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Sapphic Smut: Tales of Lesbian Lust Out Now! #sapphicsmut #erotica #anthology

Sapphic SmutBlurb:

Light hearted, sexy Sapphic smut is the theme of this erotic anthology, edited by Lucy Felthouse with assistance from Kev ‘Mitnik’ Blisse.

From coffee shops to exotic Indian adventures to cosy cabins in France, Sapphic Smut has it all. Fun with sugar, naughty spankings, seductions by strangers, seductions by friends, cougars and even a twist on a fairy tale abound in this exciting collection of lesbian stories from erotica’s finest authors.

This delicious girl-on-girl anthology contains stories from Lucy Felthouse, Kay Jaybee, Louisa Bacio, Sallyanne Rogers, Vanessa de Sade, Tabitha Rayne and Elizabeth Coldwell.

Amazon: http://mybook.to/sapphicsmut

Other links: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/sapphic-smut/

Editor’s Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/lucyfelthousewriter

 

Excerpt:

Alana really couldn’t believe how flat Holland was. She’d been told by many people, but somehow, she still wasn’t expecting a place that made Cambridgeshire look like the Peak District. Her view from the train as she travelled from Schiphol airport to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station was unimpeded. Not so much as a hillock was visible.

And now, here she was, standing outside the station with crowds milling around her. A mixture of tourists, businesspeople and natives. She herself was a combination of two of those groups—she was here on business, but she’d deliberately extended her trip so she could spend a couple of days exploring the city. She had a day either side of her meeting, the boring part a filling to a sightseeing sandwich. Though, despite the boring tag, the meeting definitely wasn’t a bad thing, it was an appointment to cross the ts and dot the is on a very lucrative deal—certainly the trip was worthwhile.

After watching the insanity for another minute or so, she began to head away from the station, wheeling her small case along with her. Already armed with a guidebook and a decent map, she knew where she was going. Her map-reading skills were excellent, and she made the short walk to her hotel in less than twenty minutes. Anywhere else, she’d have gotten a cab, but it appeared they were a rare commodity in this city.

She’d checked in, dumped her bags and freshened up within another ten minutes, and was back on the street.

An online acquaintance had sent her a bunch of information for her trip—about the best museums, interesting things to see that might not be in guidebooks, and details on transport. It appeared that Amsterdam was unlike London, Paris and Rome, in as much as it had trams as its preferred mode of transport, rather than underground trains. Only one Metro line ran through the city, north-to-south. Everywhere else was utterly dependent on trams, bikes and being on foot.

And fuck, there were a lot of bikes. They zipped here, there and everywhere, not always staying where they were supposed to be, it seemed. The slim Dutch people atop the bikes were oblivious, just concentrating on getting where they were going.

Alana searched for the nearest tram stop, and quickly discovered she needed to be on the other side of the road to head in the right direction.

Crossing the road was a chore in itself. A dice with death. She’d thought Rome’s motorists were insane, but at least they were fairly predictable. Here, she was faced with crossing a road that held a cycle path, a tram line and a lane for cars. Shifting down the pavement, she stood at the conveniently placed crossing. It still didn’t make things much easier, but at least she could mingle in with the crowd. Traffic was much more likely to stop if it was going to hit a crowd of people than a single pedestrian. Right?

By some miracle, she reached the opposite pavement unscathed—except for her nerves, which were shot—and approached the tram stop. As if by magic, a tram arrived, and it was the correct number. Things were looking up.

After a few minutes, she realised that public transport in Amsterdam was nowhere near as easy to navigate as in the other major cities she was familiar with. There, their Tube or Metro stations always had plenty of large, unmissable signs telling you where you were. Piccadilly Circus, Anvers, Piramide. Here, it seemed you were left to your own devices. There were announcements on board the tram, but they were in Dutch—a language which she knew very little of—incredibly muffled, and pretty much drowned out by the sound of the tram’s motion and its passengers.

