Designed For Sin

by Dorothy Starr

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

'But you're my master,' she said, in awe.

'Yes, but I've been a slave in my time.'

Lukas freed her hands, then drew her up into a sitting position with him. 'I give the power to you now, Clover,' he said quietly, 'The tables are turned. Do with me what you will.'

Almost before the words were out of his lips, he climbed gracefully out of bed and knelt down, his head bowed.

Harshly dumped by her fiancé, Clover Wetherby leaves the country for London, bent on a life of fun and sensual self-indulgence. Lodging with Olivia Foxe, exotic fashion designer and old family friend, Clover quickly discovers she's in exactly the right place to achieve her goals.

Olivia is an unashamed hedonist and part of a group of daring sexual sophisticates who break every rule in the pursuit of extreme pleasure. Manoeuvred into the thrall of this dark association and its enigmatic leader Francis Black, Clover is schooled in sin by the beautiful bad boy supermodel Lukas and soon finds herself pushing the erotic envelope . . .

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Release date: September 4, 2008

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 224

Sample

Clunk. There it was. She was in.

Olivia’s mad, thought Clover, stark, staring mad. Giving the entry code to her home to someone she hardly knew? What if Clover had unsavoury, lowlife friends? This house was no doubt crammed with exclusive clothes and bolts of priceless fabric, on top of all the usual goodies, such as television, video, computer, artwork. A thief with the right set of wheels would think it was Christmas and his birthday rolled into one.

Clover pushed the door open and heaved in her travelling bag. Anyway, who was she to accuse anybody of being too trusting? She was the queen of naivety herself . . . At least Olivia hadn’t been cheated on by her fiancé, then dumped more or less at the altar like a plain, gullible Jane in a Victorian melodrama.

With a grunt of irritation, Clover gave her loaded bag a savage kick, then hoped she hadn’t broken anything. Throughout the entire journey to London, she’d told herself that from now on she wasn’t going to think about her broken engagement. Or bloody, naffing Roger! She was going to concentrate on having a damn good time, and she was going to meet - and enjoy - lots and lots of men, the way scandalous Olivia was whispered to do. And what better base of operations for that endeavour than in a chic, fashionable town house, right in the centre of the most sought-after part of London? The home, moreover, of a celebrity fashion designer, who was reputed to have slept with more tasty men than Clover had had hot dinners. Clover’s spirits bounced up again, even as she picked up her heavy bag once more. It didn’t feel any lighter, but her heart certainly did. The past was behind her now and the only way was up.

It was still strange being here, though. Clover didn’t know Olivia Foxe all that well and her invitation for Clover to stay with her had come right out of left field. The two women were cousins several times removed, but they’d only ever met fleetingly at family events, and Olivia had always talked more to Clover’s mother than to her. And flirted with her father, of course . . . Clover hoped that the older woman would find her a useful job to do, fashion related, of course. She fancied something slightly glamorous but not too arduous, which required her to look good but would not tax her grey matter. She had a notion to go to college again at some time in the future, but for now, she just wanted to enjoy herself. She didn’t want to be a houseguest, however, a hanger-on tolerated out of kindness, pity or as a favour.

Well, at least the place is roomy enough, thought Clover, looking around as she laboured up two winding flights of stairs, past the entrances to the shop and the workshop to the landing of Olivia’s living quarters. She’d been anxious about that. Olivia lived above her business - the entrance was completely separate, via a mews courtyard to the rear of the atelier - and Clover had imagined cramped rooms, cluttered with a paraphernalia of sewing machines, tailor’s dummies, patterns and swatches. But, as she wandered into the living room, she saw she needn’t have worried. Up here, high over London, Olivia’s apartment was spacious and beautifully decorated, a haven of peace and order away from the organised chaos Clover had imagined a fashion designer’s workroom to be. In fact, it was gorgeous, and Clover’s spirits bumped another notch as she looked admiringly around her.

Olivia had told her it was unlikely she’d be in when Clover arrived, and had instructed her to just make herself at home. Where to first? Bedroom, so she could dump her bag and unpack some of her crushables? Or kitchen, to make a cup of tea and chill out for a few minutes? She supposed she could leave her stuff on the landing for the time being; she could almost taste that tea, and biscuits too; she was starving.

But as soon as she put down her large and by now slightly battered bag, she frowned. Its incongruous presence made the cool, pure elegance around her look cluttered. Design was clearly everything to Olivia the couturière, and making a sow’s ear out of the silk purse of her decor was not a good start. Guessing the bedrooms were probably on the next floor, or higher, Clover hoisted up her luggage and made her way along another set of stairs.

Halfway up the flight, Clover became aware of two sensations. One, that the self-conscious, manufactured harmony and tranquillity of her surroundings was making her scared to make a noise; and two, she had a distinct feeling she wasn’t alone in this part of the house. There would be people working in the boutique and the design atelier below, but she sensed a presence up here too - in the flat. This feeling was reinforced when she reached the next landing - decorated in the same light, milky blue as the one below - and heard what could only be described as a groan of pleasure emanating from a partially open doorway.

