Beyond Temptation

by Lisette Ashton

  ‘If I say no, you realise your efforts will have been wasted, don’t you?’

  Robyn said nothing.

  She watched his back as he walked out of the door and smiled to herself. If things worked out the way she intended there was no way that Harold would dare to say no. Trying to snatch a morsel of comfort from that thought, she followed him into the hall and began to show him the paintings.

  * * *

  ‘God. Yes. Fill me, you bastard. Fill me.’

  Sheridan’s cries echoed throughout the room. She had pulled up the top of her T-shirt so that Yale had unfettered access to her breasts. As he leant over her, sliding his cock in and out of her heated depths, he shifted his mouth from one breast to the other. His lips pressed hard against her urgently thrusting nipples, turning them into peaks of ecstasy. His hands held her thighs apart so that he could slide ever deeper in an attempt to satisfy her voracious demands.

  ‘Yes,’ she screamed. ‘Yes.’

  The mounting orgasm welled inside her. She trembled beneath him, bucking her hips further forward to accommodate more of his divine length. As the orgasm tore through her she closed her eyes, held her breath and savoured the pleasure. His hands moved from her inner thighs and slipped beneath her. The tip of one finger pressed against her anus and a second wave of delight racked her body.

  ‘That’s it,’ she insisted. Her voice was guttural and uncompromising. ‘I want you to fuck my arse. I need you to fuck my arse. Do it, Yale. For the love of God. Please do it.’

  His soft laughter was chilling.

  ‘You want that?’ he asked, sliding his stiff shaft from the lips of her sex. His length dripped with her wetness as it left her. ‘If you want this up your arse, then you’d better lick it clean first.’

  ‘Yes.’ With a swiftness that betrayed her greed she was kneeling on the bed and moving her lips over his shaft. Her mouth encircled his cock and she began to suck him. The taste of her own musk was mingled with the salty flavour of his pre-come.

  The previous evening with Gayle had been thrilling and satisfying, but it was nothing compared to being with Yale. She snaked her tongue out and hungrily lapped at him.

  ‘A little more slowly,’ he warned. He curled his fingers into her hair. ‘You don’t want me coming before I’ve had a chance to fuck your arse, do you?’

  She grinned up at him, smiling around his shaft. Moving her lips away she spoke in a soft sultry whisper.

  ‘Perhaps I do want that,’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps I want to drink you, suck you hard again, and then have you fuck my arse?’

  ‘Let’s take this one step at a time,’ he grunted.

  She lapped at him and began to wonder why he kept glancing towards the door.

  * * *

  ‘All right,’ Harold said gruffly. ‘I’ll admit it, they’re bloody good.’

  He glared at Robyn, as though she had made him say the words against his will. ‘I’ll do a feature on this Yale. I’ll devote an entire issue to him and I’ll give him all the help I can in finding a place for him to exhibit. But I can’t show his work here.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘I have other plans for this place.’

  Harold’s gaze wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘What other plans? You’ve never mentioned your other plans to me. I own half of this building. I think I have a right to know about any plans you have for it.’

  ‘If you want to continue this conversation through a solicitor, then I’ll be happy to do it that way,’ he growled. ‘I don’t know what more you want from me.’

  ‘A little less hypocrisy would be nice,’ Robyn stormed. She would have said more, but Amelia chose that moment to join them. They were standing halfway up the stairs studying a portrait of Amelia punishing Bernice and Christian with a cat-o’-nine-tails. It was a vivid painting that had captured every painful nuance of the moment.

  ‘He’s a very good artist, isn’t he?’ Amelia asked.

  Robyn could smell smoke as Amelia neared them and she wondered if the woman had been having a cigarette in the kitchen as she waited. She didn’t contemplate the thought for long, struck by the way her husband lewdly admired the brunette’s body. Dressed in stockings and a basque, Amelia looked exciting and vibrant.

  ‘You know him?’ Harold asked.

  ‘I’m one of his models,’ Amelia said proudly. ‘That’s me in that picture.’

  Harold glanced from Woman in Control to Amelia, then back again.

