PDF Love at the Soup Kitchen: An Erotic Romance

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If she was a good girl for Uncle she would be rewarded. Olivia became conditioned to Uncle from the first day he took her under his wing. He used drugs, hypnosis and Jack Daniels all part of a plan. Uncle was a real creep. I liked Olivia she had a big Almost a dnf but glad I carried on and finished it but felt all the excitement and grippy angst was all at the end. I liked Olivia she had a big heart and she believed in what she did. Very caring and considerate of the homeless. She was liked and loved by everyone.

Kit the mysterious man in the corner turned out to be a wonderful man too with a broken past of his own. Would of been nice to get his pov throughout especially near the end. Overall a good first read by this author. View 2 comments. Jul 08, Natalie M rated it really liked it Shelves: alpha-male , betrayal , dark-intense , crazy-train , big-jerk , cruel-hero , dark-twisted , filthy-rich-hero , have-on-kindle , mind-fuckery.

This was my first book by this author and I really liked her style. The writing sucks you in, as does the intense plot and the characters all had depth even the devil. I enjoy a dark read and although I've read darker, this one definitely had some seriously dark elements in the story. You have to read to understand, but after reading this, I'd like to read other 4.

You have to read to understand, but after reading this, I'd like to read other books by this author. Jul 18, J rated it it was ok. Story started off in an interesting fashion with a girl who volunteered at a food kitchen meeting a reclusive, intriguing homeless guy who showed up for meals. However, the story fairly quickly started to fall apart and ended up being totally confusing and unbelievable.

What a mess!!! I was so looking forward to the dark nature of the plot but the second half of the book just dashed all my hopes. I feel very cruel saying this but i am regretting picking this book up. Olivia is described from the beginning as someone from a distinguished background and it was hinted throughout that she is on borrowed ti OK!!! Olivia is described from the beginning as someone from a distinguished background and it was hinted throughout that she is on borrowed time trying to find someone but the entire time she volunteers in the soup kitchen she does not do a single thing towards that goal.

There were so many loose ends in the story. The sahdowman was supposedly there to kill her parents but finally does not kill them. It felt like the author is trying to shove Olivia's kind nature down our throat every chance she got. Secondly, it was again hinted from the beginning that Olivia is maybe being manipulated by her "uncle" through drugs and hypnosis into feeling sexually for him but they were never verified properly That strawberry liquid thing which he kept giving Olivia was not mentioned later.

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Uncle or Zac is described as a dangerous, cunning and manipulative SOB who is also a pedo in good measure. He is the head of an elite agency but the nature of his involvement with Olivia's father and the inner workings of his organization was not made too clear. The entire book felt like bread crumbs leading to nothing but Olivia having non stop sex. Kit is a guy who is hiding from his past. He is vulnerable and is wary of his surroundings. He is the only saving grace in this read.

He was a man with very few words who falls in love with the girl who is connected to the same past he is trying to escape. I would have loved to read a few chapters on his pov. After Olivia's kidnap, Kit's struggle to and efforts to find and rescue Olivia would have been more welcome than Zac's pure psychotic possession of Olivia.

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There were so many secrets that needed to be answered but the revelations were treated as a not so important factor of the story. The only thing that i liked was the transition of Kit from a bearded homeless guy to the sweet, sensitive, passionate and loving man who captured Olivia's heart from the beginning. In my opinion the story had a lot of potential but the end product was not something i liked at all. I think if the secrets were revealed timely and not just shoved at the end of the book, the story could have been a great dark romance.

If you are interested in some explicit erotica and not at all concerned about the mystery and the plot then go ahead with this one I would not recommend it Another fantastic read from this author. After finishing reading this at 1am in the morning I told a few bloggers I'd just finished it.

Asked what it's about I scratched my head and thought heck I don't wanna ruin this for anyone. I then proceeded to copy n paste the book description for them and left it like that. I'm still trying to figure out what I've just read lol it felt as if it was a light and dark read all rolled into one. I have high expectations of this author. So when I started readi Another fantastic read from this author.

So when I started reading this I actually had to check that I had the correct book. However once I kept reading the twists were amazing. I felt the author kept dipping me from light to dark. If that didn't mess with my head then the storyline did. Although I loved this story I'm glad it's a standalone.

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I'm not sure my heart or Olivia could take anymore. LOVE the name Olivia Well of course I do as its my middle name: P. Just looking at that cover brings back that specific scene to me. Blimey I need to go read this book again. Thank you! Jul 07, Emma rated it really liked it. Chained by Jaimie Roberts is the reason why I adore standalone reads. It's full of depth, emotion, suspense and twists galore that keep you clutching your kindle till the early hours to know what happens next.

I absolutely adored Deviant and Redemption so I was hoping for her to give my fix of darkness, vengeful emotions and misplaced agendas and she didn't disappoint. The book follows Olivia, a solitary twenty year old who has faced the worst of what life can throw at you. Her Dad took his own life, her mother died from cancer soon after and her pampered, luxurious lifestyle is a distant memory now.

She chose to be a recluse after seeking solace in the bottle immediately after her parents passing, but she now lives in London and works in a bar and a homeless soup kitchen whilst she contemplates how to fulfil her one mission that will bring her peace: finding the Shadow-man who haunts her memories, or so she thinks.

