DUAL DESIRES by Shyla Colt

DUAL DESIRES by Shyla Colt

A Red Hot and BOOM Story

The red, white and blue rally used to be a high point for Ardy Larkin. The festival brought in enough money for the town to scrape by, and added a bit of excitement to the air. This year everything’s different. Her father made a deal he couldn’t back, and now her life is forfeit. Demanded as payment for their debt she finds herself attached to the biggest, baddest, member of the Dueling Devils M.C., their president, Demon.

In need of someone to watch his children while he was away, Ardy Larkin seemed like the perfect solution to all Demon’s problems, until he caught a case of feelings for an innocent girl who didn’t belong in his world. When a dangerous situation forces his feeling to the forefront, he shows her what it means to be claimed by a member of the Dueling Devils.

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~Excerpt~

Normally, the rumble of motorcycles put butterflies in Ardy Larkin’s stomach. The Red, White, and Blue Rally brought in a huge portion of money that kept the economy in Denton, North Carolina from being dead in the water. Last year, her father made a deal with the Devil—The Dueling Devils to be exact. The one-percenter biker gang fronted him enough cash to keep the family bar and grill open. The terms had never been talked about in her presence, but she knew for a fact they were short. They’d barely kept themselves clothed and fed this year. Now, it was time to pay the piper. What will the cost be?

Ardy shifted her weight and watched the chrome and steel beasts zip by the window. A group of bikes broke away from the stream and lined the parking spaces in front of the bar. Her legs turned to rubber, and she caught the edge of the counter top, holding on for dear life as she forced herself to remain standing. Red-horned caricatures of devils faced each other below a white 1 percent emblem on their vests. The Dueling Devils patches were impossible to mistake. The door swung open. Her heart slapped against her ribs.

She feigned a coolness she didn’t feel, wiping the bar with her sanitized towel. Boots stomped over the floor toward her. The swinging doors that separated the main area from the entrance flapped together.

“Ardy.” Her father’s voice held concern.

“Yes, sir?” She looked up. Her father’s stormy blue eyes bored a hole into her. Worry and concern clouded their normal vibrancy. The ever present smile considered Pat Larkin’s trademark was gone.

“Close down the shop and head home early, okay?” Shocked, she stared at him, rooted to the spot. They never closed early. “Ardy.” The terse tone of her father’s voice broke through her stupor.

“I’m on it, Da.” She placed her towel in the dirty bucket they laundered daily, and stepped from behind the bar. The sensation of eyes on her back amplified with every step she took. Flipping the sign from open to closed, she turned the dead bolt.

“Thank you. Now, straight home,” her father said.

“Oh no, I think she should stay.” The husky voice made her belly bottom out like the tallest roaster coast at an amusement park. “Your failure to come through is going to affect her directly. I think she deserves to know about it up front.”

She rotated slowly and faced the man effectively taking a wrecking ball to her life—Demon, the Dueling Devils’ president. The sheer size of him intimidated her. At least six-foot-three with broad shoulders and a solid build, the man was massive. Bronze skin peeked out from beneath the mural of colorful tattoos that covered the thick muscles of his arm. Mesmerized by his magnetism, she moved her gaze up to his face. A square jaw, long, straight nose, and oval-shaped face gave him rugged beauty. His brown eyes held novels full of experience. He couldn’t be much more than late thirties, but those eyes were wizened. Her mouth dried out, and her muscles tensed. What could he possibly want with me? Illustration of degradation, unwanted sexual advances, and submission danced behind her lids.

She’d seen the house mouses who didn’t want to be where they ended up. Dead eyes, fake smiles, and strain were the things each one seemed to have in common. Demon focused in on her, and their gazes clashed. Like a snake trapped by the flute notes played by a charmer, she found herself unable to look away.

“What the hell does Ardy have to do with any of this?” Her father’s chest heaved. He stood ramrod straight, clenching his hands, but his voice remained tempered. They had a lot riding on this. A show of the Larkins’ infamous Irish temper wouldn’t help a damn thing.

“We need to take this to the office.” Demon nodded toward the double doors that lead to the small office in the back. “Refreshments for my boys?”

“Of course .” Her father nodded. “Ardy, stay here and serve them.”

“No, she comes with us,” Demon said.

The no-negotiable tone made her stomach clench. Blood rushed in her ears. Questions swirled in her head, swarming like a hive of agitated bees trying to protect their queen from danger. Overwhelmed, each thought felt fleeting, moving out of her grasp before she could get a handle on it. Panic dumbed her. Like a deer caught in headlights, she lost the ability to rationalize. The walk to the office was the longest of her life. Ushered into a chair by her father, she sat beside him on the opposite side of the desk from Demon.

