Tag Archives: Ellen March

Life After Death with Ellen March

thingsthatgohump300x200First my thanks to lovely KD for the invite to celebrate her wonderful Lakeland Witches, you’re a truly amazing lady. And spooky good wishes for your launch, Hump in the Night is absolutely fantastic.

Grace wasn’t fussy, but she did insist on a pulse in a man says Ellen March


I have always had a keen interest in the supernatural and firmly believe in life after death. The fact that the spirit goes on, it’s continuous and death is the beginning of a long journey completing the circle of life. And one day soon, we’ll all understand the concept of death and the crossing over.

It was due to an experience I had in my bedroom that an idea came to me. I’d taken a photograph and was shocked at what it revealed. How could a clear day show a hazy picture with a startling flash of light illuminating from the wall along with a smattering of orbs? Since moving into our old cottage I’d experienced loud sighs and the weight of a person sitting on the bed. Something was happening. A lot of strange things went on, still do, the touches I feel on my arm. Gentle strokes finger light, I wake up and search, scared at first it’s a spider, but relieved to know that somewhere in my room I have a tentative lover who’s making himself known. And so Ghost was born.

I decided to write A Ghost of an Affair because of my love of romance and obviously the afterlife. What would a person feel like to discover they were no longer mortal, are there a set of rules that should be followed? And then I wondered would a ghost still have sexual urges, and how would he react if he discovered himself drawn to a mortal. Find out in the excerpt below.

A Ghost of an Affair will be available after October 1st, in eBook and 5×8 trade paperback editions on BN.com, the European Amazons and Amazon Japan. Bookstores can order through Ingram, Baker & Taylor or by contacting info@fannypress.com.

Amazon US | Amazon UK



Grace McGillis is over the moon to have won the love, or at least the favour, of Dr. Sage Gerret, the resident heartthrob at the hospital where she is a receptionist. Sage hopes to “improve” her: to inspire her to eat and drink less and educate herself about fine art and music. Everyone sees Sage as a great catch. Why else would Grace put up with his barbs about her appearance and his uninspired lovemaking?

Enter Breece, an adoring alpha male who is out-of-this-world in bed. That is not surprising, for he is, after all, a ghost. Though Sage may not be anyone’s dream date, he is alive. Grace is falling in love with Breece, but is love enough? Even if fate allows her ghost lover to continue his delightful haunting, how will this couple find love everlasting?



Breece strolled in, glad she’d left the door open. He wasn’t sure about going through obstacles yet but assumed he could. Hell, he still couldn’t wrap his head around being dead.

Then he stopped.

Breece stared at the woman before him, who was busy examining herself in the mirror, stark naked. He felt his cock harden, relieved that the weird stranger hadn’t lied about that. Yet the fact that she aroused him even though she was so different from what he usually liked in his women bothered him.

Another thought soon followed: how did he know that? Finally he went with his instincts. He tried to work out what it was about her, and decided it had to be the naturalness—nothing fake, no silicone tits, no hair extensions, and no plastic surgery. She stood before him as nature intended.

It sent a shiver of excitement over him. It also left him with a question: how he knew so much about fake women?

He watched her weave to the wardrobe. She bent over, and he couldn’t resist crossing to her. His hand caressed her backside. Christ, it was a peach of a bum, one he’d like to bite.

Grace rummaged in the box, searching for her vibrator. A whisper of a tickle touched the cheek of her ass, and she scratched at it. At last gripping her toy, she rose and turned to the bed. Falling backwards, she flicked it on, but then realized she’d left the light blazing. But Grace couldn’t move. She lay there in a drunken haze—the need to come her only focus.

Hell, she couldn’t live with nothing but a weekly sex session!

Breece raised a brow and watched her open her legs for the large vibrator. A low groan rumbled as she slid it in. He rubbed his hand over his cock, which was hard and hungry. He wasn’t sure how many years he’d been dead, but he was as horny as fuck.

