by Loren, L.
Serendipity must have been listening to my internal meltdown because she presented me with an opportunity to get a signed copy of the book, I was willing to commit murder to read. All I have to do is agree to the store owner’s offer—an offer too inviting to turn down.
With my mind imagining all kinds of delicious scenarios, life is beginning to imitate art, and I’m ready to see what kind of exciting adventure the tantalizing store owner with the sultry smile and sexy British accent takes me on. Is it possible for me to have my own steamy novel—one that won’t come with the words The End?
Honey Dripper is an interracial erotic romance (BWWM) with a HEA. It is a part of the Lunchtime Chronicles series which can be read as standalone novels.
WARNING: This book contains explicit sex and graphic language.
One
Grant
“Get out! Five-million, really?”
It felt like my head was going to pop off and roll onto the floor. My agent just called me with the best news of the century. I tried to control the smile that was creeping up my face, but it was futile. I felt like a kid in a candy store with my rich daddy’s credit card.
“That’s what I said! You have made it, Grant!”
“I can’t believe it! What’s the catch, Sabrina?”
“There is no catch. You are an independently published New York Times Best Selling author. Do you know how rare that is? Your stories are flying off the shelves. I have never seen anything like it. Every housewife in the country and their workaholic friends are reading your sexy alpha males. They can’t get enough! Now it’s time to put a big name behind them and tap into that international market.”
“I still don’t get it though. Why would they want me? I am no E.L. James.”
I sat there in disbelief. It made absolutely zero sense that people were reading my books, let alone a giant in the publishing world wanting to sign me to a very lucrative deal. I was just a simple man who loved books and riding bikes, in that order. There was nothing special about me.
“No, you are Samantha Moans! Give me about a year, and I promise to make you bigger than Ms. James ever was. I’m already in talks for a three-movie deal for your Tux and Tails Series. Wright Time Publishing would be fools not to sign you. You are going to be the face of their company! Think Strangé™ from Boomerang, but bigger.”
“And just how is that going to happen. You know I can’t show my face to the world. Samantha Moans is supposed to be a woman, remember?”
“Oh, don’t worry, Grant, the company is well aware of your secret identity niche, and they love it. In fact, they plan to capitalize on the fact that no one knows what Samantha Moans looks like. Plans are already underway to revamp your logo. They say it will sell more books.”
“I guess I’m going to have to dust off my horse and chariot for the launch party,” I quipped.”
I hadn’t even signed on the dotted line yet and big things were changing in my life. I didn’t even have time to think if I wanted those things to change. It’s what got me where I am today. Regardless, Sabrina kept on gabbing.
“Trust me, Grant, this is going to be amazing for your career. You just let me handle everything. That’s what you pay me to do. As your agent, I am always looking out for your best interests. You just worry about bringing more of those hot men to life between the pages.”
“Now, that I can do. Alright, Sabrina, do your thing. Just don’t sign me up for something you know goes against my morals. You know what I am into, and I trust you. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop and consult me before committing to anything.”
“I always do. Stop worrying, Grant. You need to go out and celebrate! This deal is unheard of. It is huge!”
“I’m way ahead of you. I already have plans.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you doing?”
“I have a date with an angel!”
A huge smile came over my face just thinking about the way I was going to spend my afternoon. There was a little cherub waiting for me, and I couldn’t wait to see her beautiful face.
“I’ll talk to you soon. And, Grant, congratulations, my friend.”
“Thanks, Sabrina. Congrats to you too. You did the heavy lifting on this one. I’ll see you later.”
After ending the call, I jumped in the shower to get ready for my outing. I had been looking forward to this for two weeks. It had taken that long to finish my surprise for T.J. Now that it was ready, I was bursting at the seams to show it to her. While grooming in the mirror, I practiced the faces I would make and the way I would speak to her. She always loved it when I changed the inflection in my voice. It always brought a smile to her face, and most times, I could squeak out a little giggle.
