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If, like me, you’ve read all the previously released Obsessed novellas, you’ve been waiting for the next. It’s here. Or will be in one week. Pre-order now for just 99 cents and get Tempting Him along with the additional novellas in the Love Me Hard romance collection. If you haven’t yet read any of this series, let me suggestion The Obsessed Novella Series Boxed Set: Books 1-4. Read those in the week before the Love Me Hard boxed set releases and be primed for Tempting Him.
By Jeanne St. James
On Sale for a limited time for 99¢ in the Love Me Hard Boxed Set
A set of 15 hot & spicy romances that will tickle your fancy!
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It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession…
Every time my neighbor jogs past my house, I do my best to tempt him. Washing my car, watering my lawn, doing yoga in the grass with all my assets in the air. I’m not sure if he notices me, but I sure can’t miss him.
Then one day he falls… into my arms and into my bed. Surprisingly, we’re better matched than I would’ve expected. But when he reveals who he is, my world comes crashing down around me because if he finds out my secret we’re finished before we’ve even begun.
Three days a week, I put myself through hell by jogging through my neighborhood. I suffer through it simply to catch a glimpse of a woman I don’t know. Every time I pass her house she’s outside tempting me. Until one day I fall… over my feet, over my heart, over this woman and into her arms.
I know nothing about her, but I want to discover everything. Even her deepest, darkest secrets. However, little does she know, I have one, too. One that may sever the tie that binds us.
I watch as sweat drips one bead at a time onto my over-priced yoga mat. The sun is so freaking hot and here I am, like an idiot out in my yard, bent over in the downward facing dog pose for the past million years. Okay, not years… maybe more like a million seconds. But my body has decided it hates me (nothing new) and is cramping while my head spins. Even better, my over-priced yoga pants have clawed their way up my crack (as well as one other place). And still…
What the hell?
Despite my eyeballs’ attempt at bulging out of their sockets, I peek at my sports watch. He should’ve been by here two-point-five minutes ago.
The man is usually like clockwork, jogging by my house on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons every week. For the most part, anyway. Though, thunderstorms seem to discourage him from his cardio. (Not sure why.)
On those days, I would be willing to recommend another type of cardio to get his heart pumping. And maybe get his hips pumping, too.
Anyway… look at me! Doing yoga on my front lawn, on the uneven grass, waiting like a desperate woman. (I’m not, really, I promise! It just looks that way.)
But, damn, the man is fine and when he jogs past shirtless, he’s shiny with sweat, which makes me want to drag him inside and give him a sponge bath with my tongue.
My thighs start shaking as I peek between my spread legs, because, of course, my ass has to be facing the street. I want him to get a good look at what I’m offering.
I may even wiggle it a little when he jogs by.
That is if I don’t pass out into a heap first.
Then sigh again a little louder just for good measure.
Maybe it would be easier if I just took up jogging. Wear one of those sexy sports bras, put my hair up in a cute little pony tail, plaster a smile on my face and follow him around the block at a perky pace.
I’ll die first.
Why I ever started this shit, I’ll never know. No, I lie. I know. I thought, “Cade, dude, wouldn’t it be great to up your cardio game and start running?”
I answered myself with, “Yeah, man, that would be great and fun, too!” And then maybe I won’t get so winded when I play basketball with the guys. I’ll have more endurance, I’ll look and feel younger, and…
Running sucks. And I don’t even think what I do can be considered as running. No, it’s more of a jog. Or a lope. Or trotting like a donkey with a lame hoof.
My chest burns, my leg muscles spasm, my balls feel like they’re floating in a puddle of sweat, and the crack of my ass…
I’m not even going there. (Trust me, you don’t want to, either.)
So, why don’t I just stop the torture? (Good question!)
I’ve asked myself that for the past month.
And the answer has always been…
I sacrifice three days a week just to see a woman I don’t know.
Not sure why, but she always seems to be outside at the same time of the day. For that reason, I make sure that’s when I go running (jogging, trotting, limping) by.
Am I crazy to torture myself because I find someone attractive and I’d like to get her attention?
Why don’t I just knock on her door and ask her out? (Another good question.)
Maybe I want to impress her with my physique and athletic prowess.
But honestly, something has to give and it has to be soon. Because this running shit sucks balls and I’d rather stick razor blades under my fingernails.
At least my slow trot is the right speed to observe her without being creepy. Walking would be too slow and obvious. Driving too quick and useless, not to mention dangerous when she’s clearly a distraction.
And, of course, my pace always allows me enough time to enjoy the show she gives me.
On Wednesday, she was out washing her car, her top soaked, her nipples pushing through the thin fabric of her shirt, and when she bent over to scrub the hood of said car, my boner just about popped out of my shorts. You know, those little nylon running shorts. The ones with the mesh liner, clearly not made for sexual arousal.
But I digress.
The week before, she was out watering her lawn. And, once again, her top was wetter than her grass.
Here’s the thing, the entire neighborhood has built-in sprinklers.
Maybe hers are broken.
