PRE-ORDER BLITZ- Trace + Olivia Series by Micalea Smeltzer

 

Series: Trace + Olivia
Author: Micalea Smeltzer
Genre: New Adult
Cover Design: Regina Wamba, Mae I Design
Release Date: September 22, 2017

Finding Olivia

 

How far would you go to find yourself?

That’s the question that’s been haunting Olivia Owens for years.

All Olivia has ever wanted to do is live and make mistakes, but her preacher
father has made that impossible. She believes that her years at college will be
her ticket into the real world and her chance to be wild and spontaneous.

But she’s never been able to do it on her own.

At the start of her sophomore year, she only has four things crossed off her
Live List, but that’s all about to change thanks to a chance encounter with
Trace Wentworth. She’s about to learn that there’s more to this reformed bad
boy than just his looks and panty dropping smile.

Trace can’t explain what it is that draws him to Olivia.

All he knows is that he wants to get to know the girl with the sad smile but
sparkle in her eyes.

When she tells him about her list, he knows that this is his chance to get to
know Olivia Owens. Trace is determined to show Olivia that she can do all the
things she’s ever wanted to do. So, he begins to help her cross things off her
list, even the more outlandish requests.

What happens along the way is more than what Olivia or Trace ever expected.

Love, laughs, and a list.

That’s the name of the game when you’re Finding Olivia.

 

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Chasing Olivia
How far would you go to reignite the spark you once had?
Two years later, Trace and Olivia are as much in love as they’ve always been.
But the spark they once had for life is waning and Trace is determined that
they find it again. His solution? A road trip. But he doesn’t tell Olivia the
real reason they’re heading north.

Olivia is happy to go on a road trip and have more adventures with Trace.
Besides, she needs a distraction from the soap opera her life has become. With
college over, this is the perfect opportunity to chase down the carefree girl
she once was.

But life isn’t a fairytale and you can only escape reality for so long.

Love, laughs, and a hidden agenda.

That’s the name of the game when you’re Chasing Olivia.

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Tempting Rowan

I’m drowning in the numbness. It’s pulling me under and I can’t see the surface. It’s easier to pretend I can’t feel. And the longer you pretend, the easier it is to believe. But he wants to save me. Only he can’t. I have to save myself…and I don’t know if I want to.

 
Rowan Sinclair’s life has been anything but easy. With an alcoholic mother and a sleazy stepfather, it’s been her responsibility to raise her younger siblings. At twenty-one she’s chained to a life she doesn’t want, but sees no other alternative. After all, what would happen to her brother and sister if she were to leave?
 
Trenton Wentworth sees the pain behind Rowan’s eyes. He wants nothing more than to make it disappear. To hold her. To love her. Except Rowan keeps everyone at a safe distance. But if there’s anyone that can break down the walls she’s built around herself, it’s Trent. So she avoids him at all costs. But Trent isn’t one to be easily evaded. He’s stubborn and determined. He’ll save this girl even if it costs him everything.
 
Love, lies, and deception.
 
That’s the name of the game when you’re Tempting Rowan.

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Saving Tatum
Even tough girls need saving.

Jude Brooks is bad news. He’s the kind of guy that leaves behind a string of
broken hearts and Tatum O’ Connor is not about to be one of those girls,
despite all of Jude’s advances. They have a past, and Tatum’s determined to
make sure they don’t have a future.

Unfortunately for her, “no” isn’t a word in Jude’s vocabulary.

The more she backs away, the more he pushes.

But what if he pushes too far?

Tatum’s hiding a pain that no one sees and holding on to a hurt that may never
heal. Letting Jude into her heart could shatter her completely—and what if she
opens up to Jude and he can’t handle her baggage?

Love is never easy—especially when the person you’re falling for is the person
you blame for the worst event in your life.

Love, heartache, and despair.

That’s the name of the game when you’re Saving Tatum.

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Author Bio
Hi. I’m Micalea. Ma-call-e-uh. Weird name, I know. My mom must’ve known I was going to be odd even in the womb. I’ve written a lot of books. Like a lot. Don’t ask
me how many, I don’t remember at this point. I have an unhealthy addiction to
Diet Coke but I can’t seem to break the habit. I listen to way too much music
and hedgehogs have taken over my life. Crazy is the word that
best sums up my life, but it’s the good kind of crazy and I wouldn’t change it
for anything.
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CHAPTER REVEAL- Unconventional by Isabel Love

 

Title: Unconventional
Author: Isabel Love
Genre: Erotic Romance
Release Date: July 20, 2017
Blurb
Happily ever after—what a joke! I tried that once and ended
up divorced.
Now, I only want one thing from men.
Charlie Nelson is good at giving me that one thing. Really, really good.
So good, in fact, I discovered a new side of myself.
I never knew I liked to watch until I saw
his talented hands touching someone else.
I never knew I liked to be watched until I
felt his searing gaze on me.
Maybe happily ever after isn’t always a white picket fence,
wedding bells, and 2.5 kids.
Maybe it’s something a bit more…unconventional.
*Warning: Contains dirty talk, piercings and hot threesomes.
Intended for readers over 18 years of age.
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Copyright © 2017
Unconventional by Isabel Love

 

 


That’s some
party trick.
 
I’m so worked
up
 right now, I
almost can’t see straight. I had fully intended to fuck Miss Double D, as Quinn
so aptly named her, but once the security guard interrupted us and Quinn
bolted, having sex with Crystal lost its appeal. All I could think about was
Quinn’s gaze on me, watching me touch another woman, watching me make her come.
She liked watching. I could tell how turned on she was by the
way her chest was rising and falling so rapidly with every breath, the way she
couldn’t tear her eyes away from me, the sheen of sweat on her upper lip and
neck.
 
My cock throbs in
my pants just thinking about it.
 
Quinn insists on
driving as I had a few shots tonight and we decide to go to her place because
it’s closer. Quinn lives in a condo that’s quite nice, actually. Once we’re in
her car, I adjust my dick so my pants aren’t strangling it.
 
“Congratulations
on your new account, hotshot. I don’t know if I told you earlier,” she says.
 
“Thank you. You
told me earlier, but you can tell me again. I like it when you praise me.”
 
“I’m not sure
there’s any room in this car, what with the size of your—”
 
“Cock?” I
interject.
 
“I was going to
say ego.
 
“My cock is
pretty big, too, you have to admit.” I look over at her, flashing a naughty
grin.
 
“I do like your
cock, you know that. Are you fishing for compliments?”
 
I chuckle. I love
that she admits to liking my cock. Most women shy away from dirty talk, but not
Quinn. She’s just as blunt as I am and isn’t afraid to use words like cock or
cunt.
 
“Isn’t there any
way you can go any faster? I’m dying over here.” I’m two seconds away from
pulling my dick out and jacking off while she drives.
 
“Calm your tits.
We’re almost there.” She rolls her eyes but does push down on the gas pedal a
bit harder.
 
“Speaking of
tits, you liked watching me fondle Miss Double D, didn’t you?”
 
“That was one
impressive rack,” she admits.
 
“Have you
ever…been with a woman?” The way she was watching us made me think she’d like
to join in. I could see Quinn experimenting with other women.
 
“No, I like dick,
if you haven’t noticed.” She smiles and glances over at me. “But I can
appreciate that boobs are sexy.”
 
“What about the
way she was able to lick her own nipples, wasn’t that hot?” I almost came in my
pants when I saw that she could do it. That’s going in the spank bank, for
sure.
 
“That’s some
party trick.”
 
“Would you lick
your own nipples if you could?” I ask her. Quinn’s boobs are amazing, large and
perky, though not quite as big as Crystal’s.
 
“Hell yeah I
would. That’s like asking if you would suck your own dick if you could. Don’t
even tell me you’ve never tried to; I won’t believe you.”
 
I chuckle. “When
I was 14, I tried as hard as I could, but I’m not that flexible.”
 
“There’s a sight
I would have liked to see.” She laughs.
 
“It wasn’t even
remotely sexy. I lived in fear that someone would walk in on me and catch an
eyeful of me in different contorted positions.” I laugh at the memory. “It
would seem as though you are a closet voyeur. How did I not know this about you
until tonight?”
 
