Best Women's Erotica of the Year by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Author:Rachel Kramer Bussel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Best Women's Erotica of the Year
ISBN: 9781627785037
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2019-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

The next day, Marguerite woke to find her stomach less angry.

“You are no longer green, at least,” Jacqueline said with her hands on her hips, her countenance smug as ever.

“I even managed to swallow some salted meats at supper last night,” Marguerite quipped back. “What were you doing with the little ones yesterday?”

“I tell them stories to pass the time,” said Jacqueline.

“What kind of stories?”

“Stories of great adventure in far-off lands, of brave knights and beautiful princesses. Fairy tales. Love stories.”

“Where do you find these stories?”

“My uncle told me some,” she said. “The rest I make up myself.”

“That is very impressive.”

“It’s nothing,” she said with another shrug.

Having found a friend, Marguerite’s time passed more enjoy ably. The girls compared fantasies of their new lives, and at Jacqueline’s invitation, Marguerite even joined the audience during the storytelling performances.

Watching the ease and fervor with which Jacqueline delivered her tales, Marguerite was in awe. One day in particular when Jacqueline locked those dark eyes on her in the middle of an epic love story, Marguerite found her throat tightening in a peculiar way. She coughed through the sensations just as quickly as they came on and sloughed them away. Unnerved though, she silently excused herself from her seat. Jacqueline told her rapt listeners of how the prince’s blade sliced through the gnarly thorns surrounding an old castle, but it was the narrator’s glare that pierced Marguerite as she walked away.

In bed that night, Marguerite’s thoughts didn’t drift too far before landing back on Jacqueline—her courageous spirit, her infinite well of stories, her musings on the rugged men their husbands would be, of grand homes made from giant trees; of what it would be like to be the mothers of the Nouveau Monde.

Marguerite couldn’t fathom how this girl could be so bold in the face of such a great unknown.

Her thoughts sank deeper to how soft Jacqueline’s delicate hands seemed and how piercing her dark eyes certainly were. The long black curls of her hair, how they tumbled when she freed them from her bonnet.

The longer Marguerite thought about her, the more intensely she felt . . . everywhere.

She couldn’t distinguish where her thoughts ended and her dreams began, but she woke with a start when images of unholy lewdness appeared to her. Sweat had swelled to her surfaces, her heart beat too quickly, and an uncomfortable tension tugged between her legs. She was keenly aware of how tight every corner of her was. Heat flashed in her ears and shot chills down the back of her neck. Her forearms clenched, as did the pit of her stomach. While her thighs squeezed involuntarily, the indistinct pain looming in her loins was reluctant to subside.

While Marguerite battled with tension and sleep, a fever began to creep its way through the ship. Over the next several days, at least half of the crew and a good many more of the girls saw their fair share of night sweats and gut-wrenching agony. Though most managed to weather the storms waging inside them, one of the younger girls took too ill and never recovered.

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