Best Erotic Romance

by Kristina Wright (ed)

  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.

  I straddle him, then suck his lower lip in response. I’ll show him a monster, all right—a sex monster! And that’s exactly what I do for the rest of the night.

  TILL THE STORM BREAKS

  Erobintica

  Shrimp cocktail glasses filled with Veuve Clicquot. Boxed macaroni and cheese served in plastic bowls. Jars of storm candles for illumination. Pillows and blankets spread on the floor in front of the woodstove. Snow pelting the windows. Not exactly how we’d planned to celebrate the arrival of the New Year.

  My friend Teresa was looking in the cabinet for some glasses. “Wow, listen to that wind howl. I’m surprised we still have power. Ah, here’s some appropriate stemware!” She’d found some glasses that had, at some point in the distant past, held tiny shrimp in bland cocktail sauce. “The fine crystal!” Her mood was chipper despite our predicament. Of course her optimistic outlook is one of the reasons I’d invited her along. She’s fun to be around, and right now, I needed some fun more than anything.

  I stood at the stove, stirring occasionally, keeping watch so the macaroni didn’t boil over. This wasn’t what I’d wanted to be doing tonight. I should be all gussied up in my new red dress and partying till dawn at the fancy beach house my filthy rich, bachelor brother-in-law Greg owns, dining on lobster and gourmet Whoopie pies. At least we had the good champagne that Teresa had insisted on bringing.

  This was all my idea, this trip. A real step outside of my comfort zone. Our comfort zone. Every year Greg invited Tim and me to come to his place for New Year’s Eve, and every year we found some reason not to go. Or I should say, Tim found a reason. He was never really clear on why he didn’t want to. I suspected some sort of sibling rivalry, since Greg lived in a $2 million architect-designed creation overlooking the ocean, and we just had a dull, suburban condo.

  Oh, and this little lake cabin, which had been in Tim’s family for decades. It wasn’t anything fancy; it didn’t even really have any character. Very utilitarian. The downstairs consisted of one large room with a small kitchen in one corner and a woodstove in the other. A sofa bed, coffee table along one wall, and a small round table for eating at along the other. Under the stairs to the loft was a bathroom with a stall shower. The loft was open to below and was basically just a floor. We used an inflatable mattress when we stayed up there.

  So most New Year’s we’d stay home, or maybe go out with some of his office buddies and their wives, a boring crowd if there ever was one. I was tired of it. I’d hit my forties, our daughter was at college, my job was dull, and I was ready for something. But what kind of something? This year I accepted Greg’s invitation before Tim had a chance to come up with an excuse. He’d been a little perturbed, and then doubly perturbed when I told him I was inviting Teresa. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to set Greg up with her. You’re not, are you?”

  It actually hadn’t occurred to me. Yeah, Greg was unmarried, by choice he’d said, and seemed to have a steady stream of attractive women to spend time with. He didn’t seem like he needed any help. And Teresa was newly divorced and “not on the market,” as she so aptly put it. I’d met her at a weekend writer’s retreat, and we’d discovered we lived practically next door to each other, in neighboring towns. She’d just moved there after her divorce, which was why our paths had never crossed before. It turned out she was several years old than me, but she seemed much more vivacious, and her attitude rubbed off on me when we spent time together. I guess Tim likes her well enough. He’s fairly set in his ways and always seems amused at my tendency to want to try new things. I love him to pieces, but I guess I’m feeling sort of blah about our relationship.

  Tim stoked the woodstove and mumbled something about wishing we’d have hit the road sooner. A couple of days ago, when we’d arrived here on the lake, a stopover on the way to Greg’s, the forecast was for a chance of snow on New Year’s Eve. There were only a couple of inches on the ground, and the lake had only begun to freeze over. The chance of snow became a storm watch, then a warning, and finally a blizzard warning.

