Temptation Close Read online

  She wasn’t into relationships. Certainly not with men because they were all a bunch of fucking cheats and she could prove it. She considered women more loyal and more passionate, but wasn’t sure if she could cope with the emotional turmoil of a partnership. Unless she found a girl very much like her then she wouldn’t be able to bear the conversations. She loved men physically, the thought of their erections and their strength and their bubbling unquenchable testosterone. However, women were beautiful and soft and sweet. They also gave her the biggest orgasms, every time. She loved being with men but had to admit they could seem like mere foreplay before the really explosive stuff with her girls. No matter how good a man was in bed, no matter how excited she was by them, she always came much harder under the touch of a pretty female. Much of her body, particularly her head, might well have been heterosexual, but her little clitty was most definitely a lesbian. Her heart, if she had one at all, was as yet undecided.

  The pink-haired girlfriend was not going to be the love of her life. She was cute and sexy but she was a wet blanket, a vacuous personality. She came alive in bed but that was all she was good for - that and helping her pull the guys. For some reason males just loved the thought that she was a lesbian. The best chat-up line you could ever use on a man was ‘I like fucking with girls’, although it helped if you were stroking their erect prick whilst you said it, rather than turning your back on them in a nightclub. Men seemed to find it irresistible. Not, she thought, because they wanted to “turn” her, more because they just loved the idea of two girls together. They probably envisioned incredible threesomes on the horizon. Whatever, sleeping with girls had only ever increased her chances with guys, so retaining a girlfriend was definitely a good thing. She also thought being a lesbian was a good get-out clause when single men were looking for something more from her, but they never seemed to be able to get the message, which was another reason for generally staying well clear of them.

  Married men, in contrast, couldn’t get enough of her but didn’t want to engage emotionally. They loved the secrecy and the ego-boost, the thought that all meetings were specifically for sex. They were grateful and tirelessly enthusiastic. They were more at ease with themselves and they knew what they wanted, which more often than not was whatever they could not get at home. Eva loved that she turned them on more than their wives. She could get off endlessly on that fact. It was a nice feeling to know that you could fuck better, that you were lusted after more, than the woman you were saying good morning to, or passing idle chit-chat with as you met in the street. You knew because their husbands told you so.

  There was no way she had an inferiority complex, not with her looks. However, she was pretty sure some of the girls in the street looked down their noses at her because she was the only one who rented rather than owned her house. There were also a few remarks about her short working hours, as if they thought her income might be supplemented by the state while she swanned about on a flash motorbike. In truth she was only employed for three days of each week. She was a feature writer for a biking magazine with an office in the seaside town they all lived just outside of - a popular destination for touring riders and thus a good location for such a publication.

  What no one else knew was that on her days off she wrote erotica and had already been published. Her first book had done OK and her second was doing even better - so well, in fact, that her publisher had tried to tie her in with a deal for her third novel, already in progress and already better than the last. There had been interest from elsewhere too, so if her sales held up a little longer she was very confident of getting herself a lucrative deal. Then she could wave goodbye to this crowd and go find herself a better class of married man to fuck.

  Hunter would be hard to leave behind. She wasn’t sure she would see a more handsome man anywhere. He was every bit as knicker-wetting as those huge hairy biker guys she had met Stateside at that Harley convention a couple of years back. He must be pretty well off too, owning that car and that bike. What the hell was he doing living round here? He must be a deserter from the French Foreign Legion or something, hiding out somewhere obscure. He looked like he had a hidden meanness to him. She was a bit pissed off he hadn’t fallen straight at her feet that first meeting. If anything he had seemed somewhat unapproachable.

  Still, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t hanker after a bastard and then get annoyed when they aren’t instantly all doe-eyed and lovey-dovey. Yes, she could see him and her getting on very well. Maybe she could even see the two of them riding off into the sunset together. He might be the one to finally sway her onto single men. Let’s hope he was into threesomes! He was walking down the drive now, back towards his door. She slid her hand down inside her jeans, down inside her little panties, feeling the immediate buzz of warm pleasure under the press of her fingers. She smiled and squeezed her thighs together against her hand. Too late to go fuck him now but there was plenty of time. Soon she would set about breaking down his defences. She knew just how to go about it. He might be dishy as hell but she was gorgeous too, and no one had ever been able to resist her before.

  Number Four

  Nesta didn’t know what to do with the information. It had been on her mind so often, despite her attempts to block the episode out. It made work almost impossible, so regularly had it broken her concentration. It needed discussion but how can such a subject be broached without sounding like a mad person, and who could one tell? Not Eva, even though she was the most down to earth and openly vulgar girl in the street, plus she had been there when it happened and for all Nesta knew had been given the same treatment. However, she was more neighbour than friend and certainly not one to share secrets with. Deep down Nesta didn’t want to hear that Hunter had used his trick on anyone else.

