Playing the Part by Lynn Rae #ReviewBlitz #Review #BEP #TBE

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Book Title: Playing the Part (Love Around the Corner, Book 3)
Author: Lynn Rae
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 23, 2015
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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Book Blurb

Independent Melanie Sheraton has to hustle for odd jobs in her small town to eke out a living. When the opportunity to act as a driver for some movie folks comes up, she jumps at the chance to earn an extra paycheck. What she didn’t bank on was one of her passengers invading her imagination, something she resists since no movie star would ever be interested in her.

At a crossroads in his professional life, action star Thomas ‘Wheeler’ Locke is in Ohio for a role he hopes will launch his career in a new, serious direction. Instead of concentrating on his acting, he finds himself growing more and more distracted by his feisty driver and her irascible ways.

Dancing around the attraction growing between them, both Mel and Thomas struggle to maintain their distance as the time for filming grows short. Will a reunion at the movie’s London premiere bring them together, or will their disparate lives keep them apart?

DawnMarie starsfour

I was given this book for my honest review

Masquerade the meaning is a disguise or false outward show or pretense. Looking at the word as it pertains to our everyday lives we can come to understand that with all that we come in contact with one way or another each day we all can put on an outward of show. The true face within us all is our trueness of self but, on the outside we are able to put on a mask and show the world what we want and keeping our trueness of selves at bay.

To the author: This book had a fascination about it that totally swept me away in some points in the book but others not so much. The realness between the characters brought out an awe that will make readers want to jump into the story. The love between these two characters was evident but the weariness between them brought out the best and the hidden emotions that each had was too much for me at times. The dragging out till the end was something just too much for me but will most likely be what your readers would love to read. Kudos to you

To the readers: Sit back for one heck of a journey

Happy Reading

excerpt

She sighed and grumbled and got out of the car. He followed her to the steps at the entrance, skirting a green metal sculpture by Robert Murray, and they made their way inside. The hush and calm of the museum atmosphere settled around him like a hug as he paid their admission and accepted a gallery guide from the attendant.

“You wanted to see the Bellows pieces,” Mel said as she unfolded the guide, obviously determined to continue navigating for him. “They’re upstairs in Gallery G.”

“That’s not all I want to see,” he warned her as she trudged up the broad steps, passing a large and aggressive Lichtenstein. “There’s a Winslow Homer here and a Chihuily.”

“It’s a really nice piece. If you’re interested, there’s lots of Chihuily at the Franklin Park Conservatory,” Mel added and then frowned at some fuzzy photographs at the top of the stairs.

“You like Chihuily?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised. It’s just not what I expected.”

“The unexpected is usually surprising.” Mel seemed irritated with him again. “I appreciate art.”

Now that was a pleasant personal detail. “What’s your favorite piece here?”

“It’s hard to say.” Now, she put on a vague air, her eyes unfocused as she stood in front of a soft-looking printed textile. She was probably thinking about Larry and maintaining professional distances again. Too late, he wanted to tell her.

“Tell me about one.”

Sighing as if she was in actual pain, Mel stared at him from under her eyelashes. “That’s really personal.”

“I don’t think Larry would consider discussing art preferences to be improper. Is Larry a passionate art collector? Does he develop instant likes and dislikes of people based on their favorite French Impressionists?”

Mel snorted. “I’m pretty confident Larry has no strong opinions about any sort of Impressionists. I have a feeling that the Pirelli Tire Calendar is as sophisticated as he gets.”

“Don’t knock it, those photographs are great.” The Herb Ritts one was brilliant, but Terry Richardson’s was awful, to be fair.

“They’re lovely. I was trying to imply it wasn’t the photography that he admired.” Mel considered him as she folded and unfolded the gallery guide. “You probably hung out with those models at some fabulous Italian villa, didn’t you?”

“I don’t make enough money for women like that to notice me. I’m sure they are nice women, but they are definitely in a different social stratum. Oil money and inherited titles.”

Crossing her arms, she gave him a balky stare as she tilted her head. Why showing him artwork she liked was too intimate, he wasn’t sure. He wanted to see something she appreciated and then entice her into talking about it with him. Every interchange with her made him more curious, and every little fact he gathered about Mel Sheraton resided in a deep part of his brain.

“You’re going to stand here until I show you, aren’t you?”

He nodded, trying not to let on he was enjoying himself. Thank God he was an actor. “Just walk over and stand next to it. You won’t actually have to tell me anything, just act adoring.”

