Women in Lust (25 page)

I forced down the greens with little enjoyment, then asked for the check. To my surprise, Jackie slipped a large plate in front of me instead.

“Compliments of the chef,” she murmured.

I stared down at the plate, which immediately brought to mind a modern painting. The composition was artful indeed: a small molded rice pudding crowned with two whole blackberries, floating in a crisscross net of glistening indigo sauce.

Under any other circumstances, I would have been salivating
in delight, but now I just wanted to cry. “I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I can eat this.”

She whisked the plate away, but soon returned with a carefully folded paper bag. “Joseph asked me to wrap it up for you in case you’re feeling better later.”

I instinctively glanced toward the kitchen. The door opened just a crack to reveal Joseph’s frowning face gazing out at me.

I bit back a smile.

Apparently, I had the power to hurt him, too.

 

As soon as I got back to my room, I tore open the bag and ripped into the paper box inside. The waitress—or Joseph—had thoughtfully included a napkin and a plastic spoon, but like some wild beast, I pinched off a chunk of the rice pudding with my fingers and jammed it into my mouth.

The moan that escaped from my lips made me glad I’d retreated to my private lair. It was, quite simply, the most delicious rice pudding I’d ever eaten in my life. The texture was mousse-like, rich with cream but airy as a cloud. I tasted a kiss of rum, a heartier vanilla than the day before. Mexican perhaps? I’d only gotten a mere ribbon of sauce in my first mouthful, but it did indeed taste like the essence of summer sunshine.

Joseph might be a recipe hoarder and an incorrigible flirt, but when it came to pudding, the guy was a fucking genius.

Hurt pride and misdirected lust were mere distractions in the face of such greatness. I knew then what I had to do. But first I savored the pudding slowly, smacking my lips, purring my approval, scooping up the remnants of sauce from the box with my fingers and sucking them clean.

 

It was near ten o’clock when I walked boldly into the kitchen and asked for the chef. The remaining assistant pointed me to a
small room in the back corner.

Joseph looked older sitting at a desk covered with papers and charts, his brow creased with concern.

“Sorry to disturb you,” I said, “but I just had to tell you the rice pudding was amazing. The best I’ve ever tasted.”

His lips stretched into a grin. “I hope that means you’re feeling better?”

“Much better.”

“Well, tomorrow I’m making chocolate pudding, updated for more sophisticated tastes. I’d be curious what you think.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry I’ll miss it. I’m leaving in the morning.”

His face crumpled.

“I’d ask for the recipe, but I learned my lesson,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Speaking of that, I have something I’d like to say in private. Do you have time for a walk?”

With the way his eyes sparkled, how could I refuse?

Out of habit, I started strolling toward my bungalow and Joseph followed. He didn’t speak until we were well away from the main lodge.

“I’ve decided to give you the recipe for the butterscotch pudding,” he announced.

I actually gasped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve also decided to tell you why. Even though you might think I’m kind of a creep.”

“I can’t imagine that I would,” I said softly.

“Well, I’ve been sort of watching you over the past week. The first day at dinner you looked so sad and thin, but you smiled when you ate my food. As the days passed you looked…happier. I thought—well, maybe this will sound stuck-up—but I thought maybe my cooking was helping you feel better.”

For a moment I couldn’t speak. My chest ached, but sweetly,
as if he’d reached inside and soothed my sore heart. “Actually, I have been going through a rough time, and your food did comfort me. When I tasted your butterscotch pudding last night, I knew I was going to be all right. I wanted to thank you for that, but I didn’t think I’d get the chance.”

“No, I should thank you. It’s nice to make a difference. Sometimes I wonder if anyone even notices,” he said.

“I noticed.”

“I appreciate that. So, I’m going to give you the recipe, but I’d prefer if you don’t let anyone else know about this.”

We’d reached my bungalow and I paused before the door. “Of course. Do you mind if we do it in my room so I can take notes?”

The words slipped out before I realized my proposal might have a less innocent interpretation.

But the way Joseph smiled then, well, I suddenly knew everything was going to be all right indeed.