 

 

Memories & Kisses by Muffy Wilson (@SexyMuffyWilson)

Memories & Kisses by Muffy WilsonThank you so much for having me for a visit. I think I have fallen in love with the girl on the cover of my latest book Memories & Kisses. She is beautiful, of course, but what really attracts me is her mystery. I’m sure it is no accident that she uses bright red lipstick. Take a casual glance at her picture, and you are caught by that luscious, loveable mouth. Who does she kiss? Just one lover? Or several? Does she kiss men or perhaps women? Would she kiss me on the right evening?

What do you think? Is she thinking about memories of love lost? Perhaps the memories made trying to forget a lost love? Even old memories revisited by old friends, united in a kiss that rekindles flames, passions and desire, too. Old memories are like old red wine – all the richer for time passed. And the kisses taste sweeter too. Three romantic and very sexy stories take us back to things as they once were, and forward to the wonderful times to come.

Memories & Kisses has three stories of old loves remembered; a grieving woman rescued from the sea, two childhood friends growing old friendship into passionate loving, and two long separated teenagers finding that time has mellowed them both and maturity has brought a passionate intensity they had never imagined. All three stories are of rekindled love that survived decades of longing and is now ready to burst into flame.

Blurb:

The Storm ~ a newly widowed woman unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her husband. Overcome by grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in an effort to blend the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is saved from the crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings her back to life and gives her a reason to live again.

The Park ~ two childhood friends, now adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their once favorite playground now slated to become a high-tech water park. The destruction of their favorite playground makes them melancholy; reliving their dreams as children in this park inspires them to greater, more passionate long buried desires they never responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their memories.

The Story of Us ~ high school friends, once nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The Internet removes the veil of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing in emails about their youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover what we all hope is true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in the shadowed recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic embrace love thrives.

Do you have memories of a love that once was?…of a love that was lost?…of, perhaps, a rekindled love that survived decades of longing?

 

Buy Links:

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Ganxy | XinXii | Kobo | iTunes

 

Excerpt from The Storm:

I walk to the surf, heaving for breath, weak from running against the rain, fighting the storm, the sadness, my loss – your death. I walk into the surf and keep walking. It is surprisingly warm and enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my heartbreak no longer a penetrating pain. I know you are with me and I seek out your embrace. I cry again, scream at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I can’t breathe and I am falling, rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that is wet, ferocious, demanding. Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I struggle against the pounding, relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good swimmer and an athlete, but can I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart pounds. I start to kick wildly. Moving my arms toward the surface, the current catches me again, tumbling me over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my bearing—which way is up, down? I start to get a sickening feeling of death, my own impending death, and, just as I start to give in, I feel the hand of God grab my hair and hood in a fierce grip and yank me to the surface. I feel the sky darken and the surf diminish. Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my body heaves, relaxed, and my world goes black.

I awake to pounding on my chest; I am being rattled and something is covering my mouth and nose. I cough, retch, and then vomit the last vestiges of the ocean from my body. My mouth is filled with grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy. I open my eyes and see God reaching down toward me. He leans over me and the salty ocean water drips from his face to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping; he is surrounded in a glowing aura which intensifies his white hair and white beard. I am frightened. I must be dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am. He sits me up, tenderly and gently helps me to my feet, all the while holding me securely with large strong hands and then he speaks to me.

“Are you alright, miss? You scared me near to death when I saw you walk into the surf. Why in the world….Where do you live?”

I am alive to my senses.

“Wha. . . ?” My knees weaken and I fall further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my descent and carries me to a bench where he sits me down, moving the errant curls of hair from my cheeks, and speaks to me again.

“Where are you staying? Shall I call the police?”

I can feel my heart pounding against his chest.

“No, please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”

I can’t remember my hotel or where I am or why. As he unzips my pocket and removes my hotel key, he pulls my hood up over my head to shelter my face from the pelting rain. Collecting me under his arm, my body firmly in his grip, we walk slowly back to the hotel. The traffic is still sparse, no taxis to be seen. It seems to take forever. The storm is so much worse, the surf so high, sucking the wind into the watery folds as it retreats to the ocean. At once, I am so scared that I begin to tremble and yet, I feel protected.

