Best Erotic Romance

by Kristina Wright (ed)

  One last screw, she’d told herself. And then it would be over.

  Idiot. She craved him like a junky, and one fix was never enough.

  Paul sank to his knees between her legs, and her womb clenched greedily. Her pussy trembled with its eagerness to have his mouth on her; her clit throbbed with the need to feel his tongue stroking over it. He held her open with his hands on the backs of her thighs, his gaze riveted to her intimate flesh.

  “I’ve been dying to eat you,” he said gruffly. “I’ve jacked off a dozen times thinking about it. Get comfortable, baby. We’ll be here awhile.”

  “I have meetings to attend!” she protested. “I can’t—oh, god!”

  The first stroke of his tongue stole her wits. It was a soft, slow lick that fired every sensitive nerve ending. The next pass was more deliberate, working her clit with the ball of his barbell piercing. His groan vibrated against her, making her pussy spasm in want of his cock to fill it.

  Her hands fisted the comforter.

  “You’re so sweet,” he praised hoarsely, his hands sliding down to her inner thighs. “Your cunt is so soft.”

  A soft noise escaped her.

  His mouth sealed over her clit in a heated circle, his pierced tongue fluttering over the hard knot with devastating strokes. Her hips moved without her volition, thrusting and rocking as she chased another orgasm. In her past, she’d been lucky to come once with a partner. With Paul, the more he touched her, the more sensitized she became. Each climax came quicker than the one before it until she was coming in rolling waves that seemed to have no end or beginning.

  “Fuck me with your tongue,” she gasped, draping one leg over his powerful shoulder to urge him closer. Her back arched as he obliged her, teasing her quivering slit with shallow thrusts. Gripping his overlong hair, she rode his mouth, shameless in the extremity of her need.

  She’d watched people dismiss Paul out of hand because of his appearance. Those who clung to stereotypes saw mobile homes and biker gangs when they looked at him. They couldn’t see past the stubble-shadowed jaw and visible tattoos. But beneath the body jewelry, ink, and shaggy hair was a gorgeous face that was classical in its lines and features. Paul could have graced an ancient coin or inspired a statue in a temple, and he was far wealthier than people would ascertain from his laid-back style.

  Cupping her buttocks, he lifted her hips and tilted his head. His tongue pushed deeper, and her pussy clutched helplessly around the rhythmic impalement.

  Robin squeezed her aching breasts inside her bra, pinching her nipples to ease their tightness. Her hips churning restlessly, she begged, “Make me come.”

  Latching on, he kissed her pussy, drawing softly with gentle suction while he rubbed her clit with his tongue. She cried out and fell apart beneath his avid and tender mouth, her body melting into a boneless, breathless, teary puddle on his bed.

  “I love you.” He pushed to his feet and tossed the condom in the trash.

  “You love fucking me,” she whispered, knowing that when the passion was sated and reality intruded, he would withdraw again as he’d done before.

  Paul leaned over her, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of her waist. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

  “You think same time, same place, two weeks from now is a commitment?” She hated the tinge of bitterness in her voice. He’d never made her promises, never alluded to more than what they had during their Vegas liaisons. It wasn’t fair that she was angry at him for not giving her more, but she couldn’t help how she felt.

  “That’s not enough for me.” Straightening, he yanked his T-shirt over his head. Her eyes swept hungrily over his torso, admiring the tight lacing of abdominal muscles that flexed as he moved. He was so virile. Truly breathtaking. Tattoos covered both of his arms from shoulder to elbow in gorgeous half-sleeves. His chest was broad, golden, and bare...except for her name, which crossed the pectoral over his heart. “It was never going to be enough.”

  Robin sucked in a tremulous breath, stunned by the sight of ink that hadn’t been there previously. Her gaze rested on the new tattoo, her vision blurring with tears. “Paul…”

  “I do love fucking you.” He pulled a fresh condom out of the nightstand drawer and rolled it on. “When I’m not inside you, I’m thinking about it.”

