Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 133 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Best Erotic Romance

  And she loved it every time Thomas Wolburn, on his periodic visits, joined her for a drink in the hotel bar after hours. It had become a ritual, even after she’d been promoted to Guest Services manager. She closed the restaurant at 1 A.M. and stayed there with him, behind the bar, pouring drinks for both of them. The first time had been an accident. Joanna had been filling in for one of the desk clerks when Tom came in at closing time, looking tired. After that, the post-midnight liaisons had become a delightful ritual between them. Those quiet conversations over good bourbon had fueled Joanna’s infatuation and her lust. She began to regard Tom’s visits like paid vacations to Hollywood. He was certainly her favorite guest and, as strange as it seemed, her best friend. He liked Josh Ritter’s music, and he smoked cigars on very special occasions. He hated having his birthday the week before Christmas and on one overindulgent night, halfway into a bottle of Russell’s Reserve, he told her about the accident that scarred him and almost killed his sister, how he’d been driving and arguing with her about which radio station to listen to. That night, cotton-soft and warmly flush, she took his hand, thrilled at his skin against hers. She wanted to invite herself up to his room. She wanted to fuck him very, very much, but she choked on the words, her mind dizzy with possibilities, risk analysis, the probability of complete humiliation. She didn’t have any condoms with her. Would he? No, no. No condoms, no go. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, she’d bring a jumbo pack of Trojans and they’d fuck the night away. Yes, yes. She’d just wait, and tomorrow she’d offer him some exclusive hotel services. Yes. No. The next night, as Joanna lingered at the concierge desk, ostensibly checking guest requests, she watched Tom leave with a tall, svelte woman who could have been Miss Brazil 2010—long black hair, eyelashes to die for, dark eyes and full lips that must have graced at least one fashion magazine. If there hadn’t been boxes under her desk, Joanna would have crawled under it. The Trojans rescinded to the very back of her bottom desk drawer, under padded half-sized envelopes and behind a dog-eared copy of Delta of Venus. When next Tom visited, she joined him for a drink, but she didn’t even think about trying to seduce him. No, better to tackle him only in her fantasies, to tear his clothes off, suck his cock until he begged her to fuck him, then she would mercilessly ride him until she was good and ready to come. Maybe she’d let him come then. Maybe. Fuck the Brazilians. After that, his visits had been pleasant, and her desire for him had remained undimmed and unfulfilled, but she had never again considered crossing the line between friendship and bare flesh. And now time was running out.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  The car stopped again and the elderly couple exited. As the teenagers moved out of their way, the lone girl in the group glanced at Paul. Interest flared in her kohl-rimmed dark eyes. She checked him out, reading his brewery’s logo on his T-shirt and eyeing the tattoo that peeked out from beneath the sleeve. She was following the line of his arm down to where he was parting the lips of Robin’s cunt when the two boys with her spread out in the absence of the couple and cut off her view. Robin sucked in a sharp breath when he pushed his middle finger inside her. Her tight, plush sex sucked at him greedily, and his eyes grew heavy-lidded, lust riding him hard. Pressing his heel to her clit, he massaged her, getting her ready for the pounding drives of his cock. He’d meant to talk with her first, but she was hot for it and God knew he was hot to give it to her. Stumbling through his life without her had been torture. At times, he thought he’d go insane from the need to hear her voice and feel her body against his. The kids stepped off at the next stop. The car continued its ascent to the forty-fifth floor with only the two of them on board. “I’ve missed you,” he said gruffly. In answer, she thrust her desire-slick pussy into his hand. “You’ve missed this.” Her cool voice sliced into him, but her body betrayed her. She was scorching hot and delectably wet. As he finger-fucked her juicy cunt, soft sucking noises filled the car. Her composure lost, she gripped the brass handrail and moaned, shamelessly widening her stance. The moment the car reached his floor, Paul pulled his fingers free and caught her up, tossing her over his shoulder and dropping his empty bottle in the trash can conveniently placed just outside the elevator. He had a condom between his teeth and his keycard in hand before he reached his suite. Kicking the door open, he propped Robin against the inside of the stationary half of the double-door entrance. His button fly was open before the latch clicked shut. His jeans dropped to the entryway’s tile, the weight of his chained wallet hitting the floor with a thud. A moment later, her lacy underwear fell from her fingers and fluttered down. As he sheathed his cock in latex, Robin pulled her dress up to take him. Paul paused to look at her, his chest tightening. She was unruffled elegance above the waist and a walking wet dream below it. Her legs were long and lithe, her sex pouty and glistening.