Title: Wicked Wicked Ways
Author: Fawn Lowery
Publisher: Extasy Books
ISBN: 978-1-44387-123-0
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Flame Rating: 4 Flames
Cover Artist: Martine Jardin
Pages: 350
Price: $6.99
London 1980
Loretta Hampton glanced at the gold Cartier watch on her left wrist, then threaded her fingers through her hair. She hated waiting on anyone—especially a man.
She arrived in London four hours earlier to meet with Steven Weatherford, the owner of Weatherford China, to discuss his business supplying china to her New York restaurant, but his secretary informed her that Mr. Weatherford was unable to meet with her. She questioned the explanation, but got no satisfactory answer.
Disappointed and slightly pissed that she had come so far only to be dismissed like a schoolgirl, she checked in at the Regency Hotel and took a long hot bath in an attempt to soothe her psyche. Once her irritation at Steven Weatherford had waned sufficiently, she called his office to reschedule their meeting. Much to her relief, his secretary offered an apology from Mr. Weatherford and assurance that he would be at her hotel that evening by eight o'clock to take her to dinner and discuss their pending business deal.
She let out a disgusted sigh and levered her slim body from the sofa. Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked to the glass doors of the hotel suite. Her reflection stared back at her. Tall, well proportioned with large breasts and rounded hips, and those haunting blue eyes. She shifted her gaze. Every fiber in her body rejected the thought of waiting for Steven Weatherford to arrive, of pandering to him as if he hadn't stood her up, of being the understanding businesswoman he thought he was meeting. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Life's a bitch."
At twenty-six, she felt as though she had spent her entire life waiting on someone, or something. When she was three she waited outside her mother's hospital room to hear news of her condition. Was she going to pull through? Or had she died already? Wasn't her father ever going to come to her and ease her troubled mind? In the end, the whole act of waiting drove her to tears. The news must be bad, she thought in her young, childish mind. Her mother must have died trying to give birth. But why wasn't she being told? Didn't she matter?
She tried to dispel the thoughts that continued to trouble her mind. Her mother died on that summer afternoon. But it hadn't been her father that made the announcement to her or held her while she cried, but rather, a close family friend, a working partner of her father's. Even then, or especially then, she felt she hadn't mattered to her father. And their relationship had continued to disintegrate all the years since.
She heaved a big sigh and tried to look beyond the thick glass expanse, tried to see London lying outside the hotel suite and the suspended metal rails of the balcony, but found it impossible to clear her mind. At times she thought she had managed to accept the relationship she had with her father. She told herself there were probably other daughters who suffered the neglect and abandonment she felt merely because she had been born female instead of male. As she grew up, she tried to please him, on those rare occasions when she actually managed to garner his attention. He was rarely around, and when he did fly back to the ranch in Texas, he was intent on business. He was either talking oil business with associates, or meeting with an executive concerning another one of his business ventures.
She grew up lonely, reared by nannies and housekeepers, until at age fourteen when she made the decision to emulate her father. Perhaps that would please him. God knew she had tried everything else. So she made it a point to trail him whenever he was in the house, to put aside any female desire of her own, friends, school, anything that remotely resembled her girlish side and concentrate totally and unabashedly on becoming the prodigal son her father had dreamed of.
Surprisingly, for she had least expected the turn of events, her father seemed to pay more attention to her, so quickly in fact that she thought she had found the key to changing their relationship. She was allowed to tag along when he met with his partners in the oil business, to sit in on company board meetings. She felt happy for the first time in her young life. Then came the time when her father handed her off to one of his cronies in order to clench a deal. And Loretta learned her true value to her father.
She glanced at her watch. It was eight o'clock. She gritted her teeth. It appeared as though Steven Weatherford wasn't keeping his appointment again. She tried to stifle her anger. Should she give him the benefit of a doubt? Or should she waste more of her evening waiting for him? He had been in business for nearly fifteen years—he was a professional—for God's sake. Didn't he know the Hampton name? Wasn't he aware of the opportunity she was offering him?
