We all have one.
That magic number that will get us to agree to do anything, be anything.
Don’t sit on your gold-plated high horse and say you don’t because you do. Everyone does. Each of us has something we covet enough that we’d sell ourselves to have it.
What’s my tipping point, you ask? Apparently a cool quarter mil will do the trick.
What does one do for 250 large, you wonder? Anything the infamous, gorgeous playboy of Seattle wants. For the next four months I’ll be Shaw Mercer’s arm candy, his beck and call girl, his faux girlfriend. I’ll be his to command, mold, push and pull in any direction he sees fit.
I’ll fight falling into bed with him. I’ll fight falling in love with him even harder. I’ll fail at both. And when my past and present collide in the most unexpected of ways, I’ll learn that while one man’s love for me has never died, the only man’s love I really want will never be mine.
*If dirty-talking, dominant alphas are not your thing, move along. Mature, 18+ only. Book 1 in a 2-part duet.
Here’s an excerpt:
“You are so goddamn beautiful.” Low, needy words feather over my face, causing my willpower to backslide, like I’m caught in the middle of a blinding avalanche. “When was the last time you were good and kissed? Painstakingly, completely branded by a man so thoroughly you could still feel the press of his lips and the coiling of his tongue with yours when you went to bed that night?”
“Stop.” My demand is a lie on a puff of air.
“There are so many sinful things running through my head right now. So fucking many. But right now, I’m going to settle for giving you a kiss you’ll feel right between those clenched thighs of yours.”
I try to shake my head, but it’s firmly planted between two strong hands. His deep pools simmer with delight as he lowers his face to less than an inch from mine.
“This is part of the dance, Goldilocks.”
“Stop calling me that.” My reprimand comes out breathy instead of irate as I’d wanted.
“Every couple has pet names for each other. We’re a couple now.”
“On paper only.”
Hot breaths wash over the column of my neck when his mouth travels to my ear. “It’s more than just paper, sweetheart. My hands will be on you. Touching you, stroking you, holding you. My lips will graze your ear, your neck, your shoulder, your mouth. Especially your mouth. You need to get used to it, because I’ll be doing it. A. Lot.”
When the softness of his mouth presses to that sensitive indent beneath my ear, I moan, “Shaw.”
“Fuck, I love the breathless way you say my name.”
“We—God, we can’t do this.” But my eyes betray me. They’re already closed in sweet anticipation as he continues to lightly nibble. Whiskers scratch. Chills erupt. Desire is a kaleidoscope spinning inside me.
“This is exactly what we need to do. We can’t have our first kiss in public. It needs to be well practiced before then, kind of like the catalogue of character traits you recited flawlessly earlier.”
Before I can call him an ass or voice another protest, he angles my head and melts me with a raspy, “I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll taste.”
Then his mouth is on me, driving all objections away.
His lips are soft and warm but also brim with enough power to let me know he’s in charge every second he touches me. It’s heady. I like it too much.
Shaw’s presence is commanding, absolute. A force to be reckoned with. So, I expect him to claim, own, invade. But he doesn’t. He takes his time, imprinting me instead. Slowly branding me as promised, drawing my top lip in between his before doing the same to the bottom.
He repeats the painstakingly slow process over and over, sucking and nipping, applying just the right amount of pressure. It’s drugging, sweet, and oh so freaking good. I can’t remember ever being kissed like this. By the time I feel the first touch of his tongue on me, demanding entry, I want it so damn bad my lips part automatically, welcoming him inside.
His strokes are light at first, like he’s learning me, treasuring me. But they quickly turn deep, urgent. Demanding. I gasp when he bites my lip hard enough to sting before he returns to gorge on me. Groaning, he shifts his weight, pressing his stiff shaft farther into my belly. I throb everywhere.
About K.L. Kreig
I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes Game of Thrones and am obsessed with Modern Family and The Goldbergs. I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicous cycle. I love carbs, but there’s love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. Mostly hate. I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love any cocktail). I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out, I’m a raving bitch. My iPad and me: BFFs. I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. I love alternative music and in my next life I want to be a bad-ass female rocker. I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing).