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December was always a special time for seaplane pilot Morgan Adair, but after losing her parents six years ago, the holiday is a quiet affair. When her siblings announce plans to sell the family home, Morgan longs to experience her favorite, now-forgotten tradition one more time: a lighted tree that, for over a hundred years, has appeared floating on a boat in the harbor every Christmas Eve. The Taylors were always rivals to the Adairs in the once-thriving fishing village of Christmas Tree Cove, but Jesse Taylor was much more. He |
wanted to be understanding when Morgan set aside their plans to escape to Chicago in order to hold her family together, but his future as a successful freelance photographer soared on without her.
As Morgan dives deeper into the history of the mysterious holiday appearance, she discovers that true love has always been at the heart of the annual tradition. Can the wonder of Christmas and a few surprises along the way rekindle that love for Morgan and Jesse too?
As Morgan dives deeper into the history of the mysterious holiday appearance, she discovers that true love has always been at the heart of the annual tradition. Can the wonder of Christmas and a few surprises along the way rekindle that love for Morgan and Jesse too?
- SNEAK PEEK -
“The three-thirteen to Christmas Tree Cove,” Jesse prompted again. “Where’s the pilot?” Jesse scraped a hand through his thick black curls, hoping to calm his anxiety.
“You’re looking at her.” Morgan wrinkled her nose and grinned up at him.
“Wait. No. Where’s Skip?” Jesse asked. His eyes glanced over the tarmac as a cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Skip always piloted the afternoon flight to Christmas Tree Cove. It was something a nervous flyer like Jesse counted on. Despite his better judgment, the blustery old bastard had convinced him the seaplane was the safest way to travel on the last leg of his frequent travels to and from Christmas Tree Cove.
“I traded with Skip for this flight.” Morgan’s voice was sharp. “Eli is coming home for Thanksgiving. I wanted to be the one to fly him home.”
Jesse leaned in awkwardly, jamming both his hands deep into his pockets. His tone gentled. “Is this the first time since . . .?”
His voice trailed off. Morgan had always been guarded about her feelings, but after her parents died, she’d completely shut down. She was emotionless as a cyborg. A really beautiful cyborg. He was still angry at her dismissal of him, but compassionate enough not to push her too far. She looked so fragile.
“Will you need help stowing your bags?” she asked.
Jesse squared his shoulders. “That I can handle.”
He opened the luggage compartment, forcing himself to focus on loading the metal suitcases that held his photographic equipment, and not the aircraft’s pilot.
But then something made her take a step back.
“Huh,” she said.
“What?” Jesse dropped Aurora’s bag and joined Morgan near the wing of the plane. “What is that supposed to mean? Is everything all right?” he stuttered as his heartbeat quickened.
Morgan sucked in her cheeks. “It’s nothing. Everything’ll be fine.”
“What do you mean, ‘everything’ll be fine’?” He was quickly moving into panic mode, which was not a good look on him. Not in front of Morgan. Not after all this time.
She turned to him with one hand on her hip. “Let me ask you a question, Jesse. Have you ever seen The Sound of Music?”
He rolled his eyes. “Julie Andrews. Christopher Plummer. A house full of kids. And Nazis. My mom makes us watch it every year at Christmas.”
Morgan smiled. “Do you remember how Maria sings about her favorite things to feel better during a thunderstorm?”
He shook his head. “Kinda. Maybe I should’ve paid better attention.”
“Well, if this were The Sound of Music and I was going to sing about my favorite things, every note in my song would be about flying this plane.” Her tone softened to a soothing lilt. “Nothing’s wrong with the plane. I promise. And I’m a really good pilot.”
Jesse laughed, loud and long. Seeing a flash of swagger and bravado on Morgan’s face gave him a bit of hope, reminding him of the girl he once loved.
“You’re looking at her.” Morgan wrinkled her nose and grinned up at him.
“Wait. No. Where’s Skip?” Jesse asked. His eyes glanced over the tarmac as a cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Skip always piloted the afternoon flight to Christmas Tree Cove. It was something a nervous flyer like Jesse counted on. Despite his better judgment, the blustery old bastard had convinced him the seaplane was the safest way to travel on the last leg of his frequent travels to and from Christmas Tree Cove.
“I traded with Skip for this flight.” Morgan’s voice was sharp. “Eli is coming home for Thanksgiving. I wanted to be the one to fly him home.”
Jesse leaned in awkwardly, jamming both his hands deep into his pockets. His tone gentled. “Is this the first time since . . .?”
His voice trailed off. Morgan had always been guarded about her feelings, but after her parents died, she’d completely shut down. She was emotionless as a cyborg. A really beautiful cyborg. He was still angry at her dismissal of him, but compassionate enough not to push her too far. She looked so fragile.
“Will you need help stowing your bags?” she asked.
Jesse squared his shoulders. “That I can handle.”
He opened the luggage compartment, forcing himself to focus on loading the metal suitcases that held his photographic equipment, and not the aircraft’s pilot.
But then something made her take a step back.
“Huh,” she said.
“What?” Jesse dropped Aurora’s bag and joined Morgan near the wing of the plane. “What is that supposed to mean? Is everything all right?” he stuttered as his heartbeat quickened.
Morgan sucked in her cheeks. “It’s nothing. Everything’ll be fine.”
“What do you mean, ‘everything’ll be fine’?” He was quickly moving into panic mode, which was not a good look on him. Not in front of Morgan. Not after all this time.
She turned to him with one hand on her hip. “Let me ask you a question, Jesse. Have you ever seen The Sound of Music?”
He rolled his eyes. “Julie Andrews. Christopher Plummer. A house full of kids. And Nazis. My mom makes us watch it every year at Christmas.”
Morgan smiled. “Do you remember how Maria sings about her favorite things to feel better during a thunderstorm?”
He shook his head. “Kinda. Maybe I should’ve paid better attention.”
“Well, if this were The Sound of Music and I was going to sing about my favorite things, every note in my song would be about flying this plane.” Her tone softened to a soothing lilt. “Nothing’s wrong with the plane. I promise. And I’m a really good pilot.”
Jesse laughed, loud and long. Seeing a flash of swagger and bravado on Morgan’s face gave him a bit of hope, reminding him of the girl he once loved.
