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 228 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Best Erotic Romance

  I’ve dragged our favorite giant plush chair, the one I know will hold both of us because I’ve sat in his lap on it plenty of times, from the guest room into our room, and I pull Derek inside and plop him down there. “Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show. No touching though; you might get kicked out. I can touch you if I want to though,” I say in a sex-kitten voice I’m not sure I’ve ever used with him or anyone. It seems to come out of me, or rather, Ginger, the girl I’m channeling, the one I imagine has danced for my husband dozens of times. I start up the playlist I’ve created, saving the champagne for later. “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails starts to boom through our elegant bedroom, and I can only hope the loud rock takes him to a slightly more edgy headspace. I lift my leg and place the sole of my five-inch shoe on the edge of the chair. Derek swallows hard. “Sar—,” he tries to say, but I silence him with a finger over my lips. I flash him my bare pussy, then flip the nightie down, put my leg down and turn around. I dance for him, for me, for us. I dance for all the times before I met him when I wish I’d been with him rather than with everyone who came before him. I dance for Trent Reznor, pouring every ounce of myself into the song. Keeping with the theme, “I’m a Slave 4 U” by Britney comes on, and I grab the little purple suede flogger I bought yesterday and whip it all around. I stroke it over my breasts and lash it against my arm. I hold out his palm and strike it against him, smiling as he moans. I slap it against my ass, but when Derek reaches to touch me, I push his hands away. Britney might be a slave for someone, but I’m in charge right now. As the song ends, I toss the flogger on the floor and climb up onto the chair with him, pressing my bare sex directly against him, designer pants be damned. I breathe against his neck, purr into his ear, lick the stubble along his cheek. I sacrifice the nightie and rip the delicate lace at the top so my breasts can spill out as Madonna launches into “Justify My Love.” That’s not exactly what I’m doing right now; I’m not justifying it, I don’t think, I’m exploring it. I’m telling him that he doesn’t have to hide anything from me. I placed my hand on his forehead and stroke downward, and when I lift it, his eyes are closed. That’s when I slide my hand under the bed and unearth the giant Veuve Clicquot Brut Yellow Label bottle I’ve chilled in our freezer. I bring it toward him and hold the frosty glass against his wrist.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  With each thrust, Justin seemed to push deeper, conquering unknown territory. Because no one had ever touched her this way before, not even the sweet Justin she’d watched sleeping that very morning. No one had ever opened her so completely—her cunt, her heart, her head all at once—to expose yearnings secret even to herself. “Come for me, Sophie,” he panted. “I order you to come right now.” Dutiful wife that she was, she bucked up against him—one, two, three more times—and then she was coming, wracking spasms that burst from her throat in a shriek. Justin planted his hands on the bed and reared up, his hips pounding her like a porn star as he announced his own climax with a series of low grunts. He fell forward and they clutched each other, their bodies still heaving. They were so close she could feel his heart pounding in her own chest. “I’m not sure what came over me just now,” Justin confessed. “I hope that lord-and-master talk wasn’t a mistake.” “No way. I think I left a wet spot on this bed the size of California.” She moved her lips to his ear and added in a whisper, “You bossy bastard. That was super hot.” “You’re hot, baby. God, I’m lucky. I have the sexiest wife in the world.” He rolled onto his back and they snuggled together, her head on his shoulder, their legs twined together. Sophie smiled. She had made a terrible mistake—spending the whole day worrying her sex life would be ruined by a piece of paper. But tonight she learned it could be a passport to new possibilities. ANOTHER TRICK UP MY SLEEVE Heidi Champa “Are you sure about this, Daisy?” “Yeah, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” His arms were fixed to the bed frame with two old ties, and I was decked out in the vinyl outfit I had hand-picked with his specifications in mind. Now that the moment had finally arrived, he seemed underwhelmed, and I was starting to sweat in the tight-fitting black plastic. He rolled his eyes and sighed, his back collapsing against the bed, his muscles loose. I was starting to get discouraged. But, I pressed on, banging my pink leather riding crop against my open hand. Blake didn’t look scared, and there was absolutely no desire in his eyes. My back, which I had been holding straight in an attempt to look authoritative and sexy, started to droop. None of this was going how I thought it would. “Blake, I thought you were into this, what is the problem?” He squirmed against his ties, but not in the way I was hoping. He tried to sit up but couldn’t, and had to settle for an odd, reclined position that almost made me laugh. “I don’t know Daisy, I just don’t really feel like it tonight.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  His fingers combed through my hair, then framed my face. I bobbed down, my lips suctioning, latching around his crown to suckle hard, my tongue swirling over and over his soft, sleek head. I found the slit, teased it with the point of my tongue, then swirled again, sinking down his cock to take more of his length, caressing the sides of his thick shaft with my long, slippery glides. His hand fisted in my hair and pulled me off. “Thought this was supposed to be your fantasy.” “Think I haven’t thought about doing this? What it would feel like? How thick, how long it would be? I’m just gettin’ acquainted.” “Damn. Come on up here.” I started to crawl up his body, sliding my chest over his belly, but he shook his head. “No, sit that bare-nekkid pussy over my mouth.” I pressed my lips together to keep the laughter trapped. “Not cool enough?” he gritted out. “It sounded sort of cheesy.” “Didn’t I say it with enough snarl?” “Just the right snarl if you were The King.” “Who?” “Never mind,” I muttered. Baby. “I mean it. You got close and personal with me, turnabout is fair play. Bring it on up here, girl.” “I’m not a girl,” I said, pushing out my lower