Historical Erotica


“You do have the look of a man who wants nothing more than to fuck the governess, Ashby.”
Seaton knew enough about their games to know that Ashby would not step out of character, no matter what he said.
He tossed his quill onto a piece of parchment and sat back, rubbing his hand down his face in frustration. He did want to fuck the governess. He wanted that little slip of a woman more than he’d ever wanted anything. He grunted in response to his friend’s comment. He wasn’t capable of making an intelligible response, not while the lemony scent of her still lingered in the air.
“How often does she come to see you?” Mr. Seaton, his lifelong friend, asked casually as he perched a hip on the corner of his desk, a wicked grin tipping the corners of his lips.
“Too often.” Ashby wanted to stand up and pace, but he was certain Seaton would break into a full grin if he noticed the way that the governess tented his breeches.
God, she’d done nothing more than walk into his office to apprise him of his daughters’ lessons for the week. But she’d done so peeking up at him from beneath heavy, dark lashes that lay across her alabaster cheeks like fans when she blinked. She’d done so with her pretty rose-colored lips pursed when she was vexed about a prank his daughters had pulled, which just made him want to kiss her. To see if she would soften.
He groaned aloud and laid his head back in defeat. The little minx had been all he could think about ever since she’d been interviewed. His wife was completely against the hiring of her. Said she was much too comely. But he’d overridden her. There was something about Miss Winter’s innocent gaze that made him want her with an unbridled passion. He wanted to pull down that severe knot of hair so her eyes would soften. He wanted to see if her breasts would fill his hand.
“I saw your wife as I arrived. Is she increasing?” Seaton still grinned at him.
God, he hoped Georgina was increasing. Then he could cease his visits to her bed completely. Three daughters and not a single son, at least not yet. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Pity that,” Seaton murmured.
“She’s just getting fat,” Ashby said as he tossed his quill down in frustration. He bet there wasn’t a pudgy part of Miss Winters beneath that staid gray dress she wore. He bet she was all lush curves and he wanted to explore them all with his teeth and lips. His wife, on the other hand, had never let him explore a single part of her body. Their interactions occurred in the dark, where he was forced to shove her nightrail up above her knees and do the deed while she lay completely still beneath him. She didn’t move. She didn’t make a sound. Early in their marriage, there had been the sniffle and snort as she cried. Now she just gritted her teeth and bore his attention. “Very fat,” he affirmed.
“I would love to tell you that I pity you, but you have the pretty Miss Winters in your household. My wife would never allow me to hire a governess as pretty as that. I would just like to sit back and look at her.”
Ashby wanted to do more than sit back and look at her. He wanted to taste her. To touch her. To hear her make nonsensical noises in her throat as he brought her pleasure. But that was not to be. He was a married man, an earl, and she was an innocent. He was almost certain of it. God, the thought of taking her innocence made him harden all over again.
“I take that back, Ashby,” Seaton said. “I do pity you. Having to look at her once a week and just think about the way she might taste. It’s enough to drive a man to distraction.”
Distraction was a ridiculous word for what he was feeling.

A virgin, a rake, Regency England… pleasure.

Our heroine finds herself in trouble and sent to the headmaster’s quarters. Punish her or pleasure her? It’s his choice to decide.

“She is a disgrace to the school, my lord,” she chirped. She didn’t even wait for his lordship to speak. She just began her diatribe. But he held up a hand to cut her off.
He was a man of means. And he didn’t hesitate to display it. His waistcoat and jacket were of the finest quality, and I wanted very much to run my hands over the fabric. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and I found myself jealous. How ridiculous. Jealous that his jacket got such intimacy? His blond hair was slightly over-long. It brushed the top of his neckcloth and a lock of hair fell across his forehead.
“But sir,” Miss Houghton began. He held up his hand again, and she pursed her lips, as though creating a dam to hold back the words.
“You may go,” he clipped out. Then he dropped into a chair behind his desk. He looked a bit… weary.
I turned toward the door, my heart hurting a little at the thought of not having my talking-to.
“Not you, Miss Winters.” He pointed his quill at Miss Houghton. “You.”
“But my lord, I need to tell you what she has done. It’s unseemly. She influences all the other girls. And if she’d not expelled, she’ll ruin them all.”
He raised his eyebrows at her as he repeated, “You. May. Go.”
She huffed for a moment, which reminded me of a peacock I’d once seen as he darted about the yard after a bug. “Wait.” He said. She turned back with glee. He held out his hand. “I’ll have the birch stick.” She placed it in his hand with a disappointed sound. Then quit the room.
I turned to him slowly, not quite sure how to address him.
“Close the door,” he barked.
Close the door? If there was one thing I was certain of, a lady should never close a door and be alone with a man.
He lowered his head and cupped his forehead in his palm for a moment, massaging gently. “Close the blasted door, Miss Winters,” he barked again as he righted himself. He ran a hand through his hair, a mark of frustration. He sighed heavily.
I scurried to close the blasted door and approached him on legs that shook.
He pointed to the chair across from his desk. “Sit, Miss Winters.”

