Best Erotic Romance 2013

by Kristina Wright

  He then slithered the bow back between my glistening lips and began composing his melody. He moved the bow up and down, stroking me like the bridge of his violin. Applying just the right pressure and precision along my neck and breast, coaxing delicate notes from my throat.

  It was maddening. It was tormenting. It was ecstasy.

  I reached back and palmed his stiff cock through his trousers. He groaned hot against my neck, and changed his rhythm from adagio to allegro. My eyes clenched shut and I was completely and utterly nowhere but in that moment. Nothing mattered but Ben, the things he could do and make me feel, and the bond of trust we shared. A crescendo of cries gracefully built within me. I could feel my climax approaching as a trickle ran down my inner thigh.

  “Come for me,” he whispered, before gently biting the base of my neck, calling forth a cadence to his masterpiece. And I did. My whimpers were a puling vibrato as wave over wave of pleasure pulsated through me. He turned my face to his and took my mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that left me dizzy and gasping for air.

  “I’ve had your bow,” I said, once I regained my breath. My hand was still palming his prick. “Now I want you.”

  He removed my high heels and the panties from around my knees. I perched myself on the back of the sofa, watching as he took off his belt and trousers. My pussy clenched at the mere sight of his gorgeous, weeping cock.

  “You’ll always have me,” he said as he grabbed my thighs and held me in place, the tip of his dick barely teasing at my opening. I grabbed his face, wanting his eyes on mine as he entered me. I shuddered as his cock slid in, and I fully enveloped him.

  “Always?” I whispered in question against his lips.

  “Always.”

  NOTHING IMPORTANT HAPPENED TODAY

  A. M. Hartnett

  Holly had the feeling it would happen. She half hoped that the day would go by uneventfully and she could carry on with her life, la-de-da, like nothing important was going to happen that day. The other half secretly hoped she’d have her world turned upside down. That was just the way it went with John.

  So when she turned the key in the lock and discovered the security system was disarmed, she took a moment on the threshold to decide whether to bring on the sugar or the spice.

  She decided to go with cool. Leaving her purse hanging on the hook by the door, she shrugged out of her coat as she moved from the foyer to the living room. Sparsely decorated with contemporary pieces and boasting a panoramic view of the city, the open space that combined the living, dining, office and kitchen was as she had left it that morning, without a dirty dish or errant bit of clutter.

  Everything was the same, save for the grinning devil on the sofa.

  She wondered briefly if he had planned his appearance. Of course he had. John was all about appearances. Always had been. He wore a gray dress shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows, showing off thick forearms that were draped over the edge of the sofa. His shoes were tucked under the sofa and his big feet were propped up on the black coffee table, toes wriggling inside his gray socks.

  He didn’t smile, not really. Instead he gave her that John Ballystone grin. One side of the mouth curved a little and the corners of his eyes crinkled. She may have even seen hellish licks of fire in each of his brown eyes.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Holly faced him and tried to reason some of her infuriation back down into her gut. She knew it wouldn’t be for long, not once John opened his mouth.

  “Don’t you have anywhere else to go?”

  “Hello to you, too, Mrs. Ballystone.”

  She could have screamed. Using her married title was a sure way to get under her skin. It rankled her that he used it so freely. Holly was probably the only woman married into that family who didn’t consider the name an honor to be flaunted like a new diamond.

  Hell, no. Being a prestigious Ballystone bride had been nothing but a pain in the ass. Of course, this had more to do with marrying the bad boy Ballystone, and not one of his timid little brothers. It would have been more practical, but with half the fun that came with being married to John.

  Fun while it lasted, anyway. Now there was just aggravation.

  “However,” he went on as she continued to simmer, “you would never have known there was a Mrs. Ballystone given the tragic lack of conjugal visits. If I had known you’d leave me with a case of blue balls for six months I would have given you that divorce and found a new wife willing to spread her legs and give me a bit of what I was missing on the outside.”

  “I didn’t want to interfere. If figured someone as pretty as you would find himself a nice sugar daddy in prison.”

  “It wasn’t that kind of prison,” he reminded her in a singsong voice that ran up her spine like barbed wire and slid back down like ooze.

  She turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen. She needed something stiff that would hang on until she could be rid of him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of belting back a shot of whiskey and giving away the true extent of her frustration. Instead, she uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured half a glass.

  “So, don’t you have anywhere else to go?” she asked, still on the fence between kicking his ass to the curb and letting this banter go on for a little while longer.

  He shook his head, ruffling the dark curls around his brow. It was an improvement on the slicked-up man who had been led from his sentencing in handcuffs. He looked scrumptious, but in the same way something so sweet it would give you a migraine looked scrumptious.

  “Momma won’t have me unless I agree to accept Jesus, and Daddy is busy wooing wife number five. I sold the house in Miami and even if I didn’t, a condition of my release was that I stay close to home for a year.”

  “So? Buy yourself a condo.”

  This time, John actually did smile. Smirked, actually, and rested his head on the back of the sofa.

