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Andrews UK - Victoria Blisse

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18 pages

English

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Laura is out for revenge on her cheating boyfriend Jack, but no matter how many men she beds, she can't get him out of her mind. A foursome with Jack in the mix might just be what she needs to get over him, but will it work?

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Erotic literature

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	20 juin 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781849893336
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Title Page
MASQUERADING HEARTS

Victoria Blisse

Publisher Information
Masquerading Hearts
published in 2014 by House of Erotica
an imprint of Andrews UK Limited
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Victoria Blisse 2014
Cover Design by Nick Tiseo
The right of Victoria Blisse to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Masquerading Hearts
It doesn’t matter that I don’t know his name; I’ll not be calling him again. I’m just going to ride this cock till I’m satisfied. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the colour of his eyes, because I’m not interested in staring into them. I just want his hardness slamming into my soft, willing cunt. It doesn’t matter who he is. All that matters is revenge: revenge on Jack.
Jack said he loved me. Jack said I meant the world to him. Jack said I was his soul mate. I believed him. I thought he was the one, you know, the one in the romance novels. Actually, our eyes did meet across a crowded ballroom. It was the office party one Christmas. We’d broken some sales record or other so they pushed the boat out, hired the swankiest room in the town hall and we had a ball, an actual masquerade ball.
I was in an old, Marie Antoinette get-up: a glorious scarlet ball gown with this very delicate black embroidery around the low décolletage and enough volume in the skirt to deafen a metal head. I felt somewhat like the Michelin man, with big balloon sleeves over my less than delicate arms and skirts that ballooned out like inflated airbags that draped to the floor making me resemble a hovercraft.
I was standing in a corner, cradling a half-glass of warm rum and Coke and thinking about the buffet when, for some reason I still can’t grasp, I looked up. I looked into the brightest, most intense gaze I had ever experienced, and I was instantly smitten. My heart leapt - literally leapt - in my chest, and my nipples tightened as my pussy throbbed. Our eyes stayed locked as he walked towards me. He walked over, and I took nothing else in but the intensity of his stare, the soft sweep of his cheek bones, and the sensual wave of his lips.
He took me by the hand, and it was as if an electric circuit had been completed. I was charged up, my body prickling with arousal. He never spoke, just led me to the dance floor. We waltzed, spun, and reeled and, without a word as one song melted away into another, his lips touched mine.
In fact, we didn’t talk to each other very much at all on our first meeting. He slipped a card into my hand as he left with his friends, and on it was scrawled his name and phone number. I felt like such a wanton hussy as I realised I’d been with a nameless man with whom I’d never even made polite conversation. It excited me.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
“Are you okay?” he gasps, and I’m shaken from my reverie. I look down at his screwed up grimace of a face and nod. I pull my most porn-like pout and growl, “Yes, oh yes.” For a split second, he looks as if he’s not convinced. Then I clench my cunt and his eyes close as a moan spills from his lips, and I know he has forgotten all doubt and is overwhelmed by lust once more.
He yells loudly as he comes. I cannot quite make out what he says, but it sounds like “Jane!” which isn’t my name. Oh well, at least he’s not going to get hung up on this fuck either.
“Where’s my bra?” I ask as I climb off his sticky cock.
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking confused.
“I’m getting dressed and going home. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He pouts as I gather my clothes and put them on. I turn to say goodbye once I pick up my lone shoe from the landing, but he is snoring already. I shut the door quietly behind me and walk.
“Would you like to get some air?” Jack had asked me after what seemed like the hundredth waltz.
“Sure, that’d be nice.” I’d smiled back, taking the opportunity to catch my breath. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it as he almost dragged me out of the ball room, down the crowded hallway filled with couples making out, and through the door into the cold night air.
I had not even a second to gather my thoughts; his lips plastered themselves to mine the moment we got away from the doorway. My back thudded against the cold wall, the prickly bricks pressing into the flesh of my back that was showing through my dress. His hands slipped up and down my waist, emphasizing the concave curve between my breasts and hips, tracing over the tightened bodice of the corset that was keeping all my convex curves from spilling out and spoiling my hourglass figure.
His lips were heavenly hot, transporting me to levels of rapture I’d never before experienced. He kissed me. That sentence is so woefully inadequate yet paradoxically spot on. I felt like his lips were caressing me all over. My flesh tingled and zinged with arousal, and I just wanted to fuck. I’ve never been promiscuous; I’ve never had the chance. Straight laced parents and cruel name-calling through school persuaded me I was not sexy. It took a few years at university and a night filled with stolen snogs for a drunken dare to show me that men did actually find my curves attractive. It took a year-long relationship with an old friend to show me I was a sexual being and a second of a hot kiss with a stranger to make me wet and wanton.
“Oh, fuck,” he’d gasped, as our lips parted for breath. “You’re sublime.” He continued to kiss me from my lips to my cheeks then he slipped sensually south down the long slope of my neck. As he sucked upon the ripe flesh of my cleavage, I knew I should protest but I couldn’t. I even helped him haul my breasts up and out of the low cut top so he could feast upon their flesh. He nibbled my nipples as they hung outside my clothing. I should have been worried about my work colleagues copping a look at me with my tits out, but I wasn’t. All that was on my mind was fucking him.
I reached out with my hands as soon as I remembered I had them and slipped them down over his waist to his taut buttocks.

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