No good deed goes unpunished. Mark Samuels, a somewhat seedy matrimonial lawyer, is dead from an overdose of suspiciously pure cocaine. Jane Larson, a hotshot litigator for a large law firm in New York City, is sucked into the world of divorce and child support when her friend Francine asks her to help out one of Mark’s clients. Jane quickly learns that the case is a complete loser and that her new client, Gail, is a demanding and unscrupulous prima donna. However, through some skillful legal work and a tip-off from a mysterious informant, Jane uncovers a safe deposit box where the deadbeat husband has been hiding a large chunk of cash. She also attracts the attention of a fellow lawyer (Bryan) who is handsome and successful and an excellent protector from the threats to her life that suddenly start popping up with alarming frequency, along with murders of people related to the case—among them the deadbeat dad and an undercover cop. It soon becomes apparent that Jane's discovery of the cash has only started to unravel a web of lies, drugs, and criminal activity. Ultimately, she is involved in a race to recover a suitcase of money that Jane hopes will help police catch the murderer before she becomes the next victim.
The judge mounted the steps to the bench and sat down quickly as though he had been attending to some urgent business, but couldn’t wait to get out here and sweat with the rest of us. He said hello to the assemblage, received back a muffled chorus of “Good afternoon, Your Honor,” made a joke that nobody heard and everyone laughed at, and shuffled some papers.
He was ready to embark on the business of the day when his face suddenly turned sour and his forehead flushed. He pointed one long bony finger toward the rear.
“Get them out of my courtroom,” he ordered.
One hundred and thirty lawyers’ gazes, including mine, followed his outstretched arm, although my colleagues did not gasp in horror the way I did. Many, no doubt, enjoyed it. There was Gail again, with Courtney in tow, turning this way and that to squeeze through the courtroom door in those cardboard barrel costumes.
The court officer started briskly across the room, unable not to smile at the prospect of confronting my client, whose body strained against the spandex with a fit that was wonderful to behold, especially after she had climbed the stairs and perspiration had made select parts of her costume particularly clingy.
It occurred to me I had not yet entered a formal appearance for this woman and could simply melt into the crowd and make an unobtrusive exit. Ridge would have definitely appreciated the move. Lord knows I would have saved myself an astounding amount of trouble. Even Martha would agree with me on that.
However, having told Francine I was ‘in,’ I would sooner have faced a squad of pit bulls than informed her I was out. So, like a well-trained policeman who runs toward the sound of gunfire, I hopped to my feet and hurried toward the judge.
“May I be heard, Your Honor,” I shouted above the din.
Anne Rothman-Hicks and Kenneth Hicks first started writing books together while Anne was a student at Bryn Mawr College and Ken was a student at Haverford College— a long time ago, when, as their children like to say, dinosaurs roamed the earth.
In 1973, they came to New York City while Ken attended law school at Columbia University and Anne worked as an editor in publishing. They have lived here ever since and do not intend to leave voluntarily.
They wrote their first novel together in 1976, hoping that it would be a success and Ken would not have to even start working as a lawyer. Alas, that book is still in on the upper shelf of their closet, but they kept at the writing business. In 1984, they published Theft of the Shroud, a novel, through Banbury books, distributed by Putnam. That same year they also published a series of 10 books based on the most popular names for boys and girls, as well as a book about the stars for children. Following these successes, Ken quit law for two years as he and Anne devoted themselves fulltime to writing and their children. However, children need to eat and be clothed and go to school, and these things all cost money, so Ken resumed the practice of law. Still, they continued to write, and rewrite, and rewrite some more.
Prior to the publication of Weave A Murderous Web, Ken and Anne wrote Praise Her, Praise Diana, (Adult thriller) Melange Books LLC, 2014, Kate and the Kid, (Adult mainstream) Wings ePress 2013, and Things Are Not What They Seem (Tween fantasy) MuseItUp Publishing 2014. Anne and Ken have also self-published two small-format photography books, which are available on the Apple iBookstore – Hearts (no flowers) Signs of Love in the Gritty City and Picture Stones.