lip. He rolled his eyes. “Will you stop with the age thing? I want that pussy on my mouth.” The way he said it, his jaw tightening like he’d turn me over his knee if I didn’t move fast enough, had me inching my way up until I squatted over his face, reaching up to curl my fingers over the edges of an overhead cabinet for balance. Fingers parted me. He inhaled and gripped my ass in both hands and moved me slightly until my pussy made contact with his mouth. His lips latched onto me, sucking one side then the other, releasing me with moist pops that had me blowing out breaths in short, hard streams through pursed lips because it felt so damn good, so foreign. Like a dream come true because I’d imagined what it might be like and now it was happening. Danny Echo was eating me out. He gave long soothing strokes of his tongue and short ones that flickered over my soft wet edges. Then he hardened the point to flutter at my clit. I couldn’t hold still and began to rock in short glides, guided by his hands as I moved forward and back.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  John tried to maneuver his cock out of the way, but it kept insinuating itself between them. “Jesus, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” John said, placing a hand lightly on the back of her bowed head. He could smell her hair. Bubblegum and cigarette smoke. She shook in his arms, and the movement made him doubly uncomfortable. Jane pulled her face out from where it nestled in John’s armpit. Smudged mascara had given her black-ringed panda eyes, but they were dry. She grinned. “Frighten me? Unlikely, mister. John.” Her mouth—satin and juicy and soft and tender—was so close he could feel her breath on his face. She blurred in front of his eyes, and he thought it must be a mirage, that there was no way she would be moving in so close to him, bringing herself close enough to... His world went suddenly sweet and upside down. Her lips on his. The tip of her tongue darted into his mouth. He thought to himself, Oh! She was rubbing up against him. That devious cock of his reared up against Jane’s belly with delight, surging forward to meet her with bold joy and god-damn-whoa lust that made his heart ache. They collapsed together, falling against the couch and scrabbling not to break the embrace. John’s pajamas were a flimsy barrier, and Jane had his cock extricated and standing proud within seconds. In turn, John plucked at her kimono, pushed it roughly aside to free her breasts. He squeezed tenderly, leaning down to suckle and bite, but not hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” said Jane, “more, please more.” He looked up and caught sight of the clock behind her head, just to the left of the framed record cover. Five A.M. Dawn was starting to turn the sky light. His neighbor’s tits were in his face, her nipples still wet from his mouth, and the music. The music was still playing. “Excuse me,” John said, and laid Jane down gently on the couch. He padded over to the stereo, trying to cover his awkward hard-on while Jane sighed behind him. “What are you doing?” she asked, as he lifted the needle from the record and cut the singer off in midchorus. Silence bloomed between them. John met her eyes, saw the restless spark and the tiredness in them. He moved to her and sank onto his knees in front of the couch. “You love music,” he murmured, whispering now as the quiet boomed in his ears. Jane nodded as he pulled her jeans open and bared her pubic hair, the top of her clit. “So lie back,” John said, lowering his head. “And listen.” He put his mouth to her, bending like a monk in prayer. The nerves in Jane’s body all rushed between her legs, every fiber and pore of her pricked and readied for his touch. And he was quick. His tongue slid between her lips with delicate precision. Should she have guessed?

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He stayed close so that her whole body came into contact with his, and he steadied her with his hands at her hips. The lights were lower now, and he guided her toward the shadows, one hand riding her waist. Jodi reached up and locked her hands around the back of his neck and breathed in the scent of leather and Calvin Klein aftershave. They moved together to the music, her breasts crushed against his checked shirt, her stomach pressed to the hard ridge of his jean-encased erection. He slid his hands beneath the hem of her skirt and stroked the underside of her ass. “You wearing those red panties for me?” “Yes.” “Good.” He bit down on her ear and she whimpered. “They won’t get in my way then.” His callused thumb moved higher, tracing the lace between her ass cheeks, and Jodi closed her eyes as her knees threatened to give way. He could still do it to her. One touch and she was like warm flowing honey in his hands. The music changed to another slow song, and he bent his head and took possession of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep as he penetrated her sex with one long finger. She gasped into his mouth but couldn’t escape him, her body way too eager to accept his penetration in any way she could get it. When he finally lifted his head she could only stare up at him in mute appeal. He took her hand and started toward the restrooms. “Come on.” He didn’t stop until they’d exited the back door of the bar and veered to the left. Jodi found herself in a small yard filled with barrels and crates of empty bottles. He backed her up against the nearest wall, his gaze hungry and determined, his hands all over her. “I can’t wait. I want to fuck you right now.” Jodi moaned as he rucked up her skirt to her waist, cupped her ass, and lifted her against the thick wedge of his cock. The denim felt harsh against her swollen wet folds, but she didn’t care as he ground himself against her. “You want this? You want my cock?” Jodi nodded. “Then take it out so I can fuck you right here against the wall.” Jodi scrabbled with his metal belt buckle and straining zipper until she revealed his thick shaft. Before she could do more than moan her appreciation, he lifted her and impaled her on his thick heated length. She screamed into his mouth at the sudden penetration, holding tight to his shoulders as he worked himself up inside her in short, sharp, unforgiving strokes. “Take it, honey. Take my cock in your cunt, make me come.” Jodi concentrated on the thrust and withdrawal of his shaft and the ragged sensations he aroused in her. She anchored her feet on his pumping hips and simply enjoyed the wildness. Had she ever had sex like this before?