“Adoring? I don’t think I’ve adored anything in my life.” Mel radiated skepticism as she raised her chin and watched him as if he was going to throw a spitball on board her bus.

“Try it. Live a little,” he coaxed her and hoped he didn’t show how much he enjoyed provoking her.

“I’m walking away now.” Shrugging her shoulders, Mel headed down the marble lined corridor, illumination from the skylights blazing in her twisted bronze hair. She was wearing a skirt today, and her calf muscles flexed very distractingly as she walked. As she made a left into a gallery, he lost sight of her for a moment, and then found her standing in front of a stark Edward Hopper. The barely dressed woman in the painting looked anxious as she sat on her plain bed and stared out the window. Clean lines, clear color, and a sense of tension; it was impressive.

“What’s she thinking about?” Thomas asked quietly, staring at the melancholy woman painted decades before.

“She’s thinking about all the work she has to do that day and hoping that she has the energy to manage it,” was Mel’s equally quiet reply. Thomas stopped studying the art and glanced over at the woman standing there next to him, hardly looking adoring but certainly weary.

“You’re probably right. Let’s keep looking around.” He didn’t want the painting’s sad mood to infect them. Mel glanced over at him.

“Do you want to see another one of my favorites, or am I too much of a downer?”

“I can handle one more. Then we need to see something with some life in it.”

She walked away again, not waiting to see if he followed. Sculptures on plinths watched them go by until she came to a halt in front of a dark canvas covered by vibrant splotches of colored fireworks shimmering down toward their reflections in the water. It was unusual and magical, and he sighed when he saw it.

“Now that’s lively.”

“That’s why I like it,” Mel said, tilting her head as she inspected it. “It makes me think of mysteries. Everything is obscured, uncertain. I think the artist wants us to wonder about how it might be good to go toward the bright light, but it also might be better to stay in the dark. Should we go into the unknown, or is it safer to be still, to avoid challenges and change?”

Thomas thought about that for a moment as he tracked orange and red and pale coral brushstrokes through the gloom. “I want to know what’s hidden. How about you?”

“Me too, even if it’s sometimes a disaster.” They shared a quiet moment of accord.

He hated to break the mood, but if he didn’t, he’d begin to wonder what she had hidden under her clothes, and that would be a disaster. “So you don’t see this and think ‘Oh, cool, fireworks!’?”

“No, I don’t. Should I?”

Thomas shook his head, very entertained by her. “Think what you want. That’s why it’s art and not a math test.”

Mel bobbled her head back and forth as she considered this. “Why are we here looking at art? I have to say if you’d asked me what I thought you’d do on a day off, this never would have crossed my mind.”

A personal question! He was making progress with the self-contained Mel Sheraton. “I minored in fine arts in college. My major was drama.”

She peered at him, and he was again shaken by the light in her serious grey eyes. What was going on in there? Why did she always appear as if there was an elaborate scene playing inside her head? “What did you do? Artwise?”

“Drawing, mostly.”

“Do you do it anymore?”

“When I can.”

Nodding with apparent satisfaction, she turned back to regard her rocket’s red glare painting.

“What did you think I did on my days off?”

“Work out. Go to trendy restaurants with beautiful and fascinating people. Evaluate what your stylist picked out for you to wear. Lie by a pool in the sun with a drink.” He laughed at the images; it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d had a few preconceived notions. She grinned and turned away from the painting and started to amble through the gallery, pausing in front of a few canvases but not stopping for long at anything in particular.

“The only one of those I do consistently is work out. But I have to for my job and my health, so it’s not really much fun. My trainer is mean to me.”

She turned her mouth down in pretended sympathy but didn’t pull it off. Mel wasn’t really an actress, which was incredibly comforting. He hadn’t realized how nice it was to be around a person with little pretense. Not especially relaxing, since she could suffer an outbreak of irritation at any moment, but still, it was genuine when she was upset. Or happy.