She chews on her
bottom lip. “I didn’t know it myself. I mean, I like watching porn, but I’ve
never come across an opportunity to watch real-life action.”
 
I file that
information away for later and almost weep with relief when we pull into her
driveway. We turn to look at each other once the car is parked in her garage,
and her eyes roam over my face, stopping on my lips. She leans forward, about
to kiss me.
 
“Is there
anything you need to do before I fuck you?” Once I start, I won’t be able to
stop until I’m balls deep inside of her.
 
“No.” 
I promptly get
out of the car and walk around the front to open her door. As soon as she’s
standing, I’m on her, pulling her face toward mine and taking her mouth in a
hot, wet kiss. Her lips are perfect, plump, and soft, and this kiss has the
perfect ratio of lips, teeth, and tongue. Her tongue dances with mine and she’s
as ravenous as I am, licking and nipping at me. Her hands are busy too,
untucking my shirt and reaching for my belt buckle. Fuck. I love
that she’s desperate for my dick, but I reach down and bat her hands away. We
need to take this inside. I reach down to palm her ass and pick her up. Her
legs wrap around my waist as I carry her to the door, stopping by the security
alarm so she can disarm it.
 
Once the door is
open, I stride inside and sit on the couch with Quinn straddling me. She grinds
against my erection as I pull her shirt up and off. She reaches for my shirt
next, and I reach over my head to tug it off. She sits back on my lap and
stares down at my torso, lust and appreciation shining in her eyes. I also take
a moment to appreciate my view of her. She wears a red, silky bra, but it seems
like some of the material is missing because only the bottom half of her boobs
are covered. The top half is exposed and I can see the pink skin of her areolas
just hinting at where her nipples are. I trail my fingers across the edge of
the bra, dragging the material down a bit to reveal the rest of her nipples.
They’re tight little nubs and I pinch them, hard. She gasps and arches her
back, bringing her chest closer to my face.
 
“I really like
this bra, Red. It seems like you chose the color just for me.”
 
“I chose it
for me. I like the way it makes me feel,” she corrects me, her
voice low and throaty.
 
“How does it make
you feel?”
 
“Sexy.” 
“You don’t need a
bra for that. You’re sexy all on your own. Stand up, take your pants off. I
want to see the rest of you.”
 
She stands and
starts to unbutton her pants. “If I’m getting naked, then so are you. Come on,
let me see that gorgeous cock of yours.”
 
I comply with her
request, grabbing a condom out of my wallet before stripping off my jeans,
underwear, socks, and shoes. Quinn makes quick work of her pants and heels then
goes to take off her panties but I stop her.
 
“Wait, I want
to take those off.” I sit back down on the couch and pull her to stand in front
of me. The underwear is also silky red, and I love the contrast against her
pale skin. Quinn is curvy, her hips flaring out from her waist. I smooth my
hands down them before reaching back to squeeze her ass. It bounces when I let
go and I can’t wait to see it bounce on my cock.
 
“How wet did you
get watching me earlier?” I know she was aroused, but I don’t know how much.
 
“Soaking wet,”
she tells me.
 
“I want to see.”
I reach for the fabric that covers her pussy and run my fingers back and forth,
testing the fabric for wetness. Sure enough, it’s soaked. “Fuck, Red. I need to
taste you.”
 
“So taste me.” 
I slide her
panties down her legs and help her step out of them. I lean forward and nuzzle
my nose right in between her legs, inhaling her musky scent, then lick her
slit, grabbing her ass and pulling her forward, closer to my mouth. She holds
on to my shoulders to steady herself as my tongue laps at her cunt, but I can’t
quite get the right angle while she’s standing up.
 
I stand, and she
whimpers. “Why did you stop?”
 
I look around her
living room and see the ottoman in front of the couch is plush and a decent
size. “Lie back on this, I need to bury my face in your pussy.”
 
She shivers at my
words and reclines on the ottoman, legs spread wide and leaning up on her
elbows so she can watch me. Her red hair is wild, her face is flushed, and her
tits are heaving out of her bra as she pants in anticipation.
 
I kneel in front
of her and hold her gaze as I lick her slowly, from opening to clit.
 
“Fuck, that feels
good. Don’t stop.”
 
My licks are slow
and steady, working her up, but not giving her enough friction to come. She
keeps her gaze on me and I watch as she becomes more and more desperate.
 
“Charlie.” 
“Hmm?” I ask,
like I have all the time in the world.
 
Quinn likes to be
bossy too, and I like to make her beg. She hates begging, which makes me like
it even more. She tips her hips up, chasing my tongue, but I move it to lick
her folds instead.
 
“Charlie!” she
complains.
 
“Did I ever tell
you how much I love eating your pussy?” I ask her conversationally in between
licks. I could eat her out for hours. Her red curls are neatly trimmed, framing
her clit and pussy lips. I spread her wide open with my fingers and lick into
her opening, pushing my tongue as deep as I can get it, then licking the walls
as I come out. Her taste is addictive. Not all women taste the same—some are
bitter, some more musky, some sour. Quinn’s pussy tastes divine, the right
combination of musky, salty, and sweet. I lap up her juices, avoiding her clit,
trying to drive her crazy enough to beg me.
 
“Fuck! Charlie, I
need you. Is that what you want to hear?”
 
Bingo. “What do you need? More of my
tongue?” I focus on her clit and she moans loudly.
 
She doesn’t
answer me, so I back away.
 
“Charlie! Please,
I need you to fuck me, okay? Please fuck me.” She glares at me, pissed that she
gave in and begged me, but so turned on.
 
I chuckle and
reach for the condom. “My pleasure. Why didn’t you just say so?”
 
My body is so desperate to come but his tongue
wasn’t enough; I need his cock, and that fucking bastard always likes to make
me beg.
 
He rolls the
condom on and tugs on his gorgeous cock a couple of times before lining himself
up with my pussy. He pulls me forward slightly, making my ass hang just a bit
off the edge of the ottoman, and rubs the head of his dick up and down my
folds, coating himself with my wetness. I feel his piercing, a stark contrast
to the way a cock feels. The metal of the piercing is unforgiving while his
penis is hard but soft at the same time. The combination makes my eyes roll
back into my head and my clit throbs as I wait for him to push into me. He
doesn’t though, not right away. He picks up my legs and drapes them up over his
shoulders.
 
“Charlie!” I
bark. “Now. Fuck me now.”
 
At my tortured
command, he slams into me. I’m so wet, he gains entry easily, but his girth
stretches me open, making me gasp at the sudden feeling of fullness.
 
“Fuck. This is
going to be fast.”
 
Thank God. 
He leans forward,
seeking purchase on the edges of the ottoman to hold on. I grab on to his
forearms and he starts to thrust into me.
 
“Yessss.” I love
his unrelenting rhythm. His cock is big, and I feel the piercing inside,
creating more friction with each movement in and out of me. It reaches all the
right places and I’m on the verge of coming.
 
“I need you to
come, Red. Are you close?”
 
“God, yes.” 
He leans down and
latches on to one nipple, pulling it and biting it. Then he tends to the other
nipple, and the extra stimulation pushes me over the edge. Pleasure steals my
breath and my vision.
 
“Fuck!” I shout,
wrapping my legs around his waist so I can keep him inside me. My pussy clamps
around his dick while I come and he chuckles sexily.
 
“I love feeling
you milk my cock. Was that good?”
 
“Mmmmm,” I tell
him, too far gone for words right now.
 
He kisses me and
stays still as I come down from my orgasm. Then he starts moving again and I
realize his cock is still rock hard. “You didn’t come yet?”
 
“Not yet. Can you
flip over? I need to see your ass.”
 
“I’m not sure I
can move,” I groan. My body is always a bit paralyzed after an orgasm.
 
“I’ve got you.”
He pulls out of me, helps me sit up, then I turn and face plant into the
ottoman. He positions me so I’m kneeling on the carpet, folded over the ottoman
for support, ass sticking out at him. He palms my ass and slaps one cheek, the
unexpected sting causing me to gasp.
 
