by Avery Aster
“Fabian is the only person I have ever had sex with.”
Whoa! I wasn’t expecting him to say that. My vantage point on him and us and everything just shifted. “For a newbie you certainly were pretty darn good, considering we were floating with little sunlight. Keep in mind I have nothing to compare you against.”
Well, other than yesterday when I sat on your boyfriends face.
“You are an amazing person Mademoiselle. Boys at the university will fight over you.”
“Did you enjoy being with the opposite sex?”
“Very much,” he answered and then he kissed me. Pulling my body against his, his tongue with mine, I couldn’t resist this man. Learning I was his first as he was mine helped me realize we were a lot alike, him and I. Curious about life. We beat to our own drum.
“You don’t have to do the pictures if you don’t want to. Fabian and I can look for new jobs when we get back to Paris.”
“Don’t be foolish.” I slipped on a pair of sandals. “I thought about it, Leon, and I do want to do the pictures. But not for the reasons you think.”
“Why then?”
“Something you said to me in the water about embracing what I have and letting go of what I don’t. I’m happy to be alive and that we met. You’ve changed my life in ways I don’t think you’ll ever know.”
“I feel the same way about you Mademoiselle.”
“One day when I’m not so young, I’ll look back at the photos and wish I had liked myself a little bit more than I do right now.”
“You are wise Mademoiselle.”
“Ha! Not really. I also need the money and I figured having this nude pictorial out there for the world to see is the first step in accepting who I really am.”
“And who is that?”
“Why…Miss Taddy Brill, of course!”
* * *
A week later school started. With Blake at my side and a dozen or so other students around us we sat and listened to the professor of our morning class talk about Brand Marketing. According to his business savvy insights, luxury goods were on the rise and promotional professionals were in high demand.
“We should start a firm repping handbags and stuff.” Blake said in my ear. The sores from the fire were healing nicely.
“I like the sound of that,” I said. As Blake listened on, I returned to an email I was writing on my laptop…
Hey Leon, Fabian and Gustave
Thank you for sending me copies of the photos and letting me decide which ones go to print. When I stare at them, I don’t recognize myself. I’m convinced you hired a body-double to pose after me and my besties left Eden. Hehehe.
In all seriousness, I was touched by the respect and care you showed me that day. You three are true gentlemen, making me regret all of the horrible things I’ve ever said about Frenchmen. Thank you for that.
In your previous email you mentioned that another magazine in the States wants to run the photos in tandem with Claire La Femme. You tell that Mr. Hefner there is not enough money in the world to have my face in his publication. Let’s keep the photos exclusive to Europe.
Before I forget, Lex, Vive, Blake, and I are coming to Paris for Thanksgiving. Seems I’ll be seeing the three of you very soon.
Yours Truly,
Taddy
PS, Fabian we still have some unfinished matters to attend to. I’m curious, remember.
# # #
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About Avery Aster
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Avery Aster writes the naughty romantic soap opera series of full-length, stand-alone novels, The Manhattanites and its juicy prequel companion The Undergrad Years.
Talk Supe Book Reviews says that Avery’s narrative voice is a throwback to Judith Krantz, weaving dazzling tales of love, glitz, and drama while Ever After Romance reports Avery’s characters are like Sex and the City on steroids but younger and sexier. Avery graduated from New York University and lives on the Upper East Side.
Also by Avery Aster
Undressed (The Manhattanites #1)
Unscrupulous (The Manhattanites #2)
Add Avery’s Upcoming Releases to Your Goodreads TBR List
http://www.goodreads.com/AveryAster
The Undergrad Years series
Yours Truly, Taddy
XO, Blake
Always & Forever, Vive
The Manhattanites series
Unsaid
Unique
Uncensored
Excerpts From Avery Aster's Other Books
Meet Taddy Brill as an adult in UNSCRUPULOUS (The Manhattanites).
Here’s a smexy excerpt…
UNSCRUPULOUS (The Manhattanites)
Avery Aster
Excerpt
Tonight, Brayden stood before her near an ivory banquette set in a private corner. His wide broad shoulders and backside faced her.
A server talked to him.
She couldn’t see his face. But it had to be Brayden.
Taddy pushed her shoulders back and her confidence out. She stepped closer, three feet opposite the velvet rope separating him. “Brayden—I’ve attended every game.”
Entrenched as he was in conversation, Brayden’s sculpted shoulders didn’t turn around.
Damn this loud music. She had no doubt he was Brayden. Hands large enough to throw a football one hundred twenty yards, he could pick her body up, slam her against the wall—in a good way—and fuck her until she screamed—in a very good way.
As any fierce New Yorker would, she slipped behind the restricted area without being noticed. Taddy stepped in behind him. For a millisecond, she closed her eyes and took in his smell—baby powder. As he talked to the server, Brayden’s baritone voice sent a vibration through her entire body. She wanted to jump on top of him and say, “He’s mine—all mine.” After six years and over ninety-eight games, her time was now.
“Excuse me, Brayden.” Fearing her toes would get squashed, she didn’t dare poke him.
