Rising, Freestyle: Xtreme Adventures, Book 2 Page 15

  He kissed her harder, and she clutched him tighter, digging her nails in deeper.

  She tore at his shirt. “Off,” she demanded. “Get it off.”

  This was Megan at her sexual peak. She was hunger and lust all wrapped up in one, and Alex would never, could never, deny her.

  He ripped off the offending material.

  The action cost him. By the time his shirt landed on the floor, Megan was gone. She’d stepped freely back into Des’s arms and was kissing him, groaning into the fucker’s mouth. Buttons flew across the room as she ripped at his shirt.

  Bastard.

  Des didn’t have to break the kiss to get his shirt off. He just shrugged it over his shoulders.

  If Alex followed through on his gut impulse now and yanked Megan out of Des’s hold, he’d hurt her. His need for her and his fury at Des would compel him to act with brute force. No matter how fucking mad he was with jealousy, he would not harm Megan. Not for anything. Ever.

  Even if she had voluntarily kissed another man. Not just any other man—the one she’d professed to love for four fucking years.

  Shoving back every natural instinct he had to haul Megan away from Des, he took two careful, shaky steps forward. He’d give her the choice. He’d let her decide. His groin pushed against Megan’s butt and his chest pillowed her back. No anger, no aggression. He would not harm her.

  “I’m right behind you, baby,” he whispered. “Just turn around and you’ll find me.”

  Megan stilled.

  “That’s it, sweetness. Look at me. Turn around and look at me.”

  Slowly, so slowly Alex thought she’d never bloody finish, Megan released Des and turned to him. She stared up into his eyes. Her pupils were huge, dilated with desire. The tears from minutes ago had all dried. And there, swirling in the midst of her startling green eyes was a determination Alex had never seen before.

  “Al!” Her smile left him dazed and gulping for air.

  “Yeah, baby. It’s me.” His heart pummeled his ribs.

  “Alex.” She sounded out his name, articulating every letter, telling him clearly she was not mistaking him for Des in any way. “I love you.”

  So why the fuck are you letting him touch you? “I love you too, baby.”

  “I know.” Her smile grew. “Kiss me,” she said, and he did, tunneling his fingers in her hair.

  He kissed her with every bit of love he felt, until she purred in his arms and writhed against his aching cock. It was almost perfect. Almost. Except for the man behind her. The shirtless, seething man who stared daggers at Alex.

  How could Alex possibly sport a massive fucking erection when the biggest threat in his life, his good friend and mortal enemy, stood less than a meter away, plotting ways to murder him and grab his girl?

  Megan rubbed against him, caressing his chest with her breasts and grinding her pussy on his cock, making the ache and the desire all the more unbearable. Soft noises escaped her throat, gluttonous groans and mesmerizing moans.

  When he could bear the tension no more, Alex raised his head and, without releasing Megan, looked at Des. “She’s mine.”

  Des’s expression blackened.

  “Al, wait—” Megan began.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t stop now, not even for her. This needed to be said. “You had four years to claim her,” Alex notified Des. “You didn’t. I’m not giving her up now.”

  Megan nipped her way up his neck until her mouth found his. “Good,” she whispered. “I never want you to give me up.”

  She kissed him. Slipped her tongue in his mouth and demanded a response. Alex was a goner. He responded, kissing her back even as he silently challenged Des with his gaze. But he could not possibly keep his eyes open when her hand landed on his pants, closing over his erection. His cock jumped at the contact and he groaned out loud.

  “I’m here too, Meggy-mine.”

  The whisper wasn’t meant for him, but damn it, he heard Des’s words loud and clear. The asshole was employing the same tactics Alex had used just minutes ago.

  Megan did not release his lips, but her tongue ceased its sinful exploration of his mouth.

  “I’ve been here all along,” Des said. “Just too damn blind to see what was in front of me.”

  Fuck! The very thing Alex had dreaded was now a reality.

  Her lips parted from his, making him ache.

  “If you want Alex, tell me now,” Des said. “I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you alone.”

  Alex glared at him through narrowed eyes. Fucking hero. Alex would never have the courage to walk away from her.

  Des’s mouth was beside Megan’s ear, his hand on her neck. “I love you, Meggy, but if you want Alex, I’ll step aside.”

  Hit the erotic jackpot.

  Sin City

  © 2010 Lacey Alexander

  Hot in the City, Book 2

  Diana Marsh is trying to change her wicked ways. She’s even dating a guy everyone agrees is prime husband material—conservative and boring, everything her family could wish for. There’s only one secret vice left to eliminate: Marc Davenport, the super sexy co-worker she’s been flirting with online. A business trip to Las Vegas is her opportunity to do just that, to sow the last of her wild oats with Marc before retiring behind the white picket fence. And where better than the ultra-erotic playground of Sin City?

  A new job awaits Marc in France, and a casual fling with Diana is the perfect send-off—together they indulge in every conceivable hot and scintillating fantasy the town has to offer. Even if her resolve to turn off her sensual nature bothers Marc, he reminds himself that their naughty games are only temporary and she’s a determined woman with a plan.

  However, when the two are ripped apart without warning, all bets are off. To Marc, Diana’s wild side is too beautiful to be contained. Too beautiful, he suddenly realizes, to let him walk away without playing to win.

  Warning: Contains a full deck of erotic delights and a heroine who's holding all the cards—three of a kind and everything’s wild. Who says the house always wins?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Sin City:

  Diana Marsh had just switched off the light next to her bed when the phone rang. She reached out in the darkness and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.” Marc Davenport, her work associate and long-distance friend. Or was he more than a friend?

  Their office-to-office work calls had gotten longer and more flirtatious recently, and hearing his voice made her smile in the dark. “Hey.”