“Don’t fall
asleep on me.”
 
“Well then, give
me something to stay awake for,” I retort.
 
He spreads my ass
cheeks apart, so wide I’m completely exposed to his view. I can’t see what he’s
doing, but it seems like he’s just looking at me.
 
“You see
something you like?” I ask him, unnerved at his silence and stillness.
 
“I wish I could
take a picture of you right now, all pliant and satisfied, your pussy wet and
pink from my cock fucking you,” he replies, his voice so husky. “I’d title
it Satisfaction.”
 
“I bet you have a
collection of naughty pictures, don’t you?” He is a photographer, after all.
 
He slides his
cock up and down my crack, teasing me. Then he squeezes my ass cheeks together,
sandwiching his dick in between them, and pumps up and down. The condom catches
on my skin, not slick enough to glide smoothly, so he spits. The sound is so
crass, and I feel the plop as his saliva lands on my skin, but
when he starts moving again, the extra spit allows him to slide easily. Fuck,
his cock is so big. It makes me squirm every time it passes over my asshole,
and that piercing—it’s so unyielding.
 
“You’d think I’d
have naughty pictures, but I don’t. I’m not much for remembering past hookups,
but fuck, I want to keep this image for my viewing pleasure.”
 
“Maybe I’ll send
you a picture sometime.” I’ve never taken nude photos before, too afraid they
would end up online somewhere, but the thought of Charlie jerking off to images
of me gets me hot.
 
“I’d like that.”
He pulls back, his cockhead trailing down my crack to rub my clit. My nerve
endings are still so sensitive from my orgasm that his touch is almost too
much.
 
“Fuck, Charlie,”
I hiss, squirming away from his attention.
 
Surprisingly, he
heeds my complaint and finally slides into me. It’s a slow slide, inch by inch,
until his pelvis is flush with my ass, then he stills. Pleasure zings through
me at the way he stretches me and my recently sated body wakes up, hungry for
more. I need friction, but he isn’t moving. I huff in frustration.
 
“I want you to
bounce that luscious ass on my cock,” he says in explanation.
 
That I can do. I
lift my upper body off the ottoman and brace myself. Holding on to the sides, I
rock forward until I feel he’s almost completely out then I back up quickly,
loving the way he fills me up.
 
His hands cradle
my hips and pull me back to meet him. “That’s it, Red. God, your ass is
fantastic.”
 
Nothing is sexier
than the sounds this man makes during sex. The deep rumbles, the muttered
curses, the bossy commands, even the lewd remarks about my body are all so damn
hot.
 
Charlie Nelson is
one sexy beast.
 
Soon enough, he
takes control and reaches around to rub my clit. He can read my body so well,
and his fingers plucking my clit while he fucks me triggers an orgasm so
intense, I practically pass out. I scream my release and try to grab hold of
something to keep me tethered to Earth. He pitches forward on one final thrust
and shouts hoarsely along with me. His arms come around me, stilling my
flailing movements and holding me close as his dick pulses inside me.
 
“Fucking hell,
that was amazing.” He pants into my neck.
 
“Mmmm,” I agree. 
“You paralyzed?”
He knows this about me—orgasms always steal my coordination and leave me in a
heap of spasms and heavy limbs.
 
“Mmmmhmm.” 
“Stay here, I’ll
take care of you.” Those words sound so foreign coming out of Charlie’s mouth.
I know he means he’ll take care of my body. Not of me. I don’t want
anyone to take care of me.
 
I just want
orgasms.
 
And Charlie is
good at giving me orgasms.
 
I’ll never depend
on any man to take care of me ever again.
 
Charlie returns
moments later with a warm cloth and wipes between my legs gently. Then he lifts
me easily into his arms and carries me to my bed.
 
“Is it okay if I
crash here? I can be out of your hair first thing in the morning,” he promises.
 
I usually hate
having men stay the night. If it were anyone else, I’d make them leave
immediately. In fact, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have brought them to
my house at all, but Charlie is in this strange category. He isn’t some random
hookup; he’s someone I see all the time in my circle of friends. I guess he’s
my friend with an amazing cock who I like to have sex with on occasion, so I
trust him more than a random stranger.
 
That’s the only
reason I tug him down into bed with me, snuggle into his side, and promptly
fall asleep with the warmth of his arm wrapped around my waist.
 

 

 

Author Bio

Isabel Love is a hopeless romantic. She loves reading about two people falling in love, overcoming whatever obstacles they may face, and finding their happily ever after. A husband, two kids, and a full-time job keep her busy by day, but by night, she can be found with her Kindle in hand, reading “just one more chapter”.


Author Links

CHAPTER REVEAL- Complicating by Noelle Adams & Samantha Chase

 

 

Title: Complicating
A Preston’s Mill Series Standalone
Authors: Noelle Adams & Samantha Chase
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: July 19, 2017


Blurb
Forget all those other accidental pregnancy
romances you might have read.
Daisy and Carter don’t have a one-night
stand…because it’s thirty minutes in a back room at a wedding reception. And
Carter isn’t a bad boy baby-daddy…except for the motorcycle, tattoos, and
attitude. Daisy doesn’t have the typical issues with her pregnancy…if you
don’t count the morning sickness, food cravings, and occasional horniness. And
Carter doesn’t hang around all the time, wanting both her and the baby…until
he falls in love.
But they definitely don’t become a happy
family…right away.
Daisy has
always been a good girl. She’s never done anything wild or spontaneous until
she has a little too much to drink at a wedding and has a fling with a sexy
stranger. She thought they were careful, but accidents happen. And now she’s
going to have the baby of a man she barely knows.
Carter is
her opposite in every way and completely the wrong man for her. They can still
work out a reasonable arrangement regarding the baby. But the more time she
spends with him, the less reasonable she feels. And he’s acting all possessive
and protective, so it gets harder and harder to convince herself that he’s just
the father of her baby.
She wants
him to be so much more.

 

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Chapter One

Daisy stared at herself in the mirror over the sink and thought with a thrill that she looked pretty darn good.

Her dress was green to match her eyes, and although it was perfectly appropriate for a five-o’clock wedding, it was sexier than what she normally wore with its sleek shape and slight flare above her knees. She turned a bit to make sure the curve of her butt wasn’t too pronounced.

It was pronounced, but hopefully not unattractively so.

“Your ass looks fantastic,” Chloe said with a grin as she came out from one of the bathroom stalls.

“I wasn’t looking at it.” Daisy gave her butt another quick glance to verify that it did indeed look fantastic.

Chloe laughed uninhibitedly as she washed her hands. “You can act all sweet, innocent librarian all you want, but you’ve got a wild side in there somewhere that I’m going to set loose eventually.”

Daisy gave her friend an appreciative smile and didn’t argue. Out loud anyway.

She knew the truth. She didn’t have a wild side. She was a sweet and (mostly) innocent librarian. She was twenty-four, and she’d only had one serious boyfriend. She went to church every Sunday, and she’d been raised to never swear, never drink, and never, ever let boys touch her in naughty ways.

She might not have lived up to those rules perfectly—and lately she’d been working on being herself and not just who she was raised to be—but she certainly wasn’t close to Chloe’s level of wildness. Daisy had met Chloe at Preston’s Mill, their apartment building in a small town in eastern Virginia, and they’d become friends immediately. Chloe was fun and fearless and had traveled all over the world, and she was always encouraging Daisy to spread her wings a little further.

Daisy was trying. But there was no way she’d ever spread her wings as far as Chloe did on a regular basis.

She would always be a quiet, small-town girl at heart.

“We’ve got to try to find you a man tonight,” Chloe said conspiratorially as they were leaving the bathroom.

“Ha ha,” Daisy replied dryly.

“Why do you mock? There must be a few eligible men around. Half of Preston is here tonight—plus tons of people from surrounding areas.”

“Chris and Heather were both raised in Preston, so they know everyone.”

Daisy had been raised in Preston too. She was a couple of years younger than Heather, the bride of today’s wedding, so they hadn’t been really close. But she knew almost everyone in town.

