Showing posts with label Spanking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spanking. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

FOR BEN by Kate Richards

FOR BEN by Kate Richards

Corbin's Bend Book 6

Roy Simms is about to make full partner in a big NYC law firm. His wife, Teri, assures him that once they reach their career goals, they can relax and enjoy life...maybe even consider starting a family. He’s not sure how much longer their marriage can survive if they don’t make time for one another. One evening of passion and spanking makes him ache for the connection they’ve almost lost.

Teri Simms doesn’t understand why Roy needs so much prodding to reach for the stars. With his education and talent, he should be senior partner long since. But he’ll get there. Her own vice presidency occurred only five years into her tenure with the financial firm, and if it takes seventeen hours a day and most of her weekends, so be it. Roy will just have to continue to be understanding.

A phone call from a stranger will change everything. This two-job-no-kids couple is a family, due to the tragic death of Teri’s sister and brother in law. They must fly immediately to Corbin’s Bend, Colorado and take charge of little Ben, almost four years old. The change of scene brings to the forefront everything good and bad about their marriage. It’s time to face some difficult truths.

BUY THE eBOOK   ***   BUY IN KINDLE   ***   READ THE EXCERPT

FOR BEN: Corbin's Bend, Book Six (Sample Chapter)
by Kate Richards

Copyright 2014 Lazy Day, LLC and Kate Richards

Chapter One

Teri Simms had distressing news to deliver. Roy would be upset, but it couldn’t be helped.

Sometimes Teri feared she’d dreamed her life. She’d come far. And brought her husband along with her. But neither had grown up expecting the luxury of their current life. Or the frantic nature of their days and nights.

From so high up, the streets of New York City looked less in focus than the scenes on the HDTV on the wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows of their hard-earned penthouse. Not a sound or a speck of dust penetrated the glass tower, despite her husband’s complaints about the noise and dirt of the City. Tiny cars passed back in forth in front of the building, stopping and starting as the colored traffic lights flashed, or pedestrians crossed.

The rooftop terrace her husband so loved, a riot of floral color in daytime, lay in shades of gray at nine o’clock at night. And she didn’t feel motivated to turn on the floodlights and dim her view of the Boulevard.

Was one of those tiny cabs making its way down Broadway carrying Roy?

They’d planned an evening together, at his request. She’d even refused a client dinner—something rarer than rare in her busy career—to rush home and enjoy takeout sushi and a movie with her husband. And he was over an hour late. She could have met with the client for drinks, presented the new investment strategy, and been home by then, if he couldn’t make their appointment.

Beyond irritated, Teri paced toward the narrow marble ledge by the entrance, picked up her phone but didn’t dial. She wouldn’t call him. The late party had the responsibility. He knew that. And if his own schedule ran over, he could have had his secretary let her know, preferably before she cut the business day short.

Husbands were almost not worth the effort.

She froze, hand still on the device. How could she think Roy not worth the effort? He worked as hard as she did—albeit with a little encouragement from his better half—and would make full partner within the next couple of years, sooner if old man Barnstall got any more absent minded and was forced into retirement.

Teri frowned at the worn green leather recliner set off to the side, as if ashamed to associate with the rest of the subtle earth tones the decorator chose for their home. Millicent would be by for the annual style update in a few days, and would no doubt fuss about the ugly thing again. But Roy refused to get rid of it…so far.

And the news she had to share would take him a while to forgive, so the furniture issue would have to wait until another night.

Teri grabbed the phone and sank into the worn chair. She’d never admit to him how often she sat there, how comfortable it was, or how the lingering hint of his woodsy cologne lifted her spirits when she was worried or a little blue. What if he was having those alarming chest pains again? His doctor said it was indigestion, prescribed antacids and shorter work days. But what if it was something more?

As soon as he had that partnership, she would have him check into the hospital for tests. If they did it sooner, the seniors would hold his health against him.

Hitting speed dial, she settled back and listened to the ring until it went to voicemail.

Anger returned, seeping over her unease. The inconsiderate man could at least pick the damn thing up and give her his excuse for tardiness.

Ding. The shining steel elevator doors slid open. No wonder he’d been unavailable. One would think a building like theirs would offer lifts with a reasonable amount of cellphone reception. She’d have her secretary send a nasty note to the management company in the morning. Roy stepped into the great room, his overcoat over his arm, top button on his shirt loosened, tie stuffed in his jacket pocket. One lock of black hair fell over his forehead. He always had looked great rumpled. It sent naughty right to her core. She might have liked his success, but his charm and sex appeal had been the first things she’d noticed about him. Then his potential.

Still…he was late. “About time you got here.”

The corner of his lips curved up, deepening the lines around his tired eyes. “I knew you liked my chair.”

Dammit. She jumped up as if the leather burned the backs of her thighs. “I don’t, I just…. that’s not the point. Why are you late?” He raised his shoulders and her gaze fixed on his empty hands. “And where’s the sushi? You forgot again.” Not giving him a chance to respond, she hit the next number on speed dial. “Hi, Yasumi, it’s Mrs. Simms. Can you send the usual?” While the terrace was Roy’s favorite part of their home, the restaurants and shops on the first two floors of their steel and glass high-rise were hers. If she could telecommute, she could go months without going outside. Of course, her lack of attendance would lead to disaster. Her clients counted on personal service. And the backstabbers at work needed watching.

As she dropped the phone to the side table, his grin fell. “I don’t know why you didn’t order it to start with.” And the tone of the evening clicked into place. Bickering, as usual. So much for intimacy, a movie and…oh, no. If she got him upset before she told him her bad news, things were likely to escalate. She’d planned to soften him up before delivering the blow.

Smoothing her hair, she summoned whatever sex appeal she retained and offered him a coy smile. “You’re right, Roy. I should have.” Teri slunk across the room, took his overcoat, and hung it in the foyer closet. “Let’s not ruin our evening. Were you stuck in a meeting?”

“No,” he said, casting a narrow-eyed gaze at her.

“Traffic?”

He shook his head. Confused, she tried to think of what other reason might have delayed him. Silence stretched out as the two of them stood between the elevator door and coat closet until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s almost nine-thirty. Why weren’t you here at eight, as we agreed?”

He fidgeted, increasing his resemblance to a rumpled little boy at the end of a busy day, then lifted his head and his piercing and very grown-up stare skewered her. “Because I didn’t think you would be.”

Stunned, she tried to summon words of protest. Then remembered she didn’t have the upper hand for once. “And you had reason to lack faith in me. I apologize.” Taking his arm, she led him toward his chair and pushed him down. “I’ll fix us a drink while we wait for the sushi. How was your day, dear?”

Roy leapt out of the chair faster than his wife had. How was your day, dear? The query of a 1950s housewife, maybe, but not his hotshot financier wife. Suspicion faded under an overburden of certainty. Gripping her upper arm, he jerked her to face him and grasped the other elbow. Acid burned in his throat. “Before we go any further, what the hell is going on?”

I-I don’t know what you mean.” She widened her eyes, a caricature of innocence she invariably adopted when she hid something. “What’s wrong with asking about your day?”

Wrong? “The last time I kept you waiting, you subjected me to the silent treatment for a week. I know you, Teri. If you are willing to overlook the waste of over an hour of your precious time, something’s up.”

They stood poised in the center of the cold, impersonal room she hired some fussy, skinny woman to redecorate every year. To keep up with trends, she said, for when they entertained. He wasn’t even sure whether they owned the furniture or maybe leased it so that it could come and go so often. And he couldn’t recall the last time they had guests. It was easier to take clients out than to arrange catering.

She dropped her face and he stared at the top of her head, coming only up to his collarbone.

Teri was a constant blur of motion, in and out of the house, on her way to work and meetings. Their social life consisted of business-related engagements. Her slim form trembled in his hands, a hummingbird, something never still long enough for a good look.

Softening, he reconsidered his stance, unable to hold anger at the petite woman he’d married. He never could. Whatever she had to tell him, they’d get past it. A small flicker of worry flitted past—was someone ill? It was so out of character for her to be sweet to him when he was wrong—and he was so often wrong.

“Teri,” he released one shoulder and tipped her chin up, “tell me what’s going on.” Her lovely face, emerald eyes, high cheekbones, framed by glossy auburn hair, had captivated him the first time he’d seen her at a fraternity mixer. There’d been nobody for him since although she hadn’t deigned to notice him right away.

No, he’d spent a year chasing her like a smitten boy, which he supposed he had been, before she accepted an invitation to dinner and a concert.

