Who doesn’t love a 3-way?
Eden says: You know the Smutketeers do-especially if I get to be in the middle! And today I’m snuggled in with the amazing Angela Knight and Lauren Hawkeye! (Yes, you should be jealous!). So sit back, relax and enjoy the show as the three of us get busy…showing you our latest releases, of course! (What?? You have a dirty, dirty mind! Of course, we like that in a person…)
Book One in my new Dangerous Romance Series
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She wasn’t as innocent as he remembered. He’s twice as wicked as she ever imagined.
“For those who are born to New Orleans, it’s in your blood. It lingers there no matter where you go. BDSM is the same sort of thing. If you’re born to it—the way you were, the way I was, whether or not you want to accept that—you can never shake it. It shapes the way you think, the way you respond to…everything. And those who were a part of unleashing those desires…you never forget them, either. That’s what you did for me, Mick. For me, not to me.”
~Alessandra ‘Allie’ LeClair
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She can whip up something sweet…
Allie LeClair has finally returned to the sultry city of New Orleans. After ten years of studying and working as a pastry chef in San Francisco and all over Europe—and feeding her submissive side at BDSM clubs—Allie is home, and she has something to prove to the man who once fueled her desires. She’s not a child anymore.
But with two in the kitchen…
When security specialist Mick Reid hears that Allie is back in town, he knows he won’t be able to stay away for long. Ever since he discovered his darker side, Mick has tried to protect Allie from the aggressive beast within him—but that power and wildness is exactly what she wants.
Can they take the heat?
Allie has made the first move, but now it’s up to Mick. The game has begun, and playing has never been so rough.
Mick was one of my favorite heroes ever to write! He is one bad-ass Dom…and I only discovered how bad-ass in doing research about his hobby: bare-knuckled boxing, an underground form of MMA street-fighting. My massage therapist (I know!) does MMA training, and I got to interview him, as well as a friend of his who competes, and believe me, these guys are not to be messed with! Is it terribly old-fashioned of me to find it HOT when these gorgeous, muscled guys just lay into each other? I can’t help that I love a little alpha in my males. It’s that bad boy thing–something I’ve really tried to get over, but even though I should know better, that attraction still lingers. Maybe it’s because I’m a bit of a rock n’ roll kinda girl–I have a lot of ink, dress like a teenager, and my music choices can be pretty rockin’ and dark. But the music can really drive and inspire me and it really did when I was writing DANGEROUSLY BOUND. Here’s a peek at my playlist for this book:
Relax My Beloved-Alex Clare
The Engine-Trixie Whitley
Burning Desire-Lana del Rey
If You Want It-Superstring
Kingdom of Rain-The The
The Same Side-Lucie Silvas
Last Kiss-Pearl Jam
Get Outta My Head-Intwine
Sheryl Crow-Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man
It’s Been a While-Staind
If You Could Only See-Tonic
Breaking the Girl-Red Hot Chili Peppers
Let It Take You-Goldfrapp
Breathe You In My Dreams-Trixie Whitley
Melissa Ethridge-I’m the Only One
Aerosmith-I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing
Paramore-The Only Exception
Say Something-A Great Big World
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She waited while he walked around the truck to open her door. He lifted her down, his big hands around her waist, and his touch burned into her, making her need all the more acute. She could barely stand to wait as he led her up the walkway, up the steps, took her keys and opened her front door.
He grabbed her wrist, encircling it with his strong fingers.
“Bedroom,” he demanded. “Or it’s going to be right here on the hall floor.”
She nodded and led him down the narrow hall.
He was on her almost the moment they passed through the doorway, stripping her down until she was naked and barefoot once more. Her pulse was a hot, thready beat in her veins, her chest, between her thighs. Desire was something solid, palpable, nearly unbearable.
She put her hands on his chest, tried to unbutton his shirt.
“Mick . . .”
He took her wrists in his hands and pulled them down to her sides, held them there as he looked into her eyes, and she understood, her mind shifting gears. If they were going to be together right now they would be in role, submissive and Dominant. She understood his need to leash his desires. Understood how dangerous he felt he was to her.
She would show him tonight she could take it. That the full darkness inside him was exactly what she wanted, yearned for.
He moved around her, one hand on her body, sliding over her stomach, her side, her back. He stood behind her, and she waited for whatever would come next, her heart hammering, her body aching for more.
When he wrapped his arm around her neck and tightened just enough to restrict her breathing, she felt his command with an enormous sense of relief.
