by Opal Carew
The desk’s surface is now as bare as I am. I perch on the edge of the wood, pull the pins from my hair, releasing the tendrils. They tumble over my shoulders, the caress of hair against my skin sensual.
I lean back, erotic succor presented on the wood, blessed by the goddesses of love and lust. My nipples are taut. My pussy is wet, my folds glistening.
“Beautiful.” Rob enters the office and stops short, his gaze as heated as my core, promises of sin in his eyes. “Stocks, cars, vacations, and other perks aren’t incentives for me.” He closes the door and locks it. “You are what I work for, the only reward I want, I need.”
“This reward has to be earned.” I give him my best come-and-get-me smile.
“I’ll satisfy you.” He strips off his clothing quickly, not looking away from me. The man is hard all over, his biceps bulging, his stomach flat and his cock erect. “It’ll be my name you call tonight and always.”
“You’ll call my name first.” I lift my chin, intent on winning this challenge. “I’ll please you so well, you won’t remember any of the women in your past.” I spread my legs.
“Were there other women before you?” Rob wedges his hips between my thighs, pressing his cock against my wetness. “I’ve already forgotten them.”
“Good.” I wrap my arms and legs around him, drawing him to me. “Because I deserve all of your devotion.”
“You have it.” He lowers his head, rests his cheek on the curve of my breast, facing the pendant he gave me.
I hold him, allowing him to relax for a couple of minutes, enjoying the feel of his body against mine, the reassuring weight of him. He needs this, needs me, the comfort I give him.
“I’m not officially moving in with you until Wednesday,” I murmur into his curls. “The men weren’t free today or tomorrow.”
“You’ll unofficially live with me until then.” Rob lifts his head and meets my gaze.
This isn’t a question. I answer it anyway. “If I do that, I expect sex—lots and lots of sex.”
“I can give you that.” He slides his shaft between my feminine folds, slicking his skin with my juices. “I’ll throw in equal doses of kissing.”
“That’s a generous offer.” I nod. “How about groping?” I reach between us and cup his balls. “I enjoy groping.” I gently squeeze him.
He jerks against me. “Groping is guaranteed.” His voice deepens. “I’ll eat you out on a regular basis too.” He rubs his cock head against my clit, the contact exciting me.
“Before or after you fill me with cum?” I tilt my hips, trying to entice him inside me, needing the decadent stretch of cock in pussy.
“Before and after.” Rob pushes into me and I moan with happiness, my body pulling tight around him, the snugness sublime. “Yes, yield to me, beautiful.” He holds me still as he plunges deeper and deeper. “Surround me with softness.”
I open my mouth to call his name. Then I remember our challenge and bite on my bottom lip, severing my cry.
His eyes glitter. “You’re delightfully stubborn.” He presses his base against my pussy. “You don’t give me an inch I haven’t earned.”
“Because I know you can earn it,” I pant, impaled on his cock. “You’re the strongest, most determined man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m your match.” Rob pulls out and drives back inside me, his balls smacking against my skin, my wetness splattering on our thighs.
“Yes.” I hold onto his shoulders. “Take me.”
“I’m claiming, not taking.” He owns my body with hard, fast strokes. “Taking lasts a night. Claiming is forever.”
Fuck. He knows what to say. “More.” I bounce my heels against his ass. “Give me more.”
“All.” Rob’s grip on my hips tightens. “I’ll give you all of me.”
We rut like wild things in his office, purging the frustrations of the day, discarding memories of long meetings endured, the worries about co-workers and dear friends.
In this moment, there are only the two of us, no responsibilities, no secrets to hide, no roles to play. The scent of sex flavors the air. My panting meshes with his grunts, creating a joyous, uplifting choir of sound, lifting higher and higher to the heavens.
I focus on him, on meeting each thrust halfway, on the pure bliss of our connection, a link formed by lust and love, based on friendship and mutual respect.
Rob’s chest slaps against mine. I arch my back, offering more of my curves to this pussy-warming abuse, welcoming the erotic sting, a testament to our fucking.
He rides me with a breath-stealing ferocity. A sheen of sweat anoints us, baptizing us in pleasure. His name dangles on the tip of my tongue.
Can’t, won’t say it. I fight the urge to tell the world who has me.
“Whose cock is inside you?” Rob, my beloved bastard, pushes for the win.
“Yours.” I don’t fall for his tricks.
He growls, dissatisfied with my answer. “Whom do you love?”
“I love you.” I tremble, lifting into his thrusts. “Love you so much.”
“My name,” he demands, shaking my body with his drives forward. “Say it.”
He needs this and I can’t deny him, my love for him more powerful than my pride. “Rob,” I yell. “I love Rob, desire Rob. Please.”
His eyes flash with triumph. “You do please me, Kirsten.”
He surges forward, falls back, surges forward, falls back. I call his name to the same tempo, holding onto this and him with everything I have.
