Title Page
TEMPTATION CLOSE
Scarlett Rush
Publisher Information
Temptation Close
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Scarlett Rush 2014
Cover Design by Nick Tiseo
The right of Scarlett Rush to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Prologue: The Coming
Kneeling on the floor of the master bedroom between the window and the bed itself, Hunter leant sideways towards the blinds and spied through the slats, down upon the residents of Temptation Close, all out in the street below. He didn’t know why this house had so strongly forced itself into his consciousness, since it was barely half the price he could afford, but now on his second viewing he could see it was even better than he had first imagined. In some ways it was nothing less than perfect. It sent a fizzle through his veins. It was a rush that swelled still further his already iron-hard erection.
A street party was going on below, for no apparent reason other than it was a beautiful early summer’s day. Out there was a scene of togetherness and shared enjoyment that was rare to find in any neighbourhood. This small, hidden close of eight houses was definitely something special. There were barbeques lined up on the driveway of Number One, wheeled out of various garages to cook the food en masse. Here stood the guys in shorts and half-sleeve shirts, prodding sausages and chicken thighs with long tongs, joking and drinking beer from bottles. They looked relaxed and happy. They had a confidence born of the knowledge that they had each bagged themselves a nice-looking lady, and then done their manly act and sired children. They lived in nice three or four bed detached houses and were reasonably secure in these times of global financial uncertainty. They were in good professions, generally earning more than the average guy. They were like-minded and liked each other. They were not just neighbours but genuine friends.
There might have been some ribbing and attempts at one-upmanship between them - they were the male of the species, after all. Plus there was a female that needed impressing, for here also was the gorgeous biker chick from Number Three, the house in the top corner diagonally opposite this one. She had made her entrance late, when everyone was already out in the street. She had loudly rippled into the close astride her fat-tanked Harley, causing the guys to dart about clearing trestle tables, ice boxes and children out of her way. Through them all she went, sat in that languid, wide-legged, slightly leant-back stance. With all that throbbing power between her thighs, with her open-faced helmet and black mirror shades, she looked as cool as the very coolest cucumber.
The guys stopped to watch as she parked on her drive and dismounted. She didn’t go in. She removed her helmet and shook out her long dark hair. She took off her shades and put them alongside the helmet now placed upon the petrol tank. She took off her jacket, revealing a colourful full-sleeve tattoo all down her right arm. She slung the jacket over the saddle, gave some nods and waves towards the wives, then made her way directly towards the guys. She flashed wide smiles at them all, went into their midst and swigged directly from the bottle of offered beer.
Her white T-shirt was tight over her ample though perky come-get-me bosom. Her black leather trousers and heavy boots must have been sweltering in the heat but she looked only chilled and ever fragrant. She was tall and wide-shouldered. She had large brown eyes and a small, narrow nose. She wore dark cherry-coloured lipstick and revealed perfect white teeth when she smiled. She was instantly the centre of the men’s attention.
Hunter had seen this girl before. On his first viewing a few days ago she had been out on her drive, polishing the chrome on her bike. On his exit she had openly watched him as he went back to his car, parked out on the street leading into the close. She had stood looking very sure of herself, with her legs apart, one hand on hip, the other flat to the petrol tank. It was obvious she was sizing up her potential new neighbour. Just before he went out of view behind Number One she took the hand off her hip, pressed it to her lips and then gave him a little finger-waggling wave. It was more of a come-on than a goodbye. That wasn’t it though. That wasn’t the reason he booked a second viewing of the house as soon as he got back home.
The place had already gotten to him the moment it almost popped out from the pile of spec sheets splayed across the desk. He had told the estate agent girl his specific requirements and budget but she clearly hadn’t been listening, since she gave him details of seemingly every property on their books. However, there it was: a very normal-looking new build that drew his attention. He had wanted something with more character and in a more secluded position within the village, yet each time he put the spec sheet down to look at others, he kept picking it back up again. It was like the house was forcing itself upon him. He asked to arrange a viewing and the estate agent girl got the keys and took him round immediately, knowing the owner to be away.
Hunter was new to the area and only vaguely grasped the layout of the village. It was large and sprawling, with ancient thatches alongside brand new cottages, and just finished developments shoe-horned into parcels of available land. Such was Temptation Close. It struck him that, from the air, the road area of the close would resemble the silhouette of a clay pipe. One got in and out via a single narrow road that went straight for some thirty yards and then curved to the right around a clutch of trees that shielded the houses from the rest of the village. This thin neck came in at the bottom of the close, which then opened out to become the pipe’s bowl - basically a rectangle, longer than it was wide. The houses sat all around the bowl: two at each side, two at the top, and two at the bottom. There was a theme to the styling but each was different and had variations on internal architecture. The larger four-beds were at the sides of the bowl, facing each other. The three-beds were at opposite ends of the close, top and bottom. The house Hunter was to view was lucky Number Seven, the three-bed in the bottom far corner.
