by Lilli Feisty
Question is, how deeply involved is she in her ex’s drug dealing—if at all? If she’d stay out of his way long enough to find out, he wouldn’t have to put his own mission in danger to keep protecting her from her ex…and herself.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Sting of Desire:
Harry gunned his Harley up an almost vertical street. As he crested the top of F’illmont Street, the San Francisco skyline appeared, its multicolored lights reminding him of the Christmas trees his mother used to decorate many years ago. But even happy childhood memories couldn’t knock the thoughts of Sandine out of his head. If anything, the contrast only succeeded in furthering the self-disgust that had settled in the pit of his belly, a feeling that had been fermenting ever since the adrenaline rush of being with Sandine had dissipated.
He eased up on the throttle slightly to rumble through a stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Why had she trusted him? Her trust—that was what had put him over the edge, that was what had gone straight to his heart, his head. The smoky look in her eyes, the moan on her lips, the tremble in her legs. All of it killed him.
She’d submitted to him completely.
He hit the throttle, his black coat flying behind him in flapping waves. It didn’t take a fucking shrink to figure out he was attempting to outrun his feelings.
His Harley wasn’t that fast.
She had wanted him to do it. He knew that, just as he knew he liked his steaks rare and his showers hot. She wanted him to master her, and he had liked doing it too. A lot. But the guilt had sucked the lingering pleasure from him like a leech would fresh blood.
Nothing made sense.
Before he had started this case a file had been dropped on his desk. Sex Clubs for Dummies, he’d called it. But he’d read it—he always studied a case voraciously before he went in. He liked to be prepared, with weapons and knowledge. And so he had gone in armed with more than a whip, some guns and a few knives. He’d gone in with information.
Over the past three weeks he’d seen others engage in similar acts, and sometimes he’d felt a slight stirring of sexual excitement, but for the most part he’d been able to keep those feelings in check and stay focused. He’d been in control.
But nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming adrenaline rush of whipping Sandine. Which begged the question he’d been asking himself for an hour. Was it her or the act itself that had affected him with such intensity?
Or was it the combination?
Either way, what it came down to was he had beaten a woman and derived pleasure from doing so.
Inflicting pain—the act went against the very foundation of his ethical beliefs. Morals that had been drilled into his head ever since he could remember. His father had been a doctor, donating his time and services all over the world. The man had been a champion for those less fortunate than he. He’d been a spokesperson for peace. A hero.
Harry wasn’t a hero, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a cop—a good cop—and shouldn’t that mean something? What it should mean is that he didn’t get off on that sort of thing. His father would roll over in his grave at the thought.
Yet, the feeling that had come over him while he did it—while he’d whipped Sandine—a sense of calm mixed with elation, was odd and thrilling and hit him like a drug. It was similar to the way his body reacted just before a freefall jump.
So, now you aren’t satisfied with extreme sports, you need extreme sex too?
He gunned his bike up another hill, feeling like he was about to drive straight into the sky. All he could think about was holding her, making sure she was okay. Some primal, protective instinct beat in his chest, unlike anything he’d felt before.
He didn’t understand it, any of it. Sure, he had done his research and knew the basic psychology of why Le Cheval held allure for so many people. But he had thought himself above all that. In fact, that was why the chief had picked him for this job. Unlike half the force, Harry’s preferred flavor was vanilla.
Wasn’t it?
Sandine eased into the claw-foot bathtub, closing her eyes as the water enveloped her tight limbs into its warmth. Taking a few deep breaths, she attempted to center herself. Something had happened tonight, a part of her mind had unlocked, and she needed to know what had triggered it.
All she saw was Harry, circling her, cracking that whip with a mastery that had melted her. And that was what he had done tonight—mastered her. Dominated her. Opened her up and let her go.
He amazed her. Her mind floated from how he’d played her earlier. Adrenaline thrummed lightly through her body.
And yet she had no idea who he was, this man who had saved her from Cain’s anger.
Rubbing the scrapes around her wrists, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. A fucking Tarot reader, trained in divination from birth—how could she have acted so impulsively, with no pause to listen to her own intuition? What would have happened if Harry hadn’t been there to intervene?
