Are you looking for some quick, sexy and fast paced stories
to enjoy? BEST EROTIC ROMANCE 2013 has just that. These
stories are all about love and sex, from a happily married
couple to a fantasy happening in a department store dressing
room. This book gives readers many different scenarios to
choose from. While they do center on sex, these stories
give the reader a glimpse at real life as well. Schedules
and obstacles need to be overcome. Life and work happen and
the characters in these stories must work around it all.
I enjoyed this anthology full of short stories and even
found some new authors amongst some of my favorite ones.
Each story is full of emotion and depth giving the reader a
genuine look at the characters and their lives. There were
stories that I loved and those that did not shine as much
but I still enjoyed this entire book. From beginning to end
this anthology contains stories so full of lust and love
that you will be thoroughly entertained. The stories are
all well written. Although some touch on the subject of
infidelity and that is not my cup of tea but just like any
other anthology there will always be hit and misses.
It was nice to see real life being portrayed in these
stories. While I do enjoy a fantasy every now and then it is
always nice to be able to relate to the characters and their
worlds. Of course I am not so sure that I would be engaging
in some of the scenarios in these stories. Yet I still
enjoyed my time in their worlds. These stories are fast
paced and engaging. I loved being able to read a whole story
and get the feel of many of the authors writing style in
this book. Anthologies are a fun way to do just that and
what better fun than a sexy story that grabs your attention?
Pick up BEST EROTIC ROMANCE 2013 and have some fun!
So what happens with love meets sex? Erotic love is that
delicious blend of hearts and minds and bodies, a
combination of sweet and dirty, romantic and sexy. Sex by
itself—hot, steamy, sensual sex—is one of the
best things this life has to offer. But then, so is love.
First love, new love, renewed love; love that has stood the
test of time, love that has conquered every obstacles. It
doesn't matter if it's a new relationship, such as Jeanette
Grey's yogo–bound characters in "Teach Me," or a
long–term relationship like Dominic Santi's happily
(and lusty) married couple in "Kiss of Peace"— the
combination of sex and love is incendiary. The collection is
split between familiar authors and authors new to the genre.
Best–selling author Kate Pearce delivers a scorching
hot fantasy that takes place in a department store dressing
room in "The Price of Love." Teresa Noelle Roberts has a
sweetly erotic story about parents waiting for their adopted
son in "Waiting for Ilya" and Geneva King's "Last Hundred
Days" recounts the last hundred days between a divorcing couple.
Sweet Memories by Kristina Wright
I turned the shower up as hot as it would go, rolling my
aching shoulders under the spray. If anyone had asked, I
would have said I wasn't thinking about anything except my
five–year–old Garrett's birthday party. It was
that afternoon at the park near our house and I had thirty
guests coming, half of them kids, and the clouds were
threatening rain. I was working out the details in my head,
running my fingers through my tangled hair as I applied
shampoo, then conditioner. And then, I was crying. Not just
crying, sobbing. Great wracking sobs that echoed off the
shower walls. Thankfully, the boys were at my mother's house
and Brett was—well, that just made me sob some more. I
thought Brett was picking up the birthday cake and the deli
and fruit trays I'd ordered, but I couldn't be sure where he
was. Not really. I couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Of
course, neither could he.
It's funny what you remember over the course of a
relation– ship. What lingers and what falls away. What
seems important in the midst of a fight and what seems
trivial when you're lying in each other's arms after three
sweaty hours of lovemaking. When you sit back and inventory
the moments, put them in plus and minus columns and look at
the bottom line—what's left? Is it a bucket full of
regrets and heartache, or is it a flood of sweet memories?
Sometimes it's both.
Sometimes, the happily ever after comes with a heaping
helping of hurt and heartache. Sometimes, once you're gone,
out of the relationship and moving on, you look back and
wish for a do over. You can't go back, of course, and you
can't do it over. It doesn't work that way. But sometimes
you take a chance anyway and throw caution to the wind,
knowing you're going to get hurt—and it's going to
hurt like hell, just like it used to—but knowing the
good times will be the best you ever had. Some– times
we take the pain for the chance at pleasure. Sometimes the
pain is pleasure.
Books and movies rarely ever get it right. Oh, sure,
they show the push–and–pull of a new
relationship, the getting to know you, the
misunderstandings. Sometimes they show the moment of
reckless infidelity or casual cruelty that leads to the
breakup—it's not a very good book or movie if there's
no conflict, right?—but within fifty pages or twenty
minutes, it's all resolved. Neatly, completely, and everyone
lives happily ever after. The book ends, the movie fades to
black and they never show you what happens after. After the
hurt and the heartache, after the reconciliation.
And that's where I was. Where we were, Brett and me.
