Excerpt for Ring of Roses: A Lesbian Erotic Romance Story by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Ring of Roses

© 2013 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover design © 2018 Giselle Renarde

First Ebook Edition 2018

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Ring of Roses

A Lesbian Erotic Romance Story

By Giselle Renarde

I spent three hours crying in her bed.

She was right there, snoring beside me, yet I couldn’t get past the gnawing sensation that she’d never be mine, not entirely. Her house was full of meaningful knick-knacks and mementoes, little reminders of a marriage that, in my mind, would never cease to exist. Was there really room for me?

There were photographs everywhere, in every room. Why so goddamn many photographs? Why did I have to look at them? Or, better yet, why couldn’t I see past them? I’m the girl who’s sleeping in her bed, the girl she chats with every night, the girl she pulls into the shower with her, and that’s all that matters. I tried to comfort myself with those thoughts, but I guess I savoured my sadness too much. There were certain things neither of us would release—Danielle had her pictures, I had my pain.

Danielle had told me many times that I was being juvenile, and I knew she was right, but I could never reconcile my emotions. “I don’t know why you let things get to you,” she often said. “Let my actions speak for me.”

But I only saw her inactions. I only saw the photographs still hanging on the wall.

That’s why I booked the couples’ package in Niagara Falls, complete with king-size bed, in-room Jacuzzi tub, and a dozen red roses. We still had a few more days we’d committed to spending together, and I just couldn’t stand another night in her bed, haunted by those all-too-real pictures of a ghost marriage. Instead, I would whisk my girl off on a surprise getaway for two. Perfect.

I guess I could have told this story as a sickly sweet romance with me as the gallant sugar mama. It still would have been objectively true, but it wouldn’t have been the complete and unadulterated truth. If I’m going for honesty I might as well go all the way, even if the reality makes me seem immature and a little bit crazy.

You should have seen her face when I announced the trip. I’d never seen her so ecstatic. She rushed to fetch her suitcase and I sat on the bed while she rifled through her closet, holding outfits up against her body. “I wonder if this still fits… Oooh, a cleavage dress!”

For the first time since I’d arrived at this house I was never comfortable in, I felt happy and hopeful. Danielle’s joy gave me that gift.

“Where are you taking me for dinner?” she asked.

“The Brazilian steakhouse.”

Her eyes lit up. “That place is expensive!”

Everything was expensive, but there was only one perfect response to that statement: “Anything for my girl.”

We arrived in Niagara just after noon and took a walk by the Falls. The weather was mild for January in Canada, cottonball snowflakes melting as they hit the pavement. When the breeze turned cool, I led my girlfriend the amateur photographer to the horticultural centre so she could practice her hobby on bright tropical plants.

Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-3 show above.)