Swap — If You Can't Handle the Heat — Sin Bin
Showing posts with label Re-Release. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Re-Release. Show all posts

Friday, 4 November 2022

OUT NOW: The Billionaire and the Wild Man by Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse @cw1985 @victoriablisse #contemporary #billionaire #eroticromance

OUT NOW
The Billionaire and the Wild Man 
by 
Lucy Felthouse and Victoria Blisse  

erotic romance, contemporary romance, 
romance novel, book boyfriend, billionaire


Flynn Gifford is enjoying a simple existence in a rural Derbyshire village when Caroline Rogers crashes into his life, barefoot and panicked.

Their lives could hardly be more different—she owns a successful luxury hotel chain, and he’s a penniless nomad who’s off the grid—yet neither can deny the attraction that burns between them. As Caroline reluctantly starts to open up to him, Flynn finds himself divulging some secrets of his own, secrets he thought he’d take to his grave.

But can a billionaire and a wild man ever make a relationship work, or will their secrets keep them apart?

PLEASE NOTE: This book has been previously published. This version has been re-edited.

📚Universal link: https://books2read.com/billionairewild

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/32520398-the-billionaire-and-the-wild-man

Add to BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-billionaire-and-the-wild-man-a-m-f-erotic-romance-novel-by-lucy-felthouse-and-victoria-blisse

Chapter One

I’m busy minding my own business, clearing up litter in a field on the outskirts of Hartington when what can only be described as a crazy woman appears, seemingly from nowhere. She’s all wild-eyed, and her blonde hair looks damp. Her outfit is unremarkable, except for the fact she’s got nothing on her feet. Bright red toenails seem massively out of place in this rural village. She seems out of place. I’m not sure why I think this, but somehow, she just doesn’t appear to belong. So what the hell is she doing here?

Normally, I steer clear of other folk unless it’s absolutely necessary, but this woman looks like she needs help. If she’s crossed the road with her feet like that, then they’re going to be scratched to buggery, maybe even cut.

Taking a deep breath, I chuck the empty crisp packet I’ve been holding into my rubbish bag. Then I place it next to the tree I’m standing beside and step out into the woman’s path. I’m used to people not seeing me—or behaving like they haven’t seen me, anyway—so I’m not surprised when she lets out a shriek that could wake the dead and freezes in front of me.

Hey, hey,” I say gently, holding my hands up placatingly. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to come and see if you were all right. I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing any shoes. You’re not hurt, are you?” If this chick is so desperate to get away that she’s gone without shoes, then something’s wrong. Seriously wrong.

I look around, half-expecting to see an angry husband chasing after her, or maybe even a shopkeeper. She could be a thief. Glancing at her again, I realise that can’t possibly be the case, unless she’s stolen something invisible. All she has are the clothes on her back.

She still hasn’t spoken, so I try again, attempting to make myself appear friendly, welcoming. Not an easy thing when you’re over six feet tall and pretty wide, too. Also, the tattoos, and the fact I haven’t had a change of clothes, shave, or a haircut for a while don’t help. I wouldn’t blame her if she ran away, to be honest. I must look a fright, but I haven’t peered into a mirror—or even a window—for a good few days, so I can’t be sure.

“Please answer me. Are you hurt? Is there someone after you?”

She looks around, then back at me. Shakes her head. I’m confused—if there’s no one after her, why did she look behind her?

I crouch down. “Are your feet okay? Cut?”

Finally, I get a verbal reply. “N-no. I mean, yes. They’re okay. Not cut. At least… I don’t think so.”

She lifts each foot in turn, checks the soles. So do I. They’re fine. Now she’s answered another of my questions, too. Her accent doesn’t sound local. More like southern England. London, perhaps.

I suppress an involuntary shudder. The thought of London, the big, dirty, smoky city, does not impress me. Horrible bloody place. But at least it explains why the blonde doesn’t fit in. She’s not from around here.

Naturally, I still have a million and one questions, but I don’t know how to ask them without bombarding or intimidating her. Not to mention that really, I have no right to know the answers. I’m a total stranger. But there’s something about her, about her appearance—and I don’t just mean the lack of footwear—that makes me want to help her. Or at least get her back where she came from, which is clearly somewhere in the village. She certainly hasn’t come far, as otherwise her feet would be filthy and bleeding.

What the hell is she doing here?

