Tuesday, February 08, 2011

New Release by guest A.M. Hartnett: Head Over Heels


That whole 'no nookie' rule seemed like a good idea until Chrissie got under the covers with Sam.

When Chrissie declared a moratorium on hooking up for this group road trip, she didn’t think a miscommunication with a hotel desk clerk would put her in the same bed with Sam.

A total dork wrapped in a nice package, Sam has been the object of her vacation lust since day one. Once she’s huddled together under the covers with him the rules go out the window.

Can Sam and Chrissie turn their carefree holiday fling into something more.


Chrissie Lowe felt like she’d been on the hiking trail for hours. Her feet hurt. Her calves hurt. Her back hurt. Her libido was amped up to such a degree that she felt like sinking her teeth into something.

Sinking her teeth into Sam Ferguson’s ass, to be precise.

He had been behind her, but when they’d reached the embankment about a quarter of a mile back, he’d jumped ahead of her so he could help her up. Now she was stuck staring at his backside.

And what a backside it was. Nice and round and clenching with every step he took. Those cargo shorts were going to be the death of her.

It wasn’t just his ass. His upper body was obscured by his backpack but the entire lower body got a standing ovation. He had thick thighs and muscled calves that were dusted with blond hair. Even the scratches and scuffs on his bare legs were sexy.

She could hear his breath coming in hard spurts as he hoofed it up the incline and occasionally grunted. Delicious sex sounds. Every such sound went right between her legs.

“I can see why they took the long way,” he said and glanced over his shoulder. “They probably beat us to the lake.”

Chrissie bobbed her head and took a moment to catch her breath. “Is this where you stop being Mr. Outdoors and admit that this is killing you?”

“I admit nothing except that I’m not in the shape I was in five or so years ago.”

There was sweat on the back of his neck that formed a ring around the collar of his grey T-shirt. The shirt was coming off soon. It always did after he started to sweat through it. When it did her palms would itch from wanting to run all over that hard chest. His shorts would slip just a little over his narrow hips and she’d get a flash of the black waistband of his jockeys. The hot flashes she’d been having would turn into a full-body burn, and then the real suffering would start.

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