New sWets from Shara Azod, LLC!
by Shara Azod and Marteeka Karland"I'm very serious about this. I will not have my company run into the ground because you don't get my products where they need to be when they need to be there."
"Anyone who says that's happening is a goddamned liar." Voice low and deadly, Victor rose from his chair slowly, deliberately. "Perhaps if you crawled up Diane's ass like you have mine, she'd get things moving better in production."
"I could just scratch your eyes out instead. Maybe then you'd learn some respect." Anger dripped from her every word, though she spoke quietly, almost matter-of-factly.
"You're welcome to try." This was getting out of hand quickly, but damned if he wasn’t having fun. Watching her get all pissy was...hot. Her chest heaved, her nostrils flaring just a touch. Even with those lips pursed together they looked lush and eminently kissable.
For several moments, neither of them moved, staring each other down. Amazingly, Victor found himself harder than ever. There was just something about the little sexpot he couldn't resist. The more she fought him, the more she railed at him, the more he wanted to bend her over his knee, pull up her tight little skirt, paddle her ass until it glowed, then fuck her into oblivion. That image didn't help his condition even a little.
You're welcome to try...
Yeah. A confrontation was a long time coming. Just not the way she was probably expecting.
Victor moved around his desk quickly, grinning in satisfaction when she took a step back before catching herself, holding her ground.
“You wouldn’t dare...”
“Dare what?” he growled as he advanced. “Dare to pull up that conservative little skirt that is probably hiding wicked underwear? Dare pull you over my knee? Dare to spank that full, round ass of yours until you beg me to take you?”
by Janet Eckford
“Oh! Well this really is the best place in L.A.” he paused and stuck his hand out to shake hers, “I’m Davor, by the way.”
She was operating on autopilot as she shook his hand, continuing to stare in amazement. It was taking her mind some time to reconcile the mundane conversation being delivered in a voice that by its sound alone, caused her hindbrain to perk up at the warning of danger. His grip swallowed her much smaller hand, but his gentle handling of her continued to dismantle stereotypes she’d formed.
“Esmé,” she replied, feeling her face heat at the look of pleasure he received at receiving her name.
She initially planned to give a fake name tonight. She promised Gemma she’d be open-minded, but there was no way she wanted anything to tie her back to this place once she was done. The shock of her honest reply was derailed at the feel of his thumb gently rubbing the top of her hand.
He continued to hold her hand in his large palm. His nails were short, clean, and well-kept, but they didn’t have the manicured veneer she usually looked for in men. She could tell by the rough texture of his skin that he worked with his hands, and the thought of him laboring under a hot sun suddenly made her feel hot and bothered. It was her turn to respond, to volley back the conversational ball, but she was too entranced with watching him turn her hand over in his and explore the texture of her fingers. Esmé noticed that his lightly tanned skin contrasted with her own nut-brown complexion, but it wasn’t as stark as she would have expected.
“You’re really soft,” he whispered reverently.
Esmé shivered again, and this time instead of asking if she were cold, Davor smiled knowingly. It was one of the sexist looks she’d ever seen on a man. At the sound of his statement her breathing became exhilarated , and the more critical part of her brain that had momentarily gone on hiatus at the sight of such a rugged man, chastised her for panting. She was going to internalize her critical voice, turn away from the soft caress of rough fingers on soft skin, but the words of the fortune teller flashed like a bolt of lightning through her brain. She wasn’t controlled by her past.
“Very,” she replied with a smile and a wink before she pulled him down for a kiss.
by Megan Slayer
Billy stared at her. He'd heard of her legendary appetite for her costars. Did she want him? God knew he wanted her. He’d walked into the room with a damned hard on. Just thinking about Drea O’Neal kicked his blood pressure to the ceiling. He leaned on the doorframe of her dressing room. She hadn’t answered him yet—not in words—but the hunger in her eyes was undeniable.
“Do you have a problem with the lighting? I can change it to flatter your,” he swept his gaze over her body, “curves.” The robe obscured his view and he yearned to shove the damned thing out of the way. He refrained. Part of what he liked about Drea was definitely her looks, but the bigger part was the way she took control. He wanted her to pick him for her next conquest.
Drea stepped forward and hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans. She tugged him into the dressing room.