“Do you want to tell me what you meant out there?” her father said.

“She’s the payment I’ll be collecting for your debt,” Demon said.

The world spun, and she swayed as the impact stole her breath. She gripped the arms of the chair to anchor her and took deep breaths. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up. This didn’t happen in real life, not to women like her. She’d been a straight A student and hadn’t lost her virginity until twenty, for Christ’s sake.

“Bullshit!” Her father’s voice boomed in the empty space. His meaty fist pounded the wooden surface in front of him.

Demon’s jaw clenched. A pending sense of doom rocketed through her body, and she surged forward.

“Dad, let’s hear him out.”

“What?” Her father turned his head to stare at her. His round face was beet red, and a vein throbbed in the center of his forehead. “This isn’t the eighteen-hundreds. I’m not auctioning you off like some kind of whore.”

“Did I say I wanted her for sex?” Demon asked.

“What else would you want her for, Demon?”

“You’d best watch your tone, Paddy. You make a deal with the devil, he’s going to eventually come to call, especially when you don’t deliver.”

The quiet promise of violence in Demon’s voice wasn’t lost on her. She grabbed her father’s arm and dug her nails into the flesh of the corded muscles built up from years of manual labor. There were six other people in her family to worry about. He couldn’t afford to be out of commission.

“I apologize,” her father said with a thick brogue. The Irish accent always became more pronounced when strong emotions hit. Her mother claimed that’s what pulled her toward her father in the first place. Her parents were an odd pair. The staunch Catholic Irish man, and the small town Baptist African American girl—it hadn’t been an easy road to pave.

Demon nodded. “I’ll let it slide this once, given the circumstances and the fact that no one else is around to witness it. Don’t make the mistake of forgetting yourself again.” The air seemed to lose oxygen. The room shrank like some medieval torture chamber.

“What I find myself in need of is a live-in nanny. I know this family. You’re good people. She’s the oldest of four children, who’s always looked out after her younger siblings. When she grew up she tended the bar.”

She gaped at Demon, stunned by his spot—on summary. He smirked. The devilish grin changed him completely. The scary factor gave way to sexy, and she did her best not to drool. Jesus, too much work and no recreation has sent me around the bend.

“I know everything that goes on this town, Ardy,” Demon said. The sound of her name on his lips made her shiver. “My sister’s charter is here.”

“That’s it? You want her to watch someone’s kids?” Her father frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“No.” Demon’s eyes flashed. “It’s for my children. I don’t like imposing on my boys’ families all the time, or leaving them with some biker bunny. I need a more permanent arrangement”

Relief crashed over Ardy like a wave. “I can take care of children in my sleep.” She latched onto the familiar task like a lifeline. “How many are there, and what ages?”

Demon shifted his attention to her. “Two. Harley is three, and her brother Rocket is four.”

She memorized the information, turning the unique names over in her mind. “Oh those are sweet ages.” Ardy smiled.

“Yeah, they’re good kids, believe it or not.” Demon snorted.

“And how long would this be for?” her father asked.

Demon narrowed his eyes at her father. “Until I feel like the debt’s paid.” He leaned forward. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Her father ground his teeth together. “You expect her to uproot her life and what, go with you?” He drummed his fingers on his desk.

“She’d have the rally to adjust to Harley and Rocket, and say her goodbyes. But when we pull out of this town, she’ll be with us. I didn’t make this happen, Paddy. Don’t look at me as if I came in out of nowhere and shook you down. You know we’re not in the business of generosity.”

“It’s fine. I’ll do it. Birdie can run the bar in my stead. She’s just as capable. I know she can swing college and work,” Ardy said, frantic to solve this peaceably. She’d seen the destruction the Devils could do. It wasn’t something she needed to go around feeling responsible for. Arrogant or not, Demon had been right when he said this would be getting off easy. She’d seen the gang burn down an establishment before to prove a point.

“Ardy.” Her father shook his head. Shame filled his eyes. Family above all had been drilled in her head from the minute she’d been old enough to comprehend it. She wouldn’t let him back out now when they could solve this issue peaceably.

“Looks like I’m getting that overdue vacation, huh, Da?”

He shook his head.

Demon cleared his throat. “My kids are here. I expect you to spend time getting to know them, making sure they’re comfortable before we get back home. I’m a busy man, away more than I’m home. I want to know things in my house are as they should be.” The steely determination in his dark eyes turned her blood cold. They promised pain if she did wrong by his kids.

“I—I understand,” Ardy said.

“Good, I’ll be back around this evening with them. Be ready to go back to the hotel with us.”