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
- Prize Three -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of On Christmas Tree Cover?
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Nevin meets Marco in the most unlikely of places ... a serial killer's basement. Nevin’s in a new town, looking for a new job and a new man. His first date turns out to be the worst choice ever. He wakes up in a cage with chains and a collar. But he’s not alone. The sexy Italian beside him is bruised, naked, and not giving up. Marco never expected his co-worker at The Cox Club to hit him over the head and drag him into a damn cage. But here he was. Bruised, naked, humiliated, and the only thing keeping him from giving up is the young guy in the next cell who’s caught this psycho’s eye. |
Will they actually survive this nightmare? And if they do, can they ever truly heal?
- SNEAK PEEK -
Marco held him just a tad tighter. “It’s me and you, Nevin. We’re in the apartment. My hands are wrapped around you. The second, the fucking second, you say no or stop, these hands will leave your body.”
Those words were just perfect. Nevin nodded. He felt like an idiot. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I mean it.” Marco loosened his hold and placed his hands on Nevin’s hips. “I could be a moment away from spraying my cum on you and I’d find a way to stop.” Marco snorted. “I may cry, but I’ll stop.”
Nevin snorted.
Marco smiled then inhaled slowly. “Let me touch you?”
Marco had touched him last night and it’d been fantastic. Nevin had to use his balls and not let the bastard that hurt him win. “Touch me.”
Marco groaned. He slid his thumbs in Nevin’s boxers and tugged. They floated to the floor.
He was naked in the kitchen with a hard, strong man standing behind him. Fear slithered up his spine. “Touch me, Marco.”
Marco’s tan hand slid to Nevin’s half erect cock. His fingers wrapped around the girth. The single touch made them both moan. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Marco nipped his shoulder. “I’m going to finger that very, very sexy ass of yours until you’re ready to come. Then we’re going into the bedroom…”
Oh, God.
“And you’re going to fuck me.”
“I am?” Nevin’s nerves suddenly went from afraid to excited.
“Yes. Hard. Soft. Fast. Slow. Whatever you want. I need you, Nevin, any way I can get you. Even if that means you’re the one pitching.”
Nevin actually giggled. Yeah, that gleeful, pathetic sound had come out of his mouth.
Marco grabbed the bottle of vegetable oil from the counter. He opened it and dribbled some on his fingers.
Oh, God. Okay. Okay. He could do this. Nevin braced his hands on the counter. It was just a few fingers. Marco’s fingers. Breathe. Just Breathe. Nevin ground his teeth together.
Marco touched his balls with slick fingers, gliding them up, over his hole and then he pressed.
Nevin’s exhale was shaky. He looked up and caught Marco’s reflection in the glass cabinet door. Marco was watching him, concentrating, being patient and sweet. His finger gently eased inside, pushing forward. Not stopping. Deeper. Probing. Nevin sighed. That actually felt good. Before everything happened, he was mostly a bottom. He loved that full feeling.
“Good?” Marco asked, his voice gravelly. Marco kissed his cheek then his neck. That curious finger pulled out and this time brought a friend with it.
Nevin held his breath as two fingers probed his hole. Felt good. Nevin relaxed into the pleasure. Marco was going slow and steady. It made his anxiety leak away.
“Can you…” He took a deep breath. “Can you take one more?” Marco ended the question with a growl.
“Can you?” Nevin grinned.
“Fuck no!” Marco spun him around.
To Nevin’s surprise, the beautiful Italian threw Nevin over his shoulder in one swoop. “What the hell are you doing?” He laughed as he asked.
“Romantic shit.” Marco carried him into the bedroom and swung him onto the bed.
Those words were just perfect. Nevin nodded. He felt like an idiot. “Yeah. Okay.”
“I mean it.” Marco loosened his hold and placed his hands on Nevin’s hips. “I could be a moment away from spraying my cum on you and I’d find a way to stop.” Marco snorted. “I may cry, but I’ll stop.”
Nevin snorted.
Marco smiled then inhaled slowly. “Let me touch you?”
Marco had touched him last night and it’d been fantastic. Nevin had to use his balls and not let the bastard that hurt him win. “Touch me.”
Marco groaned. He slid his thumbs in Nevin’s boxers and tugged. They floated to the floor.
He was naked in the kitchen with a hard, strong man standing behind him. Fear slithered up his spine. “Touch me, Marco.”
Marco’s tan hand slid to Nevin’s half erect cock. His fingers wrapped around the girth. The single touch made them both moan. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Marco nipped his shoulder. “I’m going to finger that very, very sexy ass of yours until you’re ready to come. Then we’re going into the bedroom…”
Oh, God.
“And you’re going to fuck me.”
“I am?” Nevin’s nerves suddenly went from afraid to excited.
“Yes. Hard. Soft. Fast. Slow. Whatever you want. I need you, Nevin, any way I can get you. Even if that means you’re the one pitching.”
Nevin actually giggled. Yeah, that gleeful, pathetic sound had come out of his mouth.
Marco grabbed the bottle of vegetable oil from the counter. He opened it and dribbled some on his fingers.
Oh, God. Okay. Okay. He could do this. Nevin braced his hands on the counter. It was just a few fingers. Marco’s fingers. Breathe. Just Breathe. Nevin ground his teeth together.
Marco touched his balls with slick fingers, gliding them up, over his hole and then he pressed.
Nevin’s exhale was shaky. He looked up and caught Marco’s reflection in the glass cabinet door. Marco was watching him, concentrating, being patient and sweet. His finger gently eased inside, pushing forward. Not stopping. Deeper. Probing. Nevin sighed. That actually felt good. Before everything happened, he was mostly a bottom. He loved that full feeling.
“Good?” Marco asked, his voice gravelly. Marco kissed his cheek then his neck. That curious finger pulled out and this time brought a friend with it.
Nevin held his breath as two fingers probed his hole. Felt good. Nevin relaxed into the pleasure. Marco was going slow and steady. It made his anxiety leak away.
“Can you…” He took a deep breath. “Can you take one more?” Marco ended the question with a growl.
“Can you?” Nevin grinned.
“Fuck no!” Marco spun him around.
To Nevin’s surprise, the beautiful Italian threw Nevin over his shoulder in one swoop. “What the hell are you doing?” He laughed as he asked.
