He has to have her before his lust consumes him.
All George wants is one night with the enchanting Vera Cross. She is the reason and the answer to his tormented dreams. One touch, one kiss, one sigh from her foxy lips, and the hungry beast burning within will give her everything she desires. But as his dreams become reality, George soon learns that the keeper of his heart is not at all what she seems . . .
As Vera lures George into a twisted web of pleasure beyond his most torrid dreams, his dark past lurks within shadow, waiting for the moment to strike. But George loves Vera, and his infatuation will never succumb. If he gives her every dirty little thing she craves, will Vera free him from hell?
If Vera Cross really loved him, she would free him from his twisted hell.
For five years George loved her unconditionally.
For five years he imagined how it would feel to be inside her.
Vera’s presence made time stand still while he waited with as much patience as a shark catching that first scent of blood in the water. Her every move, every word, every look felt like an extension of his own body, his own mind, his very soul. She unleashed a burning craze in him every time he heard the click of her heels on the polished tiled floors. He couldn’t handle the loneliness any longer. Couldn’t bear to spend another night without her by his side.
“Tell me what you need, Mr. Bradley,” she said, her sexy voice making his pulse race.
I need you, Vera. He smiled to himself, knowing that if she gave him the chance, he would make her happy . . . in every single dirty way.
The long sweep of her charcoal lashes cloaked the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Blue like a freshwater lake beneath a glacier, vivid against her alabaster skin and jet-black hair. Ripe in all the right places, her body should’ve been replicated into a sculpture, for his eyes only. With endless curves and slopes to make a man hungry for action, she defined a cock-teasing goddess. He felt utterly compelled to lick the glossy leather of the plain black heels encasing her tiny feet.
He wanted it all.
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For those who still prefer a print copy in hand, this story, along with several others will release in print next month!
Passion has no boundaries in the great outdoors . . .
From the concrete jungle to the wilds of Northern Ontario, Sierra Williams takes a management job at a remote wilderness resort. Forced to travel by boat with a guide who is both annoying and arousing, her fate is sealed when the boat springs a leak. They are forced ashore for a night under the stars waiting to be rescued, where nothing but the wind and the wildlife can hear her passionate cries.
After working this last week, side-by-side with Gary, learning the ins and outs of wilderness resorts and campgrounds, Sierra had developed an easy camaraderie with the burly man. Watching Gary deal with customers in a casual, friendly manner was refreshing. She had yet to see an unhappy face. Oddly enough, she still didn’t know his job title. He seemed to be the resort’s jack of all trades, and from what she’d seen, a master of a lot more than one.
She’d come to admire him, although there were times when his teasing words annoyed her. His strength could be compared to a bear, she’d decided, after witnessing Gary haul forty-five-gallon drums on his shoulders the first day she’d arrived. Thick, corded arm muscles shimmered under the sun from sweat. A broad chest tapered to a narrow waist. He sure had an incredible body, and his green eyes looked exquisite against sun-tanned skin and dark brown hair.
He squatted down and rinsed the knife in the water.
Sierra stared at the white wife-beater clinging to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. She licked her lips, imagining a hundred possible positions a man like him could handle with such raw power at his disposal. He could probably pound her standing up with nothing for support but his own powerful legs. She looked away, her cheeks flushed, before he noticed her ogling him. “That’s quite the knife you have there,” she said, just to fill the silence.
Gary finished rinsing the knife and stood to face her, holding the blade at a dangerous angle between them. Sierra’s eyes widened and she stared at the sharp, shiny edge. He held the weapon so close her eyes nearly crossed looking at it.
“One flick of my wrist and I could completely remove your bra. Nice, eh?”
She swallowed. “I didn’t realize men thought about breasts while cleaning fish.”
“Men think about tits during any moment of the day.” His gaze slipped down to her chest. “And I must say, you have a healthy set of lungs.”
