by Madison Faye
His dark baritone voice is like whiskey and leather, edged in steel, and I can feel his very words pull at something deep inside of me as he approaches.
“Because no one is supposed to be in here, and yet here you are. Which leads me to believe you’re either a thief,” he growls the word out through gritted teeth, his powerful, demanding gaze drinking me in. His eyes slip over my black cocktail dress, which I know is probably a little shorter, and a little tighter than it should be.
His eyes flash in the dim glow of the room, and I can see the muscles in his neck tense as his gaze swallows me up. He moves closer, and I gasp. I stumble a step back, teetering slightly in my black four-inch stilettos before I feel the wall at my back. There’s a priceless painting hanging on either side of me, but his blazing green eyes are locked onto me and me only as he approaches.
“You’re either a thief,” he purrs again, his hands moving to either side of me, palms flat against the wall, pinning me there. “Or you're just a bad little girl who’d decided to go where she doesn’t belong.”
I gasp quietly at the words, feeling my whole body melt under that heated gaze of his.
“And you do know what they say about thieves and bad girls who go looking for trouble, don’t you?”
I swallow again, my breath catching in my throat as I slowly shake my head.
“No, I—”
“They always find it,” he growls. His eyes flash as he leans closer, and his huge body practically pins me to the wall, his warm, teasing breath hits my neck as he leans in and it’s everything I can do not to moan right there.
His hand grips my wrist, and this time, I do moan.
And then I feel it.
I feel it tingle over every inch of my skin, melting through every pore down into my core, where it sits there pulsing.
…Like a spark.
“And trust me, little girl,” he growls. “Trust me when I say you’ve definitely found trouble.”
Find the full book here!
The Innocence Claimed books can be read in any order.
They are all standalone stories.
About the Author
Madison Faye is the dirty alter ego of the very wholesome, very normal suburban housewife behind the stories. While she might be a wife, mom, and PTA organizer on the outside, there’s nothing but hot, streamy, and raunchy fantasies brewing right beneath the surface!
Tired of keeping them hidden inside or only having them come out in the bedroom, they’re all here in the form of some wickedly hot stories. Single-minded alpha heroes, sinfully taboo relationships, and wildly over-the-top scenarios. If you love it extra dirty, extra hot, and extra naughty, this is the place for you!
(Just don’t tell the other PTA members you saw her here…)
@madisonfayesmut
MadisonFayeRomance
www.madisonfayeromance.com
Flirting With The Law
Flirting With The Law
She’s been tempting us for longer than she knows. Now it’s time to find out what happens when you cross the law.
Samantha
Getting pulled over is the last thing I need after I find out my scumbag of a fiancé is cheating on me.
But that’s before I see the cops who step out of that squad car.
They’re dangerously gorgeous - rough looking and tattooed, not to mention demanding and dominant. Even more, the way they look at me stirs something dark inside of me that’s just dying to get out.
And I know I should be scared, or furious at their rough, hands-on treatment when they make me bend over the hood of the car and submit. I know I definitely shouldn’t be turned on when they cuff my hands behind my back and put their filthy hands on me.
And I definitely shouldn’t want them to keep going. I definitely shouldn’t want more…
Blake/Dustin
We’ve had our eyes on her for longer than she knows. It was our job to watch her - seeing her at her most vulnerable, at her most intimate.
And now we’re obsessed.
Now we’re consumed with the primal need to have her and make her ours.
She might not be the criminal we’re after, but she’s wrapped up in this now, and there’ll be no denying us the sweet, innocent prize we’ve been dying to put our dirty hands on.
Come hell or high water, Samantha Caraway will submit to us.
Both of us.
And not even the law we uphold will stand in our way.
Flirting With The Law is a quick and filthy book involving two utterly obsessed alpha heroes, one sassy heroine, and enough insta-love, steam, and sugary-sweetness to make your Kindles melt. This mfm romance is all about her – no m/m. If you love over-the-top, slightly unrealistic, and wildly dirty stories, this one’s for you! HEA with NO CHEATING!
Author’s Note:
Warning: Flirting With The Law is a quick MFM romance involving two completely obsessed alpha men in (and out!) of uniform, a sassy heroine, handcuffs, insta-love, and a frankly obscene amount of steam. It does involve mild D/s themes and scenes involving restraint that may be triggering to some readers, though engine-revving for others. Like all my books though, the HEA is guaranteed (and in this case, extra sugary-sweet), so I promise it’ll be worth it at the end!
Please know that this book is a MFM romance, which is to say, it's all about her - no MM action.
