Joy

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.

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

  ORIGEN. (t. xxxii. 17.) After the glory of His miracles, and His transfiguration, the next glorifying of the Son of man began, when Judas went out with Satan, who had entered into him; Therefore when he was gone out, Jems said, Now is the Son of man glorified, and God is glorified in Him. For it is not the eternal only-begotten Word, but the glory of the Man born of the seed of David, which is here meant. Christ at His death, in which He glorified God, having spoiled principalities and powers, made a shew of them, openly triumphing over them. (Colos. 2:15) And again, Made peace by the blood of His cross, to reconcile all things unto Himself, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven. (Colos. 1:20) Thus the Son of man was glorified, and God glorified in Him; for Christ cannot be glorified, except the Father be glorified with Him. But whoever is glorified, is glorified by some one. By whom then is the Son of man glorified? He tells you; If God be glorified in Him, God shall also glorify Him in Himself, and shall straightway glorify Him. CHRYSOSTOM. (Hom. lxxii. 2.) i. e. by Himself, not by any other. And shall straightway glorify Him, i. e. not at any distant time, but immediately, while He is yet on the very cross shall His glory appear. For the sun was darkened, rocks were rent, and many bodies of those that slept arose. In this way He restores the drooping spirits of His disciples, and persuades them, instead of sorrowing, to rejoice.

• From In an Unspoken Voice (2010)

  Excessive mental rumination would have surely meant sudden death or slow starvation. However, over the millennia, the innate intelligence of the body was abandoned for the exclusivity of rationality, symbolization and language. Our bodies came to exist solely (as a character in a Jules Feiffer cartoon quipped) “to transport our heads from place to place ... Otherwise we would have no need for them.” On the contrary, consciousness actually unfolds through the development of body awareness, of learning to understand the nuances and the meaning of our internal physical sensations, and of our emotional feelings as well. Trauma and the Body/Mind Under ordinary circumstances, physical sensations are signals for action: to fight or flee when threatened, to chase down a wild turkey or open the fridge and make a sandwich when hungry, go to the bathroom when the urge presses, to make love when aroused by passion, to sleep when tired, to break into song when the mood strikes or to plant your feet and raise your voice in anger and assertiveness when your boundaries are violated. In all these instances, the body initiates and the mind follows. Having an intimate relationship with, and understanding of, your physical sensations is critical because they, in signaling action, guide you through the experiences and nuances of your life. If one has been traumatized, however, one’s sensations can become signals not for effective action but, rather, for fearful paralysis, helplessness or misdirected rage. When some of one’s bodily signals become harbingers of fear, helplessness, impotent rage and defeat, he or she is typically avoided like the plague at a dear cost mentally, emotionally and physically. While attempting to shut down distressing sensations, one pays the price of losing the capacity to appreciate the subtle physical shifts that denote comfort, satisfaction or warning of clear and present danger. Sadly, as a result, the capacity for feeling pleasure, garnering relevant meaning and accessing self-protective reflexes also shuts down. You can’t have it both ways; when feelings of dread are held at bay, so are the feelings of joy. The good news is that human beings are generally flexible and resilient: we are ordinarily able to learn from and integrate a variety of life experiences. These experiences, whether uplifting or downbeat, flow easily through our body/mind stream of consciousness as long as we are not chronically over- or underaroused. The body/mind keeps flowing through new encounters with vitality, bouncing back into the stream of things unless there is a significant disruption.

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

  CHRYSOSTOM. These things then which the Apostles saw and heard, are such as His presence, His voice, His teaching. And in this He sets them before not the evil only, but even before the good, pronouncing them more blessed than even the righteous men of old. For they saw not only what the Jews saw not, but also what the righteous men and Prophets desired to see, and had not seen. For they had beheld these things only by faith, but these by sight, and even yet more clearly. You see how He identifies the Old Testament with the New, for had the Prophets been the servants of any strange or hostile Deity, they would not have desired to see Christ. 13:18–2318. Hear ye therefore the parable of the sower. 19. When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by the way side. 20. But he that received the seed into stony places, the same is he that heareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it; 21. Yet hath he not root in himself, but dureth for a while: for when tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, by and by he is offended. 22. He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful. 23. But he that received seed into the good ground is he that heareth the word, and understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. GLOSS. (ap. Anselm.) He had said above, that it was not given to the Jews to know the kingdom of God, but to the Apostles, and therefore He now concludes, saying, Hear ye therefore the parable of the sower, ye to whom are committed the mysteries of heaven. AUGUSTINE. (De Gen. ad lit. viii. 4.) It is certain that the Lord spoke the things which the Evangelist has recorded; but what the Lord spake was a parable, in which it is never required that the things contained should have actually taken place.