• From Best Erotic Romance

  DAWN CHORUS Nikki Magennis Of course it’s not possible to stuff an entire duck-down pillow into the small shell-shaped hole of one’s ear, but John was trying nonetheless. Not that cotton and duck feathers would be enough of a muffler. He doubted that pouring cement in his ears, wrapping his head in deep pile carpet, and lead-lining the walls would be enough. The thump of the bass was the worst—he could feel it vibrate in the marrow of his bones—that regular, predictable bludgeoning kick. Pounding through the floor, rattling the glass in the window frames, making his whole body throb with a surround-sound headache. And then that jarring, jangling noise. Just after the out-of-tune wailing of the third chorus. He didn’t know the title, but he knew the song by heart—every riff, lick, and drum roll. She played it over and over. Usually at night. Always too loud. John ground his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. He glared at the glowing numbers on his bedside alarm clock. 3:10. Late enough to make him weep. He pressed his face into the mattress and moaned. Tears brimmed in Jane’s eyes as she sang along to the crackling LP. God, this song made her feel inside out. She played it loud with the window open, and the night air streamed into her studio flat, the dark breeze catching papers and spilling the unopened letters over the table, ruffling the edges of fabric, lifting the hem of the dresses hanging from the clothes rail, making the candles flicker and splutter with black, sooty flames. She screwed up the volume another notch and walked to the open window. “God, can you hear that?” she said, into the night. “Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it make you want to fucking cry?” John’s suit hung over the back of his bedroom door. It wasn’t pressed, but as a well-cut suit it would pass if he left it undisturbed until morning to let gravity pull out the creases. It was not worth putting it on to go and visit his fiendish neighbor. It was not a good time for visiting. Nor, he thought bleakly, was it a good time for her to dig out her Mexican rock-and-roll LPs. Which she was in the process of doing, by the sound of it. He listened to her clunk and clatter. He sighed. There was little else in his room apart from his bed, the suit, and the alarm clock. John preferred to live with as few possessions, as few distractions as possible. He’d spent a great deal of time stripping back and reducing and simplifying. His life should be—would be—empty of clutter and open to the fabulous array of small, quotidian noises that he so loved, were it not for the amplified car crash below him. His nights were stuffed full, ripped apart and crammed with overbearing noise. Not just the music, either. The histrionics in between disturbed him greatly.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  I look myself up and down, critically but compassionately. I like my long, silky brown hair, shot through at the top with streaks of blonde, and am grateful that I’ve found the best hairdresser in the world, who can keep it feeling smooth and shiny even when I don’t take the best care of it myself. My breasts have always been the feature I’m most proud of, big enough that I need a sports bra when I go jogging but not big enough to look obscene in my tightest sweaters. I’ve got hips, yes, and a belly, and thighs, and an ass, all of which I’m constantly trying to slim down even though Derek loves to kiss and lick and grab me there. Sometimes he clings to my hips so tightly he leaves bruises, but I don’t mind. I have my good days and my bad days when it comes to liking my body, but today is going to be one of the good ones, and tomorrow, when Derek gets home, is going to be one of the best ever. I hold on to the sink for a moment to make sure I’ve got my balance, swing my hair down in front of me, then back up, shimmy down as low as I can go, and when I finally reach between my legs, staring deep into my eyes the whole time, I’m soaking wet. I kick off the shoes as the song ends, exhilarated and aroused. I get rid of my clothes and slip into the shower, where I blast the spray as hot as I can stand it, so hot my pale skin will be juicy red. When I shower with Derek, I tone it down, but since he’s not here, I go a little wild, and while the spray beats down on my face, I touch myself and picture what I will do, how I will move against him, imagine the noises he’ll make when I take the champagne and spray it all over both of us. That image is what makes me come hard, trembling in the shower, and I waste more than a little water simply absorbing that feeling deep into my core. I need it to build me up in case I get nervous when it’s time to go for the real thing.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  When that flew over the seats, he reached around me and expertly opened the clasp of my bra. Without the underwire, I worried that my heavy breasts would sag too much, but he hefted them in his palms and his breaths deepened. “I’ve wanted to suck on these forever.” I gave a short, strangled laugh. “I wouldn’t have said no.” “Then why’d you wait so long?” “Why didn’t you make the first move? Are you really that arrogant that you have to have a woman come to you?” “I didn’t think you’d say yes.” “Really?” He grunted, the sandpaper pads of his thumbs continuing to rasp over my nipples. “You’re pretty. Smart too. And you have every man drivin’ sniffin’ after you.” “But you’re handsome. I bet you don’t get many no’s from women.” He arched a brow. “Okay, so not handsome like a movie star. But you’re rugged and built like a god. I didn’t think you’d want me. I’m too old for you.” “There’s only eleven years between us.” I raised my brows. “How do you know that?” “I ate your birthday cake and counted the candles.” When he pinched my nipples, I tensed, my eyelids dipping. “I guess eleven years doesn’t really matter,” I gasped, “when all we’re doin’ is screwin’ around.” He pinched harder, then holding my gaze he came up on his elbows and rooted at one of my breasts, sucking the tip, and more, into his mouth. His moan was deep and gravelly. I felt it all the way to my toes. My other breast tingled, dimples popping up around the