She bit her lip and swallowed hard and his fear rose. His mother must be dead. Nothing could cause his confident wife so much hesitation but a great tragedy. Steeling himself, he waited for her answer.

“It’s not a big deal, nothing to be so upset about.” She shrugged free of his grip and faced the City view. “We just have to reschedule our vacation for later in the summer. You don’t mind, do you?”

The rage reddening his vision might have been out of proportion…if they had ever had a vacation. Even their honeymoon had been cut short by an emergency at the office. He should have seen the writing on the wall then. His moment of nostalgic affection fled. “Mind? Why should I mind?”

She turned to him again, a small smile highlighting the relief in her eyes, her brisk mannerisms returning. Teri bent to straighten a pillow on the couch and her straight gray pencil skirt tightened around her perfect ass. His focus narrowed on his favorite part of her anatomy. But, for once, caressing it wasn’t his first thought.

“So, I’ll call the travel agent and cancel.” She moved another annoying decorative pillow into its exact place on the leather sofa. “And maybe we can go in the fall?”

“I don’t think so.” Roy moved the few steps to stand behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Not this time. I am holding you accountable for your promises, for once.” Beyond rational thought, he lifted his hand and brought it down on her backside with a resounding smack. “And I am tired of being lied to.” Another sharp slap on her other cheek, the sound echoing in their sterile, perfectly arranged “living” room. Nobody did any living there. No family photos hung on the pale-gray papered walls. No books or boxes of tissues, candy, or stray personal items cluttered the occasional tables. Like a hotel room, where they passed through on their way to more important things. Slapping her a third time, he tightened his hold as she struggled.

Roy dropped to a seat on the couch and pulled her over his lap. Her outraged gasps barely broke through the roaring in his head.

“What are you doing?” Teri kicked out but her legs flailed on the smooth cushions and her arms were pinned beneath her. “Stop it immediately!” Two more smacks and she shrieked. “Have you gone insane?”

“Maybe, Teri, but it’s time someone held you to your agreements, and if you will recall…this was one of them.”

She stilled and so did his hand, rubbing small circles on her ass, while he decided how many more spanks her behavior merited. “Oh, God, you can’t be referring to the ridiculous game we used to play.”

He lifted his hand high and whacked, hard. “You didn’t think it was a game when you proposed the plan.” Way back when, during their engagement, she’d introduced some elements of domestic discipline into their life. He’d spanked her once or twice for sassy behavior, but it really had never been more than a game. “But maybe never taking it beyond sex play was my mistake. Maybe if I’d been a little more proactive, we wouldn’t have gotten to this point.”

“Roy, stop this.” She struggled, a warm armful, her breasts rubbing against the side of his thigh.

“I think your news is punishment-worthy, don’t you?” Smack. Her skirt got in the way and he drew the zipper down, keeping one forearm on her waist to hold her in place.

“Roy,” she shrieked, her voice rising in volume. “If you don’t let me up, I’ll…I’ll….”

“You’ll what?” Jerking the garment to her knees, he beheld those horrible Lycra undergarments she wore, claiming her behind bulged out of control no matter how much she dieted and exercised. He couldn’t think how to get them off and still hold her there, so they’d have to stay. His first spank on her appropriately named underwear made him grin.

“Just cut it out. Ouch! That hurts!” Teri bucked against his arm, her captive cheeks wriggling in their prison as he rained his displeasure and punishment on her buttocks, then on her thighs, on the Lycra then below it, on her bare skin. The sharp crack of his palm against her white flesh, the pink handprints, pleased him.

“That’s the idea. It’s punishment, after all. Breaking your word is a serious offense. Wasn’t keeping our promises one of our vows?”

He’d avoided taking advantage of their agreement for a long time, fearing his anger would get the best of him. But far from it, he experienced a sense of control he’d never imagined. And her wriggling on his lap was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

The few times they’d engaged in spanking before had been the discipline games of experimenting college students. True. But could their agreement hold the key to saving a marriage on the rocks? Sobered by the possibility, and her lack of response, he stopped.

Teri no longer struggled, but lay limp, and he leaned his head against the high-backed sofa. He’d spanked her. What next?

They couldn’t go back. But what would take them forward? What would he do if she stood up and announced she was leaving him? Despite all their troubles, she held his heart in her delicate hands. His throat swelled with emotion. And guilt. She seemed so much smaller lying there, and so quiet. In a rush of worry, he lifted her to sit upright on his lap and searched her face. Tear-tracks marked the soft curves of her cheeks and, as he watched, a droplet fell from her lashes to splash on his hand.

“Oh, baby, I….” How could he make up for striking her in anger? Perhaps his feeling of being in control had been an illusion. His throat burned, his chest hurt. He should pack and go before she had the police on him. He held her by the waist, but her arms came up and circled his neck and she buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

His heart broke at the depth of her sadness, and it was his fault. But under his guilt and doubt, the beginnings of another feeling surfaced. A memory of a different relationship. Their first few years together had a whole different balance. Roy tightened his arms around her and stroked her back, whispering reassurances while images struck him.

Long, long before, he’d been a solid partner in their relationship.

Assured of his plans for the future, he’d completed undergrad studies, achieved honor society each semester without much effort and had plenty of time for frolicking with his pretty girlfriend. They’d attended parties and gone on romantic picnics, all by themselves. Movies, dinner out…mostly cheap because they didn’t have a lot of extra money but every event took on a sparkle with Teri by his side. While he attended law school and she worked on her MBA, their time had been tighter, but they’d still managed to have “study picnics” which more often than not dissolved into passionate lovemaking on the faded quilt spread on his apartment floor. Sometimes with some playful spanking to spice things up. They’d laughed so much then.

When had everything changed?

Teri sniffled and he stroked her hair. “It’s okay, baby.” The guilt had faded, but his confusion made it impossible to identify what replaced it. An odd comfort, for sure, at holding her, soothing her tears, and an ache at her softness. Her hard, sharp edges in recent years could cut glass and had sliced at his feelings more than once. When she lifted her chin, he pressed his lips to her forehead, her nose, and, as her eyes flickered closed, he kissed each eyelid then her mouth.

For an instant, he feared she would reject him. After all, he was the beast who had taken her over his lap in anger. He needed to apologize, explain his actions…somehow. But Teri groaned and returned his growing passion. As if a wall had crumbled between them, passion flared. He moved his hands up and down her back until he cupped her ass, still warm from his attentions, and his cock hardened.

With a growl, Roy lifted her in his arms—teetering off balance as he rose—and strode toward their bedroom. She hung on, and he savaged her mouth while trying not to bounce off any walls. Dropping her to the mattress on her belly, he grasped her Lycra garment and rent it in two then flipped her over.

“What are you doing?” she protested. “I need those.”

“No you don’t, and if you want to remain my wife, you will never wear them again.” He might be going too far, but her butt cheeks and upper thighs bore a pink stain from his hands, and his desire surged. He grabbed a stack of pillows to raise her hips then opened his belt, unzipped his suit pants, and pulled his erect cock out of the boxer briefs.

Ready to fuck her right then, he cautioned himself to slow down, to make sure she was ready. Usually she would tell him, but he had the reins. Pushing her ass higher, he admired the picture she made before him on the silky black comforter. The one she always put aside so he wouldn’t soil it with his cum.

“Roy, I need to—” She looked over her shoulder and he saw the start of the old, in-control Teri surfacing. He pushed her face into the pillows.

“You need to spread your legs, woman.” He jerked them apart for her, baring her rosy pussy to his perusal.

“I don’t want….”

Roy stroked one finger from her clit to her anus, dragging moisture with it. “I can’t imagine what you don’t want, you’re so wet for me.” Unable to resist, he slapped her bare bottom, rewarded by the sharp crack. So much better than over those damn girdle-things. He’d go through her drawer and dispose of every pair. A woman’s curves, especially those of his wife, deserved more respect than to be crammed into such things. What happened to the jiggle he’d loved? “Do you want me to stop, baby?” He rubbed her with two fingers, teasing at her entrance and then retreating as her breathing grew harsh. “You’ll have to speak up.”

“No…I….” Teri lapsed into silence and he paused, holding light pressure on her clit. She jerked.

“No, stop? Or no, don’t stop.”

“Damn you,” she murmured. “Just fuck me, why don’t you, so we can get on with our conversation.”

He fought his usual reaction to her words. He’d zipped up and walked away before, when she became shrewish, but instead he rained down on her cheeks a flurry of slaps, holding her in place with the other hand. “But, wife, you don’t expect me to leave you hanging to take my own pleasure.” He spanked over her upper thighs, making overlapping handprints, to his great satisfaction. But anger was not in the game. He was hot for her form and anxious to bring her back to the soft woman he’d glimpsed in the living room. “This is our evening together and we are going to enjoy it.”