  Tim called his brother to tell him we wouldn’t make it, then spent most of the day preparing for the storm. Bringing in firewood, filling water jugs, making sure the snow blower had gas, running to the mini-mart and getting some food. White cheddar mac, chips and salsa, a quart of milk, a package of donuts, and a couple of cellophane-wrapped Whoopie pies that were on the counter next to the cash register. We were set.

  I tested a noodle. Not quite ready. I watched the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. Best laid plans. Best plans to get laid. I’d been looking forward to the guest suite that I knew Greg would have put Tim and me in, the one with the Jacuzzi and the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the ocean. I’d fantasized about Tim unzipping my red dress while I watched our reflection in the window. I loved to have sex when we were away from home. Hotel rooms with their double beds. Quaint bed-and-breakfasts with quilts on brass beds. On the floor at his parents’ house, since they’d never replaced the boys’ bunk beds. Tent camping. And here at our cabin. But not this time.

  We were sleeping in the open loft, and Teresa was on the pullout. While I might have slid my hand into his pajamas, trying to interest him in something other than sleep, I knew that with Teresa so close downstairs that Tim would just not go for it. He was a pretty vanilla guy and not very forthcoming when it came to sharing fantasies or out-of-the-ordinary desires. But I loved him, and he seemed to enjoy my efforts to spice things up a bit. I realized as I stood there that I was just a little bit aroused. That’s what I get for thinking about sex, which I did on a regular basis.

  “Hey, are the noodles ready?” Teresa looked over my shoulder. I stabbed one of the macaronis, held it up and blew on it, then fed it to her. “Done?”

  She smiled and nodded, and I watched her red hair sway with the movement. I felt an odd little rush as I became acutely aware of her breasts pressed against the back of my arm. Not wanting to move, yet needing to drain the noodles, I turned off the stove and emptied the pan into the colander in the sink. Steam rose, fogging the window. Just then the lights blinked.

  “Uh oh,” Teresa said, “maybe we should light one of those candles in case…”

  We were plunged into darkness. Tim had his flashlight out right away, and I found the matches and started to light the jarred candles we’d placed around earlier. The cabin was soon filled with a soft glow. Glad that I’d gotten the noodles cooked before the power went out, I added the butter and milk and tore open the packet of neon cheese powder. Wow. Special. I grabbed the plastic bowls and forks and put them on the table along with the pan of mac and cheese.

  “Dig in.”

  There must have been something in the tone of my voice that made it obvious I was not happy with this turn of events, because Teresa announced, “Time to open the first bottle of champagne! I think our chef needs a glass!” She draped a dish towel over the bottle, quietly popped the cork, and poured the elixir into the curvy glasses.

  “A toast! To the winter storm, friends, macaroni and cheese, and champagne!”

  We laughed
and proceeded to feast while Teresa kept our glasses filled. Soon I didn’t mind the raging blizzard outside at all. Somehow the talk turned to sex, and I felt just like I did back in college when my roommate and I talked in hushed tones about blow jobs and such. Excited and not just a little embarrassed. When the second bottle of bubbly was uncorked, we moved closer to the woodstove. I spread one of the extra blankets on the floor, not sure why, but the carpet seemed cold and I was wanting cozy. As I tossed pillows from the sofa around the blanket, Teresa brought the bottle and the Whoopie pies over.

  For awhile we sat quietly sipping, aware there’d been a transition in mood as well as location. Teresa was the one to break the silence, of course, and she broke it with a sledgehammer.

  “Have you guys ever had sex with someone else?”

  I was dumbfounded, and for some reason first focused on the fact that Teresa always said “guys” even when she was referring to a group of all women. I wasn’t sure why she was asking, since she and I had talked a little about what our sex lives had been like before we’d gotten married.

  Tim stuttered out, “Well, of course we weren’t the first for each other.”

  “No, I mean have the two of you together ever had sex with someone else? You know. A threesome.”

  I decided that we must all be officially drunk now. Tim’s mouth was literally hanging open in that cartoon kinda way with his glass paused in midair. Oh great, I thought, he had been a good sport up to now, but I knew he was uncomfortable talking about sex and knew I’d hear about it later.