Still nothing.
Waris Sugar, you’re preventing me from getting laid. Turn down this flippin’ music. “EXCUSE ME,” her Manhattanite-taxi-cab-calling, last-sale-at-Barney’s, no-you-didn’t-cut-me-off-in-line-at-Duane-Reade voice erupted toward his tall ears.
The server talking to Brayden acknowledged her existence and pointed over his shoulder, causing him to turn.
She started to repeat, “I’ve attended every—”
He wasn’t Brayden Brooks. This hot man’s face was…
“You are excused.” He smiled with his warm hazel eyes, studying her, possibly enjoying the view.
Your face is per-fucking-fection. Her NFL game recovered a turnover, scoring a touchdown. Taddy Brill—six points. Big Daddy, you’d better advance. “Sorry I uh—I thought you might be someone—else.”
“And who would that be?” He bowed, as if giving her his full attention, revealing his V-shaped torso covered by a sheer white shirt.
Her eyes counted his abs up—two ( umm ), four ( ooh ), six ( holy shit ), eight ( he’s mine ). “Brayden…Brooks.” Mortified beyond belief, she realized Birdie’s insanity had become contagious.
The server laughed from behind him. “The football player?”
“Happens a lot.” He smiled off the staff, accepting the conversation. “Sorry to disappoint you.” He returned those inviting chestnut eyes back to her.
“You guys could b
e twins.” She studied him in closer detail. “In particular from behind—and I’m not disappointed in the least.” Her face-body-voice assessment of this man confirmed he embodied a hunk ratio ten times hotter than the Brayden whatchamacallit she’d OCD’d over for longer than she cared to admit even to herself.
“Do you stare at men’s behinds often?” He overshadowed her. Leaning in closer, this stud conveyed importance.
Her thighs clenched as she stood and defended herself, “No—unless they’re Brayden Brooks’, or now yours.” Gripping her Judith Leiber clutch, she tried to stop her hands from fidgeting. She’d always been tall. No man had ever made her feel petite—until tonight. Keep it together, Red. “I’m Red,” she introduced herself over the strident tune. “It’s nice to meet you.” Unsure if the conversation would climb uphill or down, she didn’t reveal her identity. Taddy Brill holidayed unknown as Lex requested. Since this club was part of the hotel where their reservation had been made, she’d stick with it.
“Red—huh?” Suspicion quirked his eyebrow and he complimented, “Neat name. I’m—” Waris Sugar boomed as he took her hand in both of his and she couldn’t really hear the rest.
“Nice to meet you, Garner.” Is that what he’d said? It had sounded like it. But he didn’t exude a Garnie. He resembled a Big Daddy.
“Care for a drink—Red?”
“Champagne, please. Thank you.”
“Which do you prefer?” His hands took her arm with gentle authority to the seated area next to them by a round table.
She blinked in haste. He sat my ass down. “Something—anything with bubbles is fine.”
“There are many champagne flavors and types.” His arms spread wide. “You could have Ultra Brut, with no sugar, it may taste bitter.”
“I’m not bitter.” She shook her head, tapping his thigh. Oh my Lordie. His body felt like rock.
“Brut regular. It’s dry with one and a half percent sugar.” His eyebrows drew together, revealing the ever-so-adorable furrow from his forehead.
“There’s nothing regular about me either.” Not wanting to remove her hand, she let her fingers glide higher up his leg. She’d inch higher until he pushed her off.
He glanced down at her hand and invited her to continue.
Red’s comin’ for ya. So she did. A magnetic pull drew her into him. She’d waited years to sit, talk, stroke and play with a man such as this. Am I shallow? Abso-fucking-lutely! Who cares?
“You could do extra dry. It’s sweeter with two percent sugar.”
“Do you have any more suggestions?” Taddy was accustomed to making snap decisions under any circumstance. But nothing lingered as circumstantial with this man. Intent on taking her time, she’d do something never done before. She’d let a man—order for her.
“Yes…dry champagne.” He swallowed hard and added, “Four percent sugar.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He observed her hand inching closer.
“I’ve made my mind up.” She wanted him. Screw the champagne.
“You have?” His leg rose a little higher, grinding warmth against her palm, encouraging her to fondle him more. Perhaps he enjoyed her finger lap dance.
“What’ll it be?”
“Obviously you have good taste—possibly better than mine.” She shut her mouth to see if he’d follow her words. Taddy studied his lips, and then glanced into his eyes. Gold flecks stared back at her. It caused goose bumps on her thighs.
She confirmed he listened to her every word—hanging on to them, waiting for her to speak again. Good! Very good. She licked her lips.
Nipples hard, she said, “I’d like to have whatever juice you’re serving.” Their eyes locked, and her nails dug a little into him as if saying, “Mine.”
“Red, something tells me you enjoy extremes.” He grabbed the top of her hand.
“Sorry.” She realized she’d gone too far. Typical.
“Don’t apologize.” Interlocking his fingers with hers, Big Daddy shoved her hand to his hard-on.