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Andi Thomas has a problem. These days her boyfriend seems distant, and selfish in the bedroom. Add on the fact that he doesn’t respect her job as a mechanic because she’s a woman. To make matters worse, a gorgeous stranger moves in next door, and he’s everything her boyfriend isn’t. What’s a woman to do when she’s had enough?
When Darren Holloway discovers the fiery vixen next door is the very person he’s been looking for, he’s caught between his need to strike a business deal, and the immediate urge to have her. He finds himself falling for Andi fast . . . and finding interesting ways to convince the beautiful grease monkey that he’s the one thing she’ll never have to fix.
Andi stood dumbfounded in the steamy room, her gaze locked on a naked man behind the blurry shower curtain. Although she remembered giving another tenant heck for spying on men in such a situation—she suddenly understood the temptation. As she admired the exquisite cut of sinewy muscle, bronzed skin, and his graceful movements, hot moisture of arousal—hotter than the steam rising up and out from behind that shower curtain—formed between her legs. Being caught ogling his sexy body might be an offense punishable by law, but she couldn’t think of one reason why it wouldn’t be worth it.
“I was wondering when you’d show up.” His voice lingered like a wet caress in the room.
She shivered involuntarily as a hot blush—not caused by the steam—worked its way into her cheeks. Andi could swear she recognized the voice of the man but couldn’t be sure, and she was still pissed off enough about her foot not to care.
The riveting sight of this man working the washcloth all over his honed body definitely wasn’t helping her sexual matters. She could honestly jump in there with him and simply beg for him to help her achieve an orgasm, then kindly allow him to go on his way and forget about her.
Her gaze drifted up and down a dozen times as she watched his graceful movements, the water spraying over him, washing away the dirt from a night’s work, or maybe the sweat and bodily fluids caused by a night of ravishing some lucky woman.
She shuddered from the thought of being the one he mounted, their bodies slapping and bucking against each other.
Those wicked images disappeared into something else when the fragrance of vanilla-scented soap enveloped her, consumed her. A new vision came to life, one of her neighbor—and of her working the soap over his body until her hands came into contact with his cock . . .
“You might as well pass me a towel. I wasn’t expecting you so early. Horny little thing, aren’t you?”
Andi didn’t have time to react to his outrageous comment before a big hand reached around the shower curtain as if to grab her. She jerked back, rushed over to the bench, grabbed the only towel that was sitting out, and threw it in the direction of his hand.
Torrid thoughts of grasping his wet ass cheeks through the curtain taunted her to be a bad girl, to forget propriety and her reputation.
He moved the towel down inch by agonizing inch.
She watched . . . mouth agape . . . lips dry.
It was madness. She should leave, but she stood there, glued to the floor. Her gaze moved with the motion of his towel as he dried his crotch. Andi swallowed, completely fixated on his cock. The steam in the room seemed overwhelming. Yes, that must be it. The steam. She wiped a hand over her brow and took several deep breaths.
“Would you like to join me?”
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How do you celebrate a divorce? Join a sex club!
Sasha Borden is two weeks away from being a free woman, and free she certainly wants to be. What better way to rejoice her new life than joining an underground sex club, where strangers meet for a night of flesh-filled fantasy?
At Sinful Epiphany any and every wish can be fulfilled while identities are always kept secret. As Sasha embarks on her naughty rendezvous with a stranger, one night of stripped inhibitions could lead to sexual euphoria, or something even more sinful . . .
Sasha slipped the mask on and waited for further instruction.
“Your dress, Madame.”
“My dress, what?” Her voice sounded completely different behind the full-faced mask.
He chuckled. “The dress must be removed. All ladies wear a red silk negligee, and the men wear black silk boxers. Once you reach the end of the hallway, you will take the stairs to your right where your gentleman caller awaits.”
Holy fuck. This is it.
