Best Women's Erotica of the Year, Volume 2

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

  “What?” Chelle stammered.

  “In our photos,” he said. There it was, that hint of a smile.

  “I don’t know.”

  “How about we look as serious as possible. Straight faces.”

  She agreed and pressed the start button. A countdown appeared on the screen and a bright white light pulled them out of the dark. 3, 2, 1, and the screen went blank as it took the first picture. Chelle tried to maintain a dour expression, willing the corners of her mouth downward, but Ryan’s leg pressed against hers and she glanced up at him despite her better judgment. When the second picture snapped, he looked sideways at her, scowling. That broke her—she burst out in giggles just as the third picture flashed, and he squeezed her thigh as he laughed. “Chelle! Serious faces!”

  “I can’t!” she wailed, and the fourth picture captured them both with brilliant, open smiles.

  “You are impossible,” he teased, poking her in the side, and she leaned forward to muffle her laughter in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her as he laughed into her hair, and suddenly the tension that had been building between them for months was gone. When she emerged from his shoulder, he beamed at her without an ounce of restraint. He looked down at her lips and her breath stopped as he tucked an escaped lock of hair behind her ear.

  Ryan studied her face—looking for what, she wasn’t sure. Doubt, maybe? Or a darker motive she didn’t have? This wasn’t about her job or the crowd congratulating itself outside of the photo booth. Sometimes you just want someone, your skin singing in their presence, and the prospect of having them after so long, after so much struggle to not want them at all… If there was anything to read on her face, it was raw need for something finally close enough to seize.

  Chelle couldn’t take it anymore. She leaned up to press the most delicate, innocent of kisses against his lips. For a moment he remained still, and then he was kissing her back just as gently, just as careful. His hand cupped her face, and this was so fragile after months of want that she moaned into his mouth, a tattered need she hadn’t experienced in years, or ever.

  He pulled back and muttered, “We shouldn’t do this here.”

  Part of her wanted to say, Fuck that, I want your hands up my skirt immediately. But then the light went out in the booth, and it smacked some sense back into her: her days with Chargr were over, but his weren’t.

  “Let’s go back to the office,” Ryan said.

  She made sure to grab their photos from the tray before following him out of the warehouse.

  Chelle had never been to Chargr headquarters this late, but Ryan’s key card gave him access. Nervous laughter threatened to spill out of her throat as she followed him through the dark office to one of the solo workrooms at the back. She hopped up on the counter as he locked the door behind them, his profile thrown into relief by the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling window.

  And then he was kissing her again, and her nerves were soothed by his hands cupping her face, sliding through her hair, jerking her forward against him. He stood between her legs, the hard heat of him pressing against the flimsy lace of her underwear, and the undeniable fact of how goddamn reckless this was clashed brilliantly against his lips pressing tender kisses against her neck. She whined.

  “You need to be quiet,” Ryan murmured without any real severity, and she laughed.

  “You’re about to fuck me at the office, which was your idea, by the way—” He nipped at her shoulder, and she gasped but continued, “And you’re telling me to be quiet?”

  “Just a suggestion,” he said.

  Chelle found the buttons of his flannel and he stopped making suggestions. Watching Ryan’s daily guardedness fall away was like unwrapping the best present—without the strain and focus on his face, he finally looked twenty-six. Now there was only the hunger of a young man who wanted someone desperately, the heat of it making his hands shake as he clutched her thighs and let her undo his shirt. She pushed it off his shoulders and he shrugged it away, letting it drop to the floor.

  “Do you want me?” she asked, beginning to work on her own blouse.

  He watched her fingers as the fabric loosened, his eyes devouring every inch of her skin as it revealed itself. “Yes.”

  The quiver in his voice emboldened her. “For how long?”

  The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but his attention flicked back to her face, latching on to her train of thought. They were going to enjoy every minute of this after all the energy it took to resist it. “Long enough,” he said. His face was colorless in the midnight glow of the city, and she didn’t have a clever remark left to goad him with. She wanted him, and she was done waiting.

  When he kissed her again, it was furious and messy. She unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his hips. His boxers quickly joined his pants on the floor, and she scooted to the edge of the counter, convinced she was leaving a wet slick beneath her.

  “Shit, I don’t have a condom,” Ryan muttered, and she gestured toward her clutch, abandoned on the desk chair.

  “My purse, hand me my—”

  He passed it to her, still pressing his erection against the sensitive heat of her cunt, and she fought off a shudder as she pulled a condom from the clutch. He took it from her shaking fingers and tore open the wrapper, stepping back to guide the condom on. She watched his face instead of his hands. She had spent so long denying herself the pleasure of examining the firmness of his jaw. There was a streak of gray at his temples, just a hint of it. He caught her gaze as she studied his face and she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Hey,” he murmured, smiling again.

  Chelle smiled back. “Hi.” A beat passed, and then he eased himself into her. Her eyes closed as she absorbed the hard thickness of him. It had been a long time since she’d had sex, not that it mattered—this was very different than anything she had experienced before. This was no quick young fuck in her apartment off campus. This was real-world sex, with stakes and a reward so overwhelming she didn’t know the words for it anymore. She just needed him. She just needed this.