  Setting his hands on her inner thighs, he pushed into her. She whimpered, her tender pussy tightened by her recent orgasms.

  “God, you feel good,” he breathed. “I’ve needed you so much.”

  His size, so long and thick, was perfect. As if he’d been made for her. Pushing onto her elbows, Robin watched his glistening cock pull free. The heavily veined length was as brutal looking as the rest of him. The sight of it turned her on further. It made her feel powerfully feminine, like a freakin’ sex goddess, to incite the raging lust of a man who was so potently masculine and primal in his sexuality.

  Robin’s tongue traced the curve of her lower lip. “Please,” she whispered, feeling empty without him. She’d been feeling empty since she walked out on him, physically and emotionally.

  He sank back into her with a low hiss of pleasure. “You’re so sexy, baby. So damn perfect and beautiful. I have no fucking idea what you’re doing with a guy like me, but I’m grateful. Every damn day.”

  God help her. She loved him so much.

  He tugged the tie at her waist and pushed the two halves of her dress open. He released the center clasp of her bra, freeing her breasts into his waiting palms. Her pussy tightened around him, echoing the gentle rolling of her nipples between his talented fingers.

  “I’m so sorry.” He was flushed and shiny with sweat, his beautiful hazel eyes as red as hers felt. “So damn fucking sorry that I ever let you think, for even a moment, that you were nothing but a convenient piece of ass to me. I loved you the moment I saw you. I should have told you—”

  “I need things from you.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists, anchoring herself as the pleasure threatened to sweep her away.

  “I know.” His hips rocked in a slow and easy tempo. “I need things from you, too.”

  That caught her. She wanted him to need her. She wanted to be valuable to him, to serve a purpose in his life. To share his life. “Such as?”

  “I need your travel schedule.” His lips kicked into a smile when she scowled. “So I can plan my trips to match up with yours. And I need you to move in with me. Your jewelry business is you, right? You can design your pieces anywhere?”

  Robin nodded, unable to speak while he was saying everything she’d longed to hear and fucking her so perfectly. The fluid, rhythmic plunges of his cock were driving her half out of her mind. Her entire body was straining with the need to come, her hips lifting to meet his downstrokes. He was so hard and it felt so good to be with him again. To smell the scent of his skin and feel his flesh beneath her hands.

  “I’m stuck for now with the brewery in Portland.” His words slurred slightly as the pleasure built for him, too. “But if you don’t like the city or the house or anything, I’ll go where you’re happy. I just need time, time I don’t want to spend without you.”

  “Harder,” she urged, grabbing his taut perfect ass in her hands. Her neck arched, her head pressing into the bedding as her climax hovered just out of reach. “Fuck me hard.”

  Gripping her waist, Paul gave her what she needed. His aggressive strokes set her off in a rush.

  “I’m right there with you,” he groaned, driving powerfully into her. He made that sexy little noise that made her hot, a cross between a grunt and a hum that said more than words how much pleasure she gave him. “Right there...Right. There.”

  His gaze locked with hers as he came, the heady rush of pleasure shared between them.

  “I love you,” he grated, shaking with the force of his climax.

  She couldn’t look away, daring to believe.

  Paul got her naked. Robin missed how he accomplished the feat while in her euphoric postclimax haze,
but she was grateful for the result. She lay curled against his side, her legs tangled with his. Her head lay on his chest and her fingertips tracing her name imprinted in his skin.

  “I was going to fuck you and walk out,” she confessed.

  “I caught that.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I wouldn’t have let you leave. I would’ve followed you with my junk hanging out if I had to and hauled you back.”

  She lifted her head. “Like I’d ever let other women get an eyeful of you.”

  Paul smiled. “I’m all yours, honey. Flaws, baggage, and all.”

  Her hand stilled and settled over his heart. “You’re not ready, Paul. I wish you were.”

  “The counselor I’ve been talking to says otherwise.”

  Robin’s heartbeat skipped. “Counselor?”