It was light and smart inside, open and spacious. The plasterwork was crisp, the kitchen chic. The free-standing wood burner was a nice feature of the lounge, the double-sized shower in the master en suite made it even more attractive. Most importantly there was a so-called sun room at the back, with windows in the sloped roof and a whole wall of glass facing out onto the garden. It was not overlooked from the rear and would be a perfect space to use as his studio. Plus the garden it looked out on had already had the lawn taken up and replaced with artificial grass, and Hunter was more inclined to strim his own head off than waste any time fannying around with a mower.
There had been some activity in the close that first day, a couple of the kids riding up and down on their bikes. Today they were all out, from toddler to early teen, chasing each other around, kicking footballs back and forth, or munching on chicken drumsticks and leaving the majority of the marinade on their faces. Hunter liked neatness and quiet, and these kids were messy and noisy. However, it was a small price since children equalled yummy mummies - a breed of female he was most partial to - and here there was an oasis of them, a half dozen gathered
opposite their men-folk, not a bad or even ordinary one amongst them, all sipping wine and animatedly chatting to one another whilst trying to keep their offspring in check.
It was a sight to release a surge of dark passion in Hunter’s belly. It made his heavy balls tighten and threaten to unload. All looked deliciously edible in their summer wear. All were different but equally appealing. His eyes flitted from one to the next and everything he saw gripped him. There was a range of ages from, he guessed, late twenties to maybe forty, making the eldest of them a good two years his junior. The majority of them would have been born a decade after him, but this would not matter. They would not be discouraged by his age. If his looks didn’t instantly sway them he had other gifts that would.
There was no way to decide which of their traits he found most alluring: whether the porcelain whiteness and long red hair of one turned him on more than the tanned Mediterranean skin and jet black locks of another; whether the tall willowy frame of the hippy one made his erection pulse more than the ample bottom and thighs of the youngest-looking one. One had short hair and lovely dimples, looking sweet in her purple-rimmed glasses and baby-pink top. Another, almost certainly the eldest, looked like classic cougar material, with dyed blonde hair and a good portion of her large chest on view. How could one possibly decide which was the most attractive? A good portion of red-blooded males would want them all, maybe all at once, if only in fantasy. At that point he decided it must happen.
‘I want to make an offer,’ he said to the estate agent girl. ‘Full asking price, do it today. OK?’
‘Yes!’ the estate agent girl gasped. ‘Oh, God - yes!’
Hunter looked down at the young, ripe, naked rump as it pushed back once more to squash against his groin. The deep split was delectable, the creamy cheeks delicious. He looked down at the black skirt rucked up around her waist, the jacket tight over her back and shoulders. He noted the good sized diamond on her solitaire engagement ring, remembering despite this how little hesitation she had shown in hitching up her skirt. Maybe he could have done this that first time she showed him around - she seemed to be under his spell from the first moments he had walked into her office. She had made her attraction to him patently obvious from the start. However, he had not been of such a mind that day as he was today. He had waited until now, until she had shown him the master bedroom for a second time. He had faced her, looked into her eyes and held her gaze for maybe five seconds, and then calmly said, ‘I’m going to need to fuck you now.’
She had gasped and her cheeks had flushed but she could never escape his pull. With his first step towards her the skirt was being dragged up her thighs and she was turning. She was going to bend over the bed but he steered her away and put her on all fours by the side of it. This wasn’t out of deference to the owner of the bed. It simply gave him a better vantage point at the window, so he could see out to the residents below. He held the girl by her hips and slowly drove himself all the way into her hot, inviting body. She pressed her face into her arms to stifle her cries and he could feel the shiver running all through her. She was a pretty girl but wore too much make-up and fake tan, as did so many young girls today. However, inside she felt wonderfully luscious.
She had been on her knees for maybe twenty minutes but the carpet was plush and if her joints were aching she showed no signs of wanting to get up. His thrusts were deep and steady, slipping all the way in and then pausing to move against her backside as he filled her. She pushed back hard and ground against him, often dictating the pace, which he did not mind at all. She brazenly reached back to rub herself when the teasing slap of his balls didn’t give the intense stimulation she needed. He felt the scratch of her fingernails on his skin as he concentrated on the view from the window. Her first climax came within minutes of his penetration but he refused to speed up, keeping his rhythm steady, letting her slide back and forth to ever so slowly milk his stiffness whilst he gazed at the pretties below. She gasped and whimpered throughout, panting words of delight and encouragement. As she neared her second orgasm she reached back once more to rub herself and cried out, ‘God, I love how you feel inside me - you’re just so fucking hard!’
