But the pulsing between my legs, the tingling of the skin along
my sides, the fullness and tautness of my nipples told me that I
wanted sex – not as a desperate, hungry woman compromising
her standards and her dignity in order to fulfil a physical need,
but as a connoisseur, able to pick and choose the individual sources
of pleasure and their provenance.
I had taken just one mouthful out of the bacon sandwich when I left
the cafe.
I now walked briskly. So soon as the front door had swung shut behind
me, I picked up the telephone and tapped out Paul’s number.
He answered with a groan and a lot of snuffling of bedclothes.
“Paul?” I said. “Laura Bell.”
