Hot Sex Quotes

“I don't force women to my bed, Danica." I shivered. Something about going back to the use of my full name had my skin tight, my breath bated at the sight of his feral grin. "They come willingly, and begging."
"And is that something you want?" I was playing a dangerous game, egging on an actual dragon. A lesser shifter would have pounced on the teasing, the taunting between us, long ago. Not Ryker; he had all the time and patience in the world to play the games I'd been playing with him.
"I can unveil the mark tonight if you want, but we both know it's already there between us. Everything after that can come as slowly as you need it to; in the end I already know you'll find your way to me as it was intended. I offer you my everything, Dani. My wings, my strength, my soul."
He leaned down, his lips pulled into an amused curve as he rumbled in my ear. "My cock, if you think you're ready to cross that line and have me fuck you until you forget your own name.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“Her delicate, nimble fingers stroked across his stomach muscles. He sucked in a breath, words deserting him. She pushed his shirt up his chest, her hands immediately going back to sweeping across his stomach, sending heat streaking through him.
"Ooh, someone's been working out. You feel so good," she murmured. "I bet you taste even better."
"Sloane." Instead of the semi-warning tone he was going for, his voice broke off in a quiver as she lowered her mouth.
The first touch of her lips on his abdomen sent his pulse skyrocketing. "I was right. You taste so good." She lifted her glittering eyes. "Let me play."
This was her party. She was feeling good. He wanted to flip their bodies and taste every inch of her body, but she wanted this. And he wanted whatever she wanted. He nodded, since talking was beyond him at the moment. He sat up to whip his shirt over his head, then returned to his prone position. He was immediately rewarded with her mouth on his neck.
"You have the best Adam's apple," she murmured. "I've lusted after it for over a decade."
His laughter turned into a moan when her lips and hands continued exploring. "The veins in your forearms turn me on," she whispered. "I command you to wear dress shirts every day and then as soon as you see me, roll up your sleeves very slowly, so I can lust after them in public."
"Got it.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“With a noise of want, he cups my breast, then leans over it. His mouth is hot and wet, and I groan, arching into him as he sucks my nipple in deep. He releases me with a long satisfied lick and then does it all over again.
"Macon..." It's a plea. For more, for it everywhere.
He seems to know this because he looks up at me from beneath the fan of his lashes as his wicked tongue flicks over my other nipple. "It's my turn to play."
Play he does, suckling my nipples until they're swollen and stiff and gleaming, then rubbing the flat of his fingers over the sensitive tips--- a slow, heavy circle. The action is so lewd, so basely sexual, that I writhe and moan against him, my leg hooking over his trim hips in an attempt to bring him over me.
But he resists, his focus all on me. He makes his way over my body, learning every curve and hollow--- gentle little kisses of shuddering pleasure, slow wet kisses of greed. When he gets to the rise of my hip bone, he pauses. His big hands settle over my thighs, gripping them lightly. His gaze, dark and hot, meets mine.
"Spread these thighs, Tot, and show me what I've been dreaming about for far too long."
Slowly, I open to him. I feel the exposure in the soft stretch of my inner thigh muscles, the cool rush of air against my wet sex. My breasts jiggle with every shuddering breath I take. Macon's attention is rapt. He licks his lower lip, and I clench deep within me.
With a groan, he lowers his head and kisses my pussy like a man deprived of air. Pleasure jolts through me, hot and sharp. I writhe against that slowly questing mouth of his. He fucking feasts, and I can't help but put my hand on the back of his head to hold him there, urging him to take more.
God, the feel of his tongue sliding and searching; my clit becomes so swollen and sensitive I'm half trying to get away. But he won't let me. The sight of his broad shoulders between my legs, the fan of his lashes shadowing an expression of sheer greed, has me teetering on an orgasm. He stops to place a soft, firm kiss right on my clit like it's something he has to do, this bit of utter affection at the height of his lust, and I fall.
Arching against the bed, I come and come. Macon kisses me again, his hand soothing my quivering belly in gentle circles, then rises to hover over me. "Of all the flavors you've given me," he says roughly. "That was my favorite."
God. I lick my dry lips, my breath catching. "You can have a taste anytime you like.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“I want to move." Delicately shaking, slickly sweating, I strain against Macon's bulk. It's no use; he has me pinned to the chair, his cock thick and pulsing deep inside. And not fucking moving.
He grins down at me, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his flushed face. "Not yet."
Slowly, too damn slowly, he circles his hips, stretching me, making me ache.