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her and her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/linktree  

Victoria Blisse (she/her) is known as the Queen of Smut, Reverend to the kinky and is the Writer in Residence at Cocktails and Fuck Tales. She’s also an angel. Ask anyone. She can often be found in a local BDSM club, running events such as Smut Market or asking mean people to be wonderfully mean to her. Mancunian Odd Duck, her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories along with her own particular brand of humour and romance that bring laughs and warm fuzzies in equal measure. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life. Find out more at http://victoriablisse.co.uk

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services

Wednesday, 2 October 2019

Out Now - The Last Amanuensis: An erotic tale of a dark future - by Lisabet Sarai #erotica #SciFi #Dystopia


The Last Amanuensis 
by
Lisabet Sarai


Speculative erotic fiction (2 flames) 

Approximately 6,000 words 
ISBN (Smashwords): 9780463788899

Blurb:


Poetry is like blood – you can’t hold it back.

The Emperor has decreed that Reason will rule in his lands. Art and literature are banned in favor of military technology. The fearsome Preceptors prowl the capitol, arresting anyone who dares, even secretly, to engage in forbidden activities.

A former teacher and frustrated writer, Adele is grateful for her job as secretary to the enigmatic Professor. During the day, she transcribes his learned treatises on a vast range of topics. Then he calls her to his room one night, to give her a more difficult and intimate assignment, one that risks both their lives.


Buy Links 


Excerpt (Erotic)

“Finished, sir.” I don't need to tell him this, of course. After all the nights we've spent together, he can read me at least as clearly as I do him. Indeed, I suspect he knew long before I did who I was and what I was capable of doing.

“Thank you, Adele.” With practiced care, he rolls to his side and favors me with one of his rare smiles. I notice he's half erect and a wave of heat shimmers through me, tightening my nipples and moistening my sex.

I remember my curiosity that first time. In fact, his penis is one of the only areas that remains undecorated. Pale, pure, it stirs in the sparse nest of gray hair at his groin. Saliva gathers in my mouth. My hunger has only grown over the months that I've served as his amanuensis—hunger for his verse-inscribed body, his dazzling intellect, his courageous and sensitive soul.

“I am deeply in debt to you,” he continues, apparently oblivious to my arousal. “Would you do one more thing for me?”

“Gladly.” I don't demur for an instant. I'll do whatever he asks.

“In the chifferobe, on the top shelf, you'll find a wooden box. Bring it here, if you please. Then get the key, which is under the clock on the mantel.”

I don't know what to expect from the box. Certainly not the pouch of gold coins he removes and drops into my palm. “For your loyalty and dedication,” he tells me. “Use this to escape. Leave the Empire. Find somewhere you can write those stories you dream.”

“But, sir, I don't want to leave you...” Sudden dizziness seizes me. I slump down on the bed beside him, paralyzed by sorrow and need.

“Tonight's poem was the last, Adele. As of tomorrow, your services will no longer required.”

“No—please—don't send me away...” I seize his illuminated thigh, making new marks with my fingernails. Only when I see the pain in his eyes do I release my grip. I know that the bloody crescents I've carved are not responsible for his distress. “I need you, sir. I can't live without you.”

“Nonsense! You're young, strong, full of life. You have a bright future, if you can manage to get out of this hellish country. As for me, my last days are ticking away. And I have accomplished what I set out to do—with your help, my dear.”

He reaches out to brush my cheek with his fingers—only the second or third time he has ever deliberately touched me—and I dissolve into tears. I fling my arms around his neck, mashing my breasts against his tattooed chest, and flatten him to the bed. He gasps as the mattress presses against tonight's work, but for once I ignore his pain. In an instant I'm straddling him, fighting to remove my voluminous nightdress and bare my own skin to his gaze.

“Adele...get hold of yourself!” he admonishes in his most professorial tones. Still, he does not resist as I grasp his cock and stroke him to full hardness. I take him into me, swaddling him in my wet heat. His eyes grow wide as I clench around his surprising bulk and ride him as I've dreamed of doing for so many months—since that first night, really, when he trusted me with his secrets.


About Lisabet

From my elementary school years, when I devoured everything I could find by Asimov, Heinlein and Bradbury, I’ve been drawn to speculative fiction. Now that I’m an author myself, I create my own futurescapes. My visions are sometimes bleak —but always illumined by desire.


