Guarding Temptation: A Dirty British Novella

by Talia Hibbert

  Raising his lips to her ear, he talked back. And he talked dirty.

  “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how good I fuck you.”

  She’d love to, except she was suddenly unable to speak. All she could do was pant and moan pathetically, and rock against him desperately as pleasure rose to a crescendo.

  And still, he talked, his voice smoke and whisky and hot, dark nights. “Jesus, Nina, you feel so good. And so fucking wet. I wish I could taste you and fuck you at the same time.” He pressed a hot kiss to her throat, then another, then another, until sensation zipped over her tender skin and her moans became ragged and desperate. “We might have to get creative,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I want to hold you down and suck your clit and feel you fucking yourself on a dildo for me. I want a lot of things from you, love.”

  Hopefully one of them was an orgasm, because at that moment, she came.

  James held her by the throat and fucked her through it. While her body shook and her pussy spasmed and her breath was forced from her lungs through sheer pleasure, he thrust into her again and again, so deep she felt it in her chest, so perfect she could die right then and have no regrets. And when he choked out her name a moment later, and held her to him, and found his release, she felt happier and deliciously filthier than she ever had in her life.

  After that, time passed in a gentle haze of blurred vision and loose limbs. She felt the mattress shift as he got up, smiled dreamily when he kissed her forehead and murmured that he wouldn’t be a second. And then she might have fallen asleep a little bit.

  At some point she came back down to earth and found herself lying on her back, her sweat-damp skin cooling… until James slung one heavy thigh over her hips and wrapped his arms around her. Just like that, she was dragged under by his intoxicating scent and surrounded by his warmth, safer than she’d ever felt before. But even though she loved the position, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take the piss.

  “So you’re a snuggler,” she said. “Interesting.”

  “If you intend to complain,” he replied, his voice muffled against her hair, “just know that I’m not above kissing you to keep you quiet.”

  She laughed, until an anxiety-inducing thought popped into her head, drowning out the amusement. “So, that was… And now, we… Which means.” She cleared her throat and thought wistfully of a time, less than twenty-four hours ago, when she’d been considered generally articulate. Jesus, how did people do this romantic shit when they cared so much about it?

  Then again, Nina supposed, she was no stranger to caring about things. So she should pull herself together and continue being brave. “So,” she said firmly. “I realised we talked about feels and stuff, but, erm, what is this?”

  He laughed gently, and held her tighter, which she hadn’t thought was possible. “You and me, you mean?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to think we’re in a relationship. What do you think about that?”

  Peace fell like spring rain, dragging a goofy smile over Nina’s face. “I think I agree,” she said, trying not to sound too delighted. “A relationship. Yeah.” And then she added wryly, “Can’t wait to tell my brother.”

  “Bedroom rule,” James said. “We don’t talk about your brother.”

  She snorted. “Fair enough. But we do have to tell—”

  James’s hand covered her mouth, not hard enough to really shut her up, but she got the message. Got it, and ignored it. With wicked amusement, she said against his palm, “You were supposed to be watching me.”

  “I did watch you,” he said. “I watched you bend over in those jeans with the rip underneath your right arsecheek.”

  “James!”

  “You know what? I don’t really care what Mark thinks, because you’re an adult. And I know you don’t care either, so stop breaking the bedroom rule.” He moved his hand away from her mouth, setting the sound of her laughter free. Then, without warning, he shifted until he was on top of her, his sinful smile bright and beautiful. “Your official punishment,” he said seriously, “is one kiss.”

  “Just one?”

  “I’ll thank you not to diminish my excellent kisses. One is definitely enough.”

  She snorted and stole her kiss. James’s mouth was surprisingly sweet and achingly gentle against hers, transforming the glitter of her amusement into something slower, hotter, more needy. As his tongue traced her lower lip, Nina’s arousal flared—but that was nothing compared to the other currents flooding her mind, the fond affection and the deep possessiveness and…

  Suddenly, she was so full of feeling she couldn’t possibly keep it in. Breaking the kiss, she blurted out, “I love you.”

