Excerpt from One Night With The Alpha King by Belle Scarlett

Bonus Novella
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Blurb:
When Senator Anya Fortune snubs His Royal Majesty’s wedding offer, Shade wonders what an Alpha King has to do to get the woman to notice him… Claim the one, hot night he’s given by law to change her mind, naturally. Let the game of hearts begin. Winner take all. *This previously published title has been revised and reedited*

Genre/theme: Other World, Sci-Fi, Fantasy

Copyright ©Belle Scarlett, 2017

Excerpt:

Somehow Anya heard the distant thunder of equine hooves over the shrill chatter of the excited maidens who lined both sides of the Promised One’s Road. It would not be long before Shade made his entrance at the top of the hill opposite the palace’s grand steps in the distance and began his solo procession down the center of it, walking his mount slowly to look over each of the hopeful maidens before making the choice for his queen.

The Barbarian guard standing at attention next to Anya looked as ridiculously out of place amidst the giggling female throng as he clearly felt. Anya could commiserate.

The over-eager Matron of the Harem was a plump, middle-aged giantess of a woman with a girlish air and an unfortunate propensity to giggle. She had been ecstatic when tasked with the responsibility of turning Anya from a drowned rat into a sultry beauty in record time.

She’d stuffed Anya into a hastily re-sized gossamer lavender gown left over from when the harem had been active. Anya tugged self-consciously at the snug bodice with the shockingly low neckline. Only two thin shoulder straps stood between the skimpy, flimsy bodice and gravity. Surely, if Anya moved the wrong way her breasts would spill out at any microt, and there was no back to the thing at all. Apparently, the Matron didn’t believe in undergarments, and so Anya was wearing nothing beneath the nearly see-through dress. Whatever the Matron of the Harem might exclaim otherwise, Shade would not be pleased.

In spite of repeated attempts at diplomacy and thoughtful debate to change the older woman’s mind about applying lip rouge and kohl eyeliner to Anya’s face, Matron excitedly threw open an ornate cabinet bursting with hundreds of little pots, sticks, ointments, perfumes, and tubes of cosmetics. She used them all on Anya’s face. The rotund woman gleefully painted Anya with a sure hand, nodding attentively all the while at Anya’s logical arguments why such efforts really weren’t necessary.

When Matron was finished, Anya looked into the reflection glass and almost didn’t recognize herself. A rich plummy color enhanced Anya’s lips and nails, and pearl gray shimmered on her lids. The kohl liner around her eyes made their violet color pop. The lotions Matron rubbed literally all over Anya gave her skin a satiny luminance. And she smelled like an entire jasmenia bush.

Matron slapped Anya’s hand away with an appalled look when Anya had tried to braid her wet hair into its customary coronet. Instead, Matron deftly dried Anya’s tresses and used a heated set of tongs to curl the strands into long, loose waves that hung dramatically over one shoulder below her waist. All the while, Matron cooed over Anya’s “exotic” foreign beauty. Even if she was, as Matron sighed sadly, “On the short side.”

If that wasn’t enough to make Anya grit her teeth, she also had to bite her tongue when Matron went on to relate all the royal harem gossip pertaining to Shade’s many “sexploits” and virtues as an inexhaustible lover, etcetera, etcetera, dating from his seventeenth summer when he came to manhood until he inexplicably dissolved the harem a yearon ago. That had certainly caused quite an uproar in the palace, Matron lamented. Clearly the woman had not had enough to occupy herself in an empty harem over the past yearon.

Now on the road, Anya heard a sudden cry of excitement go up in unison from the hundreds of eligible females of all castes that lined both sides of the avenue. The noise jerked Anya’s focus to the present. Shade appeared at the top of the hill astride his black steed precisely at golden hour, when the light of the dying day was at its most ethereal.

A hush fell over the crowd at the dynamic picture he made, bareheaded and dressed in a black riding tunic. The silver threading used to embroider his family crest on the dark material glinted in the sun’s rays. Fastened around the muscled column of his neck, a crimson half-cloak flapped behind him in the breeze. His mount snorted and pawed the ground impatiently with one front hoof.

