Breaking Skye (15 page)

Warning: Hot M/M/F ménage, sex in public places (sort of—read it and you’ll see!), every possible orifice filled (some simultaneously), a big, sexy, bossy alpha, an equally hot beta and a little spanking for good measure. Because let’s face it, who doesn’t need a little spanking now and then?

EXCERPT:

“Jared…”

“What is it, darlin’?”

“Undress me, please.”

A small chuckle from him, then he pulled her dress over her head in one smooth motion. Matteo reached out and caressed one taut nipple with his fingertip.

“Beautiful breasts, Leigh. Damn perfect, really. I could write a song about them.”

She laughed, feeling freer than she ever had in her life, somehow. Powerful, desired by these two men.

“It’s true,” Matteo insisted, leaning forward and laying a soft kiss where his fingertip had been.

“Oh…”

Pleasure surged through her, her breasts aching, her lacy panties soaked. She was vaguely aware of Jared undressing behind her, but Matteo’s touch, his mouth, were making her crazy. His fingers were still stroking the undersides of her breasts as he feathered his lips over her nipple.

“Come on, Matteo,” she told him. Pleaded with him.

“I like that you’re eager,” he murmured.

“We’re just getting started,” Jared said, pulling her back, until she was reclining on his naked body.

He was a solid wall of flesh behind her—solid chest, tight abs, hard cock. His hand slid down between her thighs, his fingers teasing at the edge of her panties.

“Shall we take these off, Matteo?”

A sharp squeeze in her sex at the idea of being completely naked with them.

“Oh, yeah. Let me…”

Matteo sat up and ran both hands down over her sides, her thighs, and she parted them, wanting his touch, and Jared’s.

“You are eager,” Matteo said, smiling, his mouth soft and loose. He slid his fingers beneath the waistband and pulled down, slowly, slowly, his smile widening as her damp sex was revealed. “Ah, beautiful. You’re so wet already.” He pushed the scrap of lace down her legs. “I need to taste her, Jared.”

“Yes. Do it.”

Jared’s hands came around her, held her thighs, moving them wide apart. Then his hands slid in, until he reached her swollen pussy lips, and he held them open with his fingers. She was shaking, desire coursing through her like flame, scorching her.

“I love to feel your thighs shaking,” Jared whispered into her hair. “I love to see your nipples go dark and hard. I love to see you wanting. I’m going to love it even more when Matteo dives in and licks your sweet cunt. When he sucks on your hard little clit. When he makes you come in my arms.”

“Oh…”

She was too dizzy to speak. She could only watch with heavy-lidded eyes as Matteo did exactly as Jared had said he would. He leaned in, and his dark hair was like strands of silk on her thighs as he licked her, his tongue wet and impossibly hot. All the way up her slit, then down again. Gently, so softly it was driving her mad immediately. That, and the safety of Jared’s strong arms around her, his fingers hurting her a little as he held her open for Matteo’s searching mouth.

She could not believe this was happening. She could not believe how good this felt.

“I’m going to come.”

“Not yet,” Jared commanded. “Take a deep breath. For me. For us.”

She inhaled, held the air in her lungs. But Matteo never stopped, his tongue assaulting her, pushing into her now.

“Yes, that’s it, Matteo. Fuck her with your tongue.”

That hot tongue pushed deeper, slid out, then in again, the rhythm pure, wet pleasure.

“That’s so good, Matteo,” she murmured.

Her hips arched into his mouth, and Matteo’s hand moved around her waist, slipped behind her. Jared moaned as he shifted to let Matteo take his hard cock in his hand.

Jesus, she was really going to come.

“Jared…”

“Hold it back, my girl. I want him to stroke me. I want him to take us both to the edge.”

“Oh, God…”

Copyright 2010 Eden Bradley. Excerpted by permission of Samhain Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Bonus Excerpt From R.G. Alexander: Possess Me

Possess Me

RG Alexander

Berkley Publishing

Excerpt

“Him? Oh, baby girl, are you sure? Haven’t you heard the stories? What they call him? The man is trouble. By that I mean I’d do him, and you know what bad taste I have in men.”

A few curious tourists eating at the table beside them raised their eyebrows at Michelle’s overloud reaction to her plan, and Allegra grinned in spite of her nerves. She probably shouldn’t have invited Michelle out to lunch at their favorite po’boy shop to ex- plain it.

Witnesses wouldn’t save her from her roommate’s vocal, if humorous, disapproval. At least the food was comforting. And filling. She pushed away from the table, half of the giant seafood sandwich left uneaten. “Personally, I can’t believe you haven’t.”