  Of course, once she’d said it, she really wished that she hadn’t.

  For a moment of perfect, shining mortification, Nina might’ve sacrificed a sheep—a small goat, at least—for the chance to cram those words back into her mouth. And since she’d been a vegetarian since she was fourteen, that was a pretty major concession.

  But once that moment passed, she realised that actually, she’d rather not sacrifice any goats. It was better this way. She was better brave. And she’d already started, so she might as well go all in. Gnawing on her lower lip, avoiding James’s gaze—his chest was a lot easier to stare at right now than his eyes—she kept talking.

  “I’ve been in love with you for, like, three years. I don’t know. It kind of snuck up on me. But I thought you’d never see me in that way, so I tried to ignore it, and then I got this ridiculous idea about, like, seducing you.” She laughed nervously, her voice higher than usual. She had to keep talking, had to stretch out the moment in time when she was still doing this to avoid the moment in time when it would be utterly, awkwardly done. “Obviously, that didn’t go very well—you kind of took it the wrong way—and I got pretty sensitive about the whole thing, I’m not gonna lie—I mean, you weren’t obligated to want me—”

  “Nina,” James interrupted gently.

  She ignored him, shifting on to her back and staring at the smooth, white ceiling. “But all that doesn’t really matter now, because you do want me, except of course you might have changed your mind a little bit now because—”

  “No, Nina.”

  “Because really, who just says they—”

  “I love you,” James said.

  She froze. Shock sent her mind haywire until all she could splutter in response was, “Are you serious?”

  “About loving you?” he asked mildly.

  “No, about your choice in wallpaper. Yes, about loving me.”

  “Antonina Chapman,” he smiled, “I am absolutely serious about loving you.”

  James was almost always serious, after all. And yet, she turned to stare into his eyes, as if she might spot doubt or hesitation. Instead, all she saw was steady, shining affection—deep enough, vast enough, heavy enough to scare her and wrap her up safe and sound all at the same time. She pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath her palm. “Really?”

  His hand settled on her cheek and they were mirrors of each other. “Really.”

  Smiling now, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” She knew he wasn’t. She knew.

  James burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with it, his smile brighter than the sun. “Oh, for God’s sake, Nina. Come here.”

  And she did, because she knew he meant it. James Foster did not lie to Nina Chapman. That much was almost law between them.

  And here, now, as their lips met, was a new law. Freshly forged, but no less powerful than all the rest.

  They loved each other. They loved each other. They loved each other.

  Epilogue

  “It’s been difficult, to say the least.”

  James stood backstage and watched Nina’s face on the small flat screen. After an hour in hair and makeup, she looked beautiful, if kind of… un-Nina-like. But she knew what she was doing. If she’d allowed someone to put her
thick hair into a neat braid, even though the style gave her headaches, there must be a reason. And if she’d let them slather lip-gloss all over her, and was even remembering not to lick it off, there must be a reason. So he didn’t focus on the differences, or even on the delicate, fluttering movements she made with her hands, or the calculated pauses in her speech. He focused on her words.

  Because, with her clever performance, Nina was saying the kind of things no-one got away with saying on TV.

  “Of course,” Heidi Carpenter nodded, her mouth a moue of sympathetic understanding. “I mean, the kind of abuse you’ve received…” She paused to glance at the vast screen behind the deceptively homey-looking sofa she and Nina were perched on. A scrolling view of the messages, tweets and comments Nina had gotten appeared, the profanity blurred until the whole thing was a sea of smudged black-and-white. “It must have shaken you.”

  “It did,” Nina said softly. “It did.” And though this whole thing was a performance of a kind, a calculation, another kind of strength—he heard the truth there, too. Nina’s vulnerability wasn’t for anyone else, but it still existed. Whether she hid it or used it or chose to ignore it, it was always there.