areola and the tip sprung. I cupped it with my palm to ease the ache, but he pulled away my hand and shook his head, wagging my breast right along. I gave a strangled laugh. “So not sexy.” He released my breast. “Got any complaints about my technique?” “Maybe about your pacing.” I ground against his erection. “You’re killin’ me here.” “Get your clothes off,” he growled. “You first.” “No way. I’m the guy. I get off on watchin’.” I swallowed hard, but I’d asked for this. Wanted for him to take charge, and he had with a vengeance if that hard-eyed look was any indication. I slid down beside him and rolled to my back, then awkwardly tugged off my shoes, tossing them between the seats in front of us, then shimmied out of my skirt, being careful not to lose the scrap of lace shielding my sex from his hungry gaze. Danny slid a finger under the lacy band at my hip, pulled it, and let it go to snap against my skin. “Not nice.” “I didn’t tell you to stop.” “You gonna order me around all night?” “I think so,” he murmured. “Seein’ as how it turns you on.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “Because I want you to know how much I want you. Thought I’d take some of the edge off before I came out here. I didn’t want to leave you unsatisfied, darlin’.” I swallowed hard, eyeing the taut edge of his jaw, the glint of arousal in his eyes. Maybe it was just what I wanted to see, but I didn’t back away when he reached for me. He leaned toward me. His hands slid around my back, one gliding up to fist in my hair. 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.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He switched up the setting on the vibrator, placed a buzzer on my clit, and moved his soaked gloved fingers up the crack of my bum to find the unoccupied hole. I wanted so badly to cry out when he began the loving, unhurried business of lubrication, but I held back, my thighs shuddering, cunt in turmoil, sore throat totally forgotten, while he circled and probed, circled and probed, over and over and over. “I think this is where the dosage will be given,” he pronounced. A low sound would have escaped me, if my faulty throat hadn’t provided salvation. My head was in thrall to my body, my instructions and resolutions on the verge of being forgotten. I had to remember to be quiet. I had to make sure the treatment worked. His fingers spread my tight-furled asshole, preparing it thoroughly, examining its depth and width with scientific care. “Yes,” he said. He was struggling to stay calm, I could tell, and I was struggling not to come, wanting to save myself for the moment of possession. Over the buzzing and the insistent roar of my blood in my ears, I heard the unbuckling of belts, the lowering of trousers, the removal of undergarments and then he was behind me, holding my flanks, nudging up against the vibrator at first then parting my cheeks. “Take your medicine,” he breathed, then his impossible width amazed me anew by edging through my anal defenses, gathering lube on the way. I puffed and clenched my fists, trying not to resist, trying to wrap myself up in the dark comfort blanket of total submission, feeling and knowing myself to be his in every way. Penetrated in every orifice except the one I had to keep such stringent control of, I slid down inside myself, becoming a creature of sex and surrender, a helpless patient having to accept that my doctor knew better than me. The dosage was strong and the side effects included some discomfort and a few pangs, but the best medicine has unpleasant features, so I accepted it willingly, pushing myself back to take his entire length, showing him my trust. “That’s good,” he said, beginning a slow thrust, rubbing up against the vibrator in my other hole with each push forward. I came again, my body defeated and dominated, and then once more before he granted me the vital injection. He used me hard, leaving finger marks on my hips and my bottom burning, but the exhaustion I felt on his withdrawal was oddly invigorating—it was no longer the exhaustion of sickness, but of healthy exertion. While I lay on the damp rubber sheet, trying to remember what was supposed to be wrong with me, he kissed the length of my spine and then arose, disappearing for a moment. When he came back, he patted me down with a towel before uncuffing me, helping me to my feet and removing the rubber sheeting.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She kissed him, grinding along the front of him as much as she could while he was holding her. Her mouth tasted like raspberries and cream. She wiggled along him, and he had to put her down, out of breath and bending backward. Her bare feet—the toenails painted like mini-suns—disappeared into the clover. “Maddy, you shouldn’t be barefoot out here.” He could hear the scolding in his voice, couldn’t help it. “You’re going to step on a pricker. Or a bee. Or worse.” “I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m only interested in being stuck by this particular pricker.” He wondered, as he often did, if her daddy knew what a wild creature she was. He doubted it. Her hand found the front of him, already half-hard, tickling her fingers over his zipper. The flash of her ring in the sunlight as she stroked him, lifting her head, laughing. “Maddy,” he said. “What?” All innocent, that look, as her gaze caught his—she had deep brown eyes, big and dark, lightly flecked with gold in the centers, and thick dark eyelashes, a sharp contrast to her lighter hair. On one of their first dates, he’d told her, “You have eyes like a Jersey calf.” He hadn’t meant to say it—words were his enemy, mostly, things that bit at his tongue and made his cheeks fire. But Maddy hadn’t laughed at him; she hadn’t gotten angry at being compared to a cow. She’d said, “I don’t have to moo when we have sex for the first time, do I?” He’d never thought a woman could say things like that. She said things like that all the time. Words loved her. And he knew then that he wanted to love her like that. The crazy thing was that she let him do just that. Madeline O’Hara, daughter of Fire Chief O’Hara, Queen of the Country Fair, she of the proper “Please” and “Thank you,” she of the gold-brown corn-tassel hair and the calf-brown eyes. Dustan had seen her his whole life, of course, the way he’d seen all the town girls he’d grown up with. From the outside. Genqua wasn’t even that big of a town, but it was big enough to split the farmers and ranchers from the ones who had town jobs, town roles. Maddy O’Hara wasn’t just way out of his ballpark. Maddy O’Hara was out of his league. Except they’d met, officially, for the first time in a ballpark. Dustan playing for the farm team, Maddy’s brothers playing for the townies. The farm team had won, and they were heading off for drinks, when this girl in a daisy-yellow sundress and white sandals crossed the field, calling his name. “Dustan,” she said, although everyone else called him Dusty so he didn’t know it was his name she was saying until she got close and touched his shoulder.