Grace thrust the vibrator in deep, but she needed more, a lot more, and arched into it deeper still. Even drunk she knew she wasn’t going to have an orgasmic explosion. A small circle of heat flared and fluttered in her belly, and she gave a little whimper. It wasn’t happening. She flung the gadget onto the floor in irritation.

Rolling onto her stomach, she closed her eyes and passed out. One hand was flung to the side and dangled off the bed; her legs were spread-eagled.

Breece swallowed, hard. He wanted to fuck her. But hell, she was unconscious. He glanced down at his dick, which ridged his joggers and strained hard beneath the material. His decision made, he tugged his clothes off and carefully slid in beside her.

Unsure what to expect, Breece worried that he’d dissolve into her. Also, would he be able to feel her skin? Relief washed over him; it was exactly as he’d remembered. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d actually had sex with, but sensed what he liked and let his libido be driven by instinct.

And she wouldn’t remember a thing. At least for now. In time she would, if she’d really called him, was the cause of him being here. The least she could do was to let him use her body.

And fuck her whenever he wanted.

He dropped a kiss to her shoulder, and her skin shivered beneath his lips. The reaction was slight, but he felt it. He slipped his cock between her legs, rubbing it across her fanny, and her ass gave a small push back. A faint groan fluttered from her open mouth.

Her lips whispered his name. It gusted out on a small breath of air: ‘Breeeeece ….’ That was enough to seal her fate.

She’d called him forth, and she wanted him.

Slowly he pushed home, sunk his cock into her and filled her till he was balls deep. He didn’t care if she was almost comatose. What he wanted was release.


Ellen March lives on top of a mountain in Wales, which is ideal in the summer but not so much in the winter months or when it rains. She has three grown children, one suicidal cat—it really does have nine lives—and three Alaskan Malamutes. One of her hobbies is working them.

Her first love, however, is reading and creating worlds with wicked characters. Ellen’s works have been published by Ravenous Romance – Escorting Sydney, Shadow Play & One Night in Heaven, whilst Fanny Press have released Promises, His Girl Friday and recently A Ghost of an Affair with several more to follow in 2015. She also writes for Passion in Print under her fantasy pseudonym H D March, which is of course still erotic romance. The first of her Wolfsong Trilogy, Wolfsong Lullaby released in June, following that A Song of a Dragon, with some more sexy vampires Rune & Wolfe coming soon. Literally.

You can discover more about Ellen or HD March on the links below.

https://twitter.com/Ms_ellen_march twitter page

https://www.facebook.com/ellenmarchauthor facebook

http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com/  website



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Wolfsong Lullaby: A Sneak Peek at H D March’s New Release

Helen Duggan Ellen March 23 JuneThank you again K D for this opportunity to blog on your site. Only this time as H D March the alter ego of Ellen March. I’m still writing erotic romance, only this time in the paranormal. And I love it. The first of my vampire trilogy signed up with Passion in Print is available on release 21st June. Wolfsong Lullaby will be followed by Requiem and Soul. I adore my vampire bad boys, along with the sexy Werelion Chaya. He’s such a wicked cat, and awesome, a real pain in the ass to Quest the hero of Lullaby.

When wild child Lyric arrives on Coral Island to write her thesis on sex, she soon discovers a world she never knew existed. Lyric is torn between the hot vampire Quest and the mischievous Werelion Chaya. But there is something that intends spoiling her fun. Fuelling a long delayed destiny. One that is entwined with a curse. Because Lyric’s presence has awakened an evil entity. Its target, her soul. Only Quest stands in the way but will his strength be enough to save her.

The tale takes you through love, revenge, courage and betrayal as each of the three Declare brothers discover their own nemesis. They fight for their loved ones and are forced to consider what they’d always abhorred now needs to be understood. Yet only one emotion will free them, that’s’ love, but is it enough to unchain them from years of hatred by another. If your wish is to curl up into a wicked fantasy. Delve into the lives of hot sexy heroes, and flawed heroines. To melt beneath the intense love scenes, weep for them, and laugh with them then Wolfsong delivers.

