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“She ran her nails up and through the hair on his thighs, guiding her hands toward his waiting dick. When she reached him, she started with one hand gently running over the tip, then down his shaft. He sucked in a breath as she tightened her grip around him. When her hand reached the base of him, she opened her mouth and her tongue flicked his head, over and over, while she slowly worked his shaft with her hand. Then she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, licking him in one smooth motion. When she trailed her tongue back up, she stopped at his tip and popped it into her mouth, sucking him into her with tight pressure. His hands went for her hair, gripping her as she brought her mouth down the length of him, sucking firmly as she went up and down his cock.”

Quote by Erin La Rosa

Book:For Butter or Worse
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For Butter or Worse

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Erin La Rosa

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“Turn around. I want you to come in my mouth." "Are we about to... sixty-nine?" Nina asked. He hesitated before replying, "Like it's twenty sixty-nine." She laughed, then positioned herself over him, the wisps of her hair teasing him. Before he could taste her, he felt her mouth meet his cock again. His hips arched up to her, and she took in the full length of him until he was buried deep in her mouth. "That's so fucking good," he said. But he didn't linger long; he had to taste her. He reached his hands up to grab her ass, and he gently pressed her down until her pussy was directly over his mouth. His tongue reached for her clit, and he drew her bud in. He nibbled at the tip of her and felt her buck against him. He could tell she liked the pressure, so he took her in again and again. Rolling his tongue over and around her clit in playful circles while sucking her into his mouth. Her hips began to rock as she bobbed her mouth up and down his cock and rode his mouth with her pussy. He squeezed her ass as he focused on her clit, not releasing her or letting up on the pressure he could tell she was responding to. "Leo, I'm so close," she said. Then returned her mouth to his cock. He rolled his tongue as he sucked more on her clit. She stilled over him, and her legs tightened. He held her still so he could continue to pleasure her as she moaned and finished on him.”

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Book:For Butter or Worse
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“The cool air hit me, and I knew I was wet already but something about being stared at by Ryker with such heated interest made the problem worse. "Now," he said with striking calm in his tone. I obeyed, and before my lungs had even filled all the way he had swooped sown and placed his mouth at my clit and licked. One long, hot, tenuous stroke. The breath he'd had me take came out instantly as a cry of surprise and delight. Ryker was tasting me, all right, and he was relentless with it. When he suckled on that bundle of nerves above my entrance, I took in a sharp breath and grabbed his shoulders. "Close," I hissed out. A mistake, because he sounded amused as he left me with one last stroke of his tongue before moving away. He left me throbbing, wanting, pissed, blissful. "Asshole," I breathed, earning a laugh from the dragon between my legs. "Hold still," he growled playfully, and with one of his hands he lifted my backside just enough to grab the dragon's mark on my ass. Hard. I moaned and the mark burned as my lower body tingled in the best possible way. Ryker's hot tongue didn't stop its assault as I began that dangerous climb to orgasm.”

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“The lentil is perhaps the world’s most versatile, indestructible food. One can eat the lentil unadorned; marry it off to its first cousin, the oafish “bulgur”; or attempt to drown it in harsh vinegar for a “vegan salad.” But the lentil, alas, will always survive. Indeed, at the Packwood house, the tenacious little legume will forcibly resurrect, as free of anything resembling taste as ever, and insinuate its indefatigable, pelletlike self onto yet another dinner plate, expecting to be eaten. Again, and again, and again.”

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“Susan . . . it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which meant "oops, we wanted a boy." But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances, and could reliably look after other people's children. It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere. And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, and it sounded as though you danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a couple of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.”

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“Then I stared at Arnold's bánh mì. The oil had yellowed the bread. Cartoonishly red hot sauce crisscrossed juicy chunks of chicken. It was topped with shredded coriander, chopped chilies, and translucent slivers of onion. I lifted my spoon, and then I heard myself speak. "Can I have that?" I put down my spoon and pointed at Arnold's sandwich. "What?" Arnold replied. "Your sandwich? Can we switch, please? I don't want this soup. I don't know why I asked for it." I lifted up my bowl and handed it over. Arnold received it because he had no choice and watched as I lifted up his bánh mì and deposited it in front of myself. I wrapped both hands around it and took a large bite before he could protest. I felt the tiny slices of chili deliciously tingle my lips. I made a full-bodied sound to demonstrate my pleasure.”

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“I'd recognize his face anywhere. I used to see it in my nightmares. Though older, his features haven't changed: the same sculpted cheeks, square jaw, and bold, high-bridged nose. The same well-shaped lips that manage to appear both uncompromising and wonderfully soft. He still has a freckle at the corner of his right eye. On a woman it would be called a beauty mark. And yet this Macon is something entirely different--- willingly showing me pieces of himself that aren't perfect. I want to ask him why his family weren't themselves, why he felt the need to play a part. But it's clear that regret for speaking too freely is creeping up on him, his gaze darting around as though he'd rather look at anything but me. Wherever he wanted to or not, Macon gave up a private piece of himself. One that I doubt anyone has ever seen. I feel... humbled.”

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