Friday, 26 January 2018

#Firstchapterfriday #Lovingher #JeanneStJames #Obsessednovella Get your dirty fix here. Loving Her, part of the Obsessed Novella series. Hot sex, hot characters... it's all just hot!

The Obsession Continues...

(An Obsessed Novella)
by Jeanne St. James

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It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession...


I’ve loved Bree my whole life. We were each other’s firsts when we were young and inexperienced, and I totally screwed up. I disappointed her, causing her to cry and run away. But over the years, I’ve learned, I’ve perfected, and I’ve dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
When I finally get the chance never in my wildest dreams did I think Bree was like this. The girl who used to wear yellow sundresses is no longer Bree, she’s Brianna, my new mistress. I’ll do whatever needed for her forgiveness, even go to my knees and grovel.
However, there’s just one thing... I want Bree back, not Brianna. Once I get Bree, Brianna can do to me what she will.


Maybe Noah doesn’t realize it, but he’s been mine ever since we were teens. I tried to apologize for disappointing him our first time, but never got the chance.
Now, when he approaches me at the bar, I can only think about all the things I want to do to him and with him. I plan to show him the skills I’ve honed over the years.
Little does he know what’s in store for him because I know his secrets, his desires, his needs. And I plan on giving it all to him.
However, just when I think I’m in control, he turns my world upside down.

Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.

Chapter One

I’ve loved her my whole life. At least since I can remember, which is all the way back to when she was in kindergarten and I was in first grade. I’d chase her through the backyard and around the jungle gym, trying to catch and kiss her.
If I’d succeed, she’d curl her little fingers into a fist, sock me in the gut, then run and tell her mother.
Yep, I had no game.
And, apparently, I didn’t leave an impression. Because now, at thirty, she’s still avoiding me.
Even though she can’t go very far at the moment since I’m her brother’s Best Man, and she’s the Maid of Honor.
Let me tell you, I hate weddings.
I hate them even more when I’m forced to stand across from her and can’t touch her, drag my fingers through her long, dark hair and run my lips along her delicate neck.
The only time I can touch her is when I escort her up the aisle. I’ve done it twice so far. However, she won’t meet my eyes, she feels stiff on my arm and she’s hardly said two words to me. And now I stand here while the wedding planner drones on and on about what’s expected of us during the ceremony tomorrow.
Look, Ms. Wedding Planner, it’s easy. Put one foot in front of the other, walk (without tripping) up the center aisle (can’t get lost while staying in between the rows of pews and aim for the front of the church), then stand to the side (no picking noses, asses, or adjusting your junk).
Oh, and don’t pass out. Otherwise, the video will go viral across cyberspace.
One more thing… the rings. Can’t forget to put the rings in my tux pocket.
Got it.
Yawn again.
It isn’t as if I’m not happy for my buddy, getting married to a great woman (although, not quite as stunning as his sister) who makes him happy, but I’m not thrilled with being a part of it. But I have his back. And I’d love to have his sister on her back.
Again. But in better circumstances.
We lost our virginity together at seventeen in her parents’ pool shed. I was in love with her then, too. Her with me? Not so much.
And in those forty-five seconds of bliss, I fell in love with her even more. I don’t think she thought it was even close to bliss, though. In fact, she had run out of the shed crying while pulling down her sweet yellow sundress.
I was devastated, and that was a major blow to my seventeen-year-old ego.
I’ll admit it, I had a lot to learn.
However, I had to learn it elsewhere since she was no longer game. In fact, she avoided me (just like at this rehearsal).
But I did learn. I was determined to improve, to not make her cry next time. But, unfortunately, there never was a next time.
Eventually, Mrs. Callahan down the street was kind enough to take me under her wing. Teach me the ins and outs of women. Of pleasure. Of discovering what I wanted and what I wanted to give in return.
Mrs. Callahan.
She made me call her that, too. And I did (when I wasn’t calling her Mistress).
I learned.
I perfected.
I dreamt of one day getting another shot with the love of my life.
Now here we stand, across from each other. My eyes on her. Her eyes on everything but me.
I want her.
I need her.
Even after all these years.
As I stand across from her, I’m mesmerized by her unforgettable, stunning beauty.
I love her.
But I can’t have her.
And that fucking blows.
At dinner, I watch him over the rim of my wine glass. My eyes narrow as he leans over to say something quietly into the ear of one of the bridesmaids. The single one with the big boobs that made sure she snagged the chair next to him. She throws her little blonde head back and laughs. He smiles in response, his golden-green eyes sparkling. They have a secret. Apparently a funny one, too.
She can laugh with him all she wants, but she needs to know... he’s mine.
He’s been mine ever since we lost our virginity together all those years ago.
Maybe he didn’t realize it then. He doesn’t realize it now.
Maybe, just maybe, he needs a lesson.
One different from what that whore Mrs. Callahan taught him.
Yes, I know all about Mrs. Callahan and Noah.
And what she did to my Noah.
Days later I followed him, trying to catch up with him to apologize for running out crying after he popped my cherry. I even called out his name, but he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he was ignoring me. Probably because I disappointed him that day in the shed and he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
But then he went to her house. I watched (in shock) as the door opened and he was pulled inside. He had just turned eighteen. Barely legal. That bitch was like a hundred at the time.
Okay, probably the same age as we are now. Though, back then, it might as well have been a hundred.
She opened the door wearing some sexy almost see-through nightie. One I would have killed to own (and fill out like her). Her eyes flicked up to me and I froze. She smiled like a predator at Noah, snagged his arm and dragged him inside. Then she aimed that smile at me as she shut the door behind him.
I ended up following him more than once. More than twice.
I’m embarrassed to admit how often it truly was.
But what he learned, I did, too. I watched them.
And one day when I was hidden, I saw it happen.
She had her husband’s belt. And she whipped him with it while he was on his knees, his head to the mattress.
I watched him twitch with every strike. His ass getting redder with every blow. And she wasn’t gentle. No. She struck him hard, often, but I couldn’t hear if he made a noise. If he cried out, if he asked her to stop.
Though, it didn’t appear so.
He could have escaped, gotten away. He wasn’t tied in any fashion, he wasn’t restrained. He moved into position willingly with, from what I could see, his eyes showing excitement.
A smile curled that witch’s lips as she did it.
I got scared while watching her hit him.
Not for him.
But for me.
Because I realized what she gave, what he willingly accepted, did something inside of me. It lit a fire in my belly, caused goosebumps to break out all over my body, tightened my nipples, made me slick between the thighs.
What Mrs. Callahan was doing should have disturbed me. It didn’t.
It excited me.
I wanted to switch places with her.

Now, I not only wanted Noah, I wanted to do things to him I never expected.

Author Bio:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a bestselling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! 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:

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