Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (39 page)

“It’s been a while for her,” he couldn’t help but say.

Remy had his hand on Naya’s head again—not with an overabundance of affection. The move seemed absentminded, like touching a pet who butted up against his leg. “Is that an appeal to be merciful?” His smile was ferocious. “Or to go harder?”

Daniel clenched the too-soft couch before lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

“I thought not.” Remy pointed to the cushions in front of Daniel. “Pose,
chère
. You have your orders.”

She did it automatically while infusing every movement with grace. Sexiness. Some might attribute it to her perfection as a dancer. Daniel knew better. She was more than a dancer. Brighter. More intense in her highs and lows and all the elegance of life in between.

She didn’t falter when she got to the couch that separated her from Daniel. He’d become so wrapped up in watching her that he’d almost forgotten Remy. Almost.

“That’s it. Kneel, Naya girl. I want you touching your man. Put your hands on top of Daniel’s. Then don’t move.”

They’ve got the sex factor in spades. But can love survive the “ex” factor?

Knowing the Ropes

© 2013 Teresa Noelle Roberts

Selene has harbored kinky, submissive fantasies most of her life, but her experience as a domestic abuse counselor leaves her leery of giving up that much control. Case in point: the ex-fiancé she didn’t love quite enough to test the limits of trust.

At a BDSM meet-and-greet, she sets out to learn how far is too far. Nick seems like the ideal dom to show her the ins and outs of ropes, floggers, and paddles—with no commitment clause.

After losing a sub he loved too much, Selene’s country girl common sense and smoking sensuality is like a dream that Nick never dared to have—a perfect blend of kink and long-term domestic bliss.

Yet it’s tough to figure out just how far they can push their limits when they’ve both agreed to a no-strings affair. Especially when an ex needs Nick’s muscle and Selene’s counseling skills to get out of a dangerous situation. By then it may be too late for love to survive all the things they’re afraid to say.

Warning: Sexy, kinky, geeky dominant guy. Smart submissive woman. Crazy ex. A little experimentation between girlfriends. And lots and lots of kinky sex.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Knowing the Ropes:

Selene found herself with Nick, drifting toward an early dinner somewhere. He had a place in mind but hadn’t actually told her where, and she found she liked the feeling that she’d put herself into his hands in this small way.

The more she talked with Nick, the more his cool blue gaze and warm smile distracted her, and the more she felt his body language sync up with hers. No, not exactly in sync but one step ahead, anticipating her next movement and influencing it, as if starting to mold her already. She watched his big hands, imagining them alternately caressing and slapping her breasts, her thighs, her ass.

She looked down at his feet when she imagined her fevered thoughts were too obvious in her eyes, then imagined herself kneeling there, naked, trembling, wet.

Actually, she didn’t need to imagine the wet and trembling part. Her panties already felt suspiciously damp and her knees were shaky.

They walked more or less in silence. Between traffic noise, noise from the perennial construction along Atlantic Avenue and the melting heat, talking seemed far too much like work. Even the breeze off Boston Harbor was sticky.

By the time they crossed a bridge over Fort Point Channel, she was wishing she’d worn flats, even if they wouldn’t have looked right with the outfit. She prayed that the restaurant would be an informal place where she could slip her shoes off under the table.

Once she saw the restaurant, her feet breathed a sigh of relief.

The Barking Crab was a tribute to the beachside clam shack. Rough picnic tables covered with butcher paper—they even provided crayons for doodling. A mix of fried and steamed seafood, with a few more sophisticated but still basic selections. And outdoor seating on the harbor, so she could kick off the damn heels and relax. “It’s a tourist trap,” Nick said, “but it’s fun.”

Soon they were drinking cold beers—he’d recommended the fascinatingly named Smuttynose, from a brewery in New Hampshire—and awaiting plates of fried scallops, fried calamari and steamed mussels. Selene hadn’t eaten a great deal that day and the frosty, hoppy beer was making her feel pleasantly euphoric.

Or maybe that was Nick.

She stretched out her bare foot, brushed it against his calf. Hard muscle under soft denim. Nice.

Yeah, Nick might just have something to do with the euphoria.

He took the hand that wasn’t holding her beer.

No, he didn’t exactly take her hand. He covered her hand with his and closed his fingers around her wrist. Then he looked into her eyes.

A slow, sensual smile opened on his face as he said, “That’s better. Isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really a question, but he was giving her an out if she wanted it.

She didn’t. That firm grip on her wrist hinted at so many things she’d dreamed of. “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Better.” She dropped her voice a notch. “And wetter.”

It may have been purely coincidence that the woman sitting behind her giggled at that second, but Selene was sure she’d overhead.

Heat flared in Selene’s cheeks and, to her surprise, between her legs. She squirmed in her seat, less from actual embarrassment than to enjoy the pressure the movement put on her swollen lips.

Under the cover of the first round of food arriving, Nick leaned forward. “So, you enjoy a little bit of public embarrassment? I’ll file that away for later.”

“You’re so confident that there’ll be a later?”

“What do you think?” He ran one fingernail down the tender inside of her forearm.

His nails weren’t sharp, but she still shivered.

“What about the common-sense test?” she asked. Her voice sounded a little desperate to her own ears, grasping at verbal straws. “Don’t I fail it retroactively if I go home with you tonight?”

“If you come home with me and let me lock you in a cage, then yes. But to do that, I’d need a cage, and where will I find one in downtown Boston on a Saturday night?” He laughed. “I’m regretting that test. It’s making us both think we have to be sensible, and right now I’d rather be impulsive.”