Her 'uncle' is the one constant in her life from her past and his influence and power over her is one that sets your senses into high alert from his first mention. He is linked to her past but why and what are his intentions for her future? Whilst volunteering at the soup kitchen she meets Kit; a reclusive man who peaks her curiosity. He's always around in the shadows and keeps a close eye on her. He saves her one evening and from that point on their forever connected but this is far from a simple romance plot line and Jaimie entices you into this deeply malevolent tale of greed, power and desire where the lines of family and morals are blurred when it comes to one person and what they want.

This book questions how much are you willing to risk to seek the truth and how far you are willing to go to get what you want. As the story unfolds we watch Olivia fighting against the fears of her past and the addictions of her present to be able see the light in her dark reality. Will Kit be the key to set her free or will he be another one of the monsters who keeps her in the dark? I fear if I write more I will spoil the whole experience for you and this book has to be felt first hand; every twist, turn, revelation one page at a time.

The pieces of the puzzle slowly come together and what is revealed will leave you reeling!! This book by Jaimie questions: what is the price of love and how much does guilt and power drive people to do unquestionable acts of violence and malice? Jul 20, Jennifer rated it it was amazing. Just wow. Jaimie has hit the ball completely out of the park with this book.

It's so freaking fantastic and completely original. Much darker than her other books, and I loved every single word of it. This is not like any story that I've read before. There is a plot line like none I've read and it's sinister. And have I told you yet that I love every word? Olivia is trying to start over after losing her parents. She's moved to London, gotten a part time job and is helping out with some volun WOW. She's moved to London, gotten a part time job and is helping out with some volunteer work.

She's settling down and is finding that she's liking it. But she has secrets. Ulterior motives. Urges that sometimes consume her. Kit has become one of Olivia's objects of focus. She saw him at the soup kitchen, always alone, never looking at anyone or interacting with anyone. Her mission was to get to bring him out of his shell. What she didn't know was that while he seemed lost in his own world, he was very aware of hers.

What I love about this book is that it kept me on the edge. I was constantly wondering what would happen next; who was this character, who was that character? Were they really what they seemed? I hate books that become predictable, and Chained is anything but! As usual, there are some incredibly hot sex scenes in this book I don't think it would be a Jaimie book without them!

But there are also some very hard scenes that bring the question of consent into the picture. If you have ANY trigger issues, you might want to tread lightly with this one. There are no graphic scenes, none too violent. Overall, this book flowed very well, was fast paced and all of my questions were answered in the end. This may well be my favorite book of Jaimies yet!

Jul 24, Red Cheeks Reads rated it really liked it. When I began this book, I was intrigued by the blurb and how exactly a homeless man would become the love interest in the story. But as I continued reading, I began to feel my heart fall for Kit. The story begins with Olivia Brown flashback of when she was a small girl. This sets up the story and is important to know throughout. So pay very close attention to the details. Olivia helps at a local soup kitchen and works at a bar at night. Every morning she gathers up coffee orders and on her way to When I began this book, I was intrigued by the blurb and how exactly a homeless man would become the love interest in the story.

Every morning she gathers up coffee orders and on her way to the soup kitchen she drops them off to the homeless, that she begins a friendship with. This makes the reader intrigued. One night while working at the bar, she gets attacked by a man and is then saved by the very own anti-social homeless man. We then we begin to see how Olivia tries to connect with this man that wants nothing at all. She drowns herself in alcohol, Jack Daniels to be exact.

And an important character enters as the Uncle. These 3 characters come together for an interesting, dark romance. I did not know anything about this book when I choose to read it — I admit I might not have picked it up had I known the dark elements I would have to endure. But I came out on the other and unharmed … Chained by Jaimie Roberts is really not your average traditional love story. The plot is not following a steady pace but moving from right to left and sometimes when you just felt you might have figured something out.

The plot is confusing at times and either y I did not know anything about this book when I choose to read it — I admit I might not have picked it up had I known the dark elements I would have to endure. The plot is confusing at times and either you will follow my lead and stick to it because it hooks you o you will place it aside as a DNF — there is no other way or sugarcoating. While I could not connect to them many times I still liked the plot which is very unusual for me. Would I recommend it.. Either you will love or hate it — are you ready to try?

Jaimie knows how to pull in her readers. This was absolutely amazing read. Olivia is fighting her demons from her past. That girl is super strong and such an amazing person. Kit is homeless and he is also fighting his demons as well.

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Not only is this a dark read, its also brilliant and so darn sexy. May 01, Charlotte Newman rated it it was amazing. You HAVE to read this book! Like NOW!! The suspense. The twists and turns. Well, it has been a while since I have read a book like this. So twisted. Happy reading. I liked it hoping for this great twist, but it got weird especially towards the end.

The whole "viagra" pill was too far fetched. I ended up skimming because I could not stand view spoiler [reading in detail all the sex scenes with "Uncle" OM while she was in love with Kit. I love that the story started with the hero being aloof, etc. There was no real big twist like I hope I liked it hoping for this great twist, but it got weird especially towards the end.

There was no real big twist like I hoped. It was what it was and it did not work for me in the end. Twenty-year-old Olivia is working in a soup kitchen. Olivia lost both her parents at a young age. She witnessed her father place a gun to his head and pull the trigger. That haunts her dreams along with something else she witnessed long before that event. That something belongs to a shadow and the man who created it. She has a hidden agenda to working at the soup kitchen and she has 3 months to find her information before Uncle takes her back home.