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  It was that, she guessed, that emboldened him. When she responded, his touch grew more sure. He drew her in and she went willingly, the feel of his tongue against hers triggering the warm glow of arousal that she knew would soon smolder, ignite, and finally consume her. So familiar, and yet so foreign. Each step along the unlit path brought back hints of remembrance, like sweet déjà vu. She traced his biceps, ran her hands down his back, feeling the muscles flex. He bit gently on her lower lip, and she gasped, the thrill streaking down between her legs. She was already wet, wetter even than when she’d masturbated earlier. His touch had always done that to her. How had she gone so long without this? He grazed his teeth along the line of her throat as she plucked at his shirt buttons. She didn’t get all of them, but she couldn’t wait any longer, splaying her hands across his smooth chest, lightly tracing her nails over his nipples until he groaned. He took one of her hands and guided it down to his crotch, pressing her palm against the bulge there, showing her just how excited she made him. Her clit shivered in response. Fleetingly, she wondered where this was leading. Oh, to sex, obviously, but wasn’t sex with your ex supposed to be anathema? Tacky, even? (Not that he was her ex just yet, but as good as.) She ignored that thought, pushed away all thoughts. They didn’t matter. What mattered was his hands and lips and tongue on her, and her hands and teeth on him, and the need they shared. He tugged her shirt free and pulled it over her head, and by the time he’d tossed it away she had already made good headway toward removing her bra, popping the front hook and shrugging out of it. His eyes were dark in the candle flame, but she could imagine the hunger in them before he dipped his head to suckle. So good. She arched her back in response as he teased her, drawing each bud between his lips, flicking with his tongue, biting just enough to make her squirm and beg. Beg him not to stop. Beg him for more. She dipped a hand between her legs, under her panties, and soaked her fingers, then spread the moisture on her nipples for him to savor. “So sweet,” he murmured. “Bella...I have to taste you for real.” They didn’t even bother removing her long, loose skirt. She hiked it up while he slid the now-useless panties over her hips, down her thighs. The scrape of the lace against her skin was almost more than she could bear. She propped her feet on the coffee table and he knelt between her legs. He breathed in the scent of her until she thought she’d scream.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  “I think you need to go back to bed rest,” he said, holding me close, his arms crossing my rib cage, “if we’re going to continue this treatment.” I let myself lean back against him, boneless in the aftermath, while he kissed my neck and shoulders, and then I was tucked back into bed and my real temperature taken. “It’s well down,” he said. “For some reason. I would have expected that kind of treatment to elevate it. But what do I know? I’m not a doctor.” “Hey,” I croaked. “You aren’t? So...what was that?” His wickedest smile shone down on me. “That was for your own good,” he said. “Now I’m going to call your doctor and ask what he recommends for girls who are well enough to be taken vigorously up the ass yet who protest that they can’t go back to work yet.” “No you aren’t, you swine!” “Yes I am. Or rather, no I’m not. Because I know what he’d say. I know what he’d write on his prescription form. Something painful involving your behind and my hand, I suspect. So you’d better get some rest while I work my strength up.” I pouted, but I felt blissfully, floatingly sleepy. “Thank you,” I yawned. “You might not be a doctor, but I think I’m cured.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead, his blue eyes earnest as he drew back. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he said. “Gladder than you know.” I know he hates it when I’m ill, but I don’t think it’s all about control and inconvenience. I think it’s mostly about love. GUEST SERVICES Angela Caperton Joanna Danvers checked her watch again, the third time in the past hour. Maybe he had canceled late. Severe weather in the Northeast had caused more than one Suite Rewards guest to change their plans and their reservations. Damn. Her heart constricted at the thought that Thomas Wolburn might not check in today. This was it; this was Joanna’s last weekend at Suite Rewards Miami. On Wednesday, she’d pack her Focus with everything she could fit into it, leave her furniture to the mercy of movers, and head north to Atlanta and Suite Rewards’ corporate headquarters. She’d done it. After six years of busting her ass, first as the concierge and then as manager of guest services at the busy Suite Rewards Executive Hotel Miami, she’d been promoted to regional manager. Yes, she’d be back to Miami, but she’d also be in Savannah, Jacksonville, Tampa, Mobile, Orlando, and several other southern locations—but most often in her office in Atlanta.