The Commute (Regular Sex Issue 1)

Read The Commute (Regular Sex Issue 1) Storyline:

Get Regular Sex, the brand new series of one-sitting erotic reads from USA Today bestselling author Kitty French, because sometimes you’re just not in the mood for a long term book relationship, or a cliff hanger, or emotional baggage. You could think of these stories as ultra filthy, no strings attached one night stands - perfect for those times when you just want to have a damn wild, sexy time and then walk away slightly bow legged with a satisfied smile on your face. Each story in the series is complete and unrelated to the next, a sensual lucky dip, because regular sex should never have to mean boring sex, right? In fact, the only thing that is regular about this series is that Kitty will release a brand new story EVERY Friday. A weekly dose, because, after all, regular sex is good for your health. Perfect bedtime reading, or for commuting to work, or to spice up your lunchtime. Just make sure that no one is reading over your shoulder… The Regular Sex series of half hour erotic reads from Kitty French ~ bringing a whole new meaning to the phrase wham, bam, thank you ma’am. EPISODE 1 - THE COMMUTE. ‘Is this seat taken?’ I look up, and just like that I’m done for. ‘Take me,’ I say, and then feel my cheeks glow, probably turning the same shade of dull ox-blood red as the faded upholstery of the seat he’s absently stroking as he watches me. He raises one brow a little as if he’s seriously considering my offer. ‘Take it,’ I correct myself and shoot him my best ‘aren’t I a goofy klutz this morning,’ smile, even though we both know that I’d meant exactly what I said, although it would have been wiser if the words had stayed inside my head. I’d just handed him the upper hand within three seconds of meeting him, a mistake I’d made several times before and vowed to learn from. That’s me all over though; keep on doing the same thing and expecting the results to be different, which even I can see is the action of an idiot. ‘I’m Stacy, newly crowned queen of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time,’ I say brightly, because he’s slid into the seat opposite mine and is still looking at me intently. His eyes are a curious sort of blue; they remind me of a pale turquoise cocktail I had on the beach in Ibiza last summer, or of soft, worn Levi’s begging to be unbuttoned by your lover. ‘Queen Stacy.’ He inclines his head formally. ‘I’m Jude, king of bad intentions.’ Click buy to find out just how bad Jude's intentions are - if you need a hint, they're VERY BAD indeed.**