This Uncle is really not her uncle, thank goodness. Immediately my impression of him was a pervert. He gave Olivia a longing look even when she was a child and he is 17 years older than she! It skeeved me out. There was no way she could fight the way her body would react to him being near. The brush of his finger on her lips leaving a strawberry scent made her body ignite. My lord and master. Kit is 32 years old but looks much older than that due to hiding behind his long hair and beard. Kit is very standoffish, does not make eye contact with anybody, and forget about getting him to speak to you.

He keeps to himself, but yet keeps an eye out on everybody to make certain that they are safe. She takes care of the homeless people outside the soup kitchen doors. Everybody knows her by name and they all take an interest in her life. She is their friend, and they are her friends. Kit has a difficult time understanding why Olivia would want to be with him. What is it I could possibly give you? I have nothing. How could you possibly be the one who needs me? He has a lot to offer but when you have no money to your name I can see where it would burst the ego a little.

Secrets…it always has the potential for relationship demise. But what about when the secrets catch up to one of them? This upcoming part was tough to read, and I mean tough. I could see his frame in the window. His breathing was harsh, his head hanging low. I could see the last remaining liquid falling out of his mouth from where he must have been sick. His wrists were bloody from the amount of straining he must have been doing against his chains. I had done this to him. So the chains…where did they come from?

I love dark romance. I am not a fan of instalove and there was a point in the book where I felt that was the direction it was going. May 24, Shannon rated it it was amazing Shelves: 6-stars , re-read-worthy , trigger-violence , explicit-sexual-scenes , hero-is-enslaved-and-or-trapped , hero-saves-heroine , romantic-graphic-sexual-scenes , favorites , strong-heroine , tortured-hero.

This wonderful book knocked me right off my feet and found me staring up at the ceiling wondering, "What the heck just happened? It's one half beautiful romance and one half unsavory mystery. In its way, it's quite beautiful: "I sometimes found myself staring out at the birds flying in and out of the branches. I would close my eyes and listen to their sweet melody for a few moments before I would start painting. Those times were my time. Those times, I let myself be free from any expectations and any responsibilities. I could just be me. Right around the corner we have a borderline pedophile given that "Uncle" has been much too interested in owning this poor girl since she was much too young!

In fact, you could easily say my soul belonged to him. He had told me that often enough. He was like the Devil himself, and he owned me It's our dear Kit doing the aiming. Well, the story spends a lot of time observing Olivia's habits. She buys drinks for her homeless friends, works at a soup kitchen, and tends bar at night faithfully avoiding the Jack Daniels [you'll see why].

She's single with the exception of encounters with Uncle that I'll leave to the imagination by stating that they do not have a normal sexual relationship, and, in fact, he's never been with her in that way There are, of course, other things The creepiness factor is moderately high. No doubt about it!

He defends her when needed and is very protective overall, but he keeps his distance Until he doesn't that is For a while, I thought she was TOO obsessed, actually. Don't get me wrong; he's more than sexy. The author had Josh Holloway in mind, so you can imagine! That said, he was clearly a secretive mess. Then again, so was she Nothing was what it seemed. This book is one part sadistic mystery and one part romance. That said, that one romantic part overshadowed it all. There was a strong feeling of fate being involved here in my opinion. Inner strength was necessary for all of the best characters in this book, and it just might be necessary for you too.

I have read scarier, darker books, but this wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. It's all well-worth the read. Regarding Kit: "He looked so beautiful right now. His eyes foretold a thousand emotions. I could see pain. I could see happiness. I could see doubt. But, most of all, I could see desire.

In my opinion, it's definitely tolerable, though very dark in places, for those without such triggers. Highly Recommended! Don't ever forget that, Livy. You've been mine since the day you were fucking born. Don't ever disobey me again. Who is the Shadowman? And who exactly is Olivia? Step into a mysterious, cloak and dagger world of half truths and carefully veiled undercover plots. Smoke and mirrors with a very James Bond esque quality to this story, this is a what the hell I have just read type book.

Throughout your mind is trying to piece together the jigsaw pieces to make a pretty picture that make sense but the reality is quite awe inspiringly horrific. Greed and lust over rules all decency and drives wealthy powerful men to go above and beyond all boundaries of morality to ensure they gain what they desire. Abusing their power to feed their own inflated egos lives are destroyed as if they mean nothing. Olivia hasn't had things easy, a child of wealth and luxury she has been derived of human kindness and love by her parents who kept her at arms length. Suddenly set adrift without them after finding her father dead at his own hand with her mother passing soon after due to cancer Olivia seeks solace at the bottom of a bottle.

Her addiction breaks her and Uncle steps in at her weakest. Saving her from herself Uncle becomes more than just a father figure, lines are blurred and he is her new addiction. Strangely conflicted by her emotions and wanton desires Olivia knows she is a slave to his will, completely under his control. Haunted by the Shadowman of her youth her fear of him is used to empower Olivia and she uses her need to find him to motivate her. Working at a homeless kitchen and a bar part time, she finds a surrogate family in the lost would that rely in her.

One solitary man captures her interest and he quickly becomes her new addiction. Who is the man behind the facial hair with the soulful eyes that have hold so much hurt? And so unfolds the story of a lost girl trying to find her way home to happiness. Overcoming her fears and unravelling the secrets and lies of her childhood and slaying the monsters that are determined to keep her a prisoner of her addictions. This is a cleverly crafted intriguing tale of raw passion that hits hard and deals with controversial plot lines that mange to perfectly balance the dark with the light.

