Showing posts with label Romance on the Go. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romance on the Go. Show all posts

Saturday, December 8, 2012

The Lawman's Librarian by Rebecca Brochu

Blurb:  
When Sheriff Nick Grey is talked into playing Santa at the local mall by his devious sister Lana he fully expects to have a miserable time.  What he doesn’t know is that Lana has convinced Peter DeKell to play one of his elves.  Peter’s the town’s librarian and the object of Nick’s affection since they were both children.  The only problem is that while the entire town knows that the Sheriff is head over heels for the quiet librarian, Peter seems at best oblivious and at worst not interested.  

After being faced with the temptation of Peter in tights Nick finally breaks down and asks Peter to dinner and is elated when he accepts.  When disaster strikes in the form of an ill-timed kiss Nick has to make a choice.  Is he willing to finally give up on being with Peter?  Or will the lawman fight for his librarian’s affections?

Teaser Excerpt:  
He tastes better than Nick had ever imagined, salty but not too bitter, and he still smells like soap and fresh clean skin.  Nick sucks slow and hard, his mouth sliding up and down Peter’s shaft in an easy rhythm while his tongue swirls around and across the head of his cock, pausing every now and again to dip into his slit and wiggle slightly.  Peter’s moaning and thrashing, trying to buck his hips up but unable to escape the iron grip Nick has on his hip.
Nick just loses himself in the act, in the taste and feel of Peter hard and throbbing in his mouth, in the knowledge that he finally has him where he’s always wanted him.  Peter’s panting and calling his name above him and tugging gently at his hair in warning, but Nick ignores it.  He wants Peter to come, wants to taste it, to have him lose control inside of his mouth with the knowledge that Nick was the one who drove him to such extremes.
Peter comes hard and suddenly across his tongue, and Nick swallows it down and keeps sucking.  He cleans Peter with his tongue, makes sure to get every drop there is and then keeps going until Peter is tugging at his hair harder, his cock too sensitive for what Nick’s doing.
He finally pulls off, but he doesn’t really give Peter a chance to recover.  Instead he grabs him by the hips and flips him over onto his stomach so he can spread him open and press his tongue against his hole.  The normally tightly furled muscle is loose from Peter’s orgasm and Nick just presses inside ruthlessly.  Peter moans low in his throat and squirms, but this time he’s pressing back into Nick’s mouth instead of trying to escape.
He fucks Peter slow and steady with his tongue, bites gently at his rim just to feel him jump and twitch, and then slides a finger in alongside his tongue just to hear him whine high in his throat.  Nick keeps going, adds another finger and then another, licks around them and between them, loosens Peter up for his cock because he wants nothing between them, not even the slick slide of lube.
“Nick.  Nick, please, please I’m ready.  I’m ready, Nick.  I want it, I want it, come on, Nick, please. Give it to me.  Come on, come on, come on!”  Peter groans and presses farther back onto Nick’s tongue and hand, and Nick growls and pulls himself away slowly, like it’s painful to leave and it really kind of is.
“Fuck, Peter.  Fuck.  God, I can’t wait.  I can’t.”  Nick’s frantic now, his own cock is full and heavy, curving up towards his stomach and leaking desperately.


Thursday, December 6, 2012

A Ghost For Christmas be Kacey Hammell


After receiving a long weekend at an elegant hotel beside the majestic Niagara Falls as a Christmas gift, Jodie Gibson is determined to do nothing but relax and enjoy the scenery. And, okay, just maybe meet someone who makes her toes curl.

Sebastian is sophisticated, tall, dark and gorgeous--everything a woman fantasizes about. But he's also an 18th century ghost. He haunts the halls of the hotel, seeking the one true love that can help him find peace… 



Excerpt © Kacey Hammell

As she peered into the reflective glass, a face appeared behind her. Jodie whipped around and fell back against the window. 
Oh my fucking God!
Before her, in what looked like a shimmering bubble, stood the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, he had dark unruly hair and striking, magnetic blue eyes that held her in place.
Jodie blinked, uncertain, scared and breathless.
How was it possible? She’d read the newspaper clippings, yes, but it was unimaginable to think ghosts might actually walk among the living. 
Not everything made sense. She only believed in things that could actually be seen, felt and touched. This seemed surreal.
Stunned by the apparition before her, dressed in what looked like centuries-old clothes straight out of Esquire, he seemed to look straight through her, and his smile warmed her clear to her toes. Lord, she was in trouble. 
“Hello.” Soft and gravelly, his voice alone seduced her…all the way to her toes. Her body quivered and her center tightened. 
Whoa. What the hell am I thinking?  There’s a ghost in front of me and I’m ready to jump his bones. Not bloody likely.
“What are you doing here? Get out.  I don’t care who you are, you’re leaving, right now.” 
He frowned. “No need to be frightened.  I’ve been here for centuries.”
Jodie laughed, and not one to wilt like a scared little girl, stood tall. “This is all a joke.” She looked around, up and down, and all over the room. “Are there hidden cameras somewhere?  Hey, Ashton, if you’re behind the camera, you can come out now.  I’ve been Punk’d good. Thanks and all, but I’d like to get on with my evening without you.”
 “Who is this Ashton? What is a punk?  A rake, perhaps?” he asked.
Jodie squinted.  “A rake?”  She hadn’t ever heard that term spoken, but had read it in historical romances. No one talked like that these days. “No. Never mind, it’s not important. Listen, I just want you to go. I want to enjoy my evening.”
His smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, my dear, but this evening every decade is the only time I am visible to the human eye. I never miss a chance to watch the Falls.”
Every decade…
“You’re telling me you do this every ten years? How old are you?”
“I was born in 1781. That makes me—”
“Two hundred thirty-one,” Jodie whispered, legs weak. She grabbed the back of the chair nearby and sat down. Were such things even possible?
Jesus. 
An eighteenth century ghost stood before her. 
Merry Christmas to me. 


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