From his vantage point on the hill he appeared to scan the crowd for a microt or two until he spotted her. Anya’s heart leapt in her chest, and she knew his had, too. Their eyes locked. Then Shade crouched over the beast’s neck and kicked his equine to a full gallop, charging full-tilt down the hill. Never once did he take his gaze from Anya’s.

The thudding of the hooves on the road matched the pounding of her blood. As the steed bearing Shade grew nearer, the crush of women surged forward against Anya’s back and pushed her part way into the road.

For a timeless moment it looked to her like the equine was almost on top her. She held her breath and closed her eyes. Then she stuck her hand up in the air, trusting Shade to pluck her safely from the struggling sea of females.

Shade snagged her wrist as he sped by and whisked her up to lay sideways in front of him on his saddle. He cradled her between his biceps, smelling of leather and soap and his own spicy scent.

“We’ll discuss what you’re almost wearing later, senator,” he growled in her ear.

She finally dared to open her eyes wide and clung to him, thrilling at their speed as scenery flashed by.

Mighty cheers rang out all over the packed grounds as Shade and Anya galloped to the palace steps. Shade reined the equine to a halt and dismounted. He swung her down from the saddle and carried her in his arms to the top step without breaking a sweat. He set her down on trembling legs and raised her hand to his lips before turning to quiet the crowd with look.

“By the decree of the first castes after The Disaster, I proclaim to all here present that I, a Barbarian Alpha Prime, choose this woman, Anya Fortune of Nisca, to be mine. I will vow to set her above all others as my match-mate. My Promised One. My queen. And, with her consent, I shall bind her life to mine and mine to hers on the morrow. We shall never be parted from that time unto death.”

In the hush that ensued, he turned to her with a smile so tender she blinked back the prick of tears. All eyes in the crowd followed his to her face and awaited her words of acceptance.

In the fading light of the day, Anya looked out at the horizon to where Mount Olympias was nothing more than a shadowy shape in the far distance and hesitated. Now came the most dangerous part of her plan. Barbarians were unpredictable when crossed. She could only hope Shade would keep his wits about him in the emotional maelstrom that was about to hit and do what she hoped he would do next.

She took a deep breath and tried to stop herself from shaking, but to no avail.

“No,” her voice rang out so all could her, but she didn’t take her eyes from Shade’s face. “I decline.”

Excerpt from Tropical Heat by Alice Gaines

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Blurb:
A proper English miss, a rake, and a tropical island. Imagine what could happen.

Genre/theme: Historical romance, exotic locale, Victorian, rakish hero, duke, virgin heroine

Copyright ©Alice Gaines, 2017

Excerpt:

She took a step backward, freeing her chin from his grip, and hugged her ribs. “Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer for a bit but only studied her, his expression serious for once. “My mother will sack you if you return without me.”

“I don’t think so.” But the moment he’d said the words the truth of them registered. Lady Weighsford would be deeply displeased. If she didn’t fire Mary outright, she’d make her life miserable for weeks, if not months.

“She will, and she’ll send you off without references,” he said. “She’ll ensure that you won’t find another position.”

“She wouldn’t be so cruel.”

To that, he merely arched a brow in skepticism.

“She wouldn’t,” Mary protested without much conviction.

“Never mind. I have the solution.” He gestured for her to join him, and they walked along the beach for a bit. “I have a house in Derbyshire. Nothing as grand as Weighsford, but pretty. I could settle you there with a decent income. You’d never have to face my mother’s wrath again.”

Another astonishing declaration. If her mouth kept falling open, she’d collect flies. “Why would you do something like that?”

“I wouldn’t for any Miss Mary Simmons, but I would for my wife.”

Suddenly, the sand seemed to swallow up her feet, and she came to an abrupt halt. “We should go back to the house. You’ve been in the sun for too long.”

He laughed again, this time in what sounded like honest enjoyment. “I’m in earnest. The local midwife also performs marriages. I’m sure she’d do it for us.”

She gaped at him. “Why?”

“A number of reasons. It would free you from my mother’s tyranny, and it would irritate her in the extreme,” he said. “I’d enjoy both.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“We’d have a true wedding night. That would satisfy any qualms you have about giving yourself to me.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I give you my body, and you give me money and a house. What you’re suggesting is little more than prostitution.”

He put his hands on his hips. “I beg your pardon, Miss Simmons. The people here take their marriages as seriously as any performed by the Church of England.”

“They may very well—”

“In fact, more seriously. A Rangalan marriage is a love match, not a transfer of assets. Further, they don’t have to marry to enjoy each other’s bodies. They can do that at will.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“How do you know what’s in my heart?” he said.

Of all the absurd things he’d said, this one topped them all. They’d only met the day before, and he hadn’t shown her any tender feelings. Perhaps this was all some misguided attempt to care for her, but love?

“Besides, you’ll go back to England, and I’ll know you’re safe,” he said.

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“Damn it, Mary. I won’t have a virgin in my bed unless I’m married to her.”

The rake who’d cut such a wide swath through London in his day had scruples about taking a woman’s innocence? But then, she’d never heard details of his exploits. Perhaps he’d limited himself to experienced women. He certainly appeared outraged now, his jaw tense and his eyes full of anger. Very convincing. But if he was telling the truth about his offer of marriage—even a native one—he might very well mean the rest of what he’d said. A house for her and an income. In her most elaborate fantasies she’d never entertained a dream like that.

“I’ll put it in writing if you want,” he said. “Maybe you’ll believe me then.”

“That you’ve never had intercourse with a virgin?”

“No, no, not that. Good Lord, woman, do you always test people who are trying to help you?”

“I wouldn’t know. No one’s tried to help me before.”

“Precisely why I want to.” He took her hands again. “I’m as surprised at my reaction to you as you seem to be. I keep thinking of the woman with the dirty shoes and wrinkled clothing, obviously exhausted after a long ocean voyage. Standing up to me. And not backing down when I tried to frighten her with a show of naked carnality.”

“So you were trying to frighten me.”

“It didn’t work.” He dug his fingers into her hair again. “And then there’s your unruly curls. I’d like to see them on the pillow next to mine.”

“You’ve given me a great deal to think about.” Although her heart was already screaming yes! She’d have to sort through this with her head, though. And her body could stand aside while she did. This was one decision she’d have to make logically.

“Don’t take too long to decide. I’m afraid I’m not a patient man,” he said with another of his devilish smiles. She could almost grow to love them. Then he took her hand in his and led her up the beach. She could grow to love that, too.

Excerpt from Dolphin Paradise by Kate Richards

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Blurb:
Dr. Karen Barrow has no intention of falling into the bed of the most notorious ladies’ man at Oleander College, but a week alone with him may be her undoing. After all, who will know what they do on Dolphin Paradise before the campers arrive for the summer?

Genre/theme: Full-figured woman, seasonal, coworker romance, summer romance, island romance, dolphins

Copyright ©Kate Richards, 2017

Excerpt:

Drake closed the lid on his laptop and stuffed the device in its bag. If he’d had any doubts about taking on the summer job rather than staying in town to work on his book, the name of his assistant director solidified his decision.

Karen Barrow. His office neighbor.

The beautiful, curvy, copper-haired professor whose jade-green eyes never settled on him long enough to acknowledge he was alive. Perhaps a little time on an island where the only other adult was the elderly cook would get her to notice him.

The schedule called for the director and assistant to arrive a week before the campers, the teen counselors, and the cook. A romantic getaway with a little work, and writing, thrown in. If he couldn’t make an impression on a crowded campus, perhaps the atmosphere at Dolphin Paradise would make the difference. Either that or he was going to be taking a lot of cold showers. Every time she strolled past his office, he had to turn around and adjust himself. No other woman caused him to lose so much control. Not to mention during the course of his first year at Oleander College, he’d gradually ceased dating anyone at all. Somehow, the pretty secretaries and junior professors no longer held his attention. The playboy professor of his previous institution who’d rolled into town and dated half a dozen Oleander faculty had faded by November. His focus narrowed.

