Digressions into Erotica

Digressions into Erotica

Phaedra Torres

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Grab a blanket and cozy up on the sofa. Turn the lights down low and unplug the phone. From seedy to sultry, flowery to downright dirty, Digressions Into Erotica is a compilation of tales that straddle the precipice of dreams and reality. Hold on tight as sensuality and lust drag characters into their deepest fantasies.

 
PUBLISHED BY: Freya's Bower
ISBN: 1-934069-30-2
PUBLICATION DATE: 2006
WORD COUNT: 35421
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 4 4 4 4
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: Erotica, Contemporary, Anthology
KEYWORDS: erotic anthology, erotica
 

EBOOKS BY Freya's Bower

EBOOKS BY Phaedra Torres

 
EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Phaedra Torres/2006

Summer swelter and I sprawl across perspiration soaked sheets, awaiting the mass of angry clouds on the northern horizon. Weak puffs of ozone-laced breezes filter through the window, and I peel my body from the bedding, angle my sticky flesh in their direction, and will the air to stir.

I slide my gaze to the chaos gathering against a patch of creamsicle sky. My mind wanders idly through images of you, each as drenched in sensation as I am drenched in sweat. Distant crackles of lightning spark a silent movie in my mind. My eyes drift shut. I trail my fingers lightly across my collarbone. You kissed me there, coaxing sweet shimmers up my throat to escape my lips.

The rolling thunder is remote and still whisper quiet—someone coughing politely behind a raised fist; or the soft sounds from the back of your throat when the pleasure became unbearable. I feel your keening now as jolts, and my muscles jump with pangs of liquid heat, distinct from the heavy smolder in the air.

Here at last, the wind picks up, sighs through the screen, draws with it the moisture from the room. At once I can breathe again, cool and deep. I see you suckling greedily at my breast, grasping my nipple between your teeth, flicking the captured flesh with the tip of your tongue—and as I held your head to me, my chest swelled to match your hunger. My fingers flutter down to clutch at my breast and knead frantically. But my hand does you no justice.

I can almost see the steam rising from my body. The inches of skin on skin between my arm and torso begin to sizzle, and I am forced to pull my hand away. I drop my forearm across my damp brow and cover my eyes. I see your tongue trailing down my belly, your intense gaze capturing my own. My abdomen quivers with the memory.

You grasped the button of my jeans between your teeth and released it with a flick of your head. My breath escaped me.

Your fingers curled around the waistband. Thumbs hooked in the belt loops, and you tugged slowly at the denim. Your hot breath covered the tender skin beneath. A wry smile lit your eyes, and you kissed me, full and wet, tongue splayed against my clitoris. Flames shot through my belly, contracting my muscles, yanking my shoulders from the bed. My legs flex and extend, shifting restlessly, wanting you.

My hands have now fallen to the bed, clutching fists full of soggy sheets. You touched me, tentatively at first, just the pad of your thumb, your other arm slung beneath my hips, holding me in position. You lowered your mouth to me, following your thumb, tongue and fingers—seeking, invading, conquering. Agonizingly tender. My breath comes in hitches and gasps. My eyes flash open. I marvel over the effect a mere memory can have on the here and now.

 
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