Book Title: Someone To Come Back To (Book One In The Omega Security Series)
Author: Roisin Black
Genre: Romance
Release Date: April 13, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Lieutenant John Sullivan of the U.S. Navy SEALs is used to control in all things and especially when it comes to love. He has one rule.
DO. NOT. GO. THERE.
A recent mission gone wrong sees him seeking refuge at his cabin in the Adirondack wilderness, a place where he goes to deal with the things he has to do as part of his job.
Dr. Maggie O'Brien, Senior Trauma Surgeon at Hillview hospital, New York is dedicated to saving the lives of her patients, leaving her little time for anything resembling a personal life.
When it comes to love she has one belief.
NO. TIME. FOR. THAT.
A work related crisis sees her fleeing New York for the seclusion of the Adirondacks where her burnt-out body and weary soul crave solitude .
The last thing John Sullivan wants whilst he tries to deal with the emotional aftermath of his last mission is the distraction of a fiery red-head with curves that would tempt a saint.
The last thing Maggie O'Brien wants as she finally takes some time to examine her life is to deal with her body's unwanted response to the bossy, over-bearing man who rescued her in the woods and who drives her crazy in every way.
Soon, though, each realizes the other may not be what they want but what they need.
However, ghosts from the past and shocking events from the present shake John to his core and lead him to make a fateful decision that may just cause him to lose the woman he loves, forever.
The thought then occurred to her if she couldn’t get a cab from his place then where did he mean for her to go? The wind blew her hair off her face and the realization hit her like a bolt of lightning.
Good God, she thought to herself, he means for me to stay at his place. Oh, no. Oh no, no, no, no……. she told herself and turned towards her car.
“Ahem,” John cleared his throat, “I don’t mean to put you under any pressure or anything but there’s the tiny matter of a storm coming, so whatever it is you are thinking of doing could you maybe hurry up and do it. If you’re coming with me then we need to start moving.”
Maggie ignored him, opened the car door and grabbed her phone out of her bag. She looked at Mr. Impatience and asked him if he happened to know the number of the local cab company.
“518 357 3391,” John rattled off.
Maggie punched in the numbers and brought the phone to her ear.
John smiled, this wouldn’t take long.
Seconds later a very annoyed red-haired female shook her phone like it simply needed clearing of some sort of blockage and pressed re-dial.
John waited.
“What the…” Maggie started to say as realization dawned on her. She looked at the man opposite her who, yet again, was smiling! He really was starting to get on her already frayed nerves.
“You knew that didn’t you?” she accused him.
“Yep,” he admitted, nodding his head slowly.
“Where is the nearest cell phone signal?” she clipped at him.
“A few miles that way,” he said, his thumb pointing in the opposite direction to where he said he was going.
Róisín Black comes from the West of Ireland, a place where storytelling is a way of life. She’s a dreamer, a wanderer and a writer. In amongst extensive wandering and dreaming she has managed to carve out a successful career as a journalist, hold-down a marriage, produce two amazing children and spend her time with some pretty cool dogs. She currently lives in Queensland, Australia.
Title: Ugly
Author: Margaret McHeyzer
Genre: YA/NA
Release Date: October 26, 2015
Blurb
From New York Times bestselling author Margaret McHeyzer....
If I were dead, I wouldn't be able to see.
If I were dead, I wouldn't be able to see.
If I were dead, I wouldn't be able to feel.
If I were dead, he'd never raise his hand to me again.
If I were dead, his words wouldn't cut as deep as they do.
If I were dead, I'd be beautiful and I wouldn't be so...ugly.
I'm not dead...but I wish I was.
I'm not dead...but I wish I was.
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Trailer
Prologue
It’s days like today I wish I was dead.
“Lily Anderson, you get your ugly ass out here right this minute. Don’t make me come after you,” Daddy screams.
He’s so angry. I knew the moment I heard him come home from work I was in for it. I was in my bedroom, lying on the floor trying to do my math. He slammed the front door so hard the windows in my room shook.
And then I knew, I knew I was in for it.
“Lily Anderson!” he yells again.