How can something that feels so good be so wrong? This story will tie you up in knots, have you screaming for answers and the truth really does set you free! Kit and Olivia have such a tentative beginning that soon combusts. The chemistry between them is off the charts. Uncle and his obsession with Livy is also darkly alluring and shamefully just as sizzling a definite guilty pleasure! This is a uniquely different read that made a refreshing change. It made me think and question but equally I was cheering for Kit and Olivia as I fell in love with their love story.

Ian, the guys from the homeless shelter are all really fabulous characters and I hope we see more of them. A four and a half star mind blown read. Now for much of the book I was starting to doubt whether this was as dark as I assumed, but WOW, the last third certainly meant there was no confusion that this book does 'exactly what it says on the tin'. Most of the chapters began with a flashback.

Chronologically, these appeared to be out of sequence but as the flashbacks occurred as part of Olivia's dreams, this made the irregularity perfectly acceptable. I hav 4. I have to say, I didn't necessarily warm to Olivia's character at first. Despite the flashbacks into her past, I wasn't entirely sure as to what happened and as a reader was kept in the dark. She seemed to be under some kind of control by Uncle, who wasn't actually her Uncle, but we'll come to him in just a moment. Olivia was very much a contradiction. She seemed to be battling many demons from her past, yet her future self seemed to be bordering on saint like qualities, which portrayed her as selfless as I imagine a person can be.

She definitely grew on me though, as her character gained more depth. Kit, well what can I say about him? I'm a sucker for a hot homeless guy. There's always that air of vulnerability, but also the stubbornness to refuse any help when offered. I knew from the start there was more to Kit and I loved him from the beginning. Now I cannot do this review without mentioning the Uncle who isn't Olivia's Uncle.

For me, I think this name was a very clever decision, because there was definitely sexual intention from him and the fact that he was named as a family member made you hate him all the more. Olivia has been promised to Uncle, but she had been granted permission to live a relatively normal life until Uncle decided she must return to be with him.

I was completely sickened by him. However, I have to admit at feeling slightly confused and wondering how certain scenes had me so hot under the collar. They were dirty and debauched and I for one friggin loved it. Jul 16, Sherri rated it really liked it. It is well written and smooth flowing. The book flashes back and forth between memories of the past and the present past memories are in italics. Olivia has been through so much. She is haunted by her past while she is trying to make a new life for herself. Volunteering at a soup kitchen in the received an ARC of this book to review.

Volunteering at a soup kitchen in the morning and working as a bartender at night. Every time things start to look up for her, something will sneak up on her and try to bring her back down into a deep dark hole. She struggles on a daily basis to stay out of that dark place. Uncle has been there for Olivia since she was a baby. As she grows up he makes sure she knows he is there for her and there to protect and take care of her. When she hits rock bottom he is there for her.

Somewhere along the line, his perception of what they are to each other changes. I wanted the ache. I wanted him in me, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face. I wanted his sweat to drop onto me. I wanted to drop mine on him. I got on top of him. I was inventing something. I held him and put him in. He felt deeper in me.

I was in charge and he liked it. I held his hands down. He pretended he was trying to break free. I let my tits touch his face. He went mad; he bucked. He split me in two. I pushed down. One of his fingers flicked over my bum. I did it to him. He lifted and heaved. There was no end to it, no end to the new things.

He did something. I copied him. I did something. He did it back. He took me from behind. I pushed back, forced more of him into me. I sucked him. He licked me. I made him come on my stomach. He sucked my toes. The whole room rocked and Mrs. Doyle smiled at us every morning. The first was that after he finished spanking me he told me to pull up my skirt. Fear hooked my stomach and pulled it toward my chest. I turned my head and tried to look at him. Pull up your skirt.

I turned my head away from him. I can stop right now. I can straighten up and walk out. I pulled up my skirt. The skin on my face and throat was hot, but my fingertips were cold on my legs as I pulled down my underwear and panty hose. The letter before me became distorted beyond recognition. I was held up by a feeling of dizzying suspension, like the one I have in dreams where I can fly, but only if I get into some weird position. Then I became aware of a small frenzy of expended energy behind me.

I had an impression of a vicious little animal frantically burrowing dirt with its tiny claws and teeth. My hips were sprayed with hot sticky muck. I stood slowly and felt my skirt fall over the sticky gunk. He briskly swung open the door and I left the room, not even pulling up my panty hose and underwear, since I was going to use the bathroom anyway. He closed the door behind me, and the second unusual thing occurred.

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Susan, the paralegal, was standing the waiting room with a funny look on her face. She was a blonde who wore short, fuzzy sweaters and fake gold jewelry around he neck. At her friendliest, she had a whining, abrasive quality that clung to her voice. Now, she could barely say hello. Her stupidly full lips were parted speculatively. I got to the bathroom and wiped myself off. I felt mechanical.

I wanted to get that dumb paralegal out of the office so I could come back to the bathroom and masturbate. Susan completed her errand and left. I masturbated. I retyped the letter. The lawyer sat in his office all day. Mary Gaitskill frequently writes sex scenes with unequal power relationships:. Inside the back room, the woman has crawled out from underneath the man. Now fuck me like a dog, she tells him. She grips a pillow in her fists and he breathes behind her, hot air down her back which is starting to sweat and slip on his stomach.