Meet the Author

Lynn Rae makes her home in land-locked central Ohio after time spent in the former Great Black Swamp, beside the Ohio River, and along the Miami and Erie Canal.  With professional experience in fields ranging from contract archaeology to librarianship along with making donuts and teaching museum studies, Lynn enjoys incorporating her quirky sense of humor and real-life adventures into her writing (except the naughty bits). She writes sci-fi, contemporary, and historical romances. You can find her posting frequently on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/lynnraewrites or at her webpage http://www.lynnraewrites.com/

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Reft by Libby Austin #BookBlitz #Excerpt #TBE @Author_Libby

Genres: Contemporary Romance, Rocker

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Book Title: Reft
Author:Libby Austin
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 27, 2015
Hosted by: InSlinger PR

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Book Blurb

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. ~

Newton’s Third Law of Motion

Brandon “Brand” Carmichael’s life was the stuff dreams were made of…too bad it was an illusion. As a guitarist for Inert Motion, Brand traveled the world, performing with his brothers in all but blood. He never stopped moving all the while his mind played in a never ending loop. Now outside influences have changed the band’s course, leaving Brand’s life void of the balance he craved. Once again, his dream had become a recurring nightmare. Brand coped the only way he knew how; retreat into solitude.

Magdalena “Layna” Delacroix had achieved the long sought goal of her Ph.D. in Psychology, but success came at a high cost: over one hundred thousand dollars in debt. After being presented with the opportunity to fulfill her desire to help someone in the aftermath of tragedy, along with earning enough money to clear her debt and start a psychology practice of her own, Layna had to balance the means against the outcome. Could she be the force to stop the downward spiral of someone who refused to seek help?

Neither Brand nor Layna expected the reaction they had to one another. It was the opposite of everything they sought.

Could Layna live a lie while pushing Brand to live in the truth?

Would Brand forgive her for committing one unforgivable sin?

Or was he branded by destiny to be…

Reft

excerpt

“Sometimes I get in the zone and everything else gets tuned out. I forget to eat and sleep, or even what day it is. Things just blur together when I’m focusing. It’s like my mind can only devote itself to the creative. And I had a disagreement with my brother, which didn’t help matters.”

“Oh, do y’all fight a lot?” she asked while continuing to chow down on her syrup with a side of waffles. “My siblings and I fought all the time growing up, but now that we’re older, we get along much better, as long as we don’t have to share a room or a bathroom.”

“Not so much anymore. We did when we were younger. Then we didn’t talk for a long time.” My truth-telling danced a fine line. One conversation with my mom about Barrett and me having contact and everything would come crashing down. I loved my parents, but I couldn’t let go of Barrett again, not even for them.

“What made you, or him, get back in touch after not talking for such a long time?”

“Umm, well, uhh, I guess somewhere around the time Bow and Danelle got married, the dynamic of the band started changing. There was just a lot going on; Joker and Ruff stopped trying to kill each other and started fuc—dating each other, and then Touch met Kaitlyn and all of their shit went down, and I realized that even though my band had been my surrogate family for years, I needed my real family, my blood and my best friend since the beginning. So I began trying to reach out to Barrett, and one day, he responded.

“It’s been nice catching up with him and talking about all the things I’ve done with the band and stuff. He kept track of it all. We talk pretty much every day now, except when he’s pissed at me.”

“Does he ever come to visit? Maybe I’ll get a chance to meet him while I’m here. If he’s half as pushy as you are, I might like him,” she claimed with a smile, but panic rose inside me. Not because she thought I was pushy or she might like him better—Barrett and I had never been the type to compete or fight over a girl—but she wanted to meet him. Total no-go situation.

“Yeah, he probably won’t make it anytime soon. He’s got other obligations right now. But, uhh, but I need you to promise me you won’t tell my parents or your mom about Barrett.” My hands clinched the hard bench seat and my legs bounced up and down nervously. I didn’t know why I couldn’t keep my mouth shut around her, or just stay the fuck away from her.

“Why’s that?” By now, she’d stopped eating and was focusing on me, studying me, looking at me as if she could see the thoughts ripping through my head like a natural disaster in the making.

“They don’t talk to each other. My parents have, uhh, they have a different view of Barrett. He doesn’t want contact with them, and it’s just easier for everyone if they don’t know he’s talking to me. I don’t want to hurt them.”

“Do you think you could help them heal their rift before it’s too late and it can’t be fixed?”

“It’s already too late. The only thing I can do is try to salvage what I have left and not cause any more damage or harm or pain to anyone else.” I stopped and thought for a moment before I said anything else. “I shouldn’t have even told you; something about you makes you easy to talk to. But I need you to promise me that you aren’t going to repeat the things we talk about or that you see to my mom, your mom, or anyone else for that matter. If you can’t do that, we can’t be friends, or even friendly neighbors.”

