Excerpt from The Ties That Bind by Jaci Burton
“You and I have been together twenty years, Lisa. We’ve been through hell and back. We’ve married, divorced and raised a daughter together. And even though we’ve lived in separate houses most of that time, we’re still…together. Sort of. You’ve dated some, I’ve dated some, but neither one of us have formed any relationships.”
“I thought that was because of Kay.”
“I don’t think so. Lots of divorced people remarry or at least develop relationships with someone else. Kids adapt and accept. Kayla would have, too.”
He was right. She had never found someone that sparked her interest enough to keep seeing more than a few times. She never really knew about Rick’s love life. Kayla probably knew more about it than she did, but Kay was good about not revealing Rick’s personal life to her. Thankfully.
“I never wanted anyone else, Lisa. I measured every woman against you, and they all fell short.”
She shifted her gaze to her drink. “I’m nothing special.”
He slid his fingers under her chin, forced her gaze back to his. “I disagree. You were barely a teen when you ended up pregnant. You had options to do something about that—your choice to make, but you chose to have Kayla. You finished high school while juggling an infant on your hip. You went to nursing school. You raised a brilliant daughter and you have a successful career. I think you’re pretty damn special.”
It was hard not to weep under praise like that. She blinked back tears, not wanting her mascara to run. “Thank you. But I didn’t do that alone. You’ve done a damn good job, too. As hard as it was on me, it was doubly hard on you. Working two jobs, going to college, living in an apartment and then buying a house for Kayla and me. You were always so generous.”
“It was my job to provide for my daughter.”
“You never missed a child support check. You went above and beyond what the courts required of you.”
“I love…Kayla.”
“I know you do.” Rick’s love for his daughter was evident in everything he did. That’s why every man she dated paled in comparison to Rick. Why there were never sparks hot enough to keep her interested for long.
But was it because he’d been so nice to her and Kayla? Or was it more than that?
“We owe it to ourselves to find out if it’s still there, Lisa.”
“If what’s still there?”
“The magic. The passion. What we once had together.”
She inhaled, let it out. “That’s what this whole vacation-in-the-tropics thing is about, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I wanted to kidnap you from your everyday life, away from our friends and yeah, even away from Kayla. Back to when it was just you and me.”
“We’ve changed since then, Rick. It’s not twenty years ago. We can’t go back.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself.
He nodded. “I know. But you can’t deny there’s still an attraction there.”
No, she couldn’t. Every time he came over, she longed for him. Every time he accidentally touched her, she felt the spark. But was it because it was Rick, or because it had been so damn long since there’d been a man in her life? She hated being so complacent.
Rick was easy. He was familiar. She’d gotten used to familiar and comfortable. She didn’t want to be familiar and comfortable anymore. Kayla was grown. This was her time to go out and get that life she’d denied herself.
Was that new life with Rick?
No. The absolute last thing she wanted was to destroy what she and Rick had built together. Their friendship. The easy way they talked and could be together and care for Kay. How they depended on one another. Would diving back into the sexual waters ruin that? What if it didn’t work out? Their perfect relationship would be ruined.
She finished her cocktail, used the napkin to swipe across her lips. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Rick.”
“You’re scared.”
“Yes.”
“I am, too. You have no idea how long I thought about this. Kayla may be eighteen, but she still has a young girl’s ideals of romance. She thinks it’s easy.”
“So did I…once.”
His lips quirked. “It wasn’t so bad.”
“It was a disaster. For both of us. I don’t want to make it worse by opening up old wounds.” They’d gone through hell together. They’d managed to repair the damage for Kayla’s sake, but they’d left so much unresolved.
“What are you so afraid of, Lisa?”
“You and I have a ton of history. Not all of it was good.” They’d been so young, their notions foolish and filled with fantasy. Reality had been entirely different. Harsh.
“True enough. But we’ve created a new kind of relationship.”
“That’s my point. I don’t want to screw it up.”
He slid his fingers through her hair. Cupped the back of her neck. She shivered at the warmth of his touch. Her nipples tightened and she felt the awakening fires between her legs, the all too familiar wetness there.
Rick leaned in and she was mesmerized by the unique turquoise of his eyes. Had they become even bluer over the years? She hadn’t been this close to him in so long.
“If nothing else,” he said, his breath whispering over her cheek as he drew in closer. “We’ll have a great time. God knows we both work so damn hard, Lisa. We need to have some fun.”
“Yes.” She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, felt muscles that hadn’t been there twenty years ago. He’d been no more than a boy when she’d last seen him naked. Her mind was awash in visuals of how it felt then, what it would feel like now. “Fun would be nice.”