She closed her eyes as he pulled tighter. With his other hand he swept her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck tenderly. She loved the combination of roughness and gentleness. Even trusting him enough to do this bit of breath play with her was erotic. Her body flooded with desire, her legs going weak. Even weaker when he bit into her skin, just hard enough to hurt.
“Yeah, baby girl. I want to hear it now. I want to hear everything you’re feeling. Every groan. Every panting breath. Give it to me.”
She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, and he slid his hand into her hair, grasped it at the roots and pulled tightly.
“Oh . . .”
“You like this. It makes you feel taken over, doesn’t it?”
“I like the way your whole body bows when I pull your hair. The way I can see your yielding in the way you move. It’s beautiful. And so, so hot”
He pulled harder, the pain making her gasp.
“You like that, too.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered, anyway.
He pulled until her neck bent back as far as it could. He pulled harder and she had to arch her back. And groaned when he bent to kiss her throat right where it met her shoulder—her favorite spot.
“Oh yeah, I remember, Allie. I remember everything about you,” he murmured against her skin before he bit her.
Her legs nearly went out from under her, but he had a firm hold on her. He licked her skin, then bit again, harder this time, hard enough to make her draw in a long, deep breath as she tried to manage the pain. Then his tongue bathed the sore skin once more, a lovely sensation.
When he lifted her arm and bit into the delicate skin on her inner bicep, she gasped. He followed the bite with a soft, lingering kiss, then helped her straighten up and turned her around to face him.
“Can you stand by yourself?”
When he let her go she swayed on her feet, and he steadied her. “You okay, baby?”
She smiled. “Perfect.”
He stroked a finger across her cheek. “Yeah, I think you are. But let’s sit you down.”
He moved her until she felt the edge of her bed at the back of her knees, and he helped her to sit. He was so caring of her, so protective. It was one of the things she’d always loved about a dominant man. It was one of the things she’d always loved about Mick.
As he took off his shirt, she remembered what else she’d loved about him, but his chest and arms were even more developed now. The tattoo he’d gotten right out of high school, the fleur de lis that was the symbol for the city of New Orleans with the words New Orleans Fire Department in a bold font arching around it, stood out against his pale golden skin, and she noticed once more the Latin script on his forearm. She’d always loved tattoos on a man.
And his abs . . . they were absolutely flawless, a full six-pack that looked as if they’d been cut from granite. She’d felt those hard planes of muscle when he’d held her close, but seeing his body was another thing altogether. It was all pure, male beauty, rough and masculine in the same way his face was. All of him matured in a way that made him seem all the more male.
The lines of his body flexed and rippled as he bent over to unlace his big black boots. When he straightened she saw the jagged scar on his ribs from the old motorcycle accident, and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers over that hurting place. She wanted to run her fingers over every inch of him. But that would have to wait until—if and when—there was going to be sex between them without these roles. He was clearly in charge now. And tonight, their first night together again, it couldn’t be any other way. She didn’t want it to be.
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BONUS READ! If you’d like to visit The Bastille in New Orleans again-the BDSM club from my Dangerous Romance Series-you can read about one of Mick’s best friends, the gorgeous, hulking Dominant Finn, in DANGEROUSLY INKED-on sale now for just .99!
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Find Eden online:
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Buy it Now! Amazon B&N Kobo
In this stunning romance, Lauren Jameson presents a story of unexpected desire in which two strangers play a dangerous game in the quest for incredible pleasure. But winning comes with a price….
After walking in on her boyfriend with another woman, Devon Reid decides to seek solace in the small California town she’s often visited on vacation. Instead, she finds herself consumed by a mysterious man who sets her ablaze with one simple look.
Devon has always been the good girl, but Zach’s touch turns her into something primal, especially when he persuades her to give up control to him. But while Zach can make her burn, he seduces Devon one moment and turns her away the next.
When Devon starts her new job at Phyrefly Aviation, she learns that Zach is actually founder and CEO of the massive corporation. And while Devon knows she should keep things between them strictly professional, his overwhelming magnetism makes it impossible to stay away….
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When Zacharish St. Brenton agrees to an interview with me, I feel a little giddy at the prospect. I mean, sure, he’s taken, but a woman can look, right? He invites me to the coffee shop in the lobby of Phyrefly Aviation. I wonder to myself why he doesn’t invite me into the building, and I suspect it’s because he’s wary about what information I’ll publish. To let me in might mean letting me in on some of his secrets.
I’m not going to be the one to remind the imposing man that I know him better than he knows himself.
