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An Excerpt From: LYNDA’S LACE
Copyright © LACEY ALEXANDER, 2006
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Lynda Phelps stood behind the counter of her French
Quarter shop, Cajun Lady Antiques, on a quiet Wednesday afternoon. Bad
weather had run the tourists indoors, and she found herself peering out the
window into the dreary rain, just wishing.
Wishing for fun.
Wishing for sex.
She knew rain made some people sleepy, but it only made her
bored, and despite herself, she found herself longing for the wild,
hedonistic kind of sex she’d been merrily indulging in ever since her
divorce twelve years ago.
At the tender age of twenty-one, Lynda had rushed into
marriage with Charlie the Loser, a traveling salesman type who’d found a
lot of time for pleasure on his so-called business trips. When she’d
called Charlie on his cheating ways two long years into their marriage,
he’d shown no remorse, offered no apology, made no
excuses. He’d simply said, “Baby, the way I see it, you go around once in
this life. I figure you gotta grab all the fun
you can, so I’ve been grabbing it.”
She’d swiftly left him, but had also learned a valuable
lesson from her smarmy ex. She didn’t approve of his methods, but he was
right. You only lived once. So ever since the day Lynda had signed her
divorce papers, she’d been living. As in bedding anyone she took a notion
to.
In between sexual encounters, she’d also worked hard to
keep her store afloat, and she took care of the large Garden District house
she’d gotten in the divorce settlement—all of which added up to a busy but
satisfying life. One thing about Charlie—he was a pig, but a high-income
pig, so she’d come out of the marriage with a valuable home and enough
money to start her own business. So she’d always thought perhaps the whole
thing was meant to be. For all his faults, Charlie had helped her achieve a
life full of things she loved—her home, her shop…and a sex life to be
envied.
And as for the sex, she’d never hesitated to take it to
extremes. She’d had sex with men and sex with women. Sometimes she had sex with
both of them at the same time. Once, she’d taken part in a full-blown orgy,
the kind where she hadn’t been quite sure who she was touching or who was
touching her—she’d only known it felt good. Having convinced herself she
didn’t care about silly emotions like love or commitment, the sex had
been…gloriously freeing.
Lynda now considered herself a veritable connoisseur of
fucking. She knew what she liked and she knew what most other people
liked, too. Friends and acquaintances even came to her for advice on their
sex lives. She’d come to fancy herself the Sex Queen of New Orleans. And even if, in a city like
The Big Easy, there was a lot of competition for such a title, she didn’t
know anyone who dabbled in, experimented with, or just plain enjoyed sex as
much as she did.
As Lynda’s pussy rippled with memories and a lusty bit
of nostalgia over some of her more satisfying conquests, the bell above the
door jingled. And like an answer to a sinful prayer, a totally hot and sexy
younger man walked in off St. Peter
Street, his sandy locks darkened and curling
from the rain.
“Hi,” he said, and she immediately felt his eyes dancing
over the low-cut V of her gauzy, fitted top, belted at her hips.
She smiled. “Wet out there.” And in here, too,
she thought, the crux of her thighs going moist.
“Hope you don’t mind if I step in to dry off for a
minute. It’s really coming down.” Indeed, what had before been a drizzle
had just progressed to a downpour, cocooning them in the static sound of
hard rain.
“No problem,” she said with a look she knew radiated
heat.
He gave his head a short shake to rid his hair of
moisture as droplets trailed down his jacket. “So, are you the Cajun lady?”
he asked, motioning toward the gold lettering on the opposite side of the
old glass door. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and his smile
held instant flirtation.
Her nipples tightened on the spot, puckering her thin
bra and top as she gave her stock reply to such inquiries, particularly
when they came from good-looking men. “Well, I’m not really Cajun, and as for whether I’m a lady, that depends upon
your definition.” Then she winked, just before provocatively lowering her
chin and flashing a small but inviting smile.
A sparkle lit his green eyes. “Well, whether or not
you’re a lady, I bet you’re a hell of a good time.”
She grinned, confident and sensual. “Honey, you have no
idea.” This was exactly what she’d been thinking about, wishing for so
wistfully.
He tilted his head, the move tossing slightly scruffy
hair away from his face to reveal an expression brimming with interest.
“Maybe you should show me.”
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