It is more intense when you're in love. Now I know. The jolt of desire is so strong my legs shake with it. My gaze coasts down his amazing gut. His stomach is a flat plane, with an eight-pack instead of a six. Who knew there were that many muscles?
I let my eyes go a little lower-
One Hot Winter Break
Sharon Page
Excerpt
It is ten days before Xmas, and Ryan and I are lying in my bed while my mom is out, entwined together to stay warm. My mom keeps the heat down in the bungalow to save on the bills, so we spend a lot of time in the winter wearing coats inside.
Ryan is under my sheets and worn quilt. His toes stick out of the end of my bed, which bothers me as I'm sure he is cold. He doesn't seem to notice. Maybe because we're both naked.
He kisses the top of my head, a Ryan-gesture I adore. "What do you want for Christmas, Mia?"
"This." I snuggle close to him, and wrap my hand around his amazing cock that is already hard again. I'm supposed to be the one who can keep coming time after time and enjoy the multiple orgasm phenomena, but Ryan and I have been apart so much that he is now insatiable. Apparently guys can bank up their horniness, and it can all explode at once.
I give his rigid shaft a squeeze. I have small hands and can barely touch my fingers around him. "This is all I want," I say, "being in bed with you."
Ryan gazes at me under his long, dark lashes. His hair, buzzed almost to his scalp, is white-blond but his eyelashes are black. He laughs huskily. "I want to give you more than that."
I hesitate. I know Ryan is struggling to afford school, even with the scholarship. "I don't need anything else. You don't have to get me anything." When he came to visit me just before Thanksgiving, he showed me how to use the equipment in the architecture school's wood and metal working shops, which save me from failing my major fall term project. I really don't need anything else.
"I want to get you a gift."
"Don't, Ryan. You need your money for school."
He frowns, his lashes flicking down over his sapphire blue eyes. He runs his hand over his white-blond stubble. On Ryan, the severe hair cut looks sexy. "I'm not that poor, Mia."
"You-" I break off. I was about to argue and say that I know he is and I don't care. That I don't need stuff. But Ryan has a lot of pride.
He sits up in my bed, the sheets tumbling off him. The cool air washes over me and my heart hammers.
I've hurt him. Money is something he's sensitive about.
I sit up too, my bare breasts jiggling. My nipples go hard from the cold. Goose bumps jump up all over my breasts. Shivering, I lean over and put my lips to his cock. He tastes of sex, of his come. Sticking out my tongue, I run it lavishly around the taut head. I strum along the crown, then open my mouth and suck his cock deep inside.
I want to make things up to him.
He groans, but he cups my chin and gently pushes me back, forcing me to release him. "I don't want pity. You don't have to do this to make me feel better."
True, making him feel better was sort of why I was doing it. But I say, "I was doing it because I like sucking and licking you."
Ryan gets out of the bed, which startles me. He pulls on his sweatshirt, covering his broad bare chest. "Is that why you sleep with me? You feel sorry for me. You think I've had it rough."
"No, that's definitely not why I sleep with you."
But he's a guy. Guys don't listen. "I'm not good enough for you, Mia."
I get up on my knees, my old mattress sinking under my weight. "That's not true, Ryan." I hate confrontation. I want to say I love him, but maybe that will make everything worse.
"You know about all the crap in my life and it's made you feel sorry for me." He runs his hand over his short hair again. His sapphire-blue eyes are filled with pain. "Why else would you be with me?"
"Maybe because I care about you?"
He doesn't say anything. He picks up his white briefs from the floor, and yanks them up his muscular legs. Under his sweatshirt, his biceps flex and his forearms are hard as steel. He was always strong from football, mixed martial arts training, and work in the garage. But a term in military college has bulked up his pecs, his biceps, even tightened the muscles of his amazing butt. He's sexy and beautiful.
My brain is slowly processing information. He's putting on clothes. Does this mean he's walking away? Out the door? What does this mean?
What in hell did I do that was so wrong? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." I feel confused and bad. But angry, too. Why isn't he just talking to me?
I've spent way too much of my life feeling that way over stuff that I did, or didn't do wrong. I've never meant to hurt anyone. And right now, I'm starting to shake.
My reflection flashes back at me from the round mirror on my pink dressing table-I've had it since I was six. My hair is all tangled from sex, falling in red-blonde messed-up waves that spill over my shoulders and half-cover my breasts. My face is pale. Count-the-freckles pale.
He looks at me with this kind of unutterable sorrow on his face. "I'm sorry, too. I should have talked to you before now." He has his jeans in his hand.
What's going on here?
# # #
Burns Like Fire
Mandy Rosko
Jack Marilla is out for revenge for the deaths of his family, and the burn scars that cover his body. To get it, he has to hunt down the woman he used to love, the paranormal fire starter who set his house ablaze with him, and his family, locked inside of it. When he catches her, however, he faces his biggest challenge yet. To not believe her when she claims to be innocent, or fall for her seduction.
Copyright 2014 Mandy Rosko
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About The Author
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Chapter One
There she was.
Jack Marilla's heart sped up, like some kid crushing on an older chick who was so far out of his league she might as well have come from a different planet. The result of which was that his blood pumped faster and hotter, zooming straight down to his cock, practically racing to get there. The stupid thing stiffened uncomfortably behind the metal zipper of his pants, clearly remembering the last time he'd been between those shapely thighs.
Fuck him. Cindy Chase. He hated her so damned much that it hurt, but she was still something to look at.
And wasn't that twisted? He watched her from the shrubs on the edge of the parking lot, lusting after her, thinking about fucking her, and yet all the while he imagined what it would feel like to toss her into a metal box, to hurt her, to get back at her. Ugh, Christ, that was the sort of fantasy typical of a serial killer. Good thing he had a badge.
Jack had a hard time believing it was her at all. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the almost normal look of a murderer, dressed in the sort of high heels that showed off her calves, and a short skirt that revealed just the right amount of leg-like she was getting ready for a night on the town-was definitely not it.
Two years didn't change how insanely gorgeous she was. Cindy's thick fiery red hair was an explosion of curls that framed her heart shaped face. She had pale skin and a naturally slender frame with the longest legs Jack had ever had the pleasure of having wrapped around his waist.
Jack clenched his teeth as he fought against the intensifying throb in his stupid dick. He'd hoped the years had been rough on her. He'd hoped she'd suffered as much as he had, that she would've at least had bags under her eyes from lost sleep, or been living in a shitty apartment.
Nope. She looked like every other twenty-something who had enough time and money to take herself to the spa every other day. It looked as though she'd been getting along just fine, and it pissed him the fuck off.
In fact, she looked exactly the same sweet, innocent looking girl he'd met back when he'd been a fool in love. And yes, he could use the word innocent on her even with the clothes she was wearing. She just gave off that kind of vibe. No wonder he'd been tricked. Seeing her again was one giant reminder of how he'd been taken in.
Jack curled his hands into fists. It was hard for him to look at her and see a murderer who could summon flames from her body as bright as the thick hair that tumbled down her back. A murderer who'd locked him and his family inside of his house before burning it down around them.
The scars on his back seared just thinking about it.
He didn't want to think about his scars. He wanted to think about his family: his father, Sean, and older brothers, Liam and Aidan. They'd burned alive because of her. The screaming and coughing and yelling as everyone clawed at the locked exits was the absolute worst memory he had.
Thoughts like that were always just what he needed to make his stupid his dick behave.