All Chapters of Wild Desire: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

‘And sergeant, please put your hat on. It makes you look so sexy!’ Harvey did as she asked, then pressed up against her, her locked hands contacting the emulsion-painted wall. He ravished her lips, forceful tongue plunging and plundering, aping the motion of coition. Patty kept her eyes open, wanting to see the black and white band of his hat, reduced to jelly at the feel of coarse serge as his collar brushed her throat and the discomfort of buttons marking her — flesh. ‘You’re a tart!' he shouted. ‘A filthy little whore. I should give you a good seeing-to.’ He jerked at the buttons of his jacket. Disappointment mingled with Patty’s rampaging desire. ‘Don’t take it off!’ she cried. ‘I'm not. Just want to get at my old man easier. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ His flies gaped open. His lively member sprang out, the purple glans rising from the wrinkled foreskin. Patty gasped as he rucked up her skirt, cock hopping at the sight of her bare belly and fluffy pubes. He gripped her

SYNOPSIS A pair of black kid evening gloves that breathe new fire into as illicit romance; a daring date to a different kind of peep show; a music lesson with an inspirational teacher ...CHAPTER 1STACEY PLUMPED UP the pillows and leaned against the headboard. She could hear Ross moving around downstairs and guessed that he was preparing a special breakfast tray. She sighed. He tried, poor darling. But whatever he did she knew it would make no difference. They were in a rut. She still loved him, but the spark had gone. They were ... comfortable together. Cosy. Still, what could you expect after seven years of marriage? When the door opened and Ross came in, she pasted a smile on her face. After all, you were supposed to be happy on your birthday. He had placed a single scarlet rose next to the freshly Squeezed orange juice. There was a fresh peach, yoghurt with honey and toasted nuts, her favourite morning paper. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the room. Ross tossed a b

‘WHERE'D YOU WANT it, love?’ Looking at the mirror again Josie wondered what had possessed her to buy it. Still, it had been a bargain for fifty quid. With that ornate gilt frame, all garlands, swags and cherubs, it had to be at least a hundred years old. It was so imposing, so ugly, that no one else had wanted it. Josie had found herself bidding when the price dropped. Somehow she had known that it was meant for her. ‘Well?’ the delivery man said, losing patience. ‘I haven't got all day. Which room? Up or down?’ For a moment Josie was nonplussed. She had not thought that far ahead. What was wrong with her? She was not given to making impulsive purchases. In fact, she was not impulsive at all - usually. It seemed to her then that she heard Sam’s voice - his tone of bored annoyance, one she remembered only too well. 'Where the hell did you get that monstrosity? Are you mad?’ That decided it. She felt a surge of mild rebellion. I'll do as I damn well like, she thought. ‘It can go

‘SO, WHAT DO you do to combat executive stress? I love to go shopping myself. Nothing like anew outfit to give me a lift.’ The nasal voice of Linda the fashion editor floated into Anna’s office as she sat staring at the screen of her Apple Mac battling with a feature which would not come right. She pushed back her chair in frustration and began paying attention to the conversation outside. ‘I play squash. Sometimes treat myself to a facial or a leg wax.’ That was Corrina, deputy fashion editor. Both women in the corridor had recently joined the editing team of ‘Pzazz’ magazine, gaining the coveted jobs by calling in favours from high-ups in the trade. Squash? A leg wax? Shopping? God help us! Anna thought. Is that the best. they can come up with to fill their spare time? She had an impulse, quickly squashed, to go and tell them what she had planned for relaxation later in the day. How their perfectly made-up faces would go blank with disbelief. Cheered by the thought, Anna opened

AS THE SMALL chartered plane began losing altitude, curving around in a graceful arc, Ruth Shepard leaned forward in her executive-class seat. Through breaks in the clouds she could see the ocean far below, a vast gleaming expanse of aquamarine. Ruth smoothed the skirt of her designer suit then glanced at the woman who sat next to her, an eye-mask covering the upper part of her face. Nancy Brogan, a high-up in a prestigious American design company, was snoring softly. She had been asleep since their conversation at the start of the journey. Ruth wished she was calm enough to doze, but her mind kept dwelling on what Nancy had said. When Ruth asked her if she had received a letter, Nancy had replied, ‘Sure. Mine came in the mail at my company office. I expect this is going to be another of those hare-brained schemes to hone my management skills. You would not believe the seminars and courses I’ve attended.’ She rolled her eyes and shrugged. ‘I just do as I’m told. He-who-must-beobeyed