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  “T’m coming,” I shouted, grinding out my cigarette. “T'll be right there.” Everyone stopped and stared as I walked in the door. “You look good enough to eat,” Peaches said, smoothing my lapels. Georgetta clasped her hands in front of her. “I think I’m falling in love.” “Yeah, she says that after every blow job,” Justine muttered. Cookie went over the program with me. I chewed at my thumbnail as she spoke. ?’'d spent my whole life wishing I could be invisible. How was I going to climb up on a stage, with a spotlight on me? When I got up on the runway it was dark in the club. After the spotlight hit me, I could hardly see the crowd. “Sing something,” one of the butches shouted out. “What do I look like, fucking Bert Parks?” I yelled back. “OK,” I began to sing, “Here she comes, Mis-cell-an-eous.”’ “Boo!” “Listen up now,” I pleaded, “this is serious.” “This ain’t serious, this is a drag show,” someone yelled. “Yeah,” I said. “This is serious.” I realized what I wanted to say. “You know, all our lives they’ve told us the way we are isn’t right.” I heard some murmuts, “Yeah!” “Well, this is our home. We’te family.” There was a tipple of applause from the audience. “You’re goddamn right,” one of the drag queens behind me shouted. “So tonight we’re going to celebrate the way we are. It’s not only OK, it’s beautiful. And I want you all to make our gorgeous sisters in this show feel how much we love and respect them.” The crowd roared in approval. Justine and Peaches ran out and kissed me and then ran backstage to await their cues. I flipped through the index cards Cookie had given me. “Will you please welcome tonight, Miss Diana Ross, singing ‘Stop in the Name of Love.” The music swelled, and I stepped aside. Peaches’ dress shimmered as the spotlight illuminated her. What a breathtakingly beautiful human being. Stop in the name of love, she grabbed a fistful of my tie as she sang, before you break my heart. Her lips were close to mine. I gasped, caught up in the power of her performance. The applause was thunderous. “Get the kid a towel,” someone yelled as I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. “Will you please welcome Miss Barbara Lewis, singing “Hello Stranger.” Justine walked straight toward me—slow, absolutely steady on her spike heels as the music rose. Hello stranger, she draped one arm over my shoulder, 7# seems like a mighty long time. 1 could get to like this. The next performer was Georgetta’s boyfriend, Booker. Pd never seen Booker try on drag before. Stone Butch Blues 63

• From Stone Butch Blues (1993)

