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101 Erotic Nights The Sheherazade Diaries THE SECRET DIARISTS A division of HarperCollinsPublishers HarperImpulse an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015 Copyright © The Secret Diarists 2015 Cover images © Shutterstock.com Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015 Cover design by Isabella Ashford The Secret Diarists asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress. Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008140069 Version 2015-03-13
To those who gave us love, inspiration and helped make this happen… you know who you are. And if you don’t, then thank you anyway!
Contents
What is it with us girls? We try to get what we want, what our hearts desire and sometimes all in the world is just wonderful. We meet the man of our dreams and allow ourselves to be whisked off our feet. We have crushes and days and nights when we simply cannot live without being cradled in his strong arms. We need him. We need him to make love to us with all his strength and passion. We need him to fuck us until our legs are weak and trembling with the effort of taking him in, willingly giving him the same pleasure that we ourselves are taking. We daydream about how it will be happily ever after. We yearn for his total attention and adoration. Sometimes we think that we should have his children, that they will provide a further bond between us, tie us as tight as a wet knot. But then he turns away from us, just a side step at first or maybe the wrong sort of glance at the table and then we glimpse the reality of relationship. That desperate slide into just being there. An inevitable acceptance. The taking for granted. The rare quickie, the occasional after Newsnight and lights out shag that has replaced the slow and considerate mouth watering seduction on the big sofa in front of the fire. It’s then we either put up and shut up or if we’re like Beth Rogers, we turn to the Sheherazade Diaries to rekindle a hundred and one erotic nights…
“What are you doing, Miles?” I asked. “Working, darling,” he replied, patting me absentmindedly on the arm. I lay in bed next to him, listening to the tap, tapping of his fingers on the laptop and wondered why things had changed. When did our bedroom become an office? When did it stop being a playground, a palace for lovemaking, touching and talking? A place for intimacy, not the internet? I moved a tentative foot across the bed and gently stroked his leg, hoping for a sign that the evening could be put to better use. “I hope you haven’t got tired of me” I whispered, waiting for the once inevitable stirring of life beneath my fingers, but Miles sighed and gently pushed me away. There was a time, only a few weeks ago, when he would have risen strongly at my touch and become hard as teak with a few gentle brushes of my hand. If it had been a week day we would have kissed goodnight. Even though we were both tired, the kiss would have lingered. Soft and liquid at first, then more urgent. We would have turned to face each other and then Miles would have caressed my neck. I would have slipped my hand down his naked torso until I could feel his arousal. Miles would have gasped with pleasure and then softly rubbed me with his crooked finger. Inevitably we would then have made love. Hard, fast and satisfying. Then, crushed with happy fatigue, we would have slid into contented sleep. Or if it had been a Saturday morning he might have made love to me for one exquisite hour. Attentive, tender yet full of passion. So loving that I would want to cry with joy. But tonight? Nothing. “The only thing hard at the moment is the drive on that thing,” I said, nodding at the laptop. “Sorry, darling, got to get this report finished for tomorrow. Maybe later, okay?” “Oh, right, I’ll make an appointment shall I?” “Don’t be like that. I can’t help it if sex