"I need to come," I whisper. Whine. Plead. It's all the same. Every inch of me throbs. Pleasure is a tightly drawn bow within, and I need that snap of release.
His grin fades, replaced by intention. "You will. When I'm ready."
"Sadist."
He nips my earlobe. "You love it."
I shudder as that glorious dick of his eases out, making me feel every hard inch, only to slowly push back in. Too fucking slowly. I'm writhing on him, and he loves it. Dark eyes glint as he works me.
Naked in the sun and sprawled on an armchair that barely holds us, he's been fucking me with a steady deliberation designed to drive me out of my mind. And though I'm a pleading, panting mess, I love it too.
God, he's gorgeous. Endless muscle and tan skin beaded with sweat, flush from exertion. His expression is slack, hazy with lust. It sends licks of pleasure along my skin. Panting, I reach up and touch his jaw, trying to draw him near. He complies, dipping his head. Our mouths meet in a lazy, deep kiss, an exchange of air, messy exploration of lips and tongues.
He groans, shivering. Not unaffected. Just so very good at torturing me.
In. Out. Pull. Push.
"Macon," I whisper into his mouth. "Please. Fuck me."
He freezes, and then with another groan, all that power and need breaks free. I can only hold on as he goes hard and deep. The chair scrapes along the floor as he pounds into me. Every thrust impacts my swollen, sensitive sex. Pleasure builds and builds until I'm keening, my eyes closed as though I can somehow hang on to the feeling forever. But it breaks over me in a shimmering wave.
Macon's teeth clamp down on the meaty curve of my neck, not hard but holding me there as his thrusts turn rapid, a greedy chase of his own pleasure. It's so animalistic and unexpected that another orgasm slams into me with unexpected power.
I lose track of myself, of him. My fingers claw at his back, thread through his hair. I'm struggling to get closer, get more. He comes with a great shout, his big strong body straining against mine.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“Dina couldn't tell where she ended and where Scott began; it was hot and messy and every millisecond of it felt excruciatingly good.
"I want to see you," he said, scooping her up and swinging her on top of him, so her thighs straddled his. "Ride this cock," he ordered.
The command shivered through her deliciously. Dina was on top of him, and as he lay back she planted her palms on his chest, feeling the rollicking beats of his heart, knotting her fingers around the black curls of his chest hair.
This was all new; she'd never been on top of a man before. It had never really felt like there had been time for it, like the guy had always been chasing his orgasm, and having Dina on top would have been as a waste of time.
But not for Scott. He hissed with pleasure as Dina ground down on his cock, her hips thrusting back and forth, each movement sending a surge of delicious pulsing through her.
It was almost too much for her, taking him all like this. Scott gripped her ass, keeping her moving with him as the wave of pleasure rocketed over her, the jagged, raw orgasm rushing through her.
"Scott, Scott," she whispered, and he was there. His huge arms wrapped around her, his chest pressed against her, rocking gently as pleasure throbbed through her.
"I can feel you coming. Come for me, sweetheart, come on this cock," he hissed into her neck, licking up the sweat that beaded there.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“Can I fill you up? I want to fill your pretty pussy." He bent over her so he could whisper in her ear, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth.
"Yes," she begged, "inside me," and that was all Scott needed to hear.
He let out a loud hiss of pleasure, his fingers rubbing Dina's clit just right at the same time, and the orgasm broke apart, shattering over them.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“He teased the tip of his cock right at her entrance, desperate to feel her smooth heat around him. Dina hissed, shifting herself so she could take more than just the tip.
"Should I make you beg for it, Dina?" He reached around her, caressing her clit with his thumb.
"Please," she moaned, and that was all it took. Scott thrust in, pleasure cascading from the tip of his cock all around his trembling body.
Everything about Dina was perfect, and she was his, she was his.
Scott fisted his hand in Dina's curls; every inch of him sank into her warmth as she writhed in pleasure.
"Come for me again, sweetheart, come all over this cock."
It wasn't long before she shuddered against him, letting out a delicious moan.
Scott rolled her over and scooped her into his arms, resting her ass on the desk. Down on his knees he tasted her again, sweetness and salt and something indescribably Dina.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“He slid a finger down her folds. Her panting increased in volume. Her hip movements increased in pace as she chased his finger. He found her clit and circled it with his thumb, as he pushed inside her with his middle finger. Her inner walls clasped tightly on to the digit. He groaned at the heavenly sensation. He dragged his finger in and out, savoring the feeling. Her hips moved in tandem with the movement of his finger.