“You know what I want.” She nudged him onto her couch, then clicked the lock on the door. “You.” She raked her fingers down her chest to the knot in her robe, then untied the pesky sash. The deep blue satin slipped off her shoulders, revealing her ample curves inch by inch. “I want you to make me come three times before the shoot starts. Think you can manage? Or am I too much woman for you?”
“I’ll give you my best try.” His mouth watered. He’d seen plenty of her pictures and had a collection of her work on his computer, but none of that held a candle to the real woman. The cups of her corset top barely contained her breasts and the round outline of her nipples showed just below the lace. She strode toward him on spindly high heels, then settled on his lap. Oh Christ.
Love As Wide As The Atlantic
Hello,” his voice was gruffer than she remembered. She felt that familiar clench and pulse of her pussy walls when she heard his voice.
“Hello Cody,” she said after clearing her throat.
“Alexia,” the tension in his voice was evident to her, she could almost see him with his lips pursed into a line, and his eyes were probably a darker hue than their normal gray color.
“Yes, it’s me.” It was hard not to mentally kick herself. Why had she dialed? Drunk dialing never got anyone anywhere, and now here she sat with Cody on the other end of dead air. She had nothing to say.
“I’m not taking no for an answer, if that is why you are calling.” Cody’s terse response made her lips crack into a half-hearted smile.
“Honestly Cody, I don’t know why I’m calling. I got out the shower and before I knew it, I was dialing.” She twirled a finger in her natural locks, trying to get a handle of all the things that she wanted to say and all the things that she couldn’t say.
“I know why you called. You missed me.” His voice turned husky, and she could almost see him in her mind’s eye, putting his arm behind his head as he reclined. God, why did she know him so well? And in knowing him so well, why wasn’t this conversation easier?
Sighing, she realized there wasn’t a point of half-heartedly denying what they both knew.
“Yes, I did miss you, still miss you.”
“Then why seven years, Alexia? Didn’t you realize it in the first year that what we amazing?”
“‘Have’? Cody it’s ‘had’, and I’m not saying it wasn’t the most amazing spectacular, fantastic time of my life, but come on, we’ve had this talk. None of us would have become what we were meant to become.”
“And what if what we were meant to become one?” Cody’s voice dropped an octave. When did he become even manlier? Perhaps it was a thirty thing, but Cody had never sounded so sure of himself, not the way he did now. It was sexy as hell and just as scary.
“Cody, we moved as a unit, as one, but that was a long time ago. We’ve grown up, don’t you think?”
“Oh, I know that I’ve grown, Alexia, and I’m quite excited to see how you have grown. Thank you for the reminder, but I remember all too well how we moved as a unit, as one, or have you forgotten?”
by Alice Duval
In the midst of trying to reform the string of last night’s events, he heard the humming of his phone, vibrating along the nightstand’s wooden surface. He lumbered back to the bedroom. A local number. It was too early for nonsense from his crew of friends. Deciding to answer, Keith lowered his voice and his growing aggravation.
After all, it could be his mom on the other end.
“Yeah?” He realized suddenly he didn’t have any clothes on. What the hell happened last night?
“Keith Brunson?” a husky, sultry voice questioned.
“Yeah.” Keith frowned. So not what or who he expected. Part of him had expected the smooth, sexy, throaty husk of a woman that kept slipping into his memory and disappearing just as quickly. Telemarketers got on his nerves.
“Who the hell is this?” Keith sat down on the bed’s edge. His ankles had bruises around them. It must’ve been some damn party.
He didn’t like not knowing. It irked him like a thousand pins poking in unison. As a private detective for Stevens & Eaton, he enjoyed, hell, made a living out of knowing other people’s business. So the blank spots in his mind where last night’s memories should be annoyed him something fierce.
“I’m hanging up.” Keith didn’t do heavy breathing or time wasting. He had to retrace last night’s events, starting with the hotel room’s name and to whom it was registered.
“Don’t. Come to room 2605.”
“Why?” Keith demanded, but the caller had already hung up.
He glared at the phone, demanding it to tell him something, anything, more. When he closed his eyes, he saw bits of the woman, dark hair, brilliant green eyes, and skin so soft it made his cock hard just thinking about it. So why couldn’t he remember her name?