She sighed as the warm water lapped at the trace of a line where his whip had struck her outer thigh. The reddened skin would be fine by tomorrow, but she wanted the proof to remain. Wanted to see his mark on her skin.
It had been hours since she’d seen him and still her body tingled from the caress of Harry’s lips on her skin, the feel of his large, warm fingers sliding into her body, the sting of his whip across her ass. Lightly touching her lip, she recalled the way his tongue had caressed the inside of her mouth. So natural, that kiss.
She had been so close to coming—simply thinking of the pleasure he had given her put her on the edge of an orgasm.
Again.
She closed her eyes, imagined him kissing her now, recalled his taste of whiskey. Whiskey and smoke.
She lightly pinched a sore nipple. Like a familiar lover, Harry had loosened the nipple clamps exactly enough to give her sharp pleasure. She raised her legs, rested her calves on the edge of the cold ceramic tub. She touched her ribs and moved lower, could feel the leather of his whip wrapping around her waist. The crack of the whip seemed to echo in her ear.
The water lapped at her skin as she submerged her hand to trace her shaved S, where she lingered for a moment before touching herself between her legs. Even in water her pussy felt wet and slick on her hand, and as she caressed her sex she pretended it was Harry’s hand teasing her. His hands were lovely—long and confident, like the rest of him.
The look in his eyes as he had circled her, snapping his whip on the ground, reminded her of the lion trainer who had traveled in the cirque with her family. Like Harry, the trainer had been tall and lean, and even as a girl she had been fascinated with the graceful way the man had wielded his tool, the way he could coax a roaring beast into submission with a few controlled flicks of his wrist.
She slid her fingers to her clit, rubbed that throbbing point until she gasped, watched her toes go stiff. Her pulse began to race as she recalled the bound woman in the chair, the way her face had contorted in pleasure as the kneeling man licked her very center. Le Cheval had been throbbing with energy tonight, and Sandine had soaked it in like a plant does water. Her veins still hummed from the palpable excitement, feeding a long-forgotten part of her soul.
Ironically, despite her public display earlier, here she was alone, masturbating. But even this felt different, more exciting. She thought of Harry as she rubbed her clit and pinched her nipple, trying to find the exact pressure he had applied earlier. She couldn’t get it right, damn it. God, if only he were here to do it again…
She remembered how she had wanted him to fuck her, how she had begged him for it.
Moaning, she slid her hand deeper into the folds of her sex, palming herself as he had done. It wasn’t exactly right—her hand felt small in comparison—but at least it provided some degree of gratification. When she pushed two fingers into her body, working them in and out, she gasped in pleasure.
She wanted it all. She wanted Harry to fuck her, lick her, whip her—pain and pleasu
re—
She wanted him.
She climaxed, her body shuddering before each muscle froze, her legs spread wide and slung over the edge of the tub, his name on her lips. And as her heartbeat slowed and her eyes drifted open he was there, leaning against the sink. Watching her.
He gave her that crooked grin. “You called?”
A Muse Me
© 2006 S. L. Carpenter
He lost his inspiration but found his muse in the Caribbean…in the arms of a woman.
It’s a slow death for a writer when the only key getting used on his keyboard is “Delete”. His writer’s block is firmly in place like a wall. All there is to do is bang his head against it.
What to do? A change of scenery might help—say a week in the tropics. If nothing else, it will warm his idle fingers and ease his worried mind. A getaway for the mind and soul.
Reservations made, Eugune flies to Aruba in search of answers to his problems. What he finds is more than a couple of fruit drinks with umbrellas in them. On the white sandy beaches, wrapped in almost nothing but a tan is someone who sparks his imagination and ignites his creative flow. He finds his Muse!
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Muse Me:
He tugged the bathroom door open and went in. The slight tremble of turbulence made him stumble a bit as he flipped the occupied lock. He jerked upright, startled by his reflection in the flickering light.
