Monday, October 16, 2017

Please #VOTE for my #Sex Scene in the #SSceneC2017 Competition

One of my sex scenes from Needing Him (An Obsessed Novella) has won the first round in the 2017 Sex Scene Championship competition!

Now it's up for a second round and I need your vote!

Here's the scene:

The heat of his body touches me, along my legs, my ass. He’s right behind me, close. My heart pounds faster as I now think I’m going to finally get what I want, what I need.
When he strokes my back with his long fingers, I sigh. His touch is soothing but stimulating at the same time. My nipples long for those fingers, my pussy clenches for his cock. He continues to brush his fingers along my skin, down my spine, over my ass cheeks, up the cleft of my body, only lightly brushing my labia, my anus, as he moves up all the way to the back of my neck. Then he snags a handful of my hair and pulls my head back, bowing my neck. He leans over me as he sucks on the skin at the side of my throat. His teeth rake gently against my flesh, his erection presses against my slick, plump lips. Just a shift...
A shift and he’ll be inside me. I’m tempted to push and press to encourage, but again... I want to obey and he has not given me permission… yet.
Not yet.
So, I remain in place, I remain where he wants me as he tugs on my hair, traces the curve of my ear with his tongue, back down my neck, down the center of my spine, until he reaches the cleft of my ass again. He doesn’t stop there.
With a shock, he circles my tight rim with his tongue, flicks, teases me there and I can’t help but groan. My former encounters have been boring, nothing like this.
I have never had any man approach me there.
Not there.
But, the more he licks and kisses, and prods, the more I relax, appreciating his skill. Until he releases my hair abruptly and separates my ass cheeks, and I hear him make a noise. One of appreciation.
“Beautiful,” he whispers.
He makes me feel just that. Beautiful. Even in this vulnerable position.
He’s right about intimacy and communication.
His words make me trust him, make me open to him. His touches, as well.
“Do not move your hands. Separate your knees a little more. Not too much. That’s it. Right there.”
And then he’s quiet... because his mouth is against my mound, pressing against my clit, his tongue plays with me, circling, flicking, stroking my sensitive nub. I struggle to remain still. To keep my hands and knees in place.
I want to drop to my back, grab his head and hold him in place as he eats me until I come. With or without his permission.
But I don’t. I play his game.
I wait.
His tongue, his mouth, then his fingers, draw me to the edge. I’m close to coming and I can’t. Not yet. I haven’t been told to come yet.
I hope it’s soon.
My nipples are hard and aching, my anus clenches, almost in need, and my pussy throbs as he tastes all of me, savors it, savors me.
He groans against my swollen flesh and the vibrations make me whimper. I bite my lip to contain it.
I’m on the edge of orgasm but he hasn’t told me to let go yet and I struggle to convince my body to behave. To wait.
“Not yet,” he says, as if he can read my mind. But he can’t, he’s probably just reading me, my body. “Soon, but not yet.”
He shifts and reaches for the items on the nightstand. Within seconds, I feel the cool gel of the lube against my heated flesh. It dribbles down the crack of my ass, and with his thumb, he massages it around the rim. More drips, more circles made. And then pressure.
Not his mouth this time. No. A finger, long, strong, determined to take my virgin ass.
Slowly, he works the digit to the first knuckle, past the tight ring. Then the second knuckle and I’m blown away by a sensation I’ve never felt before. One I never thought I’d ever want or need.
But I want this. I need this. It’s like this man knows everything I need. Everything I crave.
Then he’s moving inside me with a rhythm that could very well drive me mad. And when he buries his mouth against me again, sucking my flesh between his lips, his teeth, I almost scream “pineapple.” Because I can’t take any more and not climax.
His torture is not allowing me to come. And I can’t ask him, I can’t beg.
I’m not allowed.
He must allow it.
I need him to say it.
But his mouth is full of my sex, my sensitive flesh, and he’s not saying anything.
I want to give up.
I want to scream for mercy.
I’m done.
I’m done.
I’m done.
“You may come,” he says so softly that I almost think I imagine it. And when his mouth finds me again and now two of his fingers fuck my ass, I no longer care if I’d imagined it.
I let go.
My mind spins. My body convulses.
I clench around his fingers and a sound I’ve never heard before escapes me.
A wail. A cry of release.
And before the last of the orgasm ebbs away, he’s inside me. Taking me hard, deep, and rough, slamming his hips against my ass. The slapping of our skin, our ragged breathing, and sounds of ecstasy filling the small cabin.
With one hand still working deep in my tight canal, his other grabs my hair again, pulling my head back roughly until my neck can bend no more.
“That’s it, Grace. Ride my cock. Feel me deep inside you. That pussy’s mine. That ass is mine. Your mouth will soon be mine, too. You do not come until I tell you to. Tell me you hear me.”
“Yes, Nick. Yes, I hear you.”
“You fit me perfectly. Like you were made for me. Were you made for me, Grace?”
“Yes. Only for you.”
“Who do you belong to?”
No hesitation. “You, Nick. I belong to you.”
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes,” I hiss. Because it’s true, even though I just came, I’m ready to come again. His words, his smooth like butter voice, turn me on like nothing ever before.
It’s insane. But I love it.
This is how I’m meant to be fucked. I’m not meant to be pushed off the cliff, I’m meant to be thrown.
“Are you ready to come again?”
“Yes,” I force myself to say, because thoughts are difficult, words even more so.
“When I say ‘now,’ you will come.”
His fingers curl inside me, stroking, and his cock slams me even harder, deeper until there’s nowhere else for it to go.
He tenses, his body hiccups. Then he groans, “Now,” and I fall with him. Over the edge, into an endless space below. I can’t tell who is throbbing. Him, me, both of us.
I only know one thing...
This was the man I was made for.