He’s waiting when I arrive, five minutes late. I don’t think he’s pleased with my tardiness, but then, he doesn’t know that I had to drop my toddler off at my mom’s. I’m pleased that he has a dark roast coffee with skim milk waiting for me. It’s just like a Dom, to observe and file away all those little details. I curl one hand around the warmth of the cup as I grab my notebook and pen from my purse with the other.
I might be happily married, but I can’t help noticing that he looks good. His suit is black with a faint charcoal pinstripe running through it. His shirt is dark blue and his tie solid black. It’s a mouth watering combination.
Lauren Jameson: Thanks for meeting with me. It’s been a while.
ZS: Well, I can hardly say no to you. (I feel a little jolt of happiness, then realize that he just might be implying that he wouldn’t do it if he had a choice.)
LJ: Well. I know you’re busy, so let’s get started. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.
ZS: I appreciate it.
LJ: Well, let’s not mince words, then. How’s Devon?
ZS: (Regards me warily.) I’m not ready to talk about her yet. You know that.
LJ: And you should know that no one is rooting for the two of you more than I am. Hello? That’s the whole reason behind telling your story.
ZS: (Expression softens a hint.) I know that. But as much as I… care… for her, I don’t want to taint her with my darkness.
LJ: Zach, stop beating yourself up. You’ve found a woman who cares about the real you—all of you! Can’t you just loosen that iron grip on control that you have and enjoy it? (In my agitation, I jolt my coffee, and the steaming liquid slops over the edge.)
ZS: (Raises an eyebrow, then takes my dripping cup and mops it off with a napkin before handing it back to me). I’m a Dom. Control is my life.
LJ: (Wryly.) That aspect of your personality is quite obvious, thank you.
ZS: (Cracks a small smile.) I hate to hurry this along, but I have a meeting in ten minutes, and need to get back upstairs.
LJ: Tell me just one last thing, then. Do you think you’re going to be able to take that final step and open up to Devon?
He is up and striding away before I can remind him that I already know what’s going to happen. The whole purpose of this meeting was to give a little nudge… a nudge in the right direction, of course!
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“This is how my mouth will feel when I get you naked and kiss you all over.” The picture sprang into my mind all too clearly, of myself bare and laid out on his desk, waiting for the touch of his mouth. I whimpered, just the slightest bit, and was hushed with the kiss of the leather over my lips.
“Spread your legs.” I did it before I even thought about it, the fabric of my skirt riding up, exposing the edges of my stockings, the flush of my panties, and the inches of skin in between.
The leather traced over my bare ribs, the valley between my breasts, my hard, tight nipples. I began to pant, more excited than I’d ever been in my life.
“Hold on to the desk.” I did, swallowing hard, wondering what would happen next.
Instead of the flogger, I felt Zach’s fingers toy with the crotch of my panties. I moaned lightly and leaned into the touch, but he didn’t linger.
Deftly, he pulled the fabric aside, and I felt slick pressure at my entrance. Instinctively opening to it, I was startled to feel something heavy and round being inserted in my most intimate of places, followed quickly by its twin.
I tried to clench my thighs together at the strange sensation, but Zach was there to block the movement.
“What . . .” I straightened up a bit to ask Zach what he had just done, and as I moved, the balls shifted. They created pressure in delicious, private places, and an unfamiliar ache bloomed through my belly.
“If you are to take this journey with me, then you must learn to trust me.” I was too distracted by the heavy sensation of the balls rolling around to ask him what he meant. “These are ben-wa balls. You will keep them inside of you until I say otherwise.” I shifted experimentally, and the balls moved, forcing sensations that were rich and impossible to ignore to flood through me.
“Bend over the desk again.” Oh, Lord. Bent over, the balls pressed heavily on the flesh above my clit. I wanted to rock back and forth, to build that delicious pressure so that it could be relieved, but a palm pressed to the curve of my back warned me against it.
Focused on the new sensations inside my cleft, I wasn’t expecting the hiss of the flogger when it came, the bloom of pain between my thighs. One kiss of the leather on each smooth expanse of leg, then several short, quick flicks right in my center. I cried out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick surface of the desk. He hit harder than he had the first time, and the blows hurt, hurt quite a bit, actually, landing as they were on my most sensitive flesh. But combined with that pain was a sense of pleasure, one that was dark and rich and seductive.
As my body jerked, the balls rocked inside of me. It was almost unbearable, that pleasure which melted so effortlessly into the sting of the whip.