Happy Valentine’s Day, from me to you. Because who needs roses and chocolate when you’ve got handcuffs and two rugged, dominant cops? :P
-Madison
Copyright © 2017 Madison Faye
All rights reserved.
Editing: Sennah Tate
Cover: White Rabbit Creative
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademark status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language which may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual.
Mailing List
Join the mailing list, get a **FREE BOOK!**
Join my mailing list to be the first to know of new releases, free books, special prices, and other author giveaways! And did I mention, you get a FREE BOOK for signing up?
Click the book above, or copy/paste the following into a browser to join now and start reading!
http://eepurl.com/b-b5Pz
Look for the whole catalog, only on Amazon and always FREE with your Kindle Unlimited subscription!
1
Samantha
I groaned as my eyes opened in the darkness.
Making a face and feeling the shroud of sleep lifting from me, I glanced at the clock and cursed under my breath. It was way too early to be up, but I’d been having the hardest time sleeping in these days.
I swung my long legs out of the bed and stretched in the early-morning darkness. Behind me, Tim snorted groggily and turned heavily in his sleep, a rattling snore tumbling from his mouth. I wrinkled my nose as the smell of alcohol drifted over to me from his sleeping, grumbling form. I let out a deep sigh.
I didn't remember him coming home last night, but apparently, he'd had another late one — a “networking event” he called it. “Getting drunk with his pals,” was probably a more apt title for my fiancé’s recent nighttime excursions, I thought with a frown.
The layoff had been to
ugh for him, I knew that. And at first, I’d been as sympathetic as I could be. I played the dutiful fiancée and the supportive partner when the law firm had let him go not long after his promotion. But as weeks, then months, went by without so much as a peep about even looking for another job, it seemed more and more that Tim was liking his new-found freedom from the work-week grind.
Really, it wasn't that he was unemployed that bugged me, it was the bullshit from him that came along with that.
I stewed over this as I scooped grounds into the coffee machine. It was much too early to be worrying about big-picture stuff like this, I decided, groaning at the smell of the coffee beans wafting out of the can.
It was quiet as I sat at the kitchen counter, silent but for my thoughts and the low gurgle of the coffee machine.
I sat there, sighing and sliding my fingers through my long dark hair. I had my writing, not that it payed much, and after the layoff, I’d suggested that I could always go back to teaching. I’d enjoyed teaching, however brief it was before we got engaged and moved to the west coast for Tim’s new job. And after that, I didn’t really have to work anymore since he was bringing in so much.
But Tim thought that was “below” us now, now that we lived in a higher tax bracket, a better neighborhood, with higher bills. None of which we could afford for much longer without work. But he also refused to look at anything that was less than the position he'd had before, which was looking more and more unrealistic. I sighed again into the darkness of the kitchen and reached for the coffee.
My thoughts were interrupted by a loud ping from across the counter. With a frown, I glanced at the origin of the sound as it went off again.
Tim's phone, left downstairs next to his half-drunk beer from his late-night arrival. Blinking in the semi-darkness, I reached for it to find the volume switch, and then went totally still has my blood chilled in my veins.
There, lit up across the screen of his phone, was a photo of a pair of nude, perky tits.
Tits that were decidedly not mine.
The room went silent around me as I felt my pulse pound in my ears.
The phone pinged again, this time a text popping up on the screen:
Hey honny, thought u were cuming ovr last nite.
What. The. Fuck.
My face went leaden and hard, coldly emotionless, and I felt as though the wind was slowly going out of my sails. There was a tightening, like a knot, in the pit of my stomach, and for a minute I almost felt like I was going to throw up.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
My face felt numb as I hissed it into the empty kitchen.
The real shitty part was, I wasn’t even surprised. Part of me could have almost guessed this was going to happen. I didn’t think Tim stepping out had started until after the job loss, and since then, it’s almost like he hadn't even been trying too hard to hide it. That and the fact that he’d barely touched me at all in months had made it something I was almost expecting to happen.
It hurt — a lot — the first time I’d smelled perfume on his shirt, or found a phone number scrawled on a bar napkin in his pocket. But it was always something passing, something that could probably just be explained away, even if I knew deep down what was going on. So instead, I guess I’d just internalized it, as if never talking about it made it something that was just in my head.
But, this text message — yeah, there wasn’t really any denying this.
I glanced back at the phone on the counter, paused, and then reached down to unlock his screen, bringing up his messages. I looked at text again — at her tits — and felt the rage searing up inside. I tried to picture the little tramp attached to those breasts who was texting my fiancé at this hour.
I frowned at the message:
thought u were cuming over.
Were. So, he'd planned to, but hadn't? I furrowed my brow at the message.