As we walk into the hotel lobby, the bell captain approaches us and asks if I need the hotel doctor, whereupon my guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” We take the elevator to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity of my room, as lonely as it is. My savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair while he goes to the bathroom and starts the shower. He returns. He is saying something to me that I can’t understand, but he starts to take my shoes off. Then he leans me forward, removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me stand while he pulls relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off his own running shoes and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I feel as if I’m watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid of this stranger.

The water is hot and piercing, but he is gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me and washes my hair, lifting the removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and seaweed from my hair and lithe body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense extreme of the cold grasp of the ocean and the heated comfort of the hot shower. His hands are everywhere, on every curve, gently caressing my skin with his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly, washes my breasts, my taunt stomach and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t let him stop. I look up at him, and notice he is watching himself bathe me. He seems to caress my buttocks as he cleans the sand from between my rounded cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my body thoroughly, running his fingers though my shoulder-length brown hair. I feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused, weakened by my ordeal.

For the first time, it seems, he looks down at me. He takes me in as I look up at him, transfixed by his control. I am naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully clothed except for his windbreaker and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did not notice his erection in the shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts, the curve of my belly to my thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the shower, as I trust him to help me.

Memories & Kisses- read more…

Author Bio and Links:

Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex, hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family “princess,” indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.

Returning from France with her family, Muffy finished high school in Northern California and attended the University of California, Davis, and majored in Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the water in SW Florida. Muffy pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life, indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.

Website | Blog | Twitter | Email |  Facebook | FB Fan PageGoogle+ | Amazon | Ganxy | XinXii | Kobo Books | iTunes Books |Yellow Silk Dreams Publishing

Previously Published at:

Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams

 

More Roman Heat!

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It’s nearly party time for To Rome with Lust, the latest novel in The Mount Series! Preorders have been fantastic, and I’m elated to see so many people as anxious to read Rome as I am to launch it into the world! As always, my readers are the best!!! Though the official release date is 4th December, There’s all kinds of fun and excitement beforehand. I love planning a good party, don’t you? SO Here are the details of how you can get an early taste of Rome and help launch my latest into the world.

 

 

Thunderclap!

That’s right, To Rome with Lust will be causing a storm on launch day, and I’m hoping all of you lovely readers will help make it a mega-storm. I’ve launched a Thunderclap campaign for To Rome with Lust. I would love it very much if you would support my campaign, by following the link and clicking the prompts for Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr or all three. All this means is a wee message promoting Rome will appear on your social media page of choice on the 4th of December, launch day. And I will prostrate myself before the Goddess of all Naughtiness in supplication for much sexy, filthy frolic and fun in you lives, as well as lots of good reads. Follow the link and kindle the storm!

If you want to know more about Thunderclap, check out What is a Thunderclap by Lucy Felthouse for more detail.

 

Advance Reader Review Copies of To Rome with Lust!

If you don’t want to wait until the 4th of December to read To Rome with Lust, I have ten ARC downloads of Rome available in exchange for an honest review on Amazon, Good Reads and wherever else you’d like to review it. If you’re interested in an early frolic with Liza and Paulo at the Mount in Rome, then contact me through the contact form on my website with your request and an email address you’d like me to use to send out your copy. Remember, there are a limited number of copies.

 

To Tease and Titillate

Aaaand! Just to keep you salivating and fanning yourselves, here is a very hot excerpt from To Rome with Lust. Enjoy! xxx

To Rome with LustWARNING ADULT CONTENT! 