Her hold on his shirt tightened when he rubbed against a spot high inside her. Her hips bucked forward. A tiny moan slipped from between her lips before she pressed her mouth shut. Not on his watch. He wanted it all.
"Don't hold back. Tell me," he demanded.
"Feels so good," she whimpered, the fucking sexiest sound he'd ever heard.
"I can make it better."
He wedged another finger inside her. And pressed gently against her clit.
He swallowed her scream with his mouth. The kiss was wild, greedy. Lips, tongue, teeth sliding, clinging, giving, demanding pleasure. She tasted like heaven, offering all the sustenance he would ever need.
Her hips picked up speed. She was so fucking tight wrapped around his fingers. How good would his dick feel inside her? Incredibly, he got even harder. As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, her hands landed on the front of his jeans. She squeezed once, twice.
He almost detonated. "Sloane. Sweetness. Please."
She didn't need his plea. Instead, she pulled his zipper down and slipped her fingers inside. He didn't have the willpower to stop her. Her hand wrapped around his dick was so fucking good. She pulled up and down, exerting the perfect amount of pressure to have him gasping as pleasure sang through his veins.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“His shoulders corded with muscle. His mouth between her legs. A portrait that belonged in the Louvre. A quick flick of his tongue had her seeing stars. Then, a slower swipe had her wishing for more. Sloane's mouth dried.
He alternated between faster and slower swipes, taking his cues from her. He nibbled, then bit. Faster when the movement of her hips slowed. Slower when she came perilously close to the edge. Beautiful torture. His mouth on her was a million times better than she'd ever imagined. He was a certified master with his tongue.
She bucked, begging him for more. Demanding more. Sweat slickened her skin. Her hands slipped on the sofa cushions, searching for purchase.
Through it all, he was there. August and his wonderful tongue. Her eyes squeezed shut as delicious sensations bombarded her from every direction.
Then his fingers, long and immeasurably talented, joined in the action between her legs. He was so slow and deliberate, going at his own pace, despite her demands. And she fucking loved every second of it.
He held his tongue tight against her clit as he sank three fingers inside her. In and out. The sensations inside her twisted tighter and tighter, pushing her higher and higher.
Until she broke, splintering into a million jagged pieces.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“Sloane gasped at the amazing sensation. At the stretch and pull. Had anything felt so good in the history of ever? Their eyes met when he was fully inside. He felt it too. How perfect this all was.
Then they were kissing again as August slid in and out of her in a slow, perfect rhythm. His fingers rubbed against her clit. She was so close. So close.
But the couch's width only allowed a certain amount of movement. She needed more. She hummed her frustration. Her hum increased in volume when he slid out of her without returning.
"Shh," he murmured. Then, before she could blink, she was draped over the arm of the couch and he was thrusting into her from behind.
Oh, wow. This was better. She hadn't thought that was possible, but she was thrilled to be proven wrong. This angle allowed him to go deeper. Fill her completely. He twisted his hips, changing the angle slightly. It was too much. Perfect. Unyielding.
She turned her head for another wild, incandescent kiss. He filled his hands with her breasts, alternatively massaging and pinching her nipples. Through it all, his hips never stopped their magical motion. Sensations were bombarding her from every angle, leaving her gasping for air.
"Touch yourself," he commanded in her ear. It didn't occur to her to argue. Even as he continued to thrust in and out of her, she eagerly slid her fingers between her slick folds, coating her digits in her wetness.
Pleasuring herself was nothing new. Men were often temporary, but vibrators were forever. But this, being with August while she saw to her own pleasure, was amazing. Her clit, now so sensitive, sent bolts of feeling through her as she rubbed it the way she'd mastered over the years.
"That's right. Get yourself off while you ride my dick." His low, deep voice in her ear spurred her on as he twisted her right nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through her body. She cried out in ecstasy as she moved in tandem with him, pushing her hips down as he thrust inside her. She wanted to give him all that he was giving her. His tortured groan was everything she wanted to hear.
"My dick loves how wet you are.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“Being inside her was his second priority. His first? Making her come so hard against his fingers she'd feel the aftershocks for days.
August slipped a finger inside her. Her hips' movement quickened.
"Just like that, August." Her moan acted as rocket fuel to his lust. He added another finger, sliding in and out of her. His plan had been to go slow, but shit, she was so tight and so fucking wet and it felt so damned good. She squeezed her inner muscles around him. He bent his fingers, rubbing against the spot inside her that made her go wild. With his other hand, he rubbed circles around her clit.
