The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 4

by Maxim Jakubowski

  I was thrilled.

  “Why this weekend? Didn’t you tell them you had a visitor?” Emily gave him the closest thing to a pout I’d seen yet.

  “Never mind.” Time to smooth amicable oil over the marital waters. “If Alec has a crisis at work, he needs to go.”

  Emily muttered disagreement.

  “I knew Jazzikins would understand.” I got Alec’s best smile and heartfelt regrets. He did both really well. “I feel terrible mucking up your weekend when you’ve come so far.”

  “You haven’t mucked it up. Emily and I will frolic together in the fleshpots of Aberdeen.” Emily’s face brightened. Alec glowered. No other word for it. I gave him my sweet smile. “She’ll look after me, I’m certain,” He looked worried. He should. “You go take care of your crisis. Don’t bother about us.” I sure wasn’t going to bother about him, and if I had my way, neither would Emily.

  He streaked off in his Jaguar. Emily and I set out in her little Fiesta. Size was of no importance.

  “Take me on the tourist tour,” I asked. “Show me the sights and all the bookshops. We can stop somewhere for lunch and somewhere for tea and somewhere for a drink, and if we really feel like it, another somewhere for dinner.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl let out of boarding school. We visited the bookshops and had coffee in a dark-paneled café where we sat close in a corner, and she confided in me that Alec worked terribly long hours. She took me to the rose garden and the maze. We got nicely lost and held hands muddling our way out.

  She drove to the beach. “It’s almost deserted,” I said looking at the great crescent of golden sand. “No one’s swimming.”

  “Too damn cold! This is the North Sea.”

  It wouldn’t stop me. “I’ve got to put a toe in after coming this far.”

  I left my shoes in the car and ran across the beach. Emily hesitated a few seconds before following me. The tide was out. I zig-zagged over the hard sand, glancing over my shoulder. Emily followed, cutting off corners trying to catch up. I let her, just as we neared the water.

  “Chicken?” I teased as I jumped in. Emily hadn’t been kidding! An icy wash hit my ankles. She stared. I took a step deeper and held up my skirt.

  “Never!” She followed me, and gasped. “This is ridiculous!”

  I wouldn’t argue. We ran along the water’s edge, keeping to the firm sand. My toes were tingling with cold as I out-ran Emily again. The girl was no marathon runner, that was for sure, so I slowed to take her hand and made a beeline for the car.

  By the time we got there, my feet were numb and turning red and my calves stung from salt water and North Sea wind. Emily was shivering. “Alec will never believe we did that!” Her right eye watered from the cold, but she grinned.

  “Does he need to know? Do you tell him everything?”

  She shook her head. Slowly. “Not everything.”

  Smart girl.

  We wiped our feet on Alec’s cricketing sweater. The closely knitted wool warmed our skin as it absorbed the damp and the sand. The sweater was unwearable by the time we were finished. Emily shook her head at it. “He’ll throw a wobbly when he sees that.”

  “Let’s save him the worry, then.” I took the sand and salt encrusted heap and tossed it toward the beach, the wind caught it momentarily, whipping it higher before it fell, wet and heavy, on the sand.

  Emily watched it arc up and fall. I wasn’t too sure of the look on her face. Regret? Shock? Worry? Until she smiled. “I doubt he’ll miss it until next summer.” A wry smile twisted her mouth. She took my hand and squeezed.

  I pulled her to me. Slowly. Giving her time to draw back. I wrapped my arms around her and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’ll never tell,” I said.

  She kissed back, a soft whisper of skin on my chilled lips. The warmth of her breath was lost in the wind but the heat of her body wasn’t. We stood, arms entwined, warming each other against the wind. It wasn’t enough. Emily shivered.

  “We need to get out of the cold,” I said, “Where’s the nearest place for a drink?”

  The all-but-deserted bar of a vast Victorian hotel.

  Dark lincrusta covered the walls and the rings of generations of damp glasses marred the oak tables. Emily ran her fingers up and down her glass. I raised my drink and savored the best single-malt whisky the bald-headed bartender had to offer. Watching Emily over the rim of my glass, I drank. The old codger’s best was pretty good. I took another taste, holding the whisky in my mouth and working it over my tongue before swallowing.