They have fallen asleep. Dean wakes first, in the early afternoon. He unfastens her stockings and slowly rolls them off. Her skirt is next and then her underpants. She opens her eyes. The garter belt he leaves on, to confirm her nakedness. He rests his head there. Her hand touches his chest and begins to fall in excruciating slow designs. The next morning she is recovered. His prick is hard. She takes it in her hand. They always sleep naked. Their flesh is innocent and warm. In the end she is arranged across the pillows, a ritual she accepts without a word.

It is half an hour before they fall apart, spent, and call for breakfast. She eats both her rolls and one of his. She begins to make him hard again. In a few minutes he rolls her over and puts it in as if the intermission were ended. This time she is wild. The great bed begins creaking.

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Her breath becomes short. Dean has to brace his hands on the wall. He hooks his knees outside her legs and drives himself deeper. When he comes, it downs them both. They crumble like sand. He returns from the bathroom and picks up the covers from the floor. She has not moved. She lies just where she has fallen.

Goldman rolled the stockings down and Evelyn stepped out of her stockings. She held her arms across her breasts. Goldman stood and turned her around slowly for inspection, a frown on her face. Lie down. Evelyn sat down on the bed and looked at what was coming out of the black bag. On your stomach, Goldman said.

She was holding a bottle and tilting the contents of the bottle into her cupped hand. Evelyn lay down on her stomach and Goldman applied the liquid where the marks of the stays reddened the flesh. Ow, Evelyn cried. It stings! Evelyn was squirming and her flesh cringing with each application. She buried her face in the pillow to smother her cries. I know, I know, Goldman said. But you will thank me. She was shivering now and her buttocks were clenched against the invigorating chill of the astringent.

Her legs squeezed together. Goldman rubbed the oil into her skin until her body found its own natural rosy white being and began to stir with self-perception. Turn over, Goldman commanded. Her eyes were closed and her lips stretched in an involuntary smile as Goldman massaged her breasts, her stomach, her legs.

Yes, even this, Emma Goldman said, briskly passing her hand over the mons. You must have the courage to live. The bedside lamp seemed to dim for a moment. Evelyn put her own hands on her breasts and her palms rotated the nipples. Her hands swam down along her flanks. She rubbed her hips.

Her pelvis rose from the bed as if seeking something in the air. Goldman was now at the bureau, capping her bottled emollient, her back to Evelyn as the younger woman began to ripple on the bed like a wave on the sea. He was clutching in his hands, as if trying to choke it, a rampant penis which, scornful of his intentions, whipped him about the floor, launching to his cries of ecstasy or despair, great filamented spurts of jism that traced the air like bullets and then settled slowly over Evelyn in her bed like falling ticker tape.

We reached the multi-storey car-park behind the air-freight building. I drove around the canted concrete floors of this oblique and ambiguous building and parked in an empty bay among the cars on the sloping roof. After tucking the banknotes away in her silver handbag, the woman lowered her preoccupied face across my lap, expertly releasing my zip with one hand. She began to work systematically at my penis with both mouth and hand, spreading her arms comfortably across my knees.

I flinched from the pressure of her hard elbows …. As she brought my penis to life I looked down at her strong back, at the junction between the contours of her shoulders demarked by the straps of her brassiere and the elaborately decorated instrument panel of this American car, between her thick buttock in my left hand and the pastel-shaded binnacles of the clock and the speedometer. Encouraged by these hooded dials, my left ring-finger moved towards her anus.

It took Sabina some time before she could bring herself to slip out of the robe entirely. The situation she found herself in was proving a bit more difficult han she had expected. The two women were joined by the same magic word. Instead of stroking, flattering, pleading, he would issue a command, issue it abruptly, unexpectedly, softly yet firmly and authoritatively, and at a distance: at such moments he never touched the woman he was addressing.

He often used it on Tereza as well, and even though he said it softly, even though he whispered it, it was a command, and obeying never failed to arouse her. Sabina took the camera from her, and Tereza took off her clothes. There she stood before Sabina naked and disarmed. Literally disarmed: deprived of the apparatus she had been using to cover her face and aim at Sabina like a weapon.

This beautiful submission intoxicated Tereza. She wished that the moments she stood naked opposite Sabina would never end. But after clicking the shutter two or three times, almost frightened by the enchantment and eager to dispel it, she burst into loud laughter. Milan Kundera is famous for writing sensual books. Also check out:. She gives him a look. No, instead, instant docility—she slides to her knees. Down on the floor, nose level with an electrical outlet, she imagines for a second she can see some great brightness of power just behind the parallel slits. Something scurries at the edge of her vision, the size of a mouse, and it is Lester Traipse, the shy, wronged soul of Lester, in need of sanctuary, abandoned, not least by Maxine.

He stands in front of the outlet, reaches in, parts the sides of one slit like a doorway, glances back apologetically, slides into the annihilating brightness. So Thomas Pynchon has some pretty hilarious and classic sex scenes. Try reading:. She straddled him. Her hair was loose. It was cut straight across at the level of her shoulders. It was hanging forward, hiding her face, except for her eyes, which she was holding shut tight. She was being careful about his cock, leaving it alone so far. On his back meant fun for him, Iris taking her time.

He had to push his anxiety away. He had to forget about that. Some of their best sex had been with her on top, using him as a dildo, taking her sweet time. One thing he loved that she sometimes did was to align their nipples and rub. Hers would be hard and his would be too. There was too much. She was dragging her hair across his eyes. She lightly bit his shoulder. She was lowering herself more. She was brushing her breasts across his face. He wanted to take one of her breasts into his mouth, either one. He was frantic.