Layna looked me directly in the eye. I’d always heard a person’s soul and true intentions show through the eyes, telling you if their intentions were good or bad. The look in Layna’s eyes told me her intentions were good.

“Brand, I promise I won’t repeat the things you tell me or that I see to your parents or mine.”

I took her promise at face value. What I should have remembered was the saying about good intentions and the road to hell being paved with them. I knew all about good intentions, and I knew all about hell. I’d lived in my own personal tormented version of hell for over a decade.

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Meet the Author

One day some words came to mind, so I wrote them down. Soon the words became sentences, which formed paragraphs, which, in turn, formed chapters. Before long, those words had become a book.

When I’m not reading or writing, I’m a wife, mother, and business owner. I’ve lived on the Gulf, East, and West Coasts, but as a born and raised Southern girl, my favorite will always be the Gulf Coast. There’s just no place like home…

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Captive Films 2.3 by Jillian Dodd #ReleaseDayBlitz @JillianDodd #TBE #Teaser

Genres: Contemporary Romance

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Book Title: Captive Films Season 2 Volume 3
Author:Jillian Dodd
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 14, 2015
Hosted by: TRSOR Promotions

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Book Blurb

In reality TV form, this series follows the lives and loves of those who work at Captive Films.

Hot, successful, playboy Riley Johnson, whose business success far exceeds his success in love.
Movie star, Keatyn Douglas, whose epic love story has spawned a series of books and movies.
And Dawson Johnson, who joins Captive with a tragic past.
Expect lots of drama, sex, and tabloid-worthy events.

Fans of the USA TODAY bestselling series, The Keatyn Chronicles®, will love  reconnecting with their favorite characters as adults.

Each Captive Films season contains six episodes, two in each volume.
Think of it as a TV show you hold in your hands!

So tune in and enjoy this week’s drama.

Please note that as the characters have grown up, so have their stories. This contemporary romance is intended for readers 18+.

excerpt

I stand in front of her. “Take your clothes off.”

She looks surprised by this.

And normally, I’d want to undress her, but not now.

She needs this.

“Um,” she says, looking puzzled.

“I’m taking my clothes off,” I say as I strip them off and throw them into a chaise. “Get naked with me.”

Her eyes trail hungrily down my body. I love the desire I see in them, but that’s not what this is about.

If it were, I’d have her stripped and pinned under me in about two seconds flat.

I walk down the steps and into the pool, the water the perfect soothing temperature.

She takes her clothes off and joins me in the center.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” she says softly.

“I know you don’t, but sometimes you need it.” I give her a long, sweet kiss. Then I hold her shoulders, keeping her away from me. “You’re naked,” I state.

“Yeah, I am,” she flirts.

“That means right here, in this pool, it’s just us. Naked.”

“You’ve said the word naked like four times. I get it. We’re naked.”

“We are physically, but I want you naked emotionally.”

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 Meet the Author

Captive Films by Jillian Dodd

Jillian Dodd grew up on a farm in Nebraska, where she developed a love for Midwestern boys and Nebraska football. She has drank from a keg in a cornfield, attended the University of Nebraska, got to pass her candle, and did have a boy ask her to marry him in a bar. She met her own prince in college, and they have two amazing children, a Maltese named Sugar Bear, and two Labrador puppies named Camber Lacy and Cali Lucy. She is the author of the That Boy Trilogy and The Keatyn Chronicles Series.

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Unrequited by Jen Frederick #BlogTour #Review #TBE

Genres: Contemporary Romance

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Winter Donovan loves two things: her sister and her sister’s ex boyfriend. She’s spent her whole life doing the right thing except that one time, that night when Finn O’Malley looked hollowed out by his father’s death. Then she did something very wrong that felt terribly right.

Finn can’t stop thinking about Winter and the night and he’ll do anything to make her a permanent part of his life, even if it means separating Winter from the only family she has.

Their love was supposed to be unrequited but one grief stricken guy and one girl with too big of a heart results in disastrous consequences.

Loredana 4.5

This book hooked me from page one.  To start off, what an interesting title for a book.  At first blush, it appears to be a truly straightforward indication of how the book will proceed.  Winter Donovan has always had an unrequited crush on her sister’s boyfriend.  However, by the end of the book, I started to wonder if she has an unrequited love with herself.  Nice dichotomy there.  Winter was adopted as a baby by a family who truly loved her.  However, there are lingering abandonment issues deep down.  Jen Frederick subtly explores these themes of self-worth and belonging as things begin to sizzle between Winter and Finn.  Add in a sister/ex-girlfirend with a raging addiction problem who is all too happy to lay all of her problems on her younger sister and you’ve got a recipe for disaster (whew…what a load!).