Him. And only him.

And here is where you vote:

BONUS! When you vote you are entered to win some great prizes!

#Giveaway! #Win a $25 #Amazon GC: Ashes to Memories by Annie Anderson

Ashes to Memories
Annie Anderson
(Ashes to Ashes #5)
Publication date: October 13th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
What she doesn’t know just might kill her.
Nicola is having trouble settling into her new life.
Memories assault her at every turn – even in her dreams. When a friend comes to her for aid, Nicola is once again thrust into a dangerous world – a world she still cannot remember.
Kyle thought the worst was over.
Sure, his wife can’t remember their beginning, but even with a few bumps, having her is better than not. But keeping Nicola alive is a full-time job even he might not be able to fulfill – especially when his darling wife decides to jump into the fray.
It turns out the worst has only just begun.
Kyle reaches for me, lifting me from the seat and maneuvering my body under the spray while he holds me to him. I try to concentrate on the feel of his skin against mine, but a flash of red catches my eye. Even with my clothes gone, I’m still covered in blood. The steam billows as the lava hot water rinses the scarlet gore from my skin. I watch the water run red for a moment before diluting to a wispy pink and then finally running clear.
Watching it run from my skin causes something inside me to break, and I heave a breath before shattering. I feel it all over again, Talia’s broken bones, my breath lodging in my throat when all I wanted to do was scream, the dizzying realization that I might be dying, and my heart…
I feel wrong in my own skin, feel like I’m wrong. And if I am the one who is different – if I am the one who caused all this mess – how can Kyle want me this close to him? How can the rest of them? Baron and Bella wanted intel on me. They still need me for something, and even though I told them why she was hurt, I don’t think they grasp what Baron and Bella will do to anyone in their way.
Oh, god… I have to go. I have to leave. I can’t be here anymore.
“Breathe, Shortcake,” Kyle demands in my ear, and it is like he has said the magic words and my lungs begin their torturous slog of hauling air to my bloodstream.
I can’t help the shiver of fear that whips across my skin. Kyle hitches me up his body, my feet leaving the tiled shower floor to wrap around his back. He tightens his hold on me, and for a moment, I feel safe. My breath slows, and I make a concerted effort to bury my nose in his neck and inhale his scent. He is warm where I am cold, he is strong where I am weak, he fills in the gaping gaps of my soul.
My lips find the skin of his neck without prompting from my brain. I need him so much – probably more than he needs me, but I don’t care.
“I don’t think you realize that your life is precious – that the very breath in your lungs and beat of your heart is a relief to me. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, and I don’t know what happened to Talia. Honestly, when it comes to anything but you, I really don’t care. You have to start thinking before you act, Nicola.”
“I didn’t mean to…” I try to break in, but he isn’t having it at all.
“It doesn’t matter that our lives are tied together. I knew what it meant to be your husband when I bound you. Hell, I never even expected you to wake up at all, so I knew what I was getting into. But you are worth more than my life. You are more important than just me. You have saved more lives than I could ever hope to count. You’ve done more good than I could ever hope to do.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute.
“What do you mean our lives are tied, Kyle?” I ask, pulling back to look him in the eye and fight against a full-scale panic attack.
“Exactly what I said. My life is tied to your life. If your heart stops beating, my heart stops beating. When you were in the hospital, I bound you to me knowing that I didn’t want to have a life at all without you in it. It was reckless of me, but I don’t regret it,” he replies, his fervent whisper lashing my heart like a whip.
How could he risk himself that way? And for what? A wife who didn’t even remember him when she woke up? If I didn’t love him so much, I would knock some sense into this man.
“Why would you do that? My God, Kyle! People want to kill me. How could you?” I plead with him, grabbing his face, so he’s forced to look at me. The chocolate of his irises bleeds back and forth from black to brown as if he can’t decide which form he wants to take.
“I’m not living without you, Nicola,” his gruff whisper hits me as his lips brush mine.
© Copyright 2017 Annie Anderson