With no words to give him, Sasha nodded as she pulled the straps of her sundress over her shoulders, letting the garment drift down to pool at her feet. She kicked it up, grabbed the material from her foot, and handed it to him. He winked and dropped her dress over his forearm, then swept his hand out, gesturing to the other end of the hall. She stared at the darkness beyond the hallway. It seemed ridiculous standing here in nothing but her heels and negligee and a full mask, but somehow it excited her as well, for already she felt a dampness between her legs. What would her family think if they knew she was here? Poor Mom would have a heart attack and probably call the cops--just as Elisa suggested. She shuddered, wondering what Gage would think of her behavior. He’d probably burn the place down, or at the very least, beat up all the men in attendance. But what she chose to do with her life was no longer his business or his concern, and it was high time Sasha realized that as well. She was alone now and in control of her life.
The soft click of her heels were in tune with the classical music echoing through the stunning mansion. As she made her way to the foot of the stairs and looked up . . . there, on the landing, stood her gentleman caller.
She paused as her breath hitched and her skin tingled. Her lover had a body made from manual labor or maybe he worked out at a gym every day, either way, he appeared hard as granite. Black silk boxers encased strong, corded legs and the full-faced black mask hid everything but his eyes which were nearly as black as the mask. Sasha swallowed, suddenly nervous, yet turned on at the same time. Did she have the courage to ask for what she wanted? Yes . . . you do. You need this.
As if sensing her fear, the man lifted his arm, crooked his finger . . . and like a kitten drawn to milk, Sasha took the stairs toward Phoenix.
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Janna has a secret. She’s secretly loved and fantasized about her boss since she began working for him two years ago. Time after time, she’s failed to draw his notice, until one fateful day she comes across the book, How to Tempt a Man . . . for the Desperate Woman.
Armed with a naughty to-do list, she embarks on a journey to capture Mr. Tremaine’s attention, for any hot-blooded man cannot ignore the power of a passionate woman . . . can they?
Janna had come to the point where looking for another job seemed the better way out, for she couldn’t stand to be near him when she felt like this.
She returned to the setting panel on the copier, knowing the code was a single-digit but not recalling which one. “Is it seven or eight?”
“Maybe nine,” Karen said dreamily.
“What? That’s not the code. It’ll never go through.”
“You wouldn’t believe how well it’ll go” —Karen spun around— “what?” Her quizzical expression made Janna tremble with suppressed laughter. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
Karen blushed and cast her gaze to the floor.
“You’re a dirty girl, K. What would our boss think of you?”
“Nothing, I’m sure.” Karen leaned closer to whisper, “I happen to know he’s interested in somebody and not for a quick bang either. Nobody knows who she is, but she’s one lucky bitch if you ask me.”
Janna shook her head, incredulous over their silly conversation. “How do you know all these things, K?”
“Have you forgotten? His sister is a friend of mine. She tells me everything.”
Janna dared a glance at Mr. Tremaine through the glass windows of his office. He stood over his desk, leaning on his knuckles, gazing down at something—she guessed some paperwork for one of his cases. A loose lock of wavy black hair dangled over his eyes. Janna sucked in a breath when he casually swept it back behind his ear. The gesture made her stomach flutter.
Her gaze traversed his body. God, he had a build like Robocop, not a businessman. But then again, working as a private investigator required physical strength in case he stumbled into a dangerous situation. She licked her lips, knowing well his quick smile and sensual hazel eyes, all of it a handsome package. He towered over her as well, and it made her feel tiny beside him—another turn-on. Having curves and height meant she knew few men who had any interest in her, for the modern man still seemed stuck on short and cute or thin and tall. Since being in Mr. Tremaine’s employ, there were times when she caught him staring at her, but she quickly reminded herself that, as the boss, he needed to keep an eye on his staff. It wasn’t personal. His gaze was strictly business.
Mr. Tremaine could probably pick her up, press her against a wall, and fuck her without support. She exhaled hard, reminding herself they were at work, as her naughty gaze wandered over his coal-black hair. Her favorite thing had to be his hair, for it always looked like he just got out of bed. She closed her eyes, imagining her fingers skimming through those locks and pulling his face down for a kiss. The very thought made her body yearn for the fantasy to come true.
She opened her eyes and caught him looking at her. Shit.
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A lounge singer, haunted by the past, Nina Grey pours her soul into her music and her trysts with women. But having a sexy roommate like Jordan, who looks at her like he can read her thoughts, makes her question her true desires. Would one night in his bed ease her turmoil, or complicate their friendship?
Jordan Martin views Nina like a glass of fine scotch, yet two things stand in his way. Nina claims that she doesn’t like men, and she doesn’t know a thing about his jaded life either. But when her past catches up with her, and secrets are exposed, Jordan is forced to show his true colors, or risk forever losing the only woman who stirs his soul . . .
Everything about her turned him on. From her curvy ass to her smile that was warm enough to melt a frozen lake . . . especially with the little gap between her front teeth. If he didn’t concentrate, when her hazel eyes glinted under the lights, it could reach right into his jeans and stroke his cock to life. He even thought the hemorrhoid cream she put under her eyes every night was fucking cute. All those little things made Nina special to him.
Having these uncontrollable feelings around her confused him. He didn’t know what to say or how to act. He didn’t want to scare her away. Being a gentleman was one thing, but being himself was another. Deep down, he knew that if he couldn’t have her physically, he’d always stand in the shadows and admire her from afar, and be her friend—it was better than not having her in his life at all.
A wry smile curved his lips. Nina may think she only desired women, but Jordan sensed a lot more to it than that. She was hiding something, probably using her fun with other women as a front. He got that. Experimenting wasn’t a bad thing. But, still . . .
He’d tossed and turned again last night, listening to her less-than-convincing moans while her latest lover tried to bring her to orgasm—without victory. If she’d let him between her legs, she’d be squirting on his face like a disturbed can of beer.
The question lingered like a curse at the back of his mind; were her lovers the problem, or was Nina holding back? He’d be tempted to give up his freedom and go to jail just to know her secrets.
Nina turned her sweet face, and she looked at his arm, gnawing her lower lip between her teeth.
Rendered speechless, he stood frozen, captured by the curve of her full, peach-colored lips. His gaze wandered down to the twin melons beneath her V-neck shirt, and his mouth went dry. He wanted to cup them in his hands, hold the weight of each plump breast, and suck on her taut nipples. He’d nip them until she begged him to stop the exquisite torture--
“Missing something?” She held out his trusty bottle of Glenfiddich.
“Oh, right.” He snatched the bottle, averting his gaze from her chest, and proceeded to pour a healthy measure, at least three fingers. Fuck it, may as well be five.
Nina chuckled, raking her hazel-eyed gaze over him. “Planning on getting drunk, are we?”
“Might as well.” He turned away, concentrating solely on his drink.
Nina leaned forward, putting her face directly in his view over the counter. He didn’t want to look at her, but she didn’t give him a choice.
“What’s your problem?”
He smiled, knowing it didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, babe. Just a long day.” A long day of bullshit thoughts.
Blissfully unaware of his reality, she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. The impression of her sweet lips burned his lonely flesh. He couldn’t help wondering how those luscious lips would feel directed elsewhere--
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What’s a ski instructor to do with a naughty little student?
Jeremy Thompson is at the top of his game and loving his job. Surrounded by towering mountains and awe-inspiring slopes, life couldn’t get any better for an adventurous bachelor. Trouble is he’s having a hard time focusing on what he’s paid to do, when he would rather bump his sexy student over the bunny hill.
Tiva Dushku is a walking wet dream and a hazard to his job. During a chilly afternoon practice, Tiva takes a spill into the bushes, and when Jeremy comes to her rescue, she leaves him no choice but to teach her a lesson . . .
Jeremy found a set of tracks going off the trail into a pine thicket, just below and to the right of the bunny hill. It didn’t take much deductive power to conclude Tiva had ended up down there. He sidestepped into the bushes and pushed the pine branches out of the way. Tiva was lying on her back with the back of her hand placed dramatically over her brow.
“Oh, there you are,” she said in her thick accent, eyes wide, mascara smudged. “I’m dying.”
Dying for something all right.
Chuckling under his breath, Jeremy tapped the binding of his skis with his poles, stepped off, and knelt by her feet. One of her skis had been ripped off in the fall; the ski that was still attached had jack-knifed in the snow. He removed the ski and patted her leg, checking for signs of injury.
“Did you hurt your ankle?”
She sighed deeply, and Jeremy thought she could play the starring role in a badly acted porn film. “Yes. Oh, god. I feel faint.”
Tiva lay back and parted her legs, providing him a clear view of the cleft between her thighs. He swallowed, ignoring the urge to reach out and skim his fingers over the seam and make her squirm. The woman was a danger to the male population.
He gritted his teeth and focused on her face. “Do you need help getting up?”
Her pretty blue eyes gazed at him with that hungry look he’d come to know well this past week. Nearly every time he looked at her, she was staring back at him with clear lust in her eyes. As far as he was concerned, she probably wanted his cock more than she wanted to learn to ski.
Tiva bit her bottom lip and smiled. That’s when he realized her little accident wasn’t really an accident at all. He should’ve known a sultry creature like her would set him up.
“Come here,” she murmured. “I want you to kiss me.”
Although Jeremy felt an instant tug on his inner strings, her request put him in an awkward position. Edward was paying him to teach her to ski, not to fuck around. If he was caught, he had no doubt in his mind he would be fired. High Peaks did not permit sexual activity between instructor and student.
He decided to do the right thing. “I’m flattered, Miss Dushku, really, but I don’t think—”
She pouted and batted her lashes. “Don’t you want me, Mr. Thompson?”
You have no fucking idea. “I could lose—”
Tiva pushed up so quickly he didn’t have a chance to react before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down and on top of her. He sucked in a surprised breath just as her lips brushed against his, exploring, tasting, but it was her lusty moan that did him in. He was a man, and real men with wood to strike a match on couldn’t walk away from that much temptation.
The Trouble with Tiva is available for Pre-Order, and releases May 14!
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“Yeah, come on, baby, you know you want it. Take it.”
Jack bobbed his rod, trying to entice the trout following his line to take the bait. The little bastard followed the worm every time, but it held back from snatching up the lure.
A shift in wind swayed the cedar and pine trees along the bank, which reminded Jack why he loved the outdoors so much. Peaceful. Quiet. No nagging. No pleading. No whining. Just good old Mother Nature at her finest.
He stepped farther into the river, enjoying the cool water swirling around his ankles. When the fish refused to bite again, he reeled the line in and cast farther downriver.
“Oh, Jack . . .”
“Jack . . .”
He swore under his breath and started reeling the line back in. As he turned around to face his wife, he said, “Connie, I told you before, don’t sneak up--Jesus Christ! What the hell?”
Less than ten feet away stood Connie, totally naked except for wearing his camouflage hat. The little ensemble she wore earlier lay pooled at her feet. Completely taken aback, Jack nearly dropped his fishing rod, just as the line tightened.
Shit. “Fish on! Of all the bloody, fuckin’ times . . . Connie, what are you doing? Somebody might see you!”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said in a sultry tone that slithered along his nerves like a smooth gulp of Scotch.
Jack’s jaw dropped as his wife wandered over the rocky shoreline toward the water. Her body was a sculpture of naked perfection. God, she looked incredible. He was about to say something . . . to yell at her for being so reckless . . . but the fish kept yanking the line back, making Jack fight between staring at Connie and bringing the fish to shore.
“You know, I’ve always loved the water,” she said, now standing with the water lapping just below her luscious ass cheeks.