Links: 

Tuesday, 11 June 2019

Join the Party! Enter the #Giveaway – The Heart of the Deal – by Lisabet Sarai – Sizzling #BDSM #femdom #erotica

The Heart of the Deal:
Business, Bondage, Discipline and Desire
by
Lisabet Sarai


MF and FF BDSM Romantic Erotica (Triple X rated)
78,000 words
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN (Smashwords): 9780463811948
ASIN: B07SJY8PTC

Two Sides of the Same Coin

I love writing stories of power exchange – BDSM, dominance and submission, whatever you want to call it. My work in this genre is strongly influenced by my personal experiences in a D/s relationship. That relationship, many years ago,  transformed me, deeply influencing not only my sexuality but my entire life.

I can’t speak for others, but for me the essence of D/s had little to do with physical activities – spankings, bondage, and so on – and everything to do with emotion, connection and trust. Oh, my Master blindfolded me, tied me up, whipped me, dribbled hot wax on my skin, all those thrilling activities we love to read about in BDSM fiction. But what he did wasn’t nearly as important as why.

He craved my submission. He wanted to use me for his kinky experiments, for his pleasure and mine. I gave him the gift of my surrender. I offered myself to him, body and spirit. I wanted him to challenge me, to push me beyond my limits, to take me places I could hardly imagine. We had an intimate contract based on trust and mutually complementary fantasies.

I’d never known such intense excitement, or such deep and enduring satisfaction.

One thing I learned from that relationship is that dominance and submission are two sides of the same coin. A skilled Dom understands at the gut level what the sub is experiencing. And a submissive can only give herself (or himself) fully if she can intuit what her Master wants.

In fact, people who end up as “tops” in the BDSM lifestyle quite often spend some time in the submissive role first. Likewise, depending on the partner, a normally submissive person can switch and act as the dominant. Even my Master admitted that he had fantasies of bottoming to a powerful woman. Meanwhile, I have frequent dreams in which I’m the Mistress commanding the obedience of a younger female.

In The Heart of the Deal, I explore the paradoxical duality of power exchange. Ruby and Rick are both extremely dominant characters. Yet both yearn for the freedom to let go, to surrender to a powerful top who will open them to the parts of themselves they keep hidden. This isn’t really a common theme in BDSM erotica/romance. However, based on personal experience, I’d say that it adds a realistic complexity to what has become a rather stereotyped genre. 

Blurb:

All's fair in lust and business

Ruby Maxwell Chen, the lovely and ruthless CEO of a sprawling British business empire, has no qualms about playing dirty – very dirty. She’s happy to use sex to help her close a deal, especially when she’s the one on top. Ruby loves the game, and she expects to win. When she encounters the inexplicably charismatic American entrepreneur Rick Martell, though, she wonders if she hasn't finally met her match.

From the trendy clubs of London to the Hollywood Hills, Ruby and Rick compete for ownership of a strategic factory in Malaysia. As their struggle for dominance escalates and their mutual lust flares, they draw their employees and associates into their outrageous power games. The stakes could scarcely be higher, as Ruby and Rick play for the ultimate prize: a night of total physical surrender.


Note: This book was previously published under the titles Ruby’s Rules and Nasty Business. It has been re-edited, revised and updated for this release.



Hop on over to Beyond Romance and leave a comment to enter the Giveaway for a chance to win a free ebook copy of The Heart of the Deal, a free copy of BDSM romance Damned If You Do, or a $10 bookstore gift certificate

Excerpt (Rated R)

Why didn’t my father tell me that he had a partner in the deal? He never even mentioned you.”

Rick gives me a harried look. “I don’t know, Ruby. He talked a lot about you. He planned to send you to Malaysia to do a final inspection of the plant. He wanted me to join you there, to give you a technical briefing.” This, at least, was confirmed by the email I had read. “Maybe he wanted you to form your own conclusions about me. Maybe he thought you’d be jealous, if you knew that he was mentoring me.” A ghost of a grin flits across his irregular features. “He did say that you were hot-blooded, and had a fierce temper…”

Did he indeed?” I say ironically, trying to keep the misery out of my voice. I’d thought that I knew my father so well, that I was privy to all his secrets. The revelation that he kept things from me, that he had other confidants, is painful. I lean forward, deliberately allowing Martell a glimpse of my cleavage, and look him in the eye. He licks his lips nervously. “So, was he right about me, Rick?”

I don’t know, Ruby,” he replies softly. “I don’t know you well enough to say.” He pauses, raises his eyes to mine. “But I’d like to.”

