Book Title: All You Can Eat: A Buffet of Lesbian Romance and Erotica
Editors: R.G. Emanuelle and Andi Marquette
Genre: Lesbian Anthology
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Chef R.G. Emanuelle and sous chef Andi Marquette locked themselves in the kitchen to create a menu that would explore the sensuous qualities of food and illustrate how the act of preparing and eating it can engage many more senses than simply taste and smell. They gathered a great group of cooks who put together an array of dishes, and they present to you here a menu that ranges from sweet and romantic to sultry and seductive, from relationships enjoying a first taste to those that have moved beyond the entrée.
Each story also ends with a recipe. Some of these require cooking implements while others are whimsical accompaniments that don’t require cooking at all—at least not in the traditional sense. After all, food serves as more than sustenance—it’s a trigger for love, laughter, sex, pleasure, and carnal and sensory satisfaction. Whatever your palate prefers, you’re sure to find something tasty here.
Table of Contents
Fresh Fruit by Ashley Bartlett
The Luscious Tarte Aux Fraises by Historia
Whining and Dining by Jae
Burn by Rebekah Weatherspoon
Tomato Lady by Cheyenne Blue
East Meets West by Karis Walsh
Dessert Platter by Victoria Oldham
Appetizing by Cheri Crystal
Sugar and ’Shine by Andi Marquette
Vanilla Extract by Jove Belle
Smorgasbord by R.G. Emanuelle
Crème Brûlée by Sacchi Green
Turn the Tables by Yvonne Heidt
“Crème Brûlée”, by Sacchi Green
The newcomers seemed to be busy building a fire of driftwood on the beach. I moved my car to the far end of the parking lot. In the glow of the overhead light I leaned over the front seat into the back to get y treasures out of the chilly container. Raf took the opportunity to knead my upturned butt and tease between my thighs, but with a steel-willed effort I got the ramekins safely onto a towel folded on the front seat between us.
“Crème brûlée!” I said triumphantly. “Have you ever had it?”
“Just seen it on restaurant menus a time or two without paying attention. What’s it mean? Bruised cream?”
“That sounds intriguingly kinky, but no. More like broiled cream. The top is covered with raw sugar, melted under a broiler or a propane torch, and then it hardens like glass.” I dug some plastic spoons out of the side pocket on the door where I tend to shove them when I get drive-through coffee.
“Dig in,” I said, knowing what would be likely to happen. Raf’s spoon broke on the mottled golden surface.
“You’re the stonecutter in this crew, she said. “You do it.”
I took out my pocketknife, covered it in plastic wrap that had protected the desserts, and brought it down hard on one sugar-glazed portion. Cracks rayed out, letting glimpses of the inner custard show through. “That’s yours. Now you break my shell.”
She did it with one hand, while the other pulled my head close for a long, sensuous kiss. Finally, she pulled away. “So did I break through?”
I couldn’t even remember whether we’d done anything as slow and sweet as kissing last year. “Oh, yeah.” I was breathless. “No shell left at all.”
“Looks like some crunchy bits left in the dishes.” She took my spoon and scooped up some of the rich creamy custard along with fragments of sugar glaze. “Mmm. Now I know what you see in this. Such rich, smooth cream inside that stony exterior.” She took another bite, then offered me one. We alternated with the spoon, feeding each other, until the last bites were accidentally-on-purpose smeared across our lips. The licking and kissing that followed got us so revved up that driving all the way back to Wellfleet without relief was out of the question, so I pulled off at the Pilgrim Springs Trail parking lot, mercifully unoccupied.
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