  Emily’s manicured nails tapped the side of her glass. She hadn’t tasted it beyond a first sip, when I’d proposed our mutual health. “Drink up.”

  “You want to go home?” Her eyes were dark with unspoken wants.

  “I think we both need a nice, hot bath.”

  Her full lips parted. Slowly lifting her glass, she tilted it and drank half down with one swallow. I expected her to choke and splutter but she just smiled. “That’s good.” Her glass made a dull thud on the table as I nodded.

  “I never settle for less than the best you can have . . . or give,” I said. Her hand rested on the table, palm down. I covered it with mine. Her skin was still cold. Emily moved so our fingers meshed. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. She would appreciate what Alec had refused.

  She bit her lower lip with one very, white tooth. “I’m glad Alec is at work.”

  “So am I.” I swigged the last of my whisky almost as fast as Emily did, ignoring the burning as I swallowed.

  We were back in the house in minutes and upstairs in seconds. On the landing, with its ornate railings and decorative cornice, I paused. Her room or mine?

  She settled that. Emily dragged me into the bathroom. Squeezing my hand, she leaned over the claw-footed tub. Steam rose, misting the gilt-framed mirror as she stood upright, and hesitated.

  I didn’t. I released her hair from the pale-blue scrunchee. As she shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, I unbuttoned her blouse.

  Did she and Alec share this tub? How hard did he get seeing her firm breasts swelling above her pink lace bra? Did he lust after her young body? Who was I kidding? They were married! They did this every night. Except when he hared off to save the day and left her alone. But Emily wasn’t alone now and she hankered for me. Her nipples weren’t hard from the cold.

  I unsnapped her bra and cupped her breasts. They were round and soft and tender. I pushed aside the lace, slipped the straps and her shirt off her shoulders, and unsnapped her jeans. She wore a pretty lace thong that matched her bra. They ended up together on the floor. Her legs were long, her thighs smooth and her tummy flat. Her breasts hung high and firm with nipples the color of the inside of a Venus shell. I’d looked like that once, back when Alec had rejected me. Now I had crepe thighs and a soft belly but, along with the cellulite, I’d gained experience and I knew what pleased women.

  I eased my hands up her flat belly to her breasts and watched her face. My mouth curled with anticipation. Emily smiled back. I didn’t wait any longer. Cupping the back of her head with my hand, I pulled her face to mine. I started soft and slow, just a brush of lips on lips but she opened her mouth and swallowed the kiss and my breath. Her lips were moist and as eager as a virgin’s. Hell, she most likely was one with a woman. I kissed back, trailing my other hand down between her shoulder blades and holding her steady in my arms.

  As I broke off the kiss, I whispered. “Get in the tub.” Like a good child, she obeyed. As she stepped in, I couldn’t resist skimming my hand over her smooth thigh.

  “Are you coming in?” When I nodded, she reached for a bottle and poured fragrant oil into the bath. The room was now filled with lavender-scented steam. I dropped my clothes on the tiled floor and joined her.

  Perfumed water rose to our breasts as I sat down. Brits may not have figured out about ice in cold drinks, but they have bath tubs right. As I soaped Emily’s breasts with scented foam she closed her eyes, si
ghing as my fingers trailed lower. I soaped her all over like a child, having her kneel up as I washed between her legs and down her thighs.

  After I rinsed her with a damp wash cloth, she washed me with a touch that left me impatient and ready. Damp and heated, we patted each other dry with warm towels that wrapped us from shoulders to knees.

  Emily raised her fingers to my face. “Jasmine,” she said, her voice tight and her eyes bright with curiosity and need.

  “Come on!” I grabbed her hand and led her down the hallway to the room I’d slept in last night.

  She tugged me in the opposite direction.

  She pulled open the door and pulled me inside. After all these years I was, at long last, ending up in Alec Carpenter’s bed.

  I grinned as I yanked back the covers and pulled Emily beside me. She tumbled onto her belly and the smooth expanse of her back and lovely curvy butt inspired me. “Don’t move! I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I was down the hall to the bathroom and back with a jar of lavender lotion in less time than it takes to tell.