I can’t comprehend how it happens. One moment he is standing there across from me, with the desk safely between us. The next, he’s beside me, pulling me to my feet. Kissing me. His wiry arms snake around me, pulling me to his chest. His lips are firm on mine, exploring rather than demanding. His scent swirls around me, dizzying me. The embers smoldering in my sex leap into flame.

Rick…” I begin, but the taste and texture and presence of him overwhelm me. My objection melts into an inarticulate murmur of pleasure.

He kisses with his whole body. His hands are everywhere, stroking my arse, teasing my nipples. His knee finds its way into my crotch and sets up a rhythmic pressure that soon has me swollen and dripping. He is swollen, too. Brazenly, he rubs his rigid cock against my thigh, as he plunges his tongue more deeply into my mouth.

Ruby,” he murmurs, alternating words with nibbles and licks. “I want you so badly. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

I don’t reply. This is hardly news to me, but confidence and my lust both surge, to hear him admit it. I reach down and give his balls a moderately vicious squeeze. He moans and grinds himself harder against me.

I need to escape this embrace in order to gain the upper hand. I need to take advantage of his moment of weakness. But his carnal attentions are intoxicating. It’s difficult for me to break away. I’m like an alcoholic, wanting just one more drink, one more kiss, one more of his lewd caresses.

It might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I finally manage to gather my strength and push him backward. He doesn’t resist, just stands there looking at me. His clothes are wrinkled. One shirt tail is hanging out of his pants. His longish hair is tangled around his ears. In objective terms, he looks a bit pathetic. Certainly not what one would call sexy.

Yet my heart is slamming away like a jackhammer in my chest. I’m panting as though I’ve just done fifty sit ups, and damp—all over. His cherry pipe tobacco flavor lingers in my mouth. The echoes of his questing hands linger on my skin. The lack of his touch is a physical ache. I need those hands, those lips, that brash cock, need the relief that it seems only he can provide.

About Lisabet

 Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genreparanormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Youll find information and excerpts from all Lisabets books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. Shes also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter.

Friday, 17 May 2019

SWAP is back! One Woman's Mad Crush on her Brother-in-law Spirals into a Red-hot Affair #forbiddenlove #eroticrom

This past week I self-pubbed and re-released fan favorite, Swap.
For readers who enjoyed the story the first time around, you might recall it was my debut novel back in 2012. And this time around, it is my second self-published book. I'm pretty excited to share this story again. But be forewarned, the content is not for everyone. Please read the author note at the end of the blurb so there are no surprises.

A huge Thank You to Emmy Ellis of Studioenp for the amazing cover design!

Hailey Hollinger has it all—a great husband, a fantastic career, good friends… and one hot brother-in-law who won’t stay out of her fantasies




When Hailey was sixteen she thought her boyfriend, Brent, was the best-looking guy around. That was until he introduced her to his older brother, Mike. From that moment on she had the biggest crush on him and he became the star of all her teenage fantasies.

Hailey’s all grown up now and has been married to Brent for three years. They have great careers, a nice house—they enjoy life and each other. Everything is supposed to be perfect. Except that pesky little infatuation with her husband’s brother has never completely gone away. A crush, by nature and definition, is supposed to be short-lived and should diminish over time. But, unfortunately for Hailey, it hasn’t, and it’s beginning to fuck with what she thinks should be perfection. And, if her life is so great, why does she then find herself groping her brother-in-law in the cab of his truck like some sex-starved teenager? Or the more pressing question yet—why is he groping her right back?


Author Note: This erotic romance story, which has been previously published, is written in first person, and contains cheating/adulterous themes. The material has been updated and reformatted for re-release, with a smokin’ new cover, as well as additional content


What readers are saying:

HK Carlton did a fantastic job of showing the angst Michael and Hailey faced as they deal with their growing attraction to each other. You fall in love with them as their love grows, and you wonder if they will choose to betray their spouses an act on their love for each other.

Swap was an excellent read that kept me captivated the entire time. Hailey and Mike's struggle of their attraction to each other was incredibly well written - I could feel the tension between them myself and of course was silently rooting for them. Most people might find their trysts immoral, but once you learn of Hailey and Mike's relationships with their own spouses, you'll understand the imperative need to have Hailey and Mike find their own happily ever after together. I definitely recommend Swap as a must read, and if you cherish a good night's sleep then I also recommend that you start the book early in the day, because you'll find it impossible to put down.