"Shit, Sloane," he gritted out when her hand wrapped around his dick. This was supposed to be all about her.
"Two can play this game," she whispered in his ear. "I bet I can make you come before you make me come."
He was a professional athlete. Competitiveness flowed through his veins. "You're on."
Two minutes later, he was questioning his life's choices. He'd been so sure he could win this bet. Why? His hubris was going to be the death of him, but what a way to go. Her fingers were magical.
"Shit," he moaned when she rubbed some of her wetness along the head of his dick and then up and down his length. Just following the movement of her fingers nearly short-circuited his brain. Her fingers moved a little easier, up and down with one hand and squeezing with the other. She knew he didn't like a gentle hand. He was fucking close. But not yet. Not yet. Not until he'd given her all the pleasure he could. Not until he made her feel more than she'd ever felt.
They fell into a decadent rhythm, fully intuned to the other. She moved her hand up and down his length at the same tempo he slid his fingers in and out of her, just like they would if she was riding his dick. He was so fucking close. August ground his teeth into dust. In due time.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“She pressed against him, the thrust of her hips no longer moving in a measured circular motion, but a jagged, erratic, desperate motion. She was near the edge.
"August, August," she repeated over and over like she was in a trance. He twisted his fingers inside her and ground the palm of his hand against her, right against her clit. He pinched her nipple with his other hand.
Her back arched as she came against his fingers, her body shaking, her eyes dazed with wonder and joy as a loud, prolonged cry spilled from her lips. Watching Sloane come was one of the top highlights of his life.
But they weren't done.
Once again, he turned their bodies. This time, Sloane landed underneath him. He hastily procured a condom from the nightstand drawer, donned it, and covered Sloane's warm, tempting body in less than ten seconds. She welcomed him back with open arms. He wasted no time, thrusting inside her in one smooth glide. He burrowed his head in her shoulder as his skin buzzed with lust. How had he denied himself for this long? Being with her like this left nirvana in the dust. Then she twined her legs around his waist and lifted her hips.
"Oh, shit." How was it possible that this position felt even better?
"August, please. Move."
"Yes, ma'am." Her wish would always be his command. Her cries of harder, faster urged him on. She liked hard, long strokes. He could do this for the rest of his life if that's what she wanted. Each time she whimpered when he retreated, only to cry out in ecstasy when he returned, made his heart soar. Made his determination to make it even better for her to soar.
The tingle started at the base of his spine and spread to his extremities. He wouldn't last much longer. But not without her. Never without her. He kissed her again and found her clit. When she got close, she liked him to press hard against the bundle of nerves.
With her cries ringing in his ears, he came, stars shooting across his eyes, shaking with the intensity of the orgasm.”
― Jamie Wesley, A Legend in the Baking

“And he fucks with such greedy relish--- sucking at my skin, thrusting into me with deep grunts of pleasure--- that I feel adored.
But in the end, he rolls onto his back, taking me with him. Stretching his arms overhead, he grasps the headboard. "Ride me, Delilah. Take what you need."
All that power laid out before me. The high crests of his cheeks are flushed. Sweat trickles down his temples. Every inch of him is hard and tight with lust. I sink down onto his cock, and we both groan. I take my pleasure, luxuriating in his body. I don't let up until he's groaning and crying out my name.
We come together, falling into each other, wrecked.
Nothing will ever be the same again.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“Alec groaned as I curled my fingers around him, guiding him to my entrance. He slid in, just an agonizing inch, letting his tip graze me, giving me a preview of what was to come.
"Is this going to take all night?" I gasped as he pushed in a little deeper, but still not all the way in. "Because I would really prefer to keep things moving along."
"Why, do you have somewhere else more important to be?"
His grin was teasing, but his pupils dilated as I raised my hips to meet him, greedily commanding him to sink deeper.
"No, but you do." I moaned, as he did another circling motion at my entrance, teasing me, driving me wild. "Alec. You need to be inside me. Right now. Please."
The teasing grin disappeared, and in one swift motion, he plunged into me.
"God, Ellie," he breathed out. "You feel amazing."
He was hot and hard and slick, and felt so good. The cords on his neck stood out as he growled, straining to stay still, but I wriggled my hips to take him farther in. Alec let out another groan and began to move, sliding in and out slowly at first, the delicious friction between our bodies nearly sending me into oblivion, then faster, harder, as our sighs and his moans and my pleas of "more" filled the room. Our mouths found each other again, fusing and devouring, as he began to lose control, and before long, I was rocking and shivering against him, as his body shuddered together with mine.