  But when he finally answered, I heard something new in his voice, and I watched in astonishment as he said, “No, we haven’t, not yet. Are you offering?”

  Was I hearing correctly? Had I had too much champagne? Had he? That’s when I saw Teresa looking at me intently, and I remembered how I felt when she stood at my shoulder by the stove. Oh shit. She was serious!

  Teresa laughed and poured us more champagne and unwrapped the Whoopie pies. I was glad of the chocolate cake and sticky sweet filling to distract us for awhile but couldn’t help but notice my arousal. I kept stealing glances at her, noticing her body as if for the first time. It’s not like I’ve never thought about being with a woman, but it was always in the abstract. I’ve never actually contemplated touching a woman’s body in a sexual way, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it now.

  I glanced at Tim, just as Teresa held a piece of cake out to him, and watched my husband take the cake in his mouth. It was like slow motion: his lips closing over her fingertips, his eyes on her face, her smile as she slowly withdrew from his mouth. I kept waiting to be angry, to be jealous, to want to send them both out in the storm. But all I felt was a rush between my legs, my heart pounding, and my breath coming in short quick inhalations. I was so turned on it wasn’t even funny. Right then I knew what I wanted to do. I’d never done it before, didn’t even quite know how, but I wanted us all to fuck. Fuck all night long. Fuck till the storm broke.

  Teresa looked at me with an obvious question in her eyes. Could she?

  I nodded and tilted my head at Tim. “Go ahead, I want to watch for awhile.”

  I was startled at my own words. Even when by myself I’d always had to look at porn a sideways manner. Nope, I’m not really watching this. But that damn phone better not ring! Now, there I was, watching it live. And even though they’d only just started kissing, I was already soaking through my pants.

  He reached out and cupped her breast, rubbed his palm on her nipple. She arched and sighed, running her hands up and down his cross-legged thighs. I knew his cock must be straining against his jeans. I wanted to touch it. I wanted her to touch it. She kissed his neck, kissed the stubble he hadn’t shaved off that morning. My lips knew what her lips were feeling as they traced his throat. I wanted to know her lips.

  A little unsteadily, I crawled to them. The champagne had definitely had the proper effect, and I giggled as I reached them. Teresa smiled and reached for my hair. Straight, brown, and unremarkable hair, but as soon as she wrapped her fingers in it, I felt incredibly sexy. She pulled me toward her, and our lips met. I wanted to put everything on pause so I could study this new texture, concentrate on the different taste. But her tongue was in my mouth and her hand on my breast, and I could not think anymore. I felt another hand, Tim’s, on the other breast, and I reached for each of them. Literally shivering with desire, I opened my eyes and gazed at Tim. Saw the lust in his eyes. And not just lust for Teresa, but lust for me, something I’d not seen in awhile.

  The pause was just long enough, and then we tossed pillows aside and tumbled together, kissing and caressing with abandon. Hands were everywhere, and when, unspoken, we reached the point of removing clothes, Tim threw a couple more logs into the woodstove to help keep us warm. I pulled my sweater over my head and felt lips, his, kiss a nipple while her hand gave my other nipple a slight pinch. Gasping, I threw my sweater over toward the sofa and reached to pull off Tim’s shirt. Then I took Teresa’s hand and placed it on Tim’s crotch. I wanted her to unzip his jeans, free his cock, and I wanted to kiss her as she wrapped her hand around his stiffness. I watched as Tim undressed her, watched his cock twitch at the sight of her shaved pussy. I’ve kept all my hair, and soon he is comparing, fingering each of us.

  A brief question of “Does he prefer her bareness to my bush?” floated through my head, but as I felt him tangle his fingers and give a tug as he lowered his mouth to my cunt, any worries evaporated. Teresa watched him and ran her own fingers through her folds, slick and shiny wet even in the soft, flickering glow. I reached out and placed a hand on her thigh, pulled her toward me so I could rest my head in her lap. My fingers gently explored her, female but other. Her smell was different from mine, though I couldn’t describe it. Slowly, I pushed my tongue into the incredible softness that was her. Was that what it was like to taste me?