  Ever so slowly, he drew out of her and then thrust back in. She mewled, wrapping her legs around his back, and Ryan tucked his face into her shoulder. “Oh, Chelle,” he whispered, and she had never heard his voice—or her name—sound so raw. “Chelle, you have no idea.”

  “Please,” she begged—for what, she wasn’t sure. There was nothing else to say. “Please, Ryan.”

  One of his hands found her throat and curled lightly around it, holding her in place, and it made her liquid against him, made her nothing but fragments of skin and breath and desire and greed. “Please,” she said, sinking into how much she wanted this man and how much she had him now. She had never discovered someone like this, unearthed little weaknesses after so many months of strength, found how his breath tightened when she licked his ear, learned how he grunted as her nails dug into his shoulder blades.

  “Since August,” he confessed as she clung to him. “Been thinking about this…since August.”

  She bit his arm, and there were no words again for a while. Just glimpses of her name, and “Please.” And “Yes.” She thought of nothing, of nowhere but here and him and how his eyes were blazing dark and she needed, she needed.

  “Turn over,” he commanded, stepping back as she whined at the sudden loss of him inside her. She eased herself off the counter onto wobbly legs before he grabbed her hips and bent her over the desk. Chelle let him put her where he wanted her; he knew just what she wanted. And then he was fucking her again, really fucking her until the sharp edge of the counter bit into her waist and she felt nothing but the slam of his cock deeper inside of her than she’d known was possible. This was her life, finally, finally this was her life; she got to have him, here, and nothing else after this would matter, nothing after this mattered even the slightest as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked. His other hand found her clit and worked it mercilessly, and she was vaguely aware he was sayin
g her name, coaxing her, telling her she was “Such a good girl, Chelle, that’s it. I want you to come for me, Chelle. Good girl, come for me, please.”

  And then there really was nothing but white heat and the fracture of release he followed her into.

  A few months later, when she had settled in at her new position as project manager at a media company in Austin, she got a notification that Ryan Gaines had endorsed all of her skills on LinkedIn. He’d also sent a message, and Chelle smirked as she opened up the chat window. “Congratulations on your new position,” he wrote. “Texas doesn’t know how lucky it is.”

  HER BEST

  Corrine A. Silver

  “What do you want from me?” Her whisper hinted heat across his skin.

  Aside from his black boxer briefs, he was naked. The muted light in her basement playroom played over his golden skin. His gaze dropped to his bare feet before he spoke. “I want your best.” His whisper sounded broken.

  Not the best for you, even though that was true as well. Not the best of her. He wanted the best she had to give him. She knew that. She understood the unsaid wish hidden in the words he spoke.

  “That’s all I’d ever give you, Ollie.” She slipped behind him and trailed a length of her rope around and up his arm, giving him the sensation of being tied and touched everywhere at once, the sense of motion even as she restrained him. By feel alone, she loosely tied his hands in front of him, the first step in his loss of control.

  He breathed her name as chills danced across her skin. “Sarah.”

  He dropped his head back on her shoulder, easing his weight against her body. She had anticipated it and accepted his weight with a foot planted behind her. The pressure of his body on her chest accentuated each breath she took. She breathed for both of them, her breasts buoying him up each time she inhaled the scent of his sweat mixed with her rope.

  She wanted to string him up, make him a caught thing in her web. To then watch him and torment him and ultimately drain him.

  She wanted to tie him down so she could watch his emotions play across his features. The fear and fight as they went out of him. The surrender.

  But that wasn’t what this was. This was the first time. And even though Sarah had known Ollie for years, she hadn’t known him like this. He was always just another rigger. A friend at events. A drinking buddy even. Someone to trade stories and techniques with. But never like this. Never as her bottom. Never hers. No matter how she had daydreamed of playing with him.

  What had been a fantasy seemed to be coming true and she wanted to be cautious while at the same time she was a firm believer in living in the moment. There was just this. Just his skin, the fine hair on his forearms glinting in the low light. His breath. His body leaning against hers. She couldn’t get weighed down with what would happen after, what would happen tomorrow when she called to check in with him. Couldn’t get stuck in wondering if he’d screen the call. If there’d be another time. If she’d tie him again. If maybe they’d switch it up sometime and he’d tie her.

  She wanted him. Had wanted him for a long time. She shook her head. She had him, right now. Time to get to work.

  She constructed a chest harness, winding the rope over the muscles of his shoulders and at diagonals across his chest. For him, she’d chosen a soft, well-loved jute she had dyed black herself. She was generally a purist, enjoying the natural fibers in their natural shades, but for his skin, she wanted the precise, sharp contrast of coloring. She wanted the work to be recognizable as hers from across the room.

  Sarah held her body against his as she swayed him and coiled rope around him, reminding him with his senses rather than her words where he belonged. He was hers, captured in her strands, even if only for this moment.

  “Let go, Ollie. I’ll catch you.” She tied his chest harness off to the ring at the center of her custom frame. “I have coils and coils for you.” She meant it as reassurance that he would be well taken care of, but he stiffened and she knew he took it for a sensual threat. Which it also was, if she was completely honest.