He wanted to get as much of one of her breasts into his mouth as he could. Her breasts were killing him, her blunt instruments. He had called them that and she had laughed, long ago. He drove himself harder into her. She was whining with pleasure and that was good. She would climax again right away. He kept on, slowing himself.

He pushed her knees up higher. He was almost there and so was she, again. And then the knot at the root of his cock dissolved in fire, melting. He shouted when he came. Then she was snorting, trying to say something. She was telling him to stop. She had come a second time and she wanted him to stop.

They disengaged, shaking. They were sitting on the floor leaning into the corner of the room, her mouth on his nipple, her hand moving his dick slowly. An intricate science, his whole body imprisoned there, a ship in a bottle. Come in my mouth. Moving forward, his fingers pulling back her hair like torn silk, he ejaculated, disappearing into her. She crooked her finger, motioning, and he bent down and put his mouth on hers.

I had a confusion of feelings and thoughts: embrace her, weep with her, kiss her, pull her hair, laugh, pretend to sexual experience and instruct her in a learned voice, distancing her with words just at the moment of greatest closeness. But in the end there was only the hostile thought that I was washing her, from her hair to the soles of her feet, early in the morning, just so that Stefano could sully her in the course of the night.

I imagined her naked as she was at that moment, entwined with her husband, in the bed in the new house, while the train clattered under their windows and his violent flesh entered her with a sharp blow, like the cork pushed by the palm into the neck of a wine bottle. And it suddenly seemed to me that the only remedy against the pain I was feeling, that I would feel, was to find a corner secluded enough so that Antonio could do to me, at the same time, the exact same thing. Yes, it has to be given.

And the kiss continued on past the point where he usually broke off.

Love at the Soup Kitchen: An Erotic Romance (Unabridged)

Then, slowly, he pulled away. I groped for him, as though I were blind. And he was kissing me again, and slipping the shorty nightgown over my head. His strong and gentle hands began to stroke me, his hands, his lips, his tongue. Not frightening. Knowing what he was doing.

I felt my nipples rise, and it startled me. Ammu, naked now, crouched over Velutha, her mouth on his. He drew her hair around them like a tent. Like her children did when they wanted to exclude the outside world. She slid further down, introducing herself to the rest of him. His neck. His nipples. His chocolate brown stomach. She sipped the last of the river from the hollow of his navel. She pressed the heat of his erection against her eyelids. She tasted him, salty, in her mouth. He sat up and drew her back to him. She felt his belly tighten under her, hard as a board.

She felt her wetness slipping on his skin. He took her nipple in his mouth and cradled her other breast in his calloused palm. Velvet gloved in sandpaper. So that was our love affair. Wordless, blinkered, a nighttime thing, a dream thing. There were reasons on my side for this as well. Whatever it was that I was was best revealed slowly, in flattering light. Which meant not much light at all. You try things out in the dark. You get drunk or stoned and extemporize. Think back to your backseats, your pup tents, your beach bonfire parties.

Did you ever find yourself, without admitting it, tangled up with your best friend? Or in a dorm room bed with two people instead of one, while Bach played on the chintzy stereo, orchestrating the fugue? Before the routine sets in, or the love. Back when the groping is largely anonymous. Sandbox sex. It starts in the teens and lasts until twenty or twenty-one.

Sometimes when I climbed on top of the Object she would almost wake up. She would move to accommodate me, spreading her legs or throwing an arm around my back. She swam up to the surface of consciousness before diving again. Her eyelids fluttered. A responsiveness entered her body, a flex of abdomen in rhythm with mine, her head thrown back to offer up her throat.

I waited for more. I wanted her to acknowledge what we were doing, but I was scared, too. So the sleek dolphin rose, leapt through the ring of my legs, and disappeared again, leaving me bobbing, trying to keep my balance. Everything was wet down there. I laid my head on her chest beneath the bunched-up T-shirt. Her underarms smelled like overripe fruit. The hair there was very sparse. One night, as I was doing this and other things, I noticed a shadow on the wall.

I thought it was a moth. Her hand was completely awake. It clenched and unclenched, siphoning all the ecstasy from her body into its secret flowerings. What the Object and I did together was played out under these loose rules. What pressed on our attention was that it was happening, sex was happening.

That was the great fact. How it happened exactly, what went where, was secondary. Nothing but our night in the shack with Rex and Jerome. Luce will tell you that female monkeys exhibit mounting behavior when administered male hormones. They seize, they thrust. Not me. Or at least not at first. The blooming of the crocus was an impersonal phenomenon. But, apparently, effective enough. Because after the first few nights, she was eager for it. Eager, that is, while ostensibly remaining unconscious. Nothing was made ready or caressed.

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Nothing was aimed. But practice brought about a fluid gymnastics to our sleep couplings. She moved under me as a sleeping girl might while being ravished by an incubus. She was like somebody having a dirty dream, confusing her pillow for a lover. Sometimes, before or afterward, I switched on the bedside lamp.

I pulled her T-shirt up as far as it would go and slid her underpants down below her knees. And then I lay there, letting my eyes have their fill. What else compares? Gold filings shifted around the magnet of her navel. Her ribs were as thin as candy canes. The spread of her hips, so different from mine, looked like a bowl offering up red fruit.