“Romantic shit.” Marco carried him into the bedroom and swung him onto the bed.
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Beauty Has Balls?
2. Have you read James Cox before?
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He tears down walls for a living. She’ll tear down the ones around his heart. Contractor Michael Zorn is one of the leading men on the successful home improvement show Handymen. He is also revered for an act of bravery he’d rather forget. The press may hound him, but all he really wants is to help couples realize their home renovation dreams. One of these couples is Emily Daniels and her fiancé, Trent. When Emily inherits an old home in Toronto’s Little Italy, she sees it as the perfect location for her small business. The house needs a lot of work, but her |
appearance on the Handymen show means Michael and his contractor brothers will help her renovate at a reasonable cost.
When Michael and Emily meet, their chemistry is intense. Emily wants to stay true to Trent, but her fiancé has done nothing but disappoint her. Michael recognizes Trent for what he is—a cheater. And it isn’t long before he breaks Emily’s heart.
At first, Michael only intends to comfort Emily, but their friendship soon flares into passion. Unfortunately, Michael has secrets and wounds of his own, ones he has never trusted to another. Emily is determined to break down his walls, but can she trust her heart to a man who can’t trust himself?
When Michael and Emily meet, their chemistry is intense. Emily wants to stay true to Trent, but her fiancé has done nothing but disappoint her. Michael recognizes Trent for what he is—a cheater. And it isn’t long before he breaks Emily’s heart.
At first, Michael only intends to comfort Emily, but their friendship soon flares into passion. Unfortunately, Michael has secrets and wounds of his own, ones he has never trusted to another. Emily is determined to break down his walls, but can she trust her heart to a man who can’t trust himself?
- SNEAK PEEK -
Emily threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his torso, cutting off his words and his breath. Only when he hugged her back did he realize how hard she was quivering.
She wasn’t just crying about the old photos.
“It’s okay, Em. Let it out, sweetheart.”
The collar of his shirt grew wet but he didn’t care. Wardrobe had tons of shirts. Besides, she felt good in his arms, all soft and warm. He rubbed her shoulders and the back of her waist, exploring and familiarizing himself with her luscious body. He breathed, drinking in her scent. His nasal cavities had never known such bliss. It was like that first clear breath after a long period of congestion. His fingers were pretty happy too, enjoying the give of her body. It was all he could do not to slide them down, cup her sweet ass and pull her up against him.
Just not while she was crying over another man.
She lingered in his arms and he did nothing to push her away. In fact, it surprised him how badly he wanted to keep her there, so much so that when Emily finally extricated herself, he wanted to pull her back into his embrace. Instead, he wiped her cheeks clean of the remaining tears.
“The makeup ladies are going to kill me for making you cry.”
It might have been his imagination, but her tears made her eyes appear even greener. In fact, her entire face seemed a riot of tempting color. Each shade called to him. The crushed roses in her cheeks. Her strawberry lips, so plump and moist. Even the doeskin brown of her freckles fascinated him to no end. He wanted to count them, to kiss and mark them all.
Kissing her made a whole lot of sense right now. Kissing her senseless seemed even better.
Emily’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in invitation. Michael paused, knowing it was wrong, even though every raised hair on his arms told him it was right.
As he debated with himself for a split second, she brushed her lips against his. It was quick and soft, hunger masquerading as something platonic. Even though a spectator might have called it a friendly kiss, he knew the truth. As brief as it may have been, he felt her yield to him, even if just a little.
From the startled look in her eyes, Emily knew it too.
She took a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re right. I should have been the one to do it.” Michael licked his lips. “Your lips really do taste like strawberries.”
She wasn’t just crying about the old photos.
“It’s okay, Em. Let it out, sweetheart.”
The collar of his shirt grew wet but he didn’t care. Wardrobe had tons of shirts. Besides, she felt good in his arms, all soft and warm. He rubbed her shoulders and the back of her waist, exploring and familiarizing himself with her luscious body. He breathed, drinking in her scent. His nasal cavities had never known such bliss. It was like that first clear breath after a long period of congestion. His fingers were pretty happy too, enjoying the give of her body. It was all he could do not to slide them down, cup her sweet ass and pull her up against him.
Just not while she was crying over another man.
She lingered in his arms and he did nothing to push her away. In fact, it surprised him how badly he wanted to keep her there, so much so that when Emily finally extricated herself, he wanted to pull her back into his embrace. Instead, he wiped her cheeks clean of the remaining tears.
“The makeup ladies are going to kill me for making you cry.”
It might have been his imagination, but her tears made her eyes appear even greener. In fact, her entire face seemed a riot of tempting color. Each shade called to him. The crushed roses in her cheeks. Her strawberry lips, so plump and moist. Even the doeskin brown of her freckles fascinated him to no end. He wanted to count them, to kiss and mark them all.
Kissing her made a whole lot of sense right now. Kissing her senseless seemed even better.
Emily’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in invitation. Michael paused, knowing it was wrong, even though every raised hair on his arms told him it was right.
As he debated with himself for a split second, she brushed her lips against his. It was quick and soft, hunger masquerading as something platonic. Even though a spectator might have called it a friendly kiss, he knew the truth. As brief as it may have been, he felt her yield to him, even if just a little.
From the startled look in her eyes, Emily knew it too.
She took a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re right. I should have been the one to do it.” Michael licked his lips. “Your lips really do taste like strawberries.”
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
- Prize Three -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of A Good Man?
2. Have you read Rosanna leo before?
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Grey -- Desperate times call for desperate measures, otherwise I’d never have signed a contract with Knox’s Pleasure Emporium. Selling myself for a few hours once is far better than my other option -- letting my mother’s loan shark use me however he sees fit in order to recoup his money. I can’t even be angry with Mom since she’s no longer with us. She did what she’d thought was best at the time, but now I’m paying the price. I didn’t count on a biker changing my life forever. Not only did we have a slight miscommunication that ended up leaving me with an eighteen-year commitment, but he’s my only hope of escaping my son’s father. Why do I keep getting tangled up with bad boys? It never ends well for me. |
Samurai -- I can admit my past has left me screwed up. I’d never thought I’d pay to be with a woman, but not just anyone can handle my needs. The little goddess I purchased isn’t anything like I expected. The way she gives into me so sweetly, and comes apart in my arms, makes it damn hard to forget her when our time is over. I didn’t realize I’d be seeing her again, under less than favorable circumstances.