  “I did, and I’ve been letting my wife live in it for the last two years. You know, I was never one for high-rises but after enjoying this view all afternoon I have to say I can get behind this living arrangement. Fucking you with the whole city bowing down to me does sound tempting.” He lifted his head and his grin widened. “Specifically, fucking you from behind in front of one of those big windows over there.”

  “I’ve done it. It’s overrated.”

  She took a sip of her wine and enjoyed her minor victory as John’s expression gave up a fraction of its smarminess.

  It drove him crazy to know she’d enjoyed lovers during their separation, but at least until he’d gone to prison he’d been secure knowing that he could just show up and intimidate the hell out of any man Holly took to bed. It must have kept him up at night wondering who she was fucking while he was jerking off in his cell.

  The irritation passed like a shudder, and John leaned forward and watched her drink. “Come on, Holly, we both know that if it’s not me, it’s hardly worth it.”

  “You’d think that being locked up as long as you were would have humbled you, and you’d realize that the world doesn’t stop turning when you say so.” She finished off her wine and rinsed her glass. “You’re not staying here. I don’t care if your name is on the deed. This place would be mine anyway if you gave me a divorce. Plus, I pay the bills and the maintenance fees. This condo is mine, and I’m asking you to leave.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Then I’ll call the police.”

  “The apartment belongs to me, Holly. Once that fact is established I could insist that you be removed.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. He’d do it just to prove his point. Then he’d call her up and suggest they kiss and make up.

  Her temper creaking up another notch, Holly strode back into the living room and stood before him with her hands on her hips.

  “Maybe you’re on to something, John. Maybe I ought to move into a hotel and let you have this place. Better yet, maybe I ought to take up a good friend of mine on his offer to spend a few weeks wi
th him.”

  John’s brows came together. “Don’t be like that.”

  “Maybe you were right the first time. This high-rise has no personality. Maybe a change of scenery would do me good. After all, you left me a shamed woman. My husband is a liar and a thief who went to jail for defrauding hundreds of clients of their hard-earned money. It’s hard to hold my head up in public any longer.”

  The smile remained, but the playful light in his eyes diminished. That smile suddenly looked malicious, and under his gaze Holly felt as though she was being taken down a peg.

  She was rusty when it came to dealing with John. Her claws had dulled without an opponent to spar with. John would still be at the top of his game. It was just a part of who he was.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said evenly and settled with his back against the sofa once more. “Though if you feel like you have someone better to be with, one of those talentless barnacles you manage to attract, be my guest. Take them to a hotel on my dime if you’re really serious, but I’m not leaving. I’ve had an exhausting day, not to mention the last six months of my life spent doing laundry and mowing lawns, and I’m less in the mood for this he said, she said bullshit.”

  He finally tore his gaze from her, to the television behind her, and stared hard.

  Holly felt wretched. It wasn’t often she felt guilty about giving sass right back to her husband, but she felt the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach now. Of course, she had worried about him while he was in prison. It was minimum security but it was still prison, still shut away from all the things and people he loved. He’d missed the Fourth of July at the Old Stone House, the Ballystone estate; missed the fireworks and fishing with his nephews and four-wheeling through the endless green forest with his father and brothers. He’d missed his mother’s seventy-fifth birthday and the birth of his only sister’s first baby.

  And he’d missed their anniversary. Not their wedding anniversary, but the first night they met and came together like fire and gasoline. It was little more than an excuse to fuck after they’d separated, but it was theirs, and that year Holly had gone to bed alone and wondered if he realized what day it was.

  Sure he was a bastard, a liar and a thief, but he was still the man she’d fallen in love with when she was sixteen and was still in love with at thirty, and she’d just thrown the worst six months of his life back in his face.

  Her apology hung on the edge of her tongue, but by the time she felt ready to let it drop John lifted the remote and aimed it at the television.

  In an instant the surround sound filled the room with ecstatic shrieking and heavy panting, and Holly’s name on another man’s lips.

  She whipped around to the television she had yet to lay eyes on. Fury spiraled up and up and up as she saw herself as large as life in her own bed, coupling with a man whose name she couldn’t recall in her rage.

  The camera shook a little and zoomed in on her face, contorted with the onslaught of an orgasm, and panned down, past flushed breasts and erect nipples being worked by the blond man stretched out behind her, lower to where his sheathed cock pumped balls deep.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” John said, the sound of his voice commanding her attention. He couldn’t have worn a more vicious smile. “There was nothing else on television and you didn’t lock the cabinet.”

  She made a grab for the remote. John, laughing, held it out of her reach, transferring it from one hand to the other as she clawed at him. She gave up quickly and went still, straddling his thighs.

  John shrugged, pleased with himself, and worked his hips a little against her. “You could have at least sent me a copy of this while I was put away.”

  She hauled back and slapped him so hard that his whole body jerked and she was unseated. She leapt to her feet and took her rampage to the door.

  “I don’t care if your name is on the deed, I want you out.” She yanked on the door handle and pulled it open wide.

  Rubbing his jaw, John stared back at her, and in spite of the angry mark that was swelling up his cheek, his smile returned.