I love the freedom that writing paranormal gives me, leaving my imagination fly. The research has to be my favourite part and in particular studying mythology and putting my own slant on things. It also gave me a nudge in another direction and recently I’ve had Song of the Dragon accepted by Passion in Print, a humorous tale of Dragon shifters, with a crazy kleptomaniac fairy Elspeth who’s crude and swears like a trooper along with her not so sexy angel boyfriend Troy. Greylan is my awesome Dragon King who takes a shine to heroine Raven, until he discovers who she is. And does what any self-respecting Dragon would do, kidnaps her.

I have so much fun writing hot paranormal the ideas come fast and furious and currently I’ve just completed another vampire story Rune and already have rumbles of its sister book.


Lyric checked the time, and at exactly seven, a knock sounded from the door. She moved to answer it; a swell of nerves swirled in her belly. Opening it, she snatched in a gasp at the sight of Quest dressed all in black.

He looked all male, hot and totally fuckable. A testosterone delight that she would take great pleasure in unwrapping and licking. A truly alpha male experience.

His gaze, she noticed, dropped to the plunging neckline of her dress.

It clung to each curve; a creation made to invoke a man’s sexual thoughts and dreams. Her calling card. She didn’t miss his gaze liquefy as it dusted over her.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Quest waited. A lot of things the vampires had outsmarted; learnt to live with. But the request for entry remained in force.

It was called good manners.

A slither of a wicked grin played around her lips, and she stood back. “Please, come on in.”

Quest gave the briefest of acknowledgements and entered.

Lyric tried to swallow the posse of nerves rampaging through her. Hell, he looked hot. A virile magnetism bounced off him. His gaze, the hot promise from his golden eyes, sent a host of ripples shooting over her. A veritable riptide dragging her under, and she so wanted to skip the banal talk and fuck him stupid. “What would you like to drink?” Relief hit her that she could speak. This man took everything from her, speech, thought, and common sense. And she prayed he’d give it back in return and take. Take what she needed to give him, what she craved off him.

“Nothing. I’ve already eaten.”

She shrugged her shoulders, not quite the answer, but hey ho. Then walked in front of him to the small lounge. Lyric had her questions laid out, at least some of them, curious to know how he would reply. She tried to focus, to tear her thoughts away from his erection sitting snug in his trousers. One that she wanted to take deep inside her.

She tried not to glance down; he wasn’t hard yet, but even so, he had an impressive package. One of the biggest lazy lobs it had ever been her pleasure to sift her eyes over. She licked her lips, not missing how his attention devoured her.

Lyric motioned to the chair, the one she intended conducting her interview from. “Take a seat.”

“So, what is it you want to know?” Quest crossed one leg over the other, the material of his trousers strained taut over his heavily muscled thigh.

“I have a number of questions, which obviously we won’t get through tonight. I need an insight into a man’s prospective.” Her hand shook as she checked the paper out and cursed, wishing she could keep in control


“Well, first of all, what does it for you? What makes you horny?” She shuffled the papers and tried to quell her nerves. That one word he spoke smashed into her defences; her blood boiled; her skin shivered. God knows what I’d do if he speaks dirty to me. And she wriggled her hips, a distinct dampness between her legs.

“You.” His gaze melted over her.

Oh, fuck. “Whoa, I mean give me a description of the person that would attract you and why.”

“It’s not the looks, it’s the emotion, the connection; do you understand?”

“How do you mean it?” She ran the pencil around on her piece of paper. Doodling. Pretending nonchalance. Anything to keep from pouncing on him, dragging his body to the floor. Lyric continued to draw little star shaped signs. Her mind, her predatory thoughts, on him.

God, she needed to release his so impressive cock, one that she knew lurked beneath his trousers. With determination, she kept her gaze from his crotch because any second she would throw her pad, pencil, and sanity into the air and jump him. She fidgeted, her damp panties soaked against a randy clit.

