“Come inside me,” she yelled. “Come inside me right now!”
Richard lifted off her and she whimpered in frustration. Nothing happened for several seconds. Then she heard the rip of a condom wrapper. The bed shifted with his weight as he rejoined her and Angela lifted blind arms to him. He was above her now and Angela braced herself for a hard swift, almost brutal thrust. Instead he lowered himself slowly and his fingers teased open her portals. Then the tip of him touched her. Her orgasm came with the touch, so fast there was no buildup, no warning. So violent her hips thrust up and pulled him inside her with all the swiftness she had expected from him.
His pumping began immediately, matching then leading the throbbing of her lingering climax. She came again as he pumped and her fingers gouged into his shoulders and her heels pressed into his hips and held him fast from above. The orgasm jarred their emerging rhythm and when it resumed it was faster, more urgent. Noises arose from Angela’s chest and reverberated in the air over the bed. Her ululation mingled with Richard’s grunts and the sweat from their straining bodies slapped and slurped, adding to the cacophony.
Richard’s organ grew again inside Angela and she knew in a primal knowing that he was near orgasm. She undulated with his rhythm and clenched him with her muscles. She coached and guided and spurred and whipped them both toward the approaching peak until they were pounding past reckoning, past thought and reason. They leapt together off the cliff toward nothing, toward everything, toward each other.
Then she was crying, not gentle ladylike tears but great gusting sobs that welled from her chest and burst from lips and eyes. Richard held her tight, his chest heaving, his face buried in her shoulder. Still the sobs pressed up and out of Angela’s lungs, out of her heart. Sobs for the aimless underachieving older twin, the beautiful disappointment, the prostitute who hated herself, the swindler, the thief.
“I love you.”
The words reached her ear in a thread. She didn’t believe them.
“I love you,” Richard repeated. “I love Angela Trout.”
Slowly Angela’s sobs lost their intensity. She cried now for letting go of the past, for the strength to embrace an uncertain future. She remembered her words to Richard in the restaurant. The past was the past. He had succeeded. He would help her. It was time to let go.
“I love you,” Richard reminded her again.
Angela scrubbed her eyes open with the back of her hand. Her nose was dripping, her hair drenched in sweat, her eyes puffed almost to slits. She had never looked worse. She looked into Richard’s eyes and smiled.
“I love you, too.”
-
Another big one has bitten the dust, ladies, as Vancouver’s most reclusive bachelor millionaire was seen yesterday with a ring on his finger, or was that through his nose? In a private ceremony, an ebullient Jimmy Buko wed the eye—catching Agnes Trout of Auburn, Alabama.
Word is Buko has decided to endow the library of the new University of the Fraser Valley, and his wife of three days, a former librarian, will supervise the design of the building and the acquisition of the holdings. The new library…
Gordon and Mary Trout of Auburn, Alabama, are pleased to announce the marriage of his daughter Dr. Angela Beth Trout to Richard James Urbano of Vancouver. The bride recently received her Ph.D. in art history from the University of British Columbia. The couple left for an extended honeymoon…
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Erotic romances by Carole Remy
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Amazon review: “Awesome, sexy, and entertaining. This hidden gem of a book makes me want to read more of Carole Remy’s work. I could not put it down!”
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Amazon review: “There is real craft here, a real story… As fine a piece of erotica as I’ve read.”
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Dear Reader, Unlike my other novels, Ophélie is not a sexy fun romantic adventure. Ophélie dives beneath the surface into a dark, engrossing world of self-destructive sexual obsession.
Have you ever had an erotic dream so real, you weren’t sure whether you’d actually fucked or not? As her mind falters, Ophélie gradually succumbs to the seductive allure of a world of forbidden, humiliating, undeniable pain and pleasure. If you have ever been sexually obsessed, if you’ve ever wondered whether you’d make it out, Ophélie’s story will resonate and linger.
Dear Reader: Unlike my other novels, Marie Hélène is not a sexy fun romantic adventure.
From cruelly twisted SM to the intense pleasures of Tantric sex, this second book of the Ophélie trilogy has it all. From a college town to Liège to Darjeeling, Ophélie, now calling herself Marie Hélèn, journeys on an often dangerous voyage of erotic self-discovery.
Praise for Carole Remy’s Erotic Romance Novels
“Awesome, sexy, and entertaining… This hidden gem of a book makes me want to read more of Carole Remy’s work. I could not put it down.”
“There is real craft here, a real story… As fine a piece of erotica as I’ve read.”
Copyright
Twelve Nights
Illustrations at Pinterest.com/caroleremybooks/
Copyright ©2001 by Carole Remy
Copyright ©2013 by Carole Remy
Cover photo © by Olga Ekaterincheva. Used under license from Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Marissa Lepe Preciado