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Maybe. Fuck the Brazilians. After that, his visits had been pleasant, and her desire for him had remained undimmed and unfulfilled, but she had never again considered crossing the line between friendship and bare flesh. And now time was running out. The nerve to take it. What did that mean? She glanced at the clock at the corner of her monitor screen. The nerve to take it. Nerve that didn’t guarantee she’d get what she wanted, just that she’d had the courage to reach for it. Yes, she’d need nerve if she was going to rip Les Grinion’s job from under his tasseled shoes. The Atlanta office was a cutthroat place to work. She’d need smarts, timing, and nerve. It was one thing to plan, it was another to execute, and fear of failure was not an acceptable excuse. That was Les’s unwitting gift to her—that kernel of realization, and she had every intention of making it his final condescension. Just like the job, Tom Wolburn was something—someone—she wanted, and this would be the last time she could count on seeing him. She had to do this. She had to reach out, to bridge the distance between their clasped hands, to turn confidence and comfort into sex. She had to, even knowing he’d almost certainly reject her. That was Les’s message. Executives took risks—sure, they weighed profit against loss and sometimes they guessed wrong, but those who succeeded took risks ! She had to put herself out there. Joanna knew if she left Miami without even trying to hook up with Tom, she’d not only regret it all her life, the regional manager’s desk in Atlanta would be the terminal point in her career. The warm tap of shoes on the marble foyer drew her out of her thoughts. Tom! There he was, the back of his suit jacket creased from hours of sitting, and he looked as if he’d shrunk a couple inches. The bolt of concern singed more than her heart. Recurrent guests passed through lives beyond her knowing, and she had seen more than one decline between visits, eroded by health or misfortune. No, he couldn’t be one of those.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He held my head still as he devoured my mouth, lips rubbing over mine, his tongue stroking in to mate with mine. He tasted like minty toothpaste. The hands pulling me from my seat were strong, his grip firm. I didn’t hesitate to follow his lead as he helped me rise and straddle his lap. My skirt rode up past my hips, and cool air hit my bare cheeks, but I didn’t care. With the steering wheel rubbing my back, I settled over him, gripping his shoulders, at last feeling the muscles I’d admired for so long flex beneath my wandering palms. I tested his hardness, scratched down the deep indent of his spine, raked his scalp with my nails. He broke the kiss and pushed me away. Then he tucked his fingers under the top edge of my red shirt and pulled down the stretchy fabric until the neckline cupped the underside of my breasts. “Interestin’ bra,” he drawled. I glanced down. My nipples and most of my fleshy breasts were exposed, sitting on a shelf of lace and underwire. “I hoped you’d like it,” I said, my voice creaking like a dry hinge. Thumbs and forefingers plucked my nipples, pinching and twisting gently, then tugging with more insistence. My heartbeats quickened, and blood surged to the aching tips, engorging them. I flattened my hands against the back of his head and pulled him toward one spiked tip. I groaned when his mouth latched onto it. He nibbled and licked, bit and rolled. I ground down against his lap, against the ridge thickening inside his jeans. I rubbed forward and back, the coarse denim building frictional heat between my legs. One of his hands dropped to my ass, and he moaned as his long fingers dug into the skin bared by my thong. “Get into the back.” Breathing hard, I stared down. His mouth was blurred and red. His cheeks sharp, expression feral. The hardness in his gaze could have cut diamonds, and again, I didn’t hesitate, no matter that my ass was in his face when I climbed between the seats to the sleeping berth. The bed was mussed, the sheets wadded at one end. I lay down on my side and scooted toward the back, waiting until he was clear of the seats and stretching out beside me. Only his legs were too long and he lay at a diagonal, crowding my knees. I slid a thigh between his legs and climbed over his body. When I sat atop his hips, he smoothed his palms up my torso, rolling up the shirt.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He put the other on my waist, gently guiding me down onto his shaft. “Fuck!” he growled. Hot. Full. He filled me so perfectly. The thick girth of his shaft was stretching me, filling me as I’d needed to be filled for so very long. I mewled with pleasure, my hands stretched over my head, my fingers gripping his hair as he rocked his hips beneath me. “I’m gonna come,” he panted, his body arching up, his cock surging deep as he wrapped his arms around me. “Dammit! I’m gonna come!” With one hand, he spread my pussy lips. With the other, he rubbed his finger over my clit in the most delicious, most intense circles of my entire life. I screamed as I came, my pussy muscles gripping and squeezing him in glorious, rhythmic spasms of sheer ecstasy as he roared and bucked up into me. My pussy juice squirted over his hand and I screamed again, clenching him ferociously as he surged and thrust his cock harder, deeper into me. And he stayed hard. My whole body was trembling as his fingers kept stroking, driving me right back up. “Again,” he growled. “Rock your hips against me.” I did, shuddering as his cock pressed back and forth inside me, deep and hard into places that were orgasms waiting to happen. “I want to come again,” I panted, grinding against him. “You will, baby,” he laughed, “as often as you want.” He moved his hand up to my nipples, cupping them and squeezing the hard buds between his thumbs and forefingers. “Use your beautiful, strong legs to lift up on those gorgeous heels, just a little bit.” He shuddered as I lifted. “Not too far. That’s it. Just enough so we’re both feeling your luscious, hot pussy riding my cock.” It felt good. Oh, God, it felt so good! “P-put your f-fingers, on my c-clit,” I panted, clenching my pussy muscles around him, squeezing as I lowered myself, squeezing again as I raised back up. “In a minute, baby.” His voice was a low, sexy growl that made my pussy cream even harder. “I’ll touch you again when your pussy is ready. When your clit’s so sensitive you scream when I touch it.” He was as good as his word. He raised and lowered me on his cock, fucking me over him while he played with my nipples, getting all those special spots deep inside me so sensitized I was almost going to come from that touch alone. “Please,” I wailed. “Please, now!”

