by Opal Carew
Aidan grips my hair and pushes into my mouth as Dan pinches my clit and thrusts his thick cock inside me.
Too much. Too much sensation. Too much pleasure. I tip over the edge, screaming my release around Aidan’s shaft. My vision dims and I arch as my climax tears through me, ripping my body apart with shards of exquisite pleasure.
"Jesus. Fuck. She’s hot." Aidan thrusts so deep I choke. He lets out a ragged groan and I feel his climax, his cock pumping in my throat.
He pulls out just as I am on the verge of panic and I suck in a deep breath. Dan pulls out with a low groan, that tells me he hasn’t had his release.
“Dan?”
“Later, sweetheart.”
I collapse on the bed, roll to my back. Aidan and Dan settle down on either side of me. Dan is still erect, his shaft hard and hot to the touch.
"I was surprised when you called your limit, Dan." Aidan runs his hand idly over my body, tracing my curves, my breasts, the soft down of my needing-to-be waxed mound. "You're damn possessive. I didn't pick that up when we first met."
"I didn’t know I still felt that way,” Dan says. “After that first kiss, it took a lot of restraint not to pick you up and toss you through the window."
"Well, then I'll enjoy it while I can." Aidan leans over and brushes a kiss over my cheek.
They touch me while we chat about the town, the people we know, sports and vacations in which we share an interest. Hands on my breasts, fingers on my pussy, lips on my skin. The entire experience is almost surreal. Dan's shaft, hard and hot, presses into my side, and soon I am wet, throbbing, and needing to come all over again.
"Play time is over," Dan says abruptly.
Aidan gives me one last kiss on the cheek. "I didn't think you'd make it this long." He pulls on his clothes and gives me a wink. "Best I've had without doing the deed."
"Thank you for coming." I don't know what else to say. Miss Manners doesn't cover ménages in her books.
He looks over at Dan and nods. "Thanks for sharing her. Call me anytime."
After the door closes, Dan cups my jaw with his hand. "First and last time. I can't handle sharing you again."
He slides out from under me and sheaths himself with a condom from the dresser. Then he lunges over me, his forearms braced on either side of my head, his body strong and hard above me.
"You're mine, Kylie. Part of me got off watching you get off, but the other part wanted to tear him apart limb from limb. You belong to me. Your body, your soul, your pleasure. Mine.”
Exhilaration soars through me. He wants me, loves me. Just the way I am.
“And you’re mine,” I whisper, but he is caught up in the moment, soaring on his alpha high.
“You don’t kiss other men,” Dan lifts my chin and gives me a look that makes my stomach quiver. “You don’t want other men. You don’t fuck other men. Especially men like him." His mouth descends on mine, hard and rough. Claiming. Possessing. “I should spank your ass for the way you kissed him, but I want you too damn bad.” He tweaks my nipple, then gives it hard pinch. “I was going to be gentle, make love to you once we were alone, but I can’t. I need to know you’re mine, Kylie so I’m going to take you hard and I’m going to mark you so you never forget.”
His words, his tone, the raw need and desire in his voice, all make my insides melt and my folds swell and throb. “Yes.”
"Fuck." He lifts my leg up to his shoulder, spreading me wide, and then he thrusts into me so hard my back arches off the bed. "Look what you fucking do to me,” he growls. “You drive me out of my fucking mind." He buries his head in my neck, gently biting the sensitive skin, then he sucks it hard between his teeth. Pleasure mixes with pain and I gasp with his every groaning thrust. Heat spreads through me, beating back the last of the chill that settled in my heart over the last few years. My hands slip from his shoulders, unable to grip. My eyes close, unable to see. I am surrounded by him. Taken. Possessed. Loved.
"Let it go, sweetheart. Let it go for me."
He slides his hand between us to stroke my clit, his fingers rough on my sensitive tissue and the fierce coil inside me comes undone in a blinding surge of electric pleasure. My hips buck against his hand and he strokes me into another violent release that strips me of everything but the feel of his thick cock filling me, pounding against my womb.
“Kylie.” He gives a deep growl and stiffens, his fingers tight on my hips as he climaxes with short, hard jerks inside me.
For a long minute, he doesn’t move, then he covers me with his body, taking his weight on his forearms. “I gave you a damn good hickey,” he says. “You’re gonna have trouble hiding that from the state inspectors.”
“I’m more worried about hiding it from the boys.”
He gives a satisfied grunt, then rolls to his back, pulling me into his side. I rest my head on his broad chest, nuzzling his salt and pepper hair. Was it only two days ago that I lay far away on the other side of the bed, clothed and waiting for him to turn off the light?
“I’ll aim lower next time.” His fingers brush over the sore spot on my neck, already sensitive to touch. “I plan to keep you permanently marked.”
“How about something simpler?” I lean up to nuzzle his jaw, rough with a five o’clock shadow. “Like a pendant that says, ‘Keep off’ or ‘My woman.’”
“Maybe for your next birthday.” He caresses my breast, glides his hand over my curves, brushes his fingers over my mound. The way he touches me—soft, lingering, almost absent caresses—makes me feel beautiful. Desired. Loved.