  I pushed the head of my cock gently inside of her. She tensed her body; I waited. Then Annie relaxed and her hips began to move, pulling me into her. When I was deep inside of her I lay still on top of her. Our bodies relaxed, fitting into each other. I didn’t move until she did. I stroked her just a little slower than her motion demanded; her body demanded more. I felt her orgasm building long before she came. As she began to come her hands clawed at my back. Once she pulled my hair so hard I cried out with het. As her orgasm began to ebb I followed it gently— citcles in the broken surface of a pool of water. I searched with her for the next orgasm before the last one had subsided. Together we found it, and later a smaller one. “Oh, Jesse.” It sounded so pretty the way she sighed my name. Her fingertips slid down my back like warm raindrops. I was still rock hard inside of her. We both realized it at once. “What’s the matter, darlin’, you stuck?” Stone Butch Blues 207 “T can’t come with a tubber on,” I said. “Let me take it off and I'll pull out just before I come, I promise.” She turned her head away. “T’ve heard that one before.” “T promise. Trust me.” “Lord have mercy, those are the four most dangerous words out of a man’s mouth. OK, sweetheart, you’re lucky I don’t think I can get pregnant again.” It’s true I faked an ejaculation, but not my pleasure. Annie’s body felt so good. She kissed me deep and slow, moved for me, gave me everything a woman can give to a lover, and I was excited. At the moment when it became unbearable for me to go on any longer I pulled out gently, ground my pelvis against the sheets, and cried out. I lay face down on the bed with my head resting on her belly. Her hands played with my hair. Her fingertips ran across my shoulders, arousing the surface of my skin. I wished I could just stay in that moment in time. We lay together without speaking for a while. “T have to go to the bathroom,” I said. “Me too,” she laughed. “Me first.” Still face down I tucked my dildo 208 = Leslie Feinberg into my briefs. I turned away from her, slipped on my T-shirt, and headed to the bathroom in the darkness. I locked the door, pulled my bag out from behind the tub, and replaced my dildo with a sock in my briefs. I looked in the mirror as I splashed cold water on my face. Still me looking back at me.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  And he touched his finger to my clit. I screamed as the orgasm washed through me, wailed again and again as his finger circled, my eyes locked on his as he shouted and bucked into me so hard the chair rocked against the floor. “I love you,” he panted as I shuddered in his arms. “Always, baby. I’m yours.” “I l-love you, t-too.” It was hard to speak. I couldn’t stop shaking. Eric’s cock twitched inside me. I shuddered as I came again. And again. When I finally quit trembling, when my pussy finally quit spasming, Eric stood us up and lifted me into his arms. He stripped me naked and took me to bed. Then he traced the rose over my nipples and licked my pussy until I finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I fell asleep in his arms and when we woke up, I took him into my mouth and loved him with my lips and tongue and throat until he was as wasted as I was. We made love all night. And in the morning, we called Melissa and Janelle and told them we were engaged. Everybody else found out through their Facebook status updates, because Eric and I cleared our calendars for the rest of the week, turned off our computers and phones, and damn well spent most of that time in bed and getting to know each other again. We’re getting married next year, after he’s transferred to the Minneapolis office. We’ll use traditional invitations—and at Melissa’s instigation, we’ll also have a Facebook RSVP option for those who can’t break away from their computers, because God help me, we’re inviting everybody. We’re even having a somewhat traditional wedding night, though only Eric and I know that. As we left the hotel at the end of our extended holiday, Eric turned to me and asked, “Have you ever had anal sex?” My blush gave him his answer even before I stammered out, “Um, no.” “Me, either,” he grinned. “How about we save that for our wedding night? I know some very interesting things we can do in the interim so we’re ready for it.” I looked pointedly at his butt. “Okay.” He rolled his eyes and his face turned a beautiful pink, but then he laughed and shrugged. “All right. Both ways. We can order some toys. Damn. I’ll send you a Facebook message.” I had no doubt he would. I couldn’t wait to see the innuendo only I’d recognize in his status updates. THE DRAFT Craig J. Sorensen Sarah could have played it safe and bought a VW bug. Cheap, easy to fix, and they were aplenty.