Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph

Comfort Object by Annabel Joseph




I had to finish this book the same night I started it. And no, that's not a good thing.

There was so much right with this story that it made what was wrong all the worse. The concept was interesting, the writing was good, the characters were more fully formed than in most erotica, and the sex was crazy hot.

The problem lay with the "hero"; a classification which I am loathe to use in this case. Jeremy was such an abusive, emotionally damaged, man child so as to make the whole book horribly distasteful. The way in which he treated the heroine, Nell, was not that of a dominant male, but of a controlling, insecure, abuser.

I like my erotica more on the edge than most and this is a pretty hardcore BDSM book, but I couldn't deal with the things Jeremy did to Nell. He was so incredibly hurtful (outside of any sort of power exchange) that I found their whole relationship to be incredibly depressing. I can't imagine that someone who treats women the way Jeremy did Nell would ever be a loving, functional partner. Which made the ending so unbelievable.

Sorry I missed out on a few hours of sleep for this ebook.




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Erotic

Pretty pictures.

pussy

You’ve come already. In this dark place we lie, you’ve got your pleasure now its time for mine.

I fumble through the dark for playthings, returning to the sheets prepared for self-centered fucking.

Your body spent wraps around mine, holding me tight in reality as my hands play an instrument that drives me to fantasy. Your lips suck at my neck, my ears, as the buzz starts between my legs. I don’t want you to watch me, I want your accompaniment, I want you to help orchestrate this orgasm.

Fingers dig into my soft skin, I feel you hard against my hip. You whisper into my ear. I want you to whisper what we could do, what we would do, what I fear doing. Maestro you oblige me so sweetly.

You huskily tell me how we’d walk, till we found the right stranger. How my knees would grind into the pavement as you told me to suck him. I imagine his look of surprise as with a smile I slide his zipper down. He wears black leather and denim, and he is too wary of his good fortune to question it. I unbuckle the silver buckle of his black belt, one two three four five buttons, light blue cotton boxers, pink soft hard flesh. I feel you behind me as his cock drags across my tongue.

My face hidden by my hair and his crotch, my mind distracted from the park by thrusting my mouth, licking his length, by the cunt that cries for your attention.

Yes, I’m wet, throbbing, each discomfort making it a bit more of a turn on. I like being your slut, the ownership, the degradation; I like sucking him off for you.

And we’re back on cotton sheets, my pussy clenching around this purple menace, my teeth gnashing, my back arching, as I let out the noise that only comes when I do.

You sigh into my ear, the sweat of lust cools my skin, and I sink into sleep.

(© Alice Ginsberg)