Just before leaving the house, I dabbed on a little of the Burberry Brit cologne she gave me for my birthday last week. The sweet and spicy scent gave off a sophisticated vibe that I loved. I felt like a debonair gentleman when I wore it. It was the perfect complement to my style. However, she picked it because it had the signature check on the bottle. When I questioned her about her selection process, she said it matched the scarf I always wore. She was right, it did match. She got lucky with her choice, but I was going to have to teach her the fine art of selecting a cologne to match a man’s personality for future reference.
Snagging my cut, I placed my arms inside and snuggled into the leather harness that differentiated my motorcycle club from the others in the area. I always felt a sense of pride when I adorned my colors. The purple and black logo of The Predators ignited a sense of belonging in me. I had never belonged anywhere before, but my club was my haven. I loved all the members, even the ones who tap danced on my last nerve. We were a family. I mounted my custom Harley V-Rod and headed home.
As I walked into the clubhouse, I could feel all eyes on me. I hated being the center of attention. Those eyes felt like tiny papercuts piercing my skin and leaving a trail of painful nicks all over my face. Shifting the books I was carrying into my left hand, I brushed my hair from my face with my right. My eyes fell to the floor as I made my way through the lobby. I noticed one of those members that I mentioned earlier that worked my nerves, and he was staring right at me. Great. I was hoping he wouldn’t try to engage me in conversation, but no such luck.
“There he is! Librarian, get your ass over here and settle this debate.”
Damn it! I hated when Baby was in full blown joker mode. He was loud, obnoxious, and unpredictable. We were total opposites. The man made my ass itch. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? I had things to do. Despite my reservations, I turned toward the bar where Baby, Obsession, and Matrix were sitting. I didn’t much mind the other two. In fact, when Baby wasn’t around, they were great conversationalists. That was rare. Lately, it seemed as if the three of them were joined at the hip. By the amount of empty glasses in front of the group, it appeared they had been there for quite some time.
I squared my shoulders and faced my cohorts. The trio had been known to get into some deep conversations while drinking, and they always wanted me to end their arguments. According to them, I was the smartest man in the club because I owned a bookstore and read a lot. Well, to their credit, I had earned a bachelor’s degree in literature from King’s College in London, as well as a master’s from Oxford. I guess that qualified me to confidently resolve the age-old questions of which was better, left Twix or right Twix, or my personal favorite, would I choose the red or blue pill. Before I could be drawn into the shenanigans, the First Lady of the club, Mouse swooped in and saved me.
“Librarian, you made it! T.J. has been nonstop talking about her date with you. She is waiting for you in the playroom. Fair warning, I had to give her some chocolate to keep her from flipping out, so she may be a little hyper.”
I chuckled at her assessment of her daughter. T.J. was the club princess. Every member who encountered the little imp fell in love at first sight. The two-year-old had everyone wrapped around her perfect little finger. Tonight I was reading her a bedti
me story. It was our special time together. Everyone had their own special thing that bonded them with the princess and mine was books. She loved my stories that I wrote just for her. Tonight’s selection was a custom written story about a cat.
“I’m sure she is pumped and ready for this new story then. I better get in there before she tears the hinges off the place.”
I tipped my head at the first lady and made my way into the playroom where the sweetest girl in the world was waiting for me. T.J. was a gorgeous little girl with long curly hair and a smile that could light the darkest night sky. Her rambunctious personality guaranteed there was never a dull time when she was around. I wanted several just like her one day.
“Hey, cutie pie. How’s my girl today?”
“Uncy Grant!!! Yeah!!! Story time! Story time!”
She dropped the doll she had been playing with and rushed to me, as I bent down to sweep her in my arms. Her hugs were the best thing since sliced bread. Kids were so genuine. You never had to guess what they were feeling. The world hadn’t tainted them yet, so their emotions were raw and honest. It was a quality I wished adults could keep as they aged.
“I have a surprise for you! Remember the story you wanted me to tell you about the kitty?”
