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Best Seller Erotica (18+ only!) : PART 2

I am a neo expressionist.
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Here I will present you one best seller erotica of all time. But be cautious! If you are not above 18 years old then skip this…



Just One Night

 Lexi Ryan




Chapter One


Only one woman could make Chase Montgomery consider getting naked and horizontal in a choir loft. From the moment Addison Duval stepped out of her custom-painted hot pink Corvette and onto the steps of the Decadence Creek Township Baptist Church, he could think of little else.

The woman had the gravitational pull of the sun and was just as hot.

And just as lethal.

He made it through the wedding and as far as the reception without submitting to the urge to pin her up against the nearest wall, to feel those curves pressed against him, to take that mouth.

Once, those full, pouty lips had begged him for everything he wanted to do to her.

Because he was a man, he’d wanted to take her up on her offer. Because he was ten years her senior and a fucking masochist, he’d refused.

Chase stood at the bar with three of Addison’s four older brothers while the fourth made the rounds with his new wife. Dinner was over, liquor was flowing, and dancing was in full swing.

“My sister’s back in town,” Jake, the oldest Duval brother, said, nodding to Addison across the dance floor.

Chase raised a brow at his friend. “I saw that,” he said, thinking, a couple hours ago.

The doors of the Duvals’ repurposed barn sat open, allowing in the late May breeze. A crap-ton of lights and white fluffy shit hung from the rafters. Despite the couple’s insistence that they wanted a casual affair, Mrs. Duval had brought in every white flower in the tri-state area, contracted some five-star Louisville catering service, and hired all the staff from out of town so the locals could attend the Decadence Creek event of the year.

“I wish she’d stick around for awhile,” Kaleb Duval grumbled. “Get mom off our backs.”

Alex, Kaleb’s twin, grinned. “She just wants us to ‘Find nice girls who can have my grandbabies,’” he said in a said in a falsetto imitation of his mom.

Chase peeled his eyes off Addison’s fuckme heels—he couldn’t be sure from this distance, but he would bet they were red. Red fuckme heels and miles of leg.

He clenched his hands, itching to touch. To strip her down to nothing but those shoes and explore every inch of her. And when his hands were satisfied, he’d start over again. With his mouth. With his tongue.

If the men around him knew the thoughts he was having about their baby sister, they’d pulverize him. Only reason he was still standing here tonight was that he’d never acted on his fantasies—a feat that felt more than a little superhuman tonight.

Addison’s laughter floated on the breeze and her face lit up with a smile. Shit. Red heels and legs he could resist, but that smile—

He was toast.

“God, that’d be great,” Jake said. “If Addy stuck around she’d inevitably start dating someone completely inappropriate.”

Kaleb laughed. “Like a Buddhist monk under a vow of celibacy.”

“Or an ‘adult cinema’ producer who likes to tell mom about Addy’s ‘untapped potential,’” Alex chimed in.

Or me, Chase thought.

“Mom would be so preoccupied we might get some peace,” Jake said.

Chase dragged his attention from Addison and looked at her brothers. “She’s not a kid anymore,” he pointed out, wishing the words felt more like the truth. Twenty-three was still way too young in his mind. “Shouldn’t much matter who she’s dating these days.”

The men burst into laughter, as if Chase had just cracked a genius one-liner.

“It will always matter to our father,” Jake said.

“I’m sure,” Chase muttered.

Addison’s father, Richard Duval, was Chase’s boss. Five years ago, Richard had given an ex-con a chance when he’d hired Chase to hone and build custom world-class muscle cars and sell them at a tidy profit. When you owed your life to your boss and had your dream job, it’d be one dumbass move to give it all up for a piece of ass.

Only Addison wasn’t just a piece of ass. Never had been. Not to Chase.

“How nice that Addison made it back for the wedding,” Emily Wright said, joining Chase and the brothers at the bar.

“Real nice,” Chase muttered, taking in Addison’s legs, her just-soft-enough thighs.

