BRING ON THE BOOM!
Meet Ashlyn & Dillon in Until Ashlyn.
NOW AVAILABLE
Blurb
Dillon
Keck knew Ashlyn Mayson was drunk when she suggested they get married. He knew
he should have taken her back to their hotel room and put her to bed. Instead,
he did what he had been craving to do since the moment they met.
Claim her
as his.
Waking up
married in Vegas isn't something Ashlyn Mayson ever thought would happen to her.
Having Dillon, her boss, a man she thinks is a dick, insist they stay married
is absurd, but every time he touches her, she gets lost in him and wonders if
maybe they are meant to be together.
But
someone isn't happy for Dillon and Ashlyn and their new found romance, and
they're willing to do anything to keep them apart. Even commit murder.
Dedication
To every single person
that believes in the BOOM
Chapter 1
Ashlyn
“Hey, Mom,” I greet, tucking my
phone between my ear and shoulder as I shove another dress and matching heels
into my suitcase. I smile while I do, because Dillon will likely flip his lid
when he sees my choices in attire for the weekend, but there is not one damn
thing he can do about it since we won’t be in the office. So technically, his
stupid rules don’t apply.
“Are you all packed?”
“Almost,” I sigh, looking at the
clock and realizing I only have ten minutes to finish before my cab is set to
arrive. I wasn’t planning on going to Vegas for the dental convention, but
Dillon insisted he needed me with him, and like an idiot, I agreed.
“Is Dillon picking you up?”
“No, I’m meeting him there. His
flight left a couple hours ago.”
“Oh.” She lets out a defeated
breath. “Is it just you and him going?”
“I hope so. I swear if the Wicked
Witch shows up, I’ll sell her on the strip to the highest bidder, or pay
someone to take her out to the desert and drop her off,” I grumble, digging
under my bed for my tickler—just in case of an emergency.
“Call me if you need an alibi.” She
laughs, and I smile, shaking my head, because I know she’s not lying; she would
find a way to be my alibi if something happened.
“I’ll call,” I mutter, heading to
the bathroom so I can gather my shower supplies.
“Dillon’s so nice,” she says
quietly, and I grit my teeth.
Dillon is annoying, bossy, and… fine, he can be nice sometimes. Plus, he’s
uber-hot, but I hate him. Okay, I don’t hate him… but I really, really want to.
“How long are you going to be gone
for?” she questions, breaking into my internal rant.
“Just four days. My flight gets back
Monday night around seven.”
“Promise you’ll call everyday and
check in.”
“I’ll call or text,” I agree,
grabbing my cosmetics case from under the bathroom cupboard, filling it with
all of my makeup.
“Please try and have some fun while
you’re there. Make Dillon take you out to a nice dinner or dancing.”
Snorting, I mutter, “Sure, Mom. I
love you. I’ll message when I land.”
“Okay, honey, and don’t forget your
dad and I leave Monday for Florida and we’ll be gone for three weeks.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Have fun, kiss
Grandma and Grandpa, and tell Dad I love him.”
“Will do,” she promises softly
before I hang up and shove my cell into my back pocket. Looking at the clock I
let out a quiet curse, getting my ass in gear to finish packing so I don’t miss
my flight.
~*~*~
Dragging my bag behind me toward the
reception desk, I’m stunned by how many people are here wearing nametags stating
they’re attending the dental convention. Dillon mentioned this weekend is one
of the largest gatherings of dentists in the United States, but sheesh, this is
crazy. Finally making it to the front of the line, I smile at the cutie behind
the desk.
“How can I help you, gorgeous?” he
inquires once I’m close, and I set my purse on the counter and pull out my ID,
handing it over to him.
“Hi, I have a reservation.” I yawn,
covering my mouth while I listen to the sound of slot machines going off in the
distance. I love the slots—or penny slots to be exact, since I’m too chicken to
play the real ones.
“I’m sorry, but there is no
reservation under your name. Are you sure you’re staying with us?” he asks,
handing me back my ID, and I frown.
“I’m positive. It may be under my
boss’ name, Dillon Keck. He made the reservations,” I say, and he starts to
type again then smiles.