Excerpt from Undone by Jasmine Haynes
This little scene takes place less than a quarter of the way into the story. Dirk is an amateur photographer preparing to take boudoir photos of Margo in a corset.
“I want to get naked,” she purred.
This was the woman he’d hoped to release once she stepped in front of the camera. Hot. Ready. As if she were anticipating a man between her legs. It hadn’t taken her long to feel the lure of being naughty for an inanimate object.
He was so damn hard he needed a slug of beer to cool off. He positioned his camera back on the tripod.
“I have something I want you to wear.”
She startled as if she’d forgotten there was a man behind the lens. Turning, she held her arms across her abdomen, looked down, realized the defensive posture, and dropped it. She wasn’t quite as assured as she’d like him to think.
Opening a drawer of the vanity, he pulled out his prize.
“What”--she pointed, coming closer--“is that?”
“A corset.”
She laughed. He was beginning to get that she laughed when she was a tad nervous. “You mean like a real corset?” She put out a hand to touch the fabric, then one of the stiff bones.
“I want you to wear it.”
She tipped her head and eyed him, a taste of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “Is this some sort of fetish thing?”
“There’s something sexy about a garment that a woman needs a man to help her get in”--he raised a brow--“and out of.”
She snorted out a little puff of air. “She doesn’t need a man, just a maid.” She said it with the slightest edge and had him wondering about her real life.
“Consider me your servant for the time being.” He unfolded it as far as the bottom laces would allow. “Game?”
“Isn’t it hard to breathe with one of these things on?”
“I won’t lace it that tight.”
She clucked her tongue softly. “It’s kinky.”
He chuckled. “Hell, asking you over here is kinky.” He itched to lace her up. He could do it without touching skin, but she’d be close, so close. Just achieving something different on camera had been his original intention, but now, the idea of her sweet body in the corset had become a need, the ultimate in sexy.
The camera would adore her figure, her waist tiny, her breasts small but plumped by the corset’s stays.
Easing her in front of the vanity mirror, he stood behind her, her body heat a hair’s breadth between them. Then he leaned in to whisper, “Take off your clothes.”
She swallowed, her throat tensing in the reflection. Then she reached down, grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulled it over her head, and tossed it aside. Her hair settled back around her shoulders in a sexy muss. Her scent, sweet shampoo and fruity body lotion, rose up. He almost closed his eyes to breathe her in, then he looked in the mirror.
Holy hell. Her breasts beneath the black lace bra were everything he could have hoped for.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
Her nipples beaded. He knew it was what she needed to hear when her fingers went to the back of her skirt. He held her gaze in the mirror as the light rasp of her zipper filled the air, then she dropped the skirt and kicked it aside.
Her stomach was slightly rounded, there was a dimple or two in her skin that she probably hated. She had a nipped-in waist and a flare to her hips that might not have been the height of fashion in a world that demanded no woman should bear a single extra ounce. She was his ideal.
“The corset’s going to love your curves,” he whispered. Her breath whooshed out as if she’d been waiting for his approval.
Her eyes on his in the mirror, she undid the front clasp of her bra, shrugged, and the lacy confection fell to the carpet. Clad only in her satin thong, thigh-highs, and heels, she stole his breath.
He held the corset in front of her. The flower print on a cream background enhanced her skin. She glowed with vitality.
“Just step into it.” He’d left the bottom laces in the eyeholes so that he wouldn’t have to fiddle once she held the garment to her. Taking the two edges from him, she put one foot through the laces, the round curve of her ass coming perilously close to his cock.
“Hold it at your waist so I can thread the rest of the loops and tighten it.”
She looked at him in the mirror. “Have you ever done this?”
“No. But the salesgirl said to lace it like a tennis shoe.”
“Hah. So now I’m an old shoe.” Her laugh was genuine, but again he recognized that touch of vulnerability.
“Not old and not a shoe.” He stopped to give her body a long, savoring look. “A sexy woman.”
“Darn tooting,” she whispered, then held the corset around her at the waist as he began threading the holes.
He felt almost clumsy as his fingers brushed the skin at the base of her spine, just above her ass. Her body heat almost singed. The scent of her lotion wafted up, and something else, a faint aroma of woman, a touch of arousal.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?” He’d stoked the wood-burning stove earlier, and he was toasty. She, however, was damn near naked.
“No, it’s fine.” Her cheeks deepened their rosy tint.
The shiver had nothing to do with room temperature, and everything to do with bare skin. Looking down to the gape of the undone corset, he found her nipples hard, pearled. “I can put on another log,” he said as he pulled the laces together.
She sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. “No, really.” Then she laughed softly. “I’m hot enough.”
He allowed himself a smile at her obvious pun.
He laced another couple of loops, and her skin’s warmth began to seep through the material. “The fit will get tight now.”
“I’ve heard that a tight fit is a good thing.”
Oh yeah, she was getting into it with him. He’d imagined touching her like this, soft, accidental caresses. He’d imagined himself with a hard-on as she fell into the heat of arousal. But he’d never considered how badly he’d need to be a part of it, not just an observer, but a participant. Her skin was smooth, soft to the touch. Her scent made his mouth water. He brushed aside her hair, baring her shoulders, though the length wasn’t at all in the way of the laces. He simply craved a touch.
Four eyelets left, he tightened. She gasped.
“Too tight? Can you breathe?”
“I’m okay. It’s just”--she tipped her head to one side--“it feels good in an odd way, makes you stand straighter.”
Another eyehole, and the corset plumped her breasts. Though barely covering her nipples, it effectively hid them from view. Too bad. “A couple more laces, can you handle it?”
“I’ll let you know when you’ve done it all the way up.”
He threaded and pulled, but with none of the strength Mammy had used on Scarlett in Gone with the Wind.
Tying the laces off with a neat bow, he stepped back. In the mirror, the effect was perfect. Her enticing breasts plumped above the lace edging of the corset. Cinching in her waist, the bones gave a luscious flare to her hips. Over her flattened abdomen, the point in the front arrowed down to her black satin thong. The globes of her delectable ass begged for his touch, and the back-seamed thigh-highs were a sexual hedonist’s fantasy. Her blond hair had fallen to frame the upper swell of her breasts. He raised his gaze to her green eyes. The artist in him needed to photograph her like that, while the man in him wanted to bend her over the vanity and bury his cock in her.
“So how’s the fit?”
She drew in a shallow breath, her breasts rising. “Just don’t make me run or try to touch my toes.” She smoothed a hand down her stomach. “But I like it. Though you can certainly see why the women didn’t eat much at their big galas.” Grinning at the mirror, she added, “But it makes me feel sexy.”
But could she make herself come for him? More than anything, Dirk wanted to capture her face aglow with ecstasy.
Turning this way, then that, she cupped her breasts, plumping them higher. Reaching around her, Dirk gave a slight tug on the bottom, and the tops of her nipples peeped out. It was the ideal combination of gentile lady and sexy woman.
How had he gotten so lucky? Margo was more than any woman he could have fantasized.
Excerpt from Controlled Response by Joey W. Hill
Forty-five miles. God, the only thing better than this was sex. Sex done exceptionally well. As Lucas crested the hill, pushing the burn in his legs, he snagged his water bottle to take a measured draught. Releasing the bike handlebars to coast hands-free, he shifted his hips to negotiate the inevitable curve. No such thing as a straight line or a flat expanse this deep in the Berkshires. Every downward slope followed by a challenging upward one. Like the curves of a woman’s body. Or her mind.
Ben had given him shit about hopping a charter here for the weekend when they were still figuring out how to make the numbers work for the Mancuso plant operation. But it was all bullshit, because Ben knew Lucas did his best problem solving while cycling. Just as the legal advisor did it by finding the prettiest ass available and immersing himself in it. When they came back to the office Monday, Ben would fix the legal snarls, and Lucas would crunch the numbers into manageable pieces. Hell, Matt should save the money on their corner offices. Though Lucas had to admit he liked his Baton Rouge city view, with the backdrop of the Mississippi River.
It was time for a lunch break and a stretch, if he could find the spot his buddy Marcus had told him was right off the road around here. He was pretty deep in the Berkshire farm area, but tourists did have a way of finding the hot spots. Still, Marcus had stressed “hidden”, even giving him GPS coordinates for the exact location, give or take ten feet.
There it was. As he rolled across the shoulder, he saw the narrow deer trail. A couple broken twigs and some spoor suggested the brown-eyed creatures had passed through recently.
It was a short hike, so it worked as a good cool down. The light racing bike was easy to carry, even with his gear. Marcus had said the glade would have a stream, soft grass for a nap and a frame of trees for the sky that would make Lucas think he’d fallen into a nest made by heaven itself. Marcus was a gallery owner, brushing shoulders with New York art types, so such metaphors were to be expected. Or maybe the description had come from Thomas, his spouse, or life partner, whatever they called it. It sounded like a good place and Lucas wouldn’t dwell on what they might have done there. To each his own, but his preference definitely ran to heart-shaped asses of a different gender. Skin of milk cream, and tender pink lips hidden like treasure between not-too-firm, not-too-soft thighs. Just like Goldilocks, he knew when they were just right.