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He was young and hot as hell. If he needed sleep that damn bad, he could tell his latest squeeze to come around another time. Tonight, he was mine. “My keys weren’t in the lockbox. I know I left ’em there.” “You did indeed,” I said nodding. Then I looked him up and down, making sure he hadn’t mistaken my intent. “Fact is, I have an itch that needs scratchin’ and I’m hopin’ you’ll help me out.” I tried to exude more confidence than I felt, but I lost my nerve on the return trip up his hard body. I paused and swallowed hard, then gave a little cough to loosen the knot lodging at the back of my throat. When I reached his mouth, he was grinning. Shit. “Angela, is there somethin’ you want?” You, preferably naked and tied spread-eagle on a bed so you can’t stop me nibbling every edible part of you. “Angela?” “Is there something I want? Yeah, there is.” “Then just say it.” But I couldn’t. I felt foolish enough. I reached into my purse and drew out his key ring. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken this so far.” “You made me wait half an hour, when I could have been home, showered and in bed. You know how long I’ve been out this time.” “I know. I arranged the schedule.” Still, he didn’t take the keys. I took a step toward him and had to tilt my head to maintain the lock on his gray gaze. His hands settled on my waist. “You want somethin’, sweetheart?” he repeated, his voice lowering to a sexy rumble. I squeezed my eyes shut, prayed for courage and that the blush staining my cheeks would fade. “I want you,” I said, then opened my eyes. His grin widened. “Now, was that so hard?” “Matter of fact it was.” He bent toward me, his gaze narrowing on my mouth, but I turned away my face. “Not here. Your rig.” His eyebrows shot up, and he pushed me gently back. “After you. You know where I’m docked, and you have a key. Let yourself inside and get comfortable. I’m hittin’ the locker room for a quick shower. I smell like diesel.” He turned on his heel, giving me another view of that backside I’d drooled over for months. A moan slipped from my mouth, and I heard a chuckle as he pushed through the door and left me standing weak-kneed in his wake. He let me wait a good twenty minutes before the door to his cab opened, and he climbed inside.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  The moment the cascade reached her clit, Terry dove. Kim inhaled sharply and dropped her head back, digging her fingers into her husband’s hair as he licked and sucked, thoroughly collecting all the honey from her clitoris. To her surprise, Kim felt a climax building as his tongue quivered against her. Orgasm had not usually happened so quickly for her, but now it felt imminent. Panting, she dropped back on her elbows. Just as the wave was about to come, Terry rose, scooping her off the counter and setting her onto the honey-dotted floor in one swift motion. Kim’s resistance to the messiness of the usually impeccable linoleum subsided as his mouth returned to her pussy. He grabbed her ankles and threw them over his shoulders as he squeezed at her tits, his tongue never ceasing its work. Heat roiled in her like water in a teakettle. When she reached the boiling point she screeched in kind, flailing wildly as the orgasm ravished her honey-drenched body. She rolled in the stickiness, in the utter and inexplicable surrender that made her not just ignore but revel in the messiness, the chaos, the letting go of something she hadn’t even known she was holding on to. Her body seemed to sink deeper into the puddles of honey beneath it as Terry’s hands gripped her thighs firmly, all traces of the amber liquid long gone from the surface of her clit, still covered by his mouth. She breathed heavily, opening her eyes, and looked up at her husband. The same embrace of chaos and disorder was reflected in his eyes as he looked back at her. Uncertainty. Messiness. Surrender. They were part of the recipe. Something had moved, and it went beyond what she had wanted Terry to understand a few hours before when she’d trotted purposefully downstairs in her short crimson robe. Because it had moved in her too. Like the alchemy in cooking, something had been created in the connection greater than and different from the components by themselves. The kitchen wasn’t clean. But it was what it needed to be to have created what was there. Kim tasted honey as Terry kissed her and she wrapped herself around him, their bodies at ease as they lay immersed in the sticky disarray. CHEATING TIME Kate Pearce By the time Jodi flipped open her cell phone and checked the address, her cab had already driven off down the street, leaving her the option of going into the bar or calling for another ride. She considered the cheap flashing neon sign. Half the letters were already burned out, and the logo now read “mingo.” From the fluorescent pink and the dark skeleton of a one-legged bird that perched on the top of the sign, she could only assume the name was supposed to allude more to a tropical paradise than a Californian backwater gold town.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Paul stroked her pussy again, building a back-and-forth rhythm inside Brynn that caused a wave to lap up against the swell of Brynn’s rounded belly. “Oh, the water feels good,” Brynn moaned, rocking against Paul’s hand so the water sloshed over her again. “Tell me,” Paul repeated. “You’re beautiful. Tell me and I’ll make you come so hard, baby.” Brynn whimpered again, eyes closed and head thrown back. She was close to orgasm, Paul could tell by the way her pussy tightened on his fingers. He kept finger-fucking her, driving his fingers deep into her, reveling in the way Brynn’s body held him inside. “You’re beautiful, baby,” he said. “Beautiful and fucking sexy and I can’t wait to get you out of that tub and spread you across the bed so I can make you come again and again.” His litany of words aroused him as much as they were intended to arouse Brynn. His cock ached to be touched, licked, sucked, and enveloped by Brynn’s sweet pussy, but this was about Brynn and making her feel good. Making her feel as beautiful as she looked. Paul stilled his fingers once again. “Tell me, baby. You know you’re beautiful, all soft and round and fuckable. Tell me.” “Please,” Brynn moaned. “Make me come.” Paul gently rubbed Brynn’s G-spot, feeling the swollen, spongy surface against his fingertips. “I will, baby. Just tell me.” With his thumb on Brynn’s clit and his fingers inside, Paul fucked her slowly. Too slowly