Agent Provocateur, Secrets: A Collection Of Erotic Fiction - Hardcover

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0312366973 ISBN 13: 9780312366971

Verlag: St. Martin's Press, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

Capturing the imaginative erotic fantasies and dreams of ordinary people, a selection of erotic fiction from the creators of the provocative lingerie line explores a range of personal passions, from illicit sex and voyeurism to phone sex and fetishes.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

AGENT PROVOCATEUR was founded by Joseph Corre, offspring of fashion’s radical couple Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood, and his wife and business partner Serena Rees. They opened their first London Agent Provocateur shop in 1994. A media sensation from the start they consistently set out to shake up the establishment and grab attention to their brand and message of liberated sexuality.

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THE QUIET ONE
She’s wearing the purple one today. The strap on the left never stays up. The other one’s digging into the flesh at the top of her shoulder where it’s soft, but the left one hangs loose. I don’t know if she notices. God, just looking at that strap and I’m hard. I don’t know if she notices.
Chloë’s confident. And she should be, she’s good. Better than me. She has . . . aspirations. Me, I’m just happy I’ve got a job at all. I think she reckons she might be head chef or something one of these days. It’s funny really, her running about all efficient, yes chef, no chef, right away chef. She likes it, showing me up. I’ve been here a year and a half and I’m still peeling potatoes. But Geoff’s always calling her over and there they are, huddled over a steaming pot while she pretends not to notice him staring down her front. Once he actually dropped a big dollop of marinara sauce, a big blotch on her new white jacket and I swear he nearly started licking it off before he remembered where he was. And her eyes just staring at him. Like she was daring him to. Come on you dirty fucker — if you’re gonna do it then do it.
But with me, I don’t know. She’s nice to me — you know in that way that people are when they know they can do it better than you. Just a hint of patronising, not enough to be offensive, just that little bit flirty, enough to give you ideas. And she’s not even pretty, you know. But she has something — it’s like she has the secret and she’s not telling. Her eyes, dark, and the way she moves them around at you under those eyelashes, the way she holds her back so that her breasts sit like they’re perched on a shelf, the way she tilts her head a certain way, and that smile — is she smiling at you? — it’s there at the corners of her lips.
There are times though, there are those times when I just can’t tell where I stand. She’ll brush right by me when there’s plenty of room to pass, she’ll be across the room and overhear some pathetic joke I’ve made to try and charm the waitress and I’ll hear her laugh to herself. If she’s just stroking my ego it’s almost as good as a physical touch. There are days . . . most days. I’m in that cubicle by lunchtime, and a split second later there’s come dripping from my clenched fist that I’m wishing was her.

It’s the middle of summer, and it gets fucking hotter than Hades in that kitchen. I’m standing in the doorway out to the car park, with an unlit fag hanging from my lips. Janice is talking up a storm next to me, laughing too loud and all the while stroking her throat like there’s buried treasure under the skin. God, if only I could. Janice would be a goer, I know it. But . . . bloody hell, I’m trying not to stare but there she is, Chloe, with her back to me at the counter just inside, chopping up onions. Not a drop of perspiration on her except there, right at the nape of her neck, there’re those dark soft hairs clinging to her skin like a jealous boyfriend. Then suddenly a drop skittles down into the warmth beneath her collar and her hand whips back to catch it and just a pause before she sucks it off her finger with a loud snap. And she’s looking straight up at my reflection in the gleaming pot on the shelf above her. My mouth starts to water as if the sharp taste of her sweat was on my tongue and I have to use all my strength to turn back to Janice and flash her a smile as I light my cigarette.
Tonight’s the big party — fifth anniversary of the restaurant. It’s going to be a nightmare, I can tell already. Geoff’s running around like a Michelin star depends on it (he’d be lucky) and they’ve drafted in some extra waiting staff who look like their faces could be the inspiration for the bullshit fancy pizza they’ve got on the menu; barely out of nappies. But of course, there Chloe is, dicing, stirring, grating at every turn. She wanders out the back door just as I’m exhaling the last of my cigarette, and the butt hitting the ground matches my sinking feeling. Shit. I should’ve stretched it.
‘All right Ben?’
‘Mmm, yeah. Not bad.’ I made a point of looking her in the eye. I wanted to see where this feeling was coming from, maybe I could cheat it.
‘Ready for tonight?’
She was reaching round behind her to pull a packet of cigarettes from the waistband of her trousers and a gap appeared at the front of her jacket, a peek of flesh clad in purple lace. Then gone.
‘Have you got a light, doll?’
I held the flame to her face and she moved closer to me. I could feel her making the air warm, moist from the heat she’d carried with her from the kitchen. She put both her hands around mine, as if to steady the flame. Was my hand shaking? The touch of her fingers felt like ice and then fire. But I kept looking at her. She lingered for a fraction of a moment, and then exhaled a dart of grey smoke, her eyes whipping up into mine. Then that smile, just at the corners of her mouth.
‘All right. I’ll see you in there, Chloë.’

Three minutes past one. The last punters have finished their pretentious conversations over coffee and cognac, and the last of the spotty teenage waiters have been picked up by their mothers. Geoff and the owners are draining their fifth bottle of Moet at a corner table. We’ve got through a good few bottles of dessert wine and brandy in the kitchen and there’s that orange hazy slow motion feeling in the air — candlelight, alcohol and, yeah, I suppose a job well done.
I’m sweeping a pile of peelings into a mound, trying to avoid Janice, who’s been making eyes at me all night. She was wearing some kind of low-cut wrap-around dress that made me wonder if she thought she was a madam rather than a hostess. It was for my benefit, I know, and I admit she caught my eye for a second. Shit, I can’t figure it out — I’ve got pussy being served on a platter and here I am wanting to work for it.
She had gone into the toilets, Chloë, getting changed out of her uniform. By the end of the night I had given up trying to hide the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She’d look up and there I was. But I wouldn’t look away, and she’d carry on cooking, moving in my gaze. With that smile playing at the corners again . . .

‘Ben?’
Fuck, did I pass out? Only for a moment. I’m sitting on one of the benches in the cloakroom area, where the uniforms are hung up. I’d taken off my jacket and I’d forgotten that I’d not worn anything underneath because of the heat. Chloë is staring down at me.
‘It’s always the quiet ones, I suppose.’ Her voice sounded like she had grains of sand in the back of her throat.
‘What? Shit, sorry — has everyone gone?’ It was dark in here, and she was framed by the dim light from the kitchen just beyond. She was wearing a shirt, one of those fitted ones, and jeans that were too tight. I’d never seen her not in uniform. I suddenly realised I had an erection. She couldn’t have missed it either.
‘Your tattoo.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’ She stared down at my chest, then back into my eyes.
‘What does it mean? Are you heartbroken?’
‘Not broken. Bit sore I guess.’ I don’t know why I’d got a fucking bleeding heart. It seemed like something noble I suppose. She stayed quiet, just standing over me. I could see her breathe, her chest moving in and out, tense, like a balloon about to burst. Finally she speaks...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: St. Martin's Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2008
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0312366973
• ISBN 13: 9780312366971
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 144
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar