Naughty Getaways Ebook
Naughty Getaways in Print
A hotter-than-sin reaper. A badass demon. Hell doesn’t get steamier than this.
Genre/theme: Erotic Paranormal, demon, reaper, New Orleans French Quarter, erotic paranormal, romantic comedy
Copyright ©Tina Donahue, 2017
Excerpt:
The nightclub door swung open on
its own, like an invitation from Hell.
Accepting the lure, Jewel slipped
inside. She had little choice given Satan’s increasingly unrealistic
expectations. The dude was worse than a Wall Street shareholder.
Corruption hung thick in the club
air, the atmosphere dark and steamy, identical to the summer night. Past the
narrow entrance hall, millennials had crammed around the bar or were dancing
wildly, their sweaty bodies bathed in flickering orange spotlights that
resembled flames. Beast and the Harlot pumped
from speakers, the metal beat loud enough to make a mortal’s ears bleed and Jewel’s
molars rattle.
A nice hunting ground for
depraved souls. Their oily stench drew her closer.
A guy appeared at the end of the
hall, a breath away from her. She stopped abruptly and stepped back. He propped
his broad shoulders against one wall and slammed his foot into the other,
barring her entry.
She shouted above the music,
“Excuse me.”
He stayed where he was.
A black sleeveless tee hugged his
powerful chest. Faded jeans strained against his beefy thighs. His biker boots
were easily a size thirteen. Every woman knew what large feet and hands meant
on a man. Jewel inched nearer, catching his musky fragrance.
Her belly fluttered.
She ignored her arousal in favor
of the work she had to do, and raised her voice further. “Do you mind? You’re
in my way.”
He looked over.
The world stilled. To say he was
a hunk didn’t do him justice. He was simply beautiful. His looks belonged to a
fallen angel: lushly lashed black eyes, dark hair worn shaggy, an olive
complexion, bristly cheeks, upper lip, and chin. Possibly early thirties, he
was a god produced by testosterone and good genes.
She liked the tiny gold hoop in
his left lobe and the sin in his gaze. Time to pump up the seduction and get to
work on this bad boy. His male allure currently hid his true nature and the
odor of his soul, not that it mattered. Selling him on an eternity in Hell
would be fun. Maybe they’d run into each other again someday and screw
themselves raw. “I’m sorry for shouting, but you didn’t hear me before.”
“Yeah, I did.”
His voice rumbled deeper than the
thundering bass, mischief coloring his comment.
Her pussy creamed. “Well hi,
then.”
He grinned roguishly, arms
crossed, biceps bulging, tat dancing. “Hey.”
Unsteady, she poured on the
charm. “Great crowd tonight.”
“It is now.”
Aw, was that a compliment? This
was going to be easier than she’d thought and unbelievably hot. “What say we
dance? Unless you’d like to grab a table first.”
One couple had already reached
third base at theirs, the young woman’s features tight from her impending
orgasm.
“Sorry.” He dragged his gaze over
Jewel, his manner confident and arousing. “As much as I’m tempted—and believe
me, I am—I can’t let you inside.”
Her smile felt awkward. Wasn’t
often she met resistance unless the victim was hyper righteous. This guy
certainly wasn’t slated for sainthood unless it was in a women’s poll for male
strippers.
Determined to have his carnal
attention for the night and his soul from that point forward, Jewel cupped his
bulge. Hot. Hard. Amazing. Her legs went watery. “What do you mean, can’t?” She
ran her thumbnail over the denim and savored his meaty balls. “Better let me in
there or I might hurt you.”
He lifted his face to the
ceiling. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do your worst. But it’ll have to
be something nastier than fondling my nuts.”
As if. Touching him was simply
too sweet. The short, dark hairs on his throat were so luscious she struggled
not to lick him. “Oh yeah? Like this?”
She stroked his rod. The thing
blossomed even more beneath her loving touch.
He sighed deeply and clamped her
wrist. Not enough to harm but to capture and subdue. BDSM foreplay.
No way would she complain. “Looks
like you’ve changed your mind.”
“Nope.” He brushed his thumb over
her knuckles. “I never have, nor will I ever allow demons to harvest souls in
my place.”
Surprise jolted her. Although he
radiated a mortal’s heat, now an odorless chill emanated from him. What one
would encounter in deep space where existence began. The tat on his right
biceps wasn’t what she’d first thought. It had appeared as nothing more than a
3D star design seemingly carved into his flesh, the artist using bright-blue
and vivid-yellow ink to fill the interior, creating a fake universe. Those
colors weren’t stationary any longer. They swirled, the same as celestial
gasses. Within that activity, countless faces rose, mouths opened, everyone
bitching about leaving Earth before their time.
Holy Hell, he couldn’t be,
shouldn’t be… “You’re a reaper?”
“Yep.”
That wasn’t possible. He wasn’t
homely, skeletal, and dressed like a mortician. Of course, he wasn’t a bouncer
either, as she’d assumed. The Last Stop nightclub was his, which meant one
thing. He was the badass who’d caused her percentages to go down. “You’re
Zekiel?”
“Yes ma’am.” He smiled widely,
carving a dimple in his right cheek.
She wanted to jump him and beg
him to do her, then smack him for that “ma’am.” She wasn’t old. “Let go of me.”
“You first.”
She cradled his balls. He
caressed her wrist. A Mexican standoff.