Author Bio:
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.
In her past lives, Annie has been a lifeguard, retail manager, dental lab technician, accountant, and now she writes fast-paced paranormal thrillers with some serious heat.


Sunday, October 15, 2017

Book Blitz: Just Friends by Elizabeth Grey #Giveaway

Just Friends
Elizabeth Grey
(The Agency, #1)
Publication date: September 15th 2017
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
Why did her heart have to choose him?
Violet Archer has her dream job at one of London’s top advertising agencies, and the fact she gets to work with Ethan Fraser every day makes it even better. He’s the best friend a girl could have. And she’s never even noticed how hot he is. Nope. Definitely not.
When a big night out deteriorates into a great big mess, Violet’s world starts to wobble like a drunk giraffe on stilts. She’s caught in a web of secrets, none of which are hers. And maybe she is starting to notice how hot Ethan is, after all. And sweet and kind and… oh dear.
Has Violet fallen for her best friend? Can their friendship survive yet another secret? And, the question Violet is most scared to ask, could Ethan have feelings for her too?
This raunchy, hilarious rom-com is the first in The Agency series by Elizabeth Grey.
IT’S ONLY TAKEN THREE MONTHS, two weeks and five days, but here I am – in Stuart Inman’s Notting Hill bedroom, wearing underwear that screams ‘sex goddess’ and a spray tan that shrieks ‘never again!’
Thankfully Stuart is too busy burying his head in my cleavage to notice my tangerine armpits and stripy inner thighs. He’s also groaning and purring and nuzzling and . . . okay, I’m not really sure what he’s doing down there, but I hope he tries another move soon. I can think of much better things I’d like him to do to my boobs than use them as a pair of earmuffs.
Ah, good, he’s heading north now. I look into his deep blue eyes and remind myself why I’m here. Stuart Inman is hot. Think Matt Damon in an action movie: all blonde and ripped and gun-toting. Matt Damon, that is, with the gun-toting. Not Stuart. The only thing Stuart totes is a rather feminine Burberry man-bag.
He backs me up against his bedroom wall and I run my fingers over the taut muscles of his fabulous chest. Then I feel his lips brush against mine, his tongue darting in and . . . oh, sweet Jesus, what the . . . ?
Breathe. Close your eyes, think of England and for heaven’s sake, just breathe . . .
What in the name of all things holy was that? If it was supposed to be a kiss, then please don’t let him kiss me again. Talk about disappointing. Has he been practising his make-out skills with a bathroom sponge? I’ve kissed a few men in my life, and most of them have been far less confident, successful and drop-dead gorgeous than Stuart Inman, so how is it possible that he kisses like a half-starved pufferfish devouring a shrimp? Ugh . . . no. Just no.
I run my fingers over his abs, trying to avoid his hungry mouth. So what if he’s a crap kisser? We can work on the finer details later. The important thing right now is sex is happening – my eight-month-long drought is coming to an end and my velvet-touch, thirty-function, silicone Raunchy Rabbit can hop off into the sunset and do one.
His hands move over my body as he lowers me onto his bed. I look into his eyes, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles seductively. I should be kissing him, feeling him, touching him until we’re both sweaty and panting for more, but my stupid brain decides to torture me instead: Stuart kisses like a pufferfish. Stuart kisses like a pufferfish. Stuart kisses like a pufferfish . . . and . . . oh no, he’s nuzzling my boobs again . . . and oh my god! What the hell was that? Why are his pants stuck to my stomach? Oh shit, he has, hasn’t he? He’s shot his load. He rolls onto his back with a thump. “I’m sorry . . .” he whimpers.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Where’s my Matt Damon action hero gone? Why does the fittest client I’ve ever worked with have less knob control than a horny teenager who’s just discovered Pornhub? What did I do to piss off the gods of shagging this time? Could life be any more bloody unfair? Come back, my beloved Raunchy Rabbit, I miss you already.
He turns to face me, but I don’t want to look at him. Yes, I’ll admit, I’m a coward. I can’t think of anything good to say, which, given words are my livelihood, is pretty pathetic.
“You’re just so hot. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” He removes his sticky pants to reveal an appendage that could accurately be compared to a half-eaten Walnut Whip – sad, shrivelled and hollow. He crosses his legs in an attempt to hide his shame, and sadly, it doesn’t take much to hide it. How on earth didn’t I notice that before? I usually check out a guy’s bulge before I commit, don’t I? Jeez, this must be the most desperate for sex I’ve ever been in my entire life.
“It’s okay. Maybe next time?” I say, with the kind of insincere politeness a politician would be proud of.
“I can still go on. Just give me a minute,” he says with an enthusiastic tug to his manhood, and my stomach lurches. Do I want to have sex with a Matt Damon lookalike if he’s only packing a chipolata and kisses like a pufferfish sucking on a sponge?
Ten seconds later, he’s sliding his hand into my knickers and frantically rubbing away at what I’m sure he thinks is my clitoris, but of course, it isn’t. The gods of shagging wouldn’t be that merciful. I simulate a few polite moans and consider following through with a fake orgasm, but as he’s jabbing the inside of my leg with the elbow of the hand that’s futilely attempting to transform the chipolata into a frankfurter, I can’t take it anymore.
Mission abort! Mission abort!
“Okay, stop. Just stop,” I say as I squirm out of his grasp.
He removes his hand from inside my underwear and frowns at me. “What’s up?”
“Um . . . that’s not really doing much for me. Sorry.”
“What do you mean? What’s wrong with you? I always get girls off doing that.”
I feel my eyes pop. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” he replies with an eye roll and way too much attitude. All of a sudden I have too many words, but as none of them are kind, I swallow them down and start putting my clothes back on.
Stuart tuts, gets up and pulls on a robe. I leave his apartment as fast as I can and head towards Holland Park Tube, flagging the first taxi I see on the way.