  He nodded. “I’ll need to keep seeing him for a while, but I know enough about what losing Curt did to me to have my head on straight again.”

  Her heart ached for the tragedy he’d suffered. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to outlive your child.

  His fingers linked with hers. “I should have talked to someone a lot sooner, most especially after I started seeing you. It wasn’t fair to you that I didn’t.”

  “You can’t take all the blame,” she said softly. “When we started out, our arrangement was perfect for me, too. No strings, hot sex, and a guy who listened to me ramble on about jewelry. Things were fine until I changed my expectations.”

  He reached over with his free hand and opened the nightstand drawer. She thought he might be reaching for a condom, and her pulse quickened. Then a dark blue velvet box appeared in her line of vision, and her heart stopped altogether.

  Paul set the box on his washboard abs and took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to buy an engagement ring for a jewelry designer who’s kicked your ass to the curb?”

  Unable to help herself, she reached for the box.

  “Wait,” he said, staying her. “Going back to the list of things I need from you...I need you to marry me, Robin. The next time we leave this room, I want us to come back to it as man and wife. I promise you’ll have the wedding of your dreams, with our friends and family and doves and swans and whatever the hell you want, but I’d really like the vows now—today—and getting married here in Vegas feels like it fits us.”

  Us. She looked at him with wide eyes, her mind telling her how crazy that was. There were so many courtship steps they were skipping. What they’d had in their year together—not counting the four miserable months apart—was emails, phone calls, six days a month of the hottest sex of her life...

  ...and a sharp, pure feeling of connection that had hit them both like lightning the moment they’d laid eyes on each other.

  “I know it’s crazy,” he said, reading her mind, as he so often did. “But we’ve been crazy over each other from the start. I’m lovesick over you, baby. I swear you’ll never regret taking a chance on me. I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been in your life.”

  Swallowing hard, she thumbed open the box.

  “Oh, Paul,” she breathed, her fingers shaking.

  “Do you like it?” His rich, deep voice was laced with a rare note of anxiety. “We can exchange it if you don’t. You can pick out whatever you want. Something more traditional maybe—”

  “Shut up.” The ring was perfect. It was unusual, almost quirky, with a massive diamond—around four carats was her educated guess—surrounded by irregular swirls of multisized rubies.

  “When I look at it,” he said quietly, “it reminds me of how I feel about you.”

  She saw that in the ring, too. The unusual design conveyed passionate chaos, and the fact that he registered that quality in the setting cemented her belief that he was the perfect man for her.

  Climbing over him, Robin straddled his hips and extended her hand. “Put it on me.”

  The feel of the cool band sliding over her knuckle was so sublime it caused goose bumps to sweep across her skin. She wanted this so badly, wanted him. Her rough-edged brewmaster with his gentle hands and insatiable hunger for her body. The man who listened to her talk about gem clarity and design theory and who patiently explained the difference between lager and ale.

  “Yes,” she answered him, placing her hand on his chest next to her name over his heart.

  Paul framed her rib cage with his hands, his thumbs stroking the lower curve of her breasts. “And what do you need from me?”

  “I needed this.” She gestured between them. “A commitment from you. I’ll also need a room that’s mine alone, a workshop with lots of light and space.”

  “Done.”

  “And I need you to promise not to change your style for me.”

  His brows rose. “I have a style?”

  “I love you just the way you are. Don’t cut your hair or—”

  He rolled abruptly, taking the top. “Say that again.”

  Laughing, Robin looked up into his impossibly handsome face. “Don’t cut your hair?”

  He snorted. “The part before that.”

  “Don’t change your style?”

  Bending his head, Paul caught her nipple between his teeth. She made a soft noise at the unexpected bite, then arched her back when his tongue soothed the slight sting. When his cheeks hollowed on a drawing pull, she moaned his name and gave him what he wanted.

  “I love you, Paul. You’re everything to me.”

  When he lifted his head, the fiercely tender look on his face was one she’d remember for the rest of her life.