As soon as I heard him yell I ran to my hiding spot. I’m inside the closet in the hallway, wedged as far into the corner as I can get. Mom’s old coat hangs in front of me and I can still smell a faint waft of the perfume she used to wear.
“Lily Anderson!” he shouts. I can hear the anger in his voice and I can already feel the pain he’s going to inflict on me when he opens the closet door. I know what’s coming.
I close my eyes tight, scrunching them up so no light can seep through. I put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear him.
“I swear to God; if I have to find you, you will not sit for a month.”
My knees are folded into my chest. I’m trying to make myself small, invisible, so he forgets I’m here. I’m rocking myself, trying to block out what he’s saying.
School is safe. School is safe. School is safe. I keep repeating the mantra because in a few short hours I’ll be back at school. Maybe tomorrow I can go to the library after school, stay there until it closes and then sneak in after Dad’s passed out, because he’s had too much to drink.
It was never like this before. Ever.
I’m twelve years old and I can remember when Mom, Dad, and I were all happy. But that was years ago. It’s been a long time since there’s been any happiness in this house.
Well, before Mom died anyway, and not a day since.
Mom died when I was nine. I don’t remember much about her, except I remember her telling me how ugly I am. How life would be better if I was taken away from them. How I’ll never be anything, because I’m stupid and ugly.
Sometimes I dream happy things. Like me, Mom, Dad and a little blond-haired boy all going for a picnic. The sun beamed down on us as we played outside and laughed. We’d eat yummy sandwiches Mom made for us, and we’d drink homemade lemonade. We’d spend hours outside, laughing and talking and just having fun. Mom would tell me how pretty I am, and how much she loved me. She would play with my hair, braid it, and then we’d go and pick bright flowers to take home and put in a vase. Dad would smile and call us “his girls”, always kissing Mom and hugging me. Dad would put the little boy on his shoulders and run around the park, trying to catch the clouds.
I love those dreams, and I hold onto them; wishing they were real. But I’ve never had a mom like that, and my dad doesn’t talk much unless it’s with his fists, or to tell me how ugly and useless I am.
I feel him walking around the house. The floorboards creak and the vibrations from his footsteps come through the floor to where my bottom is. I close my eyes tighter and try and breathe as quietly as I can.
Please go away, Daddy. Please go away.
My heart is beating so fast. My hands are shaking and I’m trying really hard not to think about what’s going to happen the minute he opens the closet door.
Shhh, it’s so quiet. The only sound is my heart thrumming in my ears. Nothing else. Not a whisper, not a rattle…nothing.
Maybe Daddy’s left. Maybe he’s gone to the pub to have a few drinks. Maybe, just maybe, he’s left...forever.
I take a deep breath and just relax for a moment. My shoulders drop and I finally stop rocking.
Slowly I take my hands down from my ears, and I’m so happy because I can’t hear him yelling at me. I can’t hear him at all.
Gradually, I begin to unscrunch my eyes from the way I’ve tightly closed them. But something’s not right. There’s light coming into the closet.
I don’t even get a chance to open them fully before a rough hand reaches in, latches onto my ponytail and yanks.
“I told you it’d be worse for you if I had to find you,” Dad says, as he drags me out of the closet by my hair.
I’m desperately trying to hold onto my head so he doesn’t rip my hair out. My feet are trying to find traction on the dirty floorboards.
“Please, Daddy. Please. You’re hurting me,” I begin sobbing as I plead with him.
“Then your ugly ass should’ve come when I called you, you stupid bitch. You’re fucking worthless, you ugly idiot,” he says. But now his voice is calm as he continues to drag me toward the family room.
That’s when he’s most scary. When his voice is low and his eyes are filled with hate.
He throws me against the side of the sofa and takes a step back to look at me.
I look up and can see he’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. “You dumb, ugly piece of shit,” he says, as he paces back and forth in front of me.
“Sorry, Daddy. Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” I cower into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.
“You’re just too fucking stupid, aren’t you?” he spits toward me as he brings his hand up to scratch at his chin.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Tears are falling hot and fast down my cheeks. My head hurts from where he was pulling my hair, but I don’t dare try to rub the spot.
“You ugly fuck.” He kicks a boot into my leg.
