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until they shared a mutual explosion of heat. She collapsed beneath him enjoying the sweeping, sweet sensation of the climax that rose from her clit, soared up her spine to her head and retreated slowly down again. Her limbs weakened and she folded to the quilt, taking him with her. She rolled onto her back.
    “Did I hurt you?”
    “Not likely. Look.” He crawled up, his knees on each side of her and displayed his cock, still stretched out hard and erect from his crotch, pointing towards his navel, his balls swinging with the movement. A triumphant smile lit his face.
    “More?” he asked and she reached up and wrapped her hands around his shaft and sacs, feeling his balls tighten and rise. He lowered his cock to her face, but she turned her head away.
    “Not today, thank you.” Always polite, she smiled.
    “Well, I guess, I’d better get back to the garden.” He jumped off the billiard table and she was glad Henry didn’t know how they had romped on his sacred green baize.
    “A moment, Mortlock.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “My husband will be joining us next Thursday.”
    His face adopted a mask of servility, but not before she’d notice the flash of surprise.
    “Ah, a ménage à trois. Very well, m’lady. Until then.” He tugged his forelock and she recognised an air of arrogance behind the gesture. There was nothing servile about Mortlock at all. How he loved to play-act.
    Left with the job of taking the eiderdown back, she wrapped it around her shoulders. A chill brushed her naked body as the heat of her orgasm faded and, covered in the feather-downed quilt, she climbed the stairs.
    Standing under a hot shower in her en-suite, luxuriating in the flow of the water over her back and buttocks, she pictured Mortlock showering in his rather grand garden shed. In her mind, his hands were covered in bubbles as he stroked his appendage. Such a satisfying piece of equipment , she thought, a chuckle rising in her throat.

Chapter Five
     
     
     
    Showered, powdered, primped and pliant, she lay on the double bed in the guest room, its satin sheets slippery under her naked body. A shiver ran up her spine, raising goosebumps on her arms. Anticipation perhaps, or a case of nerves? It was stupid, though had it really been a week since Mortlock last serviced her? Tension crept into her muscles and she stretched her legs to ease the tightness in her thighs.
    She’d had two people make love to her before, in Brighton, but this time it was different. This time it would be her husband and her lover, albeit her paid lover. She wondered if Henry would be embarrassed, but hadn’t liked to ask.
    He’d been chirpy this morning. He’d read The Times and sipped his coffee as if it had been any other Thursday morning and any minute now he’d leave for the city. But not today. She could hear him in the shower, and moments ago, the sound of the garden shed door slamming shut. Mortlock would be on his way. The bedside clock read two minutes to ten.
    Both men were preparing to pleasure her, to caress her body with their lips and tongues, to stroke and massage her limbs, nibble her ears and cover her mouth with their murmurings.
    The shower door slammed and she knew Henry would be here soon. She took a long silk scarf from the bedside table and wrapped it over her eyes, tying it tightly behind her head. It seemed stupid to consider her embarrassment could spoil the moment, after all the sexual antics she’d indulged in with others, but Brighton had been clinical and practical. Never before had Henry been in the room, even as an observer. Today he’d said he hoped to participate.
    A chill spread through the room from the open window. The sun of the morning had turned to cloud and promised rain. Pulling the top sheet up, she curled into a foetal position on her side and took several deep breathes. She’d never reach an orgasm today if she remained this tense.
    Both doors opened simultaneously and