She needs my protection. What do I do? Act like a bastard and call her names. Not my finest moment. Now I need to fix things before my cousin, Phantom, decides to step in and claim her for himself. I might have some issues to work through, but Grey is mine, and no one is taking her from me. Not Phantom, and not the man threatening Grey and her son. Because once I’m in, I’m all in. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me. I promised Grey I wouldn’t get sent to prison. I didn’t promise to be good. I just won’t get caught.
WARNING: There are scenes with bad language, adult situations, violence, and talk of abuse that may bother some readers. No cheating. No cliffhanger. And a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Samurai is part of the Devil’s Boneyard MC series. While the series may best be enjoyed in order, each book can be read as a stand-alone.
She needs my protection. What do I do? Act like a bastard and call her names. Not my finest moment. Now I need to fix things before my cousin, Phantom, decides to step in and claim her for himself. I might have some issues to work through, but Grey is mine, and no one is taking her from me. Not Phantom, and not the man threatening Grey and her son. Because once I’m in, I’m all in. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me. I promised Grey I wouldn’t get sent to prison. I didn’t promise to be good. I just won’t get caught.
WARNING: There are scenes with bad language, adult situations, violence, and talk of abuse that may bother some readers. No cheating. No cliffhanger. And a guaranteed happily-ever-after. Samurai is part of the Devil’s Boneyard MC series. While the series may best be enjoyed in order, each book can be read as a stand-alone.
- SNEAK PEEK -
I led Ryo over to the building and claimed a chair while Sam went inside. I could hear laughter and music spill from the open doorway, as well as the sounds of women. My stomach soured when I pictured Samurai with them. It was stupid to come here. He wouldn’t want this baby, or me. Wouldn’t care about my problems or that my son was in danger.
I stood and lifted Ryo into my arms. “Come on, sweetheart. We shouldn’t have come here. We’ll go home and figure something else out.”
I walked down the steps and toward the gate, but the guy who’d let me in was shaking his head and pointing back at the clubhouse. “Nope. Sorry. I’m not letting you leave until you see Samurai.”
“Are you serious right now? It’s obvious I made a mistake coming here. Let me go before he comes out and…”
I heard heavy steps behind me and stopped mid-sentence. My nape prickled and I had a feeling the man in question was right behind me. Ryo’s head remained tucked against my chest, and I tightened my hold on him. If I’d had anyone to watch him, or felt safe leaving him behind, I wouldn’t have brought him with me.
“Before I come out and what?” Samurai asked. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
Slowly, I turned to face him. He rocked back on his heels, his gaze going to Ryo. “Sorry to disappoint, but no fucking way that kid is mine. Your math is off by a few years.”
“I never said he was yours.” I backed up a step. “I needed help, but I shouldn’t have come here. He won’t open the gate and let me leave.”
Samurai’s gaze went over my shoulder and I saw him scanning the road. I knew what he’d see. Nothing. I didn’t have a car or any other transportation. I had to walk everywhere and coming way out here hadn’t been easy on either me or Ryo. Thankfully the weather had cooled a little, so I at least didn’t have my clothes and hair plastered to me from sweat. Could have been worse.
“You walked here carrying him?” he asked.
“Yes, and if you’ll tell him to let me go, then I’ll walk right back home. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Why did you?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.
I shifted Ryo in my arms and felt my dress pull tight over my stomach. I tried to hide the small bump before he noticed and seemed to have managed since he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he didn’t care. This version of Samurai was very different from the one at the Pleasure Emporium. The man who’d made me cry out his name, who’d melted my bones with multiple orgasms, wasn’t the one eying me now.
“Some people in town have talked about the good things your club does. Toy drives and helping homeless women. I’d hoped you might know of a way to solve my problem, but it was wrong to even ask.”
I stood and lifted Ryo into my arms. “Come on, sweetheart. We shouldn’t have come here. We’ll go home and figure something else out.”
I walked down the steps and toward the gate, but the guy who’d let me in was shaking his head and pointing back at the clubhouse. “Nope. Sorry. I’m not letting you leave until you see Samurai.”
“Are you serious right now? It’s obvious I made a mistake coming here. Let me go before he comes out and…”
I heard heavy steps behind me and stopped mid-sentence. My nape prickled and I had a feeling the man in question was right behind me. Ryo’s head remained tucked against my chest, and I tightened my hold on him. If I’d had anyone to watch him, or felt safe leaving him behind, I wouldn’t have brought him with me.
“Before I come out and what?” Samurai asked. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.
Slowly, I turned to face him. He rocked back on his heels, his gaze going to Ryo. “Sorry to disappoint, but no fucking way that kid is mine. Your math is off by a few years.”
“I never said he was yours.” I backed up a step. “I needed help, but I shouldn’t have come here. He won’t open the gate and let me leave.”
Samurai’s gaze went over my shoulder and I saw him scanning the road. I knew what he’d see. Nothing. I didn’t have a car or any other transportation. I had to walk everywhere and coming way out here hadn’t been easy on either me or Ryo. Thankfully the weather had cooled a little, so I at least didn’t have my clothes and hair plastered to me from sweat. Could have been worse.
“You walked here carrying him?” he asked.
“Yes, and if you’ll tell him to let me go, then I’ll walk right back home. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Why did you?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.
I shifted Ryo in my arms and felt my dress pull tight over my stomach. I tried to hide the small bump before he noticed and seemed to have managed since he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he didn’t care. This version of Samurai was very different from the one at the Pleasure Emporium. The man who’d made me cry out his name, who’d melted my bones with multiple orgasms, wasn’t the one eying me now.
“Some people in town have talked about the good things your club does. Toy drives and helping homeless women. I’d hoped you might know of a way to solve my problem, but it was wrong to even ask.”
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Samurai?