Goddammit, I was so tired of being such a fucking pushover about everything! I knew — I knew — I should confront Tim about this, but something kept stopping me. Even now, I was figuring out how to push it to the back of my mind, with evidence right in my face!
The phone dinged again and I looked down and gasped.
The view was wider now, and clearly a selfie being taken in a bathroom mirror. The girl was topless, her tits pushed out as she struck a sexy pose for the camera in her hand. I could see the lips puckering on her face, though nothing above except for long tendrils of blond hair. She had her thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, and had them pulled down enough to almost see her trampy little pussy.
It was the message that followed next that hit me in the gut.
dont u wanna fuck me like last time ;) ;) ;) ??
The anger welled fast inside of me. I felt betrayal, dismissal, shame. There was no denying it to myself anymore, it was right there staring me in the face. My fiancé was fucking somebody else.
I put my face in my hands, elbows on the counter, as I exhaled slowly. In a way, I felt relieved. No more second guessing myself, no more bullshit, no more thinking I was just being that woman; paranoid and accusing.
I looked down at the picture on Tim’s phone again and shook my head, shaking.
I wondered briefly where they’d met.
The phone went off again. This time I didn’t even look at it before I snatched it up and slammed it back face down on the counter.
I needed to get out of the house and clear my head.
2
Samantha
Twenty minutes later, I was racing towards the beach — the one place where I could just escape it all and clear my head of all this.
After throwing Tim’s phone down and gritting my teeth, I’d pretty much just gone upstairs, tossed on my bikini and stomped out the door, slamming it behind me. We lived barely a mile from the beach, but right then, I wanted to feel the wind in my hair and the power of acceleration. So, I’d also snagged the keys to the Tim’s new convertible on the way out — the new, ridiculously expensive car that he’d insisted on getting, despite his total lack of job. “It’s part of the image, babe,” he’d said. “Gotta look the part.”
Right.
I squealed the tires loudly as I ripped out of our driveway.
I felt better out on the road, but I was still screaming inside about the skank my fiancé was very apparently cheating on me with. I wanted to think of her as this little home-wrecking slut, but then, who knew what story Tim had told her. In my mind though, she totally knew he was taken. In the terrible daydream in my head, the fact that he was stepping out on me was even part of their illicit affair; something they joked about or incorporated into their romps in cheap motel rooms, or wherever it was he was fucking her.
I gripped the wheel tightly and slammed on the gas, letting the wind rip through my hair and over my bare skin, classic rock blaring out of the car speakers as I raced towards the beach.
I was so tied up in my own thoughts, so preoccupied with wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now, that I never even saw the flashing lights until the damn cop was right on top of me, his siren wailing.
Fuck. Just what I needed right now.
The beach road was entirely devoid of traffic this early, as I pulled to the side of the road. The cop car squawked again as it pulled up behind me, blipping at me until I remembered to turn off my engine.
I groaned as I sank back in the bucket seat of the convertible. Honestly, could this day get any worse? Tim cheating, us running out of money, and now Bubba the fat cop was going to give me a fucking speeding ticket.
And it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet.
I glanced in my side mirror as the squad car door kicked open. I scowled, fuming and waiting for the donut-chasing good ol’ boy who was about to put the icing on my shit sundae of a day, when—
When, whoa.
Because what stepped out of that car was everything but the image of the tubby cop I’d conjured up in my head.
Yeah, I’d been way wro
ng.
Because what stepped out was six-feet-hello-inches of blond, tanned, gorgeous man. My jaw actually dropped as I stared at him through the side mirror, watching as he stood tall and cracked his knuckles before he set his sights on my car.
No, not my car, me — as in he looked right at me in the side-view mirror.
And he grinned.
I gasped as I quickly looked away, hands tightening at ten and two on the steering wheel.
I heard the click of his boots approaching, and felt my pulse skip a little bit as I swallowed thickly and looked right ahead, not trusting myself to not glance in that mirror and get caught staring at him all over again.
"License and registration."
His voice — holy hell. The leather and slight southern drawl of that baritone snapped me right out of it, and I quickly turned to him.
I swallowed again, and I shivered.
The blond cop was built — big, broad shoulders, thick arms under the short, rolled-up sleeves of his tan uniform that stretched tight across a muscled chest. He looked clean cut, but in that slightly ruffled surfer way that only a southern California cop could pull off. Smirking a little, he looked down at me through the classic "cop" shades that he must have slipped on after he’d caught me checking him out. I blushed, realizing he was probably grinning at the fact that he’d just pulled over a girl wearing just a skimpy white bikini.
"Listen, officer, I'm so sorry about that! I think I thought I saw something dart out onto the road, so I sped up to—”