She also knew there weren’t any interesting single men lurking in the shadows of the reception hall, a large ballroom in a lovely Victorian house that was now hired out for weddings and other occasions.

As she and Chloe reentered the room, Daisy’s eyes immediately strayed toward the far corner where the man she’d noticed before was still lurking in the shadows.

She wasn’t sure why she’d noticed him earlier except he was sitting alone and seemed so out of place. He was tall and well built with unruly dark hair. He was dressed in all black, and he’d evidently made a gesture toward wedding attire with a jacket, but his shirt didn’t have a collar.

He looked rough. Intimidating. Not particularly friendly.

He wasn’t even very handsome—at least not the type of looks Daisy had always gravitated toward. She wasn’t sure why she kept sneaking looks at him.



“You’re just scared,” Chloe said as they returned to the table they’d been sitting at earlier.



The reception was lovely and generously stocked with food, but it wasn’t a formal banquet dinner, and there wasn’t assigned seating. Daisy enjoyed these kinds of receptions more. They didn’t feel so stiff and artificial. The band was playing a good variety of music, and there were a lot of people dancing—but mostly kids bopping around and older couples who clearly knew all the old steps.



“I’m just scared about what?” she asked Chloe, trying to think back to their earlier conversation.



“About coming on to men.”



Daisy sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m not scared about that. There aren’t any men here to come on to.”



“I’m sure I can find you a few. Then what would you do? You’d be too afraid to make a move on them.”



“If there are eligible men around, I wouldn’t be afraid.”



It was a lie. Daisy never came on to men. She’d always waited for them to make the first move, which was why she was often waiting a very long time between dates.



“Are you willing to prove it?”



“Prove it how?”



“If I find three eligible guys, will you come on to them?”



Daisy went still. They’d been joking around before, but Chloe was entirely capable of making good on this particular dare. “What do you mean, come on to them?”



“I mean you have to go over to them, start a conversation, and do a little flirting.”



“And that’s all?”



“That’s all. Best to start with baby steps with you, I think.”



Daisy frowned, although she knew her friend wasn’t serious.



She was by nature fairly conservative and by upbringing rather sheltered, but she wasn’t a child or a coward. She could do something other women might consider normal—even if she’d never done it before.



“Is it a deal?” Chloe asked.



Daisy never would have agreed had she not felt like she had something to prove—to herself even more than to Chloe. She didn’t want to be trapped by her own insecurities. Her heart was already hammering in her chest, but she was going to do this. “It’s a deal.”



Chloe looked delighted and a little surprised. “Okay. Great. We’ll start easy then. The guy with the glasses over there.”



Daisy glanced over and recognized the man as a cousin of one of her old classmates. He was pleasant-looking and a little shy. She breathed out in relief.



She could do this.



She could do it.



She stood up, aware of Chloe watching with amused interest, and she went over to talk to him. She felt a little stupid as she sat down in an empty chair at his table, but she relaxed when he smiled, recognized her, and looked happy to talk with her.



It was easy. He was perfectly nice, if a little boring. She laughed a lot and touched his hand, his arm, so Chloe would believe she’d been flirting.



It was clear to see that the man would be very happy to continue talking to her, but Daisy didn’t actually want to lead him on, so she ended the conversation with a smile and returned to Chloe.



Chloe was laughing, clearly pleased with her friend’s success, and she’d gotten them both fresh glasses of champagne so they could toast Daisy’s victory.



“Okay. That one was easy. Now you have to do that guy over there near the bar. The one with the flashy watch.”



Daisy turned to look and immediately saw the one Chloe meant. She didn’t recognize him, so he must not be from town. He was quite handsome in a charming, entitled way, and he looked like he was used to having his way with women. That would make him challenge enough, but he wasn’t standing alone. He was chatting with two pretty, single women, who were both clearly flirting with him.



And Daisy was going to have to go over there, bust into their conversation, and somehow try to win him away from the other women.



She swallowed hard.



“You can always admit you’re not up to the challenge,” Chloe murmured.



Daisy squared her shoulders. “I am up to it. I’ll do it.”



She walked over to the man in a blur, an anxious stupor taking over her movements, and she almost wilted in relief when, as she got closer, she recognized one of the women.



So when she got to the bar, she greeted the woman, having to remind her of how they’d had biology class together in high school.



They chatted for a minute, and the woman introduced her to the other woman and then the man.



As Daisy turned her smiles on the man, she was aware of how the other women looked annoyed.



Maybe this was normal practice for some women, to horn in on other groupings and take the attention of the best man.



Daisy didn’t like it though. It felt rude. And kind of selfish. But she had something to prove here, and so she tittered with laughter at a stupid joke the man made and did her best to look alluring.



She must have been successful because the man said how much he loved redheads and asked if she wanted another drink.



She said she did, and they walked away from the other two women.



There. That would prove to Chloe that she’d appropriately come on to this man. She’d earned his attention, and he evidently wanted to keep talking to her. She sipped a new glass of champagne, put up with his silly compliments about her long red hair, and finally got so annoyed with his obnoxious attitude and the way he kept flashing his ridiculously expensive watch that she made an excuse and returned to Chloe.



“That was fantastic,” Chloe said, brimming with excitement. “Did you see those other girls’ faces when you took him away from them?”



“Yes,” Daisy admitted, flushed with her third glass of champagne and with a kind of power she didn’t often feel. “Although it feels like a mean thing to do.”



“It wasn’t mean. That’s the way it always is. All’s fair and all that.”



“Okay. Fine. So who is the last one? Or do you just give up now that I’ve proven I’m more than up to this challenge?”



“I’m not giving up. I’ve got your last guy all picked out for you.” She nodded toward the far corner of the room. “There. The guy by himself.”



Daisy tensed up, knowing even before she looked who Chloe was referring to. The rough, intimidating guy she’d been sneaking looks at all evening. “He’s not eligible!”



“What do you mean, he’s not eligible? He’s been alone the whole time. He doesn’t have a date. I don’t think he looks married, but if you find out he is, just say ‘whoops’ and get the hell out of there. No big deal.”



“But…”



“But what?” Chloe was grinning wickedly now. “You’re throwing in the towel, aren’t you?”



“No. I’m not.” Daisy gulped. Was she really going to have to go over there and talk to that guy? What on earth would she even say? She had no thin connection with him to initiate the first contact the way she had with the other two men. She had nothing but a blunt, open approach.



“So do it. He’s been watching you.”



“He has not been watching me.” She knew that for sure because every time she glanced over, his eyes were focused on something else.



“Yes, he has. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve got to go talk to him anyway or else admit you’re not up to it.”



“I am up to it.” She swallowed down the rest of her champagne and then stood up, her head spinning a little from nerves or alcohol or both. “Okay. Here I go.”



She didn’t move.



“Anytime now,” Chloe prompted.



“I’m going. Right. Now.”



Daisy finally managed to make her feet move, and she forced them to head toward the corner. She was halfway there when the man’s eyes landed on her, and his gaze didn’t falter as she approached.



He knew she was coming over to him.



There was no face-saving excuse with this one.



She was breathless and almost numb with fear when she reached his table. Her knees wouldn’t hold her, so she sat down on the chair next to him. “Hi,” she said stupidly.



He raised his dark eyebrows. “Hi.”



His eyes were blue. Very blue. She couldn’t help but notice. He needed to shave—or maybe he was growing a beard. And there were tattoos all over his forearms, exposed now that he’d taken off his jacket.



Tattoos.



She was going to have to come on to a guy with tattoos all down his arms.



“You’re sitting all alone,” she managed to say when it was clear he wasn’t going to help her out in making conversation.



“So you felt sorry for me?” His voice was deep, slightly gruff. Definitely sardonic.



“No. Just being friendly.”



“Is that what you call it?”



She was getting confused now. Her mind was slightly clouded from the three glasses of champagne. “What I call what?”



“It looks more like you have some kind of bet going with your friend.” He inclined his head toward where Chloe was sitting and blatantly staring at them.



“There’s no bet.”

“Really? Because I just saw you come on to two other guys and then walk away when they responded.”

She gulped. “It wasn’t a bet.”

“Then what was it?”

