The car was some kind of Porsche and the door stood open and beckoning, like a gold embossed invitation to sinIf she could survive a ride with angel-lips in his penis car then surely she’d be immune to him in any situation?

So, what...in the meantime, you just...” He glanced at her then back at the road. “Deny yourself?”Em gave a half smile at the incredulity in his voice. Clearly it was a foreign concept to him. “It’s okay. I have a battery operated boyfriend awaiting my attention when I get home.”He shot her a quick, open-mouthed stare, his lips parted enticingly. He looked so stunned at her admission she couldn’t help but laugh.“Sorry, didn’t you know that women did that, too? Did I shock you?”“Not at all.” He recovered quickly, a big smile splitting his profile. “I’m just trying to decide which is sexier. Self-denial or self-abuse.

But...a vibrator can’t hold you in its arms or give you the full-body experience.”Em clamped down on the wicked surge of heat between her legs, thinking about a full-body experience with Lincoln Quinn. “It’s not going to make me lie in the wet spot, either.”“It can’t snuggle with you after,” he countered with another laugh.Em snorted. “And that’s your specialty, is it? Hanging around for pillow talk?”“I’ll have you know I give very good pillow talk.”Sure. And Elvis was alive and living at Henley Stadium. “Right,” she muttered. “Of course you do.”“I really do.” He nodded. “Most women seem to be more interested in me giving them good head, but hey, I’m a full service kinda guy.

You should really go inside now,” he said.Her glazed, unfocused stare was starting to clear, and the cranky look he was used to being levelled at him started to take shape. “And if I don’t?”“You want to fuck me on your doorstep?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. “Call me tomorrow when you’re sober. I’ll be right over.”She jutted her chin defiantly—clearly pissed at him for trying to be the responsible one. “I won’t need you after I’ve spent all night with a couple of multi-speed toyfriends and a box of batteries.”Linc shoved his hands on his hips, pushing back unhelpful images of her naked and pleasuring herself with a hot pink cock. “Go inside,” he growled.Before he did something crazy like offering to watch.

Sex was a happiness transaction. And rugby had given Linc the means to feel very happy, very often.

It was the kind of mouth that should only be found on angels. Chick angels.

Probably just as well. Maybe with all that testosterone walking out the door, the insane urge to hump Lincoln Quinn’s leg would walk right out as well. Because that was exactly how she felt every time she looked at him.Like she was in heat.Within minutes, the restaurant had emptied out to only a few non-team wedding guests. Her nemesis was nowhere to be seen, and Em congratulated herself on her self-control as she eased off the bar stool.Embarrassing leg-humping avoided—bravo!

Linc had always been a leg man. Thankfully hers made up for her caustic tongue and armour plated panties

Talk to me when your nuts are so blue they look like something you can hang on a Christmas tree.

This was Linc at his most elemental. This was cave man stuff. Potently male. Potently virile. Hot. As. Fuck.

His aftershave – eau du sex god - wafted her way.

He hadn’t struck her as particularly religious unless she counted the number of times he’d called out to Jesus when he’d been deep inside her.

He was stretched out like he was her own personal playground and she wanted to ride on his equipment for a bit longer.

If I’d known a sixty-niner was the way to your heart I would have done it weeks ago.

You’re a gambling man, right? Or do you only bet on frivolous things like poker and fucking women?

Why do men always have such high opinions of their cock?

He’d gone too far. He didn’t usually talk to women so frankly. Not with them both fully clothed anyway.

The only reason I can’t jump in and engage life is that I’ve told myself I can’t. Yet I can’t helping wondering would happen if I told myself I could?

This pride of yours, it’s admirable as all get-out, but there has to come a point in your life where you admit you need a hand. Pain might be necessary, but suffering is optional. Are you going to let me be the fucking man here and help my woman?

Gripping her wrists, he pinned her tight to the vanity. “That sex as a weapon thing can only get you so far, Tess.”Wanna bet? “I’m not damaged, cowboy. I don’t have hang-ups about my body, I don’t use sex to mask my problems”—much—“and right now, if you don’t touch me in some very hot, very wet places, I might die.

I’ve done things I’m not proud of and I’m trying really hard to make up for those things by being a decent guy. And decent guys don’t act the way I’ve been acting around you, so I’m going to stop.