“I—okay?” She glanced at her dad, who issued a curt nod. If he lost it now, things would get ugly fast. You didn’t mess with the Dueling Devils. People who mouthed off, or double crossed them, had a way of disappearing, or wishing they could. Nerves made her bounce her leg.

“I think you should get home and get your things together. It’s time Demon and I speak alone.”

Uncertain of who trumped who in this situation, she turned to glance at Demon, who nodded. “Oh yeah, I think we’ll get along just fine,” Demon said with a sly smile.

Heat filled her cheeks, and she looked away, embarrassed by the spark of excitement that rose in her chest. She’d never been out of town other than away games during basketball season in high school. There was freedom in leaving behind everything she knew, and the mile-high pile of responsibilities that tied her to the bar. She loved her family, but she often dreamed of more. In a town where couples had known one another since the womb and been married off right out of high school, she’d always felt like the odd man out.

Hindered by the responsibility of playing surrogate mother while her parents scrimped together every penny they made to get the bar up and running, she’d never really had a chance to connect to anyone on that level. Guilt made her lower her head as she stood. I should be terrified. What kind of a person wants to leave behind their home?

Ashamed, she slunk out of the office and took the back exit.

She sat inside her car, gathering her thoughts as she ran over what she’d tell her mother. There’d be hell in the Larkin home. Her mother had been against dealing with the Devils in the first place. Having her firstborn whisked away like some fairytale gone wrong would only exasperate the rift her father’s decision made.

Her thoughts wandered back to Demon. He ran the Dueling Devils with an iron fist, made men twice his size quake in fear, but cared enough to hire a nanny for his kids? Hell, him having kids had come as a shock. What happened to the mother? Full of questions with no answers, she started up the reliable sedan and pulled out of the parking lot.

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DEVIL UNDER THE MISTLETOE by Sam Cheever

DEVIL UNDER THE MISTLETOE by Sam Cheever

Perdition guide Damian is supposed to escort sexy Amanda to Hell. But he’d much rather keep her.

Damian Noire is a Perdition Guide. He escorts people who die to their rightful spot in Hell. Business always seems to pick up around the Holidays and this Christmas is no exception. Damian’s assignment is to bring a beautiful young woman to Hell to stand before the judgment assembly, and then take her to her assigned circle of Hell. It sounds simple. But it’s about to become the hardest assignment he’s ever performed.

Amanda Wright might have been unjustly judged. She might not belong in Hell at all. Problem is, Damian really kind of likes her. He especially likes enjoying her lush, willing body under the mistletoe. If he gets her the judgment she truly deserves, he’s probably going to lose her forever. But if he doesn’t help her, an innocent may spend eternity in Hell. It appears to be a lose/lose situation on all fronts. Proving once again that holidays truly are hell!

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Holidays Are Hell: Devil Under the Mistletoe
Sam Cheever
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2012 Sam Cheever
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

"Fuck you."

"Not today, demon. I'm off to get a Brazilian wax. Maybe next time."

"Real men don't wax their balls."

Don laughed, wiggling his fingers at Damian as he walked out into the broiling suns of Hell to start his post-holiday vacation.

Damian watched him go, feeling sour. He'd really been looking forward to some time off. The holidays were a busy time for the perdition guides. For some strange reason, more people died around the holidays, and about a third of them had to be dragged South to much warmer climes when they did. His only consolation was that the guys in white were even busier than the perdition guides.

As always, it sucked to be an Angel. Not only did they walk around with giant, metaphorical sticks up their asses, but they never got a vacay. At least Damian knew he'd finally get his time off once he finished whatever hellish task the assembly had lined up for him.

Walking against the tide, Damian glared at all his fellow guides as they headed out. They all gave him some version of the grief he'd gotten from Don. It wasn't exactly a compassionate group.

He walked through the black onyx, double doors and past the few guides and their clients still sitting in hard-backed wooden chairs. They were waiting for their time in front of the assembly, to learn which circle of Hell they'd be placed in for eternity.

Tears and glowers dominated on the pale, sometimes torn and blood-covered, faces waiting to be placed. Supplicants rarely liked waking up from death to discover they were being taken South rather than North. That was usually when your average damned soul embraced his or her inner politician.
Much to their chagrin, they quickly learned that lies and obfuscations didn't go quite as far in Hell as they did in Washington, DC.

Unlike Heaven, when a body was brought to Hell, the guide didn't waste any time making them look better. There was no point getting pretty and then heading into the fiery, monster-strewn environs of Hades.