She had even given thought to opening other restaurants in Texas, perhaps within the four hotels she owned, and having Weatherford supply the china for them, too. Last year she purchased her first hotel in New York, adding to the Hampton Hotel chain and then decided to open a restaurant in it as well.
"Fuck Steven Weatherford!" she spat, her patience with the man totally gone she crossed the elegant room and picked up her clutch purse from the coffee table. The midnight black Dior suit of imported silk she wore rustled softly about her every curve as she hurried to exit the suite. She crossed the foyer to the elevator and jabbed a red lacquered nail at the button, then tapped her foot in agitation while she waited for the conveyance to arrive.
She needed a stiff drink—one that would take her mind off the insane idea of thinking she needed expensive English china for her hotel restaurants. She gave a short laugh and shook her head.
"I've had worse ideas." Though none come to mind right now. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside the empty box. The sudden thought that her beloved father would have a fucking fit when she returned to New York without ever having spoken to Steven Weatherford, flashed in her mind. She rolled her eyes and tried to push the annoying thought away.
The elevator doors abruptly opened and she stepped into the wide foyer leading to the front entrance of the hotel and the adjacent restaurant and lounge area.
How many drinks will it take to eliminate all thoughts of business from my mind? She grimaced and turned her steps toward the bar. The hotel lounge was dimly lit with a curving black lacquered bar running along one side and a small stage situated at its far end. A broad-shouldered man in a black tuxedo played a grand piano at the rear of the room and a single couple occupied one tiny table across from the stage. Loretta chose an open-backed leather stool at the bar about midway along its length. Her stomach was empty, but she was too mad to eat. She needed alcohol and lots of it. She inched onto the stool and signaled the bald, squat man behind the expanse. "Whiskey. Neat," she requested, taking a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
She gulped down her third whiskey before abating her anger at being stood up by china manufacturer, Steven Weatherford. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall man take a seat at the end of the bar. She glanced away when he turned his eyes on her. She could feel his gaze as he surveyed her body from the top of her head to the stiletto heels of her strap sandals. His inspection brought a condescending smile to her lips. Did he really think she wasn't aware of his presence? Suddenly the bartender set a drink in front of her. "I didn't order that," she informed him, raising her gaze to capture his aging face.
"It's from the gentleman at the end of the bar," he said.
"Can't a guy buy a lady a drink?"
Loretta turned slowly in the man's direction. He sat three stools away, smoking a cigarette, and looking handsome as hell in an Armani suit of deep blue and a white silk shirt open at the neck. He appeared tall even as he sat on the stool. He had thick shoulder-length blond hair, and inquiring blue eyes. Perhaps her hasty perusal of him hadn't been justified. She glanced at his hands—there was no sign of a wedding ring on his left hand.
I won't fuck another woman's man. She smiled at him and reached for the martini. "Sure," she said in a low tone. "You can buy me a drink." But, honey, I'm probably the farthest thing from a lady you'll ever meet. "Thanks," she said aloud.
He picked up his brandy and moved to the stool directly to her left, smiling a wide white-toothed grin as he held her blue eyes in a locked gaze. "Don't even tell me some bastard stood you up," he said, settling onto the stool.
He smelled faintly of Chanel, a fact that registered in her brain with alarming speed as she tried to prevent herself from being lost in his blue eyes. She smiled at him, slowly, demurely, her toes curling strangely in her strap Charles Jourdan sandals. He was incredibly handsome.
"Okay. I won't tell you then," she replied, her voice low and husky. She hated to admit that the whiskey she had downed in her fit of anger at Steven Weatherford had gone quickly to her head. But it had relaxed her, too. She mentally noted that her attraction to the handsome stranger probably wouldn't involve making any deals for money. She never negotiated when she was drunk. Sex is a different thing altogether…
He offered her a cigarette and she slowly slipped one filter-tipped stick from the gold foil pack. Raising it to her lips, she watched his eyes watch her mouth as she took hold of the filter. There was something incredibly erotic about him—she sensed it in every bone in her body. She pulled in a quick breath as her eyes strayed to his belt, then lowered to his crotch. There was a nice bulge between his legs.