Professor Barrow was not only beautiful, she was popular with her students, her classes filled to capacity, and her work with the less fortunate in the community had earned her the respect of the dean and even a special award from the president of the school. She was everything he’d never wanted.

A keeper.

You didn’t go out with a Karen Barrow unless you had the best of intentions, and, so far, his had always been less than long-term. His dates knew that…he never pretended to want more than a fun evening. He paid for dinner or whatever the activity was, opened car doors, listened when they spoke, and they seemed to find him attractive. Most evenings ended up in the woman in question’s bedroom. Never his. And he never stayed overnight.

Excerpt from Tattoo Witch by Kathy Kulig

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Blurb:
At a seaside resort, Sam and Anita meet a mysterious owner of a tattoo shop, a witch whose magical tattoos grant scorching, kinky sex beyond their wildest fantasies—but there’s a catch. Each successive tattoo comes with a curse.

Genre/theme: Paranormal, witch, magic, fantasy

Copyright ©Kathy Kulig, 2017

Excerpt:

“I think your lady is ready for another drink,” a tattooed guy said with a friendly tone. “Mind if my wife and I buy you two a drink?”

Anita stopped slurping the remnants of her cocktail and gave Sam a warning look. He loved his girlfriend dearly, but wished she wasn’t quite so conservative. This couple was just being friendly. But why did they decide to sit next to him and Anita?

Stop assuming the worst. Sam Quinn was used to expecting the worst in people—a side effect from working airport security. Terrorists at Seacrets were likely a low-risk concern. Perhaps this couple did have ulterior motives, like wife swapping. That wasn’t exactly Sam’s kink, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun chatting with them. “A drink? That’s nice of you to offer,” Sam said. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s our pleasure,” the woman added. “I’m Rene and this is my husband, Perry. We’re from Baltimore.” She rested her hands on the bar. On the back of Rene’s hand was a detailed rose tat. It looked 3D. Ink designs covered Perry’s hands too.

Sam introduced himself and Anita. Anita gave him a kick. He was going to get hell later, but the intricate detail of Rene’s tattoo was mesmerizing.

“Have you tried Swamp Water?” Perry asked Anita.

She looked confused.

“They’re good. They’re coconut rum, pineapple juice and Curaçao. Try one,” Rene said as she waved to the bartender and ordered two and a couple beers.

“We were about to leave, right Sam?” Anita shot him a look.

“Oh, you can hang for a drink,” Rene said. “It’s still early.”

Anita scowled at her murky green drink when it arrived but didn’t argue with Rene. Taking a sip, she smiled. “Mmmm. It is good.”

“What kind of work do you do, Sam?” Perry asked.

“TSA agent.”

“Interesting.” Perry locked his gaze with him. Red flags waved in the back of Sam’s mind.

As a TSA agent, Sam had an uncanny gift of reading people’s eyes, expressions and body language. Something in Perry’s gaze alarmed him. If someone had looked at him like that while going through his TSA check point, he would give them a pat down. What were his eyes telling him? A warning? Fear? A challenge or threat? Sam couldn’t figure it out. Something wasn’t right about these two. Or maybe he needed this vacation more than he thought.

“I’ve been admiring your tattoos,” Sam said as he watched their expressions. “Excellent work. It must’ve taken a long time to have those done. Were they all by the same artist?”

Perry and Rene exchanged a look. “Yes, she’s local,” Perry said. “On the boardwalk.”

“I don’t remember a tattoo parlor and we come here often.” Anita had sucked down half her drink. “What do you have on your neck?” she asked Perry.

Perry got up and sat on the stool next to her. Turning his head to the side, he elongated his neck, offering Anita a better view. “What would you call it?”

“It’s a dragon. A magnificent dragon. Look at all the colors.” While Perry pointed out his various tattoos, Rene showed the vine of roses coiling up her arm.

“Do the tats have specific meanings or stories?” Sam asked. “They’re very detailed.”

She laughed out loud. “Sort of.”