Roy’s passion for his wife deepened along with the flush on her backside. Cherry red suited her, and if she couldn’t sit down at work in comfort the next day, perhaps she’d remember how she had attempted—yes, attempted, because he was not going to let her have her way—to change their plans. If she insisted, they were over.

The thought slowed his hand but also fired his blood. They were worth fighting for. But he couldn’t do it unless they had some time together. More than a stolen hour, which often ended with either an argument or a pair of exhausted people asleep before they even got undressed. Dammit, they needed the two weeks they’d scheduled.

But even if she refused, he’d use the evening to make a lasting memory. Grasping her hips, he dragged her and the heap of pillows closer to the edge of the bed and lifted her rump higher, exposing her swollen pussy. A droplet of moisture clung to her thigh and he bent to lap it up. Heat burned his cheek from her well-spanked leg and he pressed his lips to the handprint, cherishing his mark on her skin.

Teri moaned and, anxious to amp up the mood, he buried his face in her cunt, licking and sucking and drinking in her sweetness. How long had it been since he’d eaten her out? Her thrashing fed his passion and he rested a hand on her butt cheek, where raised prints marked her. His handprints. He’d love to spank a little more, but he didn’t want to cause her any harm.

Maybe on their vacation. He could bring along a few things and add to the fun. A hair brush, wooden spoon…his cock jerked.

He lifted his face, smiling when she groaned in protest.

“Sweetheart,” he announced, “we are going on our trip.”

“No, I…oh, God.”

He sucked on her clit, holding it between his teeth with just enough pressure to send her to the moon and back. Teri bucked against him and he stopped again. “Wrong answer.” Pinning her knees to the mattress, Roy held her in place, to give her time to think. “Well?”

She whimpered.

He licked her, from front to back, and added a soft slap to her backside.

“I can’t.”

He tweaked her clit with two fingers and applied pressure. “Teri, this is an important decision. I suggest you think carefully because I won’t ask again.” Lifting his hand, he waited.

“You aren’t playing fair.” She panted and reached back, pushing at his head, but he held firm. Her musk drove him mad, made it crazy difficult to hold still, but he played for life. For their life together. “Okay, fine. I will make it work. If it’s so important to you.”

Damn right. He dove into her warmth, licking and sucking like a madman, devouring her and rejoicing in the small victory. Driving two fingers inside her pussy, he added a third and spread them, drawing her clit into his mouth and closing his teeth over it hard enough to send her over the edge, shaking all over. Gentle had never worked for his ambitious, driven woman.

Rising, he grabbed his cock and directed it into her sopping hole. “Good girl.” Thrusting to the hilt and rising back, he savored the tight sheath rippling around his dick. She still clenched with her orgasm and he wanted to give her another before he took his own pleasure, but it wouldn’t take long. Her glowing bottom against his groin lit his fire like nothing ever before. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her and reached to stroke her between her legs. Within seconds, she shrieked his name and flung herself around like a rag doll in the throes of another orgasm. His balls tightened and cum surged up and into her, pumping into his wife’s sweet body.

Dropping onto the bed beside her, he gathered her and held her tight. She might never know how precious she was to him, but he did. He’d do anything to save their marriage and keep her close. And if it turned them both on in the process, bonus!

They would go to the island paradise where he would tell her it was time to start a family. And, perhaps, she would agree. Darkness closed over him in the first peaceful rest he’d had in recorded memory. He didn’t even get up to take his bedtime antacid.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

CUSTOMER SATISFACTION by Cheryl Dragon

CUSTOMER SATISFACTION by Cheryl Dragon

Lucky Springs Book Seven

Keeping customers happy is Lizzie Bouvier’s job. In public, she’s everything a sweet Cajun woman should be. However, in private, she likes things a little bit rougher.

Her two hot boyfriends have been doing a great job keeping her satisfied until one steps out of the triad. Not willing to give up, Lizzie pursues an attraction to the Stinger brothers, two of her sexy customers who just happen to be dating her ex-boyfriends.

The bigger the group, the hotter the sex, but they have to sort out the rules, commitments and past before things can move forward in a truly permanent group relationship.

BUY THE eBOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT


To some, Lucky Springs was just a sleepy, small town in the middle of Louisiana. For Lizzie Bouvier, it was the perfect fit.

After dinner at the café with the two men, she’d been seeing, the trio walked down Main Street.
Group relationships and an excess of attractive men made the small town a real haven for those who wanted to be unique but not hide out in a big city.

“Do you miss Shreveport?” Byron Thurmon asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “That was too loud and busy. I like it here.”

How could she not like it when she had two sexy, bisexual men? They were sweet, and she could watch them and enjoy both of their attentions. Byron had short black hair and deep blue eyes. He was strong and lean. When she started as a customer service representative at the Lucky Springs factory, she’d been attracted to Byron and his boyfriend, Fisher Mulroy, right off the bat.

“Maybe you’re secretly planning to move back to the bayou?” Fisher took her hand.

“No way. I couldn’t have two men on a date back there. My brothers and cousins would feed you to the swamp critters.” Walking between them, she felt safe but couldn’t shake the sensation something was missing. It could just be an off night. With three in a relationship, it was always a learning experience.

And here, two was nothing. Her friends Zoe and Ashley had each ended up with four men to juggle. Lizzie wasn’t greedy, and the pair would be plenty. It’d still be daring compared to her simple Cajun roots. The odd feeling wasn’t about keeping up with her friends but about the way the trio clicked so far. She’d been here about a year and dating the two men over five months, but it still seemed light and fun. There was no real sense of moving things to a more serious level. Though both Byron and Fisher were born and raised in Lucky Springs, she hadn’t met Fisher’s family at all yet and had only been introduced to a few of Byron’s family members. In some areas, everything was perfect, but it also didn’t feel serious for almost five months of dating.

While Zoe and Ash’s men all had their lives and acts together, making things move quickly, that didn’t mean it’d be the same for Lizzie or her other roommate Crystal, who was still single. The four friends had moved here from Shreveport a year ago after being laid off during the recession and found jobs at the factory.

“Want us to take you home?” Fisher asked as they arrived at the guys’ apartment building.

Fisher was younger and still a bit bashful at twenty-five even though he’d been with Byron since high school. She assumed Fisher simply hadn’t been with girls too often. He seemed still to be in the bachelor phase. His short brown hair, pale blue eyes and boyish face endeared him to her. Both men were dressed casually in khakis and polo shirts, and she wanted more time with them in less clothing.
“No, maybe I’ll come up and hang out for a bit.” She followed them up the stairs to their new place. The factory expansion begun two years ago had triggered some building in the town, which had attracted most of the single men. Now things were leveling off, and the town was finding its balance again.

While the house Lizzie and her friend Crystal were renting felt homey and inviting, the guys’ newly built apartment building still smelled of paint. Both men had lived in the town all their lives.

As much as she loved them, maybe they weren’t ready to settle down. Flopping on the couch, she forced away her questions. Rushing a commitment or any relationship was a classic mistake. Lizzie was old-fashioned and wanted the family and stability. That attitude frequently scared men off.

On the other hand, Lizzie wasn’t the type to hop from group to group. The dream of a home and a white picket fence with kids playing still worked for her. What happened in private was just that—private.

When the two men sat down on either side of her and started kissing her neck, it certainly felt right. Her stress and questions melted as her body heated up. Their strong bodies pressed to her, and she knew it wasn’t wrong.

The practiced team unbuttoned her sundress and slid it down her body, and Byron immediately sucked her breast into his mouth. She wasn’t overly endowed and loved getting the looks when she went braless. The lack of panties didn’t go unnoticed either. Fisher rubbed her slit gently.

Her body flushed and tingled as the arousal took hold. In no time, Fisher’s fingers were slick. Her body arched for more as Byron nipped her breasts. She reached down and stroked them through their pants. They were hard, and she needed them naked. Now.

Working on their flies, she watched the men remove their shirts. When Fisher leaned in and kissed Byron, her cunt trembled. Men who liked to screw each other added a new layer of wildness in her sex life. Two men had always been a fantasy, but her reality was even better. Byron’s chest had thick hair that trailed down to his cock while Fisher was smoother. They were a sexy pair.

She kissed Fisher then Byron while she massaged their erections to full length. Licking her way down Fisher’s body, she inhaled his masculine scent. She knelt on the couch and nuzzled Fisher’s shaft playfully at first.

