Create: A Cariad Romance Three Book Bundle (Cariad Collections)

by Primula Bond

  Mimi let out a shriek as they landed on their hands and knees half in, half out of the shower, and she started to crawl out of the shower, still impaled from behind. Eloise started to lower her camera. Even these two couldn’t keep up the acrobatics forever, surely?

  But like the alpha male that he was, Cedric wasn’t giving up. Glancing again at Eloise, he yanked his wife back against him and started to thrust himself inside her, hardly pulling out at all, just keeping himself right inside so that she was pushed and pulled across the slippery tiles with whatever movement he chose, her hands and knees squeaking with the friction, his hands holding her against him, not needing to do anything more to stimulate her, just letting her tight vagina welcome him in so that they were welded together, the beast with two backs, rocking back and forth on the floor, grinding and thrusting.

  Eloise continued shooting as Cedric pumped faster and faster, muttering into his wife’s neck, resting his mouth and teeth there while he fucked her and then all at once he lifted her off the ground with the force of his coming and she wiggled her hips from side to side to give herself more friction and then she was obviously coming too as he pulled her right up against him and pumped his juices into her while hers flowed and mingled with the warm rushing water and the ebbing bubbles.

  Eloise backed out to return to her room. Lying on her bed she flicked through the photographs. By now there was only the slightest jolt of surprise to see the newest additions. Her with little Honey in the candlelit pavilion, the two girls crawling over each other on the outsize velvet cushions, all apple cheekbones, arched throats, flowing hair – and tongues, kissing, licking, swiping all over. Warmth flooded through her as she realised how determined, how dominant she looked with the other girl. How knowing.

  Her shoot just now in the master bedroom was like a silent movie. The Mimi and Cedric Show. Their bodies flowed from frame to frame, arms, legs, faces, mouths, all working towards their climax. She could see it on a loop, playing constantly on a big screen.

  Because it was turning her on all over again. She switched off the camera and fingered herself to a climax and then fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  She let herself in early the following morning before Jake got there, and quickly uploaded her photographs on to the huge computer in his office. She wanted to take another good look and then edit them. Perhaps those other mysterious pictures featuring her being seduced, one by one, by each member of the Epsom family, would simply melt away from the memory disk. Or perhaps they were just part of her fevered imagination.

  But everything was there. It couldn’t have been some kind of mistake with the self timer. The out of focus, dreamy shots contrasted so sharply with her cool, composed style, but there was nothing accidental about them. In fact the more she looked at them in the cold light of day, the more skilled they obviously were.

  So who the hell was the unknown photographer, stalker, ghost, whatever, hiding in the shadows, capturing every intimate sexy moment as she tasted those new people, those new experiences? How had they transferred the images to her camera? Was it one of the family? Unlikely, as they were either with her or on their way to somewhere else.

  The post clattered through the letter box, landed with a slap on the doormat, and there, in a smooth white envelope, was the fat cheque Cedric Epsom had promised her. No fevered dream, then.

  ‘You look knackered. Good weekend, was it?’

  Jake made her jump, coming up behind her holding a bucket of Cafe Americano.

  ‘I stayed at the Epsoms.’

  ‘The whole weekend?’

  ‘In the end, yes. They wanted me to do a family montage of all their, er, comings and goings.’

  She tried to minimise the images on the computer but he slapped her hand away. The computer hummed as the pictures slid past, her clever, artful shots interspersed with the furry, blurry ones: Eloise with Mimi, her astonished face reflected in the Venetian mirror; Eloise with Rick and Freddy on the bedroom rug, Freddy’s face ablaze with longing as he waited his turn, then his cock aimed like a javelin about to penetrate her; Jake sucking her nipples on the hot damp riverbank. The pictures all looked suddenly bigger and more graphic, and excruciatingly embarrassing now Jake was staring at them as well.

  He gave a long, low whistle. ‘Christ, girl, what have they done to you? This isn’t a montage – it’s a porn film story board only just disguised as art. The Corruption of Eloise Stokes. Although God knows you’re photogenic when you’re naked. Who knew?’