  Shelley at Number One was the eldest, an odd mixture of sexy flirt and sensible housewife, often a good conversational companion. Age didn’t necessarily equal wisdom though, and Shelley could be a bit lightweight when it came to serious matters. She wasn’t necessarily a decision maker. Most importantly, although the Night Out conversations could get crude and personal, this was perhaps a little too personal to share with someone other than your very closest friend, or at least someone who knew you best.

  That was Roni - way beyond being just a neighbour. She was the sweetest, funniest girl Nesta had ever known. There was nothing she would not share with her, except perhaps for this. The trouble with Roni was her sexual naivety. She might have been lusciously pretty, especially in one of her range of coloured-rimmed glasses, but she was practically Victorian when it came to matters of the flesh. Not many adventures took place in her bedroom, despite her husband - who was a nice chap for sure, but no less filthy-minded than the next man. Roni had never watched porn. Her husband had; she hadn’t. She didn’t own a vibrator or a sex toy of any kind and never had. Innuendo went straight over her head. Coarseness made her blush. Sometimes she could give a hint that there was a minx in there trying to come out but heaven knows how deeply buried it was. This particular subject would therefore not productively be shared with Roni.

  Next best choice Maria was always either working or being shadowed by her overbearing, lecherous husband. Alicia was too away with the fairies and also not the most sexually-minded of girls. As for Bethan, Nesta hardly knew her at all. She was quiet, a little one-dimensional, the type of person you wouldn’t notice in a group. Nesta had no idea how open the girl at Number Six was about sex. Her husband was loud and potty-mouthed, but Bethan just seemed to float around in a depressed-looking bubble. She wasn’t particularly animated or approachable, nor did she join in that much with the other mums of the street, so knocking on her door and hitting her with this bombshell was completely inappropriate.

  Just how do you tell someone that their new neighbour, the dishy guy who seemed so reserved and composed, also had the unique ability to remotely make your clit tingle so much it simply forced you to go play with yoursel
f? It was a pretty far-fetched notion and some might say he had the looks and demeanour to make you do this anyway. Nesta knew different. She wasn’t the type to lose herself like that, no matter how good-looking the guy. Her fantasies were about imagined persons, or sometimes famous ones. The urge that day had been too great, and her thoughts just so uncharacteristically rude to have been all her own work.

  His was a hell of a trick to be able to perform. Forget looks, charm, wit, brains or sophistication. Indeed forget all those traits the head thought necessary before it surrendered to attraction. Forget even being gifted with the eternal secret of What a Girl Wants. Any man granted a magical wish should ask for Hunter’s strange ability. It comes with a guarantee that a smile of satisfaction would never be far from one’s lips. To be able to make a girl feel like she had been touched in her most private, most sensitive places, without even being within two feet of her. To say just a word and have her almost collapsing from the shock of bliss running through the most erogeniest of her erogenous zones, well, that was bound to be a winning move.

  It doesn’t really matter what the head thinks after that. The body always makes the final decisions on attraction. It oversees that grey area we call chemistry, the bit where you aren’t quite sure what it is about a person that draws you to them. To be able to falsely imbue such reactions by tingling a lady’s naughty bits from afar is going to get them thinking of you. And the more you are in her mind, the more essential she will think you are. Soon she will mistake that for attraction, or worse: she will mistake it for infatuation or love.

  In some respects Hunter had already won. Despite her best efforts, Nesta was struggling to keep the incident from her mind. She could picture the words spoken and feel a tingle down below - certainly not of the intensity he had sent there but enough to make it rather too pleasurable not to dwell upon. Thus he was in her head. This had never happened to her before. In the eight years she had been married and the whole twelve years she had been with her man, she had never even dreamed that someone else could turn her head, at least not for more than a second or so.

  She couldn’t comprehend falling for someone else, of a new person having to discover and accept all her foibles, her imperfections of body and character. Sure, the relationship didn’t fizzle like it once did. It didn’t have the freedom and the passion. But it had trust and dependency. It had routine and solidity. Anyway, it had children - something they had made together and that carried compensations to make up for the tiredness, the loss of spontaneity and privacy. It had taken her more than a year to fall for her man, before she knew him well enough to know she was in love. She couldn’t believe it possible to become wrapped up in someone overnight.

  However, Hunter had undoubtedly wheedled his way into her system. Many times she had to snap herself out of daydreams in which he featured largely. She found herself dallying at the sink after breakfast, glancing repeatedly towards his front door, wondering what time he emerged of a morning, if at all. It was beginning to feel like she hadn’t seen him for weeks, when it was only a couple of days. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to see him again. She should perhaps have been avoiding him like the plague after what he had done to her, but part of his spell appeared to be instilling a need for further contact.

  On the Thursday it came, three days after his arrival and their first meeting. She strode towards home with a child on each hand, fresh from school. Hunter was there on his drive, assembling bin liners and boxes full of packing material ready for despatch to the tip. The cold, slightly sickening release of adrenalin went through her. Her legs felt leaden before he had even noticed her approach. For one second she thought she might slide past unnoticed as he loaded up his car boot with the bags. Then her youngest coughed and Nesta knew she had been seen.