Byron slid behind her on the sofa and gripped her hips. Gasping, she opened her legs and let him eat her pussy. Two men were perfect. She could dream of juggling more, but two kept her busy. Byron’s tongue worked her closer and closer to orgasm as she sucked Fisher’s member in deeper.

“Please,” she said, stroking Fisher as she rubbed back on Byron.

“Come for me, then I’ll fuck you,” he said.

They loved to tease, and she couldn’t argue with men who could go all night. She relaxed and stopped trying to hold on. Byron massaged her inner folds and licked in and out of her. What she needed was his erection right there, but she was too close to argue.

Fisher cupped her breasts and tugged on her nipples. She sucked his balls as she rocked back on Byron until he fingered her clit just right. The heat and tremors spread instantly throughout her. She pressed her face to Fisher’s hard body as she moaned. Byron held her hips and ate her through as her climax faded.

“She needs more than that,” Fisher said.

“A lot more.” She grabbed his pants from the floor, dug into Byron’s pocket and found a condom. The men were always prepared.

Instead of passing it back, she slid it on Fisher, facing him, and straddled his hips. Long and thick, the young man was well endowed. Sinking slowly on his cock, she watched the relief and surrender in his eyes. She rode him hard but took her time.

“You want two or are you teasing Fisher?” Byron nibbled on her neck.

“He’ll never last if you join in there.” Lizzie gripped Byron’s cock and tugged him up until he sat on the back of the couch next to Fisher.

“God, yes!” Fisher sucked Byron’s cock as if he hadn’t had a man in weeks.

Lizzie smiled up at Byron as her fingers teased his balls just behind his sac. He thrust harder into Fisher’s mouth, and in turn, Fisher lifted into her cunt faster. She squeezed Fisher’s cock deep inside of her as she pinched Byron’s tight ass. The sexual compatibility blew her mind. It was so fluid and shameless she let herself go more than she ever had with just one man. She’d asked for more from them than any other.

She drove herself down on Fisher’s cock, and he grabbed her hips, helping her add force as she rode. There was no problem with liking things a little rough, but she’d never admitted that to anyone but them. Byron held her hair and pressed her to his balls. She nipped them, and he smiled. Then his hand connected to her ass.

A little spanking got her going. She’d discovered the sexy duo didn’t mind giving her a taste of the firmness in bed. They weren’t into domination really, but her love of harsher play made them see her not as a sweet bayou girl but a woman who needed two men and a lot of sexual attention.

“More,” she moaned.

Byron gave her a swat on the other cheek, and the sting stimulated her, making the sex better. The rush pushed her to grind on Fisher’s cock. He released Byron’s cock and pinched her nipples, rolling them until she groaned. Only then did Fisher slide his fingers down and pat her clit. The spark nudged her closer to release, but they had to come too or she’d never be satisfied.

Thrusting into her, Fisher made her body bounce as he jerked Byron’s cock. She loved the view and the deep ways the men both were touching her right now.

“Fuck!” Byron’s cum shot over Fisher’s chest and down his fist.

“More?” Fisher jerked his lover a little longer and added a harder tap to her clit.

“Yes!” Byron smacked her ass before sliding behind her.

“Oh God!” She fell forward and clutched Fisher as the release sent her into convulsions. Byron held her, and Fisher rolled her nipples again. The throbbing and deep tremors overtook her body. Her hips snapped down on Fisher’s erection even as her orgasm faded. She licked Byron’s cum off Fisher’s chest then bit his skin.

“More!” Fisher shouted.

She felt his release, and Byron pinning her between their bodies as the men kissed. Snuggling up, she joined their kiss, and they held her tight.
LIKED THE EXCERPT??  CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

SWEETEST SALVATION by Kacey Hammell


SWEETEST SALVATION by Kacey Hammell

After the deaths of her husband and child, tragedies that she blames herself for, Andrea “Andy” Sheaver has shut herself off from the world. The only place she finds any relief from her shattered heart is Club Splendor, where she and her husband often frequented together. There, Andy submits to pleasure and pain in situations so her grief is forgotten for a little while.

But Hunter Sullivan won’t stand idly by and watch Andy self-destruct. A friend of her husband, and the owner of Club Splendor, Hunter has kept his love for Andy hidden for years. He refuses to think of her at the club, cold and detached as she’s become, looking for an easy fix to take away the pain in her heart. Hunter wants her to be vibrant in life again and sets out to prove he is exactly who she needs.  

BUY THE eBOOK   ***   READ THE EXCERPT

Buy Links:

 
Excerpt © Kacey Hammell, 2013
Hunter sighed, which caught Andy’s attention. Her eyes met his briefly before lowering to her hands, which were clenched tight in her lap.
 
“Look, Andy,” he began.
 
“What do you want, Hunter?” Her forest-green-eyed gaze met his. Anger swirled in their depths.
“I’m tired of this. Dammit.” He snarled, rising, and crossed to the fireplace. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned one arm on the mantel. He looked over at her, stomach churning with indigestion and pain. He’d loved Patrick and Peter too. Could she not understand that she wasn’t the only one suffering?
“Tired of what? I never asked you here.”
“This!” Hunter spread his arms wide. “You. I’m so tired of seeing you locked away in this house, never leaving and pictures gone.”
“Go to hell,” Andy spat and leapt to her feet. She moved behind the loveseat, obvious fury making her hands shake as she laid them on the back of it. “You don’t have any say in how I live. I never asked for your opinion. If you don’t like it, get the hell out of my house. And my life!”
Hunter breathed deep, nostrils flaring. He could no more walk away from her than he could from the Sheavers. She was as much a part of his life, and his heart, as they were.
But his love for her went far beyond sisterly.
He pushed that thought away, buried it deep within himself as he’d done for years. She was Patrick’s girl, his wife. He always honored that.
“Dammit, I don’t want to argue with you, Andy. But you really need to move on. Live life again and leave this house.”
“I leave the house. You don’t know what I do every day.”
“Oh yes, you go out. Like the other night? Why did you go to the club? I thought we agreed you were no longer a member,” Hunter demanded, curious about her answer.
“No. You decided I was no longer a member. Not me. I never said I wanted that. Who are you to make decisions for me?” Andy retorted, cheeks flushed, hands on her hips.
Hunter had to admit he was finally seeing a glimpse of the fiery, strong woman she’d been until this last year. He liked her eyes ablaze, jaw clenched and fury radiating off her body. He just needed to provoke her enough and challenge her to move beyond these walls and back to the things she loved to do.
“I don’t want to make decisions for you.” He took a calming breath. “Listen, the club is not the place for you any longer. Without Patrick… There’s no need for you to be there anymore.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He was the one who wanted to show it to you. He never really thought you’d come to enjoy it as much as you did. Neither of you interacted with others. What can you find there now without him?”
Andy smiled, cold and detached. He hated that smirk.
“Oh, come now. You know what happens in your club. Surely, I don’t have to spell it out for you.”
Goddamn her.
Yes, he knew what she’d done inside the room she’d once used with Patrick. Though he normally didn’t interfere in his members’ activities unless there was a problem, he did ask Paige and Nolan if Andy had simply watched. He’d been shocked, then livid, to learn a few details of what happened between the three of them.
Andy had always been a devoted wife to Patrick, faithful to the core. To know she’d been an active participant at the club for the first time had suddenly left him empty and alone.
But he couldn’t allow his feelings on the matter to distract him from pushing her back into life.
He shrugged. “No. You don’t have to spell it out for me. But is that what you truly want and need in your life?  Sex with strangers? Do you need to find comfort in people who don’t care about you?”
Andy glared at him. “That is none of your business.” Her voice rose as she continued. “What I do in my life is for me to decide. I never asked to have you in my life. Don’t expect me to want you there now.”
His heart clenched. Her words were like a punch to the gut.
Yes, he’d sort of come as a package deal when she’d married Patrick. But the Sheavers were the only family he had. And when Peter was born, oh, he’d played the dutiful uncle to the little boy. Though she’d never voiced her frustration at his being in attendance at nearly all family gatherings or taking up some of Patrick’s time once a week for a guys’ night out, he’d understood the stone-faced woman who left the words unsaid.
“I always promised Patrick I’d look after you if he couldn’t.”
“Fuck off, Hunter. Don’t give me that.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Look, please just go. I don’t need you here. I have things to do.”
He wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.
“Things to do? Like what, plan your next adventure at the club? I don’t think so. Why? Explain to me why you felt the need to go there?”
Arms wide, she yelled, “I wanted to fuck somebody. Is that what you want to hear? That I wanted to have a cock inside me for the first time in almost two years? I wanted to have a man inside, pounding me—brutal and painful. What better place to do that than at the club where I know I’m safe?”
Hunter’s heartbeat accelerated. To know she needed someone that close to her was agonizing. It was a barren and desperate act of someone who had nothing to live for. Or didn’t think she was worth much.
“Why pain? You couldn’t have found satisfaction in that. No pleasure, Andy? You, of all people, found pleasure in that kind of sex? I don’t believe for a moment that you’re now into rough sex,” Hunter said, gruff. His mouth was dry, and confusion made his head hurt. Would he never understand this woman?
Andy crossed her arms over her chest. She looked out the window behind him. Her gaze was unfocused, filled with pain.
“Yes, pain. It’s what I deserve, isn’t it?” Her gaze captured his. Hunter felt his heart crack at her desolate look.

  LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE eBOOK 


Sunday, June 26, 2011

BOARD RESOLUTION by Joey W. Hill

BOARD RESOLUTION by Joey W. Hill

Savannah was groomed from birth to take the reins of her father’s manufacturing empire. Her emotional armor is as tough as the steel used in her factories, and nobody is allowed past it.

Business partner Matt realizes that the key to entry is to command her submission. Calling on the unique sensual talents of his four-man management team, he engineers an aggressive and erotic takeover, determined to rescue the woman he loves from the steel cage she’s manufactured around her heart.

Masked and lost to the sensations the team arouses in her, Savannah is theirs, at least for this one night.

Publisher’s Note: Originally published in the Behind the Mask anthology.

BUY THE eBOOK   ***   READ THE EXCERPT

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: BOARD RESOLUTION

Copyright © JOEY W. HILL, 2005

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

Chapter One



Savannah put down her briefcase in the immaculate powder room of Kensington & Associates and straightened before the mirror. When meeting with piranhas, it was important to look appetizing but not attainable. She wanted the hunger to be there, but restrained, her opponents recognizing the attractive armor for what it was. A mask for a predator as scary as themselves.

A necessary step when the piranhas were Matthew Lord Kensington and his management team, and the subject of the meeting had yet to be disclosed. He’d simply issued an invitation to discuss a business opportunity over drinks at his office on Friday night. Knowing Matt, that meant glasses of water evenly spaced around the formal conference room table.

She checked her makeup, the arrangement of her streaked blonde hair, the smooth fit of her mid-thigh skirt and the blazer over it. While her father hadn’t believed in using blatant sex to close a deal, he’d had no problem with strategically using the arsenal one had at hand, and that included one’s looks or charm. She had been blessed with an abundance of the former and he’d encouraged her to use it, though always sparingly.

Geoffrey Tennyson’s Rule Twelve: People keep class and elegance around them. Trash gets thrown away after it serves its purpose. The lace of her bra was faintly visible through her white silk blouse if one looked hard enough, and she’d enjoy seeing Matt strain his eyes.

Their negotiations had always been cordial and lucrative, but she’d seen the flare in his gaze when he thought he’d pressed an advantage on her, the tightening of his sensual lips when she’d proved him wrong. She knew he loved it, how they sparred at a table and never could come away claiming anything other than a mutual victory. He craved that, she suspected, hungered to take something from her she wasn’t willing to give. It made things flutter inside her to play the game, to fence and win a draw. Often she went home aching for something nameless, something she was afraid was the desire for him to outsmart her just once, to make her surrender.

If she was totally honest, her interactions with Matt were as close to having sex as she ever got.

Savannah shook herself out of the odd direction of her thoughts, and was appalled to find the crotch of her panties damp. Appalled, but not surprised. He might be surprised though, if he knew how often she’d curled into a fetal ball between her expensive sheets, her thighs squeezed together as she thought of that hard body between her legs, pounding into her, his hands clamped on her wrists, mouth ravaging her neck.

Perhaps it was the time of night making her think this way. A meeting at eight in the evening on a Friday turned her mind to frivolous thoughts, though she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d be doing frivolous things. While she might have planned an outing with a carefully chosen escort to a gallery showing or movie premiere, that would have been to further the interests of Tennyson Industries. Otherwise, she’d have been home, reviewing the upcoming week’s schedule and analyzing her recent decisions for flaws or holes.

Another of the twelve rules her father had drilled into her to guide every action and reaction. They’d been posted on her bedroom wall like the Ten Commandments, ever since she was old enough to read. Tennyson Rule Eight: A good captain never stops going over every inch of the ship. Every once in a long while she might give herself a Friday night off to watch a movie she’d rented. She’d view it from the couch in her father’s study…her study, now that he was gone.

This might have been such a night. It had been a hard week and she was feeling a bit…well, the armor was a little thin.

Even her disciplined soul wasn’t immune to the flood of anticipation that infused this Friday night with the sense of possibilities. The whole weekend stretched ahead like an adventure.

Mardi Gras had happened this week, and this corporate tower was still feeling the powerful vibrations from the celebration as much as the streets of New Orleans. Several strands of colorful beads and a feathered mask were placed as decoration on the vanity counter. It always bemused her why her father chose to keep their corporate headquarters here, versus New York or Chicago, but whenever she asked, he’d only said that New Orleans was a place where anything was possible. He’d met her mother here, and she suspected the truth was to be found in that. She had died shortly after Savannah was born, of a virulent cancer that had been discovered while she was pregnant. Refusing treatment to protect her unborn child, Portia Tennyson had died nearly six months after the birth of her daughter. She left Savannah a locket containing a curl of her hair and a tiny folded piece of paper, with the scent of lavender and a short message.

You were worth it.

Her father had never liked her wearing the necklace, so until his death she kept it in her bedside table.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Yes, a wise captain would have chosen tonight to stay on the ship, fight the battle Monday when there were fewer titillating portents in the air. The wild desires and dreams that Mardi Gras madness stirred up like a fairy dust storm could impair her judgment seriously. Especially with this particular man.

Regardless, she’d accepted the invitation and chosen to come alone. She always negotiated with Matt and his Intimidation Team by herself, as if underscoring that she had no fear of any of them. Having spent most of her teen years apprenticing in Tennyson’s corporate and manufacturing offices, she had no apprehensions about discussing any aspect of the business on her own. She’d been accepted a year early to a prestigious Ivy League school, finished the coursework and passed the bar a year before her classmates. Serving the four subsequent years as a trial lawyer with a ruthlessly aggressive Washington firm her father had chosen had seasoned her enough to serve as his CFO. She’d had five years at his side in that capacity before he’d died, leaving her a relatively young but extremely capable CEO of a Fortune 500 company whose wealth and power was based in the male-dominated world of steel manufacturing.

Plus, if the desolate truth was known, she’d become attached to working with Matt’s team on their many mutual interests. She wanted to keep them to herself. As though she’d adopted them as her family. Or not so much like a family as something more, something even stranger.

She choked on a laugh. She was definitely off her game tonight. Maybe Matt knew that Friday night, when the empty weekend yawned before her, was her most vulnerable time. The bastard seemed to know everything else. Their buildings, corporate high-rises, were just across the street from one another, and she wouldn’t put it past him to have planted spies in her ranks.

Well, it was her challenge to show him he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. Then she could fill her weekend with victorious gloating.

Savannah gave herself one last appraising look. The jacket of the pale tan suit followed the shallow curve of her back, nipping in at the waist to flare out in two layers, like a modest bustle of an old-fashioned Victorian dress. The snug linen skirt revealed a teasing picture of the back of her thigh with the slit in back. Modest and professional, even to the faint whiff of perfume, the outfit was perfectly appropriate for a woman to be wearing after five in the evening. She’d left her hair clipped up on her head, but had loosened a few tendrils, giving her a softer look. She wanted to tease.

“Boys, you’re goners,” she decided, but she knew there was only one man who mattered.

She clipped down the hall in her slender heels, the echo loud in the quiet building. Other evidence of the festivities that had occurred earlier in the week caught her attention as she passed open office doors. Sparkling beads hanging on doorknobs or left across a desktop. The inexpensive plastic masks.

The security guard had indicated they were waiting for her on the top floor. When she rounded the corner and saw the conference room door open, she had to suppress a smile. While there were no water glasses on the table, a crystal pitcher and a tray of tumblers were within easy reach on a side credenza.

Then her attention flickered to the man sitting at the head of the table, and her amusement was swept away by something entirely different.

Matt Kensington was a powerful man on Wall Street, even from the distance of New Orleans. But what made him even more potent was that he was a physically dominating man. Over six feet tall, he had dark eyes, raven hair and a swarthy Italian complexion provided by his mother. However, his father’s Texas roots ensured he had none of the prettiness of Italian men that could suggest weakness. Just all of their sexual charisma.