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Jane’s hips rose and fell, jerking with the release of orgasm. Unable to hold back any longer, he spilled into her, uncontrolled, inelegant, probably making some inhuman noises of his own. As they rocked together afterward, soothing the tremors, she kept murmuring her invocations, her vulgar litanies. “Fuck. Oh god. Oh, baby.” He raised his eyebrows. Tilted his head to hear her say them again. At last, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Yes. And, I think, encore.” Outside, the birds started to sing; a glass-throated robin and a chattering wren joining the blackbird, then the chaffinch adding a plump trill and the other unnamed birds calling over each other, making the back garden a tangle of different voices. By the time Jane came a second time the morning was a riot of beautiful, chaotic noise.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  A few days later, Johnny calls Mama fatty again. That time I’d figured out how he beat me, and I walloped him but good. That day on, two times my size and big ol’ Johnny crossed the street when he saw me a-comin’.” “I don’t get you, Dave.” “I got no more points to make. My fightin’ days are over.” She eyed his body language, the way he looked at her in scant periphery. “I bet you were in Vietnam. Bet you weren’t even drafted.” The corner of Dave’s mouth curled up. His accent again softened. “So, tell me, you think we were wrong to go to Germany and Japan in World War II?” “War is wrong.” “So we should have laid down for Hitler and Tojo? Been peaceful and stay out of war?” “Well—” “How about Korea. Okay to let the South fall?” “You don’t know that it would have.” “No, and you don’t know that it wouldn’t have. Let’s say it did.” “It wasn’t our fight.” “Say your brother gets in a fight. Someone starts a fight with him. You see the person who’s fighting him has a gun in the back of his pants, where your brother can’t see. You can reach it real easy. Do you grab it? Do you warn your brother? Do you just leave it be and hope for the best?” “My brother doesn’t fight.” “He’s got no choice this time.” A deep breath. “It’s—it’s not the same thing.” “You ’spose?” “I thought you didn’t give these things too much thought.” “Just makin’ repartee. Answer the question.” “Repartee.” Sarah snorted and looked away. “Answer the question.” “I’d grab the gun, but that’s different.” She kept her eyes away. “Knew it.” He nudged her elbow gently. “Don’t be so smug. Now you answer me something.” She turned back to him. “Shoot.” Dave pointed one finger out toward the desert and made a realistic gun sound complete with long echo. Sarah grabbed her mouth, then dropped her hand and allowed her smile to echo as well. “Okay. Say your house is on fire. You’re in your room on the first floor, your two kids are asleep in their bedrooms on the third floor, while some adult guests are in the basement.” “I got no wife, no kids, Sarah.” “Play along, Dave, there will be a prize at the end.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  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. She tangled her fingers in his hair, but didn’t really tug—it was an old habit with them, almost a joke. She’d urge, but she’d still let him take the lead, make the decision to finally lean all the way in and swipe his tongue across her lips, bury between her folds, nuzzle against her clit. When he finally did, she let out a long sigh, feeling like they had both come home. Then his talented tongue was working its magic, flicking against her swollen bud, stoking the fire. She pressed her head so hard against the back of the sofa that she knew her neck would hurt the next day, but she didn’t care. The scorching spiral toward orgasm wound tighter and tighter, the fire consuming her until she screamed her release. Ethan didn’t give her much time to recover, and she didn’t blame him. He shucked off his pants and underwear, and she saw how hard he was, tasted the moisture that seeped from the tip of his cock. He groaned as she did, but pulled her away a moment later, telling her he needed to be inside her. She had no argument for that. He urged her up, and she knelt on trembling legs to face the back of the sofa. He wasted little time sliding into her, and no matter how long it had been, she welcomed him, knowing now just how much she’d missed him. His hands were full of her breasts as he pushed into her. She felt his thrusts grow staccato, knew he was close. She welcomed that, too, because she was already on edge again herself, from the rake of his cock deep inside her and the pressure of his hands on her nipples. She felt herself clamp down, and then she tumbled into another orgasm, pulsing along the length of him. Dimly she heard his own shout as he came with her. Eventually they roused themselves, although it was largely so Ethan could check whether the bottle of brandy they always tucked into a back cabinet was still there. It was. They sipped and talked, long into the night, long past the three-quarter moon’s shimmer on the water. Eventually they staggered to the bedroom, spread the sleeping bag he’d brought onto the bed, and made love again. Slower, this time, and more bittersweet, perhaps, as Bella cradled his head in her hands and he buried his face in her shoulder as they came. They were roused the next morning not by the stream of sunlight across the bed but the sound of the front door being unlocked. Ethan scrambled into pants and shirt, giving Bella time to dive for the bathroom. She was vaguely amazed she had no hangover. And no heartache.