“I was just… just proving something.”

“Proving what? How men will make asses of themselves when faced with a pair of green eyes and a hot body? Because I’d have thought that has already been proven over and over again throughout history.”

He was smart. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. And he had a dry sense of humor. She liked both those things.

She also liked the strongly chiseled lines of his face and the breadth of his shoulders.

He was big and solid. Man all the way through.

“That’s not what I was trying to prove,” she said.

“Then what?” He asked the question like he had the right to know, even though they didn’t even know each other’s names.

“Just proving something to myself.” She wasn’t sure why she was telling him the truth.

“What did you need to prove to yourself? You must know how gorgeous you are.”

She didn’t know. She’d always figured she was pretty enough, but guys had never been knocking down doors to get to her. But she couldn’t help but flush with pleasure at the heated interest in his eyes.

He thought she was gorgeous. That much was clear.

“Not that,” she said, answering his question. “Just that I can… I can do things other women can do.”

“Things like what?” He seemed to really want to know.

“Come on to men.” No sense in pretense now. He evidently knew when she was lying to him or playing games.

“You really thought you couldn’t come on to men? Angel, all you have to do is show up.”

Her cheeks burned even hotter, and the pleasure washed down from her chest to her belly—and then even lower.

“So you came over here to come on to me?” he asked, swallowing down the last of the scotch in his glass.

She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“And what was your plan?”

“I didn’t have a plan. Is that something women plan out in advance?”

“Some do.”

“Oh. I was just making it up as I went along.”

He chuckled, low in his throat. The sound seemed to vibrate through her whole body. “I see. Well, I’m waiting here breathlessly to see how you’ll proceed.”

He was teasing her, and she liked it. Her mind buzzed as she tried to keep up with his wit. “Oh. Well, maybe you get me another drink, and we’ll see what happens.”

The man laughed appreciatively and stood up. As he strode over to the bar—damn, the man had a great butt and amazing arms—Daisy tried not to giggle in excitement. She looked over to Chloe and saw she’d gone to talk to a few other friends. But she gave Daisy a grin and a silly thumbs-up sign before she looked away.

Daisy laughed out loud by herself at the table.

Was she really doing this? Flirting with a sexy stranger?

He returned with two glasses of scotch.

She frowned. “I was drinking champagne.”

“I know you were. But if you want to come on to me, you’ll have to drink something less fizzy.”

She didn’t like whiskey, but she took a swallow anyway. It burned her throat and filled her with a pleasant heat.

He nodded in approval. “I’m Carter,” he said.

“Daisy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be very nice to meet you.”

***

An hour later—a lot of flirty conversation and two more scotches each—and Daisy was flying high.

She wasn’t even sure how it had happened, but they were stumbling down a hallway in the old Victorian mansion, looking for a private room.

For the past thirty minutes, Carter had been touching her a lot—kissing her hand, stroking her bare arm with his fingertips—and between that, the alcohol, and his throaty drawl, she was so turned on she could hardly see straight.

He was evidently just as aroused. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and a delicious tension filled his body.

He pushed open a partly cracked door to discover a little sitting room. “This will do,” he growled, pulling her in with him.

He closed the door and pushed her against the wall, kissing her hard.

Her body throbbed with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Nothing had ever felt so good. Nothing in her whole life. His hard body was pressed against her completely, and every inch of him was hot, was strong, was man.

Was hard.

She could feel his arousal in the bulge he kept grinding against her.

“You sure you want to do this, angel,” he murmured thickly, pulling out of the kiss to nibble a delicious line down her throat.

“Yeah.” She arched against him in helpless pleasure. “Oh yeah. Please.”

“You’re not too drunk?”

“I’m a little drunk,” she admitted. “But not too drunk to know what I want. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

It was true. It was absolutely true.

She might be buzzing from the alcohol, but her mind was still working. This was a choice she was making, and it was exactly what she wanted.

“Damn, I’m glad to hear that.” His hands were all over her now, stroking up and down the curves of her body.

She’d always wished she wasn’t quite so curvy so she could look more like the stylish girls her age, but he seemed to appreciate her body. He couldn’t stop touching it, and the fire in his eyes kept burning even hotter as he gazed at her.

Then they were kissing again, and he was walking her over to a console table against a wall. When her ass hit the edge of it, she gave a little “oof” at the impact.

She was so aroused she was throbbing with it, and she kept lifting one of her legs, trying to wrap it around him so she could get more pressure where she needed it.

He helped her by pushing up her skirt and then lifting her up to prop her on the table. She wrapped her legs around him eagerly and gave herself over to the feelings.

By now, he’d managed to unzip her dress and pull her breasts out of her bra. He lowered his head to nip at them, causing her to cry out at the intense jolts of pleasure. In their position, he couldn’t do much more than that, and both of them were too far gone to take the time anyway.

He slipped a hand inside her underwear so he could finger her, and she whimpered and rocked her hips in response.

“You like that?” he murmured hoarsely.

“Oh God, yeah! Keep touching me like that. Just like that.”

“Damn, you’re hot when you’re turned on. Who knew such a little angel could let go like this? You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She experienced the oddest sort of pride—that she was that kind of woman, that she was capable of being so wild and spontaneous. And sexy.

She’d never dreamed it was possible for her.

He kept moving his fingers inside her until the pleasure coiled up and broke unexpectedly. She cried out loudly as she came, trapped between the wall and his body, propped up on the table.

“There you go, angel,” he was murmuring, his eyes devouring her face and body. “There you go. So good. Damn, that was gorgeous.”

Her body throbbed in satisfaction as he finally removed his hand.

“Do you have a condom?” she asked, her groggy mind managing to land on one reality she didn’t want to forget.

“Yeah.” He reached into his back pocket.

She wondered if he always carried condoms around with him.

She wondered if most men did.

She’d only had one boyfriend—the guy she’d dated all through college and had briefly been engaged to—and he’d never had condoms available at a moment’s notice.

But maybe some guys did.

She was infinitely grateful for it now as they both worked on undoing his pants and rolling on the condom. His erection was big and hard, and she couldn’t wait to feel it inside her.

He adjusted their bodies so he could enter her, and she wrapped her legs around him tightly as he sank in.

Both of them groaned at the penetration.

“Jesus,” he hissed through his teeth, holding on to her ass tightly. “Jesus, you feel so good.”

He felt good too. Better than anything.

She wriggled as her body relaxed around him and started to need even more.

He levered his hips and pushed into her with a short, hard thrust.

She cried out, dropping her head back as the sensations slammed into her.

“Like that?” he asked, his body so tight it was almost shuddering.

“Yeah. Yeah. More. I need more.”

He took her like that, propped up on the table with her legs wrapped around him, and she’d never known it was possible to feel so sexy and uninhibited. She tried to keep her voice down since there were people all over the building, but she couldn’t stay quiet. Every time he pushed into her, a helpless sound of pleasure escaped her lips.

When she felt the sensations start to tighten into another orgasm, she started to urge him on. “Harder. Faster. More. Please more.”

He was taking her hard now, almost roughly, and he was grunting with a primal passion as he thrust.

She bit down on her bottom lip hard as a climax ripped through her, causing her to shake and shudder. Then he was coming too, letting out a long, low exclamation that sounded like, “angel” as he let himself go.

And all of it felt good. Amazing. Exactly what she wanted.

Until she started to come down from her climax and realized she’d just had sex with a stranger at a wedding reception.

His name was Carter, but that was all she knew about him.

She wasn’t this sort of person.

She felt weird and achy as she unwound her legs and he pulled out of her.

“Damn, what a mess,” he muttered as he started to take care of the condom.

She was wet between her legs. Really wet. And it seemed to emphasize that maybe she hadn’t really thought things through as much as she’d believed.

Carter was looking down at the condom as she readjusted her panties and smoothed down her dress.

She was suddenly terrified. The heated fog was lifting in her mind, and she had no idea what she’d been thinking.

Her legs were sore. She was sore inside. Her whole body was sore.

She gasped and hurried toward the door, wanting only to be alone so she could think.

“Angel, wait—” Carter began.

