Excerpt no. 1
As I fumble in my purse for a tissue to wipe my eyes, the energy around me shifts and I begin to sense… something—some presence coupled with a charge of electricity…
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck and goosebumps prickle down my arms as I spot a shape out of the corner of my eye. Mustering the courage to look, I turn to my left and let out a breathy gasp as I see a man—a tall, beautiful, dark-haired man—standing between me and
the door I came through.
A man that I know—or at least that I once knew.
Cameron.
Cameron O’Neill.
Scion of the O’Neill dynasty.
My heart beats out of my chest.
Finding yourself alone with one of New York’s most breathtaking eligible bachelors is something that most women in Manhattan would kill for, but seeing the man I used to be so close to, and that I still feel so betrayed by, see me in this pitiful state is one injury too many for my battered self-esteem.
A shadow darkens his features and he frowns as he watches my tear-streaked face. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was up here,” he says taking an unwelcome step towards me, his voice deeper and richer than I remember from our college days together.
I wipe the tears from my eyes, barely able to speak. I loathe crying in front of anyone, never mind this ex-friend who has a history of hurting me.
Despite my embarrassment at being caught in this pitiful state, I can’t help but be taken aback by the intense, impossible beauty of this stunning man. A mop of thick, wavy dark-brown hair caresses the golden skin of his forehead and jaw. His strong hairline frames a chiseled, heart-shaped face with cheekbones so sharp they cut shadows beneath them. His mesmerizing, almond-shaped brown eyes are large and his irises a swirl of deep amber tones, visible in just the moonlight and the pale glow of the light above the roof door. His stubble is thick, clearly not having been touched for a couple of weeks. He seems taller than I remember too; he must stand just under six foot three, about the same height as Jack. He has a look of anguished concern on his devastating face, my attempts at concealing my distress having obviously been in vain.
“Jess, I… didn’t mean to disturb.”
It’s surreal to hear him say my name—annoying almost—as though he should no longer have the right to use it. I wipe my face and try to compose myself. I hate that the man who spent so long warning me about Jack may now think that Jack is the reason I’m upset and that he was right all along.
“You— I— You’re not disturbing. I just needed to… get some air,” I stammer, starting to get up. “I didn’t think anyone would be up here. I can go—”
“Stay,” he says firmly. “I mean, you can stay, as long as you need. Please.”
I sit back down. In the state I’m in, I’d better not try to go back down those stairs unless I want to be surrounded by people asking me what the problem is. I look up at him, half expecting him to turn and leave me to my misery.
But instead, he stays.
Suspended moments pass between us as he peers into me in awkward silence, studying my face with intent, his eyes wandering over every inch of my features
“Jess, I don’t want to get too personal, but… are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “It’s just been one of those days.”
“Sure,” he indulges me. “Believe me, I often feel like crying after a night with some of these people.”
I shoot him a smile of gratitude at his gracious attempt to downplay the situation as my eyes float over his impossibly beautiful face. The moon emerges from behind wisps of blue clouds and lights up his unflinching eyes, leaving me skipping a breath. Cameron was one of my best friends for several years, but he never once made me as jittery as he’s doing now in all that time. In my defense, the guy truly is breathtaking. It’s no mystery why most women lose all rational thought around him. Plus, he looks so much more like a man now than when we were students together at college, and not just because of how amazingly well he’s grown into his masculine features or how much
broader his shoulders are and stronger his arms look, even under his white shirt and expensive-looking black suit. His whole energy is different. The youthful exuberance has gone, and in its place is a man who looks poised and collected and unnervingly confident. His gaze is impenetrable, his face composed. He wears the body language of a man that is confident about his physical strength and social position.
He looks determined. And powerful. And dangerous.
Excerpt no. 2
Without uttering a word, Jack is upon me, his hard muscles pressed against the soft semi-bare skin of my back. He towers over my barefoot frame, his forceful arms dominating me effortlessly. One arm snakes around my waist, forcing me against him, as he dips his head to kiss the left side of my neck, loudly breathing in the scent of my freshly washed and oiled skin and lemon-scented locks. His damp hair strokes my face and a hint of day-old stubble rubs against my flushing cheek.
Fingers grasp my wrist, forcing my knife-bearing hand onto the counter as his lips find my left ear. “Let go.” His voice is a rough rasp, his breath heavy on my skin.