“This one is going to be hard to beat,” I whisper.
“’cause you got a dentist?”
“No.” I lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet. “Because I got you.”
Thanks for reading Naughty Wishes. I hope you enjoyed it!
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If you would like to check out an excerpt from Against the Ropes, the first book in my bestselling MMA fighter erotic romance series, please read on.
Excerpt - Against the Ropes (Redemption, #1)
“Tell me naughty things,” Max says.
The DJ takes down the tempo with Alicia Keys’ “Fallin’.” A tremor shivers through me. “Like what? I don’t really do naughty talking.”
Max lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “Like ‘hand.’”
“‘Hand’ isn’t naughty.” I quiver as his lips feather up my arm and tickle my elbow.
“Oh, you don’t know how naughty it can be,” he rumbles, as he peppers tiny kisses over my shoulder. “Say ‘shoulder.’”
“Shoulder. Max, what are you doing?”
He slides his hot, wet lips to the sensitive hollow at the base of my throat, sending tingles down to my core.
“Say ‘neck,’” his deep voice demands.
“Neck.” My heartbeat quickens; my lips part. We sway to the music, our bodies melded together as he plays his curious game.
He leans down and nibbles my lips, teasing them open. His kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet. But his lips are firm. “Say ‘lips,’” he whispers.
“Lips.”
“Good girl.” His lips brush over my ear, his breath hot and moist on my skin. Suddenly, I feel very, very naughty and very, very aroused.
He runs his hand over my hips, in and out on my waist, and along my ribcage. My body trembles, anticipating where he might go next. He brushes his fingers ever so gently over the exposed curve of my breast under my dress. “Say ‘breast,’ baby.”
Want to read the rest? Against the Ropes is available in all e-book formats, paperback and digital audio.
About Sarah Castille
Sarah Castille is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Redemption Series, Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club series, Legal Heat series, Ruin & Revenge series and the Club Excelsior series. A recovering lawyer with a fondness for dirty-talking alpha males, she now is a full-time writer, who lives on Vancouver Island. She writes contemporary and erotic romance
and romantic suspense for Sourcebooks Casablanca, Samhain Publishing, and Macmillan (St. Martin’s Press).
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The Chase
A Wicked One Night Stand
Daire St. Denis
A Wicked One Night Stand
Daire St. Denis
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Copyright © 2015 Daire St. Denis
* * *
www.dairestdenis.com
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Follow her on twitter at http://twitter.com/DaireStDenis
Like her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/dairestdenis
Chapter 1
>It's on<
Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I stare transfixed at the two words on my message app. It's on? Are you kidding me? I touch the contact name.
Rhys Blackstone.
His info comes up. Number. Email. All of it. Just as it was when he typed it into my contacts two years ago after the vintner’s class in Paris. I can still see his face, clean shaven, square jaw, the military hair cut, broad shoulders, big fucking hands holding a wine glass like he could snap it with a twitch.
He was so out of place in that class, like a muscle bound pit bull cross at a toy poodle dog show. Most people in the class avoided him, watching him suspiciously, like he might suddenly turn on us and cause an international incident. All except me and the only other single female in the group, a little bird-like lady who couldn’t have been a day younger than eighty-five. He was such a gentleman to her, opening the door, giving her his arm while touring the vineyard.
The only time he broke contact with her was to come stand by my side as I was inspecting a bunch of grapes, lean down and whisper, "You're spending the night with me.” I stood up, shocked. He grinned, nice and slow, a sinful light shining in his whiskey eyes. "Just thought you should know."
That was his pick-up line. And...he was right—the jerk—I spent an amazing, crazy, wickedly hot night with the man before he was deployed off the continent; some special opps something or other. We didn't talk shop. Nope. No work talk, no history. Nothing. The only sharing we did was to relay our favorite fantasies—of the sexual variety, of course.
That was the last I heard from him. Yep. It may have been just over two years ago, but I can still hear him; his voice...kind of gravelly; so deep, but soft too. Like crushed velvet. At least that's how I remember it. Maybe because he spent the majority of the night whispering naughty stuff in my ear. Constantly. Telling me what he was going to do to me moments before he'd do it. Then he'd do it and while he was doing it he'd inform me about the stuff he was going to do next.
I’m going to stroke that sweet pussy of yours until you’re drenched and quivering in my hand, only then will I fuck you…
The man left me spent, boneless, completely and utterly satiated. I remember lying there, spread-eagled, watching him dress and just when he was about to leave, he pulled me out of bed, gently sweeping my sex crazed hair away from my ear. "When I text, it's on, you will come to me. Do you understand?"
"Bossy," I joked, playfully slapping his chest.
Taking my hand, he tugged me upright, so I was forced onto tippy toes, and gave me this stern, authoritative glare, making my knees knock and my tummy tighten, it gave me an inkling into the badass military man he could be. "I’m not kidding, Tessa."
His severe expression and rigid grip shocked me and I remember trying to tug my hand out of his grasp but there was no budging him. I remember thinking, much like the wine stem, he could snap my wrist with little to no effort at all.
"What is this?" I asked trying to sound tough but missing the mark by a mile.
"It's your fantasy." Then he smiled and his demeanor changed completely as he kissed me soundly and walked out of my life.
Until today.
Until this text.
All of it, the memory of the night, the semi-thrilled, semi-scared, semi-put off feelings return as I remember that night. Of course, I recall anticipating his text in the days that followed. Watching for it. Both wanting it and not wanting it. Imagining how it'd go, how he'd be, which fantasy of mine he'd choose to enact, feeling hot and cold about the whole thing, checking my phone again and again.
When after a month I still hadn’t heard from him, I reminded myself he was involved in an operation of some sort, could be gone for months. When a year went by, I figured that was it. Rhys Blackstone was simply a fun interlude, an interesting man who was one part wine aficionado and ten parts muscle bound military. Who knew where he was and whether he even remembered me.
I check the text again.
>It's on.<
My stomach does a complete flip because there's a new message beneath it. An address. Somewhere in California. I click on the address in order to see the map of the location. It's in Napa.
"Shit," I whisper to myself. A cool tickle travels from the base of my spine up between my shoulder blades resting at the nape of my neck. Gripping. Kind of like Rhys’s hand when he was fucking me from behind. The immediate visual that flashes through my mind makes me shiver, the tingling sensation spreading around my shoulders to the front of my throat. We’d only known each other for a couple of days. Only spent one night together, and yet two years later the man still has this crazy effect on me.
I glance at the clock on the wall beside the departure gate. Boarding to New York should start in about twenty minutes. I can see the plane out the window and I'm sure my bags are being loaded into the cargo space at this very moment. I should ignore the text and continue with my current plans to go to New York where I’ve got a contract starting next week.
I really shouldn’t even consider going to Napa.
My phone pings again.
>You've got 24 hours<
It’s many hours later, after checking into a local bed and breakfast, showering and dressing carefully, that I drive up the long and winding lane to the address Rhys sent. The property is nestled in the Mayacama Mountains, an isolated corner of wine country between Sonoma and Napa, but by the gorgeous scenery and remoteness of the area, I feel as if I could be in Tuscany or Provence, rather than in the United States. The estate was obviously once a winery, with large outbuildings, restaurant and tasting room and an enormous villa that looks like a crumbling remnant from another era.
“What the hell, Rhys?” I mutter to myself, parking at the end of the drive. There are no other cars around. The place is completely abandoned.
>Not Bad, Tessa Savage. Still three hours to spare.<
With a hand to my forehead, I gaze around the property, looking for some sign of Rhys before typing,
My phone vibrates in my hand. >Follow the steps up to the house. The door is open. On the second floor is a room with the door ajar. Go there and wait for instructions<
I don’t reply right away. My mind is too busy playing over scenarios. What did I tell him that night? What fantasy is he playing on. Possibilities flit through my mind as I lean against the car, vaguely listening to the sound of birds chirping from nearby trees and the distant rumble of a plane flying by. The normalcy of the sounds settle my nervous stomach. No, not nervous. Excited? Anxious?
>You have five minutes to comply<
What?
I quickly type,
>This will be the last communication you will
get from me<
He’s here somewhere. Watching me. God! A part of me—a pretty damn big part of me—thinks I should hop right back into my rental and drive away. However…another part of me—a small but significant part—feels ripe for whatever it is Rhys has in mind.
My pulse races and my skin flushes with the anticipation of that thing. Blindfolds? Bondage? Something else? Definitely sex…
>Four minutes<
Shit. I grab my overnight bag out of the trunk and make my way up the stairs. Not only am I out of breath from the climb, I’m out of breath from wondering what the hell is going on. I reread the instructions on the text and follow the unkempt walk to the sprawling Spanish style mansion. Vines overtake the front walls barely leaving space for the large double doors that look like they haven’t been opened in years. They open, however, and I’m greeted by a vast foyer with curved stairs leading up to the second level. There are a few articles of furniture but what is there is covered in drop cloths giving the mansion a ghostly air.
Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into?
My phone pings. >Two minutes<
With a hand to my churning tummy, I climb the stairs and once at the top, peer down the dimly lit hall. Halfway down there is beam of light coming from an open doorway. What am I going to find there? Will Rhys be there? Is that where he’s waiting for me? What will I do when I see him? What will he do when he sees me? I want to run—no—sprint down the hall to Rhys and throw myself in his arms. I also want to race right back out the front door.
Instead, I make my way, slowly, to the open doorway and pause.
The room is totally and completely out of place in that it does not have the abandoned atmosphere, like the rest of the house. It is beautifully furnished with a large canopied bed taking up the center of the room. An open window leads out onto a small balcony overlooking the front of the property. The space is light and airy, the bedding, white and comfy and the room is decorated with well crafted, antique furniture. It’s something out of a fairytale. Or someone’s imagination. There is something so familiar about this room and all its details, the creamy paint, the hairbrush on the bureau, the robe hanging by the bathroom. Like I’m coming home to a room I designed myself. Like it’s my room.
