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b6bb9a1
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"I moaned then, tilting my head back to give him better access. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved--one going to cup my rear, the other sliding between us. This--this moment, when it was him and me and nothing between our bodies ... His tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. "Feyre," he said against my lips, my name like a prayer more devout than any Ianthe had offered up to the Cauldron on that dark solstice morning. His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him, and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger. I moved on him. Lightning lashed through my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his body on mine. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name as I shattered"
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erotic-romance-novellas
orgasms
erotic-fiction
new-adult-fantasy
new-adult-lit
new-adult-romance
smut
new-adult
erotic
erotica
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Sarah J. Maas |
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447226b
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"Please," I gasped out. He just brushed his lips against my jaw, my neck, my mouth. "Tamlin," I begged. He palmed my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple. I cried out, and he buried himself in me with a mighty stroke. For a moment, I was nothing, no one. Then we were fused, two hearts beating as one, and I promised myself it always would be that way as he pulled out a few inches, the muscles of his back flexing beneath my hands, and then slammed back into me. Again and again. I broke and broke against him as he moved, as he murmured my name and told me he loved me. And when that lightning once more filled my veins, my head, when I gasped out his name, his own release found him. I gripped him through each shuddering wave, savoring the weight of him, the feel of his skin, his strength. For a while, only the rasp of our breathing filled the room. I frowned as he withdrew at last--but he didn't go far. He stretched out on his side, head propped on a fist, and traced idle circles on my stomach, along my breasts."
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sex
erotic-scenes
fake-marketing
new-adult-fantasy
new-adult-lit
new-adult-paranormal-romance
new-adult-romance-and-suspense
not-for-readers-under-18
sex-scenes
smut-books
new-adult-romance
smut
erotism
new-adult
erotic
erotic-romance
erotica
|
Sarah J. Maas |
|
86f8a79
|
"Tamlin let out a low snarl of approval, and I bit my bottom lip as he removed his pants, along with his undergarments, revealing the proud, thick length of him. My mouth went dry, and I dragged my gaze up his muscled torso, over the panes of his chest, and then-- "Come here," he growled, so roughly the words were barely discernable. I pushed back the blankets, revealing my already naked body, and he hissed."
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love
pornographic
sexy-romance
new-adult-romance
erotica-bdsm
smut
new-adult
erotic-romance
erotica
sexy
|
Sarah J. Maas |
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fa88596
|
One may, in a case of exigency, introduce the reader in to a nuptial chamber, not into a virginal chamber. Verse would hardly venture it, prose must not. It is the interior of a flower that is not yet unfolded, it is whiteness in the dark, it is the private cell of a closed lily, which must not be gazed upon by man so long as the sun has not gazed upon it. Woman in the bud is sacred. That innocent bud which opens, that adorable half-nudity which is afraid of itself, that white foot which takes refuge in a slipper, that throat which veils itself before a mirror as though a mirror were an eye, that chemise which makes haste to rise up and conceal the shoulder for a creaking bit of furniture or a passing vehicle, those cords tied, those clasps fastened, those laces drawn, those tremors, those shivers of cold and modesty, that exquisite affright in every movement, that almost winged uneasiness where there is no cause for alarm, the successive phases of dressing, as charming as the clouds of dawn,--it is not fitting at all that all this should be narrated, and it is too much to have even called attention to it.
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smut
thing
is
not
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Victor Hugo |
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4ed09a8
|
Clearly, you don't know much about horror, he said. Horror is premised on the experience of what we do not and cannot understand, whereas what you're talking about is mere low-class smut, which every schoolboy has encountered before he's in long pants.
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smut
|
Paul La Farge |