 

At first we both behaved in a civilized manner. I sat at the desk and wrote the recipe down on the hotel stationery while Joseph stood beside me and dictated. Yet, like the night before, his warmth, his scent, made it hard to concentrate on my task.

When I stood up and thanked him again, he didn’t step back. We were standing so close I could have licked him.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-six.”

“I’m old enough to be your mother.”

Joseph just smiled and said, “But you’re not.”

Then he leaned down and kissed me.

His lips were satin, and his mouth tasted like cream and vanilla and sex, and I wanted to taste him everywhere, just like my fantasy the night before. But it wasn’t at all like the fantasy,
because Joseph didn’t stand passively while I undressed him and sucked his fingers and then his cock. He backed me up to the bed and laid my body over it, as he might arrange the day’s special on a plate. And so I was the one who submitted, who closed my eyes and sighed, who shivered when he took my nipple in his mouth and licked and sucked with consummate skill.

I was the one who confessed, in a voice hoarse with need, that I wanted to fuck him so badly, but I didn’t have any condoms.

“What’s the problem?” he replied with a smile. “After all, we both like to eat.”

That’s how I found myself with my ass propped on a pillow and Joseph’s face buried between my legs. Not surprisingly, he was a master at this kind of dining, too, the ultimate multitasker, flicking my clit with his tongue, while both hands tweaked and pinched my sensitive breasts. He made me so wet, my juices flowed down over my slit, soaking the pillow. But I didn’t care; I knew no shame. I came in record time, my thighs shaking, my head thrashing, my hips bucking like a cowboy on a bull. Joseph rode it with me, tonguing me to the finish. I could tell he enjoyed his meal from the glistening grin on his face.

I cleaned my juices from his chin and lips with my tongue and told him it was my turn to eat.

Joseph’s cock was medium-length and thick, a perfect mouthful. I ate him like an ice-cream cone, savoring his musk and spice. His groans and sighs told me I hadn’t lost my skill. Then I got the naughty idea to ask if he liked a finger up his ass when he was getting a blow job. To my surprise—and delight—he confessed that he’d never done that before, but he was always interested in experimenting with new ingredients.

At last, I could thank him for the pudding in a way he would remember.

Wetting my forefinger in my mouth, I teased him in that
sensitive spot behind his balls, tracing a slippery trail back along his crack to his secret, puckered hole.

“Push open for me,” I whispered, easing my fingertip into that tiny, delicate mouth. His hard-on twitched and I pushed farther, gentle in my defloration. I took his cock between my lips and ran the tip of my tongue around the crown. His shaft swelled against my lips, hard as a marble rolling pin, but that made it all the easier to glide up and down, up and down. When his breath quickened, I crooked my finger forward—
come here, come here
—and a few strokes later, my dessert arrived. Tonight’s finale was, of course, hot jets of cream splashing against the back of my throat accompanied by a garnish of low, animal moans. I made sure to swirl the chef’s special sauce around my mouth before I swallowed. As always, it was exquisite, something only he could make.

Definitely a dish to remember.

And so, although I promised not to share the recipe for the butterscotch pudding, I don’t mind passing on the secret for an even sweeter ending to a good meal. I guarantee it will make you very glad you’re alive.

 

1 brawny, tireless boy chef

1 fortysomething divorcée with a sweet tooth

1 hotel bed with extra pillows

A package of condoms purchased from the men’s room in the hotel lobby for the next round

Mix both ingredients together well until they release their natural juices. Repeat as desired.

JACQUELINE APPLEBEE
is a writer who breaks down barriers with smut. Her stories have been published in anthologies such as
Best Women’s Erotica, Alison’s Wonderland
and
Fast Girls
. She can be found online at
writing-in-shadows.co.uk
.

 

Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area,
OLIVIA ARCHER
now resides in Los Angeles. She isn’t your typical California girl who rides the waves of surf, she would rather ride (or write) waves of pleasure.

