Day 11 - 12 Days of Christmas

Today's feature - Naughty or Nice...Just comment to win.

Blurb:

Nick has fought his attraction to Emily since the summer. Work and other commitments have kept him from pursuing a relationship. Christmas is upon them and Nick finds he has free time on his hands. He sets in motion a little plan to get her sexy body prepared for what he hopes will be a night of passion she’ll never forget.

Someone is sending Emily erotic toys. The naughty notes attached are charging her dormant body to life with promises of red hot sex. She’s not sure who her secret Santa is, but if he’s truly following the Twelve Days of Christmas she’s about to find out.

Will Emily succumb to this Naughty St. Nick?

Excerpt:

Emily pattered over to the front door. She peered through the peephole.

"Hmmm, I swear I heard the doorbell." She threw opened the door against the bitter cold of the winter storm brewing outside. Shivering, she bent over the threshold and glanced in both directions. Her skin pebbled from the snowflakes landing on her bare arms.

"Strange, I know the doorbell rang." She was about to close the door when she noticed a small brown box, sitting off to the right.

Intrigued, she placed a sock covered foot into the icy snow and retrieved the box. She quickly slammed the door and hurried back to her blanket on the couch. She nestled under the red fuzzy blanket. Turning the box in her hands she looked for an addressee.

"Nothing." She couldn’t help but wonder if it were meant for her or if someone left it on her doorstep mistakenly. She shook the box. Something bounced around inside.
Unable to fight her curiosity any longer she tore open the package. There inside was a mistletoe-colored finger butt plug, with little white snowmen on it. Tingling sensations warmed her body straight down to her core. Thoughts of teasing the rim of her ass with the humming vibrator tantalized her.

She needed to know who sent it. Digging deeper into the box she searched for a card or anything cluing her in to who the sender was. She found a tiny note card that read:

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave me to, one butt plug a hummin’.

Emily thought she’d explode into orgasm right then and there. The idea of someone wanting to charge her ass to life enthralled her. Filled with an arousal that ran deep, Emily knew she had to pleasure herself.

Heat from the flames crackling in the fireplace warmed her chilled body, smoothing her skin. The television blared in the background, but Emily tuned it out. She’d been watching a movie about a money heist on a train or something crazy. It hadn’t held her attention. Turning the plug over in her hands, she found something that gripped her total attention. She couldn’t imagine who would send her something so erotic.

Settling into the pillow she closed her eyes and pictured the guy from Six A, as the bearer of her gift. His wavy blond hair and those piercing green eyes charged her body. She’d fantasized about him a few times. Oh who was she kidding she masturbated to the image of his shit eating grin too many times to count.

Emily longed to run her hand over his taunt abs. She wanted to trace a finger along the vee that disappeared below the trim of his pants to see if it went down to his cock, which she knew would be large and bulging. It seemed hard to believe she’d been drooling over him since summer.

After she witnessed his body in scant clothing she wanted a piece of him.

Day 9 - 12 Days of Christmas

Today I'm featuring Heat Waves. Just comment to win an ebook.

Blurb:

Ever wonder about the face behind the voice of a radio DJ?

Nina Walters has. She can’t get enough of disc jockey Ty’s sexy baritone. He has her masturbating to his voice daily. When he challenges his listeners to a contest Nina wants the upper hand. Lucky for her Cindy, her best friend works at the radio station.

Ty is offering a dream date, with him, to one lucky winner. He’s almost positive no one will guess the answer correctly.  So, when Nina does he’s floored. Being a man of his word, he goes through with the date.

Sparks fly, but secrets linger. Will their heat for one another be enough to ride the waves of deception?

Excerpt:

 

 “So are you tired?” she asked, lifting his shirt and running her fingers up his stomach.

Was he tired? How could he possibly be tired with such a sexy woman stirring his manhood awake?

“Depends. What did you have in mind?” he teased.

“A little of this.” She reached up and kissed his neck, while her hand worked the button of his jeans. “And a little of this.” She nibbled on his earlobe, rendering him useless.

He grabbed her and tossed her down on the seat. “I’m not tired in the least,” he said, tugging at her shirt. “I want to devour you.”