The pleasure built, wave upon wave that finally reached the shore in a tidal crash of pleasure. I cried out again as the sensations washed over me, riding the darkness until I’d wrung every last bit of it out and I could see again.
Stunned, I slowly rolled over, propped myself up on my elbows and looked up at the man in front of me. His eyes were glowing like those of a cat, and they were full of an emotion that I couldn’t read.
I didn’t know him very well, after all, no matter what he’d just done to my body.
Something in his stare, though, was too personal, too raw, for anyone to see. In fact, I didn’t think that he meant for me to catch him that way, for as soon as he saw that I had come back down to earth, his eyes shuttered and his face tensed up. I watched as he closed his emotions back off from the rest of the world, again becoming the controlled, charismatic young billionaire who held the interest of the world.
So even all of his money couldn’t protect him from the demons that haunted him, that haunted us all.
Feeling exposed, though I supposed it was useless to at that point, I tugged my bra from my wrists and stuffed it in my pocket. I didn’t feel as though there was time to fuss with putting it back on. I wrestled my blouse back over my arms, my shoulders, and closed it hastily, not bothering to double-check if it had been buttoned straight.
I had no idea what had just happened, but I didn’t intend to think about it there. Zach was frozen in place, his eyes unreadable as they assessed me.
Pushing away from the desk, I hastily made my way toward the door, the balls rocking as I moved, making me moan. It was all just too much—too intense. I didn’t know what to do with it. I would rather have faced Philippa the paper-doll princess while mussed and braless than have continued to try to breathe in a room that suddenly had no air.
“Miss Reid.” My hand was on the door before he spoke. I turned slowly, not letting go of the knob.
The sexy man who just seduced me had changed. The tortured one who made me come had disappeared. In their place was the cool, controlled CEO, complete with arrogant posture and the hint of a smirk on his lips.
“Be in the first-floor lobby at half past six this evening. We need to have a discussion.” His words were serious and very nearly foreboding.
“Do not remove those ben-wa balls this afternoon.”
I shifted, aware all over again of the gentle rocking of the balls inside of me. Though I’d just had a huge orgasm, I felt the need beginning again. I tried to imagine going through the afternoon with them inside of me, of working at my desk while they weighed down on my clit. The thought made my cheeks flush and my lips part.
“I have exposed you to some of the pleasure of my . . . lifestyle, Devon . But I haven’t yet exposed you to the pain.” I couldn’t move, not without those balls sending jolts of need through my veins.
“I need to know if you are open to both.” My eyes were wide. Pain? More than the martinet? Feeling as though I were in the presence of a predatory animal, I watched, cautious, as Zach strode across the room to me, tilted my chin up for a soft, short kiss.
“Go back to work now. I will meet you in the lobby at six thirty.” Somewhat dazed, drugged by the sensations in my blood, I nodded and turned to leave the room. Right before I exited the door, he whispered one last thing in my ear.
“And whatever you do, don’t come.”
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BONUS READ! Lauren’s MASTER OF THE ISLAND, the first story in the 27-author Invitation to Eden continuity series is out now for FREE! Meet the enigmatic owner of the Eden island resort and find out how the resort came together-and why he is a man full of shadows and secrets. Three books will be released each month from an amazing array of your favorite authors! Find out more HERE!
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Find Lauren Online:
Lauren Jameson website
Lauren Hawkeye website
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A Mageverse Book
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A prequel novella to the bestselling Mageverse series that gave a sexy twist to the Arthurian legend headlines this collection. This volume also features a special selection of stories, previously published as ebooks, but completely revised and expanded for this anthology.
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Readers have been asking for Gwen and Arthur’s story for years, so I decided to oblige with The Once and Future Lover, a novel-length story in WICKED GAMES. Unlike the other nine books in the Mageverse series, this one is a historical set in 500 AD, back when Arthur, Gwen and the knights and ladies of the Round Table gained their immortality and power.
The story also deals with just exactly what did happen between Lancelot and Guinevere, as well as the rebellion led by Mordred, Arthur’s bastard son with Morgana le Fay. Be warned: The Once and Future Lover is much more erotic than the rest of the Mageverse series, featuring elements of bondage and submission.
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Gwen dreamed of death, of blood and terror and grief. She jolted awake. In her panic, she almost shot from the bed, but her husband’s brawny arm was wrapped around her waist. She stilled, his breath warming her nape.
Arthur Pendragon slept as he so often did, curled around her, surrounding her in his swordsman’s hard strength.
