Page 267 of Hell Hath No Fury
A CHRISTMAS DISGRACE
DEE PALMER
CHAPTER ONE
Sam
“I like the hat,” I quip with a wry smile. My hands and feet are bound to the St. Andrew’s cross. I’m stretched naked and unbearably turned on, and my mouth isn’t the only thing watering. Jason saunters across the room of our private dungeon at the club like he’s on a Sunday afternoon stroll in St. James Park, and not like he’s sporting the world’s most impressive erection, stark naked save for the Father Christmas hat on his head.
“I thought you would.” He flicks the large white ball of fur jauntily dangling by his cheek, walks over to the large low-level sideboard, and opens one drawer after another, perusing the contents and selecting some additional toys that pique his interest. “I thought it was fittingly festive.”
“It’s the only thing in here that is,” I retort dryly. The room is dimly lit and erotically atmospheric; however, there is not even a sprig of Holly or a Christmas cracker to be seen.
“Not the only thing.” He casts a knowing glance over his shoulder and fixes me with an intriguing sexy glare.
“What have you got? Show me!” I urge excitedly, trying to keep the demanding lilt of my tone to a minimum.
“Patience, Sam, Patience…it’s not Christmas, yet,” he tuts.
“It feels like it is. I don’t remember the last time we had this place to ourselves.” A playful pout curls my brightly painted lips.
“It was two weeks ago when Leon and Charlie babysat. You’re insatiable.” He rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“And?” I challenge. He walks over to me, spears his hand around my neck and up into my hair, tilting my head as far as the restricted position will allow. He presses his mouth to mine and steals my breath with a proprietary kiss.
“And nothing, I fucking love that about you,” he states, emphatic and adoring at the same time.
“Are we the worst parents?” I blurt out of nowhere. I hate it when this thought pops into my head, but recently, it’s popped in a little too often, and now it’s out of my mouth.
“Because we love kink?” He arches a curious brow, confusion coating his question.
“No, not that,” I mutter, dropping my gaze to the floor.
He lowers his head to keep the eye contact when I sigh and try once more to look away. This is hardly the time, but I can see in his serious expression that he’s not going to let me drop it now. When I fail to elaborate, he does his best at astutely filling in the blanks.
“Because we like to make use of the privileges of owning the best sex club in London in our free time?”
“A bit.”
“The children are with their Uncle Will, whom they adore. We come here when they are either asleep or having their own fun. You only work part-time, and we pretty much share the childcare, no nanny or childminder. They have us whenever they need us, and I do believe that is a child monitor app you have on your phone over there.” He arches his brow and wiggles his finger at my iPhone propped up against an enormous ornamental glass butt plug. “If they really need us, they are just a tantrum away. So, in answer to your question, I don’t think we’re bad parents, no.”
“Okay, good, I didn’t think so either. It’s just sometimes…you know.” I can’t quite manage to shrug, given the fully spread position, but I think he gets the gist of the attempted gesture.
“I really don’t. You’re a great mum. We’re great parents, and if you want to keep doubting yourself, I will happily move you from the St. Andrews to the spanking bench.”
“You do know that’s not really a deterrent, right?” Biting my lips, I fail to suppress the devious grin from flashing across my face.
“It is if I select the cane.” The serious undertone and intense eye contact makes me audibly swallow the thick lump in my throat. “Hmm, so you were saying?”
“I was saying, you look like the sexiest Santa I’ve ever seen.” I divert the conversation, beaming with all innocence plastered on my face.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mrs. Sinclair.”
“Oh, good. So what’s in the box?” Nodding at the small box suspiciously out of place on the top of the chest of toys.
“Nice try, Sam, but I said patience, and I meant it. Do I need to gag you, too?”
“Might be an idea, unless you want me to bite your cock off.”
