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the pleasure of his animal lust for her, she did. To feel Marshall deep inside her, to sense the power of the pleasure she was giving him, was overwhelming. He wrung from her orgasm after orgasm in quick succession and she lost herself in their lust for each other. Eden wanted this sexual bliss to go on forever.
    Marshall mastered her with sex. It was giving her a new dimension of herself and she liked the passion he inspired in her, even though she hardly knew what to do with it. When he exploded and she felt the rush of his hot come she called out his name and sucked hard to hold every drop of his semen within her. They had been a marvellous experience together. Or so she thought until, holding her in his arms, he told her: ‘You were delicious but a cheat. You should have told me you were a virgin. That I was to be your first.’
    ‘I didn’t know how,’ she answered him, somewhat fearful of his tone of voice.
    ‘Not coming on to me as if sex was a second skin you wear might have been a start.’
    ‘Does it matter?’ she asked, pulling away from him, heart racing with fear and disappointment at his behaviour.
    ‘Of course it matters. I don’t like breaking in young women. Other men might thrill to that, I don’t. I like my women to be ladies in the street and whores in my bed. Women who are experienced in sex and lust and love sex for the erotic life it affords them. I like them to be able to transport me into a sexual life that sizzles and burns deep. I thrive on exploring the dark, animal lust that an erotic world can afford me. We were a case of mistaken identity, you and I. You were as divine as you could be under the circumstances.’
    Marshall pulled her back into his arms and caressed her hair.She told him, ‘I have fallen in love with you.’
    ‘Bad idea and you have not. You have fallen in love with sex.’

Chapter 3
    Eden slipped into her wax-proofed Barbour and, calling the dogs, set out for a long walk with them in the wood surrounding her house. She kept thinking about the love affair she had pursued with Marshall. He had not wanted it, she had. She had been desperate to find love in the erotic life they shared. He became her mentor in sex but never in love. All these years later she could understand what she had refused to believe when they were together: he simply did not love her in the same way she loved him, and he never had. Yet they remained lovers in an on again, off again fashion for years. They had even very nearly become friends.
    She had had youth and beauty and enormous talent on her side, and in time enough admirers to dull the blow of not being loved by Marshall Greenspan. Eden was quite shocked to think that even now, a near life-time ago, having lost him to another woman still left a bruise around her heart. She raised her chin that little bit higher and said aloud, ‘Thank you, God, for Marshall and the erotic passion he had for me. For allowing myself to be moulded sexually by him.’
    She began to laugh at herself, one of her many endearing traits, and broke into a run through the wood, the dogs chasing after her. How good it felt still, in these autumn years of her life, to love her lovers. She ran all the way back to the house feeling a new kind of freedom. The joy of admitting to love and passion, of wallowing in it rather than cutting it out of her life as she had done for so many years.
    Once more in the house, the dogs dried off and huddling withher in front of the open fire, she gave in to her desperate need to return to the world where she had been such a sexual success, where she had been so enriched by her lovers, had been so young, vital and happy. Suddenly the very idea of travelling to those places excited her. She sensed that being there would validate what a marvellous erotic life she had lived there, that time had not transformed the actual into a flight of the imagination.
    She had not forgotten her troubling state of sexual invisibility and that she was no