 

DEL CARMEN
is a sexy Latina from New York City. She is new to erotica and looking forward to exposing more of herself. Visit her at
mydelcarmen.blogspot.com
.

 

ELIZABETH COLDWELL
lives and writes in London. Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies including
Please, Sir; Smooth
and
Orgasmic
. She can be found blogging
at The (Really) Naughty Corner, elizabethcoldwell.wordpress. com. She doesn’t smoke, but she has no objection to cute men, Dutch or otherwise, who do.

 

PORTIA DA COSTA
pens both romance and women’s erotica and is the author of over twenty novels and a hundred-plus short stories. Praised for her vivid, emotional writing, she’s best known for her Black Lace titles, but now writes for a variety of publishers, including Harlequin Spice.

 

JEN CROSS
is a writer, performer and writing workshop facilitator. Her writing appears in many anthologies and periodicals, including
Make/Shift, Nobody Passes, Visible: A Femmethology
and
Best Sex Writing 2008
. She tours with the Body Heat Femme Porn Tour and facilitates writing workshops in the Bay Area. For more, visit
writingourselveswhole.org
.

 

JUSTINE ELYOT
is the author of
On Demand
and
The Business of Pleasure
, as well as having contributed numerous short stories to volumes of erotica and erotic romance. Her work can be found in anthologies from Cleis Press, Black Lace, Xcite Books and Total E-Bound, among others.

 

KIN FALLON
is a writer from England. She likes and wants more love, happiness and pleasure for herself and others. She spends her spare time trying to spread peace and love in the world as best she can.

 

BRANDY FOX
writes poetry, short stories, essays, and novels for both children and adults, but writing erotica has by far been the most fun. She lives in Washington State with her spouse and two boys.

 

SHANNA GERMAIN
has an unending lust for all things shiny and sharp, including knives, nipple clamps and quick wits. You can read more of her work in places like
Best American Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica 2, Best Gay Romance, Best Lesbian Erotica, Bitten, Frenzy
and
Playing With Fire
. Join her other stalkers at
shannagermain.com
.

 

K. D. GRACE
lives in England with her husband. She is passionate about nature, writing, and sex—not necessarily in that order. She enjoys Chinese martial arts, frightening attempts to learn piano, long distance walking and extreme vegetable gardening. She has published a novel,
The Initiation of Ms. Holly.

 

AIMEE HERMAN,
a performance poet, currently works as sections editor of erotica for Oysters & Chocolate. She can be read in the anthologies,
Oysters & Chocolate Erotic Stories of Every Flavor
,
Best Lesbian Love Stories 2010
and
Best Women’s Erotica 2010
.

 

LUCY HUGHES
lives by the Gulf of Mexico among the pelicans and palmettos. She is currently in graduate school, and writes fiction when the professors forget to lock the door, allowing her to escape from the lab.

 

CLANCY NACHT
squeezes writing in amongst her job, her husband, and three feral rescue cats. She has written erotic fiction since 2003 but did not delve into professional writing until 2009. Since then she has been published by Cleis Press, Phaze, Ravenous Romance, Noble Romance and Dreamspinner Press.

 

AIMEE PEARL
is the pen name of a kinky bi girl living in that playful paradise known as San Francisco. Her erotic stories—all
true-life tales—appear in
Please, Sir: Stories of Female Submission
,
Best Women’s Erotica
and
Best Lesbian Erotica
, among other places.

 

KAYAR SILKENVOICE
is a bisexual polyamorous writer living in San Francisco. A postfeminist graduate of one of the Seven Sisters Colleges, she writes to promote sex-positive culture, hosts the weekly Silken On Sex podcast and produces erotic audio recordings. Kayar’s passion is sexual exploration. Join her on
SilkenOnSex.com
.

 

CHARLOTTE STEIN
has published many stories in various erotic anthologies. Her own collection of short stories,
The Things That Make Me Give In
, was named one of the best erotic romances of 2009 by Michelle Buonfiglio. She has novellas and a novel with Ellora’s Cave, Total-E-Bound and Xcite, and you can contact her here:
themightycharlottestein.blogspot.com
.