There are several references to the movie Joy Luck Club and what it means to be a First Wife.  Just like Finn did, I would recommend watching that movie, if you have not already done so.  It sure helps explain quite a bit about Winter and how she thinks.  I think the true battle with Winter is not if she should be with Finn or how she can help her sister, but can she truly see that she is worthy enough to love herself.  Her level of sacrifice (even running away from a love she wants) all stems back to this.

Finn O’Malley has found himself in between the proverbial rock and hard place in several ways.  Attracted to his ex-girlfriend’s sister, but hesitant to let anyone too close.  Dealing with the death of his father whom he idolized, but hated his philandering ways.  Fulfilling his father’s dream, but loathing the work. Regardless of these burdens he carries, the beauty of Finn (buried underneath a few bottles of alcohol and a heap of fast women) still shines through.  His devotion to finally following his heart and winning Winter is the same force that guides him out of the other difficult situations in his life.  How can you not love him?!

Frederick’s writing is blunt at times in how she showcases the rippling effects of addiction.  She infuses some levity and heat to counteract the seriousness of the situation with Winter’s sister, as well.  Like her other novels, Frederick takes on serious subjects to thicken the plot and keep you wrapped up in the characters.  This is the fifth novel in the Woodlands series – check them out to meet the other characters who make an appearance in this novel.

4.5 stars and recommendation!   A great read that shouldn’t be missed!

excerpt

CHAPTER TWO

WINTER

He didn’t give me much time. Inside the trailer, I got a glimpse of a desk piled high with papers, empty bottles of beer and pop, and a backpack with clothes spilling out of it before Finn began tearing at my clothes. He had my top off and was peeling my jeans and underwear off my legs before I took two breaths.

The motion put his face level with my crotch. “Well, fuck me. What have we got here? Bare, are you?” He stated the obvious. He ran his hand ran over the smooth skin, and I stifled a moan.

“I don’t like pubic hair.”

“No shit.” He stroked his hand between my legs. “You are no end of surprises. Are you more sensitive?”

“Yes, I think so.”

He dropped his hand between his legs.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m squeezing my balls so I don’t come in my pants.” He huffed a few times and then slid a hand up the back of my legs, stopping just below my butt. “Open up. I want to know how you taste.”

I was glad he was holding me because the minute his tongue touched my clit, my knees buckled. His hands lifted me, and my butt met the cold steel top of his desk. I felt, rather than heard, his low chuckle. “You taste fucking delicious.”

He spun around and found his chair. Then he settled between my legs and dived in.

If I’d thought he was a good kisser, it was only because I hadn’t had him do anything else to me.

He worked his tongue against my clit and pussy like he was discovering the secrets of the world with each pass of his tongue along my flesh. Each touch was strong yet tender.

“Oh, Finn.” I clutched at his hair, grabbing fists of it in each hand. The feelings he was generating were so intense, I didn’t know if I should push him away or pull him closer.

He pushed my thighs apart, wider than I realized they could go, exposing every inch of me to him. I didn’t feel embarrassed, not with the happy noises he was making, not with the avid way he ate at me.

I was out of my mind with pleasure. When his fingers joined the party, there was no way I could stop the orgasm. Why would I want to?

He rose, and bereft of his intimate touch, I felt awkward.  He was still completely clothed, and I was buck ass naked on his desk. “We’re wrecking your desk. And I feel weird. You have too many clothes on.”

“Best use of this desk ever,” he said. “Besides, you aren’t going to be the only one naked.” He tore at his jeans, and I tried to lean over to help. He brushed my hands away.

“Don’t touch me. I’m this close to losing it, and I want my first time to be inside you.” He cupped my face and kissed me.

He kept undressing. He toed off his boots. His jeans fell to the floor, and he kicked them aside. His socks followed and then his T-shirt in the one-arm-behind-the-back, over-the-head move that guys master when they are three.

He stood in front of me, hard muscle covered in pale skin. His large, thick-veined cock bobbed between us, and for a second I paused to wonder if he was going to fit inside me without an aid—like a bottle of lube.

