Semua Bab Wild Desire: Bab 101 - Bab 110

(A short story)IT WAS THE most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, but all it made me do was want to cry. I ran my fingers slowly over the lace, the boning, and the tiny appliqué flowers, and wondered what on earth had possessed me to buy something so ridiculous, so expensive and so useless. It was too late now, the time for sexy lingerie was long past. Not even a pure silk, gunmetal blue basque could salvage the ruins of my marriage. I'd sent for it on impulse, from a flyer that'd fallen out of a magazine. It was one of those ‘today’s woman’ glossies that I’d bought for an article on ‘Putting the Spice Back into your Relationship’. I was clutching at straws really ~ doubly so in the case of the basque — because | don’t think I’ve ever finished one of those oh-so-helpful articles. They all seemed so unreal and pretentious, as if they were written for tall blonde superwomen who wouldn't have problems in the first place, and probably wore slinky undies anyway. Even so, I’d sent for the ba

(A short story)Dear Jeremy, I can’t thank you enough for handing in my pendant. You can’t imagine how much it means to me. A money reward seems sordid somehow, so may I treat you to a night out instead? I’ve enclosed details of where and when we can meet, and I look forward to showing my appreciation: my PROFOUND appreciation. Anna Caspell (Mrs) When he'd first read the letter, Jem Hathaway had been disappointed. The pendant he’d handed in must've cost a fortune and he’d been hoping for a cash reward. It was a bit of a mystery how a thing so obviously expensive had turned up outside his scruffy dump —the house he shared with half a dozen other guys, all equally as hard up as he was ~ but he hadn’t asked questions, just dropped it in at the local police station. He was puzzled too, by the bobby-on-duty’s reaction. The man had grinned broadly. No, he’d smirked from ear to ear as if someone had cracked a dirty joke, told Jem there was a reward, then nudged his mate behind the counter

(A short story)‘WHAT SORT OF fantasies do you have, Pandora?’ Jake Mallinson cursed inwardly at his perennial and insatiable curiosity. It was probably going to screw up his chances with the most interesting woman he’d met in ages! ‘Mine? What on earth do you want to know about my fantasies for?’ Pandora studied him obliquely across the outlandish sketch she’d just drawn. ‘It’s yours that’re important ... You’re the one who’s paying for this.’ She tapped the paper before them for emphasis. “Yes, I know that.’ Jake thought furiously. How could he prise her secrets from her? He had to know more — she was driving him crazy! ‘But I thought I might get some sexy new ideas from you,’ he improvised, ‘for the apartment, that is ... You’re the interior designer, Pandora. You're the one with the creative mind.’ And the delicious body! he added silently, eyeing her elegant curves and the way her clothes hugged them so faithfully. She’d changed her outfit since earlier in the day — when th

(A short story)One night in July ALL WORK AND no play makes Jack a very tired I massaged after-bath rub into the muscles of his shoulders and chest, and sighed. Tension popped beneath his fingers; knots of it nagged at his arms and back. His whole body was a great mass of aches. That’s the last time I put so much into one lousy job, he told himself, stretching hard then letting go in a release so delicious he almost came. He rolled his head from side to side, shrugged, then grinned. Okay, so he always put all of himself into everything. But at least next time, Madam could come round herself and ask him nicely! There was no point letting her wind him up again. Because, one: the job was done now; two: in his heart of hearts he was actually grateful to her - very grateful. She’d handed him the biggest break of his whole career. Finally, three: he didn’t like admitting it, but in a strange screwed-up sort of way he really got off on her! He’d never experienced anything like it before

(A short story)I'D ALWAYS WANTED to sleep with him. Since the first moment I saw him: when he was just fifteen and I was living with someone else. I’d taken one look at that face and body — and in my mind we’d been naked and fucking. It'd been impossible then, unthinkable: he was underage and the son of a schoolfriend I’d just re-discovered, and I was working hard at ‘me and | Peter’, a relationship already on the skids without my looking elsewhere. There'd been everything against Ross and me. All I could do was ogle and dream and blame stress and some kind of early mid-life crisis. But now — three years on — that ‘everything’ had changed. I'd invited Joan to the villa for a spell, and though I could see she was dying to accept, she frowned suddenly, then started to dither. ‘Can I bring Ross along too? He’s really down in the dumps just now. Some little twit’s jilted him and of course it’s the end of the world. They take things so seriously at that age, don’t they?” I nodded, ap