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Now it has been stated above ([1233]Q[26], A[4]), that in the love of concupiscence, the lover, properly speaking, loves himself, in willing the good that he desires. But a man loves himself more than another: because he is one with himself substantially, whereas with another he is one only in the likeness of some form. Consequently, if this other’s likeness to him arising from the participation of a form, hinders him from gaining the good that he loves, he becomes hateful to him, not for being like him, but for hindering him from gaining his own good. This is why “potters quarrel among themselves,” because they hinder one another’s gain: and why “there are contentions among the proud,” because they hinder one another in attaining the position they covet. Hence the Reply to the First Objection is evident. Reply to Objection 2: Even when a man loves in another what he loves not in himself, there is a certain likeness of proportion: because as the latter is to that which is loved in him, so is the former to that which he loves in himself: for instance, if a good singer love a good writer, we can see a likeness of proportion, inasmuch as each one has that which is becoming to him in respect of his art. Reply to Objection 3: He that loves what he needs, bears a likeness to what he loves, as potentiality bears a likeness to its act, as stated above. Reply to Objection 4: According to the same likeness of potentiality to its act, the illiberal man loves the man who is liberal, in so far as he expects from him something which he desires. The same applies to the man who is constant in his friendship as compared to one who is inconstant. For in either case friendship seems to be based on usefulness. We might also say that although not all men have these virtues in the complete habit, yet they have them according to certain seminal principles in the reason, in force of which principles the man who is not virtuous loves the virtuous man, as being in conformity with his own natural reason. Whether any other passion of the soul is a cause of love?Objection 1: It would seem that some other passion can be the cause of love. For the Philosopher (Ethic. viii, 3) says that some are loved for the sake of the pleasure they give. But pleasure is a passion. Therefore another passion is a cause of love. Objection 2: Further, desire is a passion. But we love some because we desire to receive something from them: as happens in every friendship based on usefulness. Therefore another passion is a cause of love. Objection 3: Further, Augustine says (De Trin. x, 1): “When we have no hope of getting a thing, we love it but half-heartedly or not at all, even if we see how beautiful it is.” Therefore hope too is a cause of love.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  I heard her dreams mumbled in lost tongues, the stifled screams reverberating in minute crevices, the gasps, the groans, the pleasurable sighs, the swish of lashing whips. I heard her call my own name which I had not yet uttered, I heard her curse and shriek with rage. I heard everything magnified a thousand times, like a homunculus imprisoned in the belly of an organ. I caught the muffled breathing of the world, as if fixed in the very crossroads of sound. Thus we walked and slept and ate together, the Siamese twins whom Love had joined and whom Death alone could separate. We walked upside down, hand in hand, at the neck of the bottle. She dressed in black almost exclusively, except for patches of purple now and then. She wore no underclothes, just a simple sheath of black velvet saturated with a diabolical perfume. We went to bed at dawn and got up just as it was darkling. We lived in black holes with drawn curtains, we ate from black plates, we read from black books. We looked out of the black hole of our life into the black hole of the world. The sun was permanently blacked out, as though to aid us in our continuous internecine strife. For sun we had Mars, for moon Saturn; we lived permanently in the zenith of the underworld. The earth had ceased to revolve and through the hole in the sky above us there hung the black star which never twinkled. Now and then we had fits of laughter, crazy, batrachian laughter which made the neighbors shudder. Now and then we sang, delirious, off key, full tremolo. We were locked in throughout the long dark night of the soul, a period of incommensurable time which began and ended in the manner of an eclipse. We revolved about our own egos, like phantom satellites. We were drunk with our own image which we saw when we looked into each other’s eyes. How then did we look to others? As the beast looks to the plant, as the stars look to the beast. Or as God would look to man if the devil had given him wings. And with it all, in the fixed, close intimacy of a night without end she was radiant, jubilant, an ultra-black jubilation streaming from her like a steady flow of sperm from the Mithraic Bull. She was double barreled, like a shotgun, a female bull with an acetylene torch in her womb. In heat she focused on the grand cosmocrator, her eyes rolled back to the whites, her lips a-slaver. In the blind hole of sex she waltzed like a trained mouse, her jaws unhinged like a snake’s, her skin horripilating in barbed plumes. She had the insatiable lust of a unicorn, the itch that laid the Egyptians low. Even the hole in the sky through which the lackluster star shone down was swallowed up in her fury.