  “You sound sleepy—were you asleep? Damn, what time is it there? I totally forgot about the time difference.”

  “It’s—” she switched on the light and sought out her bedside clock, “—just after eleven, but that’s okay. I only went to bed a few minutes ago.” In fact, she’d decided to turn in after she’d given up on him calling, thinking maybe he’d decided it was a bad idea.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

  So simple, one little word—sweetheart. Despite herself, just the sound of the endearment, delivered in his rich baritone, made her breasts ache a little, her pussy tingle with a hint of awareness. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to talk.”

  It was a first for them—a call outside the office. But the workload had been light today and a phone call to ask her opinion on the wording of an entry in the fall catalog had turned into a phone call about a hundred other things: movies they’d seen lately, music they listened to, Marc’s hopes of moving to Europe for a while, and even the guy Diana was currently seeing—although she’d tried to steer away from that topic quickly. Before they’d finally hung up, Marc had said, “Hey, why don’t I call you later tonight? We can talk some more.”

  She’d agreed, thinking it was safe, harmless. Just a little fun, just talking with a friend—a friend that sent frissons of heat echoing through her veins more and more lately.

  But she couldn’t think about that—in fact, she had to stop those feelings before they got o
ut of control.

  Because Diana was done being the black sheep of the family, finished being the Class A Bad Girl she’d been her whole life. She was cleaning up her act, playing it safe for a change.

  Surely a late night call from a…friend wouldn’t interfere with that?

  “I thought maybe you’d forgotten,” she said, “or decided not to call.”

  “No way, sweetheart—you know I love to hear your pretty voice. I’d have called earlier, but I just got home.”

  “I hope you weren’t at the office all this time.” Marc worked at the company’s corporate headquarters in Las Vegas, where she calculated the time to be after eight.

  “No, nothing like that. I just went out with some guys after work. A long happy hour.”

  “Sounds fun.” Diana didn’t do happy hour anymore and the pleasure-seeking part of her soul experienced a small bout of envy.

  “I wouldn’t have called, though, if I’d known you’d already put on your jammies and gotten all tucked in to bed.”

  She laughed. “I’m not exactly four years old, you know. I don’t have a strict bedtime.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m very aware you’re not a little girl.”

  “And just what does that mean?” she asked in a playful tone. Despite talking on the phone a couple of times a week for the past year, not to mention sending lots of e-mail—some of it work-related, some of it chatty—she and Marc had never met.

  “I’ve seen your picture on the company website, sweetheart,” he admitted. She’d seen his, too, and found him utterly hot—the best-looking thing in a suit and tie she’d ever laid eyes on.

  “And?”

  “And…” She could almost hear his playful grin. “I liked what I saw. A lot.”

  “What did you like so much?”

  “Your gorgeous brown hair with just a hint of auburn, your hazel eyes and creamy skin, and that sexy pinstripe suit you were wearing.”

  She let out a small giggle. “You can’t even see my suit below the shoulders in that picture. And besides, I didn’t know pinstripes were sexy.”

  “What can I say? Professional women get me hot.”

  Diana didn’t reply, just sat up in bed a little and let herself get hot at the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one caught up in a bit of lust here.

  “Just please tell me,” he said, “that the skirt is as short as I like to imagine it is.”

  She let her voice go a little husky. “Uh, yeah, it is. I’m a short skirt kinda girl.”

  “Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

  But I’m a good girl, too, she reminded herself. Marc had the ability to make her forget herself, the self she intended to be from now on.

  “So what kind of pajama girl are you? What are you wearing right now?”

  She sucked in her breath—this was starting to get steamy. And was about to get even steamier, she had a feeling. “The white baby-doll tank and panty set from the catalog,” she said, unduly gratified to know he’d be able to picture the skimpy outfit with ease. They were employed by Adrianna, Inc., a maker of fine lingerie and loungewear, and Marc worked on the team that designed and produced the quarterly catalogs.

  “Damn, honey—any chance you’re on a cell phone that can send me a picture?”

  She laughed. “Even if I was, what makes you think I’d send you one of me in my little nighties?”

  His chuckle was rich and full-bodied. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t, not yet. But I bet I could talk you into it.”

  “How?”

  “That’s for me to know,” he said, then shifted the subject back to her baby-doll tank set. “So, tell me, does the ultra-soft cotton we describe in the catalog feel as good against your skin as we promise?”

  She smiled to herself. “Mmm-hmm. Very soft and silky, just like the copy says.”

  “And do your nipples show through the white?”

  Her breath caught and her cunt turned restless, tickly. “I’ll…have to check on that,” she said, aware her voice had come out more whispery than she’d intended. Getting up, she walked to her dresser and glanced in the mirror. Two dark, sexy shadows puckered against the fabric; her breasts turned heavy. Returning to the bed, she picked up the phone, bit her lip slightly, then answered. “Yes, quite clearly, in fact.”

  “Mmm, I bet you’ve got very pretty breasts.”

  She wished he could see the come-hither smile she knew she wore. “Well, if I do say so myself…”

  He offered a light laugh before getting sexy again. “Are your nipples hard?”

  Another quick wave of heat. “Um, yeah. They definitely are.”

  “And your pubic hair? Does it show through the white cotton, too?”

  What a wicked boy, she thought. And what a wicked girl she was, as well. For the moment, she’d given up trying to fight it. “I don’t have any pubic hair. I keep it waxed off.”

  A slightly stunned silence met her ear and she enjoyed it immensely. “All of it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “God, sweetheart, you just made my dick hard.”

  Her voice came breathy, hot. “And you just made my pussy wet.”

  Another tense silence—but this one was pure heat, shared across a distance of over two thousand miles.

  “Touch it for me,” he whispered. “Will you do that?”

  “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Wrap your hand around your cock for me.”