2. Have you read Harley Wylde before?
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India Roberts can’t wait until her divorce is final, when she’ll be Ms. Jackson again. At forty, she’s waited long enough to pursue her goal of becoming a fashion designer. What she doesn’t need is a new romance. But when soccer player Matt Bettony rescues her from a bad date and makes her night oh-so-much better, she discovers she’s ready for something else. Thirteen years her junior, he’s the perfect fit for a no-strings love affair that won’t interfere with her dream… until Matt gets other ideas. |
- SNEAK PEEK -
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
India jumped and smacked her head against the glass. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She searched for the source of the voice. In the corner, where glass met wall, leaned a man, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She rubbed her forehead.
He came to where she stood, and though the light was still minimal, she could now see his purple-blue suit. His pale skin accentuated by dark brown hair made her think of a French schoolboy.
“I’m hiding from the party.” Not a French schoolboy. A British one, judging by his accent. And now that he stood closer, she could see stubble, so he was older than he appeared at a distance.
“I’m hiding from my date.” She turned back to the window, embarrassed by her bluntness.
He gave a low chuckle. “This is a good place to hide then.” He faced the window too. “What were you doing when I startled you? Looking for your car?”
“I don’t have a car. I was just looking, but…” She felt foolish for saying it, but his open expression made her go on. “The way I was standing made me feel as if I was floating.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you do it?” He moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost—but not quite—touching.
“Well, stand with your toes a little bit away from the glass because you don’t want them to block your view, and lean so your forehead is against the glass holding you up.” She demonstrated how to do it.
He was good at following directions, so after a moment, he gasped. “This is amazing.”
India laughed at the joy in his voice. “Yeah, it is.” She tried to focus on the tiny people below and not the handsome giant next to her, but her eyes kept sliding to his profile. Gorgeous face. Stacked body.
“I’m Matt.” He glanced at her sideways, and her heart did a strange thing. It skipped a beat.
“I’m India.” She hoped she sounded less gobsmacked than she felt.
“Nice to meet you, India.” He went back to staring at the sidewalk.
“Nice to meet you, Matt.”
They stood in silence for a while.
“Why are you avoiding your date?” This time he didn’t look at her.
“Why are you avoiding the party?” She stared at him unabashedly. Well, as unabashedly as one can sideways. His faint stubble added to rather than detracted from his looks.
His laugh held a warmth that made her think of fireplaces and cozy sweaters. “Good question.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’m just not good with people.”
His deprecation sounded genuine, not a flirtatious ploy. “You appear to have manners. At least, you haven’t bitten me yet.”
Another laugh, this coupled with a glance through his lashes that made her heart stutter. “Give me time. I might yet.”
India jumped and smacked her head against the glass. “Ow.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She searched for the source of the voice. In the corner, where glass met wall, leaned a man, arms crossed, a slight smirk on his face.
“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.” She rubbed her forehead.
He came to where she stood, and though the light was still minimal, she could now see his purple-blue suit. His pale skin accentuated by dark brown hair made her think of a French schoolboy.
“I’m hiding from the party.” Not a French schoolboy. A British one, judging by his accent. And now that he stood closer, she could see stubble, so he was older than he appeared at a distance.
“I’m hiding from my date.” She turned back to the window, embarrassed by her bluntness.
He gave a low chuckle. “This is a good place to hide then.” He faced the window too. “What were you doing when I startled you? Looking for your car?”
“I don’t have a car. I was just looking, but…” She felt foolish for saying it, but his open expression made her go on. “The way I was standing made me feel as if I was floating.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you do it?” He moved so they were standing shoulder to shoulder, almost—but not quite—touching.
“Well, stand with your toes a little bit away from the glass because you don’t want them to block your view, and lean so your forehead is against the glass holding you up.” She demonstrated how to do it.
He was good at following directions, so after a moment, he gasped. “This is amazing.”
India laughed at the joy in his voice. “Yeah, it is.” She tried to focus on the tiny people below and not the handsome giant next to her, but her eyes kept sliding to his profile. Gorgeous face. Stacked body.
“I’m Matt.” He glanced at her sideways, and her heart did a strange thing. It skipped a beat.
“I’m India.” She hoped she sounded less gobsmacked than she felt.
“Nice to meet you, India.” He went back to staring at the sidewalk.
“Nice to meet you, Matt.”
They stood in silence for a while.
“Why are you avoiding your date?” This time he didn’t look at her.
“Why are you avoiding the party?” She stared at him unabashedly. Well, as unabashedly as one can sideways. His faint stubble added to rather than detracted from his looks.
His laugh held a warmth that made her think of fireplaces and cozy sweaters. “Good question.” He paused, biting his lip. “I’m just not good with people.”
His deprecation sounded genuine, not a flirtatious ploy. “You appear to have manners. At least, you haven’t bitten me yet.”
Another laugh, this coupled with a glance through his lashes that made her heart stutter. “Give me time. I might yet.”
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Penalty Kicks?
2. Have you read D.S. Dehel before?
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The day a hooker dropped dead on Kyler’s dick changed his life forever… When Kyler graduated high school, he wanted to give himself the gift of his first blowjob from a sexy male hooker. Then said hooker drops dead in his lap. Yeah, he has that kind of luck. Now, the police are after him, he can’t go home because of an abusive father, and he ends up working at The Cox Club, a small town gay gentlemen’s club. Seamus is on his first undercover mission for the FBI. The problem is that he doesn’t think their terrorist suspect, Kyler, is guilty. Oh, and there’s also the matter of giving Kyler a hand job … on the |
FBI’s hidden camera. His first field mission may be his last.
When bullets start flying, it’s up to Seamus to find out the truth and he has to do it before Kyler becomes a victim.
When bullets start flying, it’s up to Seamus to find out the truth and he has to do it before Kyler becomes a victim.
- SNEAK PEEK -
“I’m going to drop you off, kiss your mouth until we’re both rock hard and then go jump naked in the snow.”
Kyler laughed.
“I’m hot enough to melt the entire fucking town.”
Kyler laughed again, deeper and added a blush to his cheeks. “This is insane. We haven’t moved.”
“The truck hasn’t moved. I’ve moved about ten times just trying to keep the zipper from scarring my dick.”
Kyler burst out laughing. “I know the feeling.” His cock felt like it was trying to get free, pushing and pushing and pushing at the zipper.
“There’s a joke in here somewhere.” Seamus sat back. “Two guys sitting in a car …” He paused.
“And?”