"Are you a guest at the hotel?" he asked, raising the flame of the lighter to touch the tip of her cigarette.
He seemed to be devouring her face in the yellow glow of the tiny flame and she felt suddenly mesmerized in his presence, a feeling she could only relate to orgasm of the strongest kind. One of those where you wait and wait and finally, when you're bathed in sweat and hanging on by your toenails, it arrives—startling and magnificent—to rock you all the way to heaven and back. The sensation set her mind to thinking. She hadn't been with a man for almost a month. She was horny. She needed fucked—for long hours.
Her gaze traveled over his face, slowly, taking into account the curve of his cheek, the straightness of his nose and the way his top lip arched slightly to one side when he smiled. He had no British accent. An American in London like myself? He was incredibly suntanned. He was gorgeous. And he was probably a dream in bed.
But he had all the earmarks of a playboy. Good looks, enticing smile, expensive clothing, and that hint of Chanel fragrance she first noticed when he moved to the stool beside her. Had he just left the bed of another woman? But then, what did it matter? She had needs, needs that he could, no doubt, sate.
She stifled the lusty shiver threatening her spine. She could only imagine the feel of his muscular body beneath that Armani suit—the taut muscles, the smooth skin. It's just sex. She reminded herself. After all, what else was there? Money. Yes. Money and sex. It was a cruel world. It was a world of twin pleasures. Her brows puckered in annoyance of her own thoughts. Why was she debating the issue? The outcome was always the same. Take the sex—and enjoy it. And then get up off your backside and make some more money. "I might be," she replied, dragging her thoughts back to the present and his question.
He chuckled low in his throat. "Then, shall I invite you to my room, or do you want to invite me to your room?"
"You don't beat around the bush, do you?"
He leaned closer to her, halting when his lips brushed her left earlobe. "I think we both want the same thing. I'd like to fuck you in every conceivable position known to man."
She released a long breath and turned her head slowly toward his face. A slight smile pulled at her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her belly curled in a delicious wave of excitement.
His hand brushed her bare arm, slid softly along her wrist and inched across her left thigh.
She slid from the stool. His arm wrapped around her waist, his hand inched upward to press just beneath her right breast. She leaned her body into his as they left the lounge and headed to the elevator. Intense heat had begun to build inside her. The intimacy of the stranger filled her mind, arousing her to the point that her nipples were beginning to peak.
He pulled her into his arms once the elevator doors slid closed. His hands spanned her back, flattening her breasts against his muscular chest. One hand slid to her buttocks and pressed her belly against his rapidly hardening erection.
Loretta tipped her head as his mouth descended to skim across her lips. A smile toyed at the corner of her mouth. She was intrigued by his quick show of lust.
He took the key from her hand when they arrived at her suite. A quick turn in the lock and he was pushing her through the door. Once more she was back in his arms, her body pressed seductively against his. Her soft curves filled the niches and voids created by his lean hips and muscular chest. His arms held her tightly as he took her mouth in a bout of heated kisses.
She felt breathless. His mouth melded so passionately against hers that it was as though he could read her mind. She had needed kissed—deeply and passionately—and he seemed to understand her needs. She sighed and tried to separate her body from his. She wanted him in bed—wanted to feel his body unencumbered with clothing—naked and hot, pressing into hers.
She led the way, pulling one pave' diamond earring from her left earlobe as she crossed the living room of the suite. His hands were on her back, traveling around her waist, mingling with her own fingers at her ear lobe as she removed the final earring. She turned, smiling at him as he began opening the black pearl closures of her blouse. He eased the silk garment off one shoulder, then dipped his head and kissed her bare skin.