“Didn’t your mama teach you it’s not polite to escort one lady to a wedding and make eyes at another?” Emily asked him.

“Make eyes at who?” Jake punched Chase in the arm. “That’s my baby sister. Stop staring.”

Chase rubbed his bicep but didn’t bother taking his eyes off Addison. Addy. Sweet, young, smart, and so-fucking-sexy Addy.

As if sensing him, Addison turned and their eyes locked.

Her hair, the color of dark, rich honey, fell past her shoulders in fat curls, brushing over her bare skin. Her black dress hugged her curves and ended just low enough that her ass didn’t show, just high enough to make Chase have to work real hard not to think about the next few inches north.

In the two years since she’d picked up and left for Paris, Chase hadn’t forgotten her, hadn’t forgiven her, and hadn’t stopped wanting her.

Fuck, but he wasn’t prepared for this.

He pushed away from the wall. He needed some air.

He wove through the crowd, beer in hand. Before he realized what he’d done, he found himself five yards from Addison.

Gravitational pull of the sun, he reminded himself.

He stood rooted in place, unwilling to take a step closer, unable to take a step back.

She caught sight of him and treated him to a grin, the kind that changed her whole face and lit up the room like a thousand-watt bulb.

He wanted to kiss her so damn badly, his mouth went dry.

She smiled and gave a little wave.

Chase didn’t wave back but nodded toward the exit.

If you’re going to burn, might as well go down smiling.


 Read More »Best Seller Erotica (18+ only!) : PART 2

Yet Another Adult Erotica

I am a neo expressionist.
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Well, yet another erotica!


Sisters in Love

Snow Sisters, Book One

Love in Bloom Series

Melissa Foster





Chapter One

The line in the café went all the way to the door. Danica Snow wished she hadn’t taken her sister Kaylie’s phone call before getting her morning coffee. Living in an overcrowded tourist town could be a major inconvenience, but Danica loved that she could walk from her condo to her office, see a movie, have dinner, or even stop at a bookstore without ever sitting in a car. Every minute counted when you lived in Allure, Colorado, host to an odd mix of hippie and yuppie tourists in equal numbers. The ski slopes brought them in the winter, while art shows drew them in the summer. There was never a break. Every suit and Rasta child in town was standing right in front of her, waiting for their coffee or latte, and the guy ahead of her had shoulders so wide she couldn’t easily see around him. Danica tapped the toe of her efficient and comfortable Nine West heels, growing more impatient by the second.

What on earth was taking so long? In seven minutes they’d served only one person. The tables were pushed so close to the people standing in line that she couldn’t step to the side to see. She was gridlocked. Danica leaned to the right and peered around the massive shoulder ahead of her just as the owner of that shoulder turned to look out the door. Whack! He elbowed her right in the nose, knocking Danica’s head back.

Her hand flew to her bloody nose. “Ow! Geez!” She ducked in pain, covering her face and talking through her hands. “I think you broke my nose.” Each word sent pain across her nose and below her eyes.

“I’m so sorry. Let me get you a napkin,” a deep, worried voice said.

Two patrons rushed over and shoved napkins in her direction.

“Are you okay?” an older woman asked.

Tears sprang from the corners of Danica’s closed eyes. Damn it. Her entire day would now run late and she probably looked like a red-nosed, crying idiot. “This hurts so bad. Weren’t you looking where—” Danica flipped her unruly, brown hair from her face and opened her eyes. Her venom-filled glare locked on the man who had elbowed her—the most beautiful specimen of a human being she had ever seen. Oh shit. “I’m…What…?” Come on, girl. Get it together. He’s probably an egomaniac.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice was rich and smooth, laden with concern.

A thin blonde grabbed his arm and shoved a napkin into his hand. “Give this to her,” she said, blinking her eyelashes in a come-hither way.

The man held the woman’s hand a beat too long. “Thanks,” he said. His eyes trailed down the blonde’s blouse.

Really? I’m bleeding over here.