Her blood hammered harder in her arteries when she saw he was alone, not flanked by his usual four-man management team. Though, regardless of who was in attendance, Matt always overwhelmed a room with his presence. Or maybe he just overwhelmed her.

Tennyson’s Rule Two: Always be brutally honest with yourself. Otherwise, you won’t know the difference between the truth and a lie from anyone else.

Every detail of Matt spoke of power and discipline. From his charcoal gray suit that fit his broad shoulders to perfection, to the white line of his cuffs and the gleam of his Yale class ring. Even his manicured nails in no way diminished the capable strength evident in those hands. His bent knee, visible over the edge of the table, hinted he had his foot braced on a leg of the table so he could lean his chair back. The pose was casual. Disarmingly so. She couldn’t help it that her gaze strayed over the column of his thigh.

He rose as he always did, an act of Southern courtesy she’d teased him about with appropriate feminist acidity. He did it for all women, but somehow the way he did it for her, with his gaze locked on hers as he rose, always set butterflies in her stomach into a tailspin. He didn’t smile, those firm lips and aristocratic nose an inspiration for a sculptor trying to depict a warrior king.

It was an apt comparison. The elegance of the board room was a façade. Strip it away, make it the walls of a tent, then prop armor, shields and swords against the wall, and its nature would not change. It was the domain of a conqueror, and every time she came here, she felt it. His desire to claim, control, invade. He’d managed the last, for he’d captivated her mind, but she could accept that.

Tennyson Rule Three: Accept your weaknesses and, if you can’t fix them, compensate for them.

Cleopatra had been no different. She always knew she walked the knife edge between holding the reins and being the spoils of war. Savannah surmised that the Egyptian monarch had kept to the upper side of the knife by being queen first and woman second. If she’d ever forgotten that, had let her woman’s desires completely take her over, her allure to a man of power like Marc Anthony and Caesar would have been fleeting, a piece of candy consumed and forgotten.

Savannah ignored the twist of pain and fatigue such a thought gave her. An emotional reaction, and one she wouldn’t indulge. Men like Matt sought the powerful woman, but a woman wanted a man with whom she could be just a woman occasionally. The problem was that Savannah only wanted a man like Matt. The chicken and egg dilemma of human nature.

She gave a mental shrug, set her briefcase on the table. “Where are your child prodigies, Matthew?”

His wunderkind, they were called. Lucas. Jon. Ben. Peter. The young, hungry men who supported him in the world of manufacturing, now a very dynamic area since technology changed the production playing field almost on a daily basis. They were all attractive twenty- and thirty-somethings who worked hard in the office and played hard in the gym. She wondered if, like a wolf pack, they showered and slept together, and was instantly amused and aroused by the visuals conjured by the thought.

Yes, Savannah, you’re definitely in a strange mood tonight.

Matt had yet to speak, and there was something in his eyes. Something similar to what she’d recognized there before. But tonight it was more direct. Unleashed. For a despicably weak moment, she was glad the length of the table was between them.

Okay, Savannah, enough daydreaming. Time to get a grip or he is going to eat you alive.

And that was entirely the wrong thought, because it summoned a flood of images so powerful they shuddered through her body. She closed her hands on the briefcase to cover the reaction, as if it were a shield she could use against his overpowering attraction.

“You call me Matthew just to irritate me.”

“Would you prefer Mr. Kensington? Or perhaps Lord Kensington?” She added the last in a saccharine tone.

It was a standing joke in the corporate circles, the use of his middle name, bandied about equally as an admiring quip or a bitter insult.

He did not laugh. In fact, he seemed to consider the notion, then his gaze centered on her in a way it had never done before. Perusing her in detail, his attention moved from her face to her throat, pausing over the frantically beating pulse, before continuing down to her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hip, just visible to the right of the briefcase. She suppressed the urge to shift out of view.

“If you like,” he said at last. His grin was quick and unexpected. Feral. Pure sex. And it made her focus flounder in a wash of heat. “But I think I prefer Master, or my lord, if you’re using it.”

She blinked. “I’m sure you would.”

“While we’re on the subject, your name is an interesting one.” He seated his hip on an edge of the table. The way he was looking at her across the dimly lit room made her feel the table was not that much of a barrier after all, and that the protection of her briefcase was laughable at best.

“It doesn’t suggest a hard-edged business woman, someone able to shrivel a man’s testicles with a glance, though I have seen you do that. Almost as often as I’ve seen you arouse my men with the simple scent of your perfume, or a glimpse of those killer legs. Particularly when you lean back and cross them so modestly, and you show just the hint of the lace top of your stocking before it’s gone, like a mirage to a man dying of thirst.”

Savannah stayed stock-still, her fingers gripping the handle of her case. “Are you making a point, Matthew, or have you lost your mind?”

“We’re discussing names, I believe, and my point is that a name very much reflects who a person is, deep inside. Savannah suggests a soft, giving woman. When I look at you, Savannah…” He paused, lingering over the name, making a flush rise on her neck. “…I see you waking up in my bed, the cotton sheets caught between your calves, that soft, luscious body molded by a satin sheath with spaghetti straps. One of those straps is falling off the shoulder, so your breast is almost completely exposed, though just not quite. And when I come to you, touch you, make you smile, all that fine, beautiful hair is rumpled and framing your face…”

His gaze flickered over the loosened tendrils that she suddenly wished she had not drawn free of her usually impeccable twist.

She pulled the briefcase off the table, a jerk of motion so he wouldn’t see that her hand was shaking. Men did not affect her that way. “I don’t know what this is, Matthew, but it’s not a business meeting. I’m leaving.”

“Sit. Down.”

The snap of his voice caused her to jump, which made her angry, frosted her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

He straightened off the table, one lithe, quick movement, but his steps toward her were measured, the intent but slow paces of a wolf stalking prey. Or in his case, a shark, those dark glittering eyes promising no mercy.

“You heard me. Sit your pretty ass down, now, or I’ll wear it out so you can’t sit for a week.”

Shock gripped her, both at the words and at the serious intent in his eyes, which told her he very likely meant the astounding thing he had just said. She should be giving him a disdainful look, turning and making her exit, but she couldn’t make her feet move. As if his words were a lightning bolt that had immobilized her in a crackle of powerful current that charged her entire body, all the cells vibrated with apprehension and something else, something rising in her, responding to him and his ridiculous words.

He took another step toward her. Then another. “You drive a man to distraction. Not just the sneaky bit of leg, but that drape of neckline revealing a tiny cup of lace just barely holding your breast in when you lean forward to make a point. The way you touch your hair just behind your ear, lightly, or moisten your lips when you talk.”

“Stop it,” she whispered. “Stop.”

But he didn’t. Not his forward movement or his words. “That’s the thing. You’re teasing my men, but you’re challenging me. From the first moment we met, you’ve known you were mine. Every negotiation has been a dare, a taunt. You want me to prove I’ve got what it takes to make you submit, claim what’s been mine all along.”

Why was her pulse pounding like she was hearing a terrible truth instead of the ravings of a lunatic?

“You’re a tough nut to crack, aren’t you, little girl?” He was almost around the table, and still she couldn’t move. His footfalls were silent, hushed in the carpet.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He nodded, dark brows drawing down like the shadow of a hawk’s wings. “You’re not a little girl. You’ve never been a little girl. Groomed from birth to take the reins of your father’s empire. Daddy’s closer all your adult life, and then you stepped right into his shoes when he died. You’ve never allowed yourself to be vulnerable, never allowed yourself to be a woman, never daring to risk it. You’ve become so good at it you don’t even know you have a warm, wet, soft pussy, aching for a cock. My cock.

“Tell me, little girl. What would you do right now if I turned you over my knee and gave you a spanking?”

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

HER COWBOY'S WAY by Starla Kaye

HER COWBOY'S WAY by Starla Kaye

Brandi has known Colby Pennington for most of her life and has loved him almost as long. Getting married, though, is a serious matter. The whole love, honor, and obey thing might be more than she can handle.Marriage is about an equal partnership, not having to follow anyone else's rules. It is about having someone there whenever and wherever you want sex. Brandi is definitely okay with that part, especially with her sinfully handsome cowboy.

But the obey issue, that Colby intends to take care of her in all ways - including occasionally warming her bottom...Well, it could be a deal breaker.