There in that place of reconciliation. Of apologies and
forgiveness, of insecurities and doubts, of tender, barely
scabbed wounds still being nursed while we raised our two
kids and shared the same house, if not the same bed. It had
started with a drunken three–some gone awry—he
spun it off into a twosome on nights he supposedly worked
late and then I found my own hot, young cowboy to go
two–stepping with on weekends when Brett took the boys
camping or fishing. I think we both knew what was going on
and didn't care. For a little while, I think we were even
happy with the setup, though neither of us was open minded
enough to broach it. Our own sex life ramped up in a way it
hadn't since before our oldest, already seven years old, was
born. Having our cake and eating it, too? Yeah, we gorged on
cake and it made us both sick.
Six months after his coworker girlfriend transferred to
a new department because she couldn't have him
full–time and my cowboy rode off into the sunset with
one of the bartenders who worked at the club where we liked
to go dancing, Brett and I were still trying to figure out
who we were to each other. We weren't what we had been in
college, or as newlyweds or even as new parents. We were
something different now. Something undefined. It left me
feeling like my world wasn't quite in order. Like I wasn't
quite myself now that there was a fissure in my most
He was sleeping in the guest room. His choice. I
offered, but he insisted. He's a gentleman like that and
knows I prefer the comfort of my own bed. (Never mind the
snide cracks made in heated arguments about whose bed I
really preferred.) If not for the reason, I wouldn't have
minded sleeping alone. It was nice having the big bed to
myself, to have my space, to feel like I was living in my
own skin if only for those few restless hours in bed,
instead of being wife, mother, daughter, girlfriend and
having all those people pulling at me, demanding things of
me. But of course, Brett's absence from our bed—the
first time we'd not slept in the same bed in our twelve
years of marriage—was a constant reminder of what I'd
done. What he'd done. What we had done to each other.
My sobs washed away with the hot water until I was
shivering, my skin turning blue with goose bumps. I fumbled
for the towel on the rack outside the shower and wrapped it
around myself. Stepping out of the shower was like climbing
out of my own thoughts and back into the real world. Neither
was particularly comforting right now, but at least the real
world offered distractions. And the boys. Thank god for
Garrett and Douglas and their sweet, sticky faces. I'd have
lost my mind by now if not for them—and I wondered if
Brett and I would even still be married if not for the kids.
I could feel a fresh bout of tears building behind my
eyelids, so I pushed the thought away and focused on the
tasks at hand as I wrapped a towel around me. The cooler
needed to be filled with ice, Garrett's presents had to be
loaded in the car, I probably needed to grab a couple rolls
of paper towels to go along with Transformers napkins, which
were colorful but worthless against the mess–making
capabilities of a pack of five–year–olds.
I walked to the kitchen, naked except for the towel, wet
hair still dripping down my back, to make a list before I
forgot the dozen last–minute details rattling around
in my brain. I was so intent on not forgetting anything that
I didn't hear the back door open until Brett's startled,
"Oh!" pulled me out of my party–planning reverie.
I spun around and stared at him, feeling as startled as
he looked. He had a cake box in one hand and two stacked
deli trays in the other. I covered the awkwardness of the
moment by hustling over to take the trays out of his hand.
"Hey," I muttered, keeping a tight grip on my towel with
one hand while I settled the trays on the already crowded
countertop. "I didn't hear you come in."
"So, uh, the cake came out okay?"
I blushed at the stammer in my voice. This wasn't some
stranger, this was my husband. He'd seen me naked. Hell,
he'd seen me give birth—twice. There was no reason to
feel uncomfortable or shy. And yet, I shifted from foot to
foot, conscious of how short my towel was and how it gapped
open high on my thigh as I moved.
"Take a look," he said, pulling the lid back to let me
It was bright—primary colors and little toy robots
and about a mountain of buttercream frosting. Garrett was
going to love it. So would Douglas. So would the rest of the
And—boom—I was crying again. I wouldn't have
thought I had anything left in me, but fat tears were
rolling down my cheeks. I turned away and leaned against the
I heard Brett move behind me, shifting the trays on the
counter to make way for the cake box. "What's wrong? I
thought it looked okay."
He was either making a joke or he was too dense for
words. I had known him long enough to know he wasn't dense.
I attempted to laugh, but it was a hoarse bark. "It's great.
Garrett will love it. Maybe it'll make up for his parents
tiptoeing around the house like they're walking on eggshells."
He didn't respond. He didn't have to. That, at least,
was something we could agree on.
I felt his presence behind me a moment before he wrapped
his arms around my waist. It wasn't as if we hadn't touched
in the past six months—we made a special show of being
affectionate in front of the boys, as if that would erase
the tension in their young lives. Behind closed doors, we
gave each other a wide berth, as if touching privately, for
real, was forbidden. But now, with his chin resting on my
shoulder and his arms tight around my waist, I felt like it
was the first time we'd ever touched.