“Got it. I see here that Mr. Keck
has already checked in and requested we give you your own key to the suite upon
arrival.”
“Uh… what?” I blurt, feeling
something close to dread fill my stomach. “Are you saying he’s staying in that
room too?”
“Yes, it’s a suite with two kings.”
“I don’t care how many kings are in
the room. It’s one room. Right?” I panic, leaning half over the counter, trying
to see his computer screen. “Please tell me you have another room available?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re completely
booked. This is one of our busiest weekends of the year.”
“Of course it is.” I shake my head.
“Can you recommend another hotel nearby?”
“Sorry, but I really doubt anywhere
else has an opening.”
“Oh man… oh man,” I breathe,
squeezing my eyes closed. “It’s not a big deal. You can share a room with him.
You’re an adult, and it’s not like you even like him, right?” I whisper,
balling my hands into fists.
“Um, so do you want me to get you
your key?” Opening my eyes, I nod once and his face softens. “Call down and
check. Sometimes we have people call off their reservations last minute. You
never know. Something might open up between tonight and tomorrow.”
“Sure, I’ll call,” I agree,
wondering what the hell I did to deserve this kind of karma as I wait there for
the room key.
Standing in the hall outside the
door to our room ten minutes later, I
pause with my key card in my hand, not sure if I should knock or just go in. I
seriously cannot believe Dillon booked us in a room together. Actually, I can
believe it, because I think he gets off on annoying me.
“Screw it. It’s my room too,” I
mutter to myself, shoving the key into the card reader, watching the light turn
green. Pushing down on the handle, I turn, using my shoulder to hold the door
open while I drag my suitcase into the room, fighting with its weight as the
door closes, trapping it half way through.
“Shit!”
Turning my head, I look over my
shoulder and almost fall on my ass when my eyes find Dillon standing in the
middle of the room, completely naked, with a pair of boxers in his hand. His
once long hair now short and wet, and a tattoo I didn’t know he had along his
muscled ribs on his side.
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, turning
quickly while attempting to shove my suitcase back out of the room. I totally
did not need to know Dillon looks hotter without clothes than what my mind had
made up, and believe me—my mind had unfortunately tormented me with thoughts of
him naked many times.
“Christ, you’re a mess,” is muttered
from behind me while a very strong arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off my
feet, and my suitcase is tugged from my grasp. Before I know it, my suitcase
and I are both in the room and the door closes with a soft hiss, trapping me
inside.
“Please tell me you’re not still
naked,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes closed, feeling his arm release me and his
heat leave my back.
“I’m not naked.”
Opening my eyes, I close them again
when I see he’s only got on a pair of form-fitting black boxers and nothing
else. “Put some clothes on.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a
naked man before.” He chuckles, and the sound of his laughter makes my teeth
grind and my hands drop to my sides.
“I don’t want to see you naked.” I
glare at him while he buttons up a pair of dark slacks that fit him perfectly.
“You could have avoided all of this
if you had knocked.”
“Really?” I raise a brow. “You could
have ‘avoided all this,’” I make air quotes, “and gotten me a separate room.”
“They messed up the reservation.” He
shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I feel my eyes narrow further.
“You should have called to tell me
that, so I could have—”
“You would have avoided coming,” he
cuts me off. “If you knew we were sharing a room, you would have found an
excuse, and I need you with me this weekend.”
“Whatever,” I grumble, knowing he’s
right. I would have canceled the trip if I knew we were sharing a room, even
knowing that being here is a great way to build connections with other
dentists. Especially, if I want to open my own practice in the future. “We need
to set a few ground rules.” I cross my arms over my chest while I watch him
walk across the room toward the bed near the window.
“Later.” He picks up a dark-blue,
almost black, dress shirt and starts to put it on, which is unfortunate,
because now that I’ve seen him shirtless, I’m thinking he should never cover up
again.
“No, now,” I growl, annoyed with
myself for being attracted to the dick.
“Later.” He holds my glare. “Right
now, you need to get dressed. We have reservations in forty minutes.” He takes
a seat on the side of the bed and starts to put on his shoes.