BUY THE BOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT

Brandi couldn’t go through with this. A wedding meant all kinds of serious: no more thinking only of herself, sharing a bed when she preferred stretching out all over it, acting civil in the morning before she even had half a pot of coffee, compromising, obeying…

She glanced at the outrageously expensive wedding gown hanging across the room used for brides in the church in which she’d grown up. Obeying. Love, honor and obey. Did she really have a grasp on what the word meant? Not according to her father. Not according to most people in town. She tended to go her own way about things…and sometimes had to pay a price for it. Considering that Colby had known her most of her life, he understood that she had trouble staying within boundaries. At least he should understand that, since he’d heard her complain numerous times about having gotten her bottom burned because she stepped into the “gray area.”

She wasn’t quite sure why all of a sudden she’d become obsessed with the three key words in the wedding ceremony. Maybe because they were really big words—okay, small letter-wise—but huge in meaning. She’d been too lost in the excitement of the moment last night at the dress rehearsal to think about the vows. She hadn’t even thought about them when Colby had teased her when he’d dropped her off at her father’s ranch. But now she remembered the hint of challenge in his dark eyes as he’d taunted her with “love, honor and obey.”

Had he been referring to a few weeks ago when she’d told him she wanted to cut off her almost waist-length blonde hair and dye it auburn? He’d said “Absolutely not!” to both the cut and the dye job. It had rubbed her wrong, so she’d done both. Okay, she really needed to stop being so obstinate. With the first cut of her hair, she’d nearly had heart failure, but it was too late to change her mind by then. She’d hated having red hair. Of course, Colby had been disgusted with her for going against his wishes. He’d been a little sympathetic when she’d shed a few tears about the shorter hair. But he’d turned her bottom red —like her hair— anyway for acting so impulsively. If she would just listen… If she would just not get her back up… Yada, yada, yada. Still, she’d bleached her hair back to almost the original blonde shade.

The truth was that she’d been born breach. She couldn’t even manage to “obey” (follow, really) the normal way of being born. And she’d spent twenty-six years disobeying her father’s rules whenever she pleased and then suffering the consequences. Marriages were about equal partnerships, not having to follow anyone’s rules. They were about adult relationships, about sex. She was definitely okay with the “sex” thing. Especially with Colby.

At the thought of the six-foot-three, sinfully handsome cowboy she’d known half her life, a familiar warmth curled inside her. She’d known him half her life but hadn’t really known him until the last six months. She’d come back to Hinkley, Kansas, after graduating from college with her masters, intending to open an accounting firm with only the guarantee of her father as a client. Now she had several ranchers as clients, including Colby. Their client-accountant relationship had gone many steps further, steps that had led to her bed, to his bed, and now soon to their bed. What that man could do in bed. She sighed. Oh yeah, what he could do!

“Time to get dressed,” Sarah announced as she all but bounced into the room, shoulder-length brown hair fluttering around her. Her best friend since childhood looked at the white dress with layers of satin and lace. She sighed in the same way she did every time she saw the dress. “You’re going to look just like a princess.”

Brandi hadn’t picked out the dress; her father had. He’d always called her “his little princess”—except when she was in trouble—and he wanted her to look like a princess on her wedding day. Colby hadn’t seen the gown yet, but he’d like it too. You couldn’t get more feminine than this dress. He was all about feminine, all about her being a lady. Okay, he wanted her to behave like a lady. Behave! Obey. Admittedly, she had problems with both words, both definitions. Maybe the dictionary needed to be updated, to include her interpretations of the definitions: follow societal or other’s rules if you so choose.

She looked at her friend, who rarely strayed into the “gray areas” and accepted the common definitions of those bothersome words. Maybe Colby should marry a woman like Sarah, someone who would almost never challenge him or give him grief.

Grimly, she said, “I think this might be a bad idea.”

Sarah was already reaching to take the dress down and glanced curiously in her direction. “Bad idea? What are you talking about?”

Perched on the window seat overlooking the parking lot where guests were already arriving, Brandi pulled her legs up and hugged her knees. Still wearing jeans, she rested her chin on the comforting denim. “This whole marriage business. I’m not sure if it’s really my kind of thing.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re about to wear this absolutely stunning gown, walk down an aisle lined with gorgeous white roses, and take the hand of The most studly man on earth in marriage. It doesn’t get any better than that.” Sarah looked at her as if she were an alien who’d taken over her best friend’s body. “Oh, don’t tell Thad what I said about Colby. Thad’s studly too. Just in a different way.”

Brandi couldn’t deny that Colby Pennington was “studly.” Actually a lot of the women in town called him Super Stud Cowboy behind his back. Yes, she’d started it, and yes, he knew about it and that she’d been behind the nickname. He’d warmed her bottom when he’d found out, which still irritated her. You’d have thought he’d have been proud of the nickname!

“No, I won’t say anything to Thad.” He was okay looking, but hardly “studly.”

Putting aside all studly thoughts, she looked at the gown. She didn’t really care about the dress or the roses. Sarah’s mention of Colby’s hand had brought back to mind that whole behaving matter, the whole obedience issue which she’d been mulling over the last few minutes. She’d already experienced a number of spankings from the man who’d been her lover for the last couple of months and who’d merely tolerated her as his best friend’s kid sister for years before that. She’d also already had a number of lectures from him on professional behavior because she tended to keep sporadic work hours and came and went as she pleased. He’d also had a word or two to say about her unladylike behavior, wearing jeans to work instead

of dresses or suits. And he’d hinted that he expected to be the head of their household. He hadn’t gone into specifics and she hadn’t asked. Blind lust, evidently, had kept her thoughts focused in more interesting areas. But now she was having a serious back-to-reality moment.

She faced Sarah, nerves twisting within her. “I need to talk to Colby.” Panic seemed to be taking over her mind. “Now. Right now.”

Sarah blinked in horror. “You can’t see him until the ceremony! It’s bad luck.” She shook her head. “No. No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

Brandi wasn’t a superstitious person. She knew what she needed. She needed to see Colby. Panic moved up another level, and her voice was harsher than she intended when she said, “There won’t be a ceremony unless I talk to Colby.” She pointed to the door Sarah had closed on entering. “Please. Just go get him.”

“But—“

Brandi raised her chin, battling tears. “Get Colby.”


Colby struggled with his tie while his long-time friends stood around him, harassing him about finally getting married. He was about to give up on the tie and toss it in the trash when Sarah raced into the groom’s dressing room. Brandi’s best friend’s face flamed in embarrassment as her gaze darted around taking in her surprised fiancé Thad, Brandi’s father, and the other two men. It was plain she would rather be anywhere else but here. He had a bad feeling about this.

“What’s up?” Colby asked when she hadn’t spotted him in the far corner. His bride-to-be was up to something. Hell, she was always up to something. She would be a trial in his life for the next fifty or so years, but he felt damn lucky about that. He didn’t really mind her going nose-to-nose with him on things

every now and then, it kept their relationship interesting. He couldn’t marry a woman who “Yes’d” him all the time, like Sarah did Thad. He liked a woman with guts…most of the time, anyway. ‘Course when she’d decided to cut all that long, silky hair off… Well, he hadn’t liked that so damn much.

Still, as troublesome as she could be at times, he loved Brandi clear to his long, skinny toes. For every irritating trait she had, there were more that pleased him. She could be seriously grumpy first thing in the morning, but he could live with that. She had a tendency to be far too casual with her work appearance and with her work habits. She was still struggling to stop being the college kid and be the career professional. They’d already talked about that. He would help guide her with that. Some of his “guidance” would involve taking her over his knee as part of their domestic discipline agreement. Not

that she’d be thrilled to continue getting her bottom warmed as a married woman, but she’d allow it. Another reason he loved and respected her. She trusted him. He would not let her down; he would not abuse their agreement.

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

HOT FOR TEACHER by Dominique Adair

Who says three's a crowd?

HOT FOR TEACHER - A new Jane Porter Story from Dominique Adair

Entrepreneur, fashionista and submissive-in-training, Jane Porter is headed to New Orleans with her lovers, Antonio and Santos. Armed with an invitation to the exclusive Marché d’Esclave, a members-only pleasure club, Jane steps into a world where submissives are auctioned to new masters for training. Happy with her current masters, Jane has no intentions of going up on the block herself until she comes to face to face with a man she'd thought never to see again...

Among the patrons is the mysterious Archer, a master from Europe with legendary skills in the art of training. His submissives command the highest prices at auction and for those in search of a master, he is the one they crave. Intrigued by the beautiful Jane, he employs his considerable talents in the hopes of seducing her away from her lovers and returning to his home for a little higher education.

Will Jane resist temptation or will she accept Archer's invitation to explore more of the pleasure she's come to crave...