He didn't seem to be in any hurry—once they were inside her suite. She let out a relieved sigh and brought her hands up to the front of his shirt. With deft fingers, she began releasing the buttons, baring his chest. Her fingers slid between the fabric and his skin, felt the warmth and firmness against her palm. She shivered at the intimacy. His hands worked at her back, releasing the clasp of her lace bra. He slid the filmy garment off her arms and dropped it at their feet. She resumed her unbuttoning of his shirt, pulling the tails from the confines of his waistband. His scent engulfed her senses, fueled her desire to have him completely naked.
He pulled her against his chest, lowered his head to take her lips in a kiss that weakened her knees. His lips fit so perfectly with hers—could she have stumbled upon someone she could fall in love with?
Her eyes flickered open with the thought. He's a one-night stand. You'll never see him again once the sex is over. A shard akin to remorse filtered through her insides, but just as quickly as the feeling came over her, she pushed it aside. She had far too much experience with one-night stands to ever believe that she could meet someone she could fall head over heels in love with in a hotel bar.
His hands slid the length of her body, ridding her of the silk slacks of her outfit. He groaned and pulled in a quick breath as he tipped her into his arms. He held her against his chest and strode across the room to the king size bed.
She was keenly aware of the gentleness he exhibited as he lowered her to the mattress. He set one knee on the edge and peered down at her as though memorizing how she looked naked and splayed before him. Then he joined her on the bed, his body covering hers as though he intended to possess her always.
Loretta raised her arms and wrapped them around his broad shoulders as he settled his chest against her breasts and his ropy abdomen onto her belly. His prick was hard and long. He positioned it at her crotch, but he didn't enter her cavity.
The moonlight from the balcony doors streamed inside the room, illuminating the posh interior in a faint yellow hue, making their union appear more fantasy than reality. He loomed shadowy above her body, his face hovering above hers as he gazed down at her.
She stroked his back and slid her hands along his trim sides. He was very muscular and firm. Touching him sent her senses reeling. Her crotch was moist with want.
He caressed her skin, skimming his mouth along her arched throat, across one breast to suck a taut nipple between his lips. He toyed with the nub with his tongue, lathing, suckling, nipping with his teeth. Releasing her nipple, he ran the tip of his tongue across the swell of her breast, wet the crease beneath the globe and traveled lower on her body to dip his tongue into her navel.
Loretta shivered and moaned as he sought to taste every inch of her body. She spread her legs as he worked lower, wetting her flesh and moaning his delight. When he levered himself up on his knees and positioned his body between her legs, she thought she would surely go crazy. She reached for his head, splaying her fingers in his thick hair as he dipped his tongue into her bushy pussy. "Oh God!"
He groaned in reply.
The feel of his mouth on her sensitive flesh sent her senses reeling out of control. She arched her throat and closed her eyes, savoring the heat of his tongue and the expertise of his tending.
She thought she would lose her mind before he finally crawled up her body and entered her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to his back with both hands, digging her nails into his skin when she suddenly experienced an unexpected orgasm. She savored the tingling sensations as they ripped through her insides. Her body writhed beneath his as his rapid thrusting quickly brought another climax to the fore.
She was drenched in sweat, panting through her mouth, hanging on to his back with both hands as he drove into her body with powerful ramming thrusts. He filled her cavity, slid in and out in rhythmic lunges that quickly brought her to orgasm again and again.
He climaxed, then collapsed on top of her. He panted into her ear, then nipped at her cheek with his lips until he worked his way around to her mouth. His tongue thrust between her lips, tangling seductively with her tongue.
She fought to control her breathing. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her crotch snugly holding his prick. Contentment coursed through her as she tightened her arms around his shoulders. She had never felt so satisfied from a sexual encounter.
Surely I'll wake up and find I've been dreaming.
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Author: Fawn Lowery
Publisher: Extasy Books
ISBN: 978-1-44387-123-0
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Flame Rating: 4 Flames
Cover Artist: Martine Jardin
Pages: 350
Price: $6.99
London 1980
Loretta Hampton glanced at the gold Cartier watch on her left wrist, then threaded her fingers through her hair. She hated waiting on anyone—especially a man.