“I could look at a woman and not feel a thing, yet with you…” He flashed a sexy wink. “You do it for me; I want to sink deep into you.”

Lyric all but groaned. “Okay, what makes you hard?”

“Same answer sweetheart, you do.”

“Bullshit, aside from me, name an instance.” She hauled in a hungry gasp of breath. Unaware, the words blasted out, echoing her thoughts. She spoke them without thinking. “Would you like sex with me?” Fuck, did I just say that? Please God, say yes because, honey, I’m going to leap your bones.

He turned to her, a splash of pure lust burned across his face. “”Hell, yes, why do you think I’m here?”

Thank Christ for that! A raze of relief hit her, so hard she shuddered beneath its onslaught. She liked him. No, she didn’t, she argued with herself. Like was too mild a word. She wanted to fuck him; heck his body, his everything, did it for her. And also, she admired the fact he knew his own mind. That he needed sex as much as she craved it.

Lyric rose and moved to him. She leaned across and draped her hand over his so evident hard-on, her hand palmed his jaw, caressing. With infinite care, she bent her head, her lips seeking his; she licked him across his cheek. One super luscious slurp that smacked of sex and longing.

Her lips hovered over his. “Then kiss me.” Her words sprinkled over him in a hot whisper.

“No, baby, I never kiss, only fuck.” He continued his wandering tease over her skin.

Lyric reared back; it smacked of rented sex. A fuel of anger exploded. “Then, in that case, I suggest you leave, now.”


“You heard me; you don’t kiss, then, honey, trust me, that cock of yours is going nowhere near me.”

Quest’s face hardened; his eyes wide, they flared in surprise. And quickly narrowed, a deep molten gold burned into her. An intense heat blasted from him. “What did you say?”

Lyric pointed, her finger quivered with anger that he thought her a quick jump, with no emotion. Even though it would be, but under her terms. “Get the hell out now!”

“What about the tutorials?”

“Has got nothing at all to do with you; now, if you would kindly leave.”

Quest glared at her; no one, and that meant no one, ever told him what to do. Yet it seemed this galling woman had managed to succeed in doing just that.

He gave a sharp nod and, with a sweeping, glaring glance, left, swearing he’d be back because she would bow to what he wanted. And in the meantime, he’d watch over her, only too aware that Chaya sat in the wings.

Buy Wolfsong Lullaby Here: 



Find Ellen March Here:

https://twitter.com/Ms_ellen_march twitter page

https://www.facebook.com/ellenmarchauthor facebook

http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com/  website


Ellen March Gets Asked THE Question

Ellen MarshWhy is it when you mention you write erotic romance that a certain light flares? It’s as if because you write about sexual tensions and situations you actually experience it on a daily basis.

I wish.

The interest I notice appears to be exclusively from males. Women simply give me that knowing, yeah I fake that as well look.

A few of my stories have some extreme elements about killers and stalkers incorporated in the plot. Yet nothing is mentioned about them.  Not one question about how I delve inside the mind of a deranged madman. Where do I research drowning, broken ribs, bullet wounds? Nothing on that. Nope, instead the usual query arises.

Invariably, where I’ve gained my sexual knowledge from. Is it from personal experience? And mention research to a guy and you’ve got an instant offer of assistance. Not quite one my husband would agree with LOL. But I won’t give you my answer. Wicked I know.

Hell if I tried to do and get up to half of my heroines activities I’d be in traction.

So I would like to know why this genre is expected to be lived. Yet realize I’ll never have the answer. Or if I do, think it’s going to be of a naughty but interesting reply.

Excerpt from Promises:

She’d taken this job for two reasons. One was her love of books, hot erotic romance to be exact, and here she could indulge her craving to the hilt. The second was to escape her nagging mother. Yet even moving hadn’t been enough.

