Best Black Women's Erotica Read Online Free PDF

bright the entire room is illuminated in a silvery glow. When he crosses the threshold he feels a little dizzy and slightly disoriented. It takes a moment to right himself. Then, to his amazement, he sees the familiar attic is transformed. Lace curtains covering the open windows blow gently in the breeze. In the light, cobwebs sparkle as if woven of iridescent silk, and the brass bed is sheeted and draped with material that has the sheen of satin.
    He moves closer to the bed. A woman lies shadowed against the pale sheets. The room is filled with her scent. She smells of nutmeg, cinnamon, and the faintest suggestion of almonds. She is covered with a diaphanous veil. Her naked body, the color of rosewood, shines as if oiled. She lies sprawled like a rag doll tossed carelessly upon the bed. One leg slightly raised, the other at an angle. Her thighs are parted. Her left arm lies across her bosom and her thumb gently caresses the pouting nipple of her right breast, outlined by the thin veil. Her right hand rests between her legs. She is slowly stroking her sex through the protective cover of the translucent material. Her head is turned toward him. Her dark hair is a woolen crown of ebony. Her eyes are open but slightly slit as
she awards him the brief white flash of her smile. She sighs, and slowly lifts the veil until it forms a scarf around her throat.
    Her body lies exposed and vulnerable. She welcomes his gaze. He moves closer and his nostrils widen as the musk of her woman-scent floats toward him. She strokes her belly, that soft round mound dimpled by her navel, and lowers her hand to the tip of her budding clitoris, which he can barely see. She teases it, dusting her fingertips across it like a feather, then slides the palm of her hand over her mound and shakes it gently, slipping her fingers in the opening from which the honeyed juice begins to spill. “Oh…” she sighs. “Oh…” And her hips dance against the pale bedsheets.
    As he watches this woman make love to herself, his body flushes with heat. His penis is engorged and pulsing with blood. She has turned her head toward the window and, unconcerned that he is watching, brings herself to a moaning climax. Her buttocks tighten, her hips churn, and her back arches. Suddenly she collapses and lies limp, panting, twisting on the bed. She murmurs his name without moving her lips, calling him with her mind. He lowers himself onto the bed and places his hands over hers at the entrance to her sex. She slides her hand back and inserts his fingers into the hot, moist recesses of that second mouth all women possess, then withdraws them dewed with her fluids, perfumed with her juices.
    She seeks him with her hand, fingers teasing, dancing, grasping. His penis is hard and smooth and she seems pleasured by the look of it, the taste of it, as she leans forward and flicks her tongue over the head. He tastes of salt, sweat, and smoky wine. She pulls him into her mouth so greedy with desire that he wants to spill himself into that warm receptacle, but she will not allow this. Releasing him, she guides him over her. Her thighs are soft but strong. They encircle his waist as he enters her smoothly, firmly. She is like a furnace! Her heat engulfs him. He slides his hands beneath her hips, raising her
closer to him, and with each thrust he can feel her muscles pull at him, sucking him deeper into herself. The crinkling hairs of her mound cling to those surrounding his groin. A fine mist of sweat covers their bellies. His hands are filled with her breasts; her body is saturated with the moisture of lovemaking.
    She moans under him and moves in invitation to be taken even more fiercely. He leans back on his heels, pulling her into a seated position on his lap. She flings her arms about his neck. He circles her waist and draws her tightly against him. She is like a fever! Everywhere his skin touches her, he burns. Her fingers are flames dancing through his hair, across