She arrived in London four hours earlier to meet with Steven Weatherford, the owner of Weatherford China, to discuss his business supplying china to her New York restaurant, but his secretary informed her that Mr. Weatherford was unable to meet with her. She questioned the explanation, but got no satisfactory answer.
Disappointed and slightly pissed that she had come so far only to be dismissed like a schoolgirl, she checked in at the Regency Hotel and took a long hot bath in an attempt to soothe her psyche. Once her irritation at Steven Weatherford had waned sufficiently, she called his office to reschedule their meeting. Much to her relief, his secretary offered an apology from Mr. Weatherford and assurance that he would be at her hotel that evening by eight o'clock to take her to dinner and discuss their pending business deal.
She let out a disgusted sigh and levered her slim body from the sofa. Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked to the glass doors of the hotel suite. Her reflection stared back at her. Tall, well proportioned with large breasts and rounded hips, and those haunting blue eyes. She shifted her gaze. Every fiber in her body rejected the thought of waiting for Steven Weatherford to arrive, of pandering to him as if he hadn't stood her up, of being the understanding businesswoman he thought he was meeting. She smiled slightly and shook her head. "Life's a bitch."
At twenty-six, she felt as though she had spent her entire life waiting on someone, or something. When she was three she waited outside her mother's hospital room to hear news of her condition. Was she going to pull through? Or had she died already? Wasn't her father ever going to come to her and ease her troubled mind? In the end, the whole act of waiting drove her to tears. The news must be bad, she thought in her young, childish mind. Her mother must have died trying to give birth. But why wasn't she being told? Didn't she matter?
She tried to dispel the thoughts that continued to trouble her mind. Her mother died on that summer afternoon. But it hadn't been her father that made the announcement to her or held her while she cried, but rather, a close family friend, a working partner of her father's. Even then, or especially then, she felt she hadn't mattered to her father. And their relationship had continued to disintegrate all the years since.
She heaved a big sigh and tried to look beyond the thick glass expanse, tried to see London lying outside the hotel suite and the suspended metal rails of the balcony, but found it impossible to clear her mind. At times she thought she had managed to accept the relationship she had with her father. She told herself there were probably other daughters who suffered the neglect and abandonment she felt merely because she had been born female instead of male. As she grew up, she tried to please him, on those rare occasions when she actually managed to garner his attention. He was rarely around, and when he did fly back to the ranch in Texas, he was intent on business. He was either talking oil business with associates, or meeting with an executive concerning another one of his business ventures.
She grew up lonely, reared by nannies and housekeepers, until at age fourteen when she made the decision to emulate her father. Perhaps that would please him. God knew she had tried everything else. So she made it a point to trail him whenever he was in the house, to put aside any female desire of her own, friends, school, anything that remotely resembled her girlish side and concentrate totally and unabashedly on becoming the prodigal son her father had dreamed of.
Surprisingly, for she had least expected the turn of events, her father seemed to pay more attention to her, so quickly in fact that she thought she had found the key to changing their relationship. She was allowed to tag along when he met with his partners in the oil business, to sit in on company board meetings. She felt happy for the first time in her young life. Then came the time when her father handed her off to one of his cronies in order to clench a deal. And Loretta learned her true value to her father.
She glanced at her watch. It was eight o'clock. She gritted her teeth. It appeared as though Steven Weatherford wasn't keeping his appointment again. She tried to stifle her anger. Should she give him the benefit of a doubt? Or should she waste more of her evening waiting for him? He had been in business for nearly fifteen years—he was a professional—for God's sake. Didn't he know the Hampton name? Wasn't he aware of the opportunity she was offering him?
She had even given thought to opening other restaurants in Texas, perhaps within the four hotels she owned, and having Weatherford supply the china for them, too. Last year she purchased her first hotel in New York, adding to the Hampton Hotel chain and then decided to open a restaurant in it as well.