for Brynn to come, but enough to keep her on the razor’s edge of orgasm. Brynn clenched the sides of the bathtub until her knuckles turned white, straining to come with Paul’s slight touch. But Paul had known her long enough to know what it would take to push her over. He held back, waiting and aching with his own need. “I’ve got all day, baby,” he said, though every muscle in his body strained with rising tension. He couldn’t deny Brynn—or himself—much longer. “Tell me what a beautiful, sexy girl you are.” Brynn gasped as Paul thumbed her clit hard. “Yes, god, yes, I’m beautiful,” she moaned. “I’m so fucking beautiful. Fuck me, please fuck me.” “That’s it,” Paul coaxed, stroking her in earnest now. “My sexy girl.” “Sexy,” Brynn repeated. “Fuck me, fuck your beautiful girl. I’m so hot, fuck me.” “Yes baby, yes,” Paul said. He fucked Brynn hard, harder than he intended, but Brynn didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, Brynn gripped his wrist and guided him, clamping her thighs around his hand. Paul could barely move his fingers inside Brynn, so he concentrated on rubbing her swollen clit. With just a few more rough strokes, he felt her thighs tighten convulsively around his hand as she started coming.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  admit to something slightly dirty, perhaps revealing too much self- absorption. But think back to your childhood and youth—you inevitably entertained big dreams and ambitions for yourself. You were going to make a mark in this world in some way. You played out in your mind various scenes of future glory. This was a natural impulse on your part, and you felt no shame. Then, when you got older, you probably tried to stifle this. Either you kept your ambitions secret and acted modestly or you actually stopped dreaming altogether, trying to avoid seeming self-absorbed and being judged for this. Much of this sneering at ambition and ambitious people in our culture actually stems from a great deal of envy at the accomplishments of others. Tamping down your youthful ambitions is a sign that you don’t like or respect yourself; you no longer believe you deserve to have the power and recognition you once dreamed about. That doesn’t make you more adult, simply more likely to fail— by lowering your ambitions, you limit your possibilities and diminish your energy. In any event, in trying to appear unambitious, you are just as self-absorbed as anyone else; being so humble and saintly is your ambition, and you want to make a display of it. Some people remain ambitious as they get older, but their ambitions are too vague. They want success, money, and attention. Because of such vagueness, it is hard for them to ever feel they have satisfied their desires. What constitutes enough money or success or power? Not sure of what exactly they want, they cannot put a limit to their desires, and although it is not the case in every instance, this can lead them to aggressive behavior, as they continually want more and don’t know when to stop. Instead, what you must do is embrace that childish part of you, revisit your earliest ambitions, adapt them to your current reality, and make them as specific as possible. You want to write a particular book, expressing some deeply held ideas or emotions; you want to start the kind of business that has always excited you; you want to create a cultural or political movement to address a particular cause. This specific ambition might be grand enough, but you can visualize quite clearly the end point and how to get there. The more clearly you see what you want, the likelier you are to realize it. Your ambitions may involve challenges, but they should not be so far above your capacity that you only set yourself up for failure. Once your goal is realized, however long that takes, you now turn to a new ambition, a new project, feeling tremendous satisfaction that you reached the last one. You do not stop in this upward process, building momentum. The key is the level of desire and aggressive energy you put into each ambitious project. You don’t infect yourself with doubts and guilt; you are in harmony with your

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  plan and she knew better. She had decided well before the debut in Paris that the United States was to be the target of this new line of clothes. American women reflected her sensibility best of all— athletic, into ease of movement and unfussy silhouettes, eminently practical. And they had more money to spend than anyone else in the world. Sure enough, the new line created a sensation in the States. Soon the French began to tone down their criticisms. Within a year of her return she had reestablished herself as the most important designer in the world, and fashions now returned to the simpler and more classical shapes she had always promoted. When Jacqueline Kennedy began to wear her suits in many of her public appearances, it was the most apparent symbol of the power Chanel had reclaimed. As she resumed her place at the top, she revealed another practice that was so against the times and the industry. Piracy was a great problem in fashion, as knockoffs of established designs would appear all over the world after a show. Designers carefully guarded all of their secrets and fought through the courts any form of imitation. Chanel did the opposite. She welcomed all sorts of people into her shows and allowed them to take photographs. She knew this would only encourage the many people who made a living out of creating cheap versions of her clothes, but she wanted this. She even invited wealthy women to bring along their seamstresses, who would make sketches of the designs and then create replicas of them. More than making money, what she wanted most of all was to spread her fashions everywhere, to feel herself and her work to be objects of desire by women of all classes and nations. It would be the ultimate revenge for the girl who had grown up ignored, unloved, and shunned. She would clothe millions of women; her look, her imprint would be seen everywhere—as indeed it was a few years after her comeback. • • • Interpretation: The moment Chanel tried on Etienne Balsan’s clothes and elicited a new kind of attention, something clicked in her brain that would forever change the course of her life. Prior to this she was always coveting something transgressive that stimulated her fantasies. It was not socially acceptable for a lowly orphan girl to aspire to mingle with the upper classes. Actress and courtesan were not suitable roles to pursue, especially for someone raised in a convent. Now, as she rode around the château in her jodhpurs and boater hat, she was suddenly the object that other people coveted. And they were drawn to the transgressive aspect of her clothing, the deliberate flouting of gender roles. Instead of being locked in her imaginary world full of dreams and fantasies, she could be the one stimulating such fantasies in other people. All that was required was