The pain is instant and my leg feels like it’s shattered. “Please, Daddy,” I beg again, burying my face into my hands.
But ‘please’ never seems to work.
Nothing does.
“Lily Anderson, you get your ugly ass out here right this minute. Don’t make me come after you,” Daddy screams.
He’s so angry. I knew the moment I heard him come home from work I was in for it. I was in my bedroom, lying on the floor trying to do my math. He slammed the front door so hard the windows in my room shook.
And then I knew, I knew I was in for it.
“Lily Anderson!” he yells again.
As soon as I heard him yell I ran to my hiding spot. I’m inside the closet in the hallway, wedged as far into the corner as I can get. Mom’s old coat hangs in front of me and I can still smell a faint waft of the perfume she used to wear.
“Lily Anderson!” he shouts. I can hear the anger in his voice and I can already feel the pain he’s going to inflict on me when he opens the closet door. I know what’s coming.
I close my eyes tight, scrunching them up so no light can seep through. I put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear him.
“I swear to God; if I have to find you, you will not sit for a month.”
My knees are folded into my chest. I’m trying to make myself small, invisible, so he forgets I’m here. I’m rocking myself, trying to block out what he’s saying.
School is safe. School is safe. School is safe. I keep repeating the mantra because in a few short hours I’ll be back at school. Maybe tomorrow I can go to the library after school, stay there until it closes and then sneak in after Dad’s passed out, because he’s had too much to drink.
It was never like this before. Ever.
I’m twelve years old and I can remember when Mom, Dad, and I were all happy. But that was years ago. It’s been a long time since there’s been any happiness in this house.
Well, before Mom died anyway, and not a day since.
Mom died when I was nine. I don’t remember much about her, except I remember her telling me how ugly I am. How life would be better if I was taken away from them. How I’ll never be anything, because I’m stupid and ugly.
Sometimes I dream happy things. Like me, Mom, Dad and a little blond-haired boy all going for a picnic. The sun beamed down on us as we played outside and laughed. We’d eat yummy sandwiches Mom made for us, and we’d drink homemade lemonade. We’d spend hours outside, laughing and talking and just having fun. Mom would tell me how pretty I am, and how much she loved me. She would play with my hair, braid it, and then we’d go and pick bright flowers to take home and put in a vase. Dad would smile and call us “his girls”, always kissing Mom and hugging me. Dad would put the little boy on his shoulders and run around the park, trying to catch the clouds.
I love those dreams, and I hold onto them; wishing they were real. But I’ve never had a mom like that, and my dad doesn’t talk much unless it’s with his fists, or to tell me how ugly and useless I am.
I feel him walking around the house. The floorboards creak and the vibrations from his footsteps come through the floor to where my bottom is. I close my eyes tighter and try and breathe as quietly as I can.
Please go away, Daddy. Please go away.
My heart is beating so fast. My hands are shaking and I’m trying really hard not to think about what’s going to happen the minute he opens the closet door.
Shhh, it’s so quiet. The only sound is my heart thrumming in my ears. Nothing else. Not a whisper, not a rattle…nothing.
Maybe Daddy’s left. Maybe he’s gone to the pub to have a few drinks. Maybe, just maybe, he’s left...forever.
I take a deep breath and just relax for a moment. My shoulders drop and I finally stop rocking.
Slowly I take my hands down from my ears, and I’m so happy because I can’t hear him yelling at me. I can’t hear him at all.
Gradually, I begin to unscrunch my eyes from the way I’ve tightly closed them. But something’s not right. There’s light coming into the closet.
I don’t even get a chance to open them fully before a rough hand reaches in, latches onto my ponytail and yanks.
“I told you it’d be worse for you if I had to find you,” Dad says, as he drags me out of the closet by my hair.
I’m desperately trying to hold onto my head so he doesn’t rip my hair out. My feet are trying to find traction on the dirty floorboards.
“Please, Daddy. Please. You’re hurting me,” I begin sobbing as I plead with him.
“Then your ugly ass should’ve come when I called you, you stupid bitch. You’re fucking worthless, you ugly idiot,” he says. But now his voice is calm as he continues to drag me toward the family room.