And this time, I had truly died and gone to heaven.”
― Cynthia Timoti, Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

“Your trousers!" she gasped when he followed some curiosity he found down the curve of her jaw. "They're wet." She could feel how drenched they'd become, absorbing the moisture of her desire, the friction creating a stronger, slicker surge followed by a shocking burst of pleasure as he ground them harder against her.
"I don't care," he growled, passing his thumbs over her pebbled nipples in tandem, claiming her mouth and swallowing her startled cry as he rocked his hips against her again, and yet another time.
Her thighs trembled, her stomach clenched, and a delight for which she had no name spread like a flood of fire through her limbs.
"This pleases you?" He did it again, his own groan rumbling against her lips.
Pleased her? More than strawberry tarts and decadent desserts. More than she'd pleased herself with him watching. More pleasure than she'd ever imagined her body capable of producing. But she could say none of those things, so she just hissed a "Yes!" as her muscles began some sort of ascension she didn't yet understand.
With each of his movements, and every one of his kisses, the glorious sensation intensified, electrified, until, unable to help herself, her head dug into the bed and her hips peeled off it. Her body bowed with a jerking, pulsing ecstasy so acute, she felt as though she was lost in an apoplexy. Her heart raced, forcing her blood into each extremity, and then stalled, only to charge again.
She thought she heard her name. She knew she gasped illogical things. Maybe screamed words, but couldn't hear them, or for the life of her, remember what they were. Perhaps the same incoherent tongues spoken by the evangelicals whilst taken in rapture, for surely that's what this was.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“His hunger was a ferocious thing as he lowered to his elbows and let the yearning clench deep in his belly. The slickness of her desire beckoned him. He split her cleft with his gloved finger, coating the tip with her nectar.
She trembled, but remained silent, as she'd agreed to do.
Curious, he rubbed his thumb and finger together, testing the glossy consistency. Soon his cock would be coated with this, slick and wet and---
Christ, if he didn't get his mouth on her soon, he'd go mad.
Dorian had no fucking idea what he was doing, but her scent lured him down until he pressed his lips to her sex.
Her hips flinched beneath him, arched a little, and he could tell she fought to remain passive, but her body betrayed her. Good. Because his betrayed him, as well.
She tasted like heaven. Like desire and release. Like want and fulfillment. Like a woman. His woman. The predator in him was going to dine until he'd had his fill.
And he had a lifetime of hunger to satiate.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“His tongue split her in one long lick. He growled against her, and Farah whimpered in reply, unable to stop herself.
But she didn't say a word. Not. One. Word.
Blackwell had become that jaguar she'd evoked the first time she'd laid eyes on him. His shoulders rolled and bunched just so as he settled in for a feast. He left no part unexplored. His bold tongue found places she'd never known she possessed. He parted her with his fingers, exposing her in a way so absolute, she could barely stand it. And yet, she read the veneration on his face as he looked at her, as he tasted her, as if he committed every single crevice and protuberance to memory. He learned very quickly what made her gasp, what caused her to arch or retreat. He played like a man who'd only just learned how. Testing her reactions, re-creating sensations, enjoying a bit of cruelty as only the Blackheart of Ben More could. Driving her to the edge of her wits and then pulling back, leaving her groaning, straining, and sweating.
She jerked as his finger found its way inside her slick channel, and the vibration of his groan against the soft hood of flesh he'd sucked into his mouth with a flattened tongue shattered her composure.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“But, to her ultimate surprise, a tight, aching heat bloomed low in her belly, starting in her womb and reaching for the shaft of branding heat plunging and retracting from inside her.
Her lips parted of their own accord, and a small sound of delighted surprise escaped.
Blackwell's eyes sharpened. Questioned.
Farah's body answered without thought. A lift of her hips, a press of her thighs, and a soft moan of encouragement.
It was all he needed.
Blackwell didn't kiss or taste her. Instead he watched her face with an intensity that abashed her. Every flutter of her eyelid, or intake of breath, the way her lips parted or pressed together. His body again became a conduit of her gratification.
It shocked her how he could support his heavy frame all this time on one powerful arm, but the thought dissipated as he used his other hand to explore her, rendering her mind useless and directing her awareness like a symphony conductor. He traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, as though committing her to memory, or visiting one, she couldn't be sure.