Lately, it had been just okay. Some lovely ladies, intelligent, beautiful and willing. Business associates on the same time schedules, which discouraged anything deeper on both sides, but ensured dinner dates and sexual release were no further than a cell phone call. He was CFO for Kensington & Associates, after all, so he didn’t have trouble with that.
But maybe it was watching Matt, the head of K&A, with his new wife, Savannah, during the past year. The way they’d taken the leap of faith together, and their love just seemed to grow and grow. Not like a molasses flood, drowning everyone in reach in gooeyness. More like the quiet reassurance of the ocean’s murmur. Timeless, clean, overwhelming. Proof that there was a greater purpose here. Maybe he was ready for something deeper himself. Maybe that was why he was cycling and Ben was likely hip deep in pussy by now.
As he stepped into the clearing, anticipating the tranquility, he came to a dead stop, his thoughts scattering like a game of 52-card pickup.
Marcus hadn’t mentioned the spot came with a half-naked girl on a motorcycle.
Either that, or Lucas had been run over by a mini-van and didn’t realize he was dead, stumbling into everything Heaven should be. If so, he was profoundly thankful to the mini-van driver.
He blinked. Yes, it was definitely a woman, stretched out on the curved seat of a Night Rod series Harley. At one time, she’d apparently been wearing black jeans with riding chaps over them, for they were in a crumpled pile next to the bike, leaving her lower body clad only in a pair of silky ivory panties. Her feet were braced on the handlebars, legs spread, ass snugged down in the driver’s seat while her upper body was arched over the hump to the passenger seat. The toned legs and generous ass were taut, for her fingers were tucked into the panties. Thanks to the blessing of filmy material, he could see the individual movements of her fingers.
Managing to pull his attention away from that, he saw she was wearing a corset. Curiously, it wasn’t the decorative kind women wore on the outside of their clothes, though this was a beautiful sundry. Ivory-colored as well, with one strap falling off her shoulder and elevating her breasts enough they were accentuated by the slightest breath. It hooked in front, so would lay flat under the heavy white T-shirt she’d been wearing, also lying in the grass. Just a touch of lace at the low décolletage that tempted full exposure from the crescent stretch of her torso.
She wore a music player, tiny earphones tucked into ears as delicate as porcelain, half-hidden by her hair, skeins of white gold long enough to fall over the top of the rear tire. A few strands were scattered by the breeze across her face, teasing wet, parted lips. Her bare feet flexed against the chrome bars as she apparently hit a good spot, biting her lip. Since her eyes were closed, golden lashes fanning her cheeks, he imagined she was deep in some fantasy, picturing her fingers as someone else’s.
Or perhaps she was envisioning someone stealing upon her in this glade, watching, getting hungrier for a taste of the pussy she’d teased into a wetness that had soaked the crotch panel. Someone who wanted to slide his hands under her, grip that delectable ass and tongue her first through the saturated silk. Bite her clit through her panties. Women loved that, the buffer to stimulation that provided friction, helped warm them up, so that when he finally pulled the cloth out of the way and tasted creamed flesh, she would be writhing, begging.
God, he loved eating pussy. Second best thing to fucking it.
A gentleman—not to mention a smart man—would have backed away. But he couldn’t make his feet move. This was undeniably a gift from God, and he was a devout Methodist. Okay, at least when he went home to Iowa during Christmas and attended church with his parents. Regardless, there was a higher power, a higher order. Hadn’t he just been thinking that? Maybe this was an answer.
Yes, Lucas. In your search for a deeper relationship, God has sent you to a private photo shoot from Penthouse.
Hey, crazier things had happened. Like his spontaneous decision now, to become part of her fantasy. As he moved forward, he hoped she wasn’t armed.
Excerpt from Rubies and Black Velvet by Denise Rossetti
Holdercroft on the Cressy Plains, Palimpsest
When the thunder came again and again, rolling around the tall heads of the mountains, the good folk of Holdercroft village shuddered. "They'm at it again," they said, shaking their heads. But the tavern on the plain was warm and snug, the doors and windows shuttered against the fierce driving rain.
"'Tis the dragon djinn," grunted old Griddle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"And the sorceress," whispered his wife. She made the two-handed sign of the Sibling Moons. "Brother and Sister preserve us."
"Seen `er once." Griddle held out his tankard for a refill. "Ridin' a storm cloud, the night the big tree came down, ye remember?"
"Ye were drunk," scoffed his wife.