She didn’t wait. “Sorry,” she said, swinging open the door. “I’ve got to go.”

And with that, she ran down the hall.

(Copyright © 2017 by Noelle Adams and Samantha Chase. All rights reserved)

Noelle Adams
Noelle handwrote
her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she
hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and
currently resides in Virginia, where she reads any book she can get her hands
on and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.  She loves travel, art, history, and ice
cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she
has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary
romances. Find her at noelle-adams.com.
Samantha Chase
Samantha Chase released her debut novel in 2011 and
currently has more than forty titles under her belt! When she’s not working on
a new story, she spends her time reading romances, playing way too many games
of Scrabble or Solitaire on Facebook, wearing a tiara while playing with her
sassy pug Maylene…oh, and spending time with her husband of 25 years and their
two sons in North Carolina. Find her at chasing-romance.com.
 

CHAPTER REVEAL- The Unrequited by Saffron A. Kent

 

Title: The Unrequited
Author: Saffron A. Kent
Genre: Contemporary/Erotic Romance
Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs
Release Date: July 13, 2017


Blurb
Layla Robinson is not crazy. She is suffering from
unrequited love. But it’s time to move on. No more stalking, no more obsessive
calling.
What she needs is a distraction. The blue-eyed guy she keeps
seeing around campus could be a great one—only he is the new poetry
professor—the married poetry professor.
Thomas Abrams is a stereotypical artist—rude, arrogant, and
broody—but his glares and taunts don’t scare Layla. She might be bad at poetry,
but she is good at reading between the lines. Beneath his prickly façade,
Thomas is lonely, and Layla wants to know why. Obsessively.
Sometimes you do get what you want. Sometimes you end up in
the storage room of a bar with your professor and you kiss him. Sometimes he
kisses you back like the world is ending and he will never get to kiss you
again. He kisses you until you forget the years of unrequited love; you forget
all the rules, and you dare to reach for something that is not yours.
NOTE: Please be aware that this book deals with sensitive
topics like cheating and death. 18+ Only.

 

 