She squirmed under his touch. “I’m feeling a little sleepy.” She faked a yawn.

Ty loved a challenge. “You can go to sleep, but first let me show you what you’ll be missing.”

He brought his lips down on her breast. He felt the bud hardening under the heat of his breath. His fingers roamed her soft skin, searching for the other breast. When he reached his destination he tweaked the nipple between his fingers. She closed her eyes.

“Very sleepy.”

She was going to play that way, was she? He’d show her tired. Lifting her shirt over her head, she didn’t resist him, but she didn’t assist him either. Laying like dead weight she continued with her pretend sleep. But Ty knew it was only a matter of time before she stopped faking and joined in on the fun.

With her shirt off and her bra opened, he worked on shrugging her out of her jeans. It wasn’t easy, but he managed. Now she lay fully exposed – an open invitation to do whatever he pleased to her.

He placed gentle kisses on her flat stomach. Tiny hairs stood on edge, her skin prickled under his touch. She was becoming aroused. He could smell it in the air. He admired her perfectly trimmed pussy as he made his way to prove his point. As he drew closer to her pussy her arousal became more pronounced.

Sleeping, my ass. Let’s see you sleep through this.

Day 8 - 12 Days of Christmas

Today's feature - One Tasty Night.  Just comment to win an ebook.

Blurb:

Taylor Jax has a secret. She fantasizes about seducing long time friend Shane Griffin. Only problem, he’s eight years her junior – too young in her mind.

During a game of truth or dare her secret is exposed. Challenged by her best friends Taylor must go into an adult toy store and buy all the accessories needed to live out her fantasy.

With another night of truth or dare looming, Taylor makes a bold move. Before her friends can dare her, she plans a full-fledge seduction.

Shane has loved Taylor for as long as he can remember. She enters his store in disguise, prompting him to tease her. To his surprise she agrees to have dinner with him. And when she propositions him he wonders - will one night be enough?

 Excerpt:

Looking around Taylor noticed she wound up in the vibrator aisle. At least it was something familiar. Every woman owned a vibrator, didn’t they? As she absorbed the different sizes and shapes she wondered how big Shane was. Picking up the icicle dreams she scrunched her nose. Not her style. She liked them to at least look like a penis. She placed it back in its spot.

She snatched a rather large one off the hook, imagining it Shane’s size.

“Hot bunny. Now this is what I’m talking about.”

"Find everything you're looking for?" Shane asked, sneaking up behind her.

His warm breath tickled the back of her neck, sending heat coursing through her overheated body. Her mouth grew dry. Water. She needed water to put out the flames burning her body.  "Umm, I think I'm okay," she breathed.

"Are you sure?" he whispered.

She wanted to fall back into his arms. She wanted to give in to her desires and let him do whatever he wanted. “Yes.”

God, she had to get out of there soon or something bad was going to happen.

"You sure you don’t need a hand?" His fingertips traced down her arms and sent shivers through her body.

She wanted to scream Fuck Me! but she fought the urge. "Really, I'm fine. Don't you have other customers to assist?"

"Not at the moment. You're my only customer. And since you're always so good to me I'm going to give you extra special attention.”

Her legs were mush standing this close to him.

“Let me see your list,” he coaxed.

“Shane, I’m fine. Seriously. I'll handle the list."

Shane stepped in front of her. "I know the store from top to bottom. Just like you know Tasty Taylor’s. Let me help, please."

Those captivating cerulean eyes pulled her into a trance. They begged her to just give in this one time. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

"No.”

"Come on," he pleaded. Before she could respond, he snatched the paper from her hands and looked it over. "Oh, this will be a cinch."

"Give that to me," she demanded, her hand held out impatiently.

He shoved the paper into his pants. "If you want it, come and get it."

Taylor stood there dumbfounded. Had he really just stuck her list down his pants?

What the hell was she going to do now? Certainly she couldn’t put her hands down his pants and grab it could she? Serve him right if she did. Wonder if he’d be standing there looking so smug if she reached in and took her paper.

If she did she could find out just how big he was. Oh, the would girls enjoy that conversation.