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He was half on top of me, kissing me deep on the mouth. His fingers danced over my taut nipple, barely grazing over it. His hand seemed so big gripping my hip, pulling me close. My hands cradled his face as I tried to hold on to the moment for as long as I could. I ran my finger over his mouth, and he caught it between his lips, sucking it into his mouth. My stomach rolled over, and a new wash of heat ran through me. His face dropped from my hands, and he kissed down my neck. Every inch of my skin caught on fire, each little kiss, lick starting a new blaze. I clawed at his hair, urging him forward, pushing him further down my body. But, again, Blake would not be rushed. His mouth again latched on to my nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, flicking it over and over with his tongue. Arching my back, I tried to get more. All I could think was that I needed more. More of anything that Blake wanted to give to me. The heat of his mouth was joined by his slow, tracing fingers moving up my thigh. I could feel the gentle tremble of my leg under his touch every time he got nearer to my pussy. He seemed to be purposefully avoiding my most sensitive skin, teasing me with little touches everywhere else. He pushed my legs apart, and I felt his fingers moving closer and closer to my cunt. Moans were escaping my throat, his mouth moving back and forth over my nipples, teasing one and then the other until I was ready to scream. “Blake, I can’t take much more of this.” “Just a little bit longer, I promise.” His mouth covered mine, stopping any more words from getting out. His finger had finally found my slick heat, and my hard clit was sliding under his soft touch. The small circles teased my clit until I found my hips moving along, trying to get Blake to go faster. But, he kept going at the maddeningly slow pace, his eyes watching my face. “God, you are so beautiful when you are excited, do you know that?” I could only manage to shake my head no, as no words were possible at that moment. His words were tearing at my brain, making my chest flush with renewed heat. His finger slipped down past my clit and entered me, opening my pussy up for the first time. The flat of his palm grazed my clit, with each slide in and out. “Open your eyes. Please, Daisy, open your eyes.” I could barely stand it, but I did. His green eyes shone back at me, intense and sparkling. “Blake, please, I need you.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She tried her best to overcome him with her mouth. When she managed to take him fairly deep, he became still for a moment, but his fingers and mouth were so capable, all she could do was try to keep up with what was happening in her. The words replayed in her mind. A place where a man can taste a steak in his mind…Oh, the things Dave must have thought while he was imprisoned. She increased her urgent sucking, and his cock was a dark burgundy color, but it did not yield to her. She orgasmed yet again. She needed control badly. She thought to ask him for it, but this made no sense given their time to date. She thought of sword swallowers in the circus. She fought past her gag reflex. It took a few tries, but she took him down, her nose brushed his tight balls. Dave grunted, and his limbs went limp as she worked his cock. She loved it desperately, as if the small window she had created would soon be revoked. Tongue, fingers, palms, lips, a touch of teeth, then back down her throat a few times, and he arched his back, lifting her like she was a feather. His voice was silent when the first shot sprayed deep into her gullet, and she nearly lost control of the gag reflex again. She subjugated it. He yelled out. His cock sprayed her mouth. She swallowed him whole again, and he nearly bucked her body off. She held tight to him like a rodeo champion finishing the bronco ride, still in the saddle. They lay in a heap, nearly still, totally silent. Only soft, restorative breaths. The cab was brightly lit. “What the hell did you do to me, Sarah?” All that came out was, “No bellyache.” He laughed and stroked every inch of her body. She had never felt like this with any man. She had never felt like this at all. She didn’t want it to end. Sarah devoured a big omelet breakfast in the diner. The meal in Reno had burned off halfway across Nevada. She wanted this one to last. Dave sipped his coffee, nibbled some toast, and didn’t try to stop her from paying for both their meals, though clearly he had to fight the reflex. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get a ride up to Nampa. I’d sooner take you, but I got a schedule.” He started for the cab of his semi. He looked back just once. “Thanks, Dave.” Yes, she was close enough to home that she could get someone to come get her, or thumb a ride north. She barely heard the words moving away. “I sure will miss you, Little Sarah.” She yelled out. “You never told me where you’re headed.” “Next stop, Lincoln, Nebraska. After that, well, lot of roads out there. Still got a bunch to discover.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  I felt my body tightening, every muscle building with tension and pleasure. His thumbs rolled over my nipples, the tight flesh barely able to take much more. My body was shaking, and I felt my orgasm building in me, deep and powerful. Blake let his thumb drop lower, and I felt it stroke over my warm wet clit, and I exploded. My body cried out violently, gripping Blake’s cock deep inside me, my whole body contracting around him. I filled the silence of the room with my voice, my body releasing the pleasure that had been building. I rode against him, letting my body rise and fall, as pleasure seemed to be coming in never ending waves. Blake’s hands dug deep valleys into my hips, and I felt his body turn to stone underneath me, his cock growing inside me as he grunted out his own orgasm, just as mine was ending. We collapsed together, finished, spent. I rolled off Blake, feeling my body succumb to exhaustion. I felt like I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. Blake wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into the safety of his embrace. “That was amazing, Daisy. Exactly what we needed.” “Absolutely. And, I promise, no more DVDs, toys, or whips for a long time.” Blake laughed and pulled me up into a kiss, before waggling his eyebrows at me. “Well, let’s not be rash, Daisy. Maybe we can keep the whip.” DRIVE ME CRAZY Delilah Devlin Just a glimpse of him standing in profile, arms crossed over his well-developed chest and leaning his firm, round butt against the dispatch counter, was enough to shore up my weakening resolve. Dressed in faded blue jeans, a black, chest-hugging T-shirt, and a red Razorback ball cap turned backward on his dark shaggy hair, he was every woman’s blue-collar fantasy. My mouth dried as I glanced down his tall, muscled frame. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want one night with all that ripped hotness? And that’s all it could be—one night. I’d waited until the last possible moment to make my move. The midnight drive to the dispatch office had given me plenty of time to argue my way out of what had seemed like a good plan earlier when I’d realized that the planets had aligned to give me this one last chance to fulfill my long-standing fantasy. There’d never been the right time. For the longest time, I was married. When my husband dumped me, Danny had been living with a woman with two kids and seemed to be heading down a straight road to marriage. We’d flirted; he’d issued lazy invitations for dates or a quickie at the Motel 6 down the road. But I’d never detected even a hint of serious interest. If something was going to happen, I had to be the one to make a move. Today had been my last day at Henderson Transport. It was now or never.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “If that’s what you really want. Who am I to say no to an idea like that?” Blake stood up, pulling me to my feet with him. He reached behind me and started to unzip my outfit, peeling the black vinyl down my skin until my breasts popped out of the top. As he continued to undress me, he captured one of my nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue and sucking in a wonderfully familiar way. He released me all too soon, and I helped Blake with the rest of my outfit, stretching it over my shiny boots and tossing it aside. He dropped to his knees and started untying my boots, taking his sweet time, kissing my legs as he went. When he was finished, he sat on the bed, sliding back toward the headboard, the same place he was before I let him loose. He was waiting for me to do something, and I didn’t hesitate to oblige him. I didn’t try and come up with something interesting; I just straddled him. My legs wrapping around his waist, I kissed him deeply, rocking slightly on his lap. I felt his bare chest with my hands, the heat coming off his skin in waves. He leaned forward, his tongue flicked over my collarbone, dropping kisses down to my breasts. His fingers teased me, pulling my nipples into tight peaks, while his mouth stayed away, only making me want it more. I arched my back, but he went on with his game. Until I started grinding myself against his growing cock. He then became much more generous with his affection. He mumbled against my skin, the vibration tickling me. “This is more like it, Daisy. Aren’t you glad I finally said something?” He moved right back to my breasts, not waiting for my response. The heat of his mouth on my nipple made me turn to jelly inside, my body tensing with each sucking kiss. Before I knew it, he flipped me on my back, resuming his torture of my hard nipples with his hands and mouth. I lay on the bed, helpless, letting him slowly circle each nipple with his tongue, drawing me closer and closer to losing my mind. Then, he started sinking lower, his mouth teasing, tickling down my stomach until I was trembling under his lips. I felt his long fingers tracing over my pubic hair, running aimlessly about, avoiding what I really wanted him to do. The lightest pressure of his fingers made me heat up inside, liquefying under his touch. I moved my hips in circles, enjoying the barest of touches. But, I wanted more. I pulled him up so I could look at him, and he was smiling like a very happy boy. “Blakey, please stop teasing me. I need you.” “Sorry, but it’s been a long time since I’ve gotten to do this. You’ll give me a little latitude, won’t you?”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  I repressed a whimper. A lubricated finger circled my quivering asshole, preparing it for the slow slide of the cold glass thermometer. “Most patients would have their temperatures taken with a digital ear thermometer,” explained Matthew, pushing it further in, inch by inch, and rotating it slowly inside my bum. “But not you. You’re different, Loveday. You need special treatment. It says so on your notes.” “Does it?” I whispered. “Yes, it does.” He held the thermometer fully in, his thumb and finger resting between my cheeks. “It says, ‘Patient needs firm handling at all times. Facilitate her swift recovery with frequent rectal examinations and strict discipline.’ The consultant seems very sure that this is what you need.” “Stupid consultant,” I whispered, just loud enough to be audible. “What was that?” Matthew withdrew the thermometer in one swift stroke, leaving my sphincter muscles trembling at the unexpected vacation. “I see from my thermometer that you are not too ill for a spanking, young lady. Disrespecting the consultant certainly merits one. In fact, I think he should be here to witness it...but I think he’s on another call. Never mind. You can imagine him here, and I’ll write up a report on your punishment for the notes, just so he knows.” I twisted my ankles and wrists, antsy and tense on my rubber sheet. I both dreaded and longed for the promised spanking, and I worked on my readiness for the first stroke, but instead he picked up the sponge again and wrung it out on my bottom so that the water flowed over the cheeks and down my hips, puddling on the sheet. When his hand fell, I nearly jumped up to my knees. I thought I knew the exact form and feel and weight and shape of his open palm, but this felt quite different, and it stung substantially more than I remembered. “Ha ha,” he chuckled delightedly. “That’s how it feels on a wet bottom. I’ve heard it’s more painful. So it’s true.” He continued to smack at my dripping bottom until it was dry—a long and intensive process throughout which it was impossible not to wriggle and kick and make pathetic squeaking noises. “There,” he said, rubbing the site of his evildoing. “A red, sore bottom is very good at aiding recovery for minxes like you. I think we’ll repeat that prescription thrice daily.” “Thrice?” I moaned. “But it hurts.” “The best medicines are hard to swallow,” lectured Matthew. “Speaking of which...but no. I can’t be sure the infection has cleared up yet. We’ll have to find another way of administering the dose.” “The dose?” I wanted to laugh. That was one way of putting it. If I panted, “Dose me up, doctor,” in the throes of orgasm, would that work for him? “The medicine you need,” he whispered, bending down to my ear. “The medicine you’re going to get.” “Can I ask for a second opinion? Ouch!”