“What?” I look at the clock on the
wall. It’s after seven at night and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is climb
into bed, order room service, and watch some bad TV.
“We have a reservation in forty
minutes,” he repeats, then stands. “The restaurant is twenty minutes away, so
you have twenty minutes to get ready, unless you want to wear that.” He motions
to my sweats, flip-flops, and hoodie. “I suggest you change.”
“I hate you.”
“So you say,” he says, just barely
loud enough for me to hear, as he goes to the dresser, picking up his watch and
putting it on.
“What did I do to deserve this?” I
shake my head, pulling out my hair tie and running my fingers through my
knotted hair.
“You may want to hurry.”
Holding his eyes for a minute, I
give up my glare then drag my suitcase to the middle of the room and unzip it.
After pulling out one of my favorite “going out” outfits along with my makeup
bag, I go to the bathroom and try to slam the door closed, but it’s on one of
those thingies that prevents me from doing that, which pisses me off even more.
“Stupid door. Stupid dick,” I mutter
once the door is closed, then get to work on making myself look halfway decent.
Twenty minutes later, I look at my
refection and lean forward, putting my face an inch from the mirror, and use my
dark-red lipstick for the final touch on my dramatic makeup look. Since I
didn’t have time to do anything with my hair, I brushed it out and put it up in
a bun on top of my head then pulled out a few pieces to frame my face. Looking
at my now blonde hair, I smile. I wasn’t sure I would like having blonde hair
but Kim insisted it would look great on me, and she wasn’t wrong. Standing
back, I place my hands on my hips and take myself in. My black sleeveless-top,
with triangles cut out of the center of the chest and sides, is sexy but
classy, and my red skin-tight pencil skirt, with its slit up the thigh, shows
off just enough skin to draw attention while leaving everything to the
imagination.
Slipping on my black, pointed-toe,
four-inch pumps, I open the door to the bathroom, and mutter toward where I
know Dillon is sitting, “Let me just change my purse and we can go.”
“You’re not wearing that.”
“Pardon?” I ask, pausing in my
squatted position in front of my open suitcase to look at him.
“You’re not wearing that outfit. Go
change.”
“I’m not changing.” I stand, moving
to the desk so I can transfer what I need from my bag to my clutch. Hearing no
reply, my eyes move to where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and I feel my
skin warm up and butterflies take off in my stomach as our eyes lock and his
darken.
Licking my lips that have suddenly
gone dry, his eyes drop to my mouth and his jaw clenches. “I’ll meet you
downstairs.” He stands abruptly and moves past me out the room quickly, letting
the door close behind him with a swoosh without another word.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask the
door, gaining no reply—not that I need one. I know exactly what that was; I
just have no idea what to do with it. Dillon has always acted professional with
me. There has never been a time that I’ve seen him look at me like he’s
interested, but the look in his eyes a moment ago was primal and not one an
engaged man should give another woman, or a boss should give his employee,
ever.
Shaking off the strange feeling in
the pit of my stomach, I finish changing out my bag then leave the room and
make my way through the casino and into the lobby. Not finding Dillon inside, I
head outside to the area the cabs and limos pick up and drop off, and spot him
standing with a group of people. I’m not surprised he’s surrounded by a gaggle
of women and a couple of men. He tends to draw attention wherever he goes, and
it’s something else that annoys me. I hate being the center of attention, and I
don’t really like people who need it to feel important. Needing a minute to get
my head together, I stop a few feet away and tuck my clutch under my arm.
“Where you going, gorgeous? ‘Cause
wherever it is, I’m there,” a drunk guy, who can’t be much older than
twenty-one, slurs, stumbling up to me. His clothes are rumpled, his hair in
disarray, and if he wasn’t such a mess, he’d be cute. But sadly, sloppy drunk
works for no one.
Ignoring him, I untuck my purse,
open it, and pull out my cell phone, knowing better than to engage with men
like him in his current state.
“So you’re to good for me?” he
slurs, snatching my cell out of my hand, and my eyes fly up.
“Give me my phone,” I say evenly,
holding out my hand, and his eyes travel the length of me and his face
scrunches up.