“And … I got nothing. Blood loss.” Seamus grinned. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. I’m going to start the truck and take you home.”
“That’s been the plan.” Kyler took his lower lip between his teeth.
“I know. It’s a good plan.” Seamus stayed where he was. “A smart plan. Very smart.” Seamus’s head fell back against the head rest. “Please, tell my penis it’s a smart plan.”
Kyler snorted, feeling goofy and horny and despite the ache in his balls he was still having a good time.
Seamus reached out and laid his hand on Kyler’s thigh. “Tell me to stop.” He closed his eyes and slid his hand to Kyler’s crotch, squeezing it until they both groaned. “Tell me to stop, Kyler.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t want Seamus to stop. He wanted him to reach inside his pants and stroke him. He wanted to know how a man stroked another man besides watching some bad porn when Sebastian left his computer at work and Kyler was brave enough to ‘borrow’ it for the night.
“Say it.” Seamus still had his eyes closed, head back, hand on Kyler’s crotch.
“We should stop.” Kyler whispered. They really, really should.
“Right.” Seamus took a deep breath and lifted his hand under Kyler’s sweater to the rim of his pants. “Say it again.”
Kyler glanced at Seamus who wasn’t even looking at him.
Seamus popped the top button. “Kyler. Again.” He grabbed the zipper and eased it down. “Kyler.”
He’d forgotten his own fucking name. “I … you …” His mouth opened, but instantly closed when Seamus slipped his hand inside his pants and took hold of his cock. “Fuck.” The word burst out as strong fingers wrapped around Kyler’s dick. His hips thrust up, sending him slightly slouched. It gave Seamus better access. Kyler glanced at the other man who stared at the ceiling like he was fascinated by something up there. Seamus gripped Kyler’s shaft delicately and then slid down to the base. “Jesus!”
“You’re killing my control.”
What control? What was that word? What were words? Kyler’s head fell back and his hips jerked. Seamus began stroking his cock with a tight grip. Each stroke made Kyler gasp and then moan and then sputter. Seamus knew was he was doing. The girl he’d been with had been clueless and fucking hell, he was going to come already. Kyler lifted his hips in tune with Seamus’ strokes. “I-I …” He tried to talk, really, he did, but words were hard and talking was hard and he was hard. Kyler’s balls were already drawn up tight despite the cold January around them. Fuck, Kyler couldn’t believe he was sitting in a truck in a parking lot with Seamus’s hand in his pants. Seamus slid his hand up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Fuck! Kyler came. He jerked his hips up and came in an embarrassing groan. Jizz sputtered out of his slit and ran down Seamus’s hand like a river. “Yes. Oh, fuck. Yes. Yeah. Mmmm.” He fell back to the seat with Seamus’s hand still wrapped around his dick like he was driving a stick shift on a winding icy road. “Holy shit.”
Seamus was looking at him now. Those green eyes intense and almost guilty looking. Why did Seamus feel guilty for giving his date a handjob?
Kyler laughed.
“I’m hot enough to melt the entire fucking town.”
Kyler laughed again, deeper and added a blush to his cheeks. “This is insane. We haven’t moved.”
“The truck hasn’t moved. I’ve moved about ten times just trying to keep the zipper from scarring my dick.”
Kyler burst out laughing. “I know the feeling.” His cock felt like it was trying to get free, pushing and pushing and pushing at the zipper.
“There’s a joke in here somewhere.” Seamus sat back. “Two guys sitting in a car …” He paused.
“And?”
“And … I got nothing. Blood loss.” Seamus grinned. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. I’m going to start the truck and take you home.”
“That’s been the plan.” Kyler took his lower lip between his teeth.
“I know. It’s a good plan.” Seamus stayed where he was. “A smart plan. Very smart.” Seamus’s head fell back against the head rest. “Please, tell my penis it’s a smart plan.”
Kyler snorted, feeling goofy and horny and despite the ache in his balls he was still having a good time.
Seamus reached out and laid his hand on Kyler’s thigh. “Tell me to stop.” He closed his eyes and slid his hand to Kyler’s crotch, squeezing it until they both groaned. “Tell me to stop, Kyler.”
“Okay.” But he didn’t want Seamus to stop. He wanted him to reach inside his pants and stroke him. He wanted to know how a man stroked another man besides watching some bad porn when Sebastian left his computer at work and Kyler was brave enough to ‘borrow’ it for the night.
“Say it.” Seamus still had his eyes closed, head back, hand on Kyler’s crotch.
“We should stop.” Kyler whispered. They really, really should.
“Right.” Seamus took a deep breath and lifted his hand under Kyler’s sweater to the rim of his pants. “Say it again.”
Kyler glanced at Seamus who wasn’t even looking at him.
Seamus popped the top button. “Kyler. Again.” He grabbed the zipper and eased it down. “Kyler.”
He’d forgotten his own fucking name. “I … you …” His mouth opened, but instantly closed when Seamus slipped his hand inside his pants and took hold of his cock. “Fuck.” The word burst out as strong fingers wrapped around Kyler’s dick. His hips thrust up, sending him slightly slouched. It gave Seamus better access. Kyler glanced at the other man who stared at the ceiling like he was fascinated by something up there. Seamus gripped Kyler’s shaft delicately and then slid down to the base. “Jesus!”
“You’re killing my control.”
What control? What was that word? What were words? Kyler’s head fell back and his hips jerked. Seamus began stroking his cock with a tight grip. Each stroke made Kyler gasp and then moan and then sputter. Seamus knew was he was doing. The girl he’d been with had been clueless and fucking hell, he was going to come already. Kyler lifted his hips in tune with Seamus’ strokes. “I-I …” He tried to talk, really, he did, but words were hard and talking was hard and he was hard. Kyler’s balls were already drawn up tight despite the cold January around them. Fuck, Kyler couldn’t believe he was sitting in a truck in a parking lot with Seamus’s hand in his pants. Seamus slid his hand up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Fuck! Kyler came. He jerked his hips up and came in an embarrassing groan. Jizz sputtered out of his slit and ran down Seamus’s hand like a river. “Yes. Oh, fuck. Yes. Yeah. Mmmm.” He fell back to the seat with Seamus’s hand still wrapped around his dick like he was driving a stick shift on a winding icy road. “Holy shit.”
