Frosty Bits

By Remi Wild

He said I was broken, frigid, and after two years of 'plugging away' with no payout on my end, he'd had enough. Making love to me had become a chore. Our connection disappeared beneath a weighted blanket of failed attempts and constant disappointment. With nowhere to go, I turned to the one place that promised a happy ending. Broken people gather in the most unexpected places. I'd imagine most come to a place like this to explore all things of a hedonistic nature. I've got one goal: the first of many orgasms.

Desire by Design is a series of standalone novels about vacationers at a fictional hedonistic resort.
All stories are romances with happily ever afters that contain explicit sexual scenes and profanity. You've been warned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ravenna Young
• Release date: Jun 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005760755

Book preview

Frosty Bits

A Desire by Design Erotic Romance

By Remi Wild

Copyright 2021 Remi Wild

Published at Smashwords by Ravenna Young

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s twisted imagination and not based on any real person. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This eBook contains adult content and is not suitable for readers under the age of 18.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Sexy Bits Sample

Chapter 1

As the air around me disappears, I can’t take my eyes off my sculpture of two lovers. It’s been sitting on our dresser since I bought it, two years ago, right around the time we started dating. The passion in their embrace as if a world outside their hunger for each other doesn’t exist, captivated me. They cling to each other for support, lost in the moment, tangled together in pure carnal bliss.

I long for what they have and, in this moment, knowing I may never have it, my soul aches. When I bought the sculpture, it was goals, something to strive for, and I hoped to share that intensity, that fury of need, with my someone special. My Jeremy.

Sadly, the object of my affection at the time of purchase never took me to that level of sensual awakening. He tried. God knows we both did.

As Jeremy stands here, gaping at me, waiting for a response to his biting words, I realize via the sick knot in my stomach, that I’ve made a mistake. We’ve made a mistake.

Well? Jeremy says, his tone raising an octave, expecting something from me, although I have no idea what it could be. Cadence? he snaps.

My eyes pop from the sculpture to his, and I nod, slow and mechanical. Yes, Jeremy. I heard you. At least, I think I did. He just told me he wanted to break up. My gaze drifts back to the sculpture and then to the box of wedding invitations sitting next to it. The date was set, everything was set.

"I can’t do this anymore. It’s like making love to a robot—I feel like less of a man, even though you’re the frigid one—I’ve tried Cady-Bug, but I need more—I need a certain level of intimacy. I’m just done."

Using his nickname for me, a term of endearment, at a time like this and right after calling me frigid, causes my whole-body to flinch as though I’ve been punched in the gut. Jer knows how much that word hurts me, how that cruel, cold, hateful word has followed me for years.

As much as I despise that word. It’s true. I am frigid. My sexual dysfunction, my inability to orgasm, with Jeremy or any of the six men I’ve been with, is the bane of my existence.

Tears escape, and I bat at them, humiliated, broken, feeling tossed away by the one man I was sure understood and accepted my struggle. Rising from my space on the bed, I move towards the dresser and gape into the box of invitations that we selected together.

I can’t help it, Jeremy, I say, my voice weak from the weight of this pain. You know this. I want to orgasm, more than anything. It just doesn’t happen. I still enjoy being with you, it’s still pleasurable, and I know I’ve been close to it, to something, on many occasions, it’s just… I’m so tired of trying to justify, to explain, to inject hope where the both of us honestly feel there isn’t any. Dr. Rosen said…

Fuck Dr. Rosen and his shitty advice. It’s gotten us nowhere. I’m not going to fuck you with a vibrator—I’m not going to some hedonistic resort to, he makes air quotes. Learn how to please you. If there was anything between us, don’t you think an orgasm would be a given? Before you, I’d made every other woman come. We need to face the fact that you and I are just sexually incompatible. Being with someone shouldn’t be this hard.

I guess I understand his frustration since I have my own. He’s been strumming away at my lady guitar for two years without hitting that magical note.

My heart aches, like it’s been struck because, sex aside, he doubts our love. That’s existential. I love this man, like whole heart, and I looked forward to our wedding, to building a family.

That dream is gone. Vanished. The disappointment causes me to reach out and slowly slide the box of invitations off the dresser and into the waste basket. I watch them fall, as tears pour from my eyes.

I’m not enough for him.

My love is not enough for him.

My sexual dysfunction has yet again screwed me over and not in a fun way. It’s become an obsession with Jeremy. Each time it didn’t happen, he pulled further away from me. I’ve known this, I’ve felt this, prayed we’d get through it. In the beginning he was cool with my struggle. In the beginning, he saw it as a sexy challenge, and neither of us considered it wouldn’t happen. At least, I always saw it as a someday. But days kept rolling into more days and someday seemed unattainable.

It’s poisoned our sex life. Every time we make love, both of us are focused on my end goal, hoping that each time will be the time but to no avail. I’m so far past frustration that I’ve grown to accept it, which judging by this conversation, is not two-sided.

Why can’t I get there? Why doesn’t it happen for me, for us? I can feel when it’s coming on and then it just doesn’t happen. Jeremy has been patient and done everything to try and coax one out of me, including seeing a therapist.

Dr. Rosen believes my problem is emotional, that I guard myself, that I’ve built it up for so long that it’s causing stress which is preventing release. He gave us several worthwhile suggestions, but Jeremy was against all of them.

The problem isn’t Jeremy. It’s me, maybe it’s both of us. My head nods acceptance of this truth, but I can’t speak, there’s a giant lump of sorrow stuck in my throat.

We just need to end this already, Jeremy says, followed by an irritated sigh. I can’t take anymore. I’m miserable, and I believe you are too—it’s gotten to the point where we don’t connect on any level, like this thing is hanging over us. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to. I can get you a room, and then… I spin to him, stunned that he wants me out and just like that—I’m floored. His face flushes, and his tone softens with just the hint of cracked emotion. I can tell he hurts too. Cady-Bug, I’m sorry. It’s just—we both need to move on—we can’t get married and spend our lives together miserable.

The thing is, up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t miserable. I was content and looking forward to our wedding. Hell, I came into our bedroom to grab the invitations and prepare them to send out. At least, he spared me that humiliation.

We won’t be getting married. The thought of Jeremy with another woman, falling in love and getting married, makes my stomach churn. Maybe his next woman will be like the lover in the sculpture, the one with her arms hungrily grasping her lover’s flesh as his lips devour hers.

For two years, I’ve loved Jeremy, maybe not the passionate, fuck every chance we get like rabid bunnies, love, like we both deserve, but I love him. I care what happens to him, and I only want him to be happy.

I can’t stand that my inability to climax has made him feel like any less of a man, or any less loved. I thought I had everything else covered, but some things you just can’t pretend away. Maybe if I had learned to fake it, we’d be better off, but I can’t do it. Intimacy shouldn’t be based on lies and illusions.

I’ll get a room and be back for my things another day. I need to be alone, right now. I say, my voice low and shaky.

Nodding, he steps aside and watches as I move to leave. I gaze around our bedroom, but I can’t face it, so I spin searching the room, scanning the belongings. If I’m honest, all that really exists of mine in this house is replaceable. I grab the sculpture, my purse, car keys, and walk out.

Sitting in my car, unable to start it, I contemplate my next move. My family and friends are hours away—I only have friends we’ve made as a couple here in Omaha, and none of those friendships are