“Ho here thinks she’s too good for
me.”
“Mike, come on. Give her the phone
and let’s go,” someone says off to the side, but I keep my eyes on Mike, with
my palm out toward him. My dad insisted I take martial arts with Jax when I was
little. I hated it; I wanted to be a ballerina, not a ninja, but he was adamant
about me being able to protect myself. Over the years, the skills I learned
back then have come in handy, like now, when all I really want to do is kick
the crap out of Mike but know better. One of the first things I was forced to
learn was control, to never lose my temper. The second thing I learned was to
keep my eyes on my enemy at all times. I was never really good at either, but I
still got a black belt in the end.
“Mike,” I say softly, taking a step
toward him. “I’m going to ask you nicely, once, to give me my phone. If you
don’t, I swear to God I will unleash the Kraken, kick your ass in front of your
friends, and send you home crying to your mother.”
Laughing, he looks around then his
eyes widen as they move behind me. I really, really want to know what he’s
looking at, but I refuse to turn my head and give in.
“Give her the phone.” The deep
rumble of Dillon’s voice sends a chill down my spine. I’ve only heard him
pissed a few times, and I know he’s pissed right now without even looking at
him.
“I… I… w-was just playin’ man,” Mike
stutters out, tossing my phone toward me. Missing my hands and causing my phone
to crash to the ground, and my nostrils to flare as it shatters at my feet.
“Oh, shit. Oh, Christ. I’m sorry.”
He drops to his knees and begins gathering the pieces of what used to be my
phone then tries to get up, but falls face forward into my crotch, causing me
to stumble back.
“I can’t believe this shit,” Dillon
grumbles, catching me before I fall, then tugs me out of the way as Mike’s friends
decide to finally step in and pick him up from the ground. “You had to wear
that outfit.”
“You can not be serious right now?”
I hiss, swinging my head back and finding him glaring down at me.
“Deadly.”
“Let me go.” I try to get free, but
his hand on my waist tightens as his eyes leave mine. Swinging my head in the
other direction, I find one of Mike’s friends standing a few feet away with my
phone, looking anywhere but at us, and Mike off to the side, puking in a
trashcan.
“Let me go,” I repeat, and his arm
tightens for a moment before he finally lets me loose. I really want to scream
or throw a fit, but instead, I calmly take my clutch and open it, holding it
out toward the guy and letting him dump the now useless pieces inside. “You
need to get him some Gatorade and toast,” I tell him, nodding toward Mike.
“Um, yeah sure. Than…” his words
taper off, and the smile that was forming on his lips slides away as he looks
over my shoulder. Rolling my eyes, I watch him turn quickly and go to Mike to
help carry him away, feeling Dillon get close once more.
“Limo’s waiting,” he mutters,
placing his hand against my lower back, making me tense.
“I’m not going.” I try to step away,
but his hand slides around my waist, bringing my side into his middle.
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he growls, leaning
forward, close… way too close.
“Fine, you want me there? I’ll go,
but just so you know, I plan on getting completely wasted, so you have just
become my chaperone for the evening.”
“You’re not getting drunk.”
“Wasted, not drunk. And you better
make sure I don’t do anything stupid.” I pat his chest, ignoring his flashing
eyes. With that, I step out of his grasp and start toward the line of limos
then turn to look over my shoulder at him, realizing I have no clue which one
to go to.
Smirking, he crosses his arms over
his chest and raises a brow. “What’s wrong, blondie? Confused?” His mocking
tone and the look of triumph in his eyes does it. I turn on my heels and head
to one of the limos with the driver standing outside leaning against it. The
moment the driver spots me coming in his direction, his back leaves the car and
his eyes rake over me, making my teeth snap together.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“Ashlyn Mayson, get your ass back
here,” Dillon snarls behind me, making my palm itch to smack him.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin. I thought you
said this was our limo.” I fake pout, turning to look at him and tossing my
head to the side for good measure.
“Christ, you drive me fucking
insane.” He walks to where I’m standing, tagging my hand, and then starts to
drag me with him, grumbling under his breath.