  “The thing is,” she went on, “I consider myself a tough woman. I have a support network, too; people around me who love and protect me. But if I were more fragile, or alone, this could truly have torn me apart. Sometimes I think black women in particular are seen as ‘strong’ in a way that removes our humanity. There have been some extreme examples in the media lately—think Prince Ruben and his wife Cherry Neita, or the furore around the Duke and Duchess of Sussex. People believe that abusing us doesn’t matter, because we can take more than other people. That’s not the case. My real worry is for the black girls and young women who’ll see the messages I’ve received and wonder if those insults apply to them. That’s how hate poisons entire societies.”

  Heidi hummed supportively before saying, “And what about those who are purely concerned with your politics? Because, as we’ve seen, some of the messages you received were atrocious—but there are others who have no problem with you personally, yet suggest that your beliefs are dangerous.”

  Nina gave a small laugh, her dark eyes sparkling with what James knew was true amusement. She was handling all this very well, but she’d stayed up most of last night with nerves. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast that morning. But now, she was laughing, and it was real, and he’d never been so proud of her.

  She could find humour anywhere, despite her constant analysis of the world’s darkness. He didn’t think she realised how precious that was, but he’d make sure to remind her.

  “I’m far from dangerous,” she said, her lips still curved into a sweet little smile. “I want education for all and honest government. My only rule is ‘do no harm’. If anyone doubts that, all they have to do is read my website and formulate an opinion for themselves.”

  “Well,” Heidi said with a coy little glance at the camera, “you certainly don’t seem scary to me!”

  Nina laughed again, and if he hadn’t known her so well, he’d have had no idea that this one was fake. “What rankles,” she said, “is that I’m being treated as a threat for writing an article about the Leave campaign’s proven duplicity—which is something I think Britain deserves to know about. Our government representatives should work for us, not trick us.”

  Heidi nodded in silent—and therefore not-too-controversial—agreement.

  “I don’t think sharing public information is dangerous,” Nina went on. “What’s truly dangerous is the fact that someone attempted to dox me. That I’ve had online threats and harassment leak into my real life. Where’s the outcry against the people who threatened to kill me? The ones who’ve spent weeks terrorising me?” Her words were quiet, but that somehow made her passion more compelling.

  “That’s an excellent question,” Heidi said. “I, for one, am disgusted. But, Nina, we’re running out of time here, so I’d like to end on a question for you: you’re very young, and yet you’ve been writing about politics and social issues for years now. It doesn’t seem like any of your goals for the nation have come to fruition—in fact, with developments like Brexit and the current Tory government, things have been moving in the opposite direction. How does that make you feel?”

  Nina looked straight at the camera, a sad smile on her face. “It makes me feel like the unfairness in the world may never end. But that’s okay, because hope never dies.”

  Hope never dies.

  She was wonderful. She was incredible. She was vital.

  James had no doubt that Nina’s life would be extraordinary and her legacy brilliant. The world needed people like Antonina Chapman.

  But all James needed was Nina.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Guarding Temptation. I hope you loved James and Nina’s story as much as I loved writing it.

  Ready for more Dirty British Romance?? If you’re curious about Jasmine and Rahul, read on for a sneak peek at their sexy, angsty, roommates-to-lovers story…

  Chapter One

  “We should get back to work. We’ve been gone well past lunch.” Usually, Asmita said that sort of thing with firm authority—the kind that might convince Jasmine to listen.

  But today, Asmita didn’t say it at all; she mumbled it tearily into a McDonald’s napkin. So Jasmine felt well within her rights to ignore the suggestion. Instead, she rubbed a hand over her friend’s narrow back in slow, soothing circles and murmured, “Not yet, love. Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  Asmita hiccuped.

  A nearby staff member looked up from his sweeping brush to glower at them. “Are you ladies buying anything today, or…?”