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t thinking of much of anything except you?” Had that really come out of her mouth? “Okay, you and food. I’m starving.” She grabbed a ring of fried calamari and popped it into her mouth, hoping the squid would keep her from saying anything too stupid. Calamari had the texture of bubble gum, in her experience, and it was rude to talk with your mouth full.

Damn it if this place didn’t manage to make calamari tender. Delicious too, with a nice, crunchy coating and a bit of spice.

Much tastier than what she’d been expecting but not nearly as effective for keeping her safely quiet.

“Try it with a bit of the banana pepper,” Nick suggested, picking up a calamari ring and a piece of yellow-green pepper. She thought for a second he was demonstrating the proper technique.

He wasn’t.

He reached across the table and held the food before her lips. “Try it,” he urged.

Her mouth opened of its own accord.

He brushed his finger across the pout of her lower lip, making her shiver.

She opened her mouth slowly, took a tentative nibble to test the pepper’s heat, then parted her lips wider and engulfed the food and Nick’s fingers.

Unfortunately, there was only so much room around the morsel for tongue and fingers to work their wiles upon each other. She did her best, though, sucking and nibbling on his fingers while he moved them against her tongue, tantalizing something besides her taste buds, which were already busily dealing with piquant pepper and warm, spiced calamari. She found she was leaning forward to take him, wanting to feel more, liking the sensation that he was filling her mouth.

She wanted him filling her mouth with his cock, wanted him to move in her mouth as he was now—no, harder, more forcefully, claiming that piece of her as his.

She arched her throat, tried to convey the fantasy through what she did to his fingers, and discovered that the calamari and pepper were interfering.

She coughed.

It didn’t stop the lovely, depraved images running through her head. Frankly, it fit with them, because the blowjob she was imagining was the kind where you might find yourself almost choking on cock but not wanting to stop. The kind where you’d actually revel in the bit of discomfort because your lover was getting off so much on thrusting hard into your throat.

On the other hand, cock couldn’t actually end up in your windpipe, but a stray piece of food could, and nothing spoiled a flirtation like a Heimlich maneuver and a visit to the ER.

Regretfully, she pulled away and actually applied herself to chewing and swallowing.

The pepper-and-squid combination was delicious, all right, but not as delicious as his fingers.

She thought of his cock deep in her throat, imagined how he might taste as he poured into her, felt herself flushing.

She forced herself to giggle. “Something more delicate might have worked better,” she said, making her voice stay even. “Maybe a taste of one of the dipping sauces next time.”

Something about the way Nick smiled in response let her know that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking, because he’d been thinking it too. Not just oral sex, because that was what you always thought about when you teased someone like that, but a very specific kind of oral sex, the kind that was claiming, almost brutal. “I don’t know. Are delicate morsels what you prefer?”

“Delicacy has its place. But so does less delicate, and that was perfect. Just considering other possibilities that might be…perfect in different ways.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling luxuriously, “we have time to try all sorts of morsels. This is just the appetizer.”

How in the world, she thought, shifting in her seat for the pleasure of feeling her slick lips rub together, was she ever going to get through the rest of dinner without begging him to take her on the table?

The crew is back and they’re dirtier than ever.

Nailed to the Wall

© 2012 Jayne Rylon

Powertools, Book 5

Five sexy men with a penchant for love and lust in any variation have formed a crew. They work hard and play harder—together. Though their partnership began in construction, renovating houses and selling them for a mint, they’ve formed a bond around their shared goal to provide women, and each other, with the ultimate sexual experience.

Over the past year, as each member discovered his soul mate—or two—they expanded the reach of their circle, lighting up their nights along with their souls. Monogamous relationships and the desire to start families threaten to put their libertine revelry on the back burner. Will the passion that bonded them fade away? How will the new crew wives cope with the complex relationship the men will always cherish and crave?

Determined to prove they stand by their men, the women decide it’s time to flex some muscle and give the crew a dose of girl power. They collude to take the guys as their horny hostages, using some big guns: boudoir photos, a pillow fight and a calculated foray into partner swapping. But will they have the guts to go through with their plans?

Warning: By Book Five in this series, fans will attest that anything goes in the crew. Be prepared for ménage in every flavor—m/f, f/f, mfm, fmf, and more—along with a slew of “that’s what he said” jokes. No throwing tomatoes at the author, please!

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Nailed to the Wall:

Kayla, Morgan and Kate held congress in low tones from their perches on the rumpled duvet.

“No, nothing happened…” Kay bit her lip and hesitated when she caught sight of Devon returning.

“What’s going on?” Dev asked.

“We’re waiting for you to get your act together so we can savor our feast.” Kate deflected genuine concern with sarcasm. “So hurry it up, punk.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll give you
punk
.” Devon sprinted the last few feet. She leaped and tucked her knees to her chest, cannonballing into the pile of plush covers between her friends. The mattress bounced, jostling them all.

“Very funny.” Kayla laughed as she whipped a pillow from the head of the bed. “But you left yourself unprotected.”

Whap.

Something puffy smashed into her face. “You did not just hit me with…”

Whap. Whap.

Kate and Morgan joined in the battle. They took turns pummeling her with the light bundles. Devon’s fit of giggles didn’t do much for her coordination. She lunged for the fourth pillow while unsuccessfully attempting to evade the incoming barrage.

Battling to her knees on the mattress allowed her to launch a counterstrike. Her one-against-three odds improved when her friends’ coalition deteriorated. They whacked each other as often as they did her. Every woman for herself.