I grunt as I turn the corner and try to push myself a little faster since I’m off my game today. I’m later than normal, and I want my running to look as effortless as possible. It needs to look as though I’ve got my shit together and I’m not secretly suffering.
My eyes swing to the left as I jog. She’s the fourth house up. The brick ranch home with the two-car garage.
Two houses to go yet.
My eyes widen as I see her ass in tight black yoga pants in the air. My step stutters but I can’t stop my momentum.
My mouth becomes an O, partly because I’m falling over my own two feet, the other because she’s dropped to her knees and is now arching backwards grabbing onto her heels, her generous tits straining against her top.
Last thing I see is her blinking upside down at me as her head hangs down her back.
Suddenly, I’m staring at nothing but pavement (and my loss of manhood). The little bit of oxygen I had sucked into my lungs is now gone.
Then, what seems like seconds later, bare, cute, red painted toes come into view.
I want to just die.
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
Amazon Author Page: http://tinyurl.com/JeanneStJames
Review & Book Crew: https://www.facebook.com/groups/JeannesReviewCrew/
By Kay Blake
My biggest focus in life is taking the steps necessary to get back to the person I used to be. And dancing seems to be the only thing that’s keeping that part of me alive. I love dancing. Love it with my whole being.
And then there’s David. He’s different. He’s intriguing. And he is making me question all the things I’ve said about being in relationships.
I’m afraid of being hurt again. I’m afraid of failing like I’ve done before.
But maybe there is more room in my life for more than I originally thought.
I’m not going to lie, I don’t take much seriously. Life is to be lived and life is for having fun. And so, I do just that. I live my life the way I see fit, and I repeat that mantra every day. No commitments. No attachments. Just uninhibited fun.
But then I literally bump into the most memorizing, woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
And now I’m torn between being the person I thought I wanted to be and wanting to be a better me for her.
Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36951083-free-me
About Kay Blake:
Kay is an award winning author who writes sassy, sexy and sweet contemporary and interracial romance. She is from arguably the greatest city in the world. (New York). She is a sarcastic sweetheart who prefers snuggling at home with a good book. Kay is a mom of 3 cubs and a wife. Kay indulges in strawberry cheesecake, horror movies, Harry Potter, The Walking Dead, wrestling and of course a happily ever after.
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It’s finally here! The long awaited part 2 of True, Deep and Forever. The story many readers are saying is a refreshing take on romance and love. It’s real, it’s raw, it’s relatable. It’s life!
By Whitley Cox
BUY IT NOW!: $2.99
Two hearts… one marriage… an unbreakable bond?
They say that in marriage there’s a seven-year itch. Where the passion fizzles, the arguments take over, and the kids are all-consuming. Amy and Garret Banks are seven years into a love so raw, so real, so incredible that when things start to go south, they’re both left feeling as though they’re treading water with weights on. That they’ll never find their way back to the surface and be able to rekindle the passion they once had for each other.
Secrets and lies, exes and bitter rejection plow through this once-perfect union, wreaking havoc on the couple’s fragile happiness and leaving them vulnerable to a threat that will put their whole family in danger.
Can Amy and Garret find their way back to each other, restore their trust and reignite the fire before the flame goes out and they’re both left singed, scarred and all alone?
“Uh, uh, uh, I haven’t said you could come yet.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me up ever so slightly. It was a tough position to maneuver me in, so he was gentle and cautious with his movements. Throwing my back out at a time like this would be a total mood killer. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding my shoulders and angling me over his raging hard-on. “Suck it.”
My mouth salivated at the idea of being so full, every possible hole occupied. I nearly lunged forward to take him into my mouth, but he had all the control as my hands were bound. He set his own pace, gently easing his cock into my mouth and to the back of my throat so as not to gag me and cause me to throw up. He fucked my mouth hard and fast once he was sure I’d suppressed my gag reflex, slamming my face into his pelvis. His crown knocked my tonsils with every thrust; I tried desperately to twist and twirl my tongue, suck and blow and hum, determined to please him and bring him as much pleasure as I possibly could.
Tears streamed down my face and I was desperate to swallow all the spit in my mouth by the time he pulled me up. A sweet caress of his hand wiped away my tears, and he brought a cup of water to my lips. I drank it greedily, not caring that most of it ended up running down my chest. And then he placed me back on the bed, on my front, my feet still firmly on the floor and my hands still bound. The soft duvet tickled my cheek, and I closed my eyes for a brief second, welcoming the respite, but also wound up and needy for release.
Neither of us had come yet, and the need for an orgasm buzzed around the room like the din of an old TV. He stood behind me and slowly pulled out the butt plug, running his fingers up the cleft of my butt cheeks, one rogue digit probing ever so slightly and sending a jolt of longing straight through my entire body. I’m pretty sure I felt it at the tips of my hair. I pushed into his hand, desperate for more, and he gave it to me, slipping in another finger as his other hand pulled and twisted on the vibrator. I was ready to combust on the spot.
And as a bonus! If you haven’t started this funny, sexy, refreshing and relateable couplet yet, Part 1 is only 99cents, but only for 3 days. Grab it NOW!
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A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have a spirited toddler and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.
A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.