She nodded her little head as her big green eyes beamed up at me.
“Well, I finished it! Are you ready to hear all about Bodhi the cat and his wild adventures?”
“Yeah, Bodhi!!!”
I carried T.J. over to the little area in the corner of the playroom that had been designated the reading nook. I lowered us onto the purple suede chaise that was large enough for three adults to sit comfortably and began reading. T.J. snuggled into the crook of my arm. As she tangled her tiny hands into my shoulder length hair, she fell silent and listened to the story I had written just for her.
Her face was a myriad of emotions as my voice changed with each character. She excitedly kicked her feet and wiggled back and forth when the kitty sang his signature song. She clapped happily when the words ‘The End’ were read, and then she begged for me to read it again. It was a hit! I loved it when she enjoyed my stories. Her silly little prattle was worth more than the thousand five-star reviews I received for my last book.
“Again! Again! Read it again! Please, Uncy Grant.”
I could never resist that sweet little voice and those big hopeful eyes. She could have asked for a million dollars, and I would have happily written her a check. Laughing at her enthusiasm over the story, I opened the book and started from the beginning. On my third go round, she fell asleep on my chest. Her father, Ace, the president of the MC, came into the playroom to check on us and saw his sleeping angel. The smile on his face grew just a bit as he strode over to the chaise.
“What’s up, Librarian? I see she is knocked out. How many times did she make you read the story?”
I chuckled at his observation. Ace knew his daughter well.
“Hey, Pres! Yeah, third time’s a charm with this little one.”
“Sounds about right. She loves those stories you write for her. You should really think about selling them online. You could make a bundle. You know they have that self-publishing thing on Amazon™. I heard it can be lucrative.”
“Naw,” I shook my head. “I write these exclusively for T.J., She would be mad if other people were reading her stories.”
“Yea, I guess you’re right. With all her uncles and aunts, not to mention her mother spoiling her rotten, she is not a good sharer. I am going to have to work on that.”
The big man lifted his tiny child from my chest and snuggled into her. He could complain all he wanted about the rest of us spoiling T.J., but everyone knew Ace was her biggest victim. He was definitely a girl dad. As I watched him kiss his little girl’s cheek, my phone buzzed. My agent.
“I need to take this. Excuse me, Pres. I’ll see you all later.”
“Later, Librarian. I need to put this little one to bed. See you at church on Monday.”
I waved at Ace as he walked out of the room. Pressing the accept button on my phone, I brought it to my ear and answered the call before it could go to voicemail.
“This is Grant.”
“Hi, Grant, this is Sabrina. I have an update about your latest book. Wright Time Publishing is not wasting any time. They want to do a flash release of your latest book, Honey Dripper.”
After chatting with my agent and working out the details of the book release, I left the clubhouse before I could be dragged into any more debates and headed to my sanctuary. As I settled in my chair to read over my latest manuscript, my eyes drifted to the empty couch. My house was quiet and cold. I wish my woman was sitting there giving her support, but that didn’t happen because I was single with no prospects to speak of. As I drifted off to sleep that night, I couldn’t help but pray for my life partner to find me soon. I was tired of waking up to cold sheets on one side of the bed.
Bottoms Up by L. Loren
Summary
HARLEY
I was mortified when my best friend tricked me into spending my birthday weekend on a luxury yacht full of sugar daddies. I may like older men, but I don’t make it my business to sleep with them for trinkets.
When the lecherous old man refused to take no for an answer, my hero, clad in a pristine white captain’s uniform saved the day.
Now all I want is for the silver fox named Mateus to take me to his cabin and make me his.
Mateus
It was love at first sight. Well, maybe it was lust, but who cares. All I could think about was capturing the heart of the beautiful woman on my preference sheet. She was a charter guest, which meant off limits.
When that bastard put his hands on her in front of me, it changed the game. All bets were out the window and I went into protective mode. I played a game of Mr. Steal Your Girl and won. Now she’s mine and I’m never letting go. I have an insatiable thirst that only she can quench.