To Rome with Lust Blurb:

Book three of The Mount trilogy (Click here for Book One | Book Two)

The adventure that Rita Holly began in The Mount in London and Nick Chase took up in Vegas continues when a sizzling encounter on a flight to Rome has journalist, Liza Calendar, and perfumer, Paulo ‘The Nose’ Delacour, in sexy olfactory heaven. The heir apparent of Martelli Fragrance, Paulo wants Liza’s magnificently sensitive nose to help develop Martelli’s controversial new line. Paulo has a secret weapon; Martelli Fragrance is the front for the original Mount, an ancient sex cult of which he is a part, and Paulo plans to use the scent of sex to enhance Martelli’s Innuendo line. As Liza and Paulo sniff out the scent of seduction, they become their own best lab rats. But when someone steals the perfume formulas and lays the blame at Liza’s feet, she and Paulo must sniff out the culprit and prove Liza’s innocence before more is exposed than just secret formulas.

 

Excerpt To Rome with Lust:

It was only when Liza found the strength to get to her feet and tiptoe into the room that she got the whole picture. The flint and steal male heat, the driving force of the olfactory story unfolding before her nose was not the man kneeling between the woman’s legs, but another man, a man sitting in a ladder back chair, turned front to back so that his long jean-clad legs were splayed on either side. His feet were bare and he was naked from the waist up. His face was silhouetted and lost in shadow. His tattooed muscular arms were draped over the back of the chair as he surveyed the couple on the bed. ‘Hold your wad, Vittorio,’ he called out. ‘You’ll come when I say you can come, when I say Chiara can come. Maybe I’ll let her come and make you hold it. I wonder just how full your sac will get, just how hard your cock will get if I make you watch me fuck her. Hmmm?’

Crack! The end of the bullwhip that Liza hadn’t noticed in the man’s hand snapped out so quickly and so perfectly controlled across Vittorio’s bare arse that Liza didn’t have time to force back her cry.

‘Stop!’ The man said as she turned to run. And in spite of the hair raising along the back of her bare neck, in spite of the fear tightening her belly in a cold metal clench, she obeyed.

‘Ask Vittorio how the whip across his bare arse feels before you consider running.’ He said all of that without looking at her, but Vittorio’s eyes and the wide mascara-darkened eyes of Chiara were on her.

She stood unmoving. It was not the scent of fear rising from her pores that made her knees weak. It was the forest fire inferno of lust rolling off the man in the chair in waves that were nearly physical.

‘Come here,’ he said, still not looking at her.

Did lust always overcome fear? She didn’t know, but it certainly seemed to be doing just that for her as she moved in steps she was hardly aware of toward the man with the whip, sniffing as she went.

‘In this dungeon, I’m the audience, woman. I don’t need any help with that task.’ He still hadn’t looked at her. His grip on the handle of the whip tightened, but the cinnamon scent of his curiosity curled itself around the inferno of lust, and she knew he wouldn’t hit her, at least not just yet.

‘Liza Calendar, I presume.’ He said, still toying with the handle of the bullwhip.

‘Yes.’ Her voice came out rough and throaty as though she had forgotten how to use it.

He threw back his head and laughed, having no trouble finding the resonant fullness of his own voice. In the flickering light of the wall sconces his hair looked like burnt copper, curled around his ears and low on his neck in the dampness of his own dark wood-scented perspiration. ‘At last I meet the one everyone is speaking of in hushed tones, the Nose.’ Before she could respond, his arm darted out and snaked around her, pulling her down on his knee into the heat of his body. ‘So tell me, Nose, what do you smell?’ Before she could say anything, his hand fisted in her hair, and he pulled her to his mouth, nipping at her lips until they opened, until his tongue could battle its way in and steal her breath. When he pulled away, breathing hard enough for both of them, he said again. ‘What do you smell?’

‘I smell burnt sugar and the spark just before a flame, and smoke on dark wood. I smell dry summer earth and cloves and sunbaked grass. I smell –’

He kissed her again, and lifted her in one arm while he shifted the chair around with the other, making a loud scrape of wooden legs against stone before he shoved up her skirt and settled her a straddle the heavy press of his hard-on through his jeans. ‘My nose may not be as sophisticated as
yours, but I smell your pussy,’ he said, rocking and raking himself up against the crotch of panties she knew were wet. He dropped his face into her cleavage and bit. ‘And I smell your lust.’ Then as if she weighed nothing he shifted her around so that she still sat on his lap but she could see the
couple on the bed in front of them.