There’s no shame in surrendering, not to him. Rob would never exploit my weakness, would never disrespect my sacrifice. I’m safe in his arms, surrounded by his love. And by allowing him to win, I triumph also, my passion spiraling upward, unencumbered by the rules of our competition.
“Rob.” My voice grows hoarse with emotion, with wanting. “Yes.” I tremble, dangerously close to satisfaction, needing more, a little bit more.
“Yes.” He drives into me with all of his might. “Love.” He swivels his hips, grinding against my clit and I burst into a thousands rays of light, my release illuminating his face, casting a glow upon his skin.
Rob roars his feelings for me, the sound thunderous, and pushes deeper, bathing my pussy with hot cum, touching virgin flesh with the force of his orgasm. He pumps hard once, twice and sags against me, his shoulders shuddering.
Holy hell. I splay my fingers over his back, transformed by the experience. That wasn’t fucking. It wasn’t lovemaking. It was the merging of souls, of hearts.
I move my palms over Rob’s shoulder blades, rubbing his skin in soothing circles. He’s my man and I’m his woman. Our other roles might change. Two weeks ago, I was a project manager. Today, I’m his assistant’s assistant. Months from now, I’ll report to him directly. But this intimate relationship between us won’t ever change. We were meant to be together forever.
“Is it too soon to say I won our challenge?” he murmurs against my neck, teasing my skin with his lips.
“You’re a bastard,” I say this with affection, laughter lilting my voice. “I demand a rematch.”
Rob chuckles. “You can have all of the rematches you want, beautiful.” He lifts his head and gazes at me. “I love you so much.” He covers his lips with mine.
I love him too. I’ll tell him this as soon as we stop kissing.
Because it will be a cold day in hell before I allow him to win the I-love-you-the-most challenge. I’m the best at this as I am at everything else. If he hasn’t realized that truth by now, he will soon.
No one loves more than I do.
No one.
Excerpt - One And Done
by Cynthia Sax
(Next in the City Sizzle series)
“You’re not stagnating, gorgeous.” Mr. Sheridan hooks his arms around me and pulls my body to his.
I collide with hard muscle and gasp, surprised by the contact.
“You’re blossoming, ripe, ready, so fuckin’ ready.” The man, this handsome near-stra
nger, covers my open mouth with his, the force of his embrace driving my head back.
I clutch his shoulders, savoring the strength under his suit jacket and allow him to ravish me, too stunned to think. He plunges his tongue in and out of me, fucking my mouth, and that’s what it is—fucking. His kiss is rough and primal. His scent fills my nostrils. He tastes of the liquor he’s been drinking. I’m scorched by his touch.
By another man’s touch. Edward’s hands aren’t gripping my hips. The ridge pressing against my stomach doesn’t belong to the man I love. Edward’s tongue isn’t in my mouth, stroking mine.
I flatten my palms against Mr. Sheridan’s shoulders and push, breaking our kiss. “What are you doing?” My lips hum, swollen with passion.
“I’m seducing you.” His voice is husky. His eyes are as black as night. “The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one.”
“Get under a new one?” I blink. “You didn’t say that? Tell me I misheard you.”
“You didn’t mishear me.” His expression is adorably sincere as though he expects this cheesy line to work. “If you’re feeling down, baby, I could feel you up.”
The silliness of Mr. Sheridan’s reply meshes with the shock of Edward’s betrayal. I twitter, the sound edged with hysteria.
Mr. Sheridan lifts both of his eyebrows.
One, two, three more giggles escape my lips. “That’s bad, so very bad.”
His lips twitch. “Bad is what I do best, gorgeous.”
His corniness sets me off. I hold onto his arms and laugh so hard; tears roll down my cheeks and my stomach hurts. It feels good to let this out, the merriment releasing some of the darker emotions building inside me.
Mr. Sheridan’s chest shakes against my breasts, the tremors building in intensity until his chuckles join mine.
This gets me going again. I cling to him and laugh and laugh and laugh.
Several moments pass.
I finally sober. “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan.” I wipe the moisture from my cheeks. “I needed that.”
Mr. Sheridan slides a hand inside his suit jacket and removes a tissue. “Allow me.” He dabs it over my skin, his tender care of me soothing my battered heart. “And call me Smoke, not Mr. Sheridan.” His eyes sparkle with caramel specks.
“Smoke?” I tilt my face upward. “You’re named after the club?”
He folds the damp tissue and puts it back in his pocket. “The club is named after me.”
That can’t be his real name.
“It’s my real name.”
I lift my hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Not out loud. I had thought it.
“You didn’t have to say it.” Mr. Sheridan, Smoke, brushes his thumbs over my cheeks, leaving a trail of sweet sensation on my skin. “I’ve been answering that question for thirty-three years, since the day I was born.”
“You must have been a gifted baby.” I grin. “Speaking from birth.”
His throaty chuckle makes me happy for some reason.
“Do those lines actually work on women?” No one can be that dumb.