That’s when he’s most scary. When his voice is low and his eyes are filled with hate.
He throws me against the side of the sofa and takes a step back to look at me.
I look up and can see he’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. “You dumb, ugly piece of shit,” he says, as he paces back and forth in front of me.
“Sorry, Daddy. Whatever I did, I’m so sorry.” I cower into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.
“You’re just too fucking stupid, aren’t you?” he spits toward me as he brings his hand up to scratch at his chin.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. Tears are falling hot and fast down my cheeks. My head hurts from where he was pulling my hair, but I don’t dare try to rub the spot.
“You ugly fuck.” He kicks a boot into my leg.
The pain is instant and my leg feels like it’s shattered. “Please, Daddy,” I beg again, burying my face into my hands.
But ‘please’ never seems to work.
Nothing does.
I’ve just got to take the beatings, because that’s what stupid, ugly girls do.
Author Bio
Possibly it's the fact there are 26 letters in the English alphabet, and they can create something so beautiful or so empowering they're capable to change our lives.
How important is it that we break suit and stretch our minds?
I like to think of myself as 'unique'. My stories aren't for everyone, and sometimes I may push what you believe to be 'normal'.
Normal is subjective.
I prefer to be known as a person who's never been 'bound by custom' but is 'unique by choice'.
I hope you do read and enjoy my stories.
Author Links
Title: Undone Volumes 1 & 2
Series: Beg for It
Author: Callie Harper
Genre: Hot Contemporary/New Adult Romance
Release Date: March 14, 2016
Blurb
Take one bad boy rock god. Mix slowly with one wholesome librarian. Add a dash of paparazzi, a twist of scandal, and you won’t believe how good this dish tastes.
Ash
It’s pretty easy being a rock god. Party. Perform. P*ssy. Repeat. I’m 26 and it’s worked for me for years. Until I was caught ripping out the heart of America’s Sweetheart in a video gone viral. Now #HatePlayerAsh is trending on Twitter, she’s writing a song about how much I suck and I’m in desperate need image rehab, fast.
Good thing paparazzi chased me into that library. Had I not ducked under that desk I never would have found myself next to the long, sexy legs and disapproving gaze of Anika Ivanov. In my world of use and get used, she’s a unicorn. A kind, 24-year-old, hard-working, family-oriented children’s librarian. My agent agrees, she’s the one to set everything right. All she needs to do is fake a month-long public romance, let the world see me fall hard for her, then dump me in a brutal, public display. It’s genius.
Now I just have to convince her to agree. And convince myself that the only reason I want to spend the month with her is to improve my image. It’s not her full, luscious lips or her soft, seductive laugh or those fantasies I keep having of tying her down to my bed as I make her quiver and pant and call out my name.
Ana
Ash Black. In my library. Under my desk. It’s hard to believe it happened. I’ve listened to his voice so many times, my favorite soundtrack as I walk the streets of New York. My secret bad boy crush, the smoldering, shirtless star of the tabloids, all muscles and tattoos. Then one day he shows up and kisses me in my break room.
What’s even crazier is how he wants me to spend the next month. At his shows in L.A., San Francisco and Vegas, candlelight dinners in New York and Paris. He wants the world to believe he’s fallen in love. With me.
I’ve got to say no. He’s a walking disaster with a dirty mouth and wicked hands that melt my panties right off of me. This month would take everything in my well-ordered, neat little life and shake it up like a snowglobe.
Then why am I so tempted to say yes?
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Ash
New York City. Vegas. Paris. A whirlwind tour for our whirlwind romance, every step, smile and kiss photographed from every angle. It’s all going according to plan, rehabbing my bad boy rock star image by falling hard for a sweet, wholesome librarian.
There are all kinds of reasons to keep my hands off her. The no-sex clause in our contract. Paparazzi around every corner. She doesn’t trust me because she thinks I’m a player, and she’s right.
But I’m done playing by the rules. I’m rock star Ash Black and I’ve never been good at doing what other people tell me. I’m done mugging for the cameras.