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  He keeps me pinned there while undoing his pants. “Is this what you want, Sarah? You want me right here, like this?” “Yes, yes, yes,” I cry when he shifts me just so and places the tip of his cock inside me. He is lighting the spark that is making our relationship explode, making it crackle and sizzle and burn the way it should have been all along. I know as he plunges inside me, holding me tight, his face buried in my neck, that no matter what happened in those champagne rooms, it was never like this. Derek pounds into me, overtaking me, and I cling to him, my thighs straining, my nails digging into his back. He is fucking me, that’s the only way to describe this, yet in its way, his fucking is lovemaking too. It’s the kind of fucking a couple can engage in who knows that there is no one else they’d rather be with, so they can slam and rock and thrust and claw, scream and pound and yell and bite, and be assured that the other person wants every ounce of ferocious, almost violent energy they have to share. He doesn’t say anything, not even my name, just growls into my ear, a sound that’s so beautiful I start to cry a little when I come. He used to tell me not to cry, but now he knows that when it happens, it means I’m so overwhelmed with not just love and lust but destiny, rightness, perfection, that I can do nothing else. I squeeze him hard, and then I come again when he starts to fill me with his passion. He stops thrusting and simply lets himself be inside me, making me his and telling me he’s mine. Only later, when we’re freshly scrubbed from a dual shower, and I’ve remembered the champagne flutes and filled one for him, does Derek dare ask me what was going on before. “Well, the champagne room thing...it made me curious. And a little jealous. I was picturing you with all these girls around you doing all sorts of things and I wanted to, I don’t know, recreate that or something.” I mumble the last bit into my pillow. “Baby, you know you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. And trust me... nothing even close to what you just did ever happened in any champagne room I’ve been in. But you don’t have to show off for me, unless you want to.” He looks deep into my eyes and I smile at him. “What if I want to? I mean, I did buy two bottles of champagne. ...” “I say tell me where to install the stripper pole.” He laughs but sees my raised eyebrow. “I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?” he asks.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  My mouth opened and a long, thin groan joined the nasty sounds echoing around the cab. Juicy slaps. Soft, masculine grunts. Short, metallic creaks. Coming faster as he pounded toward my core. Release, when it came, roared through me. Toes curling, I snapped open my legs as wide as they could go, arched my back and sank my nails into his backside, trying to hold onto the moment because it was so damn perfect. When my peak began to wane, he jerked, stroking in short, sharp bursts. Then he dug deeper at the last moment. His head fell back, his mouth opening around a loud, aching groan. The sight of him, all primal male, chest and belly quivering, his cock still lodged deep inside me, was oh so gratifying. At last, he gave a deep sigh and collapsed over me, my legs still wedged high, trapping his arms in the bend of my knee. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. His head jerked up. His gaze met mine, and his lips twitched. “Think I didn’t do that on purpose?” “Losin’ circulation yet?” He ducked and mashed his lips against mine, then backed up on his knees. His arms slid from under my legs, and I eased them down, stretching them on either side of his kneeling frame. “So, I hear you’re leavin’.” “Word gets around.” “Movin’ out of town?” I nodded. “To Prescott. I have another job. But how’d you know? I asked Cooter to keep it quiet.” His mouth widened. “Your new job. Dispatch for Ragland?” I eyed him warily. “That’s it. Just a good guess?” He shook his head slowly, his smile never dimming. Warmth centered in my chest. I ran my palms over his belly and scratched my fingernails down toward his groin. He came out of me, and I rolled the wet latex slowly down his length. “Lemme guess. You drive for them.” “Uh huh. Owner said this hot as hell woman from HT was hirin’ on, and did I know you.” I pulled his cock hard, just to get his attention. “You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” He came over me, bracing his torso on his arms, a wicked glint in his gray eyes. “And have you spoil one fine-as-hell good-bye?” 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.