But I wasn't touching him. My hands were on the counter,
my feet planted apart like I was going to attack anything in
front of me. I tried to relax, dropped my arms at my sides
and sunk into his embrace, but that didn't feel right
either. I rested my hands on his forearms and leaned my head
back against his chest.
"What are we doing?" he murmured against my ear. "What
the hell are we doing?"
"We're being parents. We're taking care of our kids.
We're being partners. We're trying to work things out."
"Work things out," he said the words as if they left a
bad taste in his mouth. "It shouldn't be work. Love
shouldn't be work."
I tensed, my heart hammering in my chest, the tears
still streaming down my face. "This is a very, very bad time
to tell me you're leaving me," I said in a small, tight voice.
I felt him shake his head. "Damn it, Carolyn, that's not
what I'm saying at all. I'm saying it's not work to love
you, it's not work to be with you, it's not work at all. We
hit a speed bump, we can get over it."
I laughed. Leave it to Brett to minimize it. "Speed
bump? That's how you see it?"
"How do you see it?"
"Tsunami," I said without pause, because I'd given it a
lot of thought on all the lonely nights in our big bed.
"Unexpected, out of the blue, complete devastation. End game."
"But it wasn't that at all. The warning signs were there
all along and we are not devastated. We are not over."
Brett and I could argue over the color of the sky,
that's the kind of relationship we had. In the end, we'd
agree that it was some kind of blue. And in the end of this,
we'd agree it was some kind of bad. We just had to sort it
out, however long it took. I sighed.
He shifted behind me, his arms tightening. "I want you,"
I had been studiously trying to ignore the erection
pressing against my terry–cloth covered ass. "No kidding?"
I could've said no. I had a dozen reasons why we
couldn't—shouldn't—have sex right then. Not the
least of which was the birthday party that was starting in
less than two hours. A crack of thunder reminded me that we
might very well be hosting this party at our house if the
weather didn't cooperate. So there were all kinds of reasons
to pull away, walk away, get dressed and pretend like we
hadn't just had the first real moment we'd shared in months.
Of course, I've never been one to walk away.
"Yes," I said simply, knowing he would understand my
He moved his hands up to my chest, undoing my towel with
a flick of his thumb. The towel fell, his hands cupped my
breasts and I pressed back against him, enjoying the
hardness against me instead of feeling as if I had to ignore it.
A soft moan–sigh escaped me, and was answered by
the press of his body against mine and his thumbs working
their magic against my nipples.
"Yes," he murmured, licking the shell of my ear. "That's
all, just yes? I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm."
He was teasing me. After everything we'd been through,
he could still lighten the moment by teasing me. I laughed,
feeling like something inside of me was loosening, cracking
open, releasing me from my self–made prison. I
swiveled my hips so that the towel slipped the rest of the
way from my body and then I wriggled my ass against his crotch.
"Is that enthusiastic enough for you?"
"Getting there," he said, his hands gliding down the
swell of my breasts to the indent of my waist before
settling on my hips. He pulled me back against him, firmly,
determinedly, grinding his cock against my naked bottom.
"Here or—" I started to say, before he spun me
around. I squealed in surprise as he picked me up and sat me
on the edge of the counter.
"Here. No time like the present, no place better than here."
That's the thing about Brett. He's quick to make
decisions and once he does—well, he can convince you
he's made the absolute best decision. And as he planted his
big hands on my thighs and spread them open, I absolutely
believed he was right. Then he lowered his head between my
legs and gave my bare and quickly moistening pussy a long,
slow swipe with his tongue and there was no doubt in my mind
that now and here were exactly right.
I braced my hands on the counter and leaned back,
careful to avoid the party clutter, and closed my eyes as
his mouth slowly devoured me. It had been so long—too
long—since I'd had this kind of attention that it
didn't take more than a few focused licks and my clit was
throbbing. I wriggled on the counter, my juices making a
slick spot beneath me, trying to focus his tongue where I
wanted it. He was teasing me again, licking and sucking my
labia, teasing my opening, fluttering his tongue against my
clit, taking me to the cusp of orgasm, but making sure he
never lingered long enough to let me go all the way.
Finally, when I couldn't take it any longer, I made a
noise that sounded like a growl and reached down to grab his
head between my thighs and pull it up close and tight to the
very spot I needed him to lick. His tongue flattened out
against my clit as I ground my crotch against his mouth.
One, two, three, and I was coming, sliding to the edge of
the counter so that the only thing keeping me from hitting
the floor was his head nestled in the V of my spread legs. I
thrust against his mouth, utterly shameless, intent on
making my orgasm last as long as I could. As long as he could.