• From Bad Behavior (1988)

  “Oh, not really,” she said. “But it’s interesting.” She went back to her desk and stuck the papers in her drawer and began typing, her face still glowing and upturned because someone who was possibly crazy had told her that she would eventually be a success. — He began thinking about her at home. He thought of her body resting against his, of his arm around her. He thought of her dressed in a white kimono, peeking from behind a fan, her eye makeup crinkling when she smiled. Diane became suspicious. “You’re a thousand miles away,” she said over the Sunday salad. “What is it?” “I’m preoccupied.” His tone made it clear that her plaintiveness was futile, and she became frightened and angry. She didn’t say anything, which was what he wanted. He did not lie down with her that evening, although he was exhausted. He walked around the loft, striking the furniture with Diane’s riding crop, annoying the cats, making them skitter across the floor, their eyes unnerved, their tails ruffled. His eyes dried in their sockets. His back was sore and balled into knots from staying up for three days. He began doing things to attract Daisy’s attention. He told jokes. He slapped his face with eau de toilette. He wore red pants and a sheathed knife in his belt. He did full splits and handstands. He talked about his active role in the theater department at Bennington and his classes with André Gregory. He mentioned the karate class he’d taken once, and punched a hole in a box of books. She said, “Joey has done everything!” There was a thrilling note of triumph in her voice. For a long time he just looked at her. That alone made him so happy, he was afraid to try anything else. Maybe it would be better to hold her winglike shadow safe in the lock of his memory than to touch the breathing girl and lose her. He decided to give her a card on Valentine’s Day. He spent days searching for the valentine material. He found what he wanted in an old illustrated children’s book. It was a faded watercolor drawing of three red poppies sharing a field with pink clover and some blameless little weeds. A honey-colored bee with dreamily closed eyes was climbing a stalk. An aqua-green grasshopper was flying through a fuzzy, failing blue sky, its eyes blissfully shut, its hairy front legs dangling foolishly, its hind legs kicking, exultant, through the air. It was a distorted, feverish little drawing. The colors were all wrong. It made him think of paradise. He tore it from the book and covered it with a piece of fragile paper so that the scene, veiled by the yellowing tissue haze, became remote and mysterious. He drew five hearts in misshapen lines and senselessly alternating sizes on the bottom of it. He colored them red. He wrote “Voici le temps des assassins” under them.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  As for her cunt—which by the way she never referred to at all—as for her cunt, I say, well that was just an accessory to be brought along. In the dim light of the vestibule, without ever referring overtly to her two problems, she somehow made you uncomfortably aware of them. That is, she made you aware in the manner of a prestidigitator. You were to take a look or a feel only to be finally deceived, only to be shown that you had not seen and had not felt. It was a very subtle sexual algebra, the midnight lucubration which would earn you an A or a B next day, but nothing more. You passed your examinations, you got your diploma, and then you were turned loose. In the meantime you used your ass to sit down and your cunt to make water with. Between the textbook and the lavatory there was an intermediate zone which you were never to enter because it was labeled fuck. You might diddle and piddle, but you might not fuck. The light was never completely shut off, the sun never streamed in. Always just light or dark enough to distinguish a bat. And just that little eerie flicker of light was what kept the mind alert, on the lookout, as it were, for bags, pencils, buttons, keys, et cetera. You couldn’t really think because your mind was already engaged. The mind was kept in readiness, like a vacant seat at the theater on which the owner has left his opera hat. Veronica, as I say, had a talking cunt, which was bad because its sole function seemed to be to talk one out of a fuck. Evelyn, on the other hand, had a laughing cunt. She lived upstairs too, only in another house. She was always trotting in at mealtimes to tell us a new joke. A comedienne of the first water, the only really funny woman I ever met in my life. Everything was a joke, fuck included. She could even make a stiff prick laugh, which is saying a good deal. They say a stiff prick has no conscience, but a stiff prick that laughs too is phenomenal. The only way I can describe it is to say that when she got hot and bothered, Evelyn, she put on a ventriloqual act with her cunt. You’d be ready to slip it in when suddenly the dummy between her legs would let out a guffaw. At the same time it would reach out for you and give you a playful little tug and squeeze. It could sing too, this dummy of a cunt. In fact it behaved just like a trained seal. Nothing is more difficult than to make love in a circus.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  The authors in this collection know that opening one’s heart comes with great risks and often greater rewards and that open communication and a spirit of adventure can make for a scorching sex life. They have created characters who believe all is fair in love and war and who take no prisoners in their quest for emotional and sexual fulfillment. Here you will find lovers exploring their desires in bedrooms, heating things up in the kitchen, splashing around in the bathtub, playing with sex toys, drinking champagne, getting it on in hotel rooms, staying warm in winter cabins, flirting in trucks and bars, making out in the great outdoors, and making love at dawn and midnight—all in the name of that greatest of all human desires: true love. So, dear reader, I invite you to explore this delicious collection of erotic romance selected especially for you. I think you will find that what makes a story the best of its kind is the same intangible that makes people fall in love. It’s magic, I think. And when it comes to love and war, there’s only one thing I know for sure: love wins. Love always wins. Kristina Wright In love in Chesapeake, Virginia WHAT HAPPENED IN VEGAS Sylvia Day It was 115 degrees in Las Vegas, but Paul Laurens could have sworn the temperature dropped from the chill in his former lover’s gaze. Robin Turner entered the Mondego Hotel’s