“You know all I want in this whole
wide world is to make you happy, pumpernickel,” I whine, batting my lashes
while watching his jaw tic.
Leading me toward another limo with a
driver holding the back door open, he growls, “Behave.”
“I swear I’ll be your good girl from
now on if you don’t spank me,” I stage-whisper, and his hand spasms in mine as
a smirk forms on his lips.
“You don’t behave, I’ll bend you
over and tan your ass right here.” His words ring through my ears, making my
insides liquid, and then I hear the sound of a male chuckle as I’m gently
forced into the back seat of the dark limo before I can reply.
“You’re such a jerk,” I hiss,
adjusting my skirt as I move across the leather seats.
“You started the show we put on. I
just ended it,” he mutters, sitting down across from me and unbuttoning his
suit jacket.
“You started it with the whole
‘blondie’ thing.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
“Can we not do this tonight? Can we
get along for one damn evening?”
“You tell me. I’m not the one who’s
bossy and annoying all the damn time.”
“No, you’re just crazy.”
“Crazy?” I snort, and his lips
twitch ever so slightly. “I’m not
crazy.”
“Babe, you told that kid you were
going to unleash the Kraken on him then went on to tell his friends to get him
Gatorade and toast. You’re the definition of crazy.”
He may have a point, but instead of
agreeing with him, I turn my head to look out the window and watch the city of
Las Vegas slide by.
~*~*~
“Turn it off. Turn it off,” I croon
sleepily as my hand sweeps out in the direction of the noise blaring from the
alarm, missing it over and over as the beeping continues to torture me.
“Jesus, shut that shit off.” An arm
comes from around me, and silence fills the room as my body freezes and my eyes
spring open, only to close again when the room spins.
“Oh, God, why are you in my bed?” I
hiss, trying to calm my stomach that feels like it’s getting ready to empty.
“You’re in my bed,” Dillon grumbles,
sliding his arm around my waist, pulling my ass back into the crook of his
thighs.
“Why am I in your bed?” I breathe as
bits and pieces from last night flash through my mind, and none of them are
good. None of them at all.
“You wanted to cuddle.” He buries
his face in my neck then moves his hand up to cup my breast. I know I don’t
have any clothes on when I feel the hair from his thighs tickle mine and his
finger runs over my nipple. Oh, God. A memory of me telling him we have so much
in common while we both got naked for bed fills my mind, and then another one
pops in and my hand flies up to my face.
I force my eyes open, trying to
focus, and see it there—the small, plain, white-gold band from the memory of
him sliding it on my finger.
“We got married?” I shout, pulling
his hand from my breast.
“We got married,” he agrees, not
sounding upset, but instead, almost proud.
“Oh shit!” I fly out of the bed and trip over our clothes scattered
across the floor, feeling him catch me right before I land on my face.
“Ash, calm down.”
“Calm down? Calm down? Are you insane? We got married last night. Married,
Dillon. I got married to a man who is engaged to another woman!” I yell, then
cover my mouth. “Oh, God, I’m going to hell. I’m so going to hell for this.”
“I’m not engaged,” he says calmly,
giving me a shake.
“I know your fiancée!” I screech,
attempting to get away from him, only to have him hold me tighter.
“I’m not fucking with Isla. Now stop
with the crazy.”
“You’re not with her?” I stop, and
he runs a hand through his hair.
“No,” he states, holding my stare,
and my body uncoils just slightly.
“Fine, I’m not going to hell.” I
move away from him and resume pacing. “We need to find an attorney. I saw loads
of advertisements on the strip. We’ll get one and get this taken care of. It’s
no big deal. People get married in Vegas everyday then get divorced. We will
just be one of the ninety percent,” I ramble while pacing.
“We are not getting an annulment.”
“Annulment, right.” I snap my
fingers. “That’s even better. No one has to know about this.”
“Listen to me.” He grabs onto my
shoulders, giving me a shake, and my eyes focus on his. “We are not getting an
annulment, or divorced. We got married and are staying that way.”
“Oh, God, you were drugged.” I rest
my hands against his chest and drop my voice, “Don’t worry. We’ll go to the
hospital and they’ll give you something. Once you’re better, this will all be
taken care of.”