Warning: Extreme bondage, spanking, sexy men doing very naughty things to themselves and others, more spanking and the creative misuse of fruit.

BUY THE BOOK *** READ THE EXCERPT

EXCERPT:

Smoothing the delicate silk over her hips, Jane stepped out from behind the screen. Lily was sitting on the chaise again, this time holding a pair of black suede Stuart Weitzman stilettos with a laced-up front. Cooing over the shoes, she stroked the butter-soft leather as if it were a child cradled in her arms rather than a stunning pair of footwear. Jane stepped over her friend’s sprawled legs to retrieve her pumps, which were still sitting untouched on the shelf.

“Thanks for getting my shoes for me.” She nudged Lily’s leg with the tip of her shoe. “Now quit drooling. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to remove spit marks from suede?”

Lily’s dreamy expression and heartfelt sigh mirrored how Jane felt when she’d bought them a few days ago. There really was nothing more magnificent than shoes that were not only beautiful but made her feel sexy. She frowned. Did Lily have tears in her eyes?

“Have you ever seen anything so glorious?” she purred.

“Well, yes. I am the one who bought them.”

“I swear, on the lives of my unborn children, that if I owned these shoes I’d be the happiest and most contented woman—”

“Until next season,” Jane teased. “Your obsession with shoes is second only to your appetite for Jean Jacques.”

“Look who’s talking.” Lily nodded toward the array of shoes in every color imaginable. “How many pairs do you own, Imelda? Two hundred?”

“Ninety-four actually.” Jane retrieved the shoes from her friend then put them back on the shelf. “I think you have me confused someone else. Namely, yourself.” She turned out the lights then walked into the bedroom leaving Lily to follow. She’d have to make sure and frisk her before she left. It would be just like her to swipe the shoes then stuff the toes with paper just so she could wear them.

The bedroom was flooded with the morning sunshine from the row of windows overlooking the mountains. The French doors were open and the crisp breeze was sweetly scented with sage and honeysuckle.

Her writing desk was positioned in front of the windows and sitting on top next to her laptop was a Fed Ex envelope containing her invitation. Automatically her gaze went to the return address as if it had changed in the hour or so since she’d last seen it. Whoever sent the coveted invitation had used the street address of the club, which gave her no clue as to the sender’s identity. She’d wracked her brain trying to think of anyone who was a member of the club and would make such a magnanimous gesture. The only name she’d come up with was Dirk Prentiss, but he and his wife had been out of the country for seven weeks.

“Is this it?”

Lily reached around her to pick up envelope but Jane snatched it up first and held it over her head. “How bad do you want to see it?” she teased.

“Badly, now fork it over or I’ll stick you with the Cambern party.” Her eyes danced with laughter.

“Uncle.” Jane tossed her the envelope as if it burned her skin.

The Cambern’s had hired R.S.V.P. to arrange a birthday party for their son…who was two. There was nothing worse than dealing with a baby mama who insisted upon clowns and horses for a party when the kid would only be terrorized by all the strangers towering over him. It was a good thing they were rich because little Billy was going to need some serious therapy when he grew up to be a bed-wetter with a clown fetish.

“Just holding the envelope is enough to give me chills.” Lily had discarded the cardboard sleeve and now held the heavy burgundy linen envelope. “And you have no idea where it came from?”

“None.” Jane sank into her favorite armchair to put on the jewelry she’d picked out earlier. “I’ve been chewing on it ever since it arrived. Do we know anyone who is a member?”

She laughed. “How many multi-millionaires do we know? Dirk is the only one who comes to mind.”

“It’s not him.”

“‘Beauty, I hope you will grant me the honor of your company, signed, an admirer.’” Lily read. “That’s it?” She flipped over the engraved invitation hoping to find something on the back. “How anti-climactic.”

“You’re not telling me anything new.” Jane sighed. She’d become obsessed with finding out who sent it but she had nothing new to go on. How do you find someone who obviously doesn’t want to be found?

“Marché d’Esclave.” Lily perched on the arm of Jane’s chair. “What is that? Cheap…”

“Your French is atrocious.” She winked. “It means slave market. The building was owned by the pirate, Jean Lafitte, and it was a front for selling his stolen goods. Later it turned it into a gentleman’s club and there were Quadroon and Octoroon women who lived above stairs for the purpose of entertaining the patrons.”

“Fascinating, but get to the good stuff.” Lily’s green eyes were bright with interest.

“In the days of prohibition it was a speakeasy before it was transformed into a club for the deviants and perverts of the day—”

“Like you,” Lily snickered.

“Thank you for pointing that out.” Jane cleared her throat. “Now it is a very exclusive gentlemen’s club and whatever goes on behind closed doors is a tightly held secret. Only members and their guests are permitted to enter the building and their membership requirements are strict. The yearly fee is well over a hundred grand and the application fee is more than double that.”

“Holy cow,” Lily gasped. “I heard they host slave auctions. Is that true?”

Jane wasn’t about to admit she was very curious about the auctions herself. Basically a submissive, in agreement with her master, could be put on the auction block for other potential masters to bid upon for the purposes of further training. The money went to the submissive once the conditions of the negotiated contract were met. It wasn’t about sex because the sub wasn’t required to sleep with the master who’d purchased her time. Instead it was about the training and acquiring new skills to take back to their masters.

The idea of being auctioned to a master strictly for the purposes of training was enticing though she knew she wasn’t ready for that step. Besides, she was enjoying her time with her lovers, Antonio and Santos, and she couldn’t imagine leaving them anytime soon.

“According to Santos it’s true, but I don’t know anything about it. They have other things like gaming, live theatre and tableaus…”

“Tableaus, eh? That could be interesting.”

Lily and her lover were both exhibitionists, and she had dozens of titillating stories of their exploits all over Colorado.

“The boys are going with you, right?”

“Definitely. We’re meeting up in New Orleans tomorrow.” She caught sight of the clock. “Heavens, I need to run.”

Bounding out of the chair she grabbed her portfolio and purse before following her friend downstairs and outside. Ament, her driver, stood by the sleek Lincoln Town Car and when he saw her he opened the door.

“I expect you to have lots of stories from New Orleans,” Lily said. Her racy blue Jaguar XFR, a gift from Jean Jacques, was parked behind the Town Car.

“And I expect to hear that you’re in New York by the weekend.” They exchanged air kisses.

“You’ve got it, I promise.”

“That’s my girl. Go get your man.” Jane waved then got into the car.

Ament shut the door then took his place behind the wheel. “Where to today, Miss Jane?”

“The Black Pearl on South Pearl Street.”

“Good choice.” His teeth flashed white against his dark skin.

When Lily admitted she was afraid one day she’d wake up to find her life was only a dream, Jane understood exactly what she meant. Sometimes it was hard to believe how much her life had changed in the since Dirk and Kitten Prentiss’s party. The weekend affair was a smashing success and R.S.V.P. had more business than they could handle. They’d already hired three more office staff and a full time coordinator, Megan. The money was rolling in and each month they received requests to handle events outside of Colorado. Already they’d crafted events in New York, Toronto, Miami, Hollywood and numerous other cities.

Then there was her love life.

Before the party she’d endured a year of celibacy after a terrible breakup with her former master. Then she’d met Antonio Villareal, Dirk’s half-brother and son of a Spanish winemaker. After spending an intensely intimate night together, he introduced her to Santos, his best friend and business partner. It wasn’t too long before they’d taken her to bed, and they’d yet to leave. Both men were her lovers, and they made her happier than she could ever remember being.

Five months ago she’d moved to their estate where she enjoyed a life beyond her wildest imagination. They indulged her with expensive gifts, trips, servants and allowed her to express and indulge her sexuality to her heart’s content. Most importantly, they provided a supportive and loving environment and all of them flourished.

She’d almost given up on finding someone she was compatible with sexually. Her sex drive was voracious and former lovers complained about not being able to keep up. Another passion was for dominance and being controlled, she craved it like a drug. Pain, she’d learned, was a heady aphrodisiac. When applied properly it led to some extreme levels of arousal and mind-blowing, full-body orgasms. It was the combination of her high sex drive and need for dominance that had made it difficult to find satisfaction.

Until Antonio and Santos.

For the past week both men had been in New York on business, and she couldn’t wait until they were together again. Before leaving they’d forbidden her to masturbate, and she was so horny that they’d be lucky to remove their shoes before she was riding them like a cowgirl. She smiled.

It looked like the invitation to Marché d’Esclave couldn’t have come at a better time.

LIKED THE EXCERPT?? CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...