Eugene felt a sense of pride knowing his words had actually affected this woman, especially after her comments from earlier. Standing above the toilet, he held his hand against the wall to maintain balance and used the other hand to hold something else. Trying to pee with a boner is tough. You either pee on the wall or hold onto something sturdy and let it rip. He decided to think of different things to calm his manly appendage down. He let his mind wander and closed his eyes.
He thought of Niagara Falls, a running water faucet, and a beer tap pouring a pitcher. For a moment he thought that urine and beer on tap looked a lot alike. Then he felt the flow release and sighed heavily. Anybody who had fought against a boner and an overactive bladder would sympathize with Eugene’s peril.
He washed his hands, showing proper cleanliness technique, and looked at himself in the mirror. What a stud. His hair dark was combed perfectly. With a grin, he recited his favorite line from a debonair man who women adored. “Bond…James Bond.” A tapping on the door made him quicken the drying of his hands.
Opening the small door, he saw her standing in front of him. She didn’t say anything but her breathing was quick and shallow. Her eyes looked into Eugene’s and the intensity of her inner fire scorched his passionate soul. His boner returned quickly, feeling the sexual fever from her simple stare.
The woman forced her way into the tiny bathroom. Her eyes talked for her. She wanted Eugene.
Their mouths met in a dance of tongues and saliva. She was hot and her hands groped at Eugene’s body, tugging and squeezing.
Eugene grabbed her shoulders, pushing her against the small sink. The thin fabric of her blouse couldn’t conceal the hardened tips of her nipples poking out, begging to be suckled. With animalistic urgency he tore her blouse open, revealing the silken lace of her black bra.
Eugene dove forward, licking her nipple through the fabric and causing her to groan. His other hand reached between her legs, seeking her heated heart. She widened her legs, causing her skirt to rise and Eugene found his treasure. As he slid his hand along her inner thigh he could feel the heat and touched the wetness of her flesh. She wore no underwear, which Eugene appreciated, and his fingers began to toy with the opening of her slippery cunt.
This woman was aroused to the point of explosion and Eugene wanted to feel her convulse around his cock as they feverishly fucked. The Mile High Club needed a new member and he wanted to be the one to join.
Her moaning made Eugene even hotter and hornier. The pressure of his cock pushing against his pants was becoming painful. He was aroused and his blood heated to a boil of desire with lustful anticipation for this beautiful creature. They had cable television channels for this kind of encounter, things like this weren’t reality. Things like this didn’t happen to him. This was the kind of kinky, erotic fantasy usually only found in books, especially his books.
The woman pulled at Eugene’s neck, digging her red fingernails into his skin. Obviously, she wanted more. As their mouths came closer together, his finger slid within the velvety wetness of her tight pussy. While they kissed, he let his finger swirl in her juices. Her pussy tightened and loosened as his finger delved deeper and moved in a circular motion, widening her inner walls.
She was an inferno of desire and threw her head back. With Eugene’s fingers rubbing her engorged clit, her moans signaled she was close to climaxing. She brushed her fingers along the beads of perspiration across the front of her neck and began to suck on her fingertips, moaning with pleasure.
She unleashed her inner slut, grabbing Eugene’s shirt and yanking him forward. She kissed him lustfully again then pushed him back. He slammed against the door with a loud thud. Her eyes burned with desire as she tugged at his pants, seeing the bulge swelling inside. Her passion rose to an unquenchable thirst for sex.
She finally unfastened his belt and lowered the zipper. Her jaw dropped as she saw his cock for the first time as it stuck out, pointing like a sword. A small dribble of drool trickled from the corner of her lips as she knelt down before him. Her lips were red and moist. His cock began to throb in anticipation as she hovered above it, teasing the head with her tongue.
She looked up at Eugene, longingly and panting with desire and finally spoke.
“Peanuts?”
Eugene replied. “Peanuts? What the fuck are you talking about? Those are my balls, not peanuts.”
“Would you like some peanuts?”