Worm, the assembly clerk, scowled at him from across the room. The small, round man wore wire-rimmed glasses and stood in a haze of smoke that rose from the cigarette dangling between his lips. Worm didn't like when people entered the vault without checking in.

Waiting his turn, Damian ignored the clerk and stood impatiently to the side of the high, curved platform where the assembly judges looked down on the damned. One by one, the supplicants were dragged before the judges and their guides were carefully questioned about their lives. Then the judges briefly discussed the facts and decided where the supplicant belonged. Once it was decided, the guide stepped back, and the chief judge pointed his pitchfork at the damned. In a burst of light, the supplicant would be dropped into the fiery pits beneath the floor or transferred to his new home in an outer circle of Hell.

No muss, no fuss.

An hour later, the chief judge turned his red countenance toward Damian and inclined his head. The overhead light sparked against the razor-sharp tips of the judge's horns. When human mythology created its first representation of Satan, it had been an assembly judge they had depicted. Only the judges were squat and red with white horns and forked tails.

By contrast, the perdition guides looked like exceptionally attractive humans.

Damian moved to the spot at the center of the room where supplicants were meant to stand. He bowed slightly as five massive, red heads turned his way. The chief held his black pitchfork upright in one hand, leaning slightly against it as he peered down at Damian. "PD Damian, I trust you have come before this assembly ready and willing to perform your duties?"

Damian glared at the judge, knowing him well enough to understand the asshole was tweaking him. "Sir, I've never been more ready, and the only other time I've been this willing was when I had two supra demon females naked and writhing on the black sand beside the boiling sea. But of course that couldn't possibly compare to this."

The assembly chuckled darkly.

"I trust you don't intend to whip your dick out in this instance, however," the chief added with a wicked gleam.

"Not just yet, sir. Though I wouldn't get me too worked up if I were you, or I won't be responsible for the results."

More chuckling ensued. Damian stood waiting, trying not to show his impatience. Not because he thought he'd be punished for it, but because he knew the assembly would delay his departure all that much longer if they knew how much he wanted out of there.

"I'll bear that in mind." The chief looked down at the granite tablet before him, running a curved, yellow claw over the words inscribed there. "Woman kills spouse when he admits her ass does look fat in her new jeans. Oh, never mind, that was last night." The chief shook his head with disgust.
"Human males are so stupid. You never tell a woman she looks fat. Even I know that. Hmm, oh yes, here it is." He glanced up. "Your client's name is Amanda Wright. She made the list for killing someone while driving under the influence. Ms. Wright apparently ran over an old man with her car.

She'll be ready to pick up in about two minutes. You'll want to hurry. The white ones have instigated a quota system, and they're not above taking ours along with theirs just to fuck us up. We always get them back, of course, but it takes hours of bookwork to set things straight." He glared upward, his claws digging into the stone tablet with a grinding noise. "I'd like to twist those pearly sticks in their asses until they scream."

"Sir, when you talk like that it makes me want to reach for my dick." Damian grinned, giddy with his timeline. It would only take him a few minutes to grab the girl, drag her to the vault, and wait for the judges to proclaim. With any luck, he'd be on the beach within a couple of hours.

Grinning, the chief slammed the pitchfork into the ground to dismiss him. Damian turned away. He had about a minute to get up to the earthly plane. He started to run, barely holding back a joyful whistle as he went.

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OFF THE LIST by Sandra Sookoo

OFF THE LIST by Sandra Sookoo

She wants off the Nice List. He owns the Naughty List. Christmas Eve has never been so sexy.

Jack, the outcast cousin of the Claus family, has one job within the Realm of Christmas. He's in charge of the Naughty List. Distributing coal, emptying stockings, returning gifts, that's his bag - but it does have its perks. Some of the women on the List wait up for him on December 24th and he makes sure to deck their halls with every visit.

Cadence Harris did everything right in her life. Played by the rules, dated the "good" boys, said the right things, worked at the right job. But this year for Christmas, she wants something entirely different. She wants off the Nice List and in a big way. Never in her wildest dreams can she imagine what's in store when Jack pays her an accidental visit.

The night will prove that Santa always delivers.

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EXCERPT:

“Oh, hell no.” Jack Claus shook paper confetti out of his hair as the celebration raged around him. Countless elves and the few humans allowed into the North Pole compound congratulated his pudgy cousin Kris Claus on his recent promotion—the one Jack wanted. “The bastard did it to me again.”

From his vantage point at the back of the dining hall, he watched with narrowed eyes as his red-haired relative stood on one of the dinner tables and began an impromptu speech.