Oh my God, thought Clover, easing her load to the floor. Her whole body became alert and filled with energy. Oh shit, this is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for!

What had she been waiting for? Evidence of the racy life Olivia was supposed to lead? Well, judging by the noises she was hearing, she’d found it. In spades!

As the sound came again, louder and hoarser this time, her every instinct told her this, whatever it was, was exactly what she’d been missing whenever Roger had touched her. The X factor, the magic that had glistened like a grail before her, just out of her reach. The only time she’d ever got close to catching it was when she was on her own, and, with a delicious, grubby, daring sensation, she’d masturbated . . .

Clover crept forward, pressing her hand against her chest. The beating of her heart was so powerful now that she could almost hear it, and she didn’t want to disturb what was going on beyond that open door - because then it might stop.

There were clearly two voices now, low, husky, and conspiratorial. And there was bumping and rustling. The sound of a passionate struggle between two bodies straining against one another.

‘Please . . . Oh God, Nathan, please!’

Clover recognised the voice of Olivia Foxe, her new hostess and protector, but she didn’t sound like the soignée sophisticate who’d swanned around at family occasions looking fabulous. Her usually low and contained voice was breathy and had a pleading quality, and as she gasped there came more sounds of movement; kicking, grappling, a fist beating rhythmically against a hard surface.

Clover moved further forward, keeping her slim body as narrow as she could and parallel to the door so she could see and not be seen. She felt afraid to look but she simply couldn’t stop herself.

The room beyond was a small office or workroom. A heavy wooden table was covered with fashion sketches, magazines, a clutter of pens and pencils, and a spilt rainbow of fabric swatches. It was Olivia’s private haven of design inspiration, no doubt, but at that moment it was someone else who had designs on Olivia!

In front of the table, and leaning against it, were a man and a woman. And the most startling thing about the woman was that her skirt was hiked up, her pants were around her knees, and her companion’s hand was jerking vigorously between her legs.

Oh my giddy aunt, thought Clover, as the woman, unmistakably Olivia, jerked her voluptuous body, skewered on the fingers of a lusciously muscular young man, whose curly dark hair straggled down to his broad shoulders. As his arm moved like a piston, ‘Nathan’ sucked hungrily at Olivia’s arched throat. He was wearing a thin shirt made of a white cheesecloth material and when he and Olivia rocked against the table and twisted around, Clover saw his tight denim jeans were unzipped.

What a monster! she thought, unable to look anywhere but at Nathan’s phenomenal erection where it pushed through his flies and pressed against Olivia’s crumpled skirt. He was masturbating her and rubbing himself against her at the same time, and Clover didn’t think she’d ever even imagined anything as hot as this, much less seen it.

‘Please! Oh God, Nathan . . . please!’ implored Olivia again, her hand slapping convulsively against the table, as her hips worked in synchrony with her young lover’s fervant fingers. ‘I want to come!’

Clover wanted to come too, and she had to stop herself crying out in sympathy with Olivia when Nathan rudely withdrew his hand and wiped it casually on Olivia’s strappy silk top, leaving her high, if not exactly dry, and whimpering for more.

‘Christ, Ollie, you are such a slut,’ he said contemptuously, moving away from her, his prick swinging rudely as he sat down on a nearby stool. Clover edged forward as far as she dare, so she could still see him. As if oblivious to the woman in front of him, Nathan began to caress his imposing length slowly and lovingly.

‘Nathan . . . Nathan . . .’ gasped Olivia. She was seemingly paralysed in front of him, unable to follow, or to do anything about her rucked-up skirt and her sagging panties. Clover was transfixed by Olivia’s crotch, which was immaculately shaven, with just a tiny tuft of tawny hair guarding the division of her sex. Clover instantly decided that she must do something about her own pubes. She looked like an orang-utang down below compared to Olivia’s immaculate trim.

‘All in good time,’ said Nathan, continuing to fondle himself. ‘Now, take your pants right off and tuck your skirt up so it doesn’t hide your snatch. I want to see every little juicy nook and cranny. Come on! Get a move on!’

Olivia jumped to obey him, and Clover could see she was panting. As Olivia hooked a finger into the elastic of her silky knickers, then tugged them down and flung them away, she licked her lips and smiled in satisfaction.

She loves it! She really loves it. She gets off on him ordering her around and humiliating her.

Clover had never played such sexual power games herself, but in a flash of insight, she could see their irresistible attraction. She could feel it too, she realised, aware that between her own legs she was probably just as wet and steamy as Olivia.

‘I’m ready, Nathan,’ purred Olivia. She was wearing high, strappy heels and as she spoke, she shifted her feet to make her thighs gape, exhibiting herself to her domineering young lover. Pushing forward her pelvis, she reached down and began to stroke herself.

‘Don’t do that, bitch! Not until I tell you to,’ Nathan said sharply, continuing to do exactly what he’d just told Olivia not to.