“You seriously don’t want me to come and get it, do you?” She gave him one last chance to change his mind.

“Don’t I?” He turned and walked away.

Challenging her was a big mistake on his part. 

Whet Your Appetite Wednesday - Blanche Marriott

Kindle:

Nook

BLURB

A legendary crystal entangles two reluctant lovers with the help of an eccentric aunt and a mystical Indian.

Celeste Jordan knows nothing about gems so she questions why she sees a mark on hers that no one else can see. Rock Foster, a mineralogist, “rockhound”, is skeptical. As a scientist he doesn’t believe in legends, but he’d heard of crystals that hold knowledge for a privileged few. Reluctantly, he agrees to take Celeste to the desert dig site where he found the gem. Little did the loner know his life would be turned upside down and that love would knock down his door.

As an image consultant, Celeste always looks her best. Dirt, sweat, and outdoor showers have never been a part of her life. But she’s determined to get to the bottom of the mysterious gem and its affect on her, even if it means leaving the comforts of home for one night. Although attracted to the ruggedly handsome Rock, she knew nothing could come of it. They were each married to their careers and their worlds were miles apart. But when Mother Nature twists up a storm that changes all their plans, one night turns into another, then another...

Excerpt:

“Celeste, he’s here, now! Hurry, or you’ll miss him.” The phone line nearly crackled from the excitement in the old lady’s voice.

“Aunt Clara, I’m in the middle of an appointment. Can it wait?” Celeste smiled and raised an apologetic shrug to the man frowning back at her from the other side of her desk. She’d have to work hard to win over her new client after this disruptive phone call magnified his unease.

“No! Suppose he gets away? This might be our only chance to talk to him. I’ve read the cards. They say now is the time.”

Oh, Lord, not the cards again. As if they hadn’t already caused enough trouble over the years. Unfortunately, they were usually right. Or rather, Aunt Clara was right.

“Okay, Auntie, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Now don’t do anything foolish. Just stay put until I get there.”

***

The bright red FOR SALE sign stood like a bold insult in front of the old one-story house with brown weathered shingles that had seen better days. Celeste Jordan noted the realtor’s familiar name, probably the only realtor in the tiny tight-knit community of Ashaway. A few dried, crimson leaves clustered around the post as though clinging, like the remains of summer, to the memories of the man who never would have dreamed of selling his house.

Celeste parked her car in the narrow gravel driveway then slid out, smoothing down the wrinkles from her skirt. She walked the broken cement path that led to the lopsided wooden porch on the side, careful not to catch her high heels in a crevice while her mind rehearsed how she’d open the conversation.

But before she placed a foot on the bottom step, the sound of a car caught her attention and she turned. A taxi, most unusual in these parts of rural Rhode Island, had pulled into the driveway and idled as its passenger gathered his things and paid the fare. Even more unusual was the passenger himself.

A cowboy?

It was the first thing that came to mind when she saw the tall stranger with the scuffed and battered hat. Not so much a cowboy hat, more like an Indiana Jones hat. His western shirt, visible beneath the open suede jacket, had inched its way out of his low-riding, faded jeans as he hefted a duffel bag over his shoulder. His brown boots thudded heavily up the walk.

Almost as heavy as the stern look he aimed at her in his slow approach.

“Mr. Foster?”

He continued toward her, his look hard, but questioning. “Do I know you?”

“Not really. My aunt lives next door. She told me you were here and asked that I come speak to you on her behalf.”

He stopped abruptly, his right boot bumping the toe of her left shoe as though it were a challenge, but she held her ground. He tipped his head back, allowing the late afternoon light to shine under the brim of his hat and into his smoky gray eyes. She noticed the odd color right away. That was her job, to notice the physical, and she was always on the job, always observing, sizing up, calculating. No detail escaped her keen professional eye.

Apparently nothing escaped his either, since he took the liberty of scanning her from head to foot and back. No telltale expression showed on his tanned face but a glimmer of annoyance flickered across his eyes.

“Your aunt said I was here?” His gaze drifted to the house next door across the large expanse of patchy lawn.

