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At last, available in one collection, the works of Amelie.In this volume are 4 rich, diverse and substantial stories to satisfy the adult appetite.There's romance, escapism, passion and raw sex in spades.EROTICA - Browsing through the pages of an erotic novel opens doors to fantasies that Rachel finds impossible to control. It's not long before she has to find out for herself if such pleasures can really be found.Set in London and Paris, this is indeed a tale of two cities.CANDY SKIN - After a successful first term at University, Skye can't wait to get home to Edinburgh for Christmas.She's dying to get back together with her hot boyfriend Craig and is looking forward to some fireworks when they do. Thankfully, she's not about to be disappointed.The thing is, Craig's father has some ideas for fireworks of his own and offering Skye a vacation job in his sweet shop is only the beginning of a path that he hopes will lead to a sugary heaven.A huge story told in 5000 words.LOVE GAMES - Lesley has finally graduated from the school of love games.As she lies in her bed in a rosy after-glow, she thinks back through all the stages of love-play that have helped to take her to this new high.Another super-sensual story from Amelie, translated by Earl Mantiss-Grey and a huge tale told in 7000 words.HEN NIGHTS - Penny's hen night has been making her nervous. What if things get out of control?Maybe it will all be OK, after all, she has the maid-of-honour to look after her.Unfortunately, the maid-of-honour gets the hots for the limo driver before the evening is even properly underway and it seems unlikely that the evening is gonig to be one for forgetting.When a couple of the girls out for Penny's henny sneak off to the cloakrooms to explore each other and an ecstassy tab is slipped to Penny in the guise of a headache tablet the night turns wild.Please be aware, if you're not familiar with Amelie's work, that it holds explicit sexual content and is therefore for adult eyes only.xxx

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Erotic literature

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Publié par	e-ROTICA
Date de parution	21 juin 2013
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781310913174
Langue	English

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Erotica (the collected works of Amelie)

by Amelie

Published by e-ROTICA, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

EROTICA (THE COLLECTED WORKS OF AMELIE)

First edition. June 21, 2013.
Copyright 2013 Amelie.

ISBN: 978-1310913174

Written by Amelie.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Erotica
Candy Skin | for my man
Love Games | for the way things have been
Hen Nights | for the men and women in my life