He turned toward Danica and handed her the napkin. His eyes were green and yellow, like field grass. His eyebrows drew together in a serious gaze, and Danica thought that maybe she’d been too quick to judge—until he stole a glance at the blonde as she walked out of the café.

Asshole. She felt the heat of anger spread up her chest and neck, along her cheeks, to the ridge of her high cheekbones. She snagged the napkin from his hand and wiped her throbbing nose. “It’s okay. I’m fine,” she lied. She could smell the minty freshness of his breath, and she wondered what it might taste like. Danica was not one to swoon—that was Kaylie’s job. Get a grip.

“Can I at least buy you a coffee?” He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair.

Yes! “No, thank you. It’s okay.” She had been a therapist long enough to know what kind of guy eyes another girl while she was tending to a bloody nose that he had caused. Danica fumbled for her purse, which she’d dropped when she was hit. She lowered her eyes to avoid looking into his. “I’m fine, really. Just look behind you next time.” Not for the first time, Danica wished she had Kaylie’s flirting skills and her ability to look past his wandering eyes. She would have had him buying her coffee, a Danish, and breakfast the next morning.

Danica was so confused, she wasn’t even sure what she wanted. She chanced another glance up at him. He was looking at her features so intently that she felt as though he were drinking her in, memorizing her. His eyes trailed slowly from hers, lowered to her nose, to her lips, and then settled on the beauty mark that she’d been self-conscious of her entire life. She felt like a Cindy Crawford wannabe. Danica pursed her lips. “Are you done?” she asked.

He blinked with the innocence of a young boy, clueless to her annoyance, which was in stark contrast to his confident, manly presence. He stood almost a foot taller than Danica’s impressive five foot seven stature. His chest muscles bulged beneath his way-too-small shirt, dark curls poking through the neckline. He probably bought it that way on purpose. She glanced down and tried not to notice his muscular thighs straining against his stonewashed denim jeans. Danica swallowed hard. All the air suddenly left her lungs. He was touching her shoulder, squinting, evaluating her face.

“I’m sorry. I was just making sure it didn’t look broken, which it doesn’t. I’m sure it’s painful.”

She couldn’t think past the heat of his hand, the breadth of it engulfing her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she managed, hating herself for being lost in his touch when he was clearly someone who ate women for breakfast. She checked her watch. She had three minutes to get her coffee and get back to her office before her next client showed up. Belinda. She’d love this guy.

The line progressed, and Adonis waved as he left the café. Danica reached into her purse to pay for her French vanilla coffee and found herself taking a last glance at him as he passed the front window.

The young barista pushed Danica’s money away. “No need, hon. Blake paid for yours.” She smiled, lifting her eyebrows.

“He did?” Blake.

“Yeah, he’s really sweet.” The barista leaned over the cash register. “Even if he is a player.”

Aha! I knew it. Danica thrust her shoulders back, feeling smart for resisting temptation.

Read More »Yet Another Adult Erotica

Best Seller Erotica (18+ only!) : PART 1

I am a neo expressionist.
Guest Blogger
Latest posts by Guest Blogger (see all)

Here I will present you two best seller erotica of all time. But be cautious! If you are not above 18 years old skip this…


Diamond in the Rough

A.A. King






Chapter One


The phone rang shrilly, cutting through the night like a hot knife through butter.  Just hours before, Brian Russell had been wasting away another night watching television and drinking whiskey.  Most nights were spent like this for the thirty six year old detective.  He was married to his work and had no time for the finer things in life. 

What the fuck? He complained to no one in particular.  Many a good night’s sleep had been interrupted by his career.

Pushing the covers roughly from his body, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and snatched the ringing phone from its cradle, “Russell.”  He growled into the receiver.

“I will be there in thirty…tape off the scene and don’t let anyone in.” He ordered.

Brian rubbed his eyes and blinked furiously, trying to clear the feeling that they were full of sand.  He threw on his clothes and grabbed a soda out of the fridge before leaving for the crime scene. 