“Jesus Christ.” He rubs his hands
down his face, tilting his head back to look toward the ceiling. “I’m married
to a nut.”
“Hey, that’s not nice.” I plant my
hands on my hips. His head drops, his eyes scan the length of me, and I realize
I’m naked… that we’re both completely naked. “Dillon.” I take a step back when
his eyes meet mine, and his arms swing toward me. “What are you doing?” I
shriek, sidestepping him, only to stumble onto the bed, where I attempt to
roll. But he flips me to my back, his giant body moving between my legs, and
his hands pin my wrists to the mattress over my head. Panting, I look up into
his beautiful blue eyes.
“We are not getting a divorce,” he
snarls, leaning down so his face is mere centimeters from mine.
“Be rational.” I lift my hips and my
arms, trying to throw him off. “You’re obviously on—”
Before I can say more, his head
descends and his mouth is covering mine, stealing my breath along with my soul.
The feel of his lips, the taste of him on my tongue, ignites something deep
inside of me, and I kiss him back with everything I am. Ripping my mouth from
his, I pant, “Please let me go.”
“No.” The word sounds almost primal,
and I lean up, placing my mouth back against his.
“Please, I want to touch you.”
Groaning, his hands release my
wrists, and my palms fly to his chest and slide up and over his shoulders,
pulling him closer to me as my legs wrap around the back of his thighs. He
kisses me again, this time using his tongue and teeth to torture me in the most
beautiful way possible.
“How is it possible you taste as
good as you look?” he questions, pulling back, but I have no answer for him. He
tastes amazing and having him covering me, his hardness pressing against my
softness, is making my brain short-circuit. Palming my breast, he slides his
thumb over my nipple, causing my hips to jerk forward. Rolling us again, he
settles me on top of him, palms both my breasts, and then leans up, pulling my
right nipple into his mouth, releasing it with a pop. “When did you get these?”
he questions, flicking the tip with his tongue.
“When I was thirteen.” I smile, and
he smiles back then moves to my other breast, doing the same, only sucking
harder, almost punishing.
“When?” he asks again, and I know
he’s asking about my nipple piercings. I got them with my cousin April a few
years back. I wanted a piercing, but needed to be able to look professional to
the outside world, so I got both my nipples done with simple, almost
elegant-looking gold barbells.
“Three years ago,” I breathe as he
tweaks the tiny piece of metal.
“Before me.”
“What?” I try to focus, but every
time he touches me, my body gets hotter and my focus depletes. Grabbing my
hips, he tugs me forward, dragging my wet center along his length.
“Soaked.” He nips my nipple then
wraps his hand into the hair at the back of my head, taking control of my
movements as he pulls my mouth to his and thrusts his tongue between my lips.
Lost in his kiss and the feel of him between my legs, so close to where I need
and want him, I squeak when he flips us over and slides down my body, not
giving me a chance to think as his mouth covers me.
“Dillon.” My hands move through his
hair and my hips lift off the bed, offering myself up to him without thinking
about anything but the way his tongue, lips, and teeth feel as he fucks me with
his mouth. “Oh, God. Oh, God, I’m going to come,” I pant, feeling my toes curl
into the bedding and my hands grip his hair. The touch of his finger rimming
just the inside of my entrance sends me over, shouting his name as I go.
Feeling him kiss my inner thigh then
my belly, over my breasts then shoulder, I come back to myself lazily.
“Tell me you want me.” Looking into
my eyes while his hand moves between my legs and his fingers slide though my
folds, I know I’ll give him anything. “Tell me you want me as badly as I want
you.”
“I want you,” I hiss, feeling the
very large head of his cock at my entrance, and then watch his eyes drop
between us before my eyes do the same, and I know I need to tell him. “I—”
Oh, God, too late… way too late. I
bite my lip as he fills me, stretching me.
“Tight, so goddamn tight.” He pushes
in farther and his jaw clenches.
“Hold on. Please, hold on,” I
breathe, and his body stills above me as his eyes search mine.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just need a minute.” I squeeze my
eyes closed, feeling like an idiot.