Something magic this way comes…
Wicked Sexy
© 2010 R.G. Alexander
Wicked ³, Book 1
Callie has always known the Abbotts were different. Witches, though they call themselves “Magians”. They are her second family. Harrison Abbott has been her best friend since they were children. Tucker Abbott, her life-long crush. And their brother, Tyghe? A magical pain in her backside.
When the Abbotts need her human perspective to solve a mystery, she doesn’t hesitate. Especially since it means getting everything she ever wanted. A chance to be one of them, to have magic, even if it’s only temporary.
Someone is attacking young women at Triune, a ritual that helps Magians find their perfect threesome—the match that will complete their magic and their hearts. Callie expected to be dazzled by her first glimpse into the Magian world, but the bone-melting desire between her and the Abbott brothers isn’t part of the plan.
Nor is the decades-old secret that makes her the target of a killer…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wicked Sexy:
Tucker lifted her chin, turning her face up to his. He looked lighter than she’d seen him in a long time. Younger. “Tyghe told me about the energy you were giving off at the salon. I saw for myself what one of us can do to you.” His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, but Callie saw it. “We are compatible, Callie. There is no doubt in my mind. Now as beautiful as that dress is, I think its time to take it off.”
Tyghe surprised them both by ducking his knees and lifting Callie over his shoulder, carrying her, she soon realized, to the wall with the handcuffs. “Oh, hell.”
He spanked her bottom playfully. “Don’t play coy with us, wicked girl. It wouldn’t be in here if you weren’t at least curious. And I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” He set her down, lifting her hand to place a kiss inside her palm, his tongue tracing her life line. Callie shivered, and he smiled, slipping one faux-fur lined cuff around her wrist. “In the spirit of honesty, you should know this is not the first time Tucker and I have shared a woman.”
Tucker swore and Callie flinched, but Tyghe wouldn’t release her free hand
, methodically closing the cuff with a loud click. “In fact,” he continued, grunting when he adjusted the chains to raise her arms above her head, avoiding her knee. “For a year or two there, we developed quite the reputation. I’d ‘Tyghe her up’, and he’d ‘Tucker her out’. Remember that, Tuck?”
Callie glared at him, but it was herself she was angry with. Tied up, the two men staring intently at her, undressing her, she was still aroused. Tyghe unhooked the now flame red dress from behind her neck, letting it drop to the floor, leaving her exposed in nothing but her underwear and heels. She loved the fire that lit in their stormy eyes. She had no shame. They’d done this with other women, and she didn’t care. At least, not enough to ask them to stop.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t torture them the same way they were torturing her. “Thanks for the history lesson.” She jerked her arms, jangling the chains. “This isn’t my first rodeo either.”
Tyghe’s smile was tight. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t talking about what we did the other night? You mean your old boyfriend. How could we forget good old Mitchell? The rebel without applause.”
“There was nothing wrong with Mitchell.” He just wasn’t Tucker…or Tyghe.
“There was nothing right about him, either.” Tucker grumbled under his breath, surprising her. The few times he’d come out with Harrison when Callie was with Mitchell, he’d always been polite.
“He’s the reason Tucker went a little wild for a while. Mitchell was the first guy you seemed serious about, the first one who hung around long enough to meet all of us. I think Tucker fucked his way through half the single females in Boston before he came up for air.”
“Tyghe, you’re a bastard.” Tucker was unbuttoning his black shirt, his gaze snared by Callie’s hardening nipples.
“Yeah, I’m the bastard. I just didn’t want her hero worship to blind her to the fact that I’m not the only sinner in this room.”
Callie started, her gaze colliding with the vulnerability in Tyghe’s grey eyes. They’d been more intimate in the last few days than she’d ever allowed herself to be with another. Made love in positions and places that made her blush to think about. But they’d never spoken of her reaction to Tucker’s touch. Never spoken of Tyghe’s insecurities. Callie had believed he’d gotten over his concerns. Until now. Now she could see that he was still worried, even after all they’d done, that he’d be pushed aside for his older brother. As much as she wanted Tucker to touch her, as much as the revelation that he’d been jealous of her last relationship thrilled her, she couldn’t let Tyghe think she didn’t want him just as much.