The night air was cool and Brian rolled down both windows of his truck and enjoyed the cool air on his skin.  It helped to wake up the still sleepy detective.  Coffee was what he really needed but he knew that it would be a while before he could get a cup. 

            The scene was littered with people in uniforms walking around trying to look busy.  The media had gathered outside the doors of the stately office complex and Brian had to push his way past them to enter the building.  Microphones were thrust into his face as reporters shouted out questions that he didn’t yet know the answers to.  Brian forced his way through the crowd and walked through the double door as he flashed his badge to the officer guarding the entrance.     “Keep them out!” He demanded as he pointed backward with his thumb.  There was no question that the young rookie knew what he was talking about and nodded as he squared his shoulders toward the entrance.

              “Jones, tell me what we have here.” Brian barked at the sergeant standing behind the yellow tape.

A white male in his late sixties who appeared to be working late.  There does not seem to be much evidence around here but the scene is all yours.  I am happy to not have to babysit the tape anymore.” 

              “Thanks Jones.  Can you see if you can find me a cup of coffee around here anywhere?”

              Russell ducked under the tape and walked through the door of the office.  On the door was a name tag for Charles Wingate. 

              Goddamn, this is going to be huge, Brian thought to himself.  Charles Wingate was the owner and patriarch of Wingate Drilling which happened to be one of the largest independent drilling companies in the South.  He was a millionaire several times over and that tended to complicate things. 

              Brian Russell’s brows furrowed together as he contemplated what lay ahead of him.  Any murder brought upheaval into the lives of the detectives investigating them, but the murder of someone wealthy added a whole different twist on an already difficult situation.  Everyone who knew the victim became a suspect because everyone had a common motive; money.

              “Jones, where’s my coffee?” Brian called out.  The sergeant walked briskly toward the detective with a Styrofoam cup in his hand.  Brian reached for it as steam billowed from the top of the cup.  Putting it to his lips, he took a sip and quickly pulled the cup from his lips.  It had burned him but was worth it considering how badly he needed the hot liquid. 

              “Have you found anything of use so far?” Sergeant Jones questioned.

              “I have not walked past the door yet.  The name on the entry caught my attention and I knew that this wasn’t going to be cut and dried.  We are going to need a photographer and finger print specialist in here ASAP.  This is going to be huge and we need to make sure that all of our I’s are dotted and our T’s are crossed.”

              “I can get a print specialist in here now and I will get my camera and be with you in a minute.”

              “Sounds good Jones.  Let’s get cracking so we can get this scene wrapped up before employees start coming in for work.”

              After finishing his cup of coffee, Brian walked into the office.  Aside from the desk, everything in the office looked pristine.  Nothing seemed out of place.  The desk was a different story.  A silver haired man lay with his head on it and a pool of blood soaking the papers underneath.  The desk looked to be very expensive.  Made of mahogany, it had ornate carvings running the length of the legs.  Blood had soaked them, but Brian could tell that they were very detailed.  Sergeant Jones followed behind him, snapping photographs when Brian pointed out something of interest.  The filing cabinet was opened and much of its contents spilled onto the ground.  A coffee cup was on the desk along with a crystal tumbler of brown liquid.

              “Where is the finger print technician?”  Brian said as he turned to Jones.

              “I am right here.” Chirped a mousy haired woman who looked to be no more than twenty.

              How did she get a job here?  She is just a kid!  She appeared to be far too excited to be at a murder scene for the detectives taste but he could not control who the lab sent over.

              “Please lift prints from the filing cabinet first and then try to pull some from the crystal tumbler.  Also, Jones, please make sure that the contents of the coffee pot, the cub and the tumbler to the lab for testing.”

              After walking through the remainder of the office building, Brian decided that the scene was contained to the office of Charles Wingate.  He waited until the coroner removed the body and ordered the scene to be cleaned up.  The employees would be getting there in the next two hours and Detective Brian Russell wanted to be prepared for their arrival.



Read More »Best Seller Erotica (18+ only!) : PART 1