I want her alone, all to myself, where the only rules are the ones I dictate. When it’s just us, there’ll be nothing fake about her begging me to let her come. I’m a musician, baby, and believe me, I’m going to savor the sound of her every pant, gasp and moan.
Ana
It’s just a show, a month-long façade. I need to keep my head in the game, my heart under wraps and my body out of reach of his wickedly talented hands.
He’s not making it easy for me. Every time I watch him perform, I go weak in the knees. Every time he romances me over a candlelight dinner, I melt. And the few moments he’s caught me alone, he’s started a fire in me unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s roaring, licking, burning me up.
I’m not good at pretending. And with the heat he’s building in me, I’m not sure how long I’m going to last. One month can feel like forever when you’re so close to exactly what you want but not allowed to touch it. Sooner or later, a girl has to reach out and touch.
NOTE: Undone is a three-volume hot adult romance. It’s the second story in the Beg for It series about the dominant, alpha males in Ash’s family and the strong, sexy women who make them finally meet their match.
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Excerpt
Undone Volume 1
I pulled against my wrist restraints, panting as his tongue trailed a slow, teasing path down my stomach. A moan escaped my lips. I needed to touch him, fist my fingers in his thick, jet-black hair and dig my nails into his broad, muscular shoulders. But I couldn’t even see him. He’d blindfolded me. Twisting my head to the side, I could still picture him, tattoos licking along his bicep. The ridges of his abs, the start of his V.
“Please!” I couldn’t help but cry out. I needed more, needed his tongue lower, needed to be set free so I could at least touch myself if not him. He’d worked me up into such a frenzy. With a low, satisfied growl deep in his chest, he dipped his tongue in a lazy circle around my belly button. He insisted on having me his way, tormenting every inch of me until I begged for it.
“Ash!” I strained against my ties, spread-eagle on the king-size bed, but he’d fastened them well. All I succeeded in doing was arching up my back, further offering my naked breasts up for his pleasure.
He chuckled, deep and wicked, tracing my curves with his hand. “You like being tied up, don’t you, my Anika?” His fingers melted me as he stroked my limbs, up my side, along the swell of my breast. He paused and I held my breath, wondering what he might do next, feeling a throb deep in my pussy, drawing more slick sweetness from my core. The anticipation, the submission, it made me crazy.
But he kept on going, up past my breast, along my collarbone, up my arm to circle my restraints. He drew my attention to his control, how he had me tied up, exactly where he wanted me.
“I knew you’d like it,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful, laid out here for me.”
I panted like an animal and swallowed hard. A sliver of my mind still reared up in shock at what I was doing, what I was letting him do to me. Willingly turning myself over to him in complete submission. I’d never done anything like it before, letting someone tie me up. I’d thought about it, even touched myself fantasizing about it late at night. But never in my bland, boring, good girl what-passed-for-a-sex-life had I ever done anything like it.
Turned out that getting snowed in at a cabin in the mountains with Ash Black, the sexiest, hottest rock god on the planet brought out the naughty side in me.
A month ago, I never would have believed any of this would happen. Sure, I’d fantasized about the lead singer of my favorite band. Plenty of times. But I wasn’t alone in that. Ash Black had been on the cover of People magazine as sexiest man alive the last two years in a row. I think he’d starred in more than a few late-night fantasies.
But even my fantasies hadn’t taken me this far. A month ago, I never could have imagined this scene. I wouldn’t have recognized the naked woman, bound and blindfolded on the bed, writhing and whimpering beneath Ash’s large, powerful body.
Suddenly, I felt wet heat on my aching, erect nipple. I cried out as he sucked me, licked me, pleasure rocketing directly to my sex.
“You need this, Ana. Don’t you?” he whispered, husky. I could feel his stubble, rough along my soft breast as he circled my nipple, slowly, teasing me again.
“Yes!” I cried out. “Please!” I begged for release, not from bondage, but from the intensity of the building, cresting orgasm I could feel quivering up inside of me. I needed to let it out, and I needed him to free it from me.