  ‘Ironic coming from the photographer who’s been shagging me all these years.’ She swallowed. ‘So you’re not shocked at what they – what I’ve been getting up to?’

  ‘Shocked? A little. That sex pot ain’t the innocent little Elle I know. Jealous? Volcanically so. And I’ll show you just how volcanically as soon as we can shut up shop.’

  Eloise tried to smile. ‘What if Cedric sees these? Me with his wife, well, he’ll probably get off on all that lesbian stuff, seen it all before, but me with his kids? They’re all grown up, but, Christ, he’ll probably sue me for assault! And worst of all he’ll stop his bloody cheque!’

  ‘He won’t see the out of focus pictures.’

  She frowned. ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Relax and come here, gorgeous. You’re still my girl. You obviously haven’t missed me, but I’ve missed you.’ Jake kissed her slowly, knowing that it would shut her up, melt her, bring her back to him. Then he pushed her down roughly onto the battered leather sofa. ‘Come on, baby. Do it to me, like you did it to those lucky Epsoms.’

  His mouth used to be so gentle, so familiar. As he’d pointed out before, he was the only lover she’d ever had. Before the bruises, the bite on her neck, her aching cunt, her sore nipples, before she collected all those indelible signs of a debauched weekend.

  ‘Actually, I missed you too, Jake. Didn’t think I would, but I thought about you.’

  ‘In amongst all that dazzling wealth and beauty?’ He laughed a little harshly. ‘OK. Show me how much you missed me.’

  He pushed her down on to her hands and knees and yanked her little skirt up over her bottom.

  ‘Hey, wind it in!’ she squealed furiously. ‘What have I done wrong?’

  ‘Made like some nympho with that entire family behind my back, that’s what. And it’s all there on film, every fuck, every wriggle, every lick, and oh yes, they’ve paid you, so what does that make you, hmm?’

  ‘They paid me for my work, not my–’

  ‘A hooker, that’s what. Those Epsoms took my girl, and gave me back a whore! ‘

  Her astonished protest was silenced by Jake slapping her hard on the bottom. She twisted round, about to unleash a torrent of enraged abuse before scratching his eyes out, but he just flipped her round and slapped her again. This time the stinging of the blow rooted her to the spot. The heat of it radiated from his handprint and a strange, surprising pleasure seared through her.

  ‘Well, if I’m a whore,’ she hissed, ‘you’ve turned into some kind of pervert!’

  He slapped her again, making the soft flesh on her butt ripple. ‘They wanted to get you into their mansion, and they wanted to seduce you. All of them. And they are all experts. You can see it from the pictures. You loved every minute of it!’

  ‘They wanted my pictures, that’s why I was there, but yes. I loved it. Once it started, I never wanted that weekend to end. So what?’

  She struggled to get back into a more dignified position, but he pushed her back down.

  ‘You’re a horny little slut, that’s what, and you need punishing.’

  She tipped her head back, laughing with disbelief, but he slapped her again and this time her whole body shivered with new, low-down excitement at the manic way he was behaving. Like he’d been taken over by the spirit of someone else. Cedric Epsom, perhaps. And despite, or because of that, the feel of her buttocks flinching under his hand, the way the harshness of the slap softened into a wicked war
mth, really turned her on.

  She glanced over her shoulder. ‘You just wish you were there, watching me with Mimi, teasing those boys in my bedroom, deflowering young Jake, practising my new lezzie techniques on the cute, soft Honey – and by the way you know Cedric fucked me in his office chair that day, right in front of the window where half the City could see?’

  ‘Yeah. I knew that, too. And yeah, I’ve told you I’m mad with jealousy. Happy now? I’m jealous, because I love you, and you’re mine, and I’m going to keep it that way.’ Jake ran his hands over her bottom, gripping her hips. He touched her sore cheeks, tracing the star shape where he had slapped her.

  ‘I told you before, and this weekend has proved it.’ She wriggled furiously, trying to get away. ‘I’m not yours, or anyone’s.’

  ‘Quite the reverse, because here you are, come right back to me. You know I’m right, Eloise. I’m the only guy for you.’ He stroked her buttocks almost absently, then slid his hand round to touch her pussy. ‘You’re creaming yourself, which proves it. So if it’s new experiences you’re after, I’ll show you something new.’