  “What are you doing?” Emily asked, looking over her shoulder as I walked through the doorway.

  She hadn’t moved.

  “Pleasuring you.” I squeezed out a dobbit of lotion and rubbed my hands together to warm it, before easing my palms across her shoulders and down her back to the curve of her waist. She sighed with pleasure so I reached for the lotion again. I anointed her. Kissing her neck and shoulders as I stroked lotion into her back and arms. Fluttering my tongue on the soft pale skin behind her knees as I massaged her thighs and butt. She went limp under my touch. Lovely. But I didn’t want her too loose. I needed her sweating with want as her body arched under me and her eyes blazed her need.

  I rested a hand on the curve of her hip and nudged. “Roll over.”

  Emily didn’t need asking twice. She flipped onto her back, giving me an uninterrupted view of her delicious breasts. I ran my tongue up from her rib cage to her nipple and felt her excitement as I worked it between my lips. She gasped as I pulled it into my mouth and let out a slow moan of contentment as I worked my lips to her other nipple.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered as I pulled away.

  “I won’t,” I promised.

  I could smell her arousal over the scent of lavender, but I took my time, running my fingertips over her curves and tasting her skin. As I rested my hand on her bush, she was whimpering with need. I spread her legs with my shoulders and opened her with my fingertips, reveling in the scent of her sex. Gently I breathed on her moist flesh, and ran the tip of my tongue from fore to aft. Her head came off the pillow with a jolt, and the eyes that met mine were as wide as her cunt.

  “Jasmine!” It came out on the tail of a gasp. “There? No one ever . . .!”

  Can’t say I was surprised. Alec always was a selfish bastard but . . . “Shhh.” I didn’t say anything else. My tongue was busy.

  She was sweet and fresh as morning and as ready as sunrise. I’d hoped to take longer but in minutes she climaxed with a series of little cries and frenzied jerks as frantic hands grasped my hair.

  She was still gasping, her breasts rising and falling with each pant as I eased up the bed and took her face in both hands. I kissed her very gently, letting my lips linger before opening her mouth so she could taste the joy I’d given her. She was halfway to fainting when I let her go. I settled for gathering her close, delighting in her warmth and scent and, I have to be truthful here, thrilled that I’d upstaged Alec.

  Nasty of me. Bitchy of me. But in the circumstances . . .

  “Jasmine?”

  “Yes?” I smiled at her as I ran my hand over her hair.

  “You haven’t come?”

  I shook my head. It could wait. I was enjoying a different satisfaction.

  Emily disagreed. Propping herself on one elbow, she bent her head to my breast and carefully worked her way down. When she reached my cunt, she delved in with the enthusiasm and ardor of a convert. I came three times before she finally paused and I insisted we take a nap. She might not need a rest at her age, but I did.

  We slept the day and night around, waking as the early sun streamed in through the open curtains.

  After a slow morning loving, Emily lent me Alec’s toweling robe to eat breakfast in. We sat in the bay window, sipping coffee and spreading butter and tart Seville marmalade on butteries. These were heavy, fatty pastries I’d have disliked in anyone else’s company but now they tasted of Emily.

  We were debating the wisdom of more coffee or back to bed when Alec walked in, clothes rumpled, hair on end and eyes red from lack of sleep. I was scared he’d smell the sex on us, but all he seemed to notice was food. Muttering a couple of sentences about idiot crews who don’t maintain equipment properly, he wolfed down the remaining four butteries, and the better part of the second pot of coffee that nice wife Emily fixed. Seemed Alec had not enjoyed the past twenty-four hours as much as his wife and I had. He wobbled off to bed to restore himself, so that put paid to an encore. But there were other times. I was a patient woman.

  “So glad you two get on so well together,” Alec said that evening as we walked down the platform to my sleeper. “Some people have been unbelievably snooty. Peter hardly talks to me now.”

  Can’t say I blamed Peter. He was bound to take his sister’s part. Heaven help me! Had I really loved this man? He was so self-centered, patronizing and just plain thick! I had, once, when I was young and equally thick but now I was well and truly cured.