  ‘Extraordinary likeness,’ he muttered.

  ‘He’s very good,’ Amelia said proudly. She climbed up two steps and pointed at the next painting. ‘This one shows how good he is at getting beneath the physical likeness, don’t you think?’

  Robyn glanced at the painting and her heartbeat pounded. She had given Dominic and Christian strict instructions about the order in which they should hang the paintings. She could see now that they hadn’t followed those instructions.

  Harold was staring at One Woman’s Frustration.

  His frown deepened. He glared angrily at Robyn, not bothering to mask his contempt.

  ‘I once contemplated hiring a private detective to follow you,’ he said slowly. ‘I thought, if I had a handful of tawdry photographs showing the sort of things you get up to, then I’d be assured of a clean divorce.’

  He jammed his finger towards the painting of her naked body.

  She was shown chained and begging for satisfaction.

  ‘That’s a damned sight better than any photograph a private detective could have found for me. That’s all the proof I need to show our marriage is finally over.’

  ‘It’s a painting, Harold.’ She tried to keep her tone even.

  ‘It’s proof of what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘No,’ she began quickly. ‘I was an unwilling model for that portrait.’

  ‘You’ve fucked Dominic and you’ve fucked this artist, Yale, haven’t you?’

  Robyn could see no point denying it. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘And if it’s any consolation, I’ve fucked Amelia too.’

  Amelia nodded. ‘If it’s any consolation, she’s very good.’

  Harold turned bright red. His hands were balled into fists.

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  Robyn closed her eyes. All her plans and efforts suddenly seemed to have been for nothing. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes and she wished she had the strength to do or say something that would make him think before storming away from her.

  ‘Don’t you want to meet the artist?’ Amelia asked slyly.

  ‘I’d rather meet Beelzebub,’ Harold declared indignantly. He tried to push past her, but Amelia stood her ground.

  ‘You’re not leaving without your travelling companion, are you?’

  Robyn glanced sharply from Amelia to Harold. It occurred to her that the situation might still be saved. She smiled gratefully at the brunette.

  ‘Where is she?’ Harold demanded.

  ‘Follow me,’ Amelia said. She started up the stairs towards Yale’s makeshift studio. The sounds of the couple inside were building slowly but Harold either had not yet heard them or thought they were coming from some other source.

  Robyn crossed her fingers behind her back and followed Harold and Amelia.

  * * *

  Sheridan thrust Yale down on the bed and straddled him. She had torn the multicoloured top from her body and thrown it to one side. The skirt was still around her waist but bunched up so he had unfettered access to her sex. Holding his thick shaft between long fingers she guided the tip of his cock towards her anus and wriggled gently against him. She could feel the pulse in his length and knew he was edging closer to the point of climax. The realisation heightened her arousal and made her all the more eager to feel his explosion.

  ‘Lick me,’ she begged, offering her pussy towards his mouth.

  He did as she asked, his tongue probing deep into the warm haven of her sex and slipping softly against the glistening lips of her p
ussy. He nudged the tip of her clitoris with his lower lip, sending her dizzy with anticipation.

  ‘Now lick my other hole,’ she instructed.

  ‘I don’t think …’ he began hesitantly.

  Sheridan didn’t allow him to finish the sentence. She rolled her hips forward, pressing the ring of her sphincter over Yale’s face. She squirmed with pleasure when he insinuated his tongue between her buttocks. When she felt his slow wet entry into the dark haven of her backside, Sheridan shrieked with pleasure.

  ‘Enough,’ she snapped, relishing the role of command she had once again assumed. ‘Too much, actually,’ she giggled. As she moved herself back to his cock, she bent down and kissed him on the mouth. As their tongues met, she felt a lurid thrill of excitement when she thought of where his mouth had just been. The pulse between her legs beat with ferocious hunger.

  She took his cock in her hand again and rolled the tip against the wet ring of her anus. She watched him struggle to contain himself, aware that he was dangerously close to the point of climax.