Sweetheart, I’ve been there with you through all of it. I was the one who camped out with you in that old tree house for days on end and held you after your mom died. It was me who sat with you while we waited for your sister to come out of the surgery that cut out her cancer. I was the one holding your hand while we waited for those test results to come back, and I was the one who supplied the alcohol to get you drunk, and the shoulder to cry on while you processed it. I understand. You don’t have to do this alone.

Is that a baton in your pocket, officer, or are you just happy to see me?

Tonight isn’t for the baby. This is just you and me.

You know,” she stammered, resenting the way her body reacted to his touch with fireworks and songbirds, “I kind of hate you sometimes.”“If that’s code for ‘I want to fuck you until I can’t walk straight’, then I kind of hate you, too.

She shouldn’t be this close to Cole, not alone, not even when she was pissed beyond belief. It was too dangerous, since she had yet to find a cure for I-hate-you-but-I-want-to-fuck-your-brains-out-itis.

You're gonna have to hold on tight, because this rodeo is just getting started.

I must say, cowboy, I'm impressed. I was worried you could only handle eight seconds at a time.

Type A Ellie liked to know the rules, like knowing what to expect. Flying blind made her nervous. He prepared to make her all kinds of nervous.

Not everything worth learning is summarized in book. Sometimes you've got to rely on instincts.

You want a wild ride, J.J.? I'll give it to you, hard and slow until you scream my name.

Sometimes the journey to love involves some bumpy detours, as any girl with an - ex-fiance will tell you. But I've learned a smooth trip isn't particularly important. Getting there is what matters.

But you just got laid. Very well, I might add. Isn’t that enough to tide you over for a while?”“Maybe for a woman. But if a man doesn’t use the goods, they shrivel up—”She rolled her eyes.“—and now that I’ve realized what I’ve been missing, and you’ve done such a great job getting me back up on the horse, for which I’m immensely grateful, then I think I’m ready to spread my wings.” He motioned to the wing spreading area. His groin. “This really shouldn’t go to waste, now, should it?

She squeezed her thighs together, desperate for relief. Aiming for completion without doing something so deliberate as touching herself. Look ma, no hands!

Staying level with Tess was going to require fast thinking, which was mighty difficult considering all the blood he needed for said thought processes was now hurtling south.“What would this job involve?”“Only one task. Make. Me. Believe.”“That I’m your fiancé?”Cue her smile, sly and sexy. First time she’d let him in on that action, too. “That you want me more than your next breath.”If she moved forward a couple of inches, his boner would make her believe.

I could just as easily have taken the train.”He shut his eyes, just long enough for a movie of a Tess-induced train riot to screen on the backs of his eyelids. Fists flying, teeth broken, friendships destroyed as men vied to get closer to her lush body barely covered in that incendiary French maid outfit. And now he was turning hard again.

He almost didn’t want to start. He’d been fantasizing about this for so long. What if it was a disappointment? What if he couldn’t make her come? In his fantasies, she’d come for him hard and frequently, usually screaming his name.

Is this another fantasy?” she asked.His gaze lifted to her face. His expression was serious, his usual amusement absent. “No. This is real. This is you and me. Just once, and afterwards I’ll leave you alone. I promise I won’t hold you back. Now, I’m going to make love to you, slowly and completely, and you’ll never forget the feel of me inside you.

This is laid down with a groove funkier and blacker than anything Prince of Michael Jackson--or any other black artist of the recent years for that matter--has come up with.

You want something, you go after it, and you hang on to it

Love is a risk. It always is. None of us is guaranteed a long life. But love takes courage.

I love you like the woman I am now. Not the girl I was. I’m battered and bruised and I’m tougher, but I’m still here. I’m scared to death, but I’m more frightened of a life without you.

You have no idea how dirty I can play.” He laughed. “Bring. It. On.

Flynn was kissing her again, not to help her forget but to force her to remember. Everything he had meant to her then. Everything he meant to her now. How he always had been, and forever would be, her world.

An inappropriate attraction to your friend’s fiancé was grounds for disbarment from the Woman Club. Neither did it make a lick of sense. He was uncouth, uneducated, uncivilized. All of their conversations back then had been unholy bicker fests where they charged from the opposite ends of the spectrum, determined not to meet in the middle but to rip pieces out of each other on the drive by.

You’re going to need more than an average kissing game to get with me, Cross.”“Nothin’ average about that kiss.”She sighed. “Don’t beg. It’s so unTexan.