God, he’d rather be anywhere except stuck here at Christmas headquarters on the eve of the ’big flight’. Now, apparently when all eyes would be on Kris’s famous father, Jack would be employed as clean up boy, making sure the folks on the Naughty List didn’t accidentally come into possession of Christmas bounty.

“I can’t watch this.” Slipping through the crowds, he exited the dining hall. His chest heaved with all the rage he’d ever felt while around his cousin. “Passed over again.” Jack kicked the closed door then cursed when it opened minutes later to admit Kris. “You just had to show me up one more time, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yet a wide smile wreathed Kris’s cherubic face. “I’ve worked toward this promotion for years.” He walked along the hall, weaving in between several worker elves and singing out greetings as he went.

Kris was the conservative of them, always assessing the risk in every situation, never doing anything remotely exciting and always had his nose to the grindstone—the perfect prince of Christmas. Hell, the man wore suits every freaking day, tucked shirt, belted pants, always starched and pressed. Jack snorted. He doubted the guy had lost his virginity even though he’d recently passed his thirtieth birthday—a day before Jack's, of course.

“Don’t walk away from me like I don’t matter.” I’m the same age as Starchy Pants yet I’ve had more fun than he’ll ever experience.

His gut clenched. No way would he admit the ‘fun’ only filled him up so far. At the end of the day, he had no one waiting for him, nothing substantial to look forward to after the last high, and nothing that would leave a legacy.

Who needs it?

“I’m not having this conversation if you’re going to bully me about the job.”

Not nearly done, Jack chased after his relative as a hot wave of anger crashed over him. “You knew I wanted that promotion but you marched in, charmed the merit board, and bingo! You got my job.” His whole life he’d been butting heads with his cousin, competing for everything from jobs, girls and the attention of the one Klaus who ran the gig at the North Pole.

“No, I made every benchmark at my last job, showed up to every function here at the Pole and took the time to remember each and every name of all the elves in the workshop. I showed an interest, Jack.” Kris yanked open a carved wooden door at the end of the hall and slipped into the workshop. "What have you done?"

Jack followed. He had zero interest in the flurry of activity at the work tables or the carefully orchestrated packing in preparation for the night’s flight. “I have other interests.” A cute intern passed him, and he couldn’t resist taking a second peek at her tight ass in the short, green-velvet skirt. “Still, I made no secret of wanting that position. The least you could have done was put in a good word.”

“Actually, I did the least. I said and did nothing; let you wallow in your own merit.” Kris’s chuckle was an exact copy of his father’s deep, booming laugh. “Just admit it. You don’t care about the franchise like I do. I’m a junior Sleigh Maker now. It’s one step from Toy Designer, two from Workshop Manager and three from Christmas Eve Navigator. Give me ten years, and I’ll convince Dad to let me fly solo.”

“Well, at least you’re a consistent prick.”

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THE PIRATE'S SURRENDER by Laura Tolomei

THE PIRATE'S SURRENDER by Laura Tolomei

Book 2 - Be sure to catch the seductive prequel To Seduce A Soulmate Book 1

The pirate v/s the devil: how far can seduction go?

All right, so he did it! Marin seduced me. And the sex is fantastic, blows my mind every time, no complaints there, if that thing about being his soul-mate didn’t still bug me.

Yet there seems no way around it except...but can I do it? Do I want to do it? No, I don’t know if I’m ready to surrender. Me, the pirate, and to the blond devil, no less…talk about fucked up destiny!

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~Excerpt~

“Would this qualify as my Christmas present?”

“Not entirely.” Back, Martin slipped between the sheets, pressing to him again. “What you got last night was only a…first installment.” His warm palms cuddling his twitching piece had a long experience. Never one to choose between genders, the Irishman had done his time with both, enjoying them for their differences as much as their similarities. And he was not just an expert on cocks. He loved them in whatever shape or form they came, knowing their most intimate desires and providing the comfort they needed. Like now, for instance, slipping below the covers to close his hungry mouth around the bulging head, then sliding his lips to the balls and sucking it practically to the throat. The swallowing effect drove Drake crazy, which had also been his undoing in his parents’ house on Lake Lanier.

Unusual, completely unexpected and unprecedented to come so quickly and without any restraint in a stranger’s mouth, for such had been Martin at the time. Women rarely, if ever, had the privilege to drink his sperm. They never seemed to hit the right spot on his sophisticated dick that did not surrender easily to a vigorous lapping, however practiced the tongue. But Martin had set a different standard from the start, bypassing all Drake’s mechanisms and sucked him dry the first time around. Now it seemed no different.