  “I don’t want all your rope, Sarah.”

  Her hand stilled and hovered just near his hip. “You don’t?” She kept judgment from her words, waiting. Some men thought they wanted to be tied by a woman and found they didn’t really love it once they were in her ropes. She was prepared for that disappointment, but she hoped this was just discomfort. Something that could be salvaged. She hoped for more from Ollie.

  “No.” His breath huffed and he kept his eyes closed. The ropes gave his tongue freedom. “Yes. I want you to tie me. I want to fly for you. But I want your worst. I want more than the clinical demo. I want to be tied for you. I want you…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

  “Are you a switch, Ollie?”

  “Not for you.”

  She rocked back on her heels. She’d seen him all big, bad and scary when he tied. She’d seen him reduce his rope bunnies to quivering, babbling messes with no more than his rope and hands, and a few perfectly timed words. And she’d seen him teach by getting tied. She’d seen him enjoy the caress of a knot. He had to be a switch to be doing this with her.

  “What do I make you?”

  “I want to be yours. Even if it’s just this time. Even if it’s only in scene.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I want you to make it hard for me.”

  They had prenegotiated the scene. She was experienced enough to know changing the flavor of the play midscene was verboten. But he hadn’t said he wanted easy before. He’d only explained his limits, reminded her about the ankle he had broken years ago.

  She stood directly in front of him and yanked the two coils she had been languidly wrapping around his arms together. He leaned forward, trying to ease the sudden strain.

  “Tell me what would make it hard for you.”

  She noticed the sheen of sweat on his skin when he sighed. His voice quaked. “Make something beautiful of me. Make me something worthwhile and useful. Make me into something you could love, even if it’s just for this moment and just for the beauty of the shape you’ve made me. I don’t care if you break me to do it.”

  Her mouth went dry. She pulled a small bench to him and sat him down, needing a moment to step back from him. A moment for her brain to catch up to her lust. And it was a multidimensional lust. She loved the idea of cinching down on his skin and twisting and contorting him until his body arced at painful angles. Agony perfected.

  She wanted him balanced on a single toe, preening for her. She wanted to tie his groin so it stood out proudly, bold cock perpendicular to his body. She wanted to put tears on his face and supplication in his mouth. She wanted him to come while helpless to stop it.

  With deepened focus, she interwove a new line between his arms, binding them together as one column. His hands that had tied others, arms that had been his power, now completely bound for her.

  A small measure of tension went out of him, shoulders slackening as much as they could in the tie, his eyelids fluttering closed. With a small smile, she jerked his arms to test the tie, but then released them to sit in his lap for the time being. His eyes flickered open when she didn’t immediately string him up and she tsked at him, moving to wind the rope around his face until he was adequately blindfolded.

  “Move forward to the edge of the seat, but don’t get up.” When he complied, she tied his good ankle to his thigh. When she wrapped the rope around his hips and between his legs, his breathing stuttered and his cock hardened. She brushed her hand against it as she moved. The harness she’d created outlined his cock and balls, leaving a sort of pouch where they were all the more explicit for being covered by his boxers.

  She snapped the elastic of the waistband. “Like that, do you? Or are you just showing off for me the way I’m showing off for you?” Before he could answer, she cupped his balls and gave a slight tug. “Stand up.”

  He stood on one foot, and she let him lean against her as she tightened the line from his bound foot to the center of
his back. When she pulled it, his leg flared out to the side, pulling the cotton boxers taut.

  He murmured, “Oh, goddammit, that’s good.”

  “Yeah it is, Ollie. You’re doing so well for me. Ready to stretch?”

  He murmured his assent and she hoisted the lines from the chest harness and between his arms though the ring at the center of her rigging frame. She pulled his arms overhead and he stretched up on his single foot. She pulled again, letting the physics of the lines pull him up until he was almost suspended, his single toe brushing the floor, just as she’d envisioned.

  His mouth stretched in an O and she stepped back from him, keeping a hand on his abdomen. “Dance for me.” She pushed his hip and he spun on the line. The effect was almost balletic. “Damn, you’re pretty right now.” She took a moment to enjoy the way he looked then checked in with him. “How is it? Ankle okay?”

  His head dropped back. “It’s perfect. I don’t want to come down. Ever.”

  “No?” She stroked his cock through his underwear. “You sure?”

  He hummed at her touch. “I want up and I want down. I want to be where you want to put me.” His face was slack in that hazy rope high people got when they liked the tie.

  She yanked his waistband down, freeing his cock. He was clean-shaven and his naked balls looked vulnerable, almost delicate. She trailed her fingernails over that skin, then around behind them, pressing into his perineum for a quick but sharp massage. He tried to shimmy away, but there was no way to do it. A drop of precome beaded at the tip of his cock.

  Her voice was intimate yet teasing as she wiped it off. “You like me.” She smeared it over his tongue, raking the pad of her finger across his lower teeth. With an almost careless push, she set him swinging away from her. When the arc of his path brought him back to her, she fitted her hand over his cock. She held her fist rigid and let him swing into and out of her. When friction built, she grabbed a bottle of lube and coated her hand before setting him swinging again.