"Fuck Steven Weatherford!" she spat, her patience with the man totally gone she crossed the elegant room and picked up her clutch purse from the coffee table. The midnight black Dior suit of imported silk she wore rustled softly about her every curve as she hurried to exit the suite. She crossed the foyer to the elevator and jabbed a red lacquered nail at the button, then tapped her foot in agitation while she waited for the conveyance to arrive.
She needed a stiff drink—one that would take her mind off the insane idea of thinking she needed expensive English china for her hotel restaurants. She gave a short laugh and shook her head.
"I've had worse ideas." Though none come to mind right now. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped inside the empty box. The sudden thought that her beloved father would have a fucking fit when she returned to New York without ever having spoken to Steven Weatherford, flashed in her mind. She rolled her eyes and tried to push the annoying thought away.
The elevator doors abruptly opened and she stepped into the wide foyer leading to the front entrance of the hotel and the adjacent restaurant and lounge area.
How many drinks will it take to eliminate all thoughts of business from my mind? She grimaced and turned her steps toward the bar. The hotel lounge was dimly lit with a curving black lacquered bar running along one side and a small stage situated at its far end. A broad-shouldered man in a black tuxedo played a grand piano at the rear of the room and a single couple occupied one tiny table across from the stage. Loretta chose an open-backed leather stool at the bar about midway along its length. Her stomach was empty, but she was too mad to eat. She needed alcohol and lots of it. She inched onto the stool and signaled the bald, squat man behind the expanse. "Whiskey. Neat," she requested, taking a pack of cigarettes from her bag.
She gulped down her third whiskey before abating her anger at being stood up by china manufacturer, Steven Weatherford. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall man take a seat at the end of the bar. She glanced away when he turned his eyes on her. She could feel his gaze as he surveyed her body from the top of her head to the stiletto heels of her strap sandals. His inspection brought a condescending smile to her lips. Did he really think she wasn't aware of his presence? Suddenly the bartender set a drink in front of her. "I didn't order that," she informed him, raising her gaze to capture his aging face.
"It's from the gentleman at the end of the bar," he said.
"Can't a guy buy a lady a drink?"
Loretta turned slowly in the man's direction. He sat three stools away, smoking a cigarette, and looking handsome as hell in an Armani suit of deep blue and a white silk shirt open at the neck. He appeared tall even as he sat on the stool. He had thick shoulder-length blond hair, and inquiring blue eyes. Perhaps her hasty perusal of him hadn't been justified. She glanced at his hands—there was no sign of a wedding ring on his left hand.
I won't fuck another woman's man. She smiled at him and reached for the martini. "Sure," she said in a low tone. "You can buy me a drink." But, honey, I'm probably the farthest thing from a lady you'll ever meet. "Thanks," she said aloud.
He picked up his brandy and moved to the stool directly to her left, smiling a wide white-toothed grin as he held her blue eyes in a locked gaze. "Don't even tell me some bastard stood you up," he said, settling onto the stool.
He smelled faintly of Chanel, a fact that registered in her brain with alarming speed as she tried to prevent herself from being lost in his blue eyes. She smiled at him, slowly, demurely, her toes curling strangely in her strap Charles Jourdan sandals. He was incredibly handsome.
"Okay. I won't tell you then," she replied, her voice low and husky. She hated to admit that the whiskey she had downed in her fit of anger at Steven Weatherford had gone quickly to her head. But it had relaxed her, too. She mentally noted that her attraction to the handsome stranger probably wouldn't involve making any deals for money. She never negotiated when she was drunk. Sex is a different thing altogether…
He offered her a cigarette and she slowly slipped one filter-tipped stick from the gold foil pack. Raising it to her lips, she watched his eyes watch her mouth as she took hold of the filter. There was something incredibly erotic about him—she sensed it in every bone in her body. She pulled in a quick breath as her eyes strayed to his belt, then lowered to his crotch. There was a nice bulge between his legs.
"Are you a guest at the hotel?" he asked, raising the flame of the lighter to touch the tip of her cigarette.