He noticed a shadow of sadness drift across Rene’s face. Anita was oblivious to his conversation. The designs on the man’s forearms enthralled her. She was literally staring. Fuck.

“Do you think tattoos are sexy?” Rene asked seductively.

“I guess.” He forced himself not to look at her deep cleavage and the tats that decorated her skin there. Man, he needed to take Anita back to the hotel and fuck her brains out before she got wasted on Swamp Water.

“How about mine?” Rene ran her hands over her arms, then stroked the tops of her breasts.

“Yes, I’d say so,” Sam replied. Holy shit, she was flirting with him. “There.” Rene eased the sleeve of Sam’s tee shirt up over his shoulder. “You have nice biceps and shoulders. The perfect place for tats.” Her fingernail drew imaginary designs on his arm.

He studied her with the narrowed gaze he reserved for troublemakers at the airport and added a cocky smile. “Think so?”

“Yes,” she breathed, leaning closer. “Men also look hot with tats on their calves and thighs. Her hand dropped to his knee, just below his cargo shorts. Would she slide those up too? His cock stirred. How much had she drunk?

Anita laughed. Sam glanced at Perry flexing his arm, making a scorpion tat appear to crawl. His girlfriend was amused.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tat?” Rene asked Sam with a sultry, teasing tone. “Or maybe you have one hidden?” She removed her hand from his knee. Sam released his breath. “No. I’ve thought about getting one. But I don’t have any.” Damn, it was getting warm. Was Rene coming on to him with her husband right there? He glanced back at Anita again. She was having another Swamp Water. Terrific.

“You should get one. You and your lady,” Rene said. “We get ours at Sinful Designs on the boardwalk. They do the best work.”

Ah, now he got it. “I suppose you two work there? Or own the business.”

She laughed. “You think we’re trying to drum up sales?”

Sam nodded.

“No, nothing like that. But there is something special about Sinful Designs that you won’t find at any other tattoo parlor.”

“Is that right?” Sam called over the bartender and ordered another beer and a drink for Rene. “Don’t take this the wrong way but are you two hitting on us?”

“Not exactly,” Perry said, looking up from his show-and-tell for Anita. “We saw you watching us earlier—”

“And you thought we’d like to hook up with you two,” Sam finished the sentence, sounding slightly annoyed but intrigued.

“That’s not it,” Rene said. “But I bet you wished you were out there having the most amazing sex with Anita. Am I right?”

“Sure,” Sam said.

Anita smiled nervously, then sipped more of her drink.

“What if I told you there was a way to increase your sexual enjoyment by at least ten times, be more adventurous, have longer hard-ons, and multiple orgasms?” Rene looked at Anita. “Anita, wouldn’t you love to have multiple orgasms whenever you willed them to happen?”

Anita rolled her eyes. “I have orgasms.”

“Four or five in one night, without being touched?”

“I’d say you’re full of shit,” Anita said.

Sam nearly choked on his beer. Anita Brooke never swore in front of strangers. She was getting drunk. Damn, he wasn’t getting any tonight.

“Do you believe in magic, the supernatural?”

“I try to keep an open mind.” Sam didn’t want to discount anything. But more than that, he wanted to see where this was going.

“Try one of these tattoos at Sinful Designs. Just one. I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Rene paused. “Don’t be surprised if you go back for more like we did.” Eyes wide, she glanced around the night club’s grounds, looked over her shoulder, then forced a smile. There was no hiding that look of terror. Cold fear flashed across her eyes. What had her so afraid? She didn’t look the type to scare easily. A shiver slid down Sam’s spine.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Sam said as he briefly fantasized a few possibilities—sex on the raft, sex with this couple, and a few positions Anita wasn’t crazy about trying. His cock throbbed as his heart pounded in his chest. The woman didn’t look like she was lying. Was business that bad that this tattoo parlor would think up this fantastical story to bring in a few customers?

Rene placed a hand on his arm. “Honest, Sam, we don’t make out financially if you get a tattoo. We’re just amazed by this woman. She’s a witch you know. Her name is Cassandra.”