Most of the book chronicles Hailey's and Mike's desperate attempts to remain faithful despite their mutual attraction. Neither of the main characters treats marriage casually. Both want to do the right thing. As time goes on, though, it becomes clear that their physical connection is merely a symptom of the deep emotional bond that connects them. Ultimately, they have no choice but to surrender to their passion and face the consequences...
....Swap is a brave book, tackling as it does the uncomfortable topic of infidelity. A few years ago, this subject would have been taboo in a romance. Ms. Carlton does not whitewash the issue, but handles it with an admirable degree of honesty and realism. Hailey and Mike are sympathetic, likable characters. They really try to resist one another, although it's clear to the reader from an early stage that this is futile. In fact, their heroic efforts to “be good” raise the level of sexual tension, as they skirt the edges of adultery, drawing back time and time again from a precipitous fall. 


HK Carlton did a fantastic job of showing the angst Michael and Hailey faced as they deal with their growing attraction to each other. You fall in love with them as their love grows, and you wonder if they will choose to betray their spouses an act on their love for each other.
HK Carlton did a fantastic job of showing the angst Michael and Hailey faced as they deal with their growing attraction to each other. You fall in love with them as their love grows, and you wonder if they will choose to betray their spouses an act on their love for each other.
HK Carlton did a fantastic job of showing the angst Michael and Hailey faced as they deal with their growing attraction to each other. You fall in love with them as their love grows, and you wonder if they will choose to betray their spouses an act on their love for each otherStay tuned for a +18 excerpt below, but first here's  


The Prologue  


When I was sixteen I thought my boyfriend, Brent, was the best-looking guy around. That was until he introduced me to his older brother Mike. From that moment on I had the biggest crush on him, and he was the star of most of my teenage fantasies.

At the time Mike was twenty-five and newly married, but that didn’t stop my overactive imagination. I was so shy back then, every conversation I had with the man left me a red-faced, tongue-tied mess.

To this day, Mike can still make me blush, even though I’m now twenty-six and have been married to Brent for three years. I have a great career in journalism and I’m sketching outlines for my first romance novel.

Brent and I both have great jobs, although he travels a lot for work as a territory auto parts sales rep. We own a nice house. We enjoy our life and each other. Everything is supposed to be perfect—except that my infatuation with my brother-in-law has never completely gone away.

A crush, by nature and definition, is something that’s supposed to be short-lived and should diminish over time. But, unfortunately, mine hasn’t, and it’s beginning to fuck with what I think should be perfection.

Mike and his wife of ten-plus years now, Cheryl, live nearby. They seem fairly happy, too, until you look a little deeper. Which I often do. With Brent away so much, I spend a fair amount of time with Mike and Cheryl. I go out with my friends too, but Mike and I have a lot in common, and not only interests-wise—we are both creative. I have my writing and he has this passion for photography that I think I’ve finally convinced him to pursue.

As long as I’ve known Mike, he’s worked in construction. I also know he hates it. Especially now that he’s getting a little older and his back and his knees have started to protest the constant activity. I mean, thirty-five isn’t old by any means, but it isn’t just his body that it’s taking a toll on. He isn’t happy, and I know from experience what a rush it is to have an article published, or some kind of recognition for a job well done. Mike’s photographs are really good, and I know in my heart that he could make a go of it, if he would just give himself the chance.

And how do I know all this? Well, even though we do a lot of things together as couples when Brent is home—which isn’t often—lately it’s just been Mike and me. We find ourselves spending more and more time together. Cheryl is often busy with her newest get-rich-quick scheme or charity events. To her, life is all about money, and other people’s perceptions of her and the life that she and Mike have carved out. She wants people to think that she and Mike live a whole lot more comfortably than they really do.

And my husband, Brent—when he isn’t away on business—has a passion of his own. And it isn’t me. Currently, she is housed in the garage under a custom-fit car cover. She is sleek, shiny, and midnight black with four hundred and six cubic inches of raw power, that I can’t compete with.




+18 Excerpt:

“See, my biggest fan.” Mike looked away. “Cheryl booked me a bunch of baby portraits for this week.”

“Oh, my God, Mike, don’t do that! You don’t want to be known as a wedding or portrait photographer. Why would she do that? That’s not what your business is about!”

“And that, right there, is why I didn’t tell her that I registered a business name—and why I did tell you. You get it.”