He seemed to be devouring her face in the yellow glow of the tiny flame and she felt suddenly mesmerized in his presence, a feeling she could only relate to orgasm of the strongest kind. One of those where you wait and wait and finally, when you're bathed in sweat and hanging on by your toenails, it arrives—startling and magnificent—to rock you all the way to heaven and back. The sensation set her mind to thinking. She hadn't been with a man for almost a month. She was horny. She needed fucked—for long hours.
Her gaze traveled over his face, slowly, taking into account the curve of his cheek, the straightness of his nose and the way his top lip arched slightly to one side when he smiled. He had no British accent. An American in London like myself? He was incredibly suntanned. He was gorgeous. And he was probably a dream in bed.
But he had all the earmarks of a playboy. Good looks, enticing smile, expensive clothing, and that hint of Chanel fragrance she first noticed when he moved to the stool beside her. Had he just left the bed of another woman? But then, what did it matter? She had needs, needs that he could, no doubt, sate.
She stifled the lusty shiver threatening her spine. She could only imagine the feel of his muscular body beneath that Armani suit—the taut muscles, the smooth skin. It's just sex. She reminded herself. After all, what else was there? Money. Yes. Money and sex. It was a cruel world. It was a world of twin pleasures. Her brows puckered in annoyance of her own thoughts. Why was she debating the issue? The outcome was always the same. Take the sex—and enjoy it. And then get up off your backside and make some more money. "I might be," she replied, dragging her thoughts back to the present and his question.
He chuckled low in his throat. "Then, shall I invite you to my room, or do you want to invite me to your room?"
"You don't beat around the bush, do you?"
He leaned closer to her, halting when his lips brushed her left earlobe. "I think we both want the same thing. I'd like to fuck you in every conceivable position known to man."
She released a long breath and turned her head slowly toward his face. A slight smile pulled at her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her belly curled in a delicious wave of excitement.
His hand brushed her bare arm, slid softly along her wrist and inched across her left thigh.
She slid from the stool. His arm wrapped around her waist, his hand inched upward to press just beneath her right breast. She leaned her body into his as they left the lounge and headed to the elevator. Intense heat had begun to build inside her. The intimacy of the stranger filled her mind, arousing her to the point that her nipples were beginning to peak.
He pulled her into his arms once the elevator doors slid closed. His hands spanned her back, flattening her breasts against his muscular chest. One hand slid to her buttocks and pressed her belly against his rapidly hardening erection.
Loretta tipped her head as his mouth descended to skim across her lips. A smile toyed at the corner of her mouth. She was intrigued by his quick show of lust.
He took the key from her hand when they arrived at her suite. A quick turn in the lock and he was pushing her through the door. Once more she was back in his arms, her body pressed seductively against his. Her soft curves filled the niches and voids created by his lean hips and muscular chest. His arms held her tightly as he took her mouth in a bout of heated kisses.
She felt breathless. His mouth melded so passionately against hers that it was as though he could read her mind. She had needed kissed—deeply and passionately—and he seemed to understand her needs. She sighed and tried to separate her body from his. She wanted him in bed—wanted to feel his body unencumbered with clothing—naked and hot, pressing into hers.
She led the way, pulling one pave' diamond earring from her left earlobe as she crossed the living room of the suite. His hands were on her back, traveling around her waist, mingling with her own fingers at her ear lobe as she removed the final earring. She turned, smiling at him as he began opening the black pearl closures of her blouse. He eased the silk garment off one shoulder, then dipped his head and kissed her bare skin.
He didn't seem to be in any hurry—once they were inside her suite. She let out a relieved sigh and brought her hands up to the front of his shirt. With deft fingers, she began releasing the buttons, baring his chest. Her fingers slid between the fabric and his skin, felt the warmth and firmness against her palm. She shivered at the intimacy. His hands worked at her back, releasing the clasp of her lace bra. He slid the filmy garment off her arms and dropped it at their feet. She resumed her unbuttoning of his shirt, pulling the tails from the confines of his waistband. His scent engulfed her senses, fueled her desire to have him completely naked.