Brett didn't seem to mind that I was smothering him
between my legs. His mouth pressed against me, licking and
sucking my clit as I came. I could hear sounds of muffled
appreciation as I coated his face with my juices. The smell
of my arousal was thick and heavy in the air, but I felt
light—as if a weight had been lifted from my chest, my
heart. I laughed as his tongue kept nursing at my clit, the
muscles in my thighs jumping as my oversensitive flesh
protested the continuing onslaught. I pushed his head away,
gasping and laughing and wriggling. He stood, catching me as
I slid off the edge of the counter, and his cock was already
out and hard, sliding into me as easily as a knife in a
sheath. My gasp turned to a moan as he filled my wet pussy,
still tight and pulsing from my orgasm.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered, hauling my legs up around
his waist so that my weight was supported by his hands
cupping my ass. "I've missed you."
We stood there like that for a long moment, my arms and
legs wrapped tight around him, his cock buried so far inside
of me that it almost hurt, our breathing synchronized, our
faces so close that he looked blurry.
"I will always love you," he said. "Always. Nothing, no
one can change that."
He thrust into me then, as if to emphasize his point. I
gasped. I hitched my legs up higher on his waist, holding
tighter, my body damp with sweat. I nuzzled his neck,
licking along his jawline and the throb of the vein pulsing
"Nothing can break us," I whispered, knowing it to be
true. Knowing it all along, but so hurt and sad that I
couldn't see it. Couldn't feel it because I'd built such a
wall of protection around me, to match the one he'd built
for himself. But all the walls were down now. It was just
the two of us, naked and vulnerable.
"Nope," he agreed. "Nothing."
And then we stopped talking and got down to the business
of making love. He bounced me on his cock, long, hard,
unrelenting strokes that were cushioned by nothing but his
hands kneading my ass. I was screaming, there was no other
word for it, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls, vaguely
aware that the neighbors might be able to hear me since the
windows were open, but not caring at all. Not caring about
anything except this moment and this man. My life, my heart.
I felt like I was going to split apart, as if he wasn't
just penetrating my body, but slicing through layers of
emotion to get to the heart of me. I felt tears sting my
eyes and I tried to blink them away. He pulled back and
stared at me, his steady gray–blue eyes seeing into me
the way they always had.
"You're okay," he said, and it wasn't a question. "I've
I knew he meant more than physically, more than this
moment. I nodded and clung tighter to him. "Yes," I breathed
against his mouth, kissing him hard.
There were no other words that needed to be said. Just
that. Just "Yes." Yes to it all, to the good and the bad and
the messiness of loving. I felt another orgasm building and
I gyrated on his erection, letting him feel every ripple of
my pussy. He groaned and rubbed his stubbled jaw along the
curve of my neck, nipping at my earlobe as he thrust into
me, my lower back pressed against the edge of the counter,
my head thrown back as I tightened on him and came. And that
was all it took for him. He let out a groan to rival my
screams, filling me with a flood of wetness to rival the
puddle I'd left on the counter.
I clung to him, licking and biting his shoulder, digging
my nails into his back as we rode out our mutual orgasms. I
felt his thigh muscles quiver as he slipped from me and
slowly lowered me down his body until I was standing pressed
against him, our bodies damp and flushed. We held each other
for a long time, until the sweat cooling on my body made me
shiver and my breathing had returned to normal. I tilted my
head to look at him, feeling as if I was seeing him for the
"Wow," was all I could manage.
He laughed. "Wow, indeed."
I didn't know what else to say. I could feel the walls
rebuilding, could feel us retreating to our mutual corners.
I grabbed him by the upper arms, feeling the flex of his
biceps, and shook him.
"Let's not lose this," I demanded fiercely. "Let's never
lose this again."
He twisted his fingers in my hair and tugged, until my
neck arched and my mouth tilted up to the right angle for
him to kiss me.
"We never lost it," he murmured against my mouth. "We
just forgot it."
I couldn't argue. "So let's not forget. Keep reminding
me. I'll keep reminding you. Nothing can break us," I said,
my voice vibrating with the intensity of my emotion the way
my body had been humming with the intensity of sensation
just a few moments earlier.
"I'll remind you. Again and again," he promised.
"Good. Remind me again in about six hours when this
party is behind us."
"Oh, yeah," he said, bending to retrieve my forgotten
towel. "Your mom will be back with the boys soon. Ready to
"I think we just did."
I gave him a wink and smile before turning on my heel
and padding naked down the hall, but not before catching a
glimpse of his surprised, appreciative expression. We were
going to be okay. I was sure of it.