Now flying off shelves everywhere is this fabulous anthology full of Christmas naughtiness guaranteed to please. Showcasing 21 stories from 21 well known erotic authors there is bound to be something inside to please everyone.
My own contribution is a story called 'Calendar Girl'
Amanda is preparing for Christmas, wrapping pretty paper on a very special present. Only this present might not be as welcome as she first thought. As memories flood back through the scented bubbles in her bath, Amanda remembers and the reality shocks her to her core. Who will be on the end of the phone when Amanda finally dials?
The doorbell rang - Carol singers. For a moment Amanda didn’t move, maybe she could ignore them but she realised they would be able to see the tree lights flashing merrily and the TV screen, muted but visible, through the glass on the front door. “Born in a field?” her mum used to say and Amanda regretted not closing the lounge door which was directly opposite. With a sigh she stood and rattled through her purse for change.
“We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas
We WISH you a merry…here she comes!”
“There you go, happy holidays” said Amanda handing over silver coins with a weak smile, wishing they didn’t look so shocked by her crazy hair.
Amanda had always had really big hair. It did just what it wanted; a mass of unruly, thick curls coarse to the touch, but those same curls had been teased into submission for April’s photo. Tousled but pretty they had fallen over bronzed shoulders as she sat on the golden sand of Marbella wearing tiny, frayed denim shorts her hands covering the soft swell of her breasts.
“Hark the Herald angels sing…”
Had they come back for more?
Later, with all the downstairs lights off to avoid more disturbances, Amanda stepped gingerly into a steaming, bubble bath. The scent of lavender soothed her mind as she sunk into the water until only her head was visible. She sighed, a warm, deep appreciative sigh as the many, misshaped crystals rippled over her skin claiming victory over receptive pores. Although practically perfect this bath was not the visually stunning spectacle of November. Tonight there were no candles, just a low wattage bulb hanging above the soft green up lighter. November’s photograph was taken in the sumptuous bathroom of suite 47 in the grand Tahoma hotel, Barcelona. The bath was a sunken, marble masterpiece of silken bubbles scattered with red, rose petals. All around her were candles of deepest burgundy which flickered an image of warm sensuality across her softly glowing face. Her hair had hung in damp abandonment as stray curls snaked her rosy nipples.
A prickle of apprehension caught her off guard; instinctively she wrapped her arms around her body, a soft flush coloured her cheeks, determinedly Amanda pushed away the sudden rush of negativity. Nathan would love it she argued; he wouldn’t ask questions would he? After all it was the perfect present for any hot blooded man. Amanda closed her eyes bringing back the vision of Barcelona; it had all been so perfect…
Barnes and Noble