  She couldn’t deny it. Her mild mannered Jake was on a mission. Her cunt was clenching now with a sickly dark desire as he pushed his fingers inside her. She started to grind down to push them further in, but suddenly he pulled away, unzipped his jeans and took his cock out of his trousers. They both watched it grow and harden as he squeezed it in the palm of his hand then opened his fingers to show her how big it was.

  ‘Go on then, lover. Fuck me if it makes you feel good,’ she hissed like a little witch.

  Outside someone knocked at the gallery door. It was well past opening time.

  He just chuckled, and parted her butt cheeks to slide his cock up the crack. Her thighs opened for him and she tilted her damp pussy hopefully towards him, but he went on nudging his cock at her arse hole. She swore and jerked with shock but he kept tight hold of her hips and pushed harder against the little hole as it resisted, closed up against him like a fist, then with a little pop it started to give, and open, to let him in, and though it felt sore as he entered it also felt incredible. Hot, tight, really dirty, and as his cock bumped over the stubborn little ring and slid into that space, filling her right up, her body closed eagerly round him, sucking him in.

  Another knock at the door, the rumble of a taxi pulling away.

  Now Jake was pushing harder, not too roughly, but filling her up with fire. She was afraid she might split open, but her body started to welcome him, fit him in, and then she was moving with him, his familiar body warm as he pulled her back against his stomach. Her hands rubbed at her aching pussy as he started to thrust his way right up, feeling huge inside that tight private space.

  She pushed back against him, the dirty excitement rising to fever pitch. This didn’t feel like Jake at all. It was like having another new Epsom lover. And then he was pumping harder and harder and it hurt but deliciously so and as he started to come she felt her body clench tight round him and she rubbed her fingers quickly over her clit and she was coming, too, screaming, her hand rubbing on her pussy and his cock thrusting up her arse, teaching her something new all right, his balls banging against her bottom, and her knees squeaking crazily on the leather sofa.

  ‘I heard about you from Cedric Epsom.’

  The man who had arrived by taxi had waited patiently on the doorstep for them to, well, finish fucking, and now he was commissioning her to come up to Edinburgh later that month to photograph him in and his dance troupe at work and play during the Fringe. As they talked she was aware of Jake crashing about in the gallery behind her, hanging new pictures.

  ‘That’s a great opportunity. Thank you,’ she said, taking his advance cash for her travel expenses up to Scotland. ‘But my work for Mr Epsom hasn’t even been printed yet, let alone shown to him or exhibited, so I don’t know how–’

  ‘Oh, the word is out, believe me, and if that one your boss has just hung on the wall behind you is anything to go by, then your work will be going like hot cakes by the end of the Fringe.’

  She saw him out of the door then turned, assuming he meant one of her classic works. But there, already framed and in pride of place was a slightly out of focus, enormous picture of her and Honey sprawled on the velvet cushions in the riverside pavilion as the dawn rose last Sunday morning, eyes fluttering closed with fatigue, hands resting on each other’s naked breasts.

  ‘You see? I was there all along,’ Jake said, kissing Eloise on the neck, right where it was bruised with those vampire bites.

  One of Us by Antonia Adams

  Chapter One

  Natalie noticed him as soon as he walked in. He was hard to miss: shaven headed, he wore cut-off jeans and a black vest top and he was so deeply tanned that at first she thought he might not be English. He strolled to the back wall and paused by the painting of the nude, as most people who came into the exhibition did, and for several seconds he stood, with his hands linked lightly behind his back, looking up at it. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but for some reason she felt uncomfortable about his intense interest.

  Which was mad. Waiting for her Lover, the most famous of her paintings, was there to draw people in. To make them buy. It depicted a young woman, her face half in profile, long dark hair fanning over her breasts, but not covering the nipples; she was sitting on a rock, all milky curves against stark grey lines, looking out at a dawn sea. Her long legs were drawn up on the rock, slightly parted and while one of her hands was behind her, supporting her, the other rested lightly against her pubic bone.