for Pleasure
Erotica
forFabienne
andGuy De Maupassant
T welve months we d been trying and no luck.
Mike came back from the garage at lunchtimeas promised. He hadn t cleaned up and I could see there was still oil underhis fingernails. Not that it mattered. Foreplay was something he left for thegolf course when he went out with his mates for the Sunday escape.
I was already in bed waiting.
Everything was right. My temperature was upand it fitted in with the chart the doctor had given us.
I had the pillow under my hips and theelectric blanket was keeping me warm.
Mike didn t say a word when he undressed. He hated it when I was ovulating. The pressure was getting to him, I knewthat.
First of all he couldn t get it up. It wasalways like that these days.
I had to give his cock a suck to see if Icould bring out the giant I knew was lurking there, but there was nothing.
Mike blew air from his nostrils like adragon unable to produce flames. He pushed my head away and picked up the bookfrom his bedside table.
Erotica it was called. There was apicture of a woman s mouth on the front with a cherry teasing her lips.
It s what he had to do to get a hard on.
He read holding the book with one hand andrubbing himself with the other until the job was done.
When he was ready he put the book down andthrust inside me.
I ve never lost the pleasure of feeling himthere. It s like he s reaching into my stomach he s so huge. But it s not thesame. Not like it used to be. He grunts, moves back and forwards and neverbothers to kiss me. He pushes harder and faster and just before he comes hegives out a moan like he s in pain. He squirts and rolls off me then lies backlike a beached whale.
So his job's done.
He lit up a cigarette and stared at theceiling.
With the pillow under my hips, I sank downinto the mattress and let gravity take his sperm down to meet my egg. That sif there was any sperm.
Mike looked at me and seemed to read mydoubts.
We d talked about it. About him going tothe doctor. It just made him cross.
I reached over and touched his hand.
It ll be all right this time, you ll see.
Yeah,right. He pushed my hand away andthrew the duvet to my side. You know, it would be easier if you were more likeCrystal. He reached over and lifted his book, then held it up to me like itwas the bible and he was some kind of preacher. Crystal likes sex. Delights init. She s a real woman. Why the hell didn t I marry a real woman. There wasso much bitterness in the way he said it that the tears were rolling down mycheeks before his words were finished.
I watched him as he picked up his overallsand left the bedroom slamming the door shut.
It took me a few hours to pull myself backtogether.
I d stayed in bed to help that sperm. There was no point standing and letting all that work go to waste.
Some women, mothers, say that they can tellthe moment of conception as if there s been a tiny kick inside them orsomething. I couldn t feel a thing.
I cried some more and fell asleep.
When I woke up, the light was alreadyfading outside.
I switched on the lamp and looked at thebook Mike had unceremoniously dumped on his side of the bed.
Erotica.
I wasn t even sure what that meant.
Maybe, I thought, if I read a little andbecame a little more like this Crystal character...
page 53
EROTICA - Paris: Day 3
Paris is all I thought it would be andmore.
Today I wandered through the streetssoaking it all in.
Everyone s so beautiful.
The men come in all shapes and sizes, butno matter what they re either handsome or rugged. Each one of them looks likethey know how to treat a lady.
The women are beautiful. All of them. Even the old dears who wander with their tiny dogs for company.
It s the younger ones I love. They re soelegant. Their summer dresses flow off their bodies and suggest untoldtreasures lying beneath. Their skirts flow like silk as they walk. And it s notlike home. Nobody under the age of forty is fat. Not even plump. I m going ona diet soon as my feet hit American soil. But not yet.
By the time I d got to the top of the stepsof the Sacre Coeur I didn t feel like going inside the church. Instead I justlooked at the city unfolding below. I imagined all the heated conversationsgoing on behind closed doors and all the love making that was taking place below.A little electric shock flickered through my stomach as I imagined that,followed by pangs of hunger.
The smells of aromatic tobacco smoke,frying butter, musty wine and seafood teased my appetite.
I wandered through the square with my mouthwatering.
The place was packed with easels andartists and tourists just like me.
Everyone was taking their time, no matterwhat they were doing.
The cafes were filling up for service and Ichecked them all out until I found a price to fit my budget.
As soon as I sat, the waiter arrived.
He had on a maroon waistcoat with an old,leather money belt around his hips.
Madame?
The way the word rolled from his tonguemade me want to join the lovers of the city. I squeezed my knees together andordered a glass of Sancerre.
When he turned to go to get the order, Imust have dropped my bag because there was a man looking up at me holding itout to me.
Maybe I think this is yours.
Oh my God.
He was gorgeous.
His hair was long and midnight black. Itwas pulled tight to his head and was tied back into a ponytail.
His brown eyes shone like pebbles againsthis perfectly tanned skin and the open buttons of his shirt revealed a chestthat was covered in rugged curls of hair.
I can t have said anything because he wastalking again.
I think you may have dropped your bag. The lilt of a soft French accent softened the deep tones of his voice.
Yes. Yes it s mine.
He handed the bag over and I took it, thenhe pulled back the chair opposite me and gestured towards it. Would you mindif I joined you?
Mind? A sexy Frenchman in Montmartrewanting to sit with me? Hell no.
And that was the beginning of the mostwonderful holiday of my life. The most wonderful week I m ever likely to live.
We shared a dinner of mussels cooked. Nibbled our way through cheeses. Sipped through two bottles of the crisp, coolSancerre until the world seemed to roll back in time.
As the waiter went to pick up our bill, theman reached out to me.
I felt his strong, warm fingers at mythroat as he lifted the necklace from my skin.
Your jewellery is wonderful. Are theyreal?
I hadn t worn my pearl necklace for a longtime. Not since Errol died. I don t know why I d even put it in the suitcase,but there I was in Paris with a man admiring them from across a table.
Do you know, I m not actually sure. Ofcourse they probably were. Errol wasn t in the habit of buying anything butthe best.
There s an easy way to tell. May I? Helifted my hair and reached behind me with both hands. If I hadn t known better,I might have been worried that he was going to strangle me. Or steal myjewels.
As he unclasped the necklace his chest cameclose to mine. I wanted to bury my face in that forest of hair. Wanted to keepthat raw, masculine scent of his in my nostrils for as long as I could manage.The moment was over far too quickly and he had the necklace in his hand.
If you rub the pearls against your teeth,you can tell. Like this. He opened his mouth and I could see the perfectsoftness of his moist tongue hiding. I wanted it on me. Imagined it caressingme. Crossed my legs tight to stop the buzz between my legs.
He rubbed the pearls on the top of hisslightly crooked teeth.
See. It s easy. You try.
He gestured and I leaned forward.
He held out the necklace and I parted mylips. The moment was tender and I was worried he might notice me trembling.
He placed his left hand on my thigh tosteady himself and rubbed the pearls against my teeth. I thought I might faintright there and then.
You see, fake pearls are smooth. Can youfeel the roughness of them as I rub them against you? No? These are as naturalas fucking and eating.
And he was right. I could feel theroughness of their texture and knew I had the real deal.
When that waiter returned with the bill, helooked twice as handsome as the first time I d seen him. God, he was hot. Andso was I!
My new friend nonchalantly passed over somemoney to the waiter as the two passed some pleasantries that could easily havebeen mistaken for birdsong.
Exquisite. I was referring to what hadjust been. To his hands. To the bulge in his trousers. I don t think heguessed.
For us in France, a pearl necklace canmean many things, he said.
And to us in the States, too, I told himand wondered if he felt like giving me a pearl necklace, preferably within thefollowing half an hour.
From then on, the day was perfect.
As we wandered between the artists on thesquare, he grabbed my wrist. Firmly.
Sat me down in front on an easel and askedthe man to sketch. The artist looked old, as if he d been there since the daysof Toulouse-Lautrec himself. The cigarette stayed at his lips as he talked andthe beret on his head was tilted at such an angle that it looked like it wastrying to escape without being noticed.
As I feigned protest, he reached down tothe neckline of my dress. Undid the top two buttons between my breasts toreveal a little more that I would normally show in public. I almost wished I dworn a bra, but the wine meant I didn t care as much as I should have.
While the artist sketched with his pastels,my friend stood and watched. He d look at me, t