  Jasmine stifled a sigh and dredged up a smile. “So sorry. We will, eventually. Only, we’re having a crisis.” She nodded towards her dour friend, whose perfectly kohl-lined eyes were looking dangerously red and runny. “You understand, don’t you?”

  The employee pressed his lips together, then huffed out a breath. “Suppose.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  He moved on with a dark glare.

  Asmita tutted between sniffles. “We’re not buying anything. You can’t stand McDonald’s.”

  True. Dad had made Jasmine work at the nearest restaurant for a year when she turned sixteen, to teach her the value of money or some such fatherly nonsense. Just the scent of those crispy golden fries was making her feel slightly sick.

  But they had been walking past this McDonald’s when Asmita had started almost, sort of, maybe, crying. Jasmine had bundled her into the cursed establishment before anyone important could see the indomitable Asmita Shah in tears.

  Mita would’ve done the same for her, after all.

  So Jasmine gave her friend a quelling look and got right to the point. “Is it something to do with that woman?”

  Asmita glared. The usual effect of her flinty gaze was marred by a sheen of unshed tears. Rather than vaguely terrifying, she looked… woeful? Wretched? Something along those lines.

  “It is,” Jasmine nodded sagely. “I can tell.”

  “Piss off,” Asmita muttered. Then she gave a sudden sob, and real, actual tears spilled from her eyes. She blinked in obvious shock. It wasn’t often that Asmita’s body disobeyed her commands, and Jasmine knew very well that she’d been commanding it not to cry.

  Christ, this whole thing was unsettling. Jasmine had watched in alarm for months as Asmita was slowly infected by humanity’s greatest curse: love. Now her friend’s infamous self-control was shattering beneath Cupid’s heel.

  It was enough to give a girl nightmares, really.

  But what Asmita needed right now was support; not further doom and gloom. So Jasmine filed away her own horror at the situation and tried to think like a normal human being.

  “Darling,” she murmured. “Just spill. You’ll feel so much better.” At least, that was what the magazines always said.

  The words seemed to
work. Or maybe it was the tone, or the back-rubbing, or the vibe—Jasmine had been trying to project comfort. Whatever it was, something made Asmita talk. Or rather, word-vomit.

  “IjustlovehersomuchandshesjustperfectandI’msoohmygodIdon’tdeserveherbutIcan’tletgo—”

  “Asmita!”

  The rampaging jaw snapped shut. Embarrassed eyes met Jasmine’s. Asmita’s olive cheeks darkened as she cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, love, just—slower, perhaps. Take a breath.”

  “Right. Um…”

  Jasmine waited patiently as her friend corralled obviously messy thoughts.

  “Well… We’ve been dating for a while.”

  Yes. I’m aware. By Jasmine’s count it had been over three months since Asmita first showed signs of losing her fucking mind.

  “And she wants to take things to… the next level.”

  Jasmine stared. Was that some kind of euphemism for public group sex? Because Asmita hated exhibitionism.

  “I mean, she wants to be…” Asmita lowered her voice, eyes wide. “Girlfriends.”

  Jasmine’s brows flew up. “That’s why you’re upset?”

  Asmita nodded solemnly, her lips pressed together so tight, they were almost white.

  “But I thought you liked her? A lot?”

  “I do!”

  “So isn’t that what you want?” Jasmine wasn’t an expert on romantic relationships, since she’d never actually had one, but the love songs and the rom-coms and the dirty romance novels were all pretty clear. Asmita should be happy about this development. Shouldn’t she?

  Apparently not. “I can’t, Jas! I’m not—I’m not good enough for her!”

  Jasmine stiffened. “Asmita. I hope you, my intelligent, hard-working, gorgeous, funny friend, are not putting yourself down over some girl.”

  “She’s not some girl! She’s special. And I…” Asmita looked down, her jaw shifting, her long, silky hair falling over her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and hopeless. “Ah, Jas. You know what I’m like. I’ll ruin it. I ruin everything.”