• From The Laws of Human Nature (2018)

  The demons were not only refusing to leave her but were gaining a stronger hold on her. The Jesuits, hearing of this notorious possession, decided to take charge of the affair and sent father Jean-Joseph Surin to exorcise her once and for all. Surin found her a fascinating subject. She was completely versed in matters concerning demonology and was clearly despondent at her fate. And yet she did not seem to resist strongly enough the demons who inhabited her. Perhaps she had succumbed to their influence. One thing was certain: she had taken an unusual liking to Surin and kept him in the house for hours for spiritual discussions. She started to pray and meditate with more energy. She got rid of all possible luxuries: she slept on the hard floor and had vomit-inducing potions of wormwood poured over her food. She reported to Surin her progress and confessed to him “that she had come so near to God that she had received . . . a kiss from his mouth.” With Surin’s help, one demon after another fled her body. And then came her first miracle: the name Joseph could be read quite clearly in the palm of her left hand. When this faded away after several days, it was replaced by the name of Jesus, and then Mary, and then other names. It was a stigmata, a sign of true grace from God. After this Jeanne fell deeply ill and seemed close to death. She reported being visited by a beautiful young angel with long, flowing blond hair. Then Saint Joseph himself came to her and touched her side, where she felt the greatest pain, and anointed her with a fragrant oil. She recovered, and the oil left a mark on her chemise in the form of five clear drops. The demons were now gone, to Surin’s enormous relief. The story was over, but Jeanne surprised him with a strange request: she wanted to go on a tour of Europe, displaying these miracles to one and all. She felt it was her duty to do so. It seemed oddly contradictory to her modest character and ever so slightly worldly, but Surin agreed to accompany her. In Paris, enormous crowds filled the streets outside her hotel, wanting to catch a glimpse of her. She met Cardinal Richelieu, who seemed quite moved and kissed the fragrant chemise, now a saintly relic. She showed her stigmata to the King and Queen of France. The tour moved on. She met the greatest aristocrats and luminaries of her era. In one town, every day crowds of seven thousand people would enter the convent where she was staying.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  She laughed into his open mouth, let the laugh tumble into a groan. “And more,” he whispered, sliding a finger between them and rubbing at the key of her clit with the polished skill of a musician. “Like this. Glissando.” She responded, collecting him with her legs, heels, gathering him in, crying out, moaning, saying “Yes” and “Fuck” and the other crude, repetitive words that love songs are made of. Saying them over and over, making them sound soft with her lust-heavy tongue. “Oh god. Fuck, I’m coming,” she said, and he thought it sounded like a snatch of verse from one of her interminable records. His cock contracted in response. A frown passed over his face. Jane’s hips rose and fell, jerking with the release of orgasm. Unable to hold back any longer, he spilled into her, uncontrolled, inelegant, probably making some inhuman noises of his own. As they rocked together afterward, soothing the tremors, she kept murmuring her invocations, her vulgar litanies. “Fuck. Oh god. Oh, baby.” He raised his eyebrows. Tilted his head to hear her say them again. At last, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Yes. And, I think, encore.” Outside, the birds started to sing; a glass-throated robin and a chattering wren joining the blackbird, then the chaffinch adding a plump trill and the other unnamed birds calling over each other, making the back garden a tangle of different voices. By the time Jane came a second time the morning was a riot of beautiful, chaotic noise. ABOUT THE AUTHORS SHAYLA BLACK (aka Shelley Bradley) is the New York Times bestselling author of over 30 sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances for multiple print and electronic publishers. She has won or placed in over a dozen writing contests, including Passionate Ink’s Passionate Plume, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards. Romantic Times has awarded her Top Picks, a KISS Hero Award, and a nomination for Best Erotic Romance. RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL (rachelkramerbussel.com) is the editor of more than forty anthologies, including Obsessed, Passion, Orgasmic, and Fast Girls. She is senior editor at Penthouse Variations and writes a column for SexIs magazine. She covers sex, dating, and pop culture for a variety of publications and blogs at lustylady.blogspot.com and cupcakestakethecake. blogspot.com. Award-winning author ANGELA CAPERTON writes eclectic erotica that challenges genre conventions. Look for her stories published with Black Lace and eBury Publishing, Circlet, Cleis Press (including Best Women’s Erotica 2010), Drollerie, eXtasy, Renaissance, Side Real Press, Xcite Books, and in the indie magazine Out of the Gutter. Visit her at blog.angelacaperton.com. HEIDI CHAMPA has been published in numerous anthologies, including Best Women’s Erotica 2010, Playing with Fire, Frenzy, and Ultimate Curves.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  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.” I sat on the edge of the bed and dropped my fetching whip on the floor. My knee-high patent leather boots were staring to hurt my feet, and I felt more ridiculous than I ever had before. “This is all your fault, you know that Blake!” “I know, baby. I know.”