She’d been in Brindley Bay six months and it felt like six years. How could other people lead such varied and exciting lives whilst hers was lived through the pages of a book? Well almost, she thought, taking care moving on up the rungs. An armful of dusty tomes cradled in one arm, her free hand gripped the rail. She wobbled her way precariously to the top and with a studied caution placed the books back into their gaps, evident by the dusty marks left behind.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” warned a deep voice, breaking through the silence and into her thoughts.

“Shit!” she yelled, and turned too fast. With a strangled scream, felt herself falling and landed in a pair of steely arms that held her tight.

“Lucky I was here.” Solomon’s fingers subtly probed her thighs, feeling for her suspenders. They rolled briefly over the slight bumps.

“If you hadn’t snuck up on me I wouldn’t have fallen,” she snapped, realizing he still held her. “You can put me down now.” She couldn’t help noticing how his muscles flexed. The glorious masculine scent rolled over her, twisting lusty thoughts.

He dropped her with infinite slowness to the ground, still keeping an arm around her waist. Pulling her close, he dipped his head and the tip of his tongue tracked a path along the contours of her lips, retracing every route he’d travelled.

Alex relished his taste, fresh and so sweetly intoxicating. She sucked in a breath, then exhaled a soft, ragged wisp of a sigh. Her hand stole up with the fevered intensity of a Christmas shopper. Urgent fingers rubbed the base of his neck in a sexy circling dance of wanton need. Shivers splintered down her spine and she could feel him growing hard. She craved him with a power that was burning out of control.

“Hello,” shouted a disembodied voice. “Alex, where the heck are you?” The words broke the spell.

Solomon’s gaze sparked down at her, his eyes dark with passion. “I’ll see you later. I think we’ve got some unfinished business.” The words swept out in a hush, his voice full of unspoken promises.

Alex couldn’t speak. She struggled to nod her head, trying to calm her body’s traitorous reaction to him. She wished she could remain detached, then realized she could. It was her fanny that was causing the problem, experiencing a dull throbbing ache that wasn’t going away. Her kickers were already damp.

Tania stood by the desk and her eyebrows rose when she saw the tall, dark-haired man. It had to be Solomon. Instantly she patted at her hair, pulled out her compact and, with a brief glance in the mirror, glossed her lips. She adjusted her top, tugging it down so her boob job and cleavage showed. Then she smoothed her short skirt, skimming it so it fell just beneath her rounded ass.

Tania homed in on him, watching him leave. His slim hips rolled in a loose, easy sexy-assed action. Her eyes steamed hot on his tight butt, the pale denim of his jeans straining across muscled legs. Then she turned her attention to Alex who looked as if she’d just been fucked senseless.

“That’s Solomon,” Alex breathed, wearing a silly grin on her face and a creased frown on her forehead.

“I guessed that, but what I want to know is what did he do to you?” Tania’s eyes narrowed with a shard of pure jealously. She nibbled on her lip, her gaze still locked on the stud of a man walking away.

“He caught me when I fell off the ladder. And Tan, if you hadn’t come in, I honestly think I’d be having it off with him between Sense and Sensibility and The Bridges of Madison County!” She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know what it is about that man, but he’s only got to touch me and I’m like liquid gold.”

“After what I saw I’m not surprised,” agreed Tania, sucking in a sigh of jealous frustration.

Buy Promise Here:







Find Ellen Here:

twitter: https://twitter.com/Ms_ellen_march

facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ellenmarchauthor

website: http://ellenmarch.jimdo.com/



Ellen March Talks About the Writing Life and Her New Novel, Escorting Sydney

First I’d like to thank K D Grace for allowing me to guest on her blog site. She’s a diamond and has helped me through some dark times. You know it K D, and I’m eternally grateful to you.