Instinctively I do as I’m told. “Jack, we don’t have time. I need to—”
He doesn’t let me finish, instead twisting his right hand around my damp hair and pulling it hard, yanking my head back and exposing my neck which he devours with his tongue and teeth and lips like a ravenous animal.
“Jack, please…” My voice is little more than a whimper, laced with fear and hesitation. As hot as Jack is, I still feel so damn uneasy when he touches me—remnants of the hurt I feel over him touching those other women. I think back to the conversation we had today and know that I have to try to relax and trust him when he runs his hands over my body.
He lets out a groan on hearing my feeble protest and uses his left hand to infiltrate the top of my delicate dress, pulling it down roughly to expose my round breasts, still oily from a liberal application of post-shower coconut oil. A rough gasp emanates from his throat as he palpates and toys with my soft teats that respond to his fingers by contracting into hard points.
“Jack, we don’t have time…”
My hesitant protest goes unacknowledged and I pull my left hand up to his dominant, invading arm and grab it instinctively to try and pull it away. In response, without uttering a word, he grabs my arm and forces it behind my back, using his right hand to hold it in place before
resuming his exploration of my body as the prod of his erection against my buttocks signals his ferocious arousal. My skimpy dress is clearly no protection against Jack’s determined body and I whimper, in awe at his indecent masculinity and still thoroughly pissed at how uncharacteristically timid I now become whenever he breaches my defenses. Ever since discovery day, there’s a part of me that feels like a virgin who’s being explored for the first time when he probes my quivering body, and Jack—a man who always had a more than healthy sex drive—seems more turned on and determined to have me than ever.
I hardly have time to think about the shift in the balance of power between us before he uses my hair to pull my head back, slides his lips next to my ear and in a voice filled with desire and menace whispers, “I warned you to be careful what you wear around me, angel. Remember?”
The ferocious yearning emanating from him overwhelms me and I let out a quiet moan as tingling pleasure caresses my core, setting my sex to blissful attention. “Jack,” I whimper.
A hoarse groan leaves his throat as he kisses my neck, pulling my dress down so that both straps are now off my shoulders, leaving my natural breasts fully exposed. I struggle against him for a second as he brushes his fingers over my hard nipples, pushing his crotch hard against me, forcing me to acknowledge the threat of his ambitious erection.
“Baby, be very careful,” he threatens, his lips pressed against my neck so closely that I can feel his breath. A hand lifts the hem of my dress, gliding skillfully up my slender, oily thighs, exposing the curves of my butt. He slides his hand over my abdomen and between my legs,
gently exploring my smooth, hairless pubis, holding me firmly in position as he looks down at my half-naked body.
“Mmm, don’t fight too hard, Jessynia. You know what can happen to me—and to you—when you try to resist me,” he whispers as his hand ventures between my legs, gently and expertly opening up the soft pink folds of my sex, which is juicy and warm and clearly waiting to be penetrated by the god behind me. Jack pants and pushes his erection against my buttocks as his fingers delve into the sweet, glossy syrup. “Oh, baby, that’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
He spreads my legs apart slightly with his feet, groaning as he penetrates my tight sex with his finger to prepare it for the pleasure of his entry. After gently sliding his finger into and out of the soft wet tunnel, gradually opening it up to ready it for his entry, he glides his finger up to my clit and makes circles around it using my own wetness, tenderly caressing, pressing and teasing it until I pant with aching pleasure.
He looks down at the side of my face and holds me tightly against him as I whimper. “That’s it, beautiful. I want to hear you scream.”
My nipples turn hard and a dewy mist of perspiration forms on my skin as Jack awakens the nerve-endings of my sex. After teasing the sweet spot for several minutes, he takes a step back and I feel him unzip his pants, keeping them on, but taking out his thick erection. His magnificent and unrelenting male form hovers assertively over my fragile half-naked female body as he positions his hard manhood between my legs, using it to tease the entrance to my body.
“I want to fuck you, angel. Hard. If you need me to stop, you have to tell me right now,” he says, his mouth near my ear.
My previously sassy, vocal participation in love-making was shocked out of me two months ago and I remain lamentably mute.
“I want an answer. If you need me to stop, I will.”
“Don’t stop,” I respond after a moment.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” he breathes.
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