Whet Your Appetite with an Extract from the Book of the Month - Seriously Sexy 1
"Impressionism" by Jeremy Edwards is a fascinating piece of erotica based in a Manhattan art gallery. The intense lust in the story is beautifully and deeply described without hindering the story's fast pace. Everyone can see a bit of themselves in the characters - whether it's Valerie's subtle exhibitionism or Max's charming wit - making this a story with an almost magnetic appeal.
Here is a teasing extract from Impressionism that perfectly displays Jeremy Edwards' ability to completely absorb you in an incredibly erotic story:
Art of the Flash
It had to be deliberate. She couldn't be sitting behind her little art-gallery desk, thighs apart, flashing her neat black panties at me… by accident.
The shape of the Manhattan art gallery was so long and narrow that from my position in the doorway, the lovely woman at the desk was practically at the vanishing point of my field of vision. Nonetheless, her loveliness, even viewed impressionistically from that distance, was enough to make me stop in my tracks.
I'm quite the art lover – not to mention a mediocre amateur painter – and a woman, no matter how beautiful, is going to have tough competition for my attention if she's surrounded by breathtaking paintings. But this woman had already won that contest, even though her gallery had some of the most engaging pieces I'd seen in many a lunch hour. I was fascinated by her rich black hair, creamy complexion, and sensitive lips. From where I stood, I could not see the personality of her eyes; but I imagined pools of sharp, shimmering intelligence, infused with kindness and garnished with laughing eyelashes.
Her face was sensuous, but her outfit was crisp. An elegant black skirt suit; stockings; and… oh my… Nice black panties. Under the desk.
She had to know. She could not work at this desk all day, in the middle of a busy city, and not be aware of when her panties were or were not visible to the casual observer. This really mattered to me. Because, if it were an accident, it would not be polite to let my gaze linger there, or return there between paintings. If, however, it was intentional – as I supposed – then I owed it to both of us to make the most of it.
And then came the question of whether she sat this way all the time, exposing her pantied crotch to the world… or whether she had seen me come in the door, liked the look of me, and given me a special, personal treat. Naturally, I would like to believe that I have such an effect on stunning women. But, in all honesty, I couldn't remember the last time an art-gallery manager had flashed me. Was she an all-purpose exhibitionist, or was she my exhibitionist?