And then there was my favorite spot, the place where her ribcage softened into breast, the smooth, white dune there. I turned the light off. I pressed against the Object. I took the backs of her thighs in my hands, adjusting her legs around my waist. I reached under her. I brought her up to me. And then my body, like a cathedral, broke out into ringing. The hunchback in the belfry had jumped and was swinging madly on the rope.

She started to tell him something but then thought no. They fell together, folded toward each other, and then she leaned back, arching, shored on her back-braced arms, and she let him pace the occasion. At some point she opened her eyes and saw him watching her, measuring her progress, and he looked a little isolated and wan and she pulled his head down to her and sucked salt from his tongue and heard the sort of breast-slap, the splash of upper bodies and the banging bed.

Then it was a matter of close concentration. The nameless girl spread her legs under the sheets. What I mean is, the drawer holds fear and photographs and men who can never be found, as well as papers. So the cop turned out the light and unzipped his fly. The girl closed her eyes when he turned her face down. She felt his pants against her buttocks and the metallic cold of the belt buckle. He was on his side, but she still had her head buried in the sheets. His index and middle finger probed her ass, massaged her sphincter, and she opened her mouth without a sound.

He pushed his fingers all the way in, the girl moaned and raised her haunches, he felt the tips of his fingers brush something to which he instantly gave the name stalagmite. Then he thought it might be shit, but the color of the body that he was touching kept blazing green and white, like his first impression. The girl moaned hoarsely. He worked his fingers in and out. The words came to a stop in the middle of a metro station.

There was no one there. The policeman blinked. I guess the risk of the gaze was partly overcome by the exercise of his profession. The girl was sweating profusely and moved her legs with great care. Her ass was wet and occasionally quivered. They kissed, and it was in this moment of relative optimism for Florence that she felt his arms tense, and suddenly, in one deft athletic move, he had rolled on top of her, and though his weight was mostly through his elbows and forearms planted on either side of her head, she was pinned down and helpless, and a little breathless beneath his bulk.

She felt disappointment that he had not lingered to stroke her pubic area again and set off that strange and spreading thrill. But her immediate preoccupation — an improvement on revulsion or fear — was to keep up appearances, not to let him down or humiliate herself, or seem a poor choice among all the women he had known. She was going to get through this. She would never let him know what a struggle it was, what it cost her, to appear calm. She was without any other desire but to please him and make this night a success, and without any other sensation beyond an awareness of the end of his penis, strangely cool, repeatedly jabbing and bumping into and around her urethra.

Her panic and disgust, she thought, were under control, she loved Edward, and all her thoughts were on helping him have what he so dearly wanted and to make him love her all the more. It was in this spirit that she slid her right hand down between his groin and hers. He lifted a little to let her through. She found his testicles first and, not at all afraid now, she curled her fingers softly round this extraordinary bristling item she had seen in different forms on dogs and horses, but had never quite believed could fit comfortably on adult humans.

Drawing her fingers across its underside, she arrived at the base of his penis, which she held with extreme care, for she had no idea how sensitive or robust it was. She trailed her fingers along its length, noting with interest its silky texture, right to the tip, which she lightly stroked; and then, amazed by her own boldness, she moved back down a little, to take his penis firmly, about halfway along, and pulled it downwards, a slight adjustment, until she felt it just touching her labia.

How could she have known what a terrible mistake she was making? Had she pulled on the wrong thing? Had she gripped too tight? He gave out a wail, a complicated series of agonised, rising vowels, the sort of sound she had heard once in a comedy film when a waiter, weaving this way and that, appeared to be about to drop a towering pile of soup plates. In horror she let go, as Edward, rising up with a bewildered look, his muscular back arching in spasms, emptied himself over her in gouts, in vigorous but diminishing quantities, filling her navel, coating her belly, thighs, and even a portion of her chin and kneecap in tepid, viscous fluid.

One of them wrestled her to the cold damp sand, hard-packed as dirt. Norma Jeane grabbed at him desperately, arms around his head, Eddy G sank to his knees beside them and fumbled with the panties, finally ripping them off. Her mouth moved down, then farther. He touched the top of her head, her fragile skull under wet hair, pulled her up gently. He wanted slowness, warmth, kissing. She pressed down again, her body against his chest, and at last her mouth found his.

He imagined the quiet street outside shining in the lights, the millions of souls warm and listening to the rain in their beds. He was close but held off, until at last she whispered, Go. Come out and joust. A genius. Lotto had long known it in his bones. Since he was a tiny boy, shouting on a chair, making grown men grow pink and weep. But how nice to get such confirmation, and in such a format, too. Under the golden ceiling, under the golden wife.

All right, then. He could be a playwright. He watched as the Lotto he thought he had been stood up in his greasepaint and jerkin, his doublet sweated through, panting, the roar inside him going external as the audience rose in ovation. Ghostly out of his body he went, giving an elaborate bow, passing for good through the closed door of the apartment. There should have been nothing left. And yet, some kind of Lotto remained. A separate him, a new one, below his wife, who was sliding her face up his stomach, pushing the string of her thong to one side, enveloping him.

His hands were opening her robe to show her breasts like nestlings, her chin tipped up toward their vaguely reflected bodies. No more Lotto. We will make this happen. If it meant his wife smiling through her blond lashes at him again, his wife posting atop him like a prize equestrienne, he could change. He could become what she wanted. No longer failed actor. Potential playwright. And still a sort of pain, a loss. He closed his eyes against it and moved in the dark toward what, just now, only Mathilde could see so clearly.

