I am beyond excited to announce that my kinky erotic short “Unfinished Business” is now available in ebook, alongside twenty-nine other steamy, saucy tales, in The Sexy Librarian’s Dirty 30, Volume 2! Editor Rose Caraway, aka The Sexy Librarian and host of the Kiss Me Quick Erotica Podcast, has put together a volume of scintillating erotic stories that’s adventurous, thoughtful, and sexy-as-hell.
Check out that gorgeous cover!
Coming soon to print and audiobook.
The Sexy Librarian, Rose Caraway returns with another Library of Erotica, just for you. From Torrid Literature to BDSM, Fairy Tales to Orgies, Clandestine Military Adventures to Bi-Curious Rendezvous, this adventurous, and fantasy-filled collection is here to turn you on. So grab your partner and peruse the card catalog and see which sexy story catches your interest first. This is your very own, hand-held library! Explore this volume of Erotica to your libido’s content.
Read an excerpt from “Unfinished Business” below:
The man in the doorway appraises me soberly. Time has had its way with both of us, but he’s still Ian: fair and well-kept, features carving themselves into a look of brutal resolve. Somehow, the wrinkles around his eyes have made him even more attractive.
“Hello, Ayla,” he says.
“Hello—” My voice is compliant. “—Sir.”
I haven’t the slightest clue as to his thinking, whether he’s glad to see me, or plagued with regret.
He moves to let me pass. “Come in.”
My chest hums like a hive, my limbs made sluggish by veins thick with blood like warm honey. I take a steadying breath and head inside.
The walls in the stamp-sized foyer are pastel gray where they once were gold. Abandoning my boots, I follow Ian upstairs to the living room where I’m struck by a torrent of familiar sights and aromas. There’s his grandmother’s old Remington typewriter on the desk, his floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the scent of dried eucalyptus and cowhide. I lean against the brown suede sofa, overwhelmed. If I squint hard enough, perhaps I can make out the indents of my knees amid the patterns in the Persian rug.
He takes my overnight bag, sets it on the divan, then offers his hand, which I accept, letting him steer me into the kitchen. He’s had the floors stripped and the appliances updated to stainless steel, but I can still see us in here, cooking together; washing and drying the dishes by hand; me bent over the table with a brandy snifter on my back, trying not to spill while he languidly fingers my ass.
“She’s blushing,” Ian says, beckoning me to the present, his expression equal parts menace and amusement. I touch my cheek, not surprised to find my skin hot and a little clammy.
Ian comes toward me, bullying my feet until my back is flush against cold steel. I can smell his soap and aftershave, a hint of his sweat. Eau de nostalgie.
My head swims.
“She looks exactly the same,” he says. Not true, though I’m in no position to argue. He shuts his eyes, breathes me in, then out. “Smells the same, too. But I wonder…” He smooths a hand down my belly to the crux of my thighs. “Does she taste different?”
My gorilla-fisted heart thrashes as he makes slow, careful work of the buttons on my blouse. I let the garment slip from my shoulders. The underwire digs at my ribs as he forces my bra cups down. Heat gushes from his mouth with an audible whoosh.
“Still perfect,” he says. His thumbs graze my nipples, and everything inside me goes taut. “I want her eyes on me at all times. Tell me she understands.”
He palms my breasts.