Swinging his hips forward, he made Martin take more, past the tongue’s blocking to reach the plunge, if a tight curl had not stopped him. Just a temporary setback, though, to allow for a gulp of air before the cheeks pressed again on all sides, while the hands took firmer control of the situation. God, he had a wonderful touch. Strong, forceful yet not hurried, it adapted to the pirate’s rhythm until it was too late to contain the tide. Holding the blond head to screw it deeper, Drake shoved one last time and everything spilled out, soul included, in the warm cavity opening wider to receive it all.

Evidently unsatisfied, Martin did not let go of his prize, which explained why it did not go limp, remaining stiff and ready for more action. Despite their limited sexual activity, the pirate already knew how insatiable the devil was and how irresistible his urgings were. And it could definitely become a problem. Already Drake could not get enough of him, whether down his throat or up his ass, Martin’s mastery over his dick was something unique and seldom experienced before, like coming with a blowjob. To Martin, cocks had no secrets, none he had not discovered and put to good use, with the pirate in particular, judging from the healthy erection rising so fast after an explosive climax.

“Just love them when they’re hard.” Coming out from underneath the covers, the devil kept jerking him.

“So they can stick better in your ass.” Chuckling, Drake toppled him, pressing his stomach down on the mattress.

“Can’t wait to get it as a matter of fact.” Raising his behind, the blond Irishman captured the tip of the erection in his cleft.

“Just open wide,” Drake teased, poking the tight entrance. Knowing Martin, he would not need too much of a preparation, his ass always ready to receive thick pieces. The bulging head was drenched enough anyway, to have no problems breaking through and sliding up the cramped passageway Mother Nature provided.

Hell! Simply fucking delicious. The back end was Drake’s favorite also with women, so at least that had not required too many adjustments. Maybe what he still had to figure out was how to handle life with a man, a prospect he really did not feel ready to face. Martin did not seem to have much experience in that department either, considering he was coming from a failed marriage.

“Fuck! You sure know how to screw an ass.” Moving seductively beneath him, Martin raised his hips to get more inside, something Drake had no trouble delivering. “And to think I had to wait an entire month to get it.”

“Not many resist you, eh, Devil?” It was not a question, merely a statement. Martin’s allure was undeniable. Drake, too, had been fascinated upon first seeing him, but it could have ended there had that disturbing feeling not kicked in to change everything forever.

“No, Pirate, practically no one resisted in my entire life.” Swinging faster, he accelerated the tempo. “Particularly not after one of my great blowjobs ever.”

“So I’m a little slow.” Long hair brushing Martin’s shoulders, Drake went along, stepping up the shoves to ram the narrow hole to a pulp.

There was a moment’s silence on Martin’s part that Drake used to penetrate to his balls and pump with greater force. Then the blond Irishman moved in such a way the pirate had to pull back and allow him more leeway. When it became clear the man wanted to change position, Drake reluctantly left the snug confinement for the time it took Martin to lie on his back. After the change, it was only a matter of seconds to slam back in his ass, legs cradled to Drake’s chest.

“No, Pirate, you’re anything but slow.” Now the devil caught his face between his palms. “Your only problem is that you’re scared shitless.”

And he was right, too. “Oh, come off it!” Shoving harder on purpose, Drake tried not to think of it. “No way am I going to be scared of a great ass like yours.” Maybe humor worked better. And fucking was having its results, too. The deeper he sank, the more pressing his need to come again and forget about everything.

“You know what I mean.” Arching his back, Martin brought the dick all the way inside with a suddenness that cut off Drake’s breath…or rather the little still left after the devil pulled him down for an avid kiss, which blew the pirate’s mind to outer space.

Martin’s tongue pushed down his throat, wrapping around his when it did not have to battle it for supremacy. An exciting addition for sure and had Drake’s shaft not been stuck in Martin’s butt, it might not have had any consequences. Instead, the two effects combined the second the ass squeeze became irresistible, the fleshy walls cramming it on every side. On top of it, his pounding was jerking off Martin’s dick, caught between their bellies, until everything spiraled to the point he felt the wetness on his stomach before he realized the devil was coming. So he let it go, plunging with a muffled groan into Martin and bursting.

“You’ll see how much better it can get once you accept it, too.” Martin’s voice breathed in his ear as he cuddled his head to his chest.

Right! He had almost forgotten the goddamn catch.

“Our connection, I mean.”

He was his fucking soul-mate, for Christ’s sake, and there seemed no way around it either.

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TWELVE WICKED NIGHTS by Nadia Aidan

TWELVE WICKED NIGHTS by Nadia Aidan

A sexy new voice in erotica delivers a hot twist on the holidays.

This season, the only gift attorney Isabella Andreu wants to unwrap is Navy SEAL Justin Rourke.

