Read Online Best Erotic Romance 2014 by Kristina Wright - Free Book Online Page B

immediately. He grabbed her waist and pulled her on top of him so she was straddling his torso.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he panted.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I didn’t let you come first, of course. That’s against the rules, isn’t it?” He winked even as his hand slid forward to meet the sheen of sweat and arousal that graced her inner thigh.
    â€œFuck the rules,” she said—and meant it.
    She’d looked the way she had in that picture because she had done something she wanted—and had felt, for once, that she truly had the freedom to. The arbitrary orders of someone else didn’t apply to her anymore.
    That novelty had worn off, it seemed, without her even noticing it. She’d been back in the world of rules now for more than a decade, and she’d forgotten what it felt like to know something she wanted and own the freedom to follow it, to remember she wasn’t indebted to somebody’s arbitrary rules telling her she couldn’t have it. Like wearing vinyl and purple hair into one of the most upscale hotels in the area. Or loving the feeling of her husband’s cock in her so much she didn’t even care that she hadn’t had an orgasm yet. Or, she felt on behalf of all who did, getting paid to fuck if that’s what she chose to do.
    Pete looked in her eyes, and Joyce’s grin was involuntary. For a moment neither of them moved, and even if she hadn’t seen the recognition in her husband’s face, she knew her eyes looked the exact same way they had in the picture that was the reason they were there. For the first time in a long while, she felt it again. It was exhilarating.
    She shrieked in surprise as Pete grasped her waist and pulled her forward, the urgency in his forearms not relaxing until she was straddling his face. Before she could catch her breath, she felt the warmth of his tongue connect with her clit. A low moan broke from her throat, and the tremor that started in her body was electrified by the energy that felt like it was embracing her every cell.
    It was joy. Pure, simple joy.

MORE LIGHT
    Laila Blake
    Broken glass crunches under my feet, however carefully I try to move. I remembered to wear heavy boots; I’m not worried about getting hurt, but disturbing the silence in this place seems like a crime in itself. Like shouting in a church or jumping on a tomb. I almost want to hold my breath—first impressions are important. I look around, follow gilded stucco pillars up to a high, decorated ceiling. It might have borne a mural once, but all it has to show now is the natural water-painting of mold and stains, of moisture leaking through the visible cracks. It is eerily beautiful, and instinctively, I raise my camera but the lens is wrong. I need something far more light sensitive. Instead, I imagine the fabulous parties thrown here once upon a time; I see flapper dresses and thighs, energetic dancing, twinkling lights, and a small brass orchestra. In one of the dark corners, a couple could have stood, catching their breath, hands gliding under fabric. A shiver runs down my spine, and I am back to seeing dust and ruins.
    Some shafts of sunlight manage to fall through the shattered windows; where the glass remains, though, the milky-gray grime of too many years shields against them all too effectively. I snap a picture of the infinitesimal dust particles glinting there, smile and follow the shaft of light through the viewfinder.
    â€œYou need these?” George calls from behind me. I jump at the volume and turn around. He was being manly, herding me away from the trunk so that he could carry in the equipment. Now, he is struggling to balance two lighting tripods.
    â€œDefinitely later,” I say, nodding with a vague motion at the dim interior. “And the softbox and the reflectors,” I add with a sheepish grin. I take the tripods off him and store them in a less photogenic corner, then I reach for the light