Violet Harper, a standard mid-twenties woman, just trying to live life with minimal stresses, but as most people know this is very rare. Before she met Damon, her concerns regarded making money last each month and whether her career was really worth the strain it put on her mental health and social life, but after, her concerns became much more life threating, yet laced with tantalising lust.
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"I'm sorry it had to come to this," Damon's words were soft and controlled, but laced with amusement. Violet's jaw clenched and her body strained in its unusually restricted position. "However," he continued, "if you had only listened to me, you wouldn't be in this predicament."
"Predicament? I would hardly call this," she raised her hands as high as they would go in the black rope currently wrapped around each wrist leading to is tethered place on the bed frame. "A predicament," she finished, with an exasperated flop of her heavy head on the satin pillow, followed quickly by her arms. A small smirk graced his lips as he listened, he slowly moved his fingers up and down her legs, pondering his response. He knew, of course he knew, that this action would drive her crazy. Goose-bumps began appearing on her lightly tanned skin and her head tilted back almost involuntarily. Her eyes closed as she relished in his touch, this time was meant to be the last time.
"Would you like me to stop? Of course not," Damon's settled half way up her right thigh. "Otherwise you would have said the safe word we discussed. But you haven't," a firm squeezed of her thigh accentuated his words, before it left her body completely. "You're loving this, even though you hate to relinquish control." Violet's lips began to part, but her retort was silenced by his callous hand over the lower half of her face. "Let me take care of you. Let me make this memorable. Relinquish your control Violet..."
He swiped my sweat-soaked hair off my neck, resting his lips against my ear. His fiery breaths blew across my earlobe. My body shuddered once again, craving more of him.
"You're not the first woman to think she could seduce me into bed because of who I am, what I write. And you won't be the last." He gave a small chuckle, pulling down my dress, so it covered me.
"But," he said in a low growl, "so far...... you're my favorite." Breaths poured from my lips at those words. My heart fluttered inside my pounding chest. His favorite, my brain stuck to his words like glue. Clinging to the small hope we'd continue this somewhere else, more than once. We stayed in that position for a moment before his body heat disappeared from my back.
He lit a cigarette in front of me, the flash of the lighter illuminating his flushed, sweat-soaked face. I leaned against the brick wall, finding comfort in the coolness against my heated skin. His eyes met mine again. I didn't think I could move from the spot, but he forced me to when he held up a red, lacy thong in between his fingers.
My red lacy thong.
Fucking panty thief!
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Their worlds collided in a heated, passion-filled hook-up behind a bar, bringing their broken pieces together.
And now?
Mercy finds herself as C.J. Cole's intern. The very Mr. Cole who wrote the most romantic, erotic books she had ever laid eyes on.
How could she manage to keep her panties on around him? Or control herself?
Hint: she won't.
Mature warning.