“On certain women, yeah.” Smoke nods. “But then any line would work on that type.”
“What type?” I lean into him, relishing his warmth.
“Women, girls really, wanting nothing more than a good fuck, no strings attached.” He unsticks a curl from my forehead. “No one expects a man using those lines to stay around. I can hit it and quit it and no one gets hurt.”
“Hmmm…” That makes sense. I guess. I examine him. “Is that why you’re dressed like a 1970’s Las Vegas lounge singer tonight? You’re looking for a casual fling?”
His lips quirk upward. “I dress like this every night, but yeah, that’s one of the reasons.” Smoke pushes my hair behind my ears, his touch gentle. “So what do you say, baby? You want to rock my world?”
“That’s tempting but I’ll pass. There will be no rebound sex.” I meet his gaze. “I don’t want to do anything now that I’ll feel guilty about tomorrow.”
“There’s no tomorrow, only here and now.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s no way to live.”
“It works for me.” Smoke shrugs. “But hey, I understand why you’re saying no.”
“Good.”
“You’re holding on to what you had with Eddy.” He plays with my hair. “Trying to make another impossible relationship work.”
About Cynthia Sax
USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.
She lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you,” they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.
Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.
Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com
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Going Down
Dive masters #1
Jayne Rylon
Three SCUBA instructors, who happen to be sexual dominants, are about to take the ultimate plunge. If you’re extraordinarily lucky, you’ll be invited to join them on The Divemaster, where work and pleasure go hand in hand. Welcome aboard!
Archer Banks relishes his carefree lifestyle. Together with friends and fellow divemasters Miguel Torrez and Tosin Ellis, he travels the world, SCUBA diving by day, entertaining lonely female tourists by night. Until his father dies, instantly transforming Archer from a beach bum to a billionaire by shackling him with an enormous, undesired inheritance.
With the help of his family’s longtime butler, Archer is determined to turn his new golden handcuffs into a golden opportunity. He prays Miguel and Tosin will come along for the ride when he repurposes his family’s mega-yacht into a vessel well-suited for both work and hardcore play.
Never in his worst nightmares does he expect their maiden voyage to be such rough sailing. Not only is Archer’s old crush, Waverly Adams, among their passengers, but the men have also stumbled upon a vast sunken treasure—one worth killing for.
Waverly surprises Archer with an alluring naughtiness he never got the chance to experience in their younger days. Busy accepting the challenge she issues his dominant side in The Divemaster’s onboard club every night, he might be distracted and short on sleep. But could he also be blind to more dangerous facets of her personality?
When the divemasters can no longer deny there’s foul play at hand, will Archer be going down with the ship, cursed by his family’s fortune, or will Waverly turn out to be the woman of his most wicked dreams?
Going Down
Jayne Rylon
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Copyright © 2016 Jayne Rylon
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www.jaynerylon.com
For Mr. Rylon, who has sacrificed by traveling to each gorgeous setting in the Divemasters books even though he’s afraid of flying, then explored them along with me to be sure my research was as thorough as possible. I know that was a tough job for you ;)
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You’re the best SCUBA buddy a girl could ask for (except for that time you were sure my dive computer had gotten stolen when it was actually in your BCD pocket for the whole week of diving). I hope you enjoy the character I made you in this series…not that you read my books! But just in case, someday, you peek inside this one.
Chapter 1
Archer Banks’s ringing cell trampled the tropical night symphony composed o
f lulling waves, chirping bugs, and rustling palms. He would have fumbled around on the nightstand to silence the racket if an armful of bronzed, slender woman hadn’t stopped him. After rolling the beach bunny off his chest, he settled her gently on the edge of his double bed. Refusing to be distracted by her wild, sun-bleached mane, or the way the moonlight streaming in the window highlighted her damn-near-perfect ass, he forced his dick’s attention from the adorable snuffle she surrendered as she burrowed into his lumpy pillow.
Archer turned his back on all that natural beauty. He rebelled against everything in his soul by lunging instead for one of the only remnants of offensive technology he allowed to intrude in his life. He didn’t have a choice, really, since the hunk of plastic threatened the integrity of his eardrums by refusing to shut the fuck up.
Only one contact in the entire world had been programmed with the specific God-awful racket that now blared from his phone. The man who was instructed to interrupt Archer’s solitude only in a life-or-death emergency.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Phone in hand, halfway unlocked, he launched himself from the freshly laundered sheets, which smelled of sunshine and ocean spray. He growled to the caller, “Don’t expect me to rush to that bastard’s side for some kind of deathbed confessional.”
Archer figured he maybe should have said hello first. His bitterness had rushed out like pus from a festering wound before he could manage anything else. Odd, since he would have sworn these old injuries were scarred over by now.
“No need. He’s gone.” The familiar voice on the other end of the line, thousands of miles away, made Archer more homesick than the news of his own loss. “It was fast. Painless. Though probably traumatizing for the young ladies your father was attempting to have sex with when the stroke hit.”