A virgin, a rake, Regency England… pleasure.

Our hero finds himself in trouble when Miss Winters is sent to his office for punishment. Is he strong enough to withstand her youthful innocence and passion?

I highly doubted this little slip of a girl could influence all the others. She was fairly quiet, even if she didn’t form to certain social constrictions. I raised my brows at Mrs. Haughton and glared my best stare at her. “You. May. Go.” It was only then that I realized she had a birch stick in her hand. The kind she liked to use to punish the girls. I’d never, not once, used any such item. I’d never raised a hand to a single one of the girls. I might send them to their room without supper. Or force them to read. But I’d never harm one of them. Miss Haughton shuffled in her place, the birch stick whapping her leg as she fidgeted. Then she finally said something beneath her breath and started for the door. “Wait,” I called. She turned back to me with an anxious look. “I’ll have the birch stick.” I held out my hand and I waited for her to turn it over. She looked none too pleased as she placed it in my palm. Then she turned and quit the room, her skirts flurrying about her. I had no desire to see her ankles. Not one bit. Miss Winters, on the other hand…
My cock twitched at the very thought of her. I still couldn’t stand. “Close the door,” I said.
Miss Winters looked at me as though I’d grown two heads, those blue eyes blinking in question. I didn’t have time to wait for the erection to pass. I lowered my forehead into my palm again and massaged it. “Close the blasted door, Miss Winters,” I repeated. She moved quickly to do so. She obviously warred with the impropriety of it. But I had a feeling Miss Haughton would be nearby, just waiting to hear my verdict about her behavior. And I didn’t want to give the woman the satisfaction.
I pointed to the chair across from my desk. “Sit, Miss Winters.”
Miss Winters did so, gingerly, balancing her bum on the edge of the chair. “I can explain, my lord,” she rushed to say.
God, she was pretty. She stole the words right from my mouth when she looked at my lips. My lips. Good God, I could do wonderful things to her with my lips. I could already taste her on my tongue.

Olivia Ragland never assumed she would be presented with the opportunity to love two men, not a the very same time. In fact, she has all the man she could ever want in her husband, Avery Ragland, Lord Laugherty. He’s charismatic, handsome, and a wonderful lover. But when his best friend is invited to a house party they throw, the two launch a sensual assault that no woman could possibly withstand.

Avery and Ellis have shared women in the past, and have a pressing desire to share this one for a lifetime. The only catch — they have to convince Olivia that she can overcome the restrictions that come with respectability.

Annabelle Greer has never been able to decide if she likes the top more, or the bottom. She loves the feeling of taking a man beneath her and making him submit. But she also likes to be dominated just as much.

When Randall Masters discovers Annabelle’s need to dominate, he’s not able to fulfill her desires. He can’t take a submissive role, not even for her. So, he calls upon his old friend, the Earl of Moxbury. The earl would be mortified if anyone in parliament knew about his most secret desires. But he throws caution to the wind when he goes to visit Randall and Annabelle.

What follows is a lesson in domination, submission and sharing. But can they make it last a lifetime?

Dearest Readers,

I, Laurel Bennett, do solemnly swear that I had a blast writing this story. I love a good menage and this was my first one where the threesome is a complete threesome in every way. Yes, *WARNING, WARNING, WARNING*, this is a threesome in every sense of the word. It contains male/male sex along with some sizzling male/female and some male/female/male sex. (Yes, with the female sandwiched in the middle.) If you’re offended by that, you might want to skip this one. If you’re not offended by it or aren’t sure if you’re offended, you might want to give it a shot. I had fun writing the underlying love story beyond all the sex, and hope you enjoy it, too.