ground-floor lounge like a gust of arctic air. Her long blonde hair was restrained in a sleek chignon and her lush body was encased in a pale blue dress that wrapped around her curves and tied at the waist. Nude-colored heels gave the impression that she was barefoot, while a chunky aquamarine necklace circled her throat like ice cubes. Paul’s grip on his beer bottle tightened and his dick thickened in his jeans. How they’d ended up in bed together was still a mystery to him. One minute they were riding the same elevator and the next he was riding her, the attraction so fierce and immediate he couldn’t remember how they reached his room or even shed their clothes. Taking a long pull on his beer, his gaze followed Robin’s progress across the barroom. She approached a booth where a guy in a suit stood to greet her. The man kissed each of her cheeks before they sat. Paul knew he couldn’t stay in the same room with her and not have her, so he gestured for the bartender and ordered a martini extra-dirty to be sent to her table. “Your brews are popular,” one of the cocktail waitresses said as she collected the drink and placed it on her tray. Her smile was an invitation. The way she looked him over made sure he got the message.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “Why?” he kept walking and she felt his cock start to grow again. “I like you exactly where you are.” “But what if someone sees us?” “I’d like that.” He steadied her with one strong arm wrapped around her hips and unlocked the truck. “I’d like them to see me fucking you.” In one fluid motion he opened the passenger door and sat her on the edge of the seat still facing him, his cock growing and pulsing inside her. He was tall enough that he didn’t need to join her in the cab, he just widened his stance, grabbed hold of her ass, and started pounding into her again. “Nice and wet, just how I like you.” When she realized she could plainly see the back door of the bar, Jodi closed her eyes and just hung on, hoping that their current solitude would continue. His teeth closed on her throat, and she stared up at him. “Stop worrying and concentrate on fucking me. We don’t have all night.” That was true. They never had this freedom anymore. Jodi kissed him, drawing on his tongue. His pace increased until all she could hear was the pounding of their hearts and the slick wet sounds of body parts slamming together until her world narrowed to the sensations in her clit and the desperate need to come. He climaxed and she joined him, clinging tightly to his crumpled and damp shirt as he groaned her name. When he drew away, she whimpered at the sudden loss of his heat. He kissed her nose and rearranged her legs on the seat until she faced forward. He even put her seatbelt on, his mouth lingering over the swell of her breast. The roar of the truck engine startled her and she stared out into the darkness, a lump forming in her throat. “Are we done?” She didn’t want to go home to domesticity. She wanted this to last forever. “Hell, no, we’re not done.” He glanced at her as he backed out of the parking space. God knows how he’d managed not to lose his cowboy hat, but it was now planted firmly on his head. “Just do something for me before I start driving. Spread your legs wide and rub your clit. I want to make you come straight away when I next get inside you.” She slowly opened her legs, aware that he was watching her, his narrowed gaze fixed on her wet sex. She touched her clit and gently circled it with the tip of her finger. “Yeah, that’s good.” His voice was rougher now. “Now slide your little finger in your ass because you know I’m going to fuck you there before we’ve finished tonight.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “Are you sure you don’t want to turn in early? We have the rest of our lives to perform our marital duty.” “Hell, no, not when you made me hold off for a whole week,” he blurted out, then remembered his manners. “Sorry, sweetie, I know you didn’t sleep so well last night. If you want to go to bed early, it’s okay with me,” he lied politely. Although she’d hardly slept, eaten, or drunk anything in the past twenty-four hours, Sophie’s body was tingling with a strange excitement. “Well, we’re supposed to consummate the marriage as quickly as possible—to make it legal.” Justin frowned. “Speaking of the proper formalities, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Sophie’s pulse leaped. The ink on the marriage license was barely dry and things were going sour already. “What is it, honey?” “I was looking at that checklist from your bride guide this morning, and it said I was supposed to buy you a wedding gift. Pearls or something. I didn’t get anything, but if there’s something you want…” “I didn’t get you anything either. They recommended cufflinks or a watch for you. Very 1950s.” She turned and cupped her hand around the erection tenting his khakis. “But this is something I wouldn’t mind getting all wrapped up with a bow.” “It’s all yours. If I can have this.” He slipped his hand under her going-away skirt and patted her mons. “I promise I’ll take very good care of it.” She laughed. “It’s a deal.” Justin’s fingers began to stroke her through her panties. “Of course, in the old days, you would have owned me,” she murmured, her legs falling open. “And I’d have come to you a virgin. This would be the very first time we did anything but hold hands.” “If this were the first time I was touching you, I’d probably come in my pants just doing this,” Justin said softly. With his free hand, he reached over and began unbuttoning her blouse. “But you wouldn’t be a virgin. Your uncle would have taken you to a house of ill repute to break you in. So you could break me in.” “I didn’t know you were such an old-fashioned girl at heart.” Justin finished with the buttons and eased the blouse over her shoulders. Was she imagining a new possessiveness in his touch? “I’m glad I’m not a virgin,” she continued, “but there’s still something sexy about having your wedding night be the first time.” He hooked a hand around her bare shoulder and pulled her body toward him, coaxing her to straddle his belly. Unsnapping her bra with an expert hand, he pulled it down over her arms. The steely gleam in his eyes as he stared at her naked breasts was definitely new. “I’m glad it’s not our first time,” he said. “Why?”