  Tim stopped to watch me lick Teresa’s delicious vulva. I played with her labia, folding the lips back on themselves, then pinching them together gently. She moaned and began to grind against my hand. I slipped a finger inside her, thinking it would feel like when I slip a finger inside me, but it didn’t. I was surprised and pleased, and even more aroused. I added more fingers and stroked her, pressed against that fleshy spot that makes me gasp. Tim moved closer and soon his hand joined mine. Together we were finger-fucking her, and she was bucking against us. I hadn’t felt this close to him in a long time.

  “Fuck her,” I said to him, almost breathless. “I want to see your cock slide inside her. I want to watch, and I want my fingers in her too when she comes.”

  Where was all this coming from? I only wondered for a split-second before his cock disappeared inside her juicy cunt and she was moaning in a voice too real to be a pretend porn voice. My cunt needed something, and I shoved fingers inside myself and humped my hand while I watched my husband madly fuck my friend. My brain fast-forwarded through all I wanted to do, and soon I was coming, crying out and slumping over.

  Teresa whispered frantically to me, “Your hand, put your hand down there.”

  I knew what she wanted. I moved slightly behind Tim’s pumping body and slid my hand down, over his balls, to where his cock joined her cunt. I pressed my hand there, feeling them both as they came, feeling the pulsations and flooding wetness.

  We stayed in a heap for a bit, catching our breath. The fire had died down, and our sweaty bodies chilled quickly. We untangled. Teresa pulled the blanket up and wrapped it around me and then her. Tim grabbed some more wood and fed the stove, then joined us.

  “Wow.” That’s all I could say. How fuckingly eloquent. Then I giggled.

  Tim smiled and leaned in to kiss me. “I love you so much. I’ve never told you before about this being a fantasy of mine, being with two women. I was afraid to. But this was incredible. Thank you.”

  Teresa was smiling. “You guys are so lucky to have each other. And I’m lucky to be here with you!” Outside the blizzard was still raging. “It’s no
t even midnight! Who wants more champagne?”

  THE CURVE OF HER BELLY

  Kristina Wright

  Brynn was crying. Again.

  As Paul closed the front door behind him and heard the sobs coming from the bathroom, he felt a thread of frustration winding its way around a ball of empathy. When they had decided to try to get pregnant, Brynn had been thrilled—she was a freelance copywriter who worked from home and couldn’t wait to become a mother. At least she had been thrilled, until about eight weeks into the pregnancy, when she started throwing up morning, noon, and night.

  Now, seven months pregnant and feeling like there was no end in sight, Brynn cried at the drop of a hat. Anything could set her off—a vitamin commercial, the grocery store being sold out of her favorite juice, a cute puppy loping along the boardwalk—and Paul had learned to tread on eggshells lest he be accused of being insensitive. It wasn’t that at all, he kept telling Brynn. It was just that he didn’t know what to do to make things better. And that, more than anything, was the root of his frustration.

  Bolstering every ounce of patience he could muster at six o’clock on a Monday evening, Paul walked down the hall and tapped lightly on the closed bathroom door. “You okay, baby?”

  “No, I’m ugly!”

  Paul sighed and bumped his head against the door. “Can I come in?”

  The sound of splashing and then, “I guess.”

  He opened the door and caught his breath. Brynn was in the bathtub, her long blond hair twisted up in a knot on her head, a pouf of bubbles surrounding her pale, naked body. The only illumination was the fading sunlight through the bathroom window above the tub, and Brynn seemed to glow in that golden light. If not for her red-rimmed eyes and shiny red nose, she would look like a mermaid splashing about in the tub. A sexy mermaid. Paul felt something inside him catch—and he smiled gently. He loved this woman, no matter how crazy she made him sometimes. Loved her and wanted her.