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She absorbed the stiffness of his body. The awkward words would come any second, the no’s and stumbled, polite dismissals, the adjustment of the distance between them. Maybe he’d say he really liked her as a friend and that sex would ruin things. Maybe he’d confess to being married/engaged/seeing someone, or—she grinned against his shoulder—he’d tell her regretfully that he was gay. The rejection would come, but it would be all right. She’d taken the chance. He pulled her closer, and she imagined his comfortable business mind melting and mixing into goo as her pussy pressed against his thigh, and…his cock stiffened. “I want you,” he whispered against her ear. She blinked, her bones suddenly marble, her skin the thinnest sheet of breath that burst into hot sensation where his fingers held her against him. That was a yes—he’d said yes. That wasn’t supposed to happen! Could she unbury the condoms in less than 2.6 seconds, and what the hell did this mean in the grand scheme of her… scheme? “Come with me,” she breathed against his chin. She’d take him to her office, manage a moderately graceful excavation of the condoms, and then they’d fuck on her desk. All she had to do was toss the two copier paper boxes filled with her personal mementos to the floor and they’d have a wide plane to play upon. Maybe he’d bend her over the edge, fuck her mercilessly from behind. What if he slapped her ass? Her pussy creamed. “No,” he exhaled, the quiet tone reaching the tenor of a growl. “I want my bed turned down. Personally.” She nodded, a bob of her head she doubted anyone would have seen. That was her job. Guest Services. Yep, turning down beds was right up her alley. “Of course, sir,” she purred. “Naked.” The pulse of arousal that blasted her core nearly brought her to her knees—not that the vantage of her face level with his crotch would have been unwelcome, but she still wanted to keep some level of dignity. “After you, sir,” she said, her throat dry even as her cunt continued to slick. He grinned, a lopsided expression that constricted her heart. He put his arm around her waist and walked to the elevator. Joanna glanced at the front desk. Martin, the college kid they’d hired that spring, was staring at her as if she were a three-headed alien. All she could do was smile. Tom’s room was on the top floor. They had the elevator to themselves and, when the doors closed, their bodies merged. His mouth devoured her, tongue insistent, hot, demanding, tangling with hers, suppressing it, dominating it even as she grappled with him, losing herself in the sensations his kiss invoked. She felt the heat of his body in one long, glorious line of firm muscle and strength. His cock pressed hard into her thigh, and she could not wait to have it in her.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He wanted to lift her into his arms and cart her off to the bedroom to celebrate. As if she knew what he was thinking, she gave him a mischievous smile. “I’m not embarrassing you, am I?” she asked, as he tried to casually shift his food around on his plate. A sultry, suggestive look took up residence on her face and her lips glistened. How was a man supposed to think about food when she was given him such an obvious green light? The woman he’d dreamed of getting close to for the past several weeks was practically stating they were going to have sex. “I appreciate your directness.” Samuel put his fork aside. He didn’t want to eat. He wanted to bask in her presence. “And I appreciate your cooking, among other things,” she responded, and chuckled. The sound was earthly and sensuous, like everything about her. “I’m flattered.” He truly was. She ate the food as if it was heavenly, as if it was the best meal she ever had and she was with the man she wanted to be with. Did she know how that was affecting him? Samuel had his suspicions. There was a playful look in her eyes, and she seemed to be assessing him in some way. That made his temperature rise. “This is why they always put me on the advertising accounts for food products, at work,” she explained. “It’s the flavors, they set my imagination on fire.” Her gaze drifted over him. The conversation was making his blood head south, but he wasn’t complaining. “I can see the sense in that,” he murmured. “I’ll let you in on a secret.” She leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I think my taste buds are one of my most powerful erogenous zones.” There was absolutely no mistaking the naughty look in her eyes. Lifting his eyebrows, he said, “Oh, is that the case?” “Uh huh. When it’s a meal I really like, and I love spicy food, it really turns me on.” Samuel stared across at her as the implications slid fully into place. His inquisitive mind began to delve deeper, wondering to what extent that arousal manifested. Did she get wet? Did she want full-on sex as a result of it? The questions evaporated when Cassie held his gaze and reached for her fork, lifting another mouthful of Thai green curry. He watched as her glossy lips moved appreciatively while she ate the food. Another long mmm soon followed. He noticed then how she moved against the chair she was sitting on—it was a very real physical response. His erection built when he wondered what it would be like to have her sit on his lap while she ate—what it would be like to feed her himself. “My ex-husband hated it,” she added. “It’s a wonder we lasted nine years together.” She chuckled again.