Helen Duggan Ellen MarshEscorting_Sydney_51c305ab75df7_203x288Anyway who said being a writer is lonely. I find my mind awash with people, events, crimes, plots, erotic scenes, you name it and it becomes alive in my scrambled brain. I’ve got so much going on its unbelievable; even in my dreams characters invade every thought. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I actually began to sleep with a notepad and pen. Except without my glasses I can’t see what I’m writing so I’ve wisely given that up. LOL

It’s kind of weird; I can sit on a train look out of the window and miss all the whirring landscape. Instead I’m whisked off to the recesses of my oh so wicked imagination. I could be in the arms of a lover, one of my favourites! Or sometimes I’m the bitch that people love to hate. I discover that I play too good a part at that at times, and hope my inner self is not so dark. But know it’s not, because my sexy soul and naughty humor raises its head and takes over.

At other times maybe I’ll study a person, surreptitiously of course, LOL and wonder about their life. Who they are, what makes them laugh or cry.

What makes me cry, is being in my characters heads when they’re hitting a major sad milestone in their lives. When I’m writing, which is every day, because I cannot not write, I discover I become that person. The emotions, every part of them I feel with a deep intensity. Good, evil, sexy, it all thrives in me, I discover I’m a melting pot of emotions, of characters.

This can me a bit worrying when I write about a particularly vicious character as in Shadow Play which is the second book from the Doms of Drakos series. I loved the evilness of the characters, but again found myself in a murky pool of tears. My dark side also emerges in One Night in Heaven the third of the series, one which I found particularly stimulating. Sadly to such a degree, I began to question myself, my ethics and morals.

However the heroine from Escorting Sydney the first in the Doms of Drakos trilogy has to be one of my favourite characters. She’s overweight, clumsy, swears a lot, and has no sense of style. I can relate to her a lot. Sydney is a sweet laugh out loud rollercoaster of fun.

I’m often asked where I get my ideas from. And I really don’t know. A thought will flourish, and I will nibble at it for a day or two. Then bang! It erupts and I’m away, the words rush through me, the plots smash into each other. And quite honestly I’ve got to be the most disorganized writer around. The words shoot from my fingers, they erupt from my head, and all I know is that I can’t get them down fast enough. I have a rough draft in my befuddled mind, and an ending. I really do try to draft a rough plan, but my characters take me off on different tangents.

When I wrote Wolfsong Lullaby, my reader couldn’t work out who the killer was. How did I manage to hide it so successfully? It was simple, I didn’t know myself, I let the story take me. I have an outline the beginning middle and end. As to the rest I love to be taken along it, surprising me as much as anyone else.

My husband suggested putting up a camera to mirror my emotions. Because every word, every scene is expressed on my face, smiles, scowls, frowns, wickedly sinful giggles, and the tears. I can’t write a sad scene without a box of tissues close to hand. I don’t even know if that’s normal, if other writers experience the same intensity. I’m not acquainted with many, I’ll rephrase that, apart from K D none so that question remains a mystery.

The other problem with my haphazard writing, call it a flaw, I don’t know. But as I’m finishing one novel, my thoughts are already fishing around for another story. Recently I have discovered a love of the paranormal. And totally fallen for some rather hunky vampires along with wicked werecats. I’m currently on the third book of my Wolfsong trilogy, Wolfsong Soul. And my emotions along with theirs have been shredded, and I’m loving every moment of it.

Moving on back to my debut novel Escorting Sydney I wanted a character that everyone could relate to or actually know. A friend or a next door neighbour maybe? I love her crazy sense of humor and I love Logan. He’s so strong, sexy and oh so into BDSM. And he makes an excellent teacher as Sydney soon discovers. What Logan wants he takes, and its Sydney. It’s the classic of opposite’s attracting. An uplifting laugh out loud book that I’d like to think will give readers a happy for now day.

About Ellen March

Ellen March lives in Cefn Cribwr in South Wales. Her three grown up children have left home.  She lives with her husband Phil, one cat and five Alaskan Malamutes. Her hobbies are showing her dogs (Her dog Drago has taken two firsts at Crufts) She also enjoys back packing with them in the glorious countryside but her first love is writing.