“Yes, she called me at work. We’ve been trying to reach you for some--”

“Whoa, whoa.” From the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder, he wiggled his free fingers to halt her explanation. “Your aunt said I was here?”

“Yes, I told you she called me. We’ve written to you--”

“But I just got here.”

“I know, that’s why she called.” Celeste bit back a lump of impatience and moved her foot away from his boot. Bad enough she’d rushed her client--who seemed less than confident she could clean up his image--out of her office and raced down here from Providence. Now she had to deal with a dim-witted cowboy, or whatever he was, whose overpowering presence made her feel like she was an intrusion.

“Lady, I just got off several long, bumpy flights from New Mexico and maybe my brain is a bit rattled, but the last time I checked a person didn’t arrive someplace until they actually arrived, if you catch my meaning. And as you yourself witnessed, I just arrived.”

Celeste was about to barge forward with her pitch when the full meaning of his drawn-out observation hit her. She’d been so busy concentrating on what to say to this phantom letter recipient, she hadn’t realized that Aunt Clara had been up to some old tricks.

More precisely, she’d ignored the warning flags that had gone up in the back of her mind.

“Yes, well, be that as it may, I’d still--”

“Be that as it may? Do people really talk like that around here?”

His mocking gaze took another slow inventory from the bottom of her navy blue heels, up her smart navy blue suit and white silk blouse, to the top of her hair neatly combed into place just before she’d gotten out of her car. A good image was everything.

She straightened her back. “As I was saying, I’ve written to you several times...”

With a slight shake of his head, he skirted around her and clomped up the porch steps, dropping his bag near the door.

“Jordan, right?”

A tingle ran up her spine hearing her name on his tongue. Smooth, mellow, and with just a hint of a western drawl.

“Yes, Celeste Jordan. My aunt is Clara Michaels, next door.”

“Right.” From his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and decided on the right one while shouldering the screen door.

“So, you did receive my letters?”

He unlocked the door and grunted, “Yup,” then shoved the duffel bag inside. With an insolent slam, the screen door severed their conversation.

Flabbergasted, Celeste stiffened, uncertain whether to knock, wait or leave altogether. No, leaving was out of the question. She’d promised Aunt Clara. But if she didn’t leave, what did the uncivilized brute expect her to do, just yell through the door like a country bumpkin?

As she raised her hand to knock politely, the sound of his approaching boots stopped her. She held her breath until his disgruntled face appeared at the screen and the door squeaked open a notch.

“Are you coming in?”

The exasperation in his voice grated against her practiced patience. If it weren’t for Aunt Clara, she’d have been out of there five minutes ago.

“Yes, thank you.”

She entered what looked like a pantry. Shelves everywhere were stocked with canned goods and supplies, and old jackets hung from pegs at odd angles near the door. Celeste tucked her elbows close to her ribs as she passed. Who knew how long the jackets had been there, unwashed?

She stepped up from the entry into the kitchen. It too was cluttered, but a lived in kind of clutter. Canisters, small containers, cooking utensils. Everything sat out on the counter ready for use, as though Pap Wilson was still there.

“Mr. Foster--”

“Do you think you could call me Rock?” He pulled a bottle of aspirin from a cabinet. “I have a miserable headache, my stomach’s churning like a washing machine and my ears are still popping from the flight. Hearing you call me Mr. Foster is just more than I can handle right now.” He turned to the sink. “Excuse me.”

Celeste relaxed a bit. So maybe he wasn’t so much rude as just travel weary. She sympathized with that feeling after all the business trips she’d been on.

He filled a glass from the faucet, popped a couple of tablets in his mouth and washed them down with a loud gulp. Celeste shivered. Tap water. How barbaric.

“Now, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll give you my full attention, for what it’s worth right now.”

She gave the wooden chair beside the scarred table an apprehensive glance, unable to bring herself to sit in it. Pap had been dead for several months now. Who knew how long before that since the place had been cleaned?

“Oh, for God’s sake...” Rock mumbled as he got up, grabbed an old towel off the rack near the sink, and wiped down the chair. “There. Now sit.” He sank into the chair on the other side of the small table and waited for her to do the same.