“I don’t understand her. Doesn’t she want you to be happy in your work? I mean, money isn’t everything. I can’t imagine going to work every day to do something I hate.”

“So, how do I get out of these portraits?”

“Are they paying?

“Fifty bucks a sitting.” His mouth drew into a straight line.

“Fifty bucks? Well, I’ll pay you fifteen hundred for the nineties photos, and I need it before Thursday.” His eyes widened. “And I have another project I was hoping you could help me with. It’s more of a favor than a job, but I’ll pay for it, too.”

“That seems like an awful lot of money, Hails. Are you just feeling sorry for me?”

“No. Some photos can bring six-digit figures or more.”

“So, what’s the other project?”

“Well, you know Brent’s birthday is coming up. And I’ve really no idea what to get him.”

“Yeah, I remember the little shit’s birthday. I went from being an only child to having to pick up after him. Why is it the oldest kid is the one that gets blamed for everything?”

“Little bitter there, Mikey?” I teased.

He laughed. “No, not at all. So, what can I help you get the young prince?”

“I was hoping you might take some shots of the Impala, put together some kind of layout he can put in the garage or take to car shows with him. But not a calendar. I don’t want you known for that, either.”

“Yeah, that sounds doable. But can I go in on it with you? I don’t have anything in mind for him, either.”

“Sounds good, but I will pay for any supplies you might use or need. Deal?”

He gave his head a slight shake. “You’ve done enough for me.” Before I could speak, he said, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

We paid the bill, then headed for the truck.

In the parking lot, he handed over the keys.

In a moment of sheer insanity on my part, I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a squeeze. “I really am proud of you, you know.”

He placed his arm around my shoulder and he pulled me closer. I felt his chest rumble. “Thanks, Hails.”

We slowed our progress, as if neither one of us was in any hurry to get to the truck. I laid my head back against his shoulder. We walked to the passenger’s side of the truck and I hit the remote on his key fob, unlocking the doors. I opened it for him. He laughed. “I’m supposed to get the door for you.”

“Oh, I thought that was just a shotgun thing, not a chivalry thing. A woman can open the door for a dude, ya know,” I said with mock impatience. “Just get in.”

He turned to face me and, to my surprise, he reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You’re really lame, ya know?” He laughed at my expense.

“I think that’s an eighties catchphrase. And yeah, I know I’m lame, but you love me anyway.” I tossed his words from earlier back at him.

But his smile slipped. “Yeah. I do.”

Something in his voice made every body part I owned turn liquid. In my head, I rushed to tell myself that he meant like a brother and that he’d had a few beers, but his next words stopped my thought process cold.

“You might be the only thing I’ve ever envied about my little brother.”

He moved his hand to the side of my neck and grazed my cheek with his thumb. Then his lips were there, hovering just inches from mine, as if he were seeking permission. My senses swam with the possibilities.

I pounced, seizing what might be my only opportunity to kiss him. I didn’t hold back—he experienced the full-on, ravenous impact of years of worship and sexual fantasies that had run the gamut from sweet, innocent eighteen-year-old’s kisses to the tantalizing nocturnal fantasy that I’d created just the night before.

I flattened my chest against his, trying to get inside his coat. He spun me around, and nudged me onto the seat of the truck. I didn’t want to separate from his lips afraid that if we lost contact he would call a halt to this. So, I fisted my hands into his shirt and hauled him in after me. I opened my legs, encouraging him between them.

When he followed, I crabbed toward the driver’s side. My shoulder hit the steering wheel. I released his shirt long enough to grope for the tilt-steering lever. I pushed the wheel up to give us a little extra room. He was not a small man. The thought shot another little thrill through my already highly sensitized body.

He reached backward with one arm, trying to close the door, but I pulled him toward me with all my strength. I wanted to get as much as I could before he put a stop to this. I knew he would. He was too nice a guy to let this happen. What did that say about me?

“Let me get the door,” he said against my mouth. His breathing was choppy and heavy.

I released him long enough so that he could reach behind him. The door clicked and I didn’t even have to coax him back—he was there and kissing me. I strained to get closer to him. He settled his hips between my thighs. His thick erection prodded my entrance through my jeans. I rubbed my aching cunt shamelessly over his rock-hard cock. I was soaking wet.

Needy sounds erupted from the back of my throat. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything, and at that very moment I didn’t care about anything else. Not Brent. Not Cheryl. Not even the fact that I was probably making an absolute fool of myself. There was one thing on my mind, and that was getting him inside my body.