  “Nice of you to ask Emmsy to your book signing in Edinburgh,” Alec went on, as I hugged her goodbye.

  “It’ll be nice to see someone I know.” I gave a wave and hopped on the train. “I’ll let you know the date.” Something good had come out of the hurt of Alec Carpenter. I was going to insist my publisher added Edinburgh to my next book tour. They wouldn’t need to provide any escort. I could arrange that. I settled back in my seat. I was a trifle torn, between genuine fondness for Emily and our promising affair, and the thought that Penelope might get a kick out of knowing I’d made Alec a cuckold. And the fool would never know.

  Underneath Your Clothes

  Elizabeth Coldwell

  I only noticed it because I dropped my pen. Otherwise I would have never known there was a secret life being lived so close to me. As I scribbled notes on the draft report that had been left in my in-tray for approval that morning, the red ballpoint slipped from my grasp and I had to go crawling under the desk to retrieve it. It was as I was beginning to shuffle out backward, knowing there was no dignity in the view this presented but not wishing to bang my head on the underside of the desk, that the pair of legs directly in my eyeline crossed at the ankles and I caught, for the briefest of moments, a flash of something utterly unexpected. Where I would have expected to see bare white skin above the top of the short charcoal-grey sock, I saw instead a smooth expanse of sheer black nylon. The legs were under the desk opposite mine. Michael’s desk.

  I shook my head, convinced I must have bumped it without realizing. There was no way I could have seen what I thought I’d just seen. Michael played a lot of squash; he must have damaged his ankle and be wearing some kind of support bandage. Yeah, right, if they’d started making support bandages in ten-denier nylon. But not Michael Hodgson: not our project leader; the quietest, straightest man in the department. There were other men in the company who I could quite easily believe might indulge their feminine side at work, like Johnny in the marketing department, with his glossy, shoulder-length blond hair and pouting, almost girlish features, but not Michael.

  But then, how much did we really know about him? After all, he had only joined the department a month or so earlier, to oversee and troubleshoot when the project had started running over budget. Janice, the departmental secretary, had subjected him to a prolonged bout of questioning when she had noticed the absence of framed family portraits on his desk, but all she had managed to find out was that he was in his early thirties,
had joined the company five years earlier, and was single. It wasn’t that Michael was unfriendly; he was happy enough to chat about something superficial during coffee breaks. He just seemed to feel that, as he was only going to be working with us for a matter of weeks, it was no basis for making permanent relationships.

  I knew part of the reason Janice was being so nosy; I was single, too, and she was checking him out, none too subtly, on my behalf. She couldn’t understand that I was quite happy being on my own – I needed time and space after Greg had walked out on me so suddenly – and she definitely didn’t share my view that it was never a good idea to start an office romance. I had seen too many of those go sour in my time to want to make that mistake.

  I had to admit, though, that the thought of Michael in tights intrigued me. He was certainly my type – I’ve always had a weakness for men with green eyes and toffee-colored hair – but it went deeper than that, tapping into fantasies I’d had for a very long time. Fantasies I had never dared to share with any of my boyfriends. If I had ever suggested to Greg that I might want to see him in my lingerie, that picturing him in stockings, his hard cock straining against a pair of silky panties, was enough to get me wet, he would have left me a damn sight sooner than he did. As far as I was concerned, dressing like that wouldn’t have made him any less of a man; it would have made him more horny, more desirable. But he would never have understood that, and I would never have been able to explain.

  I said nothing to indicate I had seen anything the least unusual under Michael’s desk, but that night I lay in bed and gently frigged my pussy to the image of a handsome, green-eyed man with long, tights-clad legs and a hugely erect cock. A cock that I touched and licked through the thin film of nylon that covered it, till he groaned and his come oozed through the fine mesh, onto my greedy, sucking tongue . . .

  And it would have stayed as nothing more than an image if Michael hadn’t accepted an invitation to Janice’s birthday drink. I’m sure he would have turned it down and quietly slipped away after work on Friday night like he usually did if it hadn’t coincided with his last day in the department. We had finally put the project to bed, and even Michael was in the mood to celebrate.