Half an hour later, his eyes closed, then suddenly opened, tears and sweat dripping down onto her, he calls out her name, and in response Jamie comes at the same time that he does. Her facial expression is one of pleasure mixed with horrified surprise. After a moment—she has broken out into quick shocked laughter—he looks into her eyes and imagines that her spirit, without knowing how or why, has suddenly disobeyed the force of gravity that has governed it. Her soul, no longer a myth but now a fact, ascends above her body.

Like a little metallic bird unused to flight, unsteady in its progress, her soul rises and falls, frightened by the heights and by what it sees, but excited, too, by being married to him for a few seconds, just before it plummets back to earth. He turned his head so his cheek was flat against her. He could feel her muscles moving softly — her coming was more in her mind still; when she got closer she would become a single band of muscle, like a fish — all of her would move at once, flickering and curving, unified from jaw to tail. His mind was half in hers.

He felt her still loose-jointed drift — only an occasional little coil in the current tugging at her harder, moving her toward the flood. Then she breathed — he felt her body move as if her mouth opened on all of him — she took a breath and let herself go tumbling. After a while they moved up the bank as though they had to escape the flood. They clambered onto the table of higher ground, onto the spartina. He got his feet out of his pants and made a bed of them for her on the long flattened stalks. Everything was brighter than in the creek — all around them the even tops of the spartina caught flat shadowless starlight.

He reached under her back to smooth out broken stems. For an instant he felt her feel his body, felt her register him, his inner sounds, the outer wave of them pressing toward her. And then they both fell into their own urgencies, overlapping disturbances, like waves from separate storms, at first damping, then amplifying each other. They lay still in their pit of gray light. Her cheek moved against his. He had no idea what her expression was now — maybe smiling, maybe recovering herself the way she laughed at herself after she cried. She moved her head and kissed his mouth.

She stayed quiet, though. He caught one more feeling from the heavy stillness of their bodies. They were both stunned by sadness. Tomorrow there was more light in the room, and they split a half-bottle of white wine from the minibar before they began. Yolande was bolder and far more loquacious. Would you like to suck my breasts? Go ahead. Is that nice? Can I suck you? Was that nice? Sure I like to do it. Sucking and licking are very primal pleasures. But he was elated too.

He hung on for dear life. Smugly, he showed her his pinga, as it was indelicately called in his youth. He was sitting on the bed in the Hotel Splendour and leaning back in the shadows, while she was standing by the bathroom door. And just looking at her fine naked body, damp with sweat and happiness, made his big thing all hard again.

That thing burning in the light of the window was thick and dark as a tree branch. In those days, it sprouted like a vine from between his legs, carried aloft by a powerful vein that precisely divided his body, and flourished upwards like the spreading top branches of a tree, or, he once thought while looking at a map of the United States, like the course of the Mississippi River and its tributaries. On that night, as on many other nights, he pulled up the tangled sheets so that she could join him on the bed again.

And soon Vanna Vane was grinding her damp bottom against his chest, belly, and mouth and strands of her dyed blond hair came slipping down between their lips as they kissed. I do not say anything. Instead I roll in the bed, reach across, and touch her, and because she is surprised she turns to me.

When I kiss her the lips are dry, cracking against mine, unfamiliar as the ocean floor. But then the lips give. They part. I am inside her mouth, and there, still hidden from the world, as if ruin had forgotten a part, it is wet— Lord! I have the feeling of a miracle. Her tongue comes forward. I do not know myself then, what man I am, who I lie with in embrace.

I can barely remember her beauty. She touches my chest and I bite lightly on her lip, spread moisture to her cheek and then kiss there. She makes something like a sigh. My hand finds her fingers and grips them, bone and tendon, fragile things. She arches her body like a cat on a stretch. She nuzzles her cunt into my face like a filly at the gate. She smells of the sea. She smells of rockpools when I was a child. She keeps a starfish in there. I crouch down to taste the salt, to run my fingers around the rim.

She opens and shuts like a sea anemone. He touched her on the forehead between her eyes and ran his finger down the line of her nose. She had never imagined you could say those words and still feel tender, but now she was lying on her side and he was lying on his and he had those clear blue Catchprice eyes and such sweet crease marks around his eyes.

She let him undress her and caress her swollen body. God, she thought— this is how people die. She began to kiss him, to kiss his chest, to nuzzle her face among the soft apple-sweet hairs, discovering as she did so a hunger for the scents and textures of male skin. At fourteen I had discovered that a tongue had no real taste. I was sucking the tongue of a boy named Tanner, and I was sucking his tongue because I liked the way his fingers looked on the keys of the piano as he played it, and I had liked the way he looked from the back as he walked across the pasture, and also, when I was close to him, I liked the way behind his ears smelled.

As I was sucking away, I was thinking, Taste is not the thing to seek out in a tongue; how it makes you feel— that is the thing. He put his head between my legs, nuzzling at first. His beard was a little rough on the insides of my thighs. Then with his lips, then his tongue, he struck fire. I had to cry out in astonishment, in gratitude at being touched in that right place. Somehow, it alwaysmakes me grateful when a man finds the right place, maybe because when I was young so many of them kept finding the wrong place, or a series of wrong places, or no place at all.

That strange feeling: gratitude and hunger. My hunger was being teased. It also felt like a punishment.