Impatiently, I yanked at the bottom of his shirt. As I dragged the flannel up his chest, he pushed at my t-shirt. His large, warm palm passed over my ribs. Skin met skin, but it wasn’t enough for me. I let him push my top all the way up, exposing my bra. He smoothed his hand over me, before cupping my breast. I pressed more fully into his hand. My nipple pearled against his palm. 



“Mmm,” he hummed, a deep affecting sound. He gave my breast a firm squeeze as he hunted around back for the hooks, but the bra had a front clasp. I made a protest into his mouth as I directed his hand back around to the front. He undid my bra, setting my breasts free. He released my mouth, then kissed a slow scorching path down my neck and chest, finally fastening his hot lips around my nipple.

I moaned at the exquisite sensation, arching my back, giving him full access. He growled in return and I wanted to laugh out loud. This was incredible! He swirled his tongue—my nipple tightened into a hard knot, and my pussy contracted. He rocked his hips. I could almost imagine he was inside me. If not for the goddamn clothes between us, he would be. I wanted it. I wanted it now!

He fluttered his clever tongue, and thrust his hips faster. Christ! I was so beyond turned on, I was going to come, and I wanted him inside me when I did.

I reached between us and undid the snap of his jeans. I grazed my fingers over the tip of his smooth cock with one hand, while unzipping his pants with the other.

All of a sudden, he blocked my hands, and released my breast.

“Hails!” He gasped for breath.

And there it was. He was too good a guy to let this happen.

“What are we doing?” The anguish in his voice broke my determination to push him over the edge.

I made a disappointed, frustrated noise and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the guilt on his handsome face. He sat up. I slid my leg out from behind him and pulled my shirt down, then struggled to refasten my bra. My fingers shook with latent need and embarrassment. I fought against the hot tears that threatened to cascade down my cheeks and make us both more miserable than we already were. I knew my tears would only double his guilt, so I tried not to let them fall.

I fumbled to put the key in the ignition. I wanted to get the hell out of there before he tried to talk to me. I only had a thin hold on the tidal wave of emotion that was threatening.

Calmly, he placed his hand over mine and helped me fit the key in. But to my horror, he didn’t let go of my hand. “Hails.”

“I’m fine,” I blurted, snatching my hand away.

I started the truck and tried to drive through the haze of stinging, shameful tears. It wasn’t even shame that we were both married people that I was feeling. It was deep disappointment that I hadn’t gotten what I’d wanted. My body still screamed for release. Maybe I’d feel the right kind of guilt tomorrow.

We drove all the way to his house without a word.

I pulled into the driveway and prayed he would just get out and go inside.

From the passenger’s seat, he looked anywhere but at me.

“What the hell was that?” he finally said.

I gave an impartial shrug. “Maybe you’re just one of those drunks that loves everybody.” I tried to joke at the not-so-funny situation we’d found ourselves in. My voice was raw and raspy, and I knew he caught it.

“Yeah, that must be it.” He pulled on the door handle, then got out of the truck.

I looked over at him for the first time since he’d called a halt to our wrestling match.

He returned my stare. “But we both know that I’m not drunk. And what’s your excuse?” He held my gaze for an extra ten uncomfortable seconds or so, then shut the door. He walked slowly toward the porch.

I didn’t wait to see if he looked back before he went inside—I threw the truck in reverse and backed out of the driveway, before racing down the street.

About a block from the house I shared with Brent, I pulled over to the side of the road and let loose with the tears. I couldn’t face Brent like this. I had to get it out before I went home.

After about twenty minutes, I pulled myself back together enough so I could continue the rest of the way home.

Thankfully, I found the house in darkness.

As quiet as possible, I let myself in, then went straight to the bathroom where I washed my face, before pulling on a tank top and some panties. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest.

I checked on Brent, who was sound asleep. Again, I was grateful.

I made my way into the den and worked on my articles. I finished the economy piece and sent it in early. Their editors would be pleased—I normally took things right to the deadline, using every last second to make every word perfect.

I moved on to the lost nineties piece, rattling off eighty per cent of it before I finally thought I could lie down and sleep.

Tiptoeing to the bedroom, I carefully slid into bed next to Brent, praying he wouldn’t wake up and pull me against him, as was his habit. He didn’t budge. His breathing remained deep and even.

I tried to clear my mind, and will myself to sleep.

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