“Baby.” His fingers slide along my
jaw and cheekbone, into my hair. “Do you want to stop?” he asks gently, making
tears sting my nose.
“God, no.” He feels good, so good.
But he’s huge, way bigger than any of my toys. “You’re just big. So big.” I
wiggle my hips and he hisses out a breath, grabbing my waist.
“Don’t say that shit when I’m inside
of you,” he groans, dropping his forehead to mine.
“I have to tell you something, but
please don’t be mad.”
“Christ, what now?” He pulls back,
gritting his teeth.
“Stop being a jerk and let me talk.”
I smack his shoulder and he looks down at me, thrusting in another inch.
“Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“What?” I moan, wrapping my legs
around his hips as he slides in a little more.
“If it’s going to piss me off, I
don’t want to know.” He slides out then back in, and my back arches off the bed
as his thick cock fills every inch of me.
“You’re such a dick!” I cry out as
he tosses my leg over his shoulder, changing the angle of his thrust.
“I don’t give a fuck about that
either.” He drops his mouth, covering mine and stealing my reply—not that I
have time to think about that as his mouth leisurely travels down my neck to my
breast, which he pulls and sucks until I’m once again shouting his name and
hearing mine groaned from his lips as we both come.
About the Author:
Aurora Rose Reynolds is a navy brat who's
husband served in the United States Navy. She has lived all over the country
but now resides in New York City with her Husband and pet fish. She's married
to an alpha male that loves her as much as the men in her books love their
women. He gives her over the top inspiration everyday. In her free time she
reads, writes and enjoys going to the movies with her husband and cookie. She
also enjoys taking mini weekend vacations to nowhere, or spends time at home
with friends and family. Last but not least she appreciates everyday and
admires it's beauty.
K Webster is the author of dozens romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she’s active on social media connecting with her readers.
Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen.
You can easily find K Webster on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads!
Website: www.authorkwebster.com
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bllgoP
EXCERPT:
“It really boils down to one thing,” Simone said. “Do you trust him?”
She made it sound so easy, but as I examined my feelings and tore apart his words, dissected his actions, I realized that I did. Mostly. There were plenty of things not to trust him about—anytime he came near me with his cock at the ready and a belt or whip in his fist, for instance—but on a fundamental level, I did trust him.
If I didn’t, why would I keep putting myself through this? Why keep bending and bending and bending?
“I do trust him,” I said, swiping my bangs to the side. “I love him. More than I could ever say. More than even makes sense.”
“Then I’d put the baby mama out of your head. He married you, and though I won’t begin to understand or approve of your…weird relationship, he has always come across as pretty fucking whipped.”
I almost spluttered my tea all over the table at her words. Gage, whipped? But the more I thought about it, the more it clicked, because when you got down to the nitty-gritty, we had each other wrapped. “I guess you’re right. I just wish I could get that woman out of my head. The way she touches him, and the way she glares at me…God, Simone, she makes me see red and green at the same time.”
“You need a fucking hobby.” Simone’s mouth twisted into a scowl, but her gaze softened as she said it to take out some of the sting.
“A hobby?” I asked, absently picking at my half-eaten quiche. Apparently, the subject of Katherine made me lose my appetite. Or maybe it was the smell of overcooked cheese. I pushed the plate away, scrunching my nose. “Why do you say that?”
Simone made a scoffing sound, and I glanced up to find her reclined in her seat, arms crossed. “To hear you talk, it sounds like your whole life revolves around Gage and what he may or may not be doing with Katherine.”
A hobby might not be a bad idea. Maybe I could start collecting trinkets, like dolphins or dragons.
Or elephants.
Definitely elephants. Lord knew I had plenty of those in my life. Gigantic ones that ate up too much space and sucked up all the air. One stood between Gage and me in the form of Katherine. But the biggest one sat smack in the middle of Simone and me.
This elephant’s name was Ian, and he’d grown too secure in his comfy spot since that damn note had magically appeared on my door. But it was easier, safer, to focus on my marriage and the interloper named Katherine. The subject of Ian was too dangerous. Too painful.
Simone must have agreed because she didn’t bring him up once.
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