He certainly does love himself, thought Clover, her attention returning to Nathan and his naked penis. His erection was large - and getting larger by the second, she could swear - the angry red bulb of his glans pushing out rudely between his fingers. Clover imagined what it might be like to have him between her thighs, stretching her, making her gasp and moan and want to drive herself down hard to get the best from him.

Olivia whimpered, clenching her fists and pouting in mock disappointment. It was patently obvious that she was having the time of her life.

‘Take your top off,’ instructed Nathan, ‘Then get your tits out of your bra. Don’t take it off though, just rest them on the top so it pushes them up. Go on . . . do it!’

‘But, Nathan, that’s so demeaning. Please don’t make me do it.’ Olivia’s voice was little-girly and sing-song, but her heavy breathing told an entirely different story. Was she going to come, just from Nathan’s high-handed treatment? It certainly looked that way to Clover. The older woman was fuchsia pink in the face and her dark eyes were wide and glazed.

‘Do it, whore!’

Olivia jumped to comply, baring her body and making herself look sleazy and available. Clover wished she was part of the game too, and that she could pull apart her own clothes and exhibit herself like a slut to the dark and stroppy Nathan.

‘That’s better,’ he said, his fingers moving more carefully on his penis now. Clover could tell he too was near to climax, and she sensed he’d want to hold off from it as long as he could. As she watched, he pinched himself meticulously, just beneath the glans, an action Clover suspected was designed to tame his pleasure.

‘Now get up on that table,’ he commanded, his voice rough as if the crisis point were looming. ‘Get up, then get on your hands and knees . . . Then take your weight on one hand, reach round and stroke yourself, but don’t come! If you come, I’ll punish you.’

Moving awkwardly in her heels, Olivia obeyed him, climbing on to the cluttered surface and sending pens, swatches and sheets of paper flying. She didn’t appear to be bothered in the least by the disruption to her work. Once aloft she knelt up, her hands slowly stroking the insides of her thighs.

‘Get on your hands and knees, Ollie,’ said Nathan roughly, ‘You know how . . . I want you kneeling just like the horny, slutty bitch that you are.’

‘But Nathan—’

‘No buts!’ cried Nathan, rising from his seat and grabbing hold of her to manhandle her into position.

Olivia wasn’t exactly a slim woman and as she crouched, her heavy breasts swung low and her generous bottom looked even bigger and rounder when offered up and prominently displayed. Her thick chestnut hair had escaped its chignon and hung down messily around her face.

What’s he going to do to her? thought Clover, mesmerised by the scene, which was out of her wildest fantasies, yet also far, far beyond them.

‘Now you can bring yourself off,’ murmured Nathan, running his hands over Olivia’s back and buttocks, slowly massaging her pearly skin in the way a sculptor might assess malleable clay. ‘But first there’s just another small refinement. Where is it?’

‘Where’s what?’ croaked Olivia, beginning to sway as she lifted one hand to touch herself.

‘Don’t mess about, Ollie. I know there’ll be one around her somewhere. You always have one handy.’

‘In the drawer to your right.’

One what? thought Clover, dying to see.

She didn’t have long to wait. A moment later, Nathan had rummaged in the drawer and produced a long, thick vibrator made of vivid cerise plastic.

Crikey, Clover mouthed to herself, another monster!

Without so much as a warning or a smear of lubricant to ease its passage, Nathan pushed the pink dildo into Olivia, right up to its hilt. The older woman groaned and rocked, welcoming it inside her and reaching around herself to feel it.

Nathan dashed her hand away. ‘Oh no, you’ve got to hold it in the other way. Go on, grip it! Make it work. I want to see it moving while you rub yourself.’

Clover craned as far as she dare, so that she could see it too. Olivia was gasping and grunting now, rocking on one hand while the other worked incessantly between her legs. Nathan watched her closely, all the while slowly stroking himself.

Oh God, this is it, thought Clover again, her heart flipping and swooping, as she remembered the ordinariness and sterility of her relations with Roger. He’d never had the imagination to play games like this, and not for the first time she started to feel relieved and happy that he’d dumped her. If she’d still been with him, all this might have remained a closed book to her for ever. She moved as close to the pair of lovers as she dared.

Fortunately, Olivia and her young man were completely absorbed in each other. Clover reckoned she could probably have walked right into the room and sat down beside them and they would never even have noticed her, especially when Nathan reached over, twisted the base of the vibrator, and it began to buzz loudly.

‘Oh God!’ shrieked Olivia, jerking as if she’d been stuck with a cattle prod. Her breasts jiggled, her buttocks heaved, and her whole body rocked in sudden violent motion. Unmistakably climaxing, she shouted a stream of obscenities that would have graced the terraces of a football match.

Olivia’s orgasm went on and on, and Nathan watched and laughed with pleasure. ‘Dear God, Ollie, you should have been a pro,’ he said, as his inamorata’s thrashing body gradually stilled. Then, with as little warning as he’d allowed her when pushing it in, he grasped the base of the dildo and pulled it still buzzing from her body. Throwing the sticky cylinder aside, he grabbed Olivia by the hips, d. . .