Free The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) by Unknown Page A

his neck and
her mouth close to his. He knew his only hope was to push her away but his body
refused. Once, twice, three times, she touched his lips with hers, tantalising
him, her brown eyes smiling a mocking smile. ‘Kiss me, Tom,’ she whispered.
‘You know you want to.’
    The blood surged in his veins,
his head swam, and he almost fainted. Grabbing hold of her, he kissed her
roughly, pulling her harder and harder to him, limbs shaking uncontrollably in
a frenzy of torment and desire. As his whole body stiffened, he threw back his
head with a cry, not of joy, but of despair and pain, like a wounded animal.
When he looked at her again, she was studying him with serious eyes. ‘It’s no use
pretending anymore. Is it, Tom?’
    And that was just exactly it.
He thought of handing in his notice but he had a wife to support and a child on
the way. He knew what he ought to do – turn round and leave this place for
ever. But he could not; the truth was, he yearned for Margot, every nerve and
sinew in his body crying out its need.
    All the time she watched him
with those big brown eyes, and then, as if she knew what he was thinking, she
nodded. Without a word, she walked towards the big potting shed behind the
greenhouses; as in a spell, he followed her. Inside, she stood facing him,
boldly meeting his gaze.
    ‘For God’s sake, Margot, this is wrong,’ he
pleaded.
    ‘Dear Tom,’ she said, holding
up her arms to be undressed, the way a child does.
    Gently he removed her clothes.
When she was naked, he knelt at her feet. ‘If you’re not the most beautiful
thing I ever did see.’ He ran his hands over her small, hard breasts, her
swelling stomach, her thighs. Kneeling there, he was torn between desire and
shame, desperate to make love to her and praying for a miracle to save him from
this mortal sin. Margot looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you
brought me here to worship me, Tom?’ she asked mockingly. Kneeling beside him,
she began to undo his trousers.
    He was lost; demented with
desire, he thrust her down and took her savagely. It was more like an act of
revenge than of love. As he drove into her, he cursed and swore, loathing
himself and her, while Margot lay serenely on her back, eyes closed, lips
parted, with a half smile on her angelic face. When it was over, he saw to his
horror that her thighs were covered in blood. She had not uttered a sound, much
less cried out. Overwhelmed with remorse and guilt he asked himself again and
again – what had he done? What had he done?
    During the tortured weeks that
followed he tried everything he could to stay away from her, but there were few
places to hide on the estate, and she always succeeded in tracking him down.
Although she made it more than obvious what she wanted, he refused to go with
her again.
    ‘Don’t you love me anymore?’
    He told her he could never
touch her again, and that he was bitterly ashamed of himself. It was a clumsy
and insensitive rebuff, and he knew it. At that moment she became like a child
again. ‘Must I be ashamed too?’ That only made him feel worse, for it was not
her who should feel ashamed. His lust had perverted a near child’s romantic
dream of love. He reported sick, then after a few days, returned to the gardens
to look for her.
    She was waiting for him on “their” bench.
Determined to say what had to be said, he sat beside her, but before he could
utter a word she was kissing him passionately, her fingers thrusting between
his legs. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he grabbed her and threw her from
him savagely. She fell back, hit her head on the lawn and lay there, not
moving, eyes closed. For one terrible moment he thought he had killed her. The
panic rose in his throat, choking him, his mouth gaped as he gasped for air
like a drowning man. A sharp pain gouged his head and he cried out in agony.
Margot opened one eye, then the other. Slyly she grinned at him. He stared down
at her as though he were