 She never set out to bed her sexy childhood rival over the holidays, but when a blizzard hits their sleepy hometown, she weathers the storm with Justin, and gives in to long-suppressed desires. Then Justin learns that he has only twelve nights before he's deployed on another high-risk mission.

Now, only one thing is certain-Isabella and Justin are in for twelve steamy, sexy, unforgettably wicked nights.

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An Excerpt From: Twelve Wicked Nights
Copyright © Nadia Aidan, 2010

Was it just her, or was the thermostat set on hell? She was half naked, but she was still burning up.
Her throat was parched and she desperately wanted to retreat to the kitchen for a drink, right after she shoved her head into the freezer. Justin was teasing her—flashing that stupid, charming crooked grin of his every time he made a move, forcing her attention to the muscles that flexed in his chest. Okay, maybe he wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that still didn’t stop her from feeling as if she was being taunted every time he took his turn and put a piece down on the board.
“Izzie, it’s your turn.” He stared at her as if he worried for her sanity. He should be worried, because he was driving her crazy, and not for the usual reasons.
She put down three letters to form her word.
He frowned at her. “Izzie, are you even trying to win this game?”
She was all distracted and flustered, barely hanging in the game with her bra, tank top, and a pair of boy shorts. She thought she was over this silly crush. Had told herself many times, over many years that she was not still attracted to Justin Rourke, but maybe she’d lied.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him, the muscled planes of his chest and arms that rippled beneath his roughened bronzed skin. He was a handsome man—she couldn’t deny that. Still, she probably would have been able to keep her head on straight if it was just her own simmering lusts that she had to battle, but she swore every time Justin looked at her a fire leapt in his emerald eyes, before they became dark and shadowed.
She knew Justin didn’t want her—that she wasn’t his type. But she was convinced that it was not just her imagination when she caught him sliding his gaze down the length of her legs. And she swore just now, when she’d leaned forward to place her pieces, his eyes had followed her, dipping to the deep ‘v’ of her cleavage, where they’d remained for several seconds.
"I thought we weren’t playing dirty word Scrabble?”
“Huh?”
Justin pointed to her words scattered across the board. “Everything you’ve spelled is something related to sex or a body part.”
Orifice, tongue, cream, mouth, breast, sexual. Her cheeks heated as she felt herself blush. No wonder she couldn’t focus on winning, she was too distracted by all her gutter thoughts.
"Cream isn’t a dirty word.”
His brows shot up. “Cream as in whipped cream and then there’s cream as in—um—” He cleared his throat. “—other cream.”
Their gazes locked as the air around them shifted, making her lungs ache as she tried to drag in her next breath.
“Yeah. That cream. I got it,” she managed to croak out. Damn. Had she just creamed her panties? She couldn’t take them off now.
“We can end the game now if you can’t handle it.” She probably would have thrown in her tiles had it not been for that smug grin. He seemed completely unfazed by any of this and she knew he was just trying to prove a point—that he’d been right. That playing strip Scrabble was a mistake.
“I’m fine, but if you’re having trouble then I understand.”
He shrugged, his eyes still glowing with amusement. “No. I’m good.” He leaned forward and put down his tiles to spell another word.
Jezebel.
“That’s a proper name. You can’t use proper names in Scrabble.”
“It’s also a noun used to describe a shameless woman. You, of all people should be familiar with the word Jezebel.”
She glared at him as she reached for the dictionary. “Make jokes all you want. You still can’t use proper names.”
“You want to challenge me? You’ll lose a turn, because I’m right. Trust me.”
She snorted. Trust him, her ass. She picked up the dictionary.
Damn. He was right. She cast the dictionary aside and met his gaze.
He nodded as if to say—and now your shirt. She was supposed to be a brilliant attorney. Why couldn’t she come up with clever words like jezebel?
“Take off your shirt, Izzie,” he said in a soft, coaxing voice, and his expression was open, as he simply watched her to see what she would do next.
That’s when she realized this was truly a game to him, a battle of wills. He kept goading her so that she would cave in, but she had no intention of ending this game until he threw in the towel first.
She glanced at him, and he mistook her hesitation. The arrogant grin on his face told her that he thought he’d already won, that he’d succeeded in making her nervous, had already forced her out her element. Well, he was wrong. She returned his grin with one of her own and delighted when his cocky grin faltered.
She may lose this game, but there was no way she was going to let him win in this battle of wills between them.
She shrugged off her shirt, and tossed it toward him. She smiled when it landed atop his head.
Justin might not have known it yet, but the gloves were coming off.
*****
He was in big trouble.
