15 scintillatingly sexy brand new romances for your reading pleasure.
A single dad, firefighter BDSM romcom
Since the moment I laid eyes on her I’ve wanted her.
But I wasn’t ready.
The kids were my world and my wounds were still raw.
For six months, I watched her from afar. Dreamed of her, lusted after her, fantasized…
But all that’s about to change. I’m finally ready to take the plunge and start dating again. And now that I know she’s single, I’m going to do this right and win Harper. I want her mind, I want her body, I want her heart.
And when she gives me all access, no limits, I know she’s the one for me.
He’s the one we all call Hot Dad at playgroup. The one who makes my knees weak and my panties wet every time he walks through the door. We all eye-fuck the bejesus out of him, and dream of his tongue between our legs.
But my kid is my world, and I’m a frumpy mom with a hole in the bum of her yoga pants. What could he ever see in me? So when Sam calls out of the blue, I’m stunned.
Now if only the kids can stop cock-blocking us, and his psycho ex would go away.
He’s turned out to be a master Dom and I’m willing and eager to be taught how to be the perfect little submissive.
Holy crap on a cracker. Sam in full-on Dom mode was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. Those jeans, those feet, those abs. Oh sweet baby Jesus, those abs. How does someone get their stomach to look like that? A thousand situps a day and a diet of nothing but chicken breasts and iceberg lettuce? That had to be it. They were hypnotic, and I was mesmerized by the way they bunched and contracted as he moved to shut the bedroom door. I heard the lock engage and let out the breath I’d been holding.
The atmosphere inside the house was heavy and electric. The man overwhelmed the space, projecting his dark mood. Yet even then, he was difficult to read. I knew he was angry. Worried. And by the way he’d ordered me over here threatening punishment—turned on, but there was something else there, lurking just beneath the surface.
My gaze left his abs and shifted back over to the top of the dresser. Handcuffs, shackles, nipple clamps, blindfolds, paddles, crops, whips, floggers, and what was that wheelie thing? Was that a strap? Fire ignited deep inside me, and flames danced along my arms and up my neck. I encircled my left wrist with the thumb and index finger of my right hand, making a cuff of sorts. Remembering the cuffs last night. Sam came toward me, bringing his incredible scent, masculine and spicy with the hint of mint and fresh linen. He circled behind me; I stilled, waiting, wondering where he was going to touch me first.
I didn’t have to wait long.
His breath was warm and smelled mildly of liquor as his lips landed on my collarbone. Had he been drinking?
I must have tensed, because his hands fell to my waist, and he whispered, “I had one shot right before you showed up. But I’m not drunk.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“I want to worship you, Harper. Make you come harder than you’ve ever come before. Help you find new, never before touched erogenous zones and please you until you’re begging me for sleep.”
“But I also want to punish you.”
I knew he needed this. I knew he needed an outlet for the nightmare Meegan had put him through, and I was willing to be that outlet. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I wanted to be everything he needed. And tonight he needed to let go.
His lips fell back to my collarbone before traveling around the back of my neck and down the other side. He spun me around, smoothly removed my shirt, lifting it up and over my head. My pants were next. I’d been in my hole-in-bum yoga pants when he called but changed into jeans to come over. He unsnapped, unzipped and let the denim fall to the floor.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze slowly raking me from head to toe. Those magnificent eyes of his turned the shade of magical moonlight, deep and blue and fierce.
I was lost in them. Lost in Sam, and he’d hardly even touched me. I would do anything for this man. He had my heart months ago, and now he had my body. I was his.
I stepped out of my jeans and stood there for the rest of his inspection. He glanced at the bed.
He knelt down; his big, warm hands encircled my left ankle. He ran them up the length of my calf, massaging out aches and knots I didn’t even know I had. I closed my eyes. A low, pleasured groan slowly rumbled through me from the back of my throat. Methodically, he removed my socks. I thought he’d proceed on to the other leg, but he didn’t. Instead he massaged and caressed, kneaded and prodded my feet. I groaned again, this time louder and longer. He dug his thumbs into the balls and arches of my feet, rubbed the pads of each toe until my whole body relaxed and I slumped back supine on the bed. He moved onto the other ankle, delivering the same glorious treatment to the other calf and foot. I was mush. Complete and total mush.
A gentle nip to the pad of my big toe brought me out of my coma, and I opened my eyes just as his hands came up and drew down my panties. Knuckles grazed the tops of my thighs, and I inhaled from how such a simple touch could make my entire body turn to molten lava and erupt with need.
He slid them over my ankles. Forgetting gentle, he palmed my thighs and spread me wide. Then his mouth was on me. Decadent warmth and velvety softness swept up through my folds as plump lips enclosed around my clit and fiercely sucked. My hips jerked off the bed, and I pushed into his mouth. That tongue, that diabolical tongue flicked and flicked and flicked until I was a convulsing mess on the bed.
Just a tongue.
Just a flick.
Just my clit.
And I was ready to implode. There were no fingers, no circles, nothing, and the man had me in an absolute frenzy. My head thrashed back and forth on the bed as the orgasm built like the crazy winter storm outside. And Sam just continued to flick. It was the most intense, insane kind of torture. I wanted more, more lips, more tongue, more fingers—anything. But at the same time, I didn’t. That flick was enough. That flick was perfect.
Ecstasy, jagged in its reality, lingered just out of my grasp. I was seconds from letting Sam push me over the cliff when he stopped the flicking, gave one, long, slow lick up between my folds, then stood up.
What the hell?
His grin was salacious and pure Dom.
“Would you like to come?” he asked.
I swallowed from my position on the bed. “Yes.”
“You’ll come when I say you can come. Stand up.”
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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.