He pulled her against his chest, lowered his head to take her lips in a kiss that weakened her knees. His lips fit so perfectly with hers—could she have stumbled upon someone she could fall in love with?
Her eyes flickered open with the thought. He's a one-night stand. You'll never see him again once the sex is over. A shard akin to remorse filtered through her insides, but just as quickly as the feeling came over her, she pushed it aside. She had far too much experience with one-night stands to ever believe that she could meet someone she could fall head over heels in love with in a hotel bar.
His hands slid the length of her body, ridding her of the silk slacks of her outfit. He groaned and pulled in a quick breath as he tipped her into his arms. He held her against his chest and strode across the room to the king size bed.
She was keenly aware of the gentleness he exhibited as he lowered her to the mattress. He set one knee on the edge and peered down at her as though memorizing how she looked naked and splayed before him. Then he joined her on the bed, his body covering hers as though he intended to possess her always.
Loretta raised her arms and wrapped them around his broad shoulders as he settled his chest against her breasts and his ropy abdomen onto her belly. His prick was hard and long. He positioned it at her crotch, but he didn't enter her cavity.
The moonlight from the balcony doors streamed inside the room, illuminating the posh interior in a faint yellow hue, making their union appear more fantasy than reality. He loomed shadowy above her body, his face hovering above hers as he gazed down at her.
She stroked his back and slid her hands along his trim sides. He was very muscular and firm. Touching him sent her senses reeling. Her crotch was moist with want.
He caressed her skin, skimming his mouth along her arched throat, across one breast to suck a taut nipple between his lips. He toyed with the nub with his tongue, lathing, suckling, nipping with his teeth. Releasing her nipple, he ran the tip of his tongue across the swell of her breast, wet the crease beneath the globe and traveled lower on her body to dip his tongue into her navel.
Loretta shivered and moaned as he sought to taste every inch of her body. She spread her legs as he worked lower, wetting her flesh and moaning his delight. When he levered himself up on his knees and positioned his body between her legs, she thought she would surely go crazy. She reached for his head, splaying her fingers in his thick hair as he dipped his tongue into her bushy pussy. "Oh God!"
He groaned in reply.
The feel of his mouth on her sensitive flesh sent her senses reeling out of control. She arched her throat and closed her eyes, savoring the heat of his tongue and the expertise of his tending.
She thought she would lose her mind before he finally crawled up her body and entered her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to his back with both hands, digging her nails into his skin when she suddenly experienced an unexpected orgasm. She savored the tingling sensations as they ripped through her insides. Her body writhed beneath his as his rapid thrusting quickly brought another climax to the fore.
She was drenched in sweat, panting through her mouth, hanging on to his back with both hands as he drove into her body with powerful ramming thrusts. He filled her cavity, slid in and out in rhythmic lunges that quickly brought her to orgasm again and again.
He climaxed, then collapsed on top of her. He panted into her ear, then nipped at her cheek with his lips until he worked his way around to her mouth. His tongue thrust between her lips, tangling seductively with her tongue.
She fought to control her breathing. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her crotch snugly holding his prick. Contentment coursed through her as she tightened her arms around his shoulders. She had never felt so satisfied from a sexual encounter.
Surely I'll wake up and find I've been dreaming.
to buy link: http://tinyurl.com/6jkpxo
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The Witch And The Vampire in print at Extasy Books http://tinyurl.com/60cf26
at Amazon.com http://tinyurl.com/6458ng
Captive Heart in Braille format at Extasy Books http://tinyurl.com/6g3r58
Wicked Wicked Ways in Braille format at Extasy Books http://tinyurl.com/5g43ne
BOOK EXCERPT: WICKED WICKED WAYS (r)
![BOOK EXCERPT: WICKED WICKED WAYS (r)]()
Reviewed by Sassy Brit @ Alternative-Read.com
on
3:03 pm
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