Each Rococo Single is part of an erotic collection (available as Rococo) from the final days before the French Revolution. The entries reveal the hidden lives of several of France’s well-born daughters – Beatrice, a willful noblewoman in lust with her mother’s groom; Gabrielle, a virgin who surrenders to a masked lover; Lucille, a brazen temptress playing the repentant sinner; Veronique, a master manipulator betrayed by her own desires; and Candacis, one third of a forbidden love triangle. (Visit annvremont.blogspot.com for reading order.)
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For two years, Cruz Medina has tried hard to ignore Tamsyn, the plus-size beauty he's lusted after since high school. Never mind that he climbs rooftops every evening to watch her in bed, her hands caressing her lush curves with an intimacy he can only dream about. Never mind that she wants him just as badly, that he can smell her arousal and need…
Sent by her family to the Sacred Heart convent to keep her protected during tumultuous times, Lucille is the real threat. She has set her lustful sights on the handsome priest who delivers sermons to the convent's nuns and other well-born refugees. (2400 words)
Do you read my words or burn the envelopes unopened? You read them, I know you must! For your hand did tremble as you brought the wafer to my mouth this morning and when I was so bold as to look you in the eye, you cast your gaze to the side. So much more delicious this Sunday’s communion as I imagined the salty taste of your rod on my tongue and prayed not for my soul but that the same image ran through your mind.
I would fill your mind with more images since you do not care to make your own pilgrimage to me. Imagine, dear André, my body as it is now, while I sit here writing this letter. I have loosened the bodice to my dressing gown, allowing my hand to cup and stroke my breasts whenever Beatrice leaves the room. I count the minutes until she retires at last to her bed to sob into her pillow until sleep claims her.
Then, alone in my wakefulness, I lift the hem of my dressing gown. Do you picture this, beloved? Do you see the fabric sliding up over my bare calves, pooling between my thighs as one hand slips between my legs and the other fills these pages with promises of my love for you – promises I would give immediate physical form if you would consent and name a time and place!