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He could smell her—the sweet arousal from between her legs, the clover crushed beneath her each time she raised and lowered her hips into his hand. “Please,” she said. Her voice was graveled and breath-broken. The one time she had no words, a moment he loved for, lived for. “You’re making me...mmm...wait...on purpose.” “I am,” he said, leaning down, his fingers still stroking inside her, his other hand pushing the top of her dress down to expose her breasts, taking one small nipple in his mouth, running his tongue in circles that echoed his thumb. “Dustan...” Her hands fumbled for his belt. He pulled away at first, content on her, but she kept at it and he let her. It took her two tries, but she finally unhooked the belt and jeans enough so that he could slide out of them. Maddy tried to sit up—she wanted to suck him, he could tell by the way she moved, by the way she reached for his cock —but he held her there, writhing in the clover. “Later,” he said. “I want to be in you.” She pouted so cute that he almost gave in, but he wanted to feel her warmth around him. Not the active heat of her mouth and tongue, but the way her body rose to his and surrounded him. He leaned back above her and stroked his cock, once, twice. Who cared if someone saw? That was something Maddy was teaching him every day. The only thing he cared about was the way her gaze followed his movements, the hungry look in her brown eyes, the way she kept saying Please, please, please, the sound a wind whisper of want. She lifted her hips to meet him and he slid into her, slow, teasing, loving the way her body arched, planting her feet to lift her hips and curl her spine upward. Slow, taking his time, watching her, one hand coming between them to tease her clit with each thrust. Her words totally gone now, just low, moaning breaths, both of her hands gripping his bare ass, pulling him in harder. Her desire made his flare, hot and thick, so that he wanted to plant her into the ground, to plow her under, to go with her into that place where they both bloomed and blossomed. He slowed his thrusting to lean down and kiss her, trailing his tongue over the edge of her lips and down the curve of her chin. He captured each nipple in turn, sucked hard between his slow strokes. She caught his head, pulled him up by the hair. “Stop, stop....stop teasing.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Tim stoked the woodstove and mumbled something about wishing we’d have hit the road sooner. A couple of days ago, when we’d arrived here on the lake, a stopover on the way to Greg’s, the forecast was for a chance of snow on New Year’s Eve. There were only a couple of inches on the ground, and the lake had only begun to freeze over. The chance of snow became a storm watch, then a warning, and finally a blizzard warning. Tim called his brother to tell him we wouldn’t make it, then spent most of the day preparing for the storm. Bringing in firewood, filling water jugs, making sure the snow blower had gas, running to the mini-mart and getting some food. White cheddar mac, chips and salsa, a quart of milk, a package of donuts, and a couple of cellophane-wrapped Whoopie pies that were on the counter next to the cash register. We were set. I tested a noodle. Not quite ready. I watched the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. Best laid plans. Best plans to get laid. I’d been looking forward to the guest suite that I knew Greg would have put Tim and me in, the one with the Jacuzzi and the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the ocean. I’d fantasized about Tim unzipping my red dress while I watched our reflection in the window. I loved to have sex when we were away from home. Hotel rooms with their double beds. Quaint bed-and-breakfasts with quilts on brass beds. On the floor at his parents’ house, since they’d never replaced the boys’ bunk beds. Tent camping. And here at our cabin. But not this time. We were sleeping in the open loft, and Teresa was on the pullout. While I might have slid my hand into his pajamas, trying to interest him in something other than sleep, I knew that with Teresa so close downstairs that Tim would just not go for it. He was a pretty vanilla guy and not very forthcoming when it came to sharing fantasies or out-of-the-ordinary desires. But I loved him, and he seemed to enjoy my efforts to spice things up a bit. I realized as I stood there that I was just a little bit aroused. That’s what I get for thinking about sex, which I did on a regular basis. “Hey, are the noodles ready?” Teresa looked over my shoulder. I stabbed one of the macaronis, held it up and blew on it, then fed it to her. “Done?” She smiled and nodded, and I watched her red hair sway with the movement. I felt an odd little rush as I became acutely aware of her breasts pressed against the back of my arm.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  And hence in the sixth Council held at Constantinople [*Act. 18] it was decreed that it must be said that there are two wills in Christ, in the following passage: “In accordance with what the Prophets of old taught us concerning Christ, and as He taught us Himself, and the Symbol of the Holy Fathers has handed down to us, we confess two natural wills in Him and two natural operations.” And this much it was necessary to say. For it is manifest that the Son of God assumed a perfect human nature, as was shown above (Q[5]; Q[9], A[1]). Now the will pertains to the perfection of human nature, being one of its natural powers, even as the intellect, as was stated in the FP, QQ[79],80. Hence we must say that the Son of God assumed a human will, together with human nature. Now by the assumption of human nature the Son of God suffered no diminution of what pertains to His Divine Nature, to which it belongs to have a will, as was said in the [4070]FP, Q[19], A[1]. Hence it must be said that there are two wills in Christ, i.e. one human, the other Divine. Reply to Objection 1: Whatever was in the human nature of Christ was moved at the bidding of the Divine will; yet it does not follow that in Christ there was no movement of the will proper to human nature, for the good wills of other saints are moved by God’s will, “Who worketh” in them “both to will and to accomplish,” as is written Phil. 2:13. For although the will cannot be inwardly moved by any creature, yet it can be moved inwardly by God, as was said in the [4071]FP, Q[105], A[4]. And thus, too, Christ by His human will followed the Divine will according to Ps. 39:9; “That I should do Thy will, O my God, I have desired it.” Hence Augustine says (Contra Maxim. ii, 20): “Where the Son says to the Father, ‘Not what I will, but what Thou willest,’ what do you gain by adding your own words and saying ‘He shows that His will was truly subject to His Father,’ as if we denied that man’s will ought to be subject to God’s will?”