  Or she could just make him show it to her again. She had a lifetime to work on it.

  FIRST NIGHT

  Donna George Storey

  It was a mistake.

  Sophie gazed at Justin’s sleeping face, so pale against the pillow in the dawn light. Her chest tightened. He was even more beautiful when she could stare to her heart’s content at his thick lashes, the artful slope of his nose, the luscious curve of his shoulder.

  Yes, he was gorgeous, but it was still a mistake.

  Sophie glanced over at the alarm clock, which glowed an ice-blue “6:08.” In approximately six hours she and this young man were supposed to tie the knot.

  But she simply couldn’t go through with it.

  Her brain ticked off the familiar list: dress, flowers, photographer, ceremony, reception, table assignments, band, cake. This time it wasn’t to reassure herself all was in order but rather to calculate the damage, the shocked faces, the dollars lost, when the bride called the whole thing off the morning of the wedding.

  Just then, Justin sighed and rolled closer, his hard-on brushing her thigh.

  Sophie leaned toward him and inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of his flesh—cream and earth mixed with a touch of cumin. The insistent ache in her belly was her own version of Justin’s morning boner, which rose unfailingly each day with the sun. She was tempted to reach down and stroke him, even though she’d been the one to suggest they abstain for a week before the wedding. But now she wanted nothing more than to feel his hard cock inside her.

  The problem had nothing to do with Justin himself. It was the stupid piece of paper that would ruin everything.

  Suddenly Sophie’s lips stretched into grin. Her brain was foggy—she’d barely slept all night—but she might have a solution to the problem after all. Just as planned, she would dress up in her perfect white sheath and glide off to the lovely historical mansion to be photographed and admired. She would float through the flower garden with her attendants to the wedding gazebo and take Justin’s arm. And then she would turn and address the assembled guests with the utmost dignity:

  “I want to thank you all for coming today. I know the invitations suggested you would be witnessing a wedding ceremony between Mr. Justin Trevor Phillips and myself, but actually, I have another reason for calling you together. I want to announce that I am having really fabulous sex with Justin. It’s so great that I tricked myself into thinking I had to
marry him to keep having these mind-blowing orgasms for the rest of my life. Now I realize that not only can we keep fucking like wild animals without the benefit of a stupid piece of paper, but statistics suggest that we’ll have better sex without it. But trust me, the kind of bonks Justin and I regularly indulge in are well worth celebrating openly with friends and family. So please enjoy the grilled salmon lunch and the salsa dancing and maybe you can snatch a little afternoon delight yourself in the gardener’s shed or the bamboo grove.”

  Sophie giggled quietly. If only she could be so honest. Honesty was a good thing. Except the kind of honesty she got from her girlfriends at her bachelorette party two nights before.

  The ladies were on their second pitcher of sangria when her college roommate, Ashlyn, started in on the topic of married sex.

  “Wedding nights sure aren’t what they used to be. Sean and I were so exhausted after all the festivities, he could barely haul me over the threshold of the honeymoon suite, and then we both fell fast asleep on this great big fancy bed. Of course, the morning after was all the better since we were so well rested. I love daytime sex, but sometimes I wonder if the nap afterward isn’t the best part.”

  The other women, all except Sophie, chuckled knowingly.

  Nina, her best friend all through high school, leaned close. “Sex definitely loses its edge once it’s legal, but Jasper and I try to get away for the weekend once a month or so. Then I pretend we’re having an illicit affair, and we don’t get out of bed until we’re chased from the room by the maid.”

  The other women exchanged sly glances and murmured approval.

  “You definitely have to work to keep things spicy,” her friend Megan added. “But I really like the closeness, too. Marriage really changed things with Brian. It’s funny but we can get buzzed just lying in each other’s arms and planning home improvements.”

  “The real change comes after you have kids. We don’t do it nearly as often, and we have to be very quiet, but our bond is deeper, more spiritual,” added her other college friend, Jenny. Sophie’s older sister, Elena, nodded and smiled.