• From Best Erotic Romance

  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.” She walked after him quickly. “Always wanted to see Lincoln.” Truly, she never had given it a thought. She grabbed his arm. “You know, it occurs to me we never did work out our differences about Vietnam, Dave.” “You might be surprised what I—” Sarah put her finger tight to his lips. He grinned. “You’re right. You got your work cut out for you.” He took the suitcase from her hand, walked to the passenger door, and opened it. She paused for a moment, then smiled and climbed in. “You too, Big Dave.” She folded her hands in her lap. He closed the door for her.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  They were both laughing now, free and easy. Bella couldn’t remember the last time it had been so natural to laugh, as if a blockage had cleared in her chest. “At least we can laugh about it now,” she said. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he asked. “How things that seem so awful at the time end up being pretty minor later, when you remember them.” “The blissful haze of memory,” she said. “Natural brain defense mechanism. You know, Bella, I—” The kitchen timer pinged. “I have to put the steaks on,” he said. She set the table, then abandoned the porch to walk barefoot in the cool grass to the wild area nearby where wildflowers clustered. When he brought the plates out, he nodded at the simple arrangement she’d made in an old jam jar. “Nice.” It was the clear lake air, she decided, that made her so hungry. The steak was perfect, the potatoes crisp on the outside and steaming soft inside, the salad a light counterpoint to the rest of the meal. It all went down nicely with the wine. Shadows grew, the sky turning a gorgeous shade of deep blue. Across the table, Bella watched Ethan, noting the circles beneath his eyes. Surprised, she found herself wanting to smooth them away with her fingers, ease him into a healing sleep. Now, where had that come from? The wine, probably. But the wine didn’t explain why she’d stayed for dinner, why she’d put flowers on the table. Nothing, it seemed, made sense anymore. They did the dishes together in silence—what once would have been an awkward or angry lack of discussion now felt companionable. He’d set the timer on the coffee pot before they’d eaten, and the fresh brew filled the cabin with aromatic steam. He handed her a mug as she sat on the sofa. He’d remembered how she liked it—light on the cream, two sugars. Before he joined her, he lit the fat new cranberry-red candle on the coffee table. “Jane’s not going to like that,” Bella said of the realtor. He blinked, as if he hadn’t considered that until now. Then he shrugged. “So I’ll buy another.” Typical Ethan. His ability to brush off the details that didn’t really matter had infuriated her at the end. But they hadn’t always, had they? At the beginning, hadn’t she loved his casual way of cutting through what wasn’t important, to find the core of what was? The melancholy that settled over her, she couldn’t entirely blame on the wine, either. “Ethan, I—” “Bella, I—” They spoke at the same time, stopped, laughed, this time with hesitance. The easy humor from supper was gone. “Ladies first,” he said.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  There were only the wet sounds of him eating her. The creak of the futon spring under the weight of their swaying, rocking bodies. And her own ragged breath, quickening, rising to meet his silent intent. She wound her hands into his hair. “Come up here,” she said quietly. He nodded, gave her pussy one last loud smacking kiss, and slid up and over her body, like he was polishing the curves of a cello with his own skin. “Make love to me,” she whispered. All the joy and angst of the night was melting under the dry heat of his body, the pleasant digs of his bones, and the scrabble of his hair against her own softer, smoother flesh. She let out a sigh, and the breath made her body give a little, made space for him to slip inside her. John offered his cock to her, sliding it gracefully over the mouth of her slit and into her hot wet drum. As he did so, they locked eyes. “Jane,” he said. “Yes.” He plunged into her, fucked her with a decisiveness that took his own breath away. He fucked her enthusiastically but artlessly, his hips moving in time with the silent tick of the alarm clock upstairs that he couldn’t see, bucking in again and again and again as if he couldn’t help himself. “Oh, oh, oh,” she said, each time. John lifted his head. He took a deep breath and smiled. He knew better. He broke the rhythm. Paused, so that they could beat softly against one another—hear each other’s pulse and tremor. Her body echoed his. Outside, a blackbird shrieked. “Don’t stop,” she said, “I could do this forever.” “Yes,” he said, pushing. “At least, with breaks in between to do other things.” “No,” she said, “just fucking.” He held back. “You don’t want me to kiss you, maybe?” His lips danced over hers. “Like that?” “Okay,” she said, nuzzling at him, nipping at his lower lip. “That too. But more of the fucking, also.” “Counterpoint?” he said, eating her mouth and starting, slowly, to fuck her again. She laughed into his open mouth, let the laugh tumble into a groan. “And more,” he whispered, sliding a finger between them and rubbing at the key of her clit with the polished skill of a musician. “Like this. Glissando.” She responded, collecting him with her legs, heels, gathering him in, crying out, moaning, saying “Yes” and “Fuck” and the other crude, repetitive words that love songs are made of. Saying them over and over, making them sound soft with her lust-heavy tongue. “Oh god. Fuck, I’m coming,” she said, and he thought it sounded like a snatch of verse from one of her interminable records. His cock contracted in response. A frown passed over his face.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  My mouth opened and a long, thin groan joined the nasty sounds echoing around the cab. Juicy slaps. Soft, masculine grunts. Short, metallic creaks. Coming faster as he pounded toward my core. Release, when it came, roared through me. Toes curling, I snapped open my legs as wide as they could go, arched my back and sank my nails into his backside, trying to hold onto the moment because it was so damn perfect. When my peak began to wane, he jerked, stroking in short, sharp bursts. Then he dug deeper at the last moment. His head fell back, his mouth opening around a loud, aching groan. The sight of him, all primal male, chest and belly quivering, his cock still lodged deep inside me, was oh so gratifying. At last, he gave a deep sigh and collapsed over me, my legs still wedged high, trapping his arms in the bend of my knee. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. His head jerked up. His gaze met mine, and his lips twitched. “Think I didn’t do that on purpose?” “Losin’ circulation yet?” He ducked and mashed his lips against mine, then backed up on his knees. His arms slid from under my legs, and I eased them down, stretching them on either side of his kneeling frame. “So, I hear you’re leavin’.” “Word gets around.” “Movin’ out of town?” I nodded. “To Prescott. I have another job. But how’d you know? I asked Cooter to keep it quiet.” His mouth widened. “Your new job. Dispatch for Ragland?” I eyed him warily. “That’s it. Just a good guess?” He shook his head slowly, his smile never dimming. Warmth centered in my chest. I ran my palms over his belly and scratched my fingernails down toward his groin. He came out of me, and I rolled the wet latex slowly down his length. “Lemme guess. You drive for them.” “Uh huh. Owner said this hot as hell woman from HT was hirin’ on, and did I know you.” I pulled his cock hard, just to get his attention. “You couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?” He came over me, bracing his torso on his arms, a wicked glint in his gray eyes. “And have you spoil one fine-as-hell good-bye?” ONCE UPON A DINNER DATE Saskia Walker Samuel set the steaming platter of food down on the table with a flourish, intent on making an impression on his guest. “This looks delicious,” Cassie said, eyeing the food hungrily. He was just about to move away when she reached out and grabbed his hand. “Is this a proper date?” Her fingers meshed with his as she asked the question.