  It was the position of this hand that had caused all the fuss when Natalie had first released the painting. There was much supposition in the press about exactly what the girl was doing, or had been doing, with that hand. Who she was, was more obvious. Even though the detail of her face wasn’t entirely clear, there were enough clues in the long dark hair and the curve of her cheekbone and the elegant shape of her shoulders to know that the nude was a self-portrait.

  Natalie had a love-hate relationship with the painting now. It had, after all, caused the break-up of her marriage, but Anton, her agent, insisted it had pride of place at her exhibitions.

  Anton was standing by the till to her left. As she glanced at him he raised pencil-thin eyebrows and gestured towards the shaven-headed man with a sneer.

  ‘Now there’s a timewaster if ever I saw one. He probably thought it was a buy-one-get-one-free sale.’

  ‘Don’t be so judgemental. He might be a rock star, who’s just landed his helicopter on the cliffs.’

  ‘I bet he’s not. I bet he’s a beach bum, who makes his living from sculpting driftwood into hideous little ornaments of dogs with A Present from Bournemouth inked on their fat bottoms.’

  ‘If I thought you really meant that I would slap you!’

  ‘But I do mean it.’ Anton snapped the till shut with a flourish, his eyes flashing with dark humour. ‘That is why we get on so well, my darling girl. You are the gorgeous young artist who has no idea how talented she is, and I am the washed-up old queen who is perfectly equipped to exploit your talent. It is an excellent combination.’

  It was an odd combination, Natalie thought, trying not to laugh, but she did love him – he was right there. Anton had the hugest heart beneath his brittle veneer. And actually he was a damn good agent too. Since she’d known him he had steered her gently, but purposefully towards the big time.

  The man was heading their way, and, slightly worried that Anton might make some disparaging remark, she stepped forward to greet him.

  ‘Hello there, I’m Natalie Crane. What kind of art are you interested in?’

  He didn’t answer her question, just smiled and said, ‘I came to congratulate you.’ He had a dark brown voice – she always thought of voices in colour – and dark brown eyes with tiny flecks of gold in their depths. She felt a frisson of something when he looked at her. Maybe it was the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he could see righ
t through her clothes – although he wasn’t looking anywhere but at her face.

  ‘Congratulate me on what?’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice her discomfort.

  ‘I’ve never met an artist who made money before.’

  ‘Perhaps you don’t move in the right circles,’ she said coolly, and could have bitten out her tongue. She was as bad as Anton – making judgements about him. And he couldn’t possibly know that it hadn’t always been galleries and big price tags for her, that she’d worked bloody hard to get where she was today.

  ‘I wasn’t criticising you.’ He looked amused, and she could see she hadn’t offended him. ‘I was merely making an observation. I’m Will Falcon.’ He held out his hand. It was deeply tanned like the rest of him; long fingers, clean fingernails – not the sort of hands that picked up driftwood on the beach and carved it into tat.

  When he let her hand go, she could feel the space where his fingers had been. It was an odd sensation. Beside her, Anton gave a disapproving sniff.

  Will leant forward and said in a voice meant only for her. ‘I was wondering if we could have a chat about your work. Perhaps you’d have time to join me for coffee.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Maybe lunch? Or doesn’t your minder let you out?’

  There was a challenge in his eyes that she couldn’t resist. And it was lunchtime. She was entitled to lunch. She wondered why she felt she had to justify herself to the workaholic Anton. Was there some part of her that felt guilty, that knew, even then, what lay ahead? Because even in those first few moments she was hugely aware of Will. As they walked across the wooden interlocking tiles, her heels clicking, his Asics trainers almost silent, she could feel the atoms buzzing between them.

  They went to the bistro on the beach, which was set back from the prom and was the closest half-decent place for lunch. Not that she felt hungry – not at all. As she watched him go up to the bar to order drinks she had a chance to take in details she hadn’t noticed before. There was an easy grace about the way he moved, a self-assurance that was very attractive. He smiled at people too, as he passed them, and they smiled back. Kids, women, other guys, they all responded to him. It was nice to see. And he had a great arse.