Pre-order Links
99c for a limited time
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Thomas & Layla’s First Kiss
It’s Saturday and I’m at The Alchemy with Emma, Dylan, and
Matt. We find a table in the middle of the room and Emma thumps the big bag of
goodies down on it. It’s prompt night for the Labyrinth and Emma is in charge
of producing the prompts.
“Explain to me one more time why you need this giant-ass bag
again?” Matt says, taking off his coat and hanging it on the chair as he takes
a seat.
Dylan gives him a disdainful look. “She’s got her prompts in
it, dumbass.”
Emma smiles in pleasure, her eyes on the bag as she looks
for something. It’s adorable how shy she is in front of him when she’s normally
so self-assured. Dylan and Emma have gone on a few dates this week. Turns out,
Dylan loved the tangerine. I knew it.
“And why can’t you show them a picture or something on your
phone?” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Back me up here, Layla. This freaking
bag is a monstrosity.”
“I don’t have a problem with it, actually,” I say. “It’s
kind of fun to look at something while writing about it.”
When Emma told me about the Labyrinth’s prompt night, my
first reaction was panic. I didn’t think I could be a part of it. I wasn’t
prepared. I haven’t even read all the books I own.
Reading has become a vital part of my life, now. In the past
week, I’ve only roamed on the street once. I haven’t been to Thomas’ house at
all. I stay up late reading. There’s so much to discover, and I’ve been living
inside this fog for so long. I feel like time is running out on me. I’ll
probably die before reading all the books out there.
I try to calm myself. I’m here to be a part of something
greater than me—art—and I don’t have to be perfect. The only thing I should be
worried about is seeing Thomas.
It’s been six days since I cried in front of him, told him
my ugly love story, and sort of licked his hand, trying to taste him. Since
then I’ve seen him all around campus, at Crème and Beans with Nicky, in the
corridors at the Labyrinth when Emma dragged me to a play reading. I’ve even
seen him in the park, at the bench, the one time I went out at night. He was
smoking and battling with himself, as usual, and I was hiding behind the
tree. 
It’s like he’s everywhere. My secret keeper. The one person
who knows what I did.
And he is disgusted by me. He never looks at me. To him, I’m
invisible. Somehow, this hurts even more because deep down I thought he could
relate to me, but he doesn’t.
I really am a freak of nature.
The front door of the bar opens and in strides Sarah Turner,
followed by Professor Masters and Thomas. The snowflakes swirl behind his back
as he enters and the door swings shut.
“Hello children,” Professor Masters greets us in a jovial
voice as he saunters forward. There is a chorus of chuckles and Hi Professor
around the room.
Without paying attention to anyone, Thomas breaks off from
the trio and heads for the bar. Sarah throws him an annoyed look but Professor
Masters steers her toward their destination.
Thomas orders a drink and sits on the barstool, his long
legs straddling the small seat. He takes off his jacket, revealing a plain grey
t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and biceps. His jean-covered thighs
bulge as he bounces his right leg with impatience.
The bartender sets down a chocolate martini in front of him
and I look away, embarrassed. His weakness for chocolate awakens something raw
and melty inside my stomach. I haven’t thought about what I’ll do come Monday.
Will I go back to class? Will I hide and never show my face again?
Emma gets up from beside me, greets the room, and explains
the instructions. She digs inside her bag and fishes something out. “So the
first prompt is this bottle of hot sauce. You have to write a short poem, no
more than twenty lines, with whatever comes to mind when you see a red bottle
with H.O.T. written on it. I’m going to pass this around for a bit so you guys
can look at it.”
My first thought is that I hate hot sauce. I’m more of a
sweet-loving person. In fact, I’m the only sweet-loving person in my family or
the families I’ve had over the years. My mom, Caleb, my dad, Caleb’s dad, even
Henry—they all shy away from sweet things.
The thought of Caleb makes me aware of the phone in my
jacket pocket. Since those missed calls at Crème and Beans, he’s called several
times, but I haven’t picked up. I was hoping he’d leave a message or something
so I’d know what it’s about, but he hasn’t.
Why does he keep calling me? As impulsive as I am, a strange
fear is keeping me from taking his call.
Emma bumps my elbow and tells me to get writing.
Right, hot sauce. I nibble at my pen, trying to think…no,
trying to feel. How does hot sauce make me feel? H.O.T. Feel. Feel.
I close my eyes and the first thing I see is Thomas’ face.
His beautiful, intense gaze. How every molecule of my body, every inch of my
flesh burns when he is near. How he has the power to change the weather, cold
to hot.
Gasping, my eyes whip open. Thomas Abrams is a
fire-breather. He breathes flames and lust, makes me forget everything and say
yes. Yes to obsession. Yes to stalking. Yes to insanity. Yes to licking.
With shaking hands, I begin to write and capture him in
words. The pen moves and the words flow out. They keep flowing without my
knowledge. All I can feel is the heat seesawing through my body.
Next thing I know I’m jolted by Emma’s clap and shrill
voice. “All right guys, it’s time to stop. Put down your pens.”
Murmurs escalate and the room breaks out in conversation, as
Emma asks someone to volunteer their poem first. With flushed cheeks, I pocket
my small notebook. While the entire room is busy, I get up and shuffle into the
hallway in the back. I need to get to the ladies’ room and calm myself down.
I rub my arms at the unexpected chill in the dank hallway
and take a deep breath. My legs can barely support themselves. Is this how
poets feel when they put feelings into words? Is this how Thomas feels? It’s
like bleeding. It’s like running for miles and running out of breath.
Before I can reach my destination, I’m being hauled into a
dark, tiny room. I don’t even have time to squeal before the flimsy wooden door
is shut, and I’m surrounded by a very familiar heat.
It’s Thomas.
He has me trapped inside what looks to be a storage room,
his hand banded around my elbow, pushing me back against the dank wall.
“T-Thomas.” I’m panting. “What… What’s happening? What’re
you doing?”
His chiseled face is a study of thick shadows and thin
slices of light under the flickering yellow bulb. The only bright spots on his
features are those fire-starting eyes of his. I can smell the delicious smoke
rising from my body, can feel the sting.
Now that the initial shock is gone, my body sags, relieved
to be the center of his attention after days. He sees us. There are things to
worry about, I know that, but I can’t muster the energy to.
“Thomas?” I whisper when it’s clear he won’t say anything.
“Wh-What are you doing?”
His breaths are choppy, short jabs of air inhaled and
exhaled as he stares at every inch of my face. “Do you still love him?”
“What?”
“Do you still love that guy?”
“I… Yes.”
“How much?”
My breaths match his, succinct and sharp. I study him, this
man in front of me. There’s a hint of vulnerability to him. His usually cool
persona is frayed. Is it because I told him my story? Maybe he relates to me
after all.
“Thomas, what’s going on?”
“How much do you love him, Layla? Do you love him so much
that you hate yourself? That you can’t stand your own sight? Do you constantly
think about how to fix it? How to make it better? How to be better?”
He isn’t merely frayed—he’s coming apart. Naked agony dances
on his features. It’s too bright and glaring. It’s too similar to mine, but I’m
not worried about that right now. I’m worried about him.
“Yes,” I whisper. I lift my hand and press it to his
stubbled face. His cheekbone is arched and high, seemingly made of granite as
it pulses beneath my palm. “But I’m so tired of it,” I admit, and his eyes
flare. Fire-breathing eyes. I wonder why I didn’t notice it before. It’s so
obvious now. They never fail to start a fire in my soul.
He crowds me against the wall, as if sinking his hard body
into mine, but there isn’t any touch involved. His frame sort of hovers over
me, heating me up, jumpstarting my nerves. I’m a mesh of live wires, firing
lust and adrenaline. I’m sticky as sugar and drunk as whiskey.
Thomas arranges his body and places both his palms on the
wall, caging me in. The vein on his bicep becomes taut, a purple string tugging
on my senses.
I watch him watch my parted lips, and suddenly, it’s the
only piece of my body I can feel. My mouth, throbbing, puffy, swollen with the
need.
“Me too,” he whispers, almost to himself.
I wasn’t meant to hear it, but I did. Again, I’m hit by a
storm of desire to kiss him better. It’s a tornado, an avalanche in my body,
and in one breathless moment, I decide to go for it. It’s okay. I can take the
blame for it later.
I break the rules and reach up and kiss him. A feathery peck
on his plump lips, it’s a kiss of solidarity, a kiss that intends to tell him I
understand—but one isn’t enough. It only manages to ratchet up my lust. So I
give him another, this time on the corner of his mouth, and then another one on
his jaw.
It’s not enough, these small, barely-there touches. I want
more, but I won’t take it. I’ll be good; I’ll only give.
Abruptly, he fists my curls and stops me. I look at him
fearfully, ready to apologize—not for the kiss, but for being the kisser. His
gaze reflects passion, stark, raving need, and I shiver, despite wearing layers
and sweating with his heat.
“Are you trying to kiss me, Layla?” he rasps, flexing his
fingers on my makeshift ponytail.
He couldn’t tell? Blush rises to the surface and I know I’m
glowing like a neon sign. Swallowing, I nod. “Yes.”
He inches closer to me, still not touching—as impossible as
that is—but infinitely closer. “You want to kiss me, Miss Robinson, you do it
right.”
Oh God, does he have to call me that? Now, here? My spine
arches on its own and my heavy tits graze the contours of his shuddering chest.
“H-How?” I ask innocently, belying the daring action of my
body. His stern, professor-y voice is doing things to me, making me wild,
uncontrolled.
For a second, he’s silent, just watching. I’m afraid he’ll
back out from whatever this is, whatever insanity we’re about to commit—but
then I sense the shift in the liquor-laced air as he opens his mouth and
growls, “Like this.”
Twisting my hair in his grasp, he swallows my lips in his
mouth. He sucks on the shape of my sensitive flesh and all I can do is let him.
I put my palms on his shoulders, feeling the heated muscles under the soft
material of his t-shirt. His chest shifts and slides over my breasts, like a
wave of water. I want to be drenched with it. I want every drop of his sweat,
his lust on every inch of my skin. I pull him toward me so he can crush me with
his massive weight.
He doesn’t budge though. He stands there, unfazed, still
devouring my lips, immobile. His tongue thrusts in and licks me from the
inside—the roof of my mouth, my tongue, my teeth. He is after my essence, the
special taste that lives deep. He growls when he gets it, my flavor, and the
pressure of his grip on my hair increases tenfold.
It’s painful, but not enough to tamp down my arousal. I give
up my attempts to bring him to me. Rather, I go to him. I lift my leg and wrap
it around his waist. My hands creep up and lock around his neck. I climb him
like an ivy, toxic and poisonous and shameless.
I press my body to his and kiss him back with everything I
am. I pour my soul into it. For these few moments, I become a balm to his pain.
But it doesn’t last long. My selfishness and my need for him
take over. My core starts leaking and it becomes hard to remember I’m only
meant to give, not to take.
I rotate my hips, searching for that magical friction
against the ridged planes of his body. Then I feel it—his erection against my
upper tummy. It’s huge. Hard. A heated rod. It’s alive, and when I move against
it, I feel it throb. A tortured moan rips out of his chest.
Thomas tears his mouth away from me and even my soul mourns
the loss. We stare at each other, gasping for breath. I’m still clung around
him and his cock is still nestled between our aroused bodies. I adjust my thigh
around his hip, and it throbs with the small movement.
“Don’t fucking move,” he tells me, emphasizing it with a tug
on my hair.
“Okay.” I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
A pained chuckle. “For what?”
“I made you kiss me.”
The legendary tic makes its appearance at the heel of my
words. It drums on his jaw like a secondary heart, or maybe a time bomb. “You
did, didn’t you?”
Unable to talk, I simply nod.
In answer, he lodges his thigh between my legs and presses
on my core. It’s an electric shock multiplied by a strike of lightning, and I
almost burst into flames.
“Wh-What…” I try to speak but he increases the pressure,
eliciting a moan from me.
“Why?” he whispers, noting my lusty reactions. “Why did you
make me do it, Layla?”
“Because I—”
Again, he repeats his movements, reducing me to wordless,
needy moans. What is he doing?
“Because you what?”
“Because I do this kind of thing. I-I’m selfish and bad…” I
moan, doused in shame and arousal. “I take what I want because I can’t control
myself. I don’t want to.”
“And you want me, don’t you?” When I don’t answer, he tugs
on my hair sharply. “You want me, Layla.”
It’s not a question, but still I nod my head. Yes, I want
him. I’ve wanted him since the first time I saw him. I want him more and more
with each passing day. I want him because he’s like me. He’s in unrequited love
and I want to save him, somehow.
His eyes shine with satisfaction, a sense of victory at my
answer. He loves my desperation and it makes me hornier.
We’re so fucked, my omniscient heart says. I agree.
“I can do whatever I want with you and you’ll let me. Isn’t
that right, Layla?” He licks his lips as if savoring his own words. “I can tell
you to jump and you’ll ask how high. I can tell you to strip and you’ll strip
as if your clothes are on fire.”
“Yes,” I moan.
He rewards me by grinding his muscular thigh and my cunt
pulses. My lust-addled brain commands me to move, to chase the friction, and I
do it. I slide up and down his maddening leg, digging my nails into his scalp
as the pleasure mounts.
I feel the angry and rhythmic jerk of his cock on my stomach
and I love it. I love the fact that I’ve shed all my inhibitions and am reduced
to this, a lust-drunk puppet. I love that it gives Thomas pleasure. He isn’t
sad anymore, or vulnerable.
Yes, I love all that.
His pain has become my pain, and it’s going to make me come
on his leg. I watch Thomas with hazy eyes. I watch the arrogant slope of his
flushed cheeks. I watch his dilated pupils, his wet, parted lips. All the
while, I’m moving, humping his leg. Up and down. Up and down.
“Of course you will,” he rasps. “Will you come for me,
Layla?”
I jerk out a nod. In the back of my mind, I know how wrong
this is, how shameful, but I can’t stop myself. As Thomas said, I’ll do
anything for him in this moment.
My movements are haphazard now, jerky, epileptic. I want it
so bad. I want my cum to gush so hard it seeps through my panties and leaves a
wet patch on his jeans.
The graphic, vulgar thought pushes me over the edge. Hard
and moaning, I come, just the way I wanted—no, just the way he wanted. I was
simply following his orders. My mind is filled with cotton and shooting stars
and static. I want to bask in it forever.
Oh God, it’s so good. So good.
The pressure on my body eases. I don’t feel his muscles
between my legs, and the harsh grip on my hair has vanished. In the wake of my
orgasm, Thomas has let me go, and in turn, forced me to unwind my body from
his.
I’m still recovering from my climax, leaning against the
wall for balance, but I try to focus. Thomas is watching me, intensely, his
flaming eyes working double-time to take me in, his hands on either side of my
head.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Layla? Can you hear
your heart beating? Is it trying to pound through your chest? Do you think you
can control it? Tell it to calm down? Your hips are still shaking. I bet you’re
still leaking cum, aren’t you? Do you think you can control any of that?”
I shake my head.
“Yeah, that’s right. You’d be surprised to know how many
things aren’t your fault at all.” His eyes bore into mine, as if telling me the
importance of his declaration.
For a second, I can’t make the connection between what he’s
telling me and what happened here, but then I get it. He’s absolving me. He’s
rendering me blameless for kissing him, for making him kiss me. I wonder if
this absolution includes what happened with Caleb. Am I free of those sins too?
My heart scoffs. Are you kidding? We tricked him into having
sex.
“I saw you,” I blurt out without thinking.
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know in my bones
that this will destroy whatever kindness he’s harboring toward me.
“Through the window,” I add, because I can’t handle not
being blamed.
Everything is always my fault. The broken vases at home.
Muddy footprints on the tile floors. The missing bottles of liquor from the
cabinet. Caleb’s missing underwear. The fact that he ran off to college a month
early and won’t even visit home. The fact that I shoplifted, drank and drove
numerous times, crashed parties, broke my mom’s ice sculpture.
It’s all my fault. It’s just like me to do those things. I
want Thomas’ accusation too.
“I saw how lonely you were. I saw the anger on your face,
the way you…the way you paced around the room, like you were trapped.” The
scene plays in my head: his frantic steps, his hands tugging at his hair.
Then the scene changes and I’m outside his bedroom window.
“And-And then you were with her—Hadley. I… You were talking and you looked so
sad and angry, and then she left. I kept watching your back and your shoulders.
They were so tight and I could see the effort it took you to keep yourself
together. Then you picked up a vase and I thought you’d throw it against the
wall, break it, because I know your heart was breaking, but you held on to it.
You set it down gently. You were better than me. I-I could never have done
that.”
Nothing moves on his body. I don’t know if he’s breathing,
if he’s even seeing me.
“Thomas, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see it. I…”
Then he shifts on his feet and the overhead light slashes
his face into two halves of shadow and light. He appears beastly, like an
animal with bright eyes and hard face. For the first time since I began my
confession, I feel a tinge of true fear.
I can see he wants to do something, maybe harm me
physically. His body is taut with violence. He looks bigger, enlarged with the
barely leashed control. For a second, I think he does lose control. His hands
jerk and ball into fists, but then he takes a shallow, choppy breath.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” he says softly, deadly.
 With that, he marches
out of the storage room.
Author Bio
Writer of bad romances. Coffee Addict. White Russian
Drinker. Imaginary Ballet Dancer and poetess. Aspiring Lana Del Ray of the book
world.
I’m a big believer in love (obviously). I believe in happily ever after, the
butterflies and the tingling. But I also believe in edgy, rough and gutsy kind
of love. I believe in pushing the boundaries, darker (sometimes morally
ambiguous) emotions and imperfections.