• From Best Erotic Romance

  Then Samuel had melted that away. She nodded, and clutched at him tighter still. “I promise.” He moved his hand and splayed it over her mons, thumb rocking against her clit, and then thrust again. Hard. “I want to feed you everything.” “Oh god, yes!” That thumb stroking over her inflamed clit made her pant aloud. Rocking her hips from side to side she gripped his shoulders with both hands. She reached her plateau and an intense wave of pleasure swamped her groin. Hot juices ran from the place where they were joined, soaking her buttocks and the chair beneath her. Samuel soon joined her, his hips rolling in to hers over and over as he hit home and shot his load. Before he withdrew, he reached for another lychee, popping it between her lips. She bit the fruit and chewed it, savoring its intense flavor. He wiped a trickle of juice from the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure you should do that?” she asked. “You’ll get me started again.” “That was my intention.” His smile was wicked. She couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Sure you can hack it?” “Oh yeah, I’ve been hard thinking about you every night since I first saw you, and I’ve got a lot of erections to work off.” Cassie gestured at the fruit bowl. “In that case I believe it’s time to adjourn to your bed. You grab the fruit, I’ll bring the wine.” Samuel grinned. “You got it.” As they stood, wobbly and laughing, she clutched him to her. “I like you Samuel, I like you a lot.” He cupped the back of her head and kissed her deeply. “I like you too, a lot. In fact I think I fell in love with you weeks ago. Does that worry you…?” There was a challenge in his eyes. He really was a very intense sort of man, and that set her alight. “Not any more.” She ran her fingers along his jaw, sighing happily. “One thing I ought to say, though,” she added. A concerned look flitted across his eyes. “You must let me take my turn cooking.…otherwise you won’t get to know which meal turns me on most of all.” The concerned look disappeared and he grinned. “It just gets better and better.” She trailed her finger along his jaw. “When I like something this much I always come back for more.” MEMORIES FOR SALE Andrea Dale Bella knew this was a bad idea. She’d known it when she’d turned her car off the highway and headed for the lake. She’d known it when she passed the “For Sale” sign at the end of wooded drive. She’d known it when she got out of the car and smelled the early autumn air, with its melancholy reminder that the seasons changed, that time moved on. That the past was lost.

• 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.