The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Marilyn Jaye Lewis Read Online Free PDF Page B

Maybe something frothy or steamy, or creamy – I don’t know. I only know that it will be brimming with possibilities and there will be plenty to go around.”
    “And then what about dinner?” I wanted to know. “Should we plan on ordering up?”
    “No,” he said. “Let’s cook, the three of us, together. Can you cook, Paulina?”
    “Not really,” she said. “But I can follow directions; I’m easily taught. You know, I grasp things well.”
    “I’m sure you do,” Bertrand said, eyeing her perfectly manicured fingers. But beneath her high-toned appearance, she was just a little tart, Paulina was, and Bertrand and I enjoyed it thoroughly – the aural bait she was dangling. “We’ll definitely work those pretty fingers of yours to the bone,” he went on. “We’re excellent teachers. I’m sure the three of us will concoct something memorable.”
    I took Paulina by the hand and led her into the living area. Our loft had not come with an actual fireplace; we’d had a quasi-one designed for us, though. It was elevated on a brick platform, with a bronze vent above it and encased in bevelled glass. There were logs on a grate and amber flames; it looked impressive. But it was more an elaborate Sterno pit than a source of any real heat.
    “How cosy,” Paulina purred. “And for such an enormous room. Not an effect that’s easy to achieve.”
    “We had time on our hands,” I assured her.
    “And money, I’m guessing.”
    “That, too. Shall we sit?” Without a moment’s hesitation, even in her expensive skirt and sweater, Paulina stretched out on the rug by the fire. I sat down beside her. “Where are you from?” I asked her.
    “Oh, far away,” she replied vaguely. “Lots of ice and snow, you know, that sort of place.”
    “And what did you do there?”
    “A little of what you do here, I should think.”
    “Here, as in America? Or here, as in our apartment?”
    She looked up at me. “Your apartment,” she said coyly.
    I leaned over and kissed her, just a quick kiss, on the side of her face. Her skin was soft. She smelled pretty. “Fascinating,” I said.
    “What is?”
    “You, your secret world.”
    She shrugged. “And you don’t have any secrets?”
    “None,” I said quietly. “There’s been nothing that’s been that important.”
    “What about him?”
    “Bertrand?”
    “Yes.”
    “An open book – ask him anything, you get an answer. Not always the answer you’re hoping for, but an answer, an honest one.”
    “And he likes to cook?”
    “We both do. We love food – the pleasure of it. There was a time when we didn’t have much.”
    “Pleasure or food?” she asked.
    “Food,” I said decisively. “Between us, there has been no lack of pleasure.”
    “And yet you’re both so thin. The hedonists I knew in my country were always on the fleshy side, and, sadly, always in such a hurry to get undressed and show it off.”
    Hedonists? The word made me laugh. “Your vocabulary is certainly impressive, Paulina.”
    One of her perfectly manicured hands reached up and lightly stroked my cheek. “And you’re pretty, too,” she said. “They aren’t always as pretty as you.”
    Bertrand came into the room carrying a pitcher and some glasses. “We’ve a rum punch for starters,” he announced. “Is that festive enough?”
    “Rum punch!” I enthused. “It goes perfect with Christmas fudge. I’ll go get a tray from the kitchen and bring some in.”
    In the mere moments it took me to arrange the fudge on a glass tray and bring it into the living area, Bertrand had managed to remove Paulina’s pretty Italian shoes and was gently massaging her feet through her stockings down there on the floor by the fire. Her stockings were black with a pretty, all-over lacy pattern.
    “Wolford,” I said, sitting down next to them with the tray of fudge in hand. I set it down on the floor.
    Paulina said dreamily, “Pardon me?”
    “Your stockings – I recognize the pattern – Wolford