As the slow pressure mounted, her moans became mewls, her mewls became cries. His finger drifted along the outline of her lips, slipping past her teeth and leaving the taste of sex on her tongue. Sex and leather. She closed her lips and rolled the glove between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, feeling the hard ridge of his fingers beneath.
He hissed, growled, and pulled his hand away, drawing it down to her hip and gripping the curve of her ass, spreading her wider for his accelerating thrusts.
Farah's head tossed against her pillow, her eyes rolling back into their sockets, retreating from sight, as her other overwhelmed senses demanded her attention.
Leather and sex. Darkness. Spice. Chilly air. Hot Blood. Textiles. Smooth, slick flesh. Wide, hard male.
A mouth on hers. A tongue thrusting inside, tasting the essence of her he'd left there, lapping at it.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“Dorian--- please!" Her voice trembled, her muscles clenched around his shaft.
"I'm sorry," he gasped as a new blaze ignited on the embers of his previous climax. She would hate him. He already hated himself. But she felt so good, and he'd waited so long. "I'm sorry but I--- I can't stop."
"No," she gritted out, her voice low and guttural. "Please--- faster."
He fucked her then. One hand bracing her hip, the other grasping the hair at her scalp, imprisoning her head and exposing her throat as he piston into her tight body again and again.
Little pants of demand escaped her. Tight whimpers of pain or pleasure. Then she bucked against him, a reedy cry becoming a shrill one. She twisted and writhed, pulled and arched as her intimate muscles drew another soul-shattering climax from him. He could feel his seed leaving him and pouring into her. He sank deep enough to touch her womb with his own flesh.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“I'm going to devour every inch of you," he growled into her ear, setting her blood on fire, incinerating any incoherent thought she might have had left. "But first..."
His cock settled against the throbbing slit of her body, and Farah was only able to produce a mewl of demand before he found his way, and slid inside with a low groan.
Hot breath brushed her cheek, but they only touched where their bodies joined.”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“They each gasped at the feel of her tight flesh gripping at him as he pulled away, and welcoming him deep as he returned.
Farah clothed at the impossibly powerful muscles of his back, feeling more interruptions to the smooth skin that shouldn't be there.
She kissed him harder, pouring all her love into him.
Dorian drank from her lips and pushed himself deeper, his height making the union of their mouths difficult if their bodies were to stay clasped together.
Farah buried her face into his neck, unwilling to let the magnificent sensation of his flesh fused to every inch of hers end. He rocked deep within her, curling his spine in slow, painstaking thrusts.
She became a creature of pure need, bottomless desire, and shameful appetites. Her bones relished his weight. Her sex hungrily took every bit of his, stretching and lifting to receive the man she loved.
"You're so warm," he moaned. "So fucking soft." He said other incoherent things against her hair. Made vows. Gasped curses. He was her jaguar, his movements so lithe and graceful. His body so perfect and powerful.
She thrust upward, her moans becoming supplications. Her hands wandered inquiringly down the straining cords of his back to grip the muscles of his buttocks as they clenched and released.
The tide of ecstasy flooded her so swiftly and took her so high, that she almost missed the violent jerks in his hips as he buried himself only a handful of times before seizing on a shuddering convulsion”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“Stay with me," she encouraged. "Let me feel your skin move along mine."
"Yes," he hissed, finally moving his hips.
They each gasped at the feel of her tight flesh gripping at him as he pulled away, and welcoming him deep as he returned.
Farah clutched at the impossibly powerful muscles of his back, feeling more interruptions to the smooth skin that shouldn't be there.
She kissed him harder, pouring all her love into him.
Dorian drank from her lips and pushed himself deeper, his height making the union of their mouths difficult if their bodies were to stay clasped together.
Farah buried her face into his neck, unwilling to let the magnificent sensation of his flesh fused to every inch of hers end. He rocked deep within her, curling his spine in slow, painstaking thrusts.
She became a creature of pure need, bottomless desire, and shameful appetites. Her bones relished his weight. Her sex hungrily took every bit of his, stretching and lifting to receive the man she loved.
"You're so warm," he moaned. "So fucking soft." He said other incoherent things against her hair. Made vows. Gasped curses. He was her jaguar, his movements so lithe and graceful. His body so perfect and powerful.
She thrust upward, her moans becoming supplications. Her hands wandered inquiringly down the straining cords of his back to grip the muscles of his buttocks as they clenched and released.
