Erotic Historical Fiction Mga Nobela at Kwento

He mustered all his courage to retort, “My cock is not tiny.” #steamy #forbidenromance #alphafemale #seduction #omega #primaldesire #hardcore #agegap #olderwomanxyoungerman #surrender Always read tags. So you can skip if the themes are not to your taste. *** Maya groans softly. She rubs her thighs together as she stares at the full moon from her luxurious bed.

No mistaking what it was. Her body ground against him, every move of her hips rubbing over his hardness. Heat surged through her veins. And then it hit her—his scent. That same scent from earlier. Her eyes snapped open. It’s him! The guy at the counter! Her body burned hotter with that realization. Wetness pooled between her thighs. Flashes of his veiny hand skimming her curves made her bite back a moan. She pushed harder against him, rolling her hips until he groaned into her ear.

"Take me right here, right now." His hands gripped my hips, pulling me against him. I could feel his erection pressing against my stomach, and I knew he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. I shifted my weight, grinding against him, and I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Emma," he growled, his voice a warning. "You're playing with fire." I smiled, a slow and seductive curve of my lips. "Then burn me, Damien," I said, my voice a breathy whisper. "Burn me until I'm nothing but ashes in your arms."

Jeremy leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, his t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps. “No, thanks,” she said, not looking up. He ignored her and stepped in anyway. “Sci-fi fan huh?” He said, picking up a stack of novels. “Yeah,” she said, low but a bit panicked because what if he saw? Just as he was about to dig further. “Jeremy, wait, don’t touch that.” Too late, he had already picked it up. “Oh?” he said, staring at the book, then back at her. “Dark romance? Erotica? I didn’t know you were kinky like that.” He teased.

"Professor—" "Third problem." His fingers left me abruptly, and I whined at the loss. The sound of his belt unbuckling made my stomach flip. "You’re impatient." The zipper followed, the rustle of fabric. Then, thud. Something heavy landed on the desk beside my head. A book. "The Eros Discipline." His voice was a smirk. "Ever read it?" I shook my head, my cheeks flaming. "Pity." His hand fisted in my hair, tilting my head back so I could see the cover—a woman bound in ropes, her body arched in submission. "It’s about a professor who re-educates his student. Sound familiar?"

I spun her around, grabbed her hips, tilted her pelvis, and drove into her from behind while she leaned her forehead against the wall. The entry was so wet and sliding it made a loud, sloppy sound that echoed in the tiny room. I began to ram into her, my pace becoming a deep, punishing rhythm. Every thrust was a sharp sound of skin on skin, my chest hitting her back with every deep lunge. "You're so fucking tight," I hissed into her ear, my hands bruising her hips as I claimed her. "Is this the massage you wanted to give me?" "Yes! Fuck me, Eric! Harder!" she begged, her voice raw.

he hissed, his hips twitching upward. I smiled wickedly and moved back up to kiss him again, but Viktor quickly flipped us so I was on my back once more. He began his own exploration with renewed hunger, licking down my neck, between my breasts, over my stomach, and finally, spreading my legs wide. His tongue traced long, wet stripes up my dripping pussy, tasting me thoroughly before focusing on my swollen clit. Intense pleasure shot through me, and I cried out, fingers tangling desperately in his hair as my hips bucked against his mouth.

Intimate. “Shh.” One finger pressed against my lips. “No more talking unless I tell you to. We wouldn’t want security to hear the prim little library assistant moaning like a whore when they finally check the building.” The crude word sent a shameful thrill straight to my core. I was already wet, embarrassingly so, just from one kiss and the way he was looking at me like he planned to devour me slowly. He stepped back slightly, eyes never leaving mine, and reached for one of the leather-bound books on the nearby table. It was an old edition of The Decameron, Boccaccio’s tales of lust and sin during the plague. One of the restricted volumes he’d borrowed before.