BOTTOMS UP is an interracial erotic romance (BWWM) with a HEA. It is a part of the Lunchtime Chronicles series which can be read as standalone novels.
WARNING: This book contains explicit sex and graphic language.
Chapter 1
Harley
My name is Harley Madison. I am a six-foot-tall, dark skinned black woman with an MBA from the University of Miami. I’m a trust fund baby who owns her own business, and I am about to go to jail for murdering my best friend. You know why? Because, of my addiction. Don’t worry. No druggie here. Well, not in the traditional sense of the word. I am addicted to caffeine! Coffee! The good stuff. If I don’t get my fix before I see my bestie, there is going to be big trouble.
Paradyce, the chick I consider closer than blood, has been texting me nonstop for the last half hour. She was the only one who contacted me this early in the morning. I groggily swiped at the screen of my phone to stop the offending sound and sat up in bed. Ugh, I needed more sleep. After reading the texts I wanted to throw the phone across the room. That was the lack of coffee in my system talking. Generally, I was a happy go lucky type of girl, but not before my infusion.
Dyce: The Big 3-0 is coming!
Dyce: Did you forget?
Did she really think I had forgotten her thirtieth birthday was coming up? I shook my head in disbelief. Our birthdays were a day apart and we have celebrated them together since we were thirteen. I was trying to think of a response when the phone chimed again.
Dyce: Hello!
Dyce: Where RU?
Dyce: Answer me
Dyce: RU Sleep?
Dyce: Hit me up
If she kept this up, I was going to have a huge headache to go along with my grogginess.
Dyce: On God. If u don’t call me, we’re done.
Dyce: Did you hook up last night?
Damn, now that she mentioned it, I could use a good piece of dick to take the edge off. My mood swings have been out of order lately. Like mama used to say, a nice piece of dick could cure all that ails you. Problem was, the
only one I ever experienced was attached to a man who was incapable of staying faithful. Hence the reason I finally kicked his cheating ass to the curb a few weeks ago. I drifted into my own thoughts about my ex, Stanley.
As Paradyce continued to bombard me with text messages about her plans for our birthdays, I began to get more and more intrigued. I should have some say in what I did and where I went for my own birthday, but she took so much pleasure in planning I usually just went along with it.
Dyce: Chica, I have secured a sponsor for our birthday celebration. We are headed to the Caribbean. Sun, fun, a yacht and lots of hot deck hands.
Me: Sponsor? Kill me now!
Dyce: Have you had your coffee? You need it.
Me: I barely had any sleep. You know we had inventory at the store last night. I just laid down about two hours ago. GO AWAY!
When the phone chimed a couple of seconds later, I pulled the duvet over my head and kicked my feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum. Keeping my head under the cover, I read the text with one eye open.
Dyce: NOT MY PROBLEM! Get your tired ass up! We have shopping to do. Be there in 15.
This chick here. I groaned because I knew she would not let me sleep. Dragging myself out of bed, I found my way into the bathroom to get ready for an exhaustive day of shopping on Lincoln Road. I hated shopping in those ostentatious designer stores with overpriced clothes that most people couldn’t afford, but somehow managed to wear. It was my worst nightmare come true, but it was a part of my bestie duties. If I didn’t love the girl so much, I would bail.
Dyce was one of those people who live for the fashions, darling. It was an expensive habit that I had no interest in partaking. Living in a tropical climate meant I could wear as little as possible at all times and I loved it. I would be a beach bum if my father would have allowed it. Board shorts, bra tops, and anything that would show off my canvas of tattoos was my comfort zone. I didn’t need red bottoms pinching my feet when I had the sickest collection of sneakers in Dade County. Nor did I need designer dresses cutting off my circulation, when I could just throw on shorts and a tank and be happy. Relaxation and comfort were my main concerns when buying clothes, not labels and who wore it best competitions on social media.
