him to use, when she saw their togetherness as a giant, wild fuck-fest - then it could not be in Temptation Close. He would sell up immediately and if she wanted to join him then she could. Do bears shit in the woods? The proviso was that it had to be soon and if she let slip any hints to the wives about the husbands’ errant ways then the whole thing was off. It was a deal that suited her just fine. She didn’t like the bit about him not wanting to seal the deal sexually until he was away from the street, but she could live with that.

  The plan was simple: their eventual destination, via an impromptu adventure tour taking in whatever and wherever took their fancy along the way, was a cottage he owned in the Outer Hebrides. He would be up and down between the two houses until then, taking certain essentials and putting other things into storage so the house could be sold. He even offered to take some of her stuff too. Anything left would be discarded. He would drive up and fly back, leaving the Beemer there. He was even going to swap bikes with a friend of his for a while, substituting the Death Machine for something more suitable for touring. It showed he meant business.

  Frankly, she didn’t see them ever making the island cottage. It sounded a bit too boring and desolate for her. She thought they would just keep going, chucking their money about as they needed, since she was going to be rich now. She just needed her laptop and somewhere to plug it in from time to time, her bank card, and some of her collection of sex aids - certainly not forgetting the toys that could fit into the harnes
s she so often wore at her waist. She envisaged a fabulous mix of luxury and roughing it, of plush fucks and filthy liaisons with strangers, of drunken scrapes and full-on fist fights with anyone who besmirched her honour. It would be a fitting episode in the life of one as gorgeous as her, and neatly it would provide the story for her next bestseller. It would also be one in the eye for all those smug witches who thought that marriage and commitment was morally superior to a free and single life. Maybe she could even persuade him to resurrect his life of crime, just to add to the thrill. They would surround themselves with adorers, and then leave every place with a bang. They would never be forgotten.

  This place offered nothing to come close. It was bizarre that two such people could ever meet in such an unlikely environment. Still, everything happens for a reason. There was little about this street she would miss. A couple of the cocks, maybe; one or two pussies that she hadn’t managed to bag. Oh yes, she really must get round to telling the pink-haired girlfriend that she was going away indefinitely. That would cause some tears. Maybe a text was the order of the day, if she could gather herself to compose one.

  Naturally, she couldn’t leave without making something extra of an impression, so she had a surprise lined up for when Hunter went North with his stuff. It would teach him for leaving her there alone. The grapevine told her that Nesta and Roni were off for a night’s stay at some posh spa. The latter’s husband would be invited chez Eva the Dirty Bitch for a final evening’s rude passion, where he would find some surprises, including the former’s husband. It was an assignation she had been considering for some time, and now was the obvious time to make it happen. It would need some babysitters arranged but that was their problem. It would certainly ensure that she left with one mighty big explosion. She allowed herself a wide smile at the thought and then decided to can the writing for the day and call up her soon to be ex-girlfriend. Yep, her life was pretty much damn perfect right now. Who the hell would want to be anyone other than her?