‘Chiara, Vittorio, this is Liza Calendar, Martelli Fragrance’s new nose, and I think it would be really welcoming of us if we let her smell you two Rome_teaserfucking, don’t you?’

They both nodded wide-eyed.

As the two began to fuck, the man beneath Liza shifted and rocked against the damp crotch of her panties until she could feel the shape of his hard-on rubbing a wet trough between her labia. She had hardly been aware of her own shifting and rocking until his heavy hand moved up under her the slit of her gown and began stroke and tweak her clit.

‘Don’t. Please don’t,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here with someone.’

 

Out Now – Timeless Desire by Lucy Felthouse @cw1985 #erotica #romance #paranormal #ghost

Timeless DesireBlurb:

Emily arrives at Westbury Hall with a job to do. She’s to clean and conserve all of the books in their impressive library, preserving them for future generations. Not long into her stay at the house, she bumps into the night guard, George. She’d expected an old, balding guy with a comb over, so the hunky chap she actually meets is a very pleasant surprise. The introductions complete, George leaves Emily in peace to get on with her job. But when a falling photograph sets off a chain reaction of ghostly events, Emily and George are thrown together in order to find out who—or what—is causing them. Their investigation uncovers a tragic past, a lost love, and a stunning secret.

PLEASE NOTE: This is a revised and extended of a previously published title, Love Through Time.

Available from: http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk/published-works/timeless-desire/

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22911436-timeless-desire

*****

Excerpt:

Emily received some strange looks and frowns from the people she passed as she walked across the graveled drive towards the front entrance of Westbury Hall. She could appreciate their confusion. It was closing time for the stately home and the last of the visitors were being politely ushered out of the building, yet she was heading inside. What’s more, she’d been invited. She had a job to do.

An elderly lady stood in the porch smiling and nodding as she held the door open for those departing the property. Most of them seemed in no hurry to leave, stopping to make comments to the woman, thanking her for a lovely visit and so on. Emily waited patiently, allowing the patrons to leave before attempting to get in. When the staff member—most likely a volunteer, Emily thought—caught sight of her, she gave her a polite nod of acknowledgment.

Finally, the last of Westbury Hall’s visitors moved out, leaving Emily free to enter. Climbing the single stone step to the threshold of the front porch, she took the hand that had already been offered to her.

Shaking Emily’s hand with a surprising firmness, the woman said, “You must be Miss Stone.” Her smart appearance and the intelligence in her eyes indicated that despite her advancing age, she was far from past it, “I’m Mrs. Thompson, house supervisor.”

“I am,” replied Emily, dropping her hand back to her side, “but please, call me Emily. It’s lovely to meet you. So, house supervisor? Do you live on site?” Not a volunteer, then, but a paid member of staff.

Indicating Emily should step inside the entrance hall, Mrs. Thompson proceeded to close and lock the porch and front doors of the house, securing them in.

“I do,” the older woman said, turning back to face Emily, “I have rooms in a separate building just off the back of this one. So you needn’t worry about me disturbing you.”

“Oh no,” said Emily, worried she’d inadvertently rubbed Mrs.  Thompson up the wrong way, “I didn’t mean that. I was just curious, that’s all. You’re more than welcome to see me at work, Mrs. Thompson, although I’m afraid you won’t see anything terribly exciting.”

Mrs. Thompson smiled now, the warmth reaching her eyes. Emily almost sagged with relief. She’d yet to see the extent of the work she had to do, but she’d been told it was no easy task, so she could be here for some time. The last thing she needed was to upset any of the staff.

“Oh, you’d be surprised, my dear. This is a fascinating old place. Of course, all these old houses have history, but Westbury Hall’s is particularly rich.”

Emily smiled. The woman’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Well then,” she replied, “I can’t wait to learn more about it. I hope you’ll feed me some historical tidbits throughout the time I’m here?”