He knew it the moment her shirt landed on his head. He sensed a change in her, just before he glimpsed a wicked glimmer in her eyes. It was as if she’d switched strategies and now had her game face on.
He tugged her shirt from his head and threw it aside. He slid his gaze over her, trying to remind himself that this was Izzie he was ogling even as his eyes dipped to the swells of her breasts that spilled over the tops of her pale pink bra. He was a bit surprised to see the soft, lacy cups, with a tiny pink bow in the center. He’d never figured Izzie would be one for dainty under things.
“Nice,” he said. “Although, I would have thought you were a red satin or black lace kind of girl.”
He smiled when she followed his direct gaze, and crimson splotches stained her smooth cheeks.
Isabella cleared her throat loudly. “It’s your turn.”
Fortunately for her, his next word was only seven points, too, forcing him to abandon his sweats, which only made it harder to hide the evidence of his arousal that pressed against his boxers.
He had to get her out of this game, and soon, before he embarrassed himself. He was convinced that no matter what Izzie said, there was no way she was going to strip naked before him. All he had to do was win the next round and she would throw in the towel.
They went round after round, until he finally got her.
Quiff.
“What the hell?” she said. “Where do you come up with this crap?”
“It means a promiscuous woman.”
She gave him a scathing look. “I know what it means. I’m just trying to figure out how you’ve been coming up with this stuff. If you weren’t half naked I’d say you had some tiles up your sleeves.”
His lips twitched as he fought to hold back a grin. She hated to lose almost as much as he did. “I’m trying to figure out which one I want first. That girlie bra or those boy shirts.”
Still seated on the sofa, she settled back against the cushions with her legs crossed and her arms folded across her breasts.
“It’s your call, Justin. Pick your poison.”
He dug his hands into the carpet, fighting the heat that roared through him. She was calling his bluff—or at least she was pretending to. He wondered how far she would go before she gave up this charade. Well, there was only one way to find out.
“Your boy shorts are cute. I think I want to see you in them a little bit longer, so that bra has got to go.”
She lifted one brow. “Are you sure?”
Hell no. “Positive.”
She held his gaze as she reached behind her back, and he almost choked on his next breath as it lodged deep in his chest.
“I need your help. I can’t get it.”
He grinned. She was chickening out. “I understand Izzie. It’s okay. You can keep your bra on.” He stood and turned toward the kitchen. As expected, she’d caved. He’d won. The game was over.
“No, I’m serious. It’s stuck.”
He turned around to face her. “Izzie, give it up. I know you’re chickening out. Game over.”
Her expression was incredulous, as if that was the last thing she would do, which made him nervous all over again. If she wasn’t giving up, then her bra really was stuck.
“This game is not over. We agreed to play until one of us was butt naked and I intend to finish, but if you can’t handle it I completely understand.”
Was that a smirk on her face? It was. She really thought he couldn’t see right through her. It was so obvious that she was bluffing.
“Stand up.” He marched toward her. “Turn around,” he said when she stood before him.
He grasped the bra clasp in his hand, his fingers brushing against her smooth skin as he studied it.
“The clasp looks fine to me.”
“Well then take it off.”
He couldn’t see her face because she didn’t turn all the way around, her head just tilted slightly to the side, while her silky hair brushed against his fingertips.
Her sultry laugh was like silk, and he knew then that he’d been baited. Her bra had never been stuck, it was just a ploy to get him over there, a dare to see how far he would go.
Well if she was prepared to go all the way, then so was he.
Three hooks. He undid each one slowly. His heart pumped faster and if she had dared to look over her shoulder she would have seen the effect she was having on him, tenting against his boxers.
“Last chance, Izzie,” he said in a hoarse voice that was foreign to his own ears.
“I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”
There was not the slightest hesitation in her voice. Was he really going to do this? Was she really going to let him?
He released the last hook and her bra instantly snapped apart.
He stood there frozen in a trance, his gaze gliding over the smooth, creamy flesh of her back.
He didn’t realize he was touching her until he heard her soft gasp. He ran his fingers across her bare skin, the rough pads of his fingertips gently caressing her back.
She turned then, still clutching her bra to her chest. He let his hand fall back to his side as he met her gaze. What he saw in her eyes made him still as heat crawled inside his gut, inflaming his skin before dipping dangerously lower to harden his body. Her hazel-hued eyes were wide, brimming with desire, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away.
It wasn’t until she shifted before him, that he finally let his gaze travel down. She still held her bra against her, but he’d barely formed that thought in his head when she relaxed her arms and let it drop.
An Excerpt From: Twelve Wicked Nights
Copyright © Nadia Aidan, 2010

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