The tide of ecstasy flooded her so swiftly and took her so high, that she almost missed the violent jerks in his hips as he buried himself only a handful of times before seizing on a shuddering convulsion”
― Kerrigan Byrne, The Highwayman

“And he buried his cock inside her, right up to the hilt. Rosemary cried out, the pleasure of every inch of her filled by Ellis's size was almost too much.
"Fuck." Ellis hissed and drove into her again hard, his free hand circling her clit. "You're taking me so beautifully," he praised her, thrusting deep, again and again, building Rosemary up until she was shaking, twisting, no longer in control of her limbs or her speech, crying out as she clenched and came. She heard Ellis whispering, "Like that, good girl, come for me," and felt the roughness of his stubble as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the breasts, and the wave brought her down.
"You're so beautiful," Ellis said, looking down at Rosemary. Her brain warped at how he could say something so lovely, so endearingly romantic, yet continue to buck his hips, his cock driving into her.
"So are you." She reached up to run a finger through his dark hair, tracing the silver scar on his forehead. She was learning what Ellis liked, and when she scratched the nape of his neck with her nails, he bucked suddenly, fucking her faster.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Love at First Fright

“She'd give him what he needed. Her limbs were jelly as Ellis pivoted her on the bed, looping her thighs over his so she could ride him.
"Good girl, ride it, ride my cock," he growled out, his hips punching to meet hers. She wound her arms around his neck, their panting breaths mingling, their bodies as close as possible. The only time Ellis's mouth left hers was when he bent down to suck her nipples, twirling his tongue around them until Rosemary felt the heat building in her core again. She was helpless to avoid it, this onslaught of pleasure. Her thoughts ebbed away, and she wasn't;t sure if she was moaning or whispering or screaming Ellis's name. Every touch rippled into a wave of pleasure, every vicious jerk of his cock inside her, every stroke of his fingers circling her clit had her floating away. It was heady, dizzying. She let herself go, knowing that she was safe, knowing that when this was all over, Ellis would bring her back down to Earth.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Love at First Fright

“His hoarsely whispered encouragements sent me straight to my cresting, gasping release and I came with a shout and an indescribable burst of pleasure. My body pulsed once, then again and again, the power I kept tucked away racing down my spine and bursting out of me with every sharp thrust of his hips. Peter groaned brokenly, and then he howled, his body as taut as a bowstring beneath me as the energy rippling from my body wrapped around us both. It pulled him more deeply inside me, stroking him, recognizing him as the source of my pleasure and reciprocating in kind. I was distantly aware of a large gust of wind buffeting the room, of lamps being knocked off end tables and wineglasses shattering, but I didn't care. All that mattered was our bodies writhing together and our mutual, all-consuming pleasure.”
― Jenna Levine, Road Trip With a Vampire

“A hoarse cry, and then his teeth were in my neck, the puncture wounds from his canines the most excruciating kind of pleasure-pain I'd ever known. This, right here, was why people were so obsessed with vampires. Why they wrote countless stories about them. Why they fantasized about taking vampires as lovers. Every long pull of blood Peter took from me sent screaming pleasure sizzling down my veins, through my blood, between my legs. My eyes went wide, unseeing, as I came a second time, even harder than the first.
Peter came unglued beneath me, snarling now as he drank, and fucked, and drank.”
― Jenna Levine, Road Trip With a Vampire

“I hardly recognized the sound that escaped me when his cock slid home. It was raw, primal, and my back bowed off the bed, body arching up, up, up against his as I urged him on. It was like we had never been apart when he began moving, his body pistoning into mine with so much pent-up desire, the force of it knocked my head against the headboard. I didn't care; the small blossom of pain just ratcheted up my pleasure, made me want him to go a little harder, a little rougher. I gripped his ass in both hands and dug the sharp points of my nails into him as he moved and swore above me, coaxing him forward, willing him to never stop.
"You feel... so fucking good," he gritted out. The tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief as he strained above me, his dark eyes cloudy with desire as he fought to maintain eye contact.”
― Jenna Levine, Road Trip With a Vampire

“He reared up, pulling one of my legs over his hip, changing the angle, driving deeper, harder. I tangled one hand in his hair and reached up with the other to touch the side of my neck, tracing my fingertips teasingly over the spot I knew he wanted.
His eyes darkened, narrowing on the place where I was touching myself.
His nostrils flared.
"You can bite me," I said.
His thrusts sped up, became erratic. "Zelda---" he begged.