Her words encouraged him to speed up, so that he sent her into her climax with rapid thrusts, slapping sharply against her. The sight of her bottom quivering as the thrill burst through her almost broke his resolve. In truth he could easily have kept up his pace and spilled his lust inside her at that point. Most men would have, but he just about managed to regain control. While she remained on her knees he was willing to continue teasing the pleasure from her body. He was in no rush if she wasn’t. In truth her bliss was at least as important, if not more so, as his own. Even now she was still bathing him in her warm excitement, although he sensed her fatigue was quickly mounting.
Below him in the street the young one with the ample behind was bending over in her tight cotton trousers to pick up a neglected toy. The Mediterranean-looking one was inadvertently revealing a tasty portion of tanned belly as she lifted up a toddler. The one with the dimples was showing herself to be even prettier when she laughed. He couldn’t wait. She was begging for still more and his own pent-up pleasure was beginning to ache. He slid from the girl and lifted her effortlessly, placing her on her back upon the bed so that this time she wouldn’t need to use her fingers. She had her eyes closed and her mouth fixed in a smile. She spread her legs apart and he slid in to fill her once more. He thrust and ground against her. This time as she started to wail and quake he didn’t let up, but increased his pace as her voice gave out and her nails dug hard into his behind.
Once delirium had loosened her grip on him and he was empty, Hunter slipped from her. He made himself decent as she ran her fingers along her slit to delight in the feel of the wet stickiness there.
‘Let me know when my offer has been accepted,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
In the street all eyes were upon him. It was too early for introductions but he gave polite nods and smiles as he went back to his car. Behind him the mums raised their eyebrows to each other and gave little smirks, those silent jokey signals that they liked what they saw. Out of earshot of their husbands they swapped little quips about the benefits of having the stranger live there, but none of them knew even the half of it. Within a matter of weeks he would indeed be their neighbour. From out of nowhere he would be amongst them, dangerously attractive and instantly capable of turning their safe worlds upside down, every single one of them. He was coming, and only then would they realise that there was nowhere for any of them to hide.
Part One
The Temptation
Number Four
Nesta wasn’t intentionally spying, she just happened to be washing up at the kitchen window when the car, closely followed by the removal van, drove into the close. Number Four was at the top end opposite Number Seven, so it was in her direct line of sight. OK, so she might have known the keys could be collected at noon, and she might have timed her chore to coincide with this. She wasn’t trying to be nosey, she was just curious, as anyone would be. It afforded her only the briefest glimpses anyway - him with his back to the close, opening his new front door and disappearing inside, with removal men following on behind with boxes.
She knew almost nothing about him. The previous owners hadn’t met him and had left a fortnight earlier, hastened away by a job relocation before the sale had even reached completion. She had some scant personal details from the form he’d filled in for her. Temptation Close was designated a private road, though this wasn’t due to any pretentiousness from the residents. Usually when such developments are built the council then adopts the road, becoming responsible for its upkeep. In this case, times being hard, their council had not. This meant the residents had to put into a pot to cover any outlays, such as payment for lighting or potential road repairs. To ensure this was done fairly they all became equals in their own management company. Nesta ove
rsaw this and so, via the estate agents, she had the new resident forward his details and sign up as a partner.
From this she knew his bank details and that the account was in the name of a Mr M. Hunter. That was it. Not even a first name, just an M. The property was in his name only, which begged the question about a potential partner. Surely someone with his looks wasn’t going to waste? Maybe he was recently divorced, which meant that he might in reality be a complete bastard. Or maybe he just got hitched to a dragon. These houses were not bachelor pads though, far from it. These were family homes in a large but quiet village. Why would a single man want to find himself marooned amongst all these happy families? Perhaps he was gay then. Yes, that was it. That explained the excellent grooming and the nice clothes. He would move in and become accepted, then have his gay lover move in too. Then together they would adopt a child or two. That was quite exciting. She’d never had a gay friend before!
Nesta thought she knew what he did for a living. That extra snippet had been garnered from the air-headed estate agent girl during the phone call about the management company. ‘He’s a decorator or something, I think,’ Nesta had been informed, without much conviction. She definitely knew he had a rather swish Beemer because she could see it now. It was a 5-Series, like her boss’s, this one sleek, black and immaculate. It made it probably the most expensive car in the street, suggesting that decorating was a lucrative business to be in.
She had expected a van of some kind, but then he didn’t look like any ordinary decorator. That day of the street party he had emerged dressed smartly, wearing suit trousers, expensive-looking shoes and a full-sleeved shirt in cream, possibly silk, unbuttoned at the collar. It was a hot day but he hadn’t resorted to more casual wear, suggesting he was habitually neat. The handwriting on the form he’d sent her backed this up. It was elegantly slanted and clear; rather nice, actually. Most surprisingly it looked to have been done with proper pen and ink, rather than some plastic biro brought out from behind the ear.
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