"Naked as a bebbe she were. All pale and long." Griddle's rheumy eyes took on a faraway look. "Hair down to `er waist, flyin' like whips o' black silk. And when she looked at me, `twas like starin' hell in the eye. So dark, so deep…" He buried his long nose in his ale.
"Ye stupid old sot." Griddle's wife poked his shoulder with a bony finger. "Why would a sorceress look at ye?"
Griddle subsided, grumbling into his ale. "She did," he muttered, almost too low to hear. "Like she wanted to chew me up and spit me out. Like she hated me for livin'." Abruptly, he banged his empty jug down on the bar. "Gimme another!"
At evening's end, his wife had to call for the blacksmith's boys to carry him home through the rain on a plank.
*****
Out in the barn behind the Mackie place, John knelt at Meg's feet, grumbling as she toweled his hair. "Give over, Meggie. You're not my bloody mother."
But Meg only laughed, that deep delicious chuckle that never failed to make something inside him flutter. She pulled his head down between her generous breasts and rubbed harder. Giving up, John pushed his nose deep into the warm, fragrant depths of her cleavage and inhaled with tremendous satisfaction.
Meg. His Steady Meggie.
Even at nineteen, he had no doubts. The gods had made Margaret May Mackie just for him. His center, his refuge, when the emotional tempests at home got too much. They wore a man down, his family. Between Ma and Da and his ten brawling siblings, there were times John couldn't think straight unless he held Meggie's hand in his.
He stroked a broad, callused palm over the luscious curve of her rump. The only girl in the Cressy Plains who could match him. Five foot eleven inches in her sturdy bare feet, Meg's cushiony body fitted perfectly against his huge frame, her long legs and smoothly muscled thighs a comfortable cradle for his eager weight.
John fumbled a hand down to rearrange his aching cock. He wasn't embarrassed. With Meg, everything was natural, easy. She knew him, better than he did himself, he thought sometimes. He hadn't got inside her yet, though it was all he'd been able to think about through the long, golden summer, the pink musky flesh between her pale thighs. They'd done just about everything else though. Grinning, he traced the crescent of freckles on the inner curve of one breast with his tongue. Then he blew on the damp, creamy flesh.
Meg yelped and tweaked his ear.
One day… He leaned forward to rub his cheek against the softness of her belly through the fabric of her sensible nightgown. One day, Steady Meggie would swell with his child. They'd make their own family, one without fists and fury and slamming doors. And if they were fortunate, her frail widowed father would live to see his grandchildren, the farm in good hands, before he passed to the gods.
And John would be hers too. For the rest of their lives.
It gave him such pleasure to think of it. His life in her steady, capable hands.
*****
"What do you think they're doing down there?" The sorceress stared broodingly across the gulf of night-dark space at the tiny twinkling lights far below. Her dwelling was older than time, built into the shoulder of the peak, carved of living stone. The chilly wind lifted the tendrils of black hair that brushed her snow white hips, but even naked as she was, she didn't feel the cold.
Huge ebony arms snaked around her waist from behind, the hint of scales under the skin abrading her flesh. "Insects," rumbled the dragon djinn. "Who cares?"
The sorceress smiled without humor, the merest curve of thin red lips. She pressed back against her dragon lover, enjoying the monstrous size of him, towering over her by more than a foot. His massive pointed phallus burned so hot against her cool buttocks, the sensation was just this side of pain. She didn't need to turn to know his reptilian eyes would be flaming with passion, ruby-red.
But in the end, she did turn, because she couldn't help herself. By Shaitan, she hated this strange compulsion, her inability to be done with him, to discard him as she'd done with centuries of lovers. Fifty seasons they'd played together and fifty times she'd tried to extricate herself and failed.
In their hellish dance of lust and blood and pain, she could never be sure who'd triumph in the struggle for dominance. She knew only that she was addicted to the savage beauty of the djinn's body, swaying under the lash, fascinated by his stubborn draconic endurance. Sometimes he was so fierce, she feared for her very life, and her slow ancient blood would run hot and heavy. Then it would be her turn to plead for mercy, cracked and broken and exalted. The razor's edge of peril intoxicated her.
And oh, she loved his magnificent body in either form, man or dragon, black as midnight in the pits of hell. But in general, she preferred something in between, as he was now. The best of both worlds.
Stepping back, the sorceress wrapped long slim fingers around his jutting phallus, though she had no hope of closing her fist. The dragon djinn rumbled his pleasure, his forked tongue flickering over a brutal mouth. His organ writhed in her palm, undulating like a cat, the slitted tip curling back to dab a wet kiss on the back of her hand. A mortal would discover his bodily fluids burned like acid, the sorceress felt only a tingle pleasantly reminiscent of pain.