“A witch?” Anita asked.

Rene smiled at Sam. “Trust me. You will have the most scorching sex you could ever imagine.”

Excerpt from Peter's Story by Suz deMello

Part of the NAUGHTY GETAWAYS boxed-set, available now!

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Blurb:
Peter Fortune, Earl Darlingside, awakened beside a corpse. Accused of homicide, he must change his dissolute ways or face life in prison. Barrister Roxanne Fox, called Foxy Roxy, is charged with his defense. Will desire derail Peter’s case?

Genre/theme: Contemporary, British aristocracy, AA, alcoholic recovery

Copyright ©Suz deMello, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

One cool, bright summer morning, Peter Fortune, Earl Darlingside, awakened in a big, four-poster bed covered with a fluffy white duvet with a woman beside him. She was dead.

Until that moment, he’d been doing quite well, thank you very much, considering that he’d spent the night before drinking Remy Martin Black Pearl with a number of equally dissolute young noblemen and getting drunk as, well, drunk as lords. He should have had a throbbing head, unclear eyesight and a belly that pitched like bloody hell, but he felt great. And, given that he’d won rather than lost betting on billiards was another point in favor of the day.

Which was, he remembered blearily, Monday, perhaps? Or maybe Tuesday. Did it matter?

The window was open to the Hampstead sunshine and also admitted birdsong. Every once in a while he heard the sound of a distant siren, reminding him of...of…?

Oh yes, the dead girl.

Melanie.

He supposed he ought to call 9-9-9 and get an ambulance, though judging by her total lack of movement and warmth, the authorities would get to her too late. Far too late.

He rolled to the side, reaching for the bedside table where his mobile reposed. Something jabbed his arse, and he threw back the sheet to find a used syringe. A needlestick from an addict’s rig. Oh, shite, I’m fucked. He grabbed the thing and flung it across the room, then called for help.

*****

She’d been called Foxy Roxy for as long as she could remember, but she hadn’t embraced the nickname until her fifteenth birthday. That day she’d visited a charity shop with friends. One had spotted an old fox stole on a mannequin and bought it for Roxanne Fox as a gift. She’d worn that fox pelt around her neck on cool days until it had fallen apart, then bought another and then another. Only from the charity shops, though—she wouldn’t be directly responsible for the death of an innocent animal. Later she’d found a source for high-quality fakes, which fit her vegan habits far better.

This morning, she was nibbling a gluten-free currant scone slathered with soya cream cheese whilst enjoying her second flat white of the day (made with soya of course), reading a fairly interesting case file about a fellow who had been recorded by the many CCTVs roundabout London. Unfortunately for the client, he’d been taped with his zip open whilst fondling an impressive erection. Even less fortunately, the Crown was not amenable to letting the incident go by even though he claimed he’d been “pissed legless.”

Roxanne’s secretary stuck her head into the open doorway, her eyes round. “That prat Darlingside has gotten himself arrested again.”

“Oh, happy day.” Roxy wiped her mouth with a hanky. “What is it this time? Dead drunk? Car crash?”

“No, it’s more serious. Unless someone’s having a go at us.”

“Not chundering onto some poor copper’s shoes?” That had been a memorable case.

“No, murder.”

Roxy sat up straighter. She’d been White, Cheshire and Queen’s criminal defense specialist for four years, having left the Crown Prosecution Service to pursue more lucrative options. At WCQ, she’d had the opportunity to sample a more varied menu of cases than she’d expected. Along with the anticipated tax avoidance schemes and family squabbles regarding bequests—which occasionally devolved into wine-throwing and fistfights—a prominent client occasionally committed the odd sexual peccadillo, like the fellow diddling his dong in Notting Hill.

And then there was Peter Fortune, the Earl of Darlingside, who seemed intent upon imitating his parents’ strikingly self-destructive ways.

Bless him—he’d brought her a case she could really sink her teeth into. “Where’s he being held?”

Excerpt from Ice Queen by Nicole Austin

Part of the NAUGHTY GETAWAYS boxed-set, available now!