"I want you to."
He made one last incoherent keening sound---
-- a moment before he reared back and sank his teeth deeper into my neck.
My senses exploded into infinite points of brilliant light. I felt my scream more than heard it, the venom that was already slipping through my bloodstream amplifying my pleasure a thousandfold. There were no words to describe the ecstasy that flooded my senses, and I came instantly, and then a second time before I'd even stopped convulsing. I heard Peter's distant moans, felt his thrusts quicken and become even more erratic as my bliss stretched on and on. I was gasping, mindless as Peter grunted and suckled at the wounds his teeth made in my neck, his rough hands digging into my hips so hard bruises already blossomed beneath his fingertips.
"Peter," I managed as I reached up and pressed at the back of his head, encouraging him to drink more.
A moment later every muscle in his body locked up tight, even as his mouth stayed latched on my neck. His release pulsed inside me in time with the movement of his tongue, and gods-dammit, I came a third time, our bodies a tangle of scrabbling hands and limbs as we succumbed to the pleasure coursing through us both.”
― Jenna Levine, Road Trip With a Vampire

“Jaime climbed up onto the bar and gave himself an even sweeter taste than anything he had sampled in the bar.
Her.
He kissed down her body, lavishing attention on her belly until he reached her panties. She let out a deep moan when he pressed kisses over the delicate lace, which was already wet. He pulled them off and stopped to stare at her beautiful pussy. Her skin was tan and soft, and her hair was waxed into a perfect landing strip.
He planted kisses on her thighs, inhaling her sweet scent, teasing her for as long as he could hold himself back. Then, spreading her legs wide, he licked her, and she gasped. God, she tasted as sweet as he remembered, like pure honey. He licked her like she was an oasis in the desert, like she was the first woman he'd ever had the pleasure to be with, like she was the last woman he would ever taste.
"Oh, Jaime. That feels so amazing, baby."
She ran her fingers through his hair as he devoured her, her scent making him high. After all these years, she still tasted the same, the one taste that he was addicted to. Jaime loved eating her pussy, making her feel good, watching her react to his tongue and knowing how much she loved it.
He cupped her beautiful ass cheeks in his hands as he ate her for all he was worth, sucking on her clit, changing his rhythm to see what she liked.
Her breath came in spurts, and Jaime knew she was close. He reached up and pinched her nipples as he kept his mouth on her pussy. He slowly inserted his finger deep inside, and she gasped. She started thrashing on the bar, but he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped onto his back.
"Come here, baby, and sit on my face."
"What?" She put her hand over her chest. "I... we've never---"
"There's a first time for everything."
She gave him a devilish smile but quickly obliged and straddled his mouth.
Jaime was in heaven with the beautiful view of her breasts and the taste of her pussy on his lips.
This was so fucking hot. She placed her hands on the sides of the bar and rocked back and forth, all over his tongue. Her moans got louder and louder, and he didn't care if the tenants in the nearby restaurant or the community patrol heard her.
He gripped her ass and sucked her clit.
"Oh, oh my God... oh, baby."
Her body constricted as she let out a breathy moan before coming in his mouth. He lapped up every sweet drop. He couldn't get enough.”
― Alana Albertson, My Fair Señor

“His tongue gave a long, slow lick down her center, drawing a low, throaty moan from her throat. He teased her, tasting her without focusing where she needed him and making her squirm. When his tongue found her clit, her body arched off the bed, and she felt him smile against her.
He pressed his finger inside of her and she moaned. The dual sensation of being penetrated while his mouth worked her pussy was so intense. So incredible. Back in college, their lovemaking had been so sweet, almost innocent. They had discovered what they liked together, especially Alma, who had been a virgin. But now, Jaime seemed to have all the moves. She pushed the thoughts of him being with other women out of her head.
He was with her now--- no one else.
And he said he loved her.
His mouth focused on her, and the pleasure came in waves. She couldn't hold back and came so hard all over his mouth. He lapped her up.
But she wasn't done. She wanted more. Another round.
He sat back agains the headboard, pulled her onto his lap as he guided her onto his cock. Gripping her hips, he slowly urged her to lower onto him, until he was fully inside her.
"Oh, Jaime, baby. Make me come again," she said, her voice breathy.
His mouth went to work on her nipples as she rode him, rubbing her clit on his crotch, his huge cock filling her. It wasn't long before they were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, their breaths short pants of lust and need.”
― Alana Albertson, My Fair Señor