“Fuck!” Jack grumbled, yanking the line harder and harder as he stared at his wife touching herself. He looked down and suddenly realized the large trout was already flapping on shore.
“The water is a little chilly,” she added.
What’s going on? Connie had never acted so brazen before.
Jack shook his head and looked over at her again. She had turned around and stood facing him now. His mouth watered, and his balls tightened at the sight of her. She must’ve gone under, for her hair was wet and hanging around her face, down her chest. Her nipples stood erect, mesmerizing him like a strobe light. Beads of water dribbled down her pale flesh to her navel, like millions of tiny tongues lapping at her creamy flesh, right down to her trimmed patch of honey-colored curls. Jesus Christ. . .
LIVE BAIT will be available at all online outlets on April 30th!
It's time for another release, ladies and gents! I'm thrilled to introduce PULSE, my short dark erotica that hit the virtual shelves today!
Warning! Erotic Excerpt ahead...
If she wanted honesty, she’d get every naughty little detail.
Some might consider him crazy for loving her in his way, but he didn’t care. He adored her, and he’d own the spread of her thighs better than anyone else could. He’d spank her until her curvy ass displayed his palm print. He’d fuck her, like a hurricane ravaged a coastal town.
He was a man on a mission. Besides, he’d never hurt her. On the contrary, he was following her advice — advice given in a feathery voice full of passion and mayhem and promises....
Her bedroom lamp illuminated her curvy silhouette. He drew closer, to better see into the room. Every move she made, every breath she took, pulled him in like a torrid dream. He observed the beautiful curves of her body, visible through her sheer nightgown. Beauty didn’t get any better than this.
Blood rushed to his cock. He gave his hard-on a squeeze and groaned from the thrilling sensation.
He should be her man — the lover at her mercy. Desperate and diligent, he’d use every ounce of his experience and passion to make her scream with lust. Tears would fill her eyes by the sheer ecstasy of his touch. He’d bend her over and fuck away any doubts she might have about him. He’d make certain she’d remember every contour of his cock as he penetrated her in every way imaginable.
A slight breeze tousled his hair, carrying the scent of roses. The full moon highlighted the path to her. Tonight was the perfect night to make his move for he had nothing left to lose, and everything to give.
He reached out and handled a silken bloom, rolling it between his fingers like tissue paper. Inhaling the rich aroma, he had to push aside the urge to groan from the scent of her. A scent that intoxicated him to the fullest. These bushes were her pride and glory. Even her perfume carried the same heavy, floral bouquet, a drug to the senses. He shuddered, remembering the last time she’d walked past his room, leaving that unforgettable scent in her wake.
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Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors, where writers post 8-10 sentences of a published work or work in progress. Today I'm posting an excerpt from The Hitman Who Loved Me, the final book to McCoy's Boys.
This scene starts off with Terry (hero from book 2) questioning Sam on when he would date a woman who didn’t need to be institutionalized.
“There was nothing wrong with Annie.”
Terry roared with laughter. “She painted her toenails five times a day, all different colors.”
Sam shrugged. “She had cute feet, so what?”
“Didn’t she try to paint yours one day?”
He ignored that question. Terry would never let it down if Sam admitted that on one exciting night he had blue nail polish on one side and green on the other. He couldn’t refuse Annie. She had a smile that could undo the stitches on his gitch.
The McCoy empire is under siege, and Sam Hayes has been tapped to take care of the culprit. Sam knows better than to get involved with his target, but there’s something about Jamie that keeps him from simply finishing the job and moving on. Maybe the hard-bodied hitman just can’t wrap his mind around the fact that the first woman to set his soul on fire is a common criminal. The only thing Sam can do is keep her close. An easy enough task—if Sam doesn’t do something stupid. Like fall in love with the bombshell he was sent to kill….
Until next time, ladies and gents! Be sure to check out snippets from the other participating authors through the icon below.