Seamus was looking at him now. Those green eyes intense and almost guilty looking. Why did Seamus feel guilty for giving his date a handjob?
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Death by Dick?
2. Have you read James Cox before?
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Dear Santa, please leave a red-headed lumberjack under the tree. I’ve been a very good boy. Dean Hancock does not have time for the gorgeous, red-haired, cowboy lumberjack that nearly shattered his windshield with a Christmas tree. He’s on the hunt for a long-lost cradle carved by the artistic genius Gustav Gilt. After being lost for a hundred years, the antique appears five days before Christmas in the tiny town of Tinsel. God has a wicked sense of humor. On the verge of an academic and financial |
breakthrough, he doesn’t have time to ‘get friendly’ with the local cowboy Levi Bruce. If he hasn’t authenticated the manger in the middle of the town square before Christmas Eve, he’ll lose his antique shop and any dreams he had to find a real Gilt. But it won’t stop Dean fantasizing about his lumberjack riding in on a white horse and lassoing him just right.
Levi Bruce spends his days waking before dawn, tending his tree farm, going to bed after dark, and starting the cycle all over again. It’s a long, lonely life, but with his dog Harry at his side, he thought it was enough. Then that handsome, charming man from the city had to stroll in and upend everything. The wolves are at the door, a big company threatening to take his family farm out from under him. The last thing Levi needs is distracting dreams of kissing the delectable man under the mistletoe.
Will these two fools open their hearts by the fire of the farmhouse’s hearth? Or will the promise of millions, a family secret, and an eccentric artist’s masterpiece rip them apart forever?
Levi Bruce spends his days waking before dawn, tending his tree farm, going to bed after dark, and starting the cycle all over again. It’s a long, lonely life, but with his dog Harry at his side, he thought it was enough. Then that handsome, charming man from the city had to stroll in and upend everything. The wolves are at the door, a big company threatening to take his family farm out from under him. The last thing Levi needs is distracting dreams of kissing the delectable man under the mistletoe.
Will these two fools open their hearts by the fire of the farmhouse’s hearth? Or will the promise of millions, a family secret, and an eccentric artist’s masterpiece rip them apart forever?
- SNEAK PEEK -
This would be the time Levi’d nip back around the stands for a smoke to snuff out the pre-show jitters. But instead of hiding behind the stands of a county fair arena, he was in the middle of a church. And instead of facing a roping event, he had to keep watch over a man without actually watching him. Or so he kept telling himself.
Staring out of the open door while facing the frozen snow, Levi listened to the start of the festival festivities. No doubt the mayor and reverend were still shooting each other dirty looks while they invited cherubic children to press the button and light up the whole square. Harry sat on the church steps, his tail wagging from every new voice he hoped to meet. He should be out there wandering the stalls with the tourists and dodging questions about his personal life. Mostly the ones that wondered if he had a personal life. Levi coughed harder, trying to revive that rush of nicotine to his system without risking all that cancer stuff.
“You should get that looked at.”
Levi turned from the rising crescendo of applause. “Sorry?”
“Your cough,” Dean said. He’d spent the past hour meticulously rubbing his gloved hands up and down the cradle. There’d been thousands of photographs, some with an actual film camera he had on him. For posterity was his explanation, though Levi had suggested he just liked old things. Part of him hoped Dean liked a certain thing in its late thirties, at least.
He coughed again at the dirty thought traipsing about his brain. Most of his past dalliances had been with men like him who were working the scene and trying to fly under the radar. Rough hands, rougher hearts. But watching a man tenderly draw his palm around the wood of a cradle until it glistened like new was doing things to him he couldn’t shake off.
“See,” Dean said. He rubbed at his forehead with his elbow, knocking the headlamp askew.
“Guess I didn’t realize…um,” Levi said while Dean swept the back of his hand against his lips and the man sighed. Clenching his toes in his boots, Levi started to cough then caught what he was doing. It turned into a putter instead.
“Whew, it is way too hot in here,” Dean complained.
“Old boiler runs at two speeds—devil’s teat or damnation fire.”
Dean chuckled at his stupid joke, causing Levi to join in until Dean tugged his sweater clean off. There was a tank top underneath, but those shoulders alone had to be one of the seven deadly sins. Unaware of the farmer left gasping for air, Dean tossed his sweater to the side and checked his phone.
“Nothing official yet from the University, but I bet old Hodgers is riding them hard.”
“Mm-hm,” Levi squeaked only focusing on the riding part of that sentence. Holding those wide, sculpted shoulders in his hands while he thrust…nope. Not here. Put that all away. Another cough rattled in his throat and Dean jerked a tool at him. No words were spoken, but it oddly warmed his heart to be chastised by someone about his health.
Staring out of the open door while facing the frozen snow, Levi listened to the start of the festival festivities. No doubt the mayor and reverend were still shooting each other dirty looks while they invited cherubic children to press the button and light up the whole square. Harry sat on the church steps, his tail wagging from every new voice he hoped to meet. He should be out there wandering the stalls with the tourists and dodging questions about his personal life. Mostly the ones that wondered if he had a personal life. Levi coughed harder, trying to revive that rush of nicotine to his system without risking all that cancer stuff.
“You should get that looked at.”
Levi turned from the rising crescendo of applause. “Sorry?”
“Your cough,” Dean said. He’d spent the past hour meticulously rubbing his gloved hands up and down the cradle. There’d been thousands of photographs, some with an actual film camera he had on him. For posterity was his explanation, though Levi had suggested he just liked old things. Part of him hoped Dean liked a certain thing in its late thirties, at least.
He coughed again at the dirty thought traipsing about his brain. Most of his past dalliances had been with men like him who were working the scene and trying to fly under the radar. Rough hands, rougher hearts. But watching a man tenderly draw his palm around the wood of a cradle until it glistened like new was doing things to him he couldn’t shake off.
“See,” Dean said. He rubbed at his forehead with his elbow, knocking the headlamp askew.
“Guess I didn’t realize…um,” Levi said while Dean swept the back of his hand against his lips and the man sighed. Clenching his toes in his boots, Levi started to cough then caught what he was doing. It turned into a putter instead.
“Whew, it is way too hot in here,” Dean complained.
