Shameful Thrills. VariousЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Raising the Stakes

      Elizabeth Coldwell

      Robin was wrong for me in so many ways. Married, a good twenty years older than me and, most importantly, my father’s best friend. The last person I should have ever considered fucking. But from the moment I stepped into the unlocked bathroom on the second floor of his Belgravia home and saw him with his head buried between the bare, spread legs of his children’s nanny, it didn’t matter that I should have known better. I simply had to have him.

      Though I’d only caught a glimpse of his cock, coiled within the tight white briefs which were the only thing he wore, I’d seen enough to know it was big. Bigger, certainly, than anything I’d been used to until then. That night, I lay in bed, nightdress pushed up to my waist and fingers in my pussy, dreaming they were my legs Robin was holding apart with his strong hands, my clit his tongue flickered over till I screamed and came, my cries bouncing off the white-tiled bathroom walls.

      I didn’t think he’d been aware of my unwitting intrusion. Normally, when you walk in on someone unexpectedly, you make your apologies and leave, but what do you say in those circumstances – ‘No, do please carry on, I insist’? What I’d really wanted to do was stay and watch, hoping when he’d reduced the nanny to a panting, satisfied mess, he’d turn his attention to me. Instead, I’d shut the door as quietly as I could and gone in search of an unoccupied bathroom, before returning to the party downstairs, lust and envy seething through my veins.

      The next time we were alone, however, Robin made it clear he knew exactly what I’d seen. This was three weeks later, and there’d been a significant change in his household since the night of the party. The nanny had left in a hurry, apparently to return to Edinburgh to nurse her sick mother.

      ‘And with Kirsty gone,’ he said, standing a little closer to me than might be socially acceptable as we admired the koi carp circling like ghosts in the pond at the bottom of my parents’ garden, ‘there’s a vacancy in my household.’

      ‘But I thought you’d hired a new nanny?’ For someone who prided herself on being smart, having graduated with a first-class degree in English, at times I could be very slow on the uptake.

      ‘You know very well that isn’t what I mean, Juliette.’ He fixed me with those distinctive eyes of his, washed-out blue with a dark ring round the iris, and a fierce thrill ran through me, centring on my core.

      To his credit, he never tried to tell me his wife didn’t understand him. I believe she understood him all too well. She knew his tastes, and she had no interest in indulging them. The nanny – and who knew how many other women before her – had performed that function on her behalf. Robin made it very clear he wanted me to be the next. I sometimes wonder if I might have declined his proposition if I’d known then what he actually had in mind. And every time, I know the answer would be no.

      ‘So you’ll come over on Friday?’ he asked, walking with me back towards the house, casual as though we’d been discussing how profusely Mother’s rose bushes were blooming this year. ‘Lucy and the kids will be away, and I’m having a couple of friends over for a game of cards. They’d be very interested to meet you.’

      ‘Sure,’ I replied, too busy wondering whether his friends were as horny and desirable as Robin to realise how I was sleepwalking into my impending humiliation. ‘What do you need me to do?’

      ‘Oh, just top up the drinks, fetch snacks, make sure the guys have everything they want …’

      A blackbird sang high in the branches of the silver birch tree, and somewhere in the distance the bells of the local church rang out in celebration of a wedding. Or perhaps they symbolised our unholy union, I thought, smiling to myself as we approached the patio where my father tended his trusty barbecue.

      * * *

      That Friday, I dressed for my night out with extra care, selecting my prettiest cream lace underwear. The bra thrust my breasts out and up, giving me a tempting cleavage, and the panties had a thong back that left most of my arse cheeks bare. They’d cost me a fortune from a designer lingerie boutique in Soho, but if the sight of me in them didn’t give Robin an instant erection, there really was no hope for him. Over those, I wore a dress spotted with black polka dots, its hemline short and flirty, revealing plenty of leg. Just the right combination of innocence and experience, I decided, admiring my reflection in the mirror.

      A car I didn’t recognise stood outside Robin’s house when I arrived, a bright red convertible with the top down. It almost screamed ‘midlife crisis’, but I was forced to revise my opinion as Robin introduced me to his friends, neither of whom seemed to be the kind of middle-aged loser who needed to supplement his waning virility with an expensive, shiny sports car. Geoff, who had a dental practice on Harley Street, was a classic silver fox, his snowy hair just brushing his collar and his green eyes glittering behind small square glasses with gunmetal grey frames. Michael, who ran a media production company in Docklands, was six foot plus of prime Midwestern beefcake, blond and muscular in all the right places. My pussy creamed just looking at the pair of them.

      Introductions made, Robin led us all down to his den. The other two men were clearly familiar with the room, but it was the first time I’d even become aware he had his own basement-level domain, fitted out with everything the discerning forty-something gentleman needed to have a good time. There were a couple of black leather sofas, their cushions butter soft, a full-size pool table, the balls racked up and ready, and a genuine Wurlitzer jukebox. Its multicoloured neon lights flashed as Robin