Mrs. Thompson gave an enigmatic smile. Then, startling Emily somewhat, she turned smartly on her heel and walked deeper into the house. “Come, my dear, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’ll show you to the library, where you’ll soon start uncovering Westbury’s illustrious history for yourself.”

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

 

Mustang Maddy – Revved & Ready Book 2 by Kacey Hammell

Mustang MaddyContemporary Erotica

ISBN 9780987799326

Grey Burkhardt is an expert at a lot of things—including keeping his feelings for Madison Evans in check. Sexy as sin and sweet as honey, she’s always revved his engine. But she’s his next door neighbor. No way is he going to muck up friendly neighborhood relations just to satisfy the heat simmering between them.

Madison has never seen anything sexier than the tricked out GT Mustang Grey has been keeping under wraps—other than the glint of danger and intrigue in his eyes when he offers her a ride. Now is her chance to act on the deep passion she’s harbored for him because this might be her one shot at taking control.

 

Book Buying Links:

Kacey Hammell | Amazon UK | Amazon US | Amazon CA | Smashwords


Coming soon to:

aRe
B&N
Kobo

 

Kacey HammellAnd get book One – 69 Mustang FREE until September 30th at all book outlets. Buy Links HERE.

 

Excerpt ©Kacey Hammell, 2014:

He cleared his throat and stepped closer. “You know, Mads, watching you fawn over my car, stroking her, makes me hot. I can hear every breath you take and sigh you release over her. It’s sexy as hell.”

She stood still as he moved in even closer, wedging her between him and the rear window. Thoughts of getting in the car fled as her heart raced. The hunger in his eyes called to her, her body craved it, wanted it.

She couldn’t deny herself any longer.

Leaning back against the car, she smirked. “I like appreciating great things. And to be honest, Mustangs turn me on. A lot.”

They said confession was good for the soul. Maddy was certain she’d just cleansed hers and there would be no going back.

Her palms flattened on the doors behind her. “The feel of the metal, and the pulse that emanates off the surface even when they’re not running…mmm. Everything in me comes alive whenever I see these muscled beauties.”

Grey lifted his arms, bracketing her in. “You’re one of the hottest chicks I know. No other woman has ever turned me on so much by talking about cars. You know, I’ve watched you—in a non-stalker way of course—for a long time now.”

Thrilled, Maddy’s heart skipped a beat. “What are you going to do with me now that I’m here?” What possessed her to ask, she had no idea, but the need and the desire in his gaze, aimed at her, called to all her sexual instincts. There was no way she could walk away now.

He aligned his body with hers, his eyes hooded as he gazed down at her. She surrendered to the headiness of this man, the pulsing rhythms of her body and waited with bated breath.

“I’m going to taste you…” Grey tilted his head to the side. All she could do was stare at his lips as they came closer. “…in any sexy spot you’ll let me.”

His mouth met hers. Maddy opened to him like a budding flower. Claimed. Possessed. Riotous emotions swirled through her and her mind cleared. This. This type of hunger and excitement she’d been missing with any other man was all she desired. Intense, seductive and thirst to let go and give into the headiest of sexuality.

He eased his tongue into her mouth, gliding along hers, exploring, tasting… Maddy never wanted to break free.

A low moan escaped the back of her throat. She encircled his shoulders, arms pulling him in to stand between her legs.

His hardness behind his shorts pressed against her. Gasping, she broke free from his mouth and laid her head back on the car. He kissed his way down her throat. Her pussy throbbed. Her juices flooded her panties. A shiver raced down her spine. Her fingers clenching against his pecs, Maddy trembled as the exquisite tortures of his lips worshipped her, and his hips rolled his cock against her. His teeth grazed her skin along her shoulders. She widened her stance. Grey moaned as he pushed into her, harder and more aggressive.

Laying his forehead on her shoulder, he breathed deep. “Damn you’re intoxicating.”

Maddy palmed the back of his head, holding him in place as his hips still moved and let sweet agony build. The friction of her panties and shorts against her clit were spectacular. But she needed more.

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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