“Old boiler runs at two speeds—devil’s teat or damnation fire.”
Dean chuckled at his stupid joke, causing Levi to join in until Dean tugged his sweater clean off. There was a tank top underneath, but those shoulders alone had to be one of the seven deadly sins. Unaware of the farmer left gasping for air, Dean tossed his sweater to the side and checked his phone.
“Nothing official yet from the University, but I bet old Hodgers is riding them hard.”
“Mm-hm,” Levi squeaked only focusing on the riding part of that sentence. Holding those wide, sculpted shoulders in his hands while he thrust…nope. Not here. Put that all away. Another cough rattled in his throat and Dean jerked a tool at him. No words were spoken, but it oddly warmed his heart to be chastised by someone about his health.
- Prize One -
- Prize Two -
- Prize Three -
To ENTER you MUST comment below:
1. What did you like about the sneak peek of Tangled in Tinsel?
2. Have you read Ellen Mint before?
For extra entries, share this post using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below. Good luck!
In high school, I was the nerdy guy. The nice guy. The chubby guy. I didn't know crap about athletics or girls. But I had my eye on Lidia Hightower. She was kind and smart and beautiful. And with the wrong guy. Nothing I could do about it since she'd never look at a guy like me. Even after I saved her from a grave mistake. Years later with my transfer to Thackeray College comes a second chance I never thought I'd have when Lidia's here, too. Well this time I'm not going to blow it. In high school, I was the popular girl. The society girl. The one who had it all. I even dated the wrong guy because it presented a better image. But I was done with that. I was over doing what was |
expected and ready to do what I wanted. Who would have thought what I wanted was Cooper Stevens, the sweet boy who championed me when my friends abandoned me? The cute high school boy who grew into a fine college man but probably wouldn't look twice at me now. Only one way to find out...
- SNEAK PEEK -
"I never got the chance to thank you for your intervention at the party." Cooper starts to shake his head, but I press on. "It's quite possible I would have done something very foolish and regretted it for the rest of my life."
"I doubt that, Lidia. You were smart and still in control. Even if I hadn't shown up, you would've been fine."
Now I shake my head. "I'm not so sure. I'm not sure how far Jonathan would've pressed. Forced me–" My voice begins to shake and Cooper surprises me with his hands cupping my face as he holds my gaze.
"He didn't, that's what matters. You were able to get away from him." His stare is intense, his words earnest.
"But you didn't." My voice is barely above a whisper. "What happened, Cooper? What did he do to you? You didn't return to school. I couldn't get anyone to answer my questions. You, you just disappeared. And I, I never got to thank you for–"
My words are cut off as Cooper lowers his head and seals his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and warm as they press gently against me. A sizzling touch that manages to steal my breath quicker than jumping into a cold lake. But this kiss is far from cold. It's surprising and exhilarating, and it's heating my entire body as if a fuse has been lit. Yet all too soon he's pulling back until his face is inches away and his eyes are searching mine. For what, I'm not sure... Rejection? Reassurance? I wet my lips with my tongue, wanting to taste him again, wanting his lips to return to mine. Cooper tracks the movement before his gaze meets mine again, and just as I'm about to articulate my thoughts, he's kissing me again, this time with more enthusiasm and determination. As if he knows I need more. And so does he.
He slants his head, claiming my mouth with confidence and skill. With need. I know because I feel it too. A need to never go without this heady, euphoric feeling again. My grip tightens on his forearms as I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him back. Our mouths fuse as our tongues engage in a delicious dance. The desire to let go, to ravage, is there – for both of us, I'm almost positive – but we take our time, luxuriating in this sweet exploration.
God, who knew kissing could be so wonderful? I certainly didn't with the little experiences I'd had. And none of those even come close to the feeling of Cooper's kiss.
A moan slips past my lips as he begins to nibble, driving me crazy with his restraint when all I want is for him to devour me.
Damn, how is it his kisses make me crave more?
When his lips leave mine and he rests his forehead against me, I nearly whimper, ready to pull him back.
"Lidia," he says, his voice deep and raspy, making my insides quiver.
Before I can respond, our moment is shattered by someone calling his name.
"I doubt that, Lidia. You were smart and still in control. Even if I hadn't shown up, you would've been fine."
Now I shake my head. "I'm not so sure. I'm not sure how far Jonathan would've pressed. Forced me–" My voice begins to shake and Cooper surprises me with his hands cupping my face as he holds my gaze.
"He didn't, that's what matters. You were able to get away from him." His stare is intense, his words earnest.
"But you didn't." My voice is barely above a whisper. "What happened, Cooper? What did he do to you? You didn't return to school. I couldn't get anyone to answer my questions. You, you just disappeared. And I, I never got to thank you for–"
My words are cut off as Cooper lowers his head and seals his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and warm as they press gently against me. A sizzling touch that manages to steal my breath quicker than jumping into a cold lake. But this kiss is far from cold. It's surprising and exhilarating, and it's heating my entire body as if a fuse has been lit. Yet all too soon he's pulling back until his face is inches away and his eyes are searching mine. For what, I'm not sure... Rejection? Reassurance? I wet my lips with my tongue, wanting to taste him again, wanting his lips to return to mine. Cooper tracks the movement before his gaze meets mine again, and just as I'm about to articulate my thoughts, he's kissing me again, this time with more enthusiasm and determination. As if he knows I need more. And so does he.
He slants his head, claiming my mouth with confidence and skill. With need. I know because I feel it too. A need to never go without this heady, euphoric feeling again. My grip tightens on his forearms as I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him back. Our mouths fuse as our tongues engage in a delicious dance. The desire to let go, to ravage, is there – for both of us, I'm almost positive – but we take our time, luxuriating in this sweet exploration.
God, who knew kissing could be so wonderful? I certainly didn't with the little experiences I'd had. And none of those even come close to the feeling of Cooper's kiss.
A moan slips past my lips as he begins to nibble, driving me crazy with his restraint when all I want is for him to devour me.
Damn, how is it his kisses make me crave more?
When his lips leave mine and he rests his forehead against me, I nearly whimper, ready to pull him back.
"Lidia," he says, his voice deep and raspy, making my insides quiver.
Before I can respond, our moment is shattered by someone calling his name.