Author Bio:
Elizabeth Grey spent a sizable chunk of her childhood in North East England locked away in her bedroom creating characters and writing stories. Isn’t that how all writers start?
Following a five year university education that combined such wide-ranging subjects as fine art, administration, law, economics, graphic design and French, Elizabeth entered the business world as a marketing assistant before moving into operations management.
Marrying Chris in 2007, Elizabeth now has three young children and runs a small, seasonal business selling imported European children’s toys and goods – During her time as a stay-at-home mum, Elizabeth rekindled her love of writing and thinks herself lucky every day that she is now able to write full time.
When not working, Elizabeth finds herself immersed in her kids’ hobbies and has acquired an impressive knowledge of Harry Potter (thanks to the big boy), Star Wars (thanks to the little boy) and Barbie (thanks to her daughter). She loves European road-trips, binge-watching Netflix series and doing whatever she can to fight for a nicer world.
She’s been told she never loses an argument.


Saturday, October 14, 2017

GRETEL: A Dark & Sexy Fairy Tale by Erica Lynn #Preorder #99cents

Are you ready for a naughty retelling of a classic fairy tale?

Of course you are, right?!

Well I've got you covered!

Pre-Order NOW for only $0.99!

Goes live October 25!


This is the true account of Hansel and Gretel. Forget your silly, misguided tales of two siblings and a house of gingerbread and cakes. This is the story of what happens when love battles against lust. When the yearnings of the heart are forced to wage war against the base needs and desires we all possess. When the time comes to face who we really are. What we truly want. What we need.