“You can scream when you come, Ana,” he whispered, trailing his tongue down my stomach. Slowly, so slowly. I moaned, wishing I could move, wishing I could bring my sex up to him and make things happen faster. I’d never felt so desperate, so crazed. Sex before Ash had always been blah, mostly forgettable, slightly regrettable. It had never felt anything like this rush of a roller coaster ride, this wild, heady plunge straight into the unknown.
I pulled against my wrist restraints, panting as his tongue trailed a slow, teasing path down my stomach. A moan escaped my lips. I needed to touch him, fist my fingers in his thick, jet-black hair and dig my nails into his broad, muscular shoulders. But I couldn’t even see him. He’d blindfolded me. Twisting my head to the side, I could still picture him, tattoos licking along his bicep. The ridges of his abs, the start of his V.
“Please!” I couldn’t help but cry out. I needed more, needed his tongue lower, needed to be set free so I could at least touch myself if not him. He’d worked me up into such a frenzy. With a low, satisfied growl deep in his chest, he dipped his tongue in a lazy circle around my belly button. He insisted on having me his way, tormenting every inch of me until I begged for it.
“Ash!” I strained against my ties, spread-eagle on the king-size bed, but he’d fastened them well. All I succeeded in doing was arching up my back, further offering my naked breasts up for his pleasure.
He chuckled, deep and wicked, tracing my curves with his hand. “You like being tied up, don’t you, my Anika?” His fingers melted me as he stroked my limbs, up my side, along the swell of my breast. He paused and I held my breath, wondering what he might do next, feeling a throb deep in my pussy, drawing more slick sweetness from my core. The anticipation, the submission, it made me crazy.
But he kept on going, up past my breast, along my collarbone, up my arm to circle my restraints. He drew my attention to his control, how he had me tied up, exactly where he wanted me.
“I knew you’d like it,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful, laid out here for me.”
I panted like an animal and swallowed hard. A sliver of my mind still reared up in shock at what I was doing, what I was letting him do to me. Willingly turning myself over to him in complete submission. I’d never done anything like it before, letting someone tie me up. I’d thought about it, even touched myself fantasizing about it late at night. But never in my bland, boring, good girl what-passed-for-a-sex-life had I ever done anything like it.
Turned out that getting snowed in at a cabin in the mountains with Ash Black, the sexiest, hottest rock god on the planet brought out the naughty side in me.
A month ago, I never would have believed any of this would happen. Sure, I’d fantasized about the lead singer of my favorite band. Plenty of times. But I wasn’t alone in that. Ash Black had been on the cover of People magazine as sexiest man alive the last two years in a row. I think he’d starred in more than a few late-night fantasies.
But even my fantasies hadn’t taken me this far. A month ago, I never could have imagined this scene. I wouldn’t have recognized the naked woman, bound and blindfolded on the bed, writhing and whimpering beneath Ash’s large, powerful body.
Suddenly, I felt wet heat on my aching, erect nipple. I cried out as he sucked me, licked me, pleasure rocketing directly to my sex.
“You need this, Ana. Don’t you?” he whispered, husky. I could feel his stubble, rough along my soft breast as he circled my nipple, slowly, teasing me again.
“Yes!” I cried out. “Please!” I begged for release, not from bondage, but from the intensity of the building, cresting orgasm I could feel quivering up inside of me. I needed to let it out, and I needed him to free it from me.
“You can scream when you come, Ana,” he whispered, trailing his tongue down my stomach. Slowly, so slowly. I moaned, wishing I could move, wishing I could bring my sex up to him and make things happen faster. I’d never felt so desperate, so crazed. Sex before Ash had always been blah, mostly forgettable, slightly regrettable. It had never felt anything like this rush of a roller coaster ride, this wild, heady plunge straight into the unknown.
“It will be our little secret,” he continued, down now at my hips. Large fingers over my smooth skin, he worshipped my curves, feathering kisses down the insides of my thighs.
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Author Bio
Callie Harper writes contemporary romances so hot they may melt your eReader. You've been warned! She is powered by coffee, wickedly sexy bad boys, and all things funny, intentional or otherwise. She is the author of Off Limits and the Beg For It series which started with Unleashed, and now continues with Undone released in March 2016.
She lives in the gorgeous Bay Area with her family.
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