  “I told you, I’m not leaving.”

  Holly was trapped in her own fury for a moment. She couldn’t move. Her legs had gone stiff and her blood boiled in her veins. And all along John sat on the sofa like a king, restarting the home movie with triumph written all over his face.

  When red flooded her vision she knew she had to move or else she’d kill him. She slammed the front door shut and headed for the stairs leading to the second floor of the studio. As she passed, the orgiastic sounds erupted once more.

  “I hate your guts,” she hissed at him as he passed.

  John merely laughed. “By the way, Holly, who was holding the camera in this one?”

  She charged out of his sight and didn’t stop until she was locked in her bathroom, and then she screamed.

  Locked away in the bathroom, she sat on the edge of the toilet seat and faced facts. She couldn’t force John out, it was true. Not as long as he owned the apartment.

  She didn’t want to leave. And why should she? It was her place, she paid the bills and the mortgage no matter whose name was on the deed.

  So she just sat there on the toilet lid, drumming her fingers against her thigh and grinding her teeth. Her emotions bounced back and forth between the past and present, between hating his guts for getting busted and hating his guts for crashing back into her life with his same stubborn and aggravating flair.

  Spending the rest of the night in the bathroom seemed like a grim reality when the alternative was going downstairs and stabbing her husband in the eyeball.

  Damn you. The truth was that she didn’t hate him, but hated herself for still getting this sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of another tumult. Either she’d give in and there would be the decadence of his weight on top of her, his strength moving inside her, and when the euphoria wore off there would be bickering and fighting and it would be over again, or she’d stay closed away and miserable.

  Only when the muscles in her ass started to cramp from sitting did she choose to vacate the sanctity of her bathroom and retreat to the bedroom. She locked the door, kicked off her shoes, and slipped under the covers. It didn’t matter if it was still light out. She needed the darkness and the silence.

  But the sounds from downstairs intruded. The minutes passed, and then the hour, and she listened to the drone of the television downstairs. Was he still watching those videos of her?

  Tears stung her eyes. She wasn’t ashamed. Her sex life may have begun with him but it didn’t end with him; still, she didn’t want him seeing her with another man—men—any more than she wanted to see him with another woman.

  Frustration refused to be burned off by weeping. With a growl, she threw the covers off, leapt from the bed and pulled her robe on. She might not have been able to get rid of him, but she wouldn’t suffer alone.

  At the top of the stairs she was met with only the blue-white flicker of the television. Her moans in surround sound fueled her anger as she put one bare foot in front of the other and descended.

  But as she stepped up behind him she saw that the video was old, at least two years, and the couple performing on screen knew one another’s bodies perfectly.

  They moved in sync, panting and urging, sweat-slicked skin visible in HD. The camera never moved. She remembered that day, that week in Rome, when it had only been the two of them and they had eschewed the Vatican and the Colosseum for a king-sized bed.

  Holding back the breath that throbbed in her throat, Holly quietly moved to the end of the sofa and stared at her husband.

  He had stripped down to his boxers. His broad chest was gloriously bare and his long legs were bent at the knee, feet planted against the floor. His cock poked through the fly of his drawers and into his hand. He thrust up a little in tune with the movement of his wrist.

  Watching him jerk off never failed to do this to her, make the blood race faster in her veins and start that agoniz
ing throb deep inside. His long fingers working the foreskin over his shaft, wet with precum, evoked a more sinful recollection than the moving bodies on screen—an airport hotel, his cock in her mouth, that twitch on her tongue as his orgasm reared, then his beautiful face looming over her as he flooded her mouth.

  She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and watched, thinking how easy it would be to carry out that scene just now, but the fantasy was quickly replaced by the need to have him filling her up. Letting out the breath she had been holding, Holly stepped in front of him and let her robe split open.

  John registered no surprise. His hand slowed but did not still. He tilted his head back and regarded her, lids heavy over dark eyes. A lazy smile curved his mouth. “Hey, baby.”

  “John.” She let the robe fall and tilted her head toward the television screen. “Did you find the others?”

  “You keep them separate. I just threw in the first one I laid hands on.” His gaze flickered past her for a second and his smile widened. “I like this one, though. Drunk on champagne, I think. You always turn into such a little cat when you’re drunk, constantly rubbing and clinging.”

  She leaned down and placed her hand on his hairy forearm. “And when I’m sober?”

  “You know what you want. Like now.” He shook her hand off and lifted his hips. Holly carefully tugged his boxers to his ankles and straddled his thighs. “Tell me, did you miss me or is this burning off the anger?”

  “A little of both,” she said and arched her back as he ran his hands over her ass. “Do you really want to talk about it or do you want to fuck me?”

  His grip tightened. The tip of his cock brushed between her slippery lips. He raised his brows. “Condom?”

  “Never with you.”

  She sank down, savoring every hot inch that filled her. With her tongue pressed against her teeth, she choked on a moan until she had taken all of him, then expelled it freely as he raised her up and withdrew just far enough that the tip rubbed her G-spot.