Since she was a child she devoured any written word and acted out her fantasies in print. Her books take her from the usual nine to five into another universe.

Her ambition is to become a full time writer. She has written twenty five novels, including her first erotic romance, followed by psychological thrillers and recently the paranormal.  She is currently writing a trilogy on Vampires and Werecats.

BLURB for Escorting Sydney:

Pretty is an apt description, an exclusive word that just about sums up Sydney. Pretty plain, pretty overweight and pretty devastated when she finds her sister in bed with her boyfriend.

Can life get any worse? Sydney doesn’t think so until she mistakes a billionaire property developer for the male escort she’s hired.

Logan is only too keen to introduce her into his world, fulfilling all her deepest sexual fantasies. The ones she’s stored into the dark recesses of her mind. Under the compartment called filth, shackled with the chains she has dreamed of.

What Logan wants he takes, and it’s Sydney. For two weeks only, she’ll give her body, and he’ll introduce her into a world of sex she’s only ever dreamed of.

So why is she worried when he tells her he’ll only give her what she asks for


Sydney snuggled beneath the sheet, dreaming. A smile touched and teased her lips. The bitch was there. Looking on when Oliver kissed her, she could almost taste his tongue running along her lips. God, it was so real.

“Mmm, Oliver,” she whispered, a sudden blast of cold air smattered across her skin. Her eyes flew open, straight into the harsh face of Logan. An arm each side of her, he leaned across her.

“Sorry to interrupt your dream.” His voice scraped over her, chilled and hard.

“It’s not what you think.” She attempted to assemble her jumbled thoughts. “I mean yes, I was dreaming and then you kissed me. And I kind of, well, got confused.”

“Honey, don’t you ever fucking confuse me with that asshole.” He was powerless to understand the consuming rage that splintered through him.

“Hey, calm down.” she said. His blazing gaze was directed at her. For fuck’s sake. “And aren’t you the lucky one walking out of my life tomorrow evening?” She felt bad, in fact felt like shit. She hadn’t meant to upset him, but Christ, what the hell did he expect off her, apart from sex?

Yeah, she knew, a paycheck at the end of the day. He’d be moving on, screwing some other lonely, lucky bitch whilst she—it went without saying—would be back dabbling in her toy room. Losing her mind talking to a frigging vibrator, and arguing with a fucking battery, then thought of bully. Her sweet golden boy.

Logan glared down at her, and was amazed that instead of looking nervous, worried, or even guilty, she was lying there with a mysterious madonna smile haunting her lips.

“What the hell are you thinking of?” His steaming anger scrambled through his confused thoughts. “More of Oliver?” he rasped, furious with her reaction.

“No, I was thinking of my toy room,” she admitted, at last glancing up at him. “When you leave that’s what I’m back to. Deciding who or what to use.”

Lady, I’m going nowhere, at least not without you. Logan leaned over, threading his hands through her hair, or attempted to and gave up. God, it was a mess. Forget threading fingers through soft tresses—hers was like an untamed hawthorn hedge.

“Did you use your toys with Oliver?” Wanting to know, he almost choked spitting the last word out.

“Er, no, why?”

“Were you adventurous in the bedroom with him?”

“No, strictly missionary. I wasn’t allowed anything else.” She didn’t want to elaborate in case he thought her strange as well.

“Why? Didn’t you go down on him?” Remembering the blow job, his dick began twitching again.

“Wasn’t allowed.” She fixated on her hands, not wanting to witness the sympathy cross his face.

“And you?”

“Nope.” She twisted the sheet.

“So he never fucked your ass either.” The words dripped out. At last he was beginning to see what sort of sex life they’d had, in total contrast to the night he’d spent with her. “Would you have liked that?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Shame blazed across her face. His hand slid beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Tell me what else you’d like.” His almost-black eyes bored into hers, commanding, not asking. “Now!”

“Chains and handcuffs, to be taken, to be dominated.” Sydney closed her eyes, convinced he’d think her sick.