He’s not dead. It was only a nightmare. Going limp as a soaked rag in her relief, Gwen turned her head to press her cheek against his broad bare chest. His heart thudded in her ear, steady and strong and comforting. Like Arthur himself.
As her dream panic drained away, she heard the deep voices of the guards out on the balustrade murmur something to each other. They sounded unusually tense.
Reality hit Gwen like an armored fist. Today was the day Arthur would fight to the death.
Against Mordred. His son, heir, and enemy.
Her stomach curled into a sour knot. She had to pace, do something, or she was going to start screaming. What if this morning’s dream had been more than a nightmare? What if it had been a vision?
Slowly, carefully, she eased Arthur’s warm, muscled forearm from around her waist, swung her feet to the stone floor, and rose, trying not to wake him. They’d been up late last night, making love out of desperation as much as desire. Arthur needed to sleep every minute he could.
A cooling breeze poured through the open shutters of the chamber’s sole window, which overlooked the courtyard where he and Mordred would do battle in a few hours’ time. A shaft of blue dawn light spilled in, illuminating her husband as he sprawled in tanned, brawny nudity across their bed.
Arthur was not a tall man, though Gwen suspected he was actually more muscular at thirty-seven than the nineteen-year-old she’d married, back when they’d called him the Princeling King. He still drilled with his knights every morning, going full out with sword and shield. Whenever she pointed out the likelihood of being hurt in such practice, he’d snort. “I’ll not grow too soft to sit a horse.”
Her beautiful man. Her handsome king.
Responsibility more than age had salted Arthur’s hair with gray. More pewter threaded the beard that framed his lushly sensual mouth, and sprinkled the soft, dark thatch that covered his powerful chest. Still, the hair on his groin was as dark as ever, a sable ruff surrounding the long cock she’d always adored, the heavy balls she loved to cradle in her palm.
If he dies, I might as well crawl into the grave with him.
Gwen had seen too many battles over seventeen years as Arthur’s queen. She knew what happened when an older man fought a big brute nineteen years younger, and it wasn’t pretty.
The wizard Merlin had promised power to the winner of today’s battle. Arthur wanted that power to better protect his people from the invading Saxons, not to mention a Celtic warlord named Varn who had been a thorn in his side for the past two years. Then there was the collection of former rulers whose kingdoms Arthur had conquered more than a decade before, any one of whom would love to topple the High King.
As for Mordred . . . Well, he just wanted an acceptable excuse to kill his father. Anything more was just gravy on the goose as far he was concerned.
Arthur deserved better than a bastard son who hated him. Unfortunately, Gwen had been unable to give her king that successor—and God knew she’d tried.
Three pregnancies. Three miscarriages.
A familiar bitter sting gathered behind her eyelids, and she clenched her jaw, blinking hard, forcing her twisted features to smooth. You will not cry. You will show only smiling confidence. You will not make Arthur doubt himself.
Doubt can kill a man in a fight like this.
Mordred had enough advantages as it was. Gwen wasn’t going to hand him another arrow for his assassin’s quiver.
Wheeling, she paced naked across the chamber. All too soon, they’d have to walk out into the courtyard below to face the prince’s challenge. Gwen only hoped Mordred didn’t win. Not only would his victory be a catastrophe for her and Arthur, it would be a disaster for Britain.
Her mind flashed back to a night months before, when Mordred had tried to convince Arthur to declare war on the Saxons. The king had refused.
“War always sounds like a good idea to those who’ve never fought,” Arthur said. The knights, ladies, and courtiers seated at the Round Table fell silent over their trenchers, watching the interplay between their liege and his son. “Believe me, the enthusiasm dims when you’re knee-deep in mud, blood, and someone else’s intestines.”
“But isn’t conquest the right of the strong, Father,” Mordred argued, “Proof of God’s favor?”
“Unless you lose, in which case it’s proof God doesn’t favor you as much as you thought.” Arthur cut a slice of venison and fed it to Gwen, giving her one of his wickedly sensual smiles. “Then it’s too damned late, and those you love are getting butchered for your arrogance.”
The prince started to retort, but Arthur cut him off. “I’m not declaring war on Hengrid and his Saxons, Mordred. Their raids may eventually push me into it, but I’d rather wait until our people get in the harvest and survive the winter. This is the longest stretch of peace we’ve had in thirty years. Let the peasants savor it a little longer.”
“Peasants.” The prince speared a bite of mutton on the tip of his dagger and ate it with a wolfish snap. His green eyes glinted with growing temper over the curl of his lip. “What do we care for the opinion of peasants?”