A Warning: Their story should not be taken lightly, for we all toe the line between human and savage animal. We walk around in the light, hoping others don’t see the depravity lurking within, begging to be let free. So take a deep breath, set up your defenses, and slowly turn the page. I dare you.

**This is a dark and extremely explicit retelling of the classic fairy tale, Hansel and Gretel. In this novelette, Hansel and Gretel are NOT brother and sister.**


Gretel’s sleep was troubled, to say the least. She alternated between erotic dreams and consciousness, until she finally sighed in exhausted frustration.

The door opened and she felt a body lay down beside her. Something long and hard pressed against her bottom, and she couldn’t help but wiggle against it.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. My head is filled with…strange things.”

“Oh really?” a large hand with rough, calloused fingers found its way inside her gown and down to her aching sex. A finger slipped between her lips, gently coaxing her slippery entrance. “What kind of strange things?”

Gretel arched her back as sensation rolled through her body. She’d never been touched there by anyone else, even she had only been brave enough to touch herself on a few occasions, but those didn’t compare to this. “I kept seeing you.” She turned her head to Tristen, and he returned her stare with a dangerous smile.

“What did you see?”

“I can’t say it.”

What did you see?

Gretel whimpered in frustration as he removed his hand from her sex, then ran his fingers, wet from her excitement, over her mouth.

Tell me.

You were inside me. Here.
Gretel squeezed her eyes closed and concentrated on her dream. What she’d seen. What she’d heard. What she’d felt. Tristen nodded and as he slowly got to his knees, she realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes. She’d never seen a naked man before, and her mouth watered at the sight of his muscled body and thick, pulsing erection.

Get up.

Gretel got to her knees, just as he was, and waited.

Lift your arms.

She did as instructed, and he grabbed the hem of her gown and lifted it up and over her head. The cool air kissed her naked body, and her nipples hardened in response.

He tilted his head forward and caught one nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the soft peak before closing his lips and sucking. He released it with a pop, then did the same to the other. Bend over.

Friday, October 13, 2017

#FirstChapterFriday: LOVING HER (An Obsessed Novella) by Jeanne St. James

The Obsession Continues...

(An Obsessed Novella)
by Jeanne St. James

Available NOW for only 99¢ here:

Put it on your Goodreads TBR pile here:


It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession...


I’ve loved Bree my whole life. We were each other’s firsts when we were young and inexperienced, and I totally screwed up. I disappointed her, causing her to cry and run away. But over the years, I’ve learned, I’ve perfected, and I’ve dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
When I finally get the chance never in my wildest dreams did I think Bree was like this. The girl who used to wear yellow sundresses is no longer Bree, she’s Brianna, my new mistress. I’ll do whatever needed for her forgiveness, even go to my knees and grovel.
However, there’s just one thing... I want Bree back, not Brianna. Once I get Bree, Brianna can do to me what she will.


Maybe Noah doesn’t realize it, but he’s been mine ever since we were teens. I tried to apologize for disappointing him our first time, but never got the chance.
Now, when he approaches me at the bar, I can only think about all the things I want to do to him and with him. I plan to show him the skills I’ve honed over the years.
Little does he know what’s in store for him because I know his secrets, his desires, his needs. And I plan on giving it all to him.
However, just when I think I’m in control, he turns my world upside down.

Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.