  ‘Hold it, Yale,’ she insisted. ‘Hold it until I’m ready, or I’ll make you sorry. And we both know I can do that, don’t we?’

  He grunted something by way of response, struggling on the bed as he tried to stave off his release. Smiling happily to herself, Sheridan lowered herself onto him. It was a forbidden pleasure that she hadn’t enjoyed for the past six months. When Yale’s shaft filled her bowel the orgasm struck with the force of a speeding train.

  Yale’s climax erupted as soon as his cock slid inside.

  A moment’s anger coloured her mood – he shouldn’t have climaxed so quickly – but it was quickly forgotten as the pleasure ripped through her body. She screamed with joy and marvelled that she had gone without such pleasure for so long.

  The euphoria was so great she didn’t even notice the light switch being turned on. Her state of bliss was such that, for an instant, she thought the brightness had been caused by the strength of her orgasm.

  ‘Sheridan!’ Harold gasped. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  There was a nasty smirk in Amelia’s response.

  ‘I think she’s having a private sitting with the artist.’

  * * *

  The mood in Holbert Manor was as brittle as icicles.

  Dominic had taken Sheridan back to the city. At first, she had wanted to stay, insisting that the place belonged to her, and that there was documentation in Harold’s briefcase proving that much. When Amelia had shown her Harold’s briefcase was empty, Sheridan ranted at them all and demanded the entire building should be searched. It was only when Amelia showed her the smouldering remnants of a ribbon in the fireplace that Sheridan finally fell silent and admitted defeat.

  But even without her malevolent influence, the mood in the house was uncomfortable. The six of them sat in the dining room: Amelia with Yale, Christian with Bernice, and Harold trying desperately to beg forgiveness from Robyn.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.

  He had said the words more than a dozen times.

  ‘You have a hell of a lot to be sorry for,’ Robyn agreed. ‘You came close to screwing over our marriage, and all because you wanted to fuck some cheap little tart who was pretending to be a virgin.’

  ‘You can’t blame Harold totally,’ Yale began. ‘Sheridan is a damned good actress and she can be one hell of a manipulative bitch when she puts her mind to the task.’

  Robyn rounded on him.

  ‘Harold’s already said you can have this place for your exhibition,’ she snapped. ‘So, there’s no need for you to defend him and hope that he likes you better because of it.’

  Yale glared at her but said no more.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Harold asked. ‘Whatever it takes to make amends, you know I’ll do it.’

  ‘You’ve put me through hell over the past few months,’ Robyn said bitterly. ‘This last week has been particularly trying.’

  ‘Then tell me what I can do to make amends.’

  She shook her head, studying him with an angry frown. ‘I want a lot of things,’ she began. ‘I want your agreement that we can go back to our old relationship.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I want a pay rise and a better office, and a more prestigious company car.’

  He was nodding, clearly eager to give her anything she demanded.

  An idea occurred to her and she grinned wickedly as the details came together in her mind. ‘And I want Yale to do a portrait of you.’

  ‘Of course,’ Harold promised.

  He seemed so determined to meet whatever demands she made that Robyn briefly empathised with Sheridan’s addiction to the pleasure of control.

  ‘Of course,’ Harold said again. ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘What sort of picture?’ Yale broke in. ‘You do know that I work strictly in the erotic medium. I don’t do flowers, landscapes or fake abstracts.’

  She ignored him.

  ‘You’ll need to take at least a month off work,’ Robyn told Harold. ‘Maybe longer. Can you spare the time?’

  ‘If it means it will save our marriage, then you know I can.’

  ‘A month?’ Yale asked incredulously. ‘What sort of painting takes a month to paint?’

  Robyn’s smile was so full it was almost manic. ‘The painting will be along a similar theme to one you did recently,’ she told Yale. ‘I suppose you can do the picture in an hour or less, you usually do. But it will take a month for the preparation.’ She beamed at Harold and said, ‘This painting will be called One Man’s Frustration.’

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  Copyright

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

  The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Mischief

  An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  77–85 Fulham Palace Road,

  Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.mischiefbooks.com

  Copyright © Lisette Ashton 2012