Arthur studied him. Everyone else held their collective breath, Gwen included, wondering if they were about to witness another explosive row. Mordred was a bit too much like his father, right down to the infamous Pendragon temper. Unfortunately, he lacked Arthur’s iron self-control. “Peasants, my son, are the ones who do the worst of the dying in war. Marching armies too often murder peasant children, rape peasant wives, and burn peasant crops, leaving the survivors to starve. Never forget, a good king doesn’t declare war unless he has no choice.”
Mordred dipped his head in grudging acquiescence. “Aye, Father.”
Arthur turned away as Lord Kay said something Gwen didn’t catch. She was immobilized by the sight of rage and malice flashing across Mordred’s face, there and gone so quickly she wasn’t even sure she’d seen it. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe it was naught but too much imagination and too many bad memories. Dear God, let that be all.
Mordred’s rage and impulsiveness had grown throughout his childhood, reaching a bitter pitch in his teens that had made all their lives unbearable. Yet in the past year, that storminess had seemed to abate. Gwen, Arthur and Mordred’s mother, Morgana, had begun to hope the worst was over, that he’d finally learned to control his anger.
But staring at his expressionless profile, she wondered uneasily if he’d just gotten better at hiding his darkness . . .
Now Gwen squeezed her eyes closed. With a queen’s ruthless discipline, she concentrated on making her mind as smooth as a frozen lake, feeling no fear. No doubt. No pain. Feeling nothing.
“You know,” a deep voice purred in her ear, “you do have the most beautiful rump I’ve ever seen.” Arthur’s big hands cupped both her bare cheeks. “I made you queen for this arse.”
But there are better things to feel than nothing. She turned her head to smile up into her husband’s wicked grin. If he was working just a little too hard at it, she’d do them both the favor of refusing to notice. He’s not dead yet. And neither am I. “At the time,” she drawled, “you told me it was my eyes that won you. Or perhaps my mouth.”
“And so they were. You’re a woman of many parts.” He slid his arms around her and leaned down to take her lips in a kiss so passionate, it made a fine distraction. She opened her mouth with a sigh and leaned into his warm strength. His tongue slipped inside her lips, explored sensitive flesh, teased with gentle strokes. Heat gathered between them everywhere they touched, dancing along the surface of her skin, coiling in the tips of her breasts and between her thighs.
Arthur’s arms curled around her, tracing the naked rise of her hip before sliding down to cup her between her thighs. One finger stroked her sex with an exquisitely gentle touch that brought heat rushing to her core.
As delicious as that felt, though, she knew they would be interrupted. “My maid and the servants are due . . .”
“We’ll send them away.”
“. . . and you did order Lancelot to attend you for new orders.”
“He can damned well wait with the servants. None of them will begrudge us whatever moments we can steal.”
She considered arguing, but Arthur’s free hand distracted her as it traced a leisurely path up her torso, his swordsman’s callused palm a little rough. The erotic scrape of his skin along hers made Gwen squirm.
The thought of the duel tried to surface again, but she thrust it down hard. Arthur was right. If this is to be the last time, let’s make a memory to keep me warm through all the lonely winters. Everyone else can wait.
Find Angela Online:
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We couldn’t have a real celebration without a contest, and this *is* a 3-way, so of course we have to have a 3-way contest with 3 very satisfying prizes! Here’s what’s up for grabs:
From Eden: An e-book package including ROGUE (my kinky vampire novella), BREAKING SKYE (another BDSM book), plus just for variety my ménage novella from Samhain Publishing TEMPT ME TWICE (a *mostly* true story!)~and~ A $25.00 Amazon Gift Card ~and~ since this is a rope book, this lovely knot bracelet!
From Lauren: How about a bag with some of my local goodies… a box of Le Chocolatier Truffles and three bars of Rocky Mountain Soap Company Natural soap, winner’s choice of scents? Plus a signed copy of Surrender to Temptation in print!
From Angela: For a prize, I will donate three copies of my book Wicked Games (to three winners) and one winner will get a $25 Amazon gift card!
HOW TO ENTER: Just talk to us here about your reading preferences in Erotic Romance-is it the kinky books? A good menage? M/m? Do you like paranormal elements? What rocks your boat? Extra points if you read Lauren’s new MASTER OF THE ISLAND or Eden’s DANGEROUSLY INKED and leave a review on Amazon, B&N or Goodreads-just post the link in your comments. We’ll be back to choose our winners and announce it in the comments section on April 4th! Be sure to check back to see if you’ve won!
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