The kind of love I write about is flawed just like my characters. And I hope by
the end of it, you’ll come to root for them just as much as me. Because love,
no matter where it comes from, is always pure and beautiful.

 

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EXCERPT REVEAL- WORSHIP ME BY CHELLE BLISS

From USA Today bestselling author, Chelle Bliss, comes the seventh book in the Men of Inked series. James and Izzy return on May 9th and they’re hotter than ever. Don’t miss the next installment in the Men of Inked series.

James Caldo needs to control everything in his life, even his wife, Izzy Gallo. But she’s headstrong and has a need to test her husband’s limits as much as he pushes hers.

When a case at ALFA Private Investigation takes a dark turn, James is forced to get Izzy involved in an undercover sting, and the assignment will test her sexual boundaries as well as the very foundation of their relationship.

Can Izzy hold her tongue long enough to keep them both safe? Or will her unwillingness to fully submit draw the eye of the very man they’re after?

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EXCERPT

“Izzy, please. Be reasonable.”

I loved when James begged. “Say it again,” I taunted him.

What the fuck with the be reasonable comment? I’m always reasonable. Okay, maybe that isn’t entirely true. I usually shoot from the hip and save the apologies for later. My big mouth has gotten me into more trouble over the years, and much of it I try to forget, especially when it comes to James.

He arched an eyebrow, and the same shitty smirk that I’d grown accustomed to flashed across his lips. “I could make you say yes.­”

“Doubtful.” I glared at him, feeling supercocky even though I was in no position to be.

James, my loving husband of over ten years, decided that tonight was a good time to tie me to the bed. I should’ve known he was up to no good because it’d been more than a little bit since he’d used restraints during sex. I figured we were just getting our kink on and that he wanted to try something new, but nope, the bastard knew I wouldn’t like what he was asking and made sure I didn’t have an out.

“Baby,” he whispered, running his thumbs across my bottom lip and trying to seduce me. “You know you can’t say no to me. Never have and never will.”

There were very few people in this world that could make me do anything, but James had a power over me since the first night I met him. Saying no to him had always been damn near impossible, and I almost hated myself because of it.

I never wanted to be that girl—the one who caved to anything her husband asked. Never in my life had I wanted to be her, an easy mark and a carpet for her husband to walk all over, but things don’t always turn out the way we plan. I learned that the hard way.

James wasn’t even on my radar until the night of Joe and Suzy’s wedding when he sauntered in with his good looks and charm. The arrogant bastard seemed to work me like he’d known me my entire life, and I fell for it.

I thought I’d won when I snuck out. I figured I’d never see him again, so what did it matter. Boy, was I wrong.

“I’ve said no to you plenty of times.” I refused to let him use his sexual prowess, which I’d done in the past, but sometimes I had to dig my heels in and find my inner bitch.

I pulled at the restraints and tried to break free, but it was useless. The man could tie the most wicked knots, and it had been years since I’d been able to wiggle out of them. Every time I escaped, he’d learn a new technique until he found just the right one to render me helpless.

His lips scorched a path down my neck, and my back arched as if begging for his touch. “Say yes, Izzy.”

I stifled the moan that formed low in my throat, but I squeaked instead when he sucked my nipple into his mouth. My body rocked on its own, moving toward him instinctively, wanting the bite of his teeth. His hand slid down my front, cupping my pussy, not hard enough to give me pleasure, only the sweet torment that he reveled in.

“Say yes, and I’ll give you what you want.”

He was playing with me. James was a master manipulator. I didn’t know if it was his background with the DEA or just something he was born with, but he used it perfectly when it suited his purpose.

I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth together. “No.”

He pulled my panties to the side before dipping two fingers inside me with the most sinful smile. “Last chance, baby,” he warned.

What was he going to do to me if I didn’t give in? The thought passed through my mind, but I pushed it away. I was lost in the feel of his hands on my skin and the ache between my legs, but my resistance held. “No,” I bit out.

Don’t forget to catch up with the Men of Inked series today and be ready for Worship Me on May 9th!

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Chelle Bliss is the USA Today bestselling author of the Men of Inked and ALFA P.I. series. She hails from the Midwest, but currently lives near the beach even though she hates sand. She’s a full-time writer, time-waster extraordinaire, social media addict, coffee fiend, and ex high school history teacher. She loves spending time with her two cats, alpha boyfriend, and chatting with readers. To learn more about Chelle, please visit chellebliss.com.

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