“I’m glad you’re honest with me.” Fucking hell, woman. Your ex is one screwed-up asshole.

“So why are you asking? Do you think I’m sick?”

“No,” he swore. “Why? Did he think that?”

Dropping her gaze, she nodded her head. “You don’t agree with him?”

“No way.” His thumb grazed across her lip, an oh-so-suckable lip. “I like your freckles.” With a wicked slow tempo, a finger drizzled down her nose, edging across her cheekbone.

“Yeah, bloody great.” Dissolving beneath him, she tried to work out how the hell she was going to cope after tomorrow. She was determined to make the most of tonight, her last night of pure mind-blowing sex. She was going to miss him like hell, still debating whether to ring the agency for an extension.

“I like your wrists.”

My what? She tried to work out where the hell that came from. A fetish of some kind? She hoped so. Kinky?

“I’d like to tie you up.”

Whoa, now we’re talking. “And?”

“And blindfold you.”

“And?” God, she was breathless already.

“And fuck you till you didn’t know what day it was. Hear you screaming, begging me to come. But only when I allow it.”

Oh God! She slammed her thighs together. Her mind raced ahead, trying to work out where the hell she could get handcuffs at this time in the evening.

Logan’s lips twitched, skimming his hand under the sheet, polishing his fingers over her pussy. She was hot and wet. He wanted her now, but needed to keep her waiting.

Slowly, with an almost clinical precision, he dipped his finger in—first one, the second following, number three shimmying close behind. They slid deep, awakening a path of lust, invading her, massaging the spot that could drive her crazy, brushing the walls of her cervix. Flicking and searching, his thumb lazily circled her clit, pushing down, and his fingers tinkled and teased with a seductive tempo until she couldn’t breathe. His gaze slipped down. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising in rapid breaths. She was going to be such a responsive pupil. Then he stopped.

Sydney fluttered her eyes open, staring up at him in confusion. The all-consuming pulsing she was experiencing was sending her insane. She wanted him. Now. “Logan?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own: low, almost keening.

“That’s to remind you of what’s to come.” His voice dripped with promise, adding with a harsh growl. “And it won’t be off fucking Oliver!”

Oh shit, she’d hit a definite nerve there.

She wished he’d stop his intense search of her. His smoke filled gaze soldered over her, igniting her lava flow. He’d peaked her to the edge, and with or without him she was going over. She’d become a natural at masturbation over the last five years. And not all of it required toys. Scuttling a hand between her legs, she rubbed herself.

Logan caught the movement, and flicked the sheet back. “Come for me, Sydney,” he murmured, feasting on her, the rash of color that rose across her face.

“No, I can’t.” Closing her eyes, she felt his hand on hers. Massaging and circling, leaving it there to sweet talk her clit. She kept her eyes shut, drowning in the heady sensations. They plummeted, flooding over her, a cataclysmic effervescent whirlpool that surged with the speed and devastation of a cyclone.

“Come on, baby.” Logan’s words careened her over the edge, releasing his cock he fisted himself in unison. His hand slid up the entire turgid length with an unhurried ease.

She bucked into an excruciating arc. Her body quivering, she whimpered, groaned aloud, and shuddered with a crash of relief against her hand.

Sydney felt his hand on hers again, smooth yet rough, a mixture of contrasting textures. She refused to open her eyes. Her whole body flushed in a deep shameful cringe, and embarrassment colored her. She couldn’t believe she’d masturbated in front of him. Oh Christ almighty, what was he doing to her?

“Open your eyes and look at me.” The tone of his voice commanding,

she couldn’t deny him.

Beautiful grey eyes smouldered into hers. His fingers dipped low, moving in an indefinable lazy stroke between her sensitive folds. Raising them, he licked each digit, sucking on them, little by little, one by delicious one, and her stomach flipped over.

“I like the taste of you honey,” he whispered.

Oh, fucking hell.

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