Chapter One

I’ve loved her my whole life. At least since I can remember, which is all the way back to when she was in kindergarten and I was in first grade. I’d chase her through the backyard and around the jungle gym, trying to catch and kiss her.
If I’d succeed, she’d curl her little fingers into a fist, sock me in the gut, then run and tell her mother.
Yep, I had no game.
And, apparently, I didn’t leave an impression. Because now, at thirty, she’s still avoiding me.
Even though she can’t go very far at the moment since I’m her brother’s Best Man, and she’s the Maid of Honor.
Let me tell you, I hate weddings.
I hate them even more when I’m forced to stand across from her and can’t touch her, drag my fingers through her long, dark hair and run my lips along her delicate neck.
The only time I can touch her is when I escort her up the aisle. I’ve done it twice so far. However, she won’t meet my eyes, she feels stiff on my arm and she’s hardly said two words to me. And now I stand here while the wedding planner drones on and on about what’s expected of us during the ceremony tomorrow.
Look, Ms. Wedding Planner, it’s easy. Put one foot in front of the other, walk (without tripping) up the center aisle (can’t get lost while staying in between the rows of pews and aim for the front of the church), then stand to the side (no picking noses, asses, or adjusting your junk).
Oh, and don’t pass out. Otherwise, the video will go viral across cyberspace.
One more thing… the rings. Can’t forget to put the rings in my tux pocket.
Got it.
Yawn again.
It isn’t as if I’m not happy for my buddy, getting married to a great woman (although, not quite as stunning as his sister) who makes him happy, but I’m not thrilled with being a part of it. But I have his back. And I’d love to have his sister on her back.
Again. But in better circumstances.
We lost our virginity together at seventeen in her parents’ pool shed. I was in love with her then, too. Her with me? Not so much.
And in those forty-five seconds of bliss, I fell in love with her even more. I don’t think she thought it was even close to bliss, though. In fact, she had run out of the shed crying while pulling down her sweet yellow sundress.
I was devastated, and that was a major blow to my seventeen-year-old ego.
I’ll admit it, I had a lot to learn.
However, I had to learn it elsewhere since she was no longer game. In fact, she avoided me (just like at this rehearsal).
But I did learn. I was determined to improve, to not make her cry next time. But, unfortunately, there never was a next time.
Eventually, Mrs. Callahan down the street was kind enough to take me under her wing. Teach me the ins and outs of women. Of pleasure. Of discovering what I wanted and what I wanted to give in return.
Mrs. Callahan.
She made me call her that, too. And I did (when I wasn’t calling her Mistress).
I learned.
I perfected.
I dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
Now here we stand, across from each other. My eyes on her. Her eyes on everything but me.
I want her.
I need her.
Even after all these years.
As I stand across from her, I’m mesmerized by her unforgettable, stunning beauty.
I love her.
But I can’t have her.
And that fucking blows.
At dinner, I watch him over the rim of my wine glass. My eyes narrow as he leans over to say something quietly into the ear of one of the bridesmaids. The single one with the big boobs that made sure she snagged the chair next to him. She throws her little blonde head back and laughs. He smiles in response, his golden-green eyes sparkling. They have a secret. Apparently a funny one, too.
She can laugh with him all she wants, but she needs to know... he’s mine.
He’s been mine ever since we lost our virginity together all those years ago.
Maybe he didn’t realize it then. He doesn’t realize it now.
Maybe, just maybe, he needs a lesson.
One different from what that whore Mrs. Callahan taught him.
Yes, I know all about Mrs. Callahan and Noah.
And what she did to my Noah.
Days later I followed him, trying to catch up with him to apologize for running out crying after he popped my cherry. I even called out his name, but he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he was ignoring me. Probably because I disappointed him that day in the shed and he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
But then he went to her house. I watched (in shock) as the door opened and he was pulled inside. He had just turned eighteen. Barely legal. That bitch was like a hundred at the time.
Okay, probably the same age as we are now. Though, back then, it might as well have been a hundred.
She opened the door wearing some sexy almost see-through nightie. One I would have killed to own (and fill out like her). Her eyes flicked up to me and I froze. She smiled like a predator at Noah, snagged his arm and dragged him inside. Then she aimed that smile at me as she shut the door behind him.
I ended up following him more than once. More than twice.
I’m embarrassed to admit how often it truly was.
But what he learned, I did, too. I watched them.
And one day when I was hidden, I saw it happen.
She had her husband’s belt. And she whipped him with it while he was on his knees, his head to the mattress.
I watched him twitch with every strike. His ass getting redder with every blow. And she wasn’t gentle. No. She struck him hard, often, but I couldn’t hear if he made a noise. If he cried out, if he asked her to stop.
Though, it didn’t appear so.
He could have escaped, gotten away. He wasn’t tied in any fashion, he wasn’t restrained. He moved into position willingly with, from what I could see, his eyes showing excitement.
A smile curled that witch’s lips as she did it.
I got scared while watching her hit him.
Not for him.
But for me.
Because I realized what she gave, what he willingly accepted, did something inside of me. It lit a fire in my belly, caused goosebumps to break out all over my body, tightened my nipples, made me slick between the thighs.
What Mrs. Callahan was doing should have disturbed me. It didn’t.
It excited me.
I wanted to switch places with her.

Now, I not only wanted Noah, I wanted to do things to him I never expected.

Author Bio:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a bestselling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here:

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