  He still went for another bag and put it in the car before acknowledging her. It grated just slightly that having seen her he didn’t immediately stop what he was doing. She was almost level with his driveway when he spoke.

  ‘Ah, Miss Fondant,’ he said with a straight face, turning away from her almost immediately to stuff the bag into the now limited space within the boot. She was glad he hadn’t seen the smile his greeting had provoked. She didn’t want to give him any positive signals.

  ‘Hunter,’ she answered, along with a polite nod, trying to keep her response curt and informal. ‘I see you are a gatherer too.’

  She couldn’t help the witticism. She saw his smile spread as he went back for another bin bag.

  ‘You gather correctly,’ was his reply, but he didn’t particularly look at her. He apparently wasn’t about to interrupt his chore for her, and she was going past, turning slightly to head for home, with no good reason to stop or even slow down. The moment that had been causing her such consternation over the last days was about to pass with minimal incident. It should have been a relief but now she felt herself dragging, not wanting this second meeting to be over so quickly, but also wanting to remain so much stronger and more defiant than she had been at the end of the last one.

  ‘Anyway, I’m not a Miss, I’m a Mrs,’ she said. ‘A very happily married one.’

  She had no idea why she said it. It just sounded weak, forced, and not very convincing. Before she was obliged to turn her back on him completely she saw his eyebrows raise, that expression of his which he used in answer to so much.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, with her already walking away from him. ‘Happy is always good.’

  And that was that. No drama, no crippling silence or uneasiness, no jolting clitoral shocks that had her stumbling and crashing back to her house and the sanctuary of her bedroom. It could almost have been like any two neighbours passing idle pleasantries as they went about their separate business. So, was the greater reaction relief or disappointment? It was hard to tell. It all seemed to confirm what she had been trying to convince herself of that very morning: that he hadn’t used some kind of magic psychokinetic power to give her a tantalising lick on her rude parts from three feet away. He did not after all possess bizarre knowledge of vag voodoo. It had simply been an overreaction by her body to his words: a coincidentally strong nervous impulse - no different really to one of those inexplicable twinges you get in your knee that nearly floor you. Her shock at the time had simply magnified everything, making her jump to wacky conclusions.

  This afternoon’s brief contact demonstrated that he was just a normal guy after all, albeit a very fetching one - and quite humorous too, while we’re at it - who was going about his business and was not in any way focused on seducing her by nefarious means. It meant she didn’t have to fear future contact with him, worrying about being drawn in by underhand means. It meant she didn’t have to avoid him at all costs. It meant she could pull herself together and stop thinking about him so much, since he didn’t have some kind of supernatural hold over her mind. Although, if that were the case, how come she was already replaying this second meeting in her head, trying to analyse it all? And how come the butterflies were already loose in her belly at the thought of seeing him the next time?

  Girls’ Night Out

  Eva came out of the bathroom still wet from the shower just to have another admiring look in her full-length mirror. She smiled at the innocence of her little neat slit and stroked the back of her hand over her bare mound to feel the new smoothness. That ought to do it. She towelled herself off and rooted under discarded clothes to find her phone. She pressed the dial button and held it between ear and shoulder as she began preparations.

  ‘Hey, honey, how are you? I’m missing you and that little sweet puss of yours. I wish I was kissing it right now. It’s going to be a long night stuck here all on my lonesome.’

  She picked out a bright red lipstick and then discarded it in favour of a purple one. The goth vamp look was needed tonight. Fringe down to the eyes, lots of mascara, purple eye shadow mixed with a bit of brown, fingernails in black. Tight maroon crop
ped vest top that just about covered her bosom. Then what? High-heeled ankle boots in patent leather for sure. No knickers, obviously, but which skirt?

  ‘Baby, you know what you could do for me tonight? You know that toy I bought you the other week? No, the other one, that beautiful curved glass one? Why don’t you go upstairs in a little while and put that thing inside of you while you think of me? Maybe you could film yourself doing it on your phone and send it through to me, give me something to think about too. OK honey, speak soon. Bye.’

  Hmmm, which skirt? Perhaps it would decide itself once she had the rest of her get-up on. Probably the short black leather one with the chunky chrome zip. Or maybe not. She chose a black lace bra. She added earrings and a thin black velvet choker complete with a little cut-glass purple heart. She kept going back to the cheval mirror each addition she made, not just to check it matched but as an excuse to check out her waxed puss one more time. God, she loved it bare like this. She wished she could give it a lick herself! Why she had never gone smooth before was anyone’s guess and getting it done by that pretty blonde minx in the salon was a treat in itself. This bare look was surely destined to become the biggest of all the big guns in her seduction armoury. Perhaps it was even overkill for tonight and should only have been brought out when it really mattered. Still, since a certain newcomer’s arrival earlier in the week she had been feeling doubly sexy, so when the idea came to her on a whim she couldn’t stop herself going right ahead and getting it done.