Julie couldn’t believe the audacity. First, he’d touched her person, groping her most inappropriately when he’d caught her in his strong arms. Then he’d attempted to purchase not only her, but also her horse. “Just who do you think you are?” she asked, punching her hands into her hips. Then she turned and took the horse’s lead from the stable hand. She walked it toward the barn. The unlikely pair followed.

“Your savior,” the blonde one murmured to her.

“If you’ll allow it,” the brown haired one intoned just as quietly. “It’s up to you, Miss Murrell. She just tried to sell you. And I bought.” He stopped for a moment. Then he said, “I bought the horse, and we’re inviting you to come with it.”

“Beg your pardon?” she asked. Somehow, they’d gotten the horse between her and her family. So, the three of them stood relatively alone. “I don’t even know you.”

“I’ve always wanted a horse like this,” the dark one said. He nodded toward the blond man, who wore a cheeky grin all his own. “And he’s always wanted a chit in breeches.”

Charlotte, a recent widow, is surprised and pleased to find herself thrust into the Duke of Randallshire’s world of sin and debauchery. She wanted one night with him, but he sets out to convince her that he’s worth more than that. And so is she. Setting out on a path of seduction unlike any he has ever attempted, Trent takes Charlotte to on a journey that will awaken all of her senses and leave her begging for him, or so he hopes.

Dearest readers,

This is not a full length novel. It is a short, erotic tale that’s packed full of innuendo and heat. I hope you enjoy it.

Laurel Bennett


Mary was the duchess. The woman she’d been led to believe was a maid was a duchess. A duchess had looked up at her from between her thighs that very afternoon, her pretty blue eyes blinking as she’d brought Charlotte to a passionate release.

“Breathe, my darling,” Trent murmured in her ear.

“You should have told me,” she hissed back at him. “She’s a duchess, for God’s sake.”

“She’s a woman,” he said with a shrug. “And she wasn’t always a lady. She was an actress, once upon a time. Then she captivated my good friend Charles and the rest is history.” Trent bent so that his head was close to the side of her neck, and let his next words move over her like a caress. “I find myself horrendously jealous that she has tasted you and I have not.” He lightly kissed the side of her neck and Charlotte shuddered with the pleasure of it. “She has rubbed your nipples on her tongue. And she has kissed her way down your body.”

“Stop it,” Charlotte warned. Her thighs were growing wet the reaction from his words. “It’s scandalous.”

“As are we, my darling,” he said with a chuckle.

Charlotte, a recent widow, sets out to find the perfect man with whom she can have a single night of pleasure. Little does she know, however, that the man knows more about what she needs than she does. Charlotte is surprised to find a maid named Mary in the duke’s chambers, but Mary is more than she seems when she sets out to seduce Charlotte.

This is not a full length novel. It’s a short, erotic tale that includes a man as a side character, rather than a hero. The duchess, on the other hand….


When they came to what she assumed was the duke’s chambers, he stopped, opened the door and stepped to the side. “Mary will be along to assist you,” he said.

“Assist me with what?” Charlotte asked as she stepped into the room. Instead of answering, he closed the door. She wanted to run after him. To bring him back. He obviously knew more than Charlotte did. Charlotte laid her forehead against the door with a heavy thump and muttered, “What do I do now?”

“I believe he means for you to dress,” a silky voice called from the corner of the room. Charlotte spun quickly, relieved and not relieved all at the same time to find a young woman standing in the corner beside a steaming tub of water. The full bath rested before a crackling fire. “His Grace sent me for your pleasure,” she said with a smile. Charlotte stopped short. She didn’t look like a servant. She looked like a lady. One of odd circumstance, but still a lady.

“You are Mary?”

The lady laughed, a soft sound that moved across Charlotte’s skin like satin. “May I help you disrobe?”

“May I ask what your position within the household is?” Charlotte squeaked.

“I am not a member of the household staff,” she said, shaking her head. Her silky blonde curls danced across her shoulders. “I am here for your pleasure.” She had a voice like a siren and a smile that could sink ships. All gracing the most perfectly proportioned figure.

“Yes, you mentioned pleasure,” Charlotte murmured. “Do you also attend to the duke’s pleasure?” She pretended to pluck at an errant string on her sleeve. The words sounded waspish even to her own ears.

A tinkling little laugh was the lady’s response. “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

Did she? Probably not.

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