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Blurb:
In school, he was the bad boy this good girl couldn’t have. At work, he’s the boss, I’m his intern. Oh, and his dad just married my mom. It’s so wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I love it.

Genre/theme: Stepbrother Romance, New Adult, forbidden romance

Copyright ©Nicole Austin, 2017

Excerpt:

Chapter One

DELANIE

“Oh God. Right there. Yesss.”

The loud smack of flesh on flesh registers before the sting reverberates through my right ass cheek, followed quickly by a wave of heat. The slap amps up my arousal and has a fresh gush of juices spilling from my pussy onto the already damp desk blotter.

It’s so wrong. We shouldn’t be doing this, but I love it. Every decadent second of forbidden…

Hell, I don’t even know what to call it. Kyler Harrington isn’t my boyfriend. We aren’t dating or in any kind of relationship. He’s a complete asshole and I don’t even like him. I wouldn’t even call him a fuck buddy. I’m the intern who he just happens to fuck. Yet I thrill in the rebellious act of fucking him right under his father’s nose while on the clock at work.

I’m not even sure how I ended up bent over his father’s desk, pencil skirt bunched up around my hips, bare ass thrust up high with my boss’s massive cock pummeling my pussy.

Perhaps I should backtrack and explain this crazy situation I’ve found myself in.

Kyler Harrington was the high school senior year crush I couldn’t have.

I was the popular girl everyone wanted as a friend. The prim and proper head of all the important activities—yearbook, homecoming committee, debate club, cheerleading and powderpuff football. And I was a good girl.

Kyler, on the other hand, was the new guy at school. Being a new transfer student halfway through senior year is the kiss of death socially so there was no common ground. He was also a motorcycle riding bad boy with long hair and a leather jacket who found his way between the legs of every easy slut.

So yeah, he never even noticed me while I was painfully aware of him from the first moment I laid eyes on him.

Fast forward eight years and I show up for my first day interning at Harrington International—his father’s company—to find my living, breathing, high school bad boy fantasy is now my boss. There’d been a wicked gleam sparkling in those sexy green eyes when we were introduced. While I tried to be professional and keep my lust under wraps, he did nothing to hide the fact he wanted me.

Every time we were in a room together the sexual tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. He eye-fucked me during meetings and took advantage of any opportunity to touch me. On day one it started with his fingers brushing mine as I handed over a document. Things rapidly advanced to the lingering warmth of his hand against my leg as he sat down next to me and leaned into my personal space to speak with a colleague.

By the end of my first week he blatantly and boldly guided me into a meeting with his hand on the small of my back. While I focused on the presentation, his fingers found my knee under the table, instantly heating my blood. Slowly and deliberately, his touch teased along the side of my thigh before moving back to my knee.

No sooner had I sighed in relief and relaxed back into my chair than his touch boldly moved to my inner thigh, devilish fingers gliding higher and higher until he traced the hem of my skirt while I held my breath, telling myself he wouldn’t. As his hand slid beneath the material, I startled and nearly spilled a full mug of coffee. Only Kyler’s quick reflexes saved us both from being drenched with the hot liquid.

Of course, he’d used his free hand, reaching across me to steady the mug, which brought him closer. My head swam as each rapid breath filled my lungs with his musky scent, and his body heat enveloped me. When his fingertips glided over the damp silk covering my swollen pussy, I jumped up and made the excuse of needing a bathroom break. I’m not sure his father bought it considering the knowing smile he shot in my direction.

I tried to discourage him. Really, I did. But Kyler was a man on a mission. His relentless pursuit wore me down by the end of my second week when he cornered me in a cleaning supply room. Our first time happened against the wall of the dark, musty room, one of his hands covering my mouth to keep me quiet, the other under my ass, holding me up as he fucked me senseless. I said no, repeatedly.

Especially when he asked me if I wanted him to stop.

Excerpt from Sinfully Hot by Tina Donahue

Part of the NAUGHTY GETAWAYS boxed-set, available now!

Naughty Getaways Ebook

Naughty Getaways in Print

Blurb:
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.