“I do love…intensity,” she confessed, outlining the large bulge.
# # #
How to Tempt a Tycoon
Daire St. Denis
Tessa Savage has traveled all over the world but she has never been to Eden. Will she accept the invitation from the mysterious tycoon that could change her life? Join Tessa in this sensually charged tale of domination and submission, Tantra and time travel.
Copyright 2015 Daire St. Denis
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
About The Author
Go to next book
Go to previous book
Go to Table of Contents
Dear Reader,
My name is Tessa Savage and I believe in love…the end.
Okay, my editor says that’s not enough. She says I’m supposed to tell you a little bit about myself. Who I am and who I’m not. I guess that’s fair, seeing as you’re the one who is about to read my story.
The first thing you should know about me is that I have no fixed address; I travel the world for business and…pleasure. While I believe in happily ever after—for others—it is not what I’m about. As a self-proclaimed polyamorist, I believe in experiencing love over and over again with as many partners as possible.
This is not a story about one guy and one girl who, despite all odds, find a way to be together for life. If that’s what you want, you may wish to look elsewhere. No hard feelings.
If you’re looking for a story with fun sexual banter, plenty of scorching hot sex (with one or more hot dudes), told with some intense emotions, then this is the story for you!
While each story concludes with some sort of resolution it may not be the happily ever after you’re used to. But, if you’re adventurous, daring, and are looking for something a little different with an ending that might be satisfying while unexpectedly bitter-sweet, then turn the page…
Happy Reading!
Tessa Savage
PS: If this is a SAVAGE INTERACTIVE, you get to choose how the story ends and who I get to be with, which is so much fun because sometimes it means I get to have both guys…at once! (How to Choose a Cowboy anyone?)
PPS: If badass bikers are your thing, check out How to Debauch a Biker. If you’re interested in a story about a Greek Tycoon vs. a hot young Adonis, check out How to Train a Lover. So many men, so little time!
Chapter One
My name’s Tessa Savage, and although I believe in monogamy—for the grey wolf—it sure as hell doesn’t work for me. I’ve tried. Let’s just say it was a failed experiment, a story for another time.
Now I live my life according to my natural instincts, embracing the lifestyle of ninety-seven percent of all other mammals—you know, the ninety-seven percent who are polyamorous.
I’ve never been happier. Particularly today. Know why? One word…
Monte Carlo.
Okay, I guess that’s two words. But it’s one place…and what a place it is. Monte Carlo is a feast for the senses, the playground of the rich and famous, a study in excess and politics.
The best thing about Monte Carlo is that no one knows me. Though I blend in with the wealthy masses because of my Vera Wang strapless gown and the borrowed jewels around my neck, I’m still a nobody. Completely insignificant.
Know what that means? It means I get to people watch to my heart’s content, and let me tell you, it is fascinating. Take the couple we shared a box with at the opera. Edward Kohl, president of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in Europe, and his mistress, B
ritish fashion model Celia Moore. I have to wonder if their quiet discussion about engaging in a threesome later that night was for our benefit or theirs. I’m thinking the fact they couldn’t agree on whether the third should be male or female means the former.
When I say we shared a box, I guess I need to explain. I’m not here by myself, though it sort of feels like it. I’m here with Tal. Or rather, El Talal Bin Ahmed. He’s some sort of prince from Dubai. Or is it the United Arab Emirates? Could be Egypt. I don’t know. He’s Middle Eastern and, unfortunately for him, he’s also gay, which forces him so far into the closet he’s got mothballs in the cuffs of his Armani trousers.
“Don’t forget,” he whispers after the opera, as we make our way across the sumptuous marble lobby of the Hotel de Paris. “No flirting. You’re mine.”
I guess that means no threesome fun for Tessa tonight. Unless Tal is willing to share. “So, does that mean you’re inviting me to join you and Alejandro tonight?”
He smiles and nods at a distant cousin whose family relocated to Monaco thirty years ago. “Of course not,” he says barely above a whisper. “Alejandro is mine. You need to look like you’re mine.”
I stop and move in front of him. He’s not the tallest man, but he is handsome and very well groomed. Though I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing him with another man, Tal is not the least bit interested in me.
Pity.
I stroke his cheek and kiss him.
He practically gags into my mouth. “What are you doing?” He turns from my lips.
“Alejandro is waiting upstairs. I’m making a scene so we can skip cocktails and run up to the room as if we can’t keep our hands off each other.”
He bends his head, our foreheads touching. From a distance, it must create quite an intimate picture. At the very least, I’m hoping it looks as though we are two people very much in lust.
Which we totally are not.
“How did you know?”
“You fidgeted the whole way through La Boheme.”
“Sorry.” His eyes flash. “I couldn’t help it. Did you see that man’s ass last night?”
“In the tights? Yes. Hard to miss.”
Alejandro is a member of Les Ballets de Monte Carlo. Last night Tal and I enjoyed Carmen, where Alejandro played Don Jose. Holy shit, is that man ripped. The little tights he wore left nothing—and I mean nothing!—to the imagination.
