Wednesday, November 21, 2012

STREETWALKER by Veronica Tower

STREETWALKER by Veronica Tower

Book 1 in the Playtime Series.
On their tenth wedding anniversary, Edie and Jack vow to reinvigorate their sex life and save their marriage through randomly selected fantasies. First drawn is Jack’s fantasy starring Edie as a common streetwalker. Equal parts enraged and aroused, Edie determines to blow Jack’s mind.

Luring him to a seedy section of town, Edie pulls out all the stops to give Jack exactly what he asked for - whether he can handle it or not. High on the erotic rush of newfound power over each other, the couple vows to take the game - and their marriage - to the next level.


By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: Streetwalker

Copyright © Veronica Tower, 2012

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Edie Williams put down her pen and folded the strip of paper in half and then in half again. “All right,” she said. “That’s three fantasies. Now what do you want to do with them?”

“I’ll get a bowl,” her husband said as he pushed back his chair from the kitchen table and rose to his feet. Jack still looked good despite having turned thirty last month. He had dark brown hair and even browner eyes crowning a six foot-two frame that was still pretty lean despite the fact that he didn’t play sports or work out the way he used to. As she watched he fetched a breakfast bowl out of the cabinets above the sink and started back toward the table. When he caught her eyes he offered a tired smile.

Tired was a good way to describe everything about them these days.

Jack set the bowl on the table between them and quickly tossed the three folded pieces of paper in front of him inside. Edie didn’t immediately follow suit. “Wouldn’t it be easier to celebrate the big one-oh with dinner and a movie?”

Jack sighed. She’d been getting a lot of sighs from him the past few years and frankly she felt exactly the same way. When they’d married nine years and three hundred sixty-four days ago, she’d been giddily in love with her handsome white jock. But the honeymoon had ended with the birth of their first child and despite having gone on to have a second kid their marriage had never really recovered.
“You always say that dinner and a movie takes no imagination,” Jack reminded her. “This,” he indicated the scraps of paper in the bowl, “is imaginative almost by definition. We said we’d give it a try. So are we going to do it or do you want me to go back to sleeping on the couch?”

The couch comment hurt! When their son was diagnosed with epilepsy, she’d been so afraid he would die in his sleep that she’d brought him into their bedroom. Unfortunately, their full sized bed wasn’t really big enough for two adults and an eight-year-old, so Jack had agreed to sleep on the couch for a while. Neither one of them had expected him to still be there fifteen months later. It was only after they’d gone into counseling that Edie had been forced to take the steps necessary to let her little boy sleep on his own again so Jack could come back in the bedroom. But their fifteen months apart had dealt a nearly mortal blow to their already damaged marriage. Now they were in counseling trying to figure out if they could rebuild some of the love and excitement that had first brought the jock and cheerleader together, or if they were only going to hang on for the kids.

“I guess we can do it,” Edie agreed.

“Good, because I don’t understand what the problem is,” Jack said. “We haven’t had good sex in three or four years and haven’t had any at all since before Blake had his first seizure. We both agreed this is important and Dr. Phelps suggested this was a good way to break the ice and make sex fun again.”

“I said I’d do it!” Edie snapped. Angry now, she threw her three slips of paper into the bowl. “You don’t have to lecture me about it.”

“Good,” Jack said again. He resumed his seat across from her and retrieved one of the six slips of paper.

“Why do you get to be the one to choose?” Edie demanded.

“I’m not,” Jack assured her. “I’m just going to fold them up so you can’t tell whose is whose.”
“Like I’d really cheat,” Edie grumbled.

Jack ignored her, painstakingly folding each slip of paper over upon itself four or five times before chucking it back in the bowl and retrieving another. When he finished there were six tightly wadded notes sitting in the container. He mixed them up with his fingers and looked up at Edie.

“All right, it’s your turn. Close your eyes and pick one.”

Edie smothered the impulse to point out that he obviously still felt like he had the right to tell her what to do. She shut her eyes and plucked one of the wadded pieces of paper out of the breakfast dish. She hoped she got one of her own fantasy scenarios—she didn’t even want to think about what kind of crap Jack would write down.

She opened her eyes again. “Satisfied?”

He shrugged.

Edie unfolded the piece of paper and read what her husband had written.

A streetwalker turning a trick with her John.


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