Rococo — Ann Vremont

Rococo is an erotic collection (also available as singles) from the final days before the French Revolution. The entries reveal the hidden lives of several of France's well-born daughters -- Beatrice, a willful noblewoman in lust with her mother's groom; Gabrielle, a virgin who surrenders to a masked lover; Lucille, a brazen temptress playing the repentant sinner; Veronique, a master manipulator betrayed by her own desires; and, connecting them all, Candacis -- one third of a forbidden love triangle.

Collected length: 63,000+

Excerpt from Gabrielle (view singles for other excerpts or visit annvremont.blogspot.com)

“Will it hurt?” I asked, some part of me hoping that it would. I wanted to walk around in the morning sore from Sebastian's love of me.

He did not answer, choosing instead to kneel in front of my wide-spread legs. My lower lips were covered with a rich moisture that had built while he kissed and touched me. He ran the tips of his fingers through it before inserting them once again inside my center. As his fingers moved within me, his thumb ran over that distended bump of flesh that so thrilled at his ministrations. I brought my forearm across my face and bit at the soft flesh lest I cry out and reveal our lovemaking.

As he brought my desire to a high pitch that had me thrashing on the couch, I felt the stretch of his fingers inside me then their full thrust as my body broke against a wave of ecstasy. When the waves subsided, he withdrew halfway, his fingers wedging open the swollen gate of my sex as he positioned his manhood at the threshold.

I felt myself expanding as he pushed in. So greedy my body for his rod, the muscles snapped shut around him and he moaned my name. His hands found my thighs and he began pumping. Already, my body quivered against his. I heatedly demanded more -- more of his thick shaft, more of the sensuous flesh he offered up to appease my hunger, more, more, more.

Fragile in our lust, we trembled against one another as he pumped my body.

I marveled at his strength, at the virility of his thrusts. I was more enthralled with him than I had ever been. Having loved him at such a distance, I had never noticed these unexpected charms. Where I had imagined him slighter to the touch, he was solid and thick. Where I had imagined every inch of his skin to be petal soft, he was rough in all the right places.

“Gabrielle, I die happy now,” he softly cried out, his voice breaking as he spoke my name.