He fished a couple of condoms from inside his jeans pocket and laid them on the desk. I shut out what that meant—how he’d had them ready and more than one. It was only for one night. That was all I wanted too.

So I watched as he rolled the nearly clear material over his heavy, erect shaft. The sight of him handling his member had me squirming on the desk. He reached his free hand between my legs, testing my readiness, and then held me open for him.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

I bit my lip as the broad head opened me. Dots of sweat appeared on his forehead, as if the effort he exerted to keep from hammering inside was harder than building a house.

My head fell back as he eased out. His mouth found a sensitive place on my neck and then another on my shoulder right above the crease of my arm. He tucked his hands under my butt and drew me closer as my body opened and welcomed his.

He was large, much larger than I’d ever had, and I felt stretched to the hilt.

“You’re so goddamned tight,” he hissed through clenched teeth. He pushed forward relentlessly until he was sheathed inside my body from tip to base. “Stay still,” he ordered when I began to thrust forward gently.

The scratch of his hair against my bare skin was just one more sensation, and I was finding it hard to remain passive.

His labored breath in my ear was as much of a turn on as his hands roving over every square inch of my body. He was into me as much as I was into him. We were getting lost in each other.

Then he began to move, and the drag of his shaft along my tender tissues made the world tilt on its axis. I’d never be the same again.

He worked me longer than I’d expected. His eyes were closed, and his lower lip between his teeth as if he were concentrating on something very important.

In long, almost leisurely strokes, he pulled out to the tip and then thrust back in. Over and over until my entire focus shrank to the feel of his body moving between my legs. I grappled for leverage. His shoulders were slick with sweat. His biceps were too big for me to curl my hands around.

“More,” I gasped and dug my heels into the small of his back.

His eyes flicked open, just bare slits that in another context could have been menacing, but here were hot brands of need.

He savored me in a way I didn’t know was possible, so I let go. I lay back on the desk and placed my palms flat against the trailer wall, pushing forward to meet every slow thrust. I let him take me in a sweet seduction that turned me inside out, and when I came, I felt it in every nerve, fingertip, and toe.

When I convulsed around him, he let himself go.

“Hold on,” he said. And before I could respond, he planted one hand by my head and the other on my hip. He drove into my body with a force that had the heavy desk rattling against the floor.

I held on as he hammered into me. He shifted once, and then twice, and then his pelvic bone hit my clit just right, and I couldn’t keep my screams inside my body.

He half-laughed, half-groaned and went rigid in my arms, his hips pumping and thrusting until he’d released everything he had.

I held him as the aftermath of his orgasm shuddered down his spine and wondered if I could ever forget this night.

He’d marked me as permanently as any tattoo.

###

He hadn’t been bragging. He had plenty of stamina. After taking me on the desk, he stripped off the condom and grabbed a water bottle I had assumed was empty. He doused his dick and then placed a couple of handfuls of cool water between my legs. We found ourselves on the couch—him on his back with my knees around his head while I took him in my mouth. He was much better at multitasking than me.

Because he’d already come, he lasted longer too. I felt I was orgasming every five minutes while I sat on his face. While I rode cowgirl, which really worked me over. While he bent me over the back of the sofa, one hand on my neck and the other clamped around my hip, pulling me back to him every stroke.

He didn’t come again until we were in the tiny shower in the back of the trailer. There wasn’t room for one person, let alone two, and water was everywhere, but Finn said to ignore it. He was. He was too busy driving his cock inside me.

I tried to memorize it all because this was my only time with him. We dozed on the couch for a little while, and when I woke, little fingerlings of dawn were creeping into the trailer through the slatted blinds.

I took him into my mouth, slowly savoring the musk of his body, inhaling the warm sleep scent of him.

He grew hard and too long for me to take in entirely, so I added my hands, cupping the base and working him at the top until he was pulling my hair away.

“Gonna come,” he said in a gravelly, barely awake voice.

I pushed forward until he hit the back of my throat, and I didn’t stop until he was coming in long, lovely spurts into my mouth.

“I’ll return the favor when my brain falls down from the sky,” he muttered sleepily. I smiled sadly and waited until he fell asleep.

Then I gathered up my clothes and left.

It was a twenty-minute walk back to the café and then a fifteen-minute drive home, but it felt like the longest journey of my life.

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Meet the Author

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Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog.  She’s been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at jensfrederick@gmail.com.

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Additional Books by the author

THE WOODLANDS

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