“What? Done him?” Michelle held her hands up and shook her head, chocolate curls bouncing with her vehemence. “He’s easy on the eyes, true enough, but that man has a monkey on his back. A giant, climb-the-Empire-State-Building-and-swat-at-airplanes kinda monkey.”

Allegra snorted, her sweet tea nearly going up her nose while Michelle shuddered dramatically. “No. He’s not for me. And I don’t think he’s for you either, Allegra. No matter how big a risk taker you are.”

Allegra smiled again. This was one of the reasons she’d moved to New Orleans. She needed her friend, even if they disagreed. She needed a little laughter in her life. Someone to tell all her secrets to. Okay. Most of her secrets to.

Since the accident, her family back in Houston acted as though she were an invalid with one foot in the grave. She wasn’t their Allegra anymore. To her it seemed they could barely look at her, and they spoke in those hushed tones reserved for terminal patients and funeral homes. It was like a never-ending wake.

Michelle, on the other hand, treated her the same way she had when they’d shared a dorm at the University of Texas. Back when Allegra was a wild, carefree youth who wasn’t afraid to take chances, to live. Back when she was whole. So when Michelle called and mentioned her roommate had moved out and taken a job in North Carolina, Allegra jumped at the chance to start again. Before she let her family’s concern overtake her determination to heal. To have a life again.

Michelle was right about one thing; he did look like trouble. Lucifer the fallen angel himself. Too beautiful not to be a sin. Celestin Dias Rousseau. It was a mouthful of a name for the mouth-watering man who owned the small coffee shop across the street from her and Michelle’s apartment.

The man she was going to seduce. Luring men into having sex had never been one of her pastimes, even before the accident. But for the last few months Rousseau had become Allegra’s obsession.

Who was she kidding? She’d been hooked from the first morning she’d laid eyes on the man.

Her physical therapist in Houston had left her with strict instructions not to overdo, but not to let her leg muscles weaken any further from disuse either. So as soon as she’d arrived in town she’d taken to walking through the French Quarter early in the morning. Oh there were still people milling about, there always were, but in the morning it was a different crowd.

Workers unloaded trucks to replenish the bars and restaurants that had been drained dry by the influx of tourists and business- men. Artists, psychics, and performers staked out their places on the sidewalk, ready for the crowds that were their bread and but- ter. Crowds that, according to Michelle, were finally coming back after the nightmare of Hurricane Katrina.

Allegra had pushed too hard that morning—had it only been six weeks ago?—leaning heavily on her ridiculous cane, her skin covered in sweat as if she’d run a marathon rather than walked a few simple blocks. She could see the apartment. She only had to cross one narrow street and climb one steep flight of stairs. It might as well have been Mount Everest.

She’d lowered herself carefully onto the curb in front of a shop that smelled of espresso beans and chocolate. It was as good a place to live as any, she’d thought, closing her eyes and focusing on slowing her heart rate. All she needed was a cold drink and a pillow, and she’d pay whatever curbs were going for these days.

“I have an extra iced coffee with your name on it.”

The voice had slid down her spine like a rough tongue, instantly making her think of late nights and sweat-soaked sex.

Sultry, with just enough edge to put her hibernating libido on red alert.

Allegra fanned herself dramatically. “Don’t lie to a dying woman.”

They’d laughed softly together and she shielded her eyes with her hand, looking up with a friendly smile at the warrior god who was handing her a coffee.

He was perfect.

Light cocoa skin and full lips framed by a closely trimmed goatee that saved his face from being too pretty. His body, however, was all male; thick thighs, lean arms roped with muscle and tribal tattoos, the hand holding the to-go cup so big she actually shivered. And those eyes. Hazel, heavy-lidded, long-lashed. The writer in her was inspired. Smoky eyes. Bedroom eyes. Brooding. Unless you wrote romance, how often did you get to use those words?

His hair fell in thick dreadlocks to his waist, tied back loosely with what looked like an extra apron tie. Allegra nearly melted into the concrete at the sight.

In high school, when her friends had all gone insane for the rock-and-roll hair bands, she’d never understood it. No male should have prettier or longer hair than she did. But he’d done it. This stranger had made long hair—knotted hair—sexy. She’d wanted to grip it and pull his lean, broad-shouldered body closer, to study every line of his face and the tattoo she noticed peeking out from the neckline of his white T-shirt. To kiss him, before he’d even told her his name.

He’d handed her the coffee, free of charge, and they exchanged a few sentiments about the weather before he abruptly left her to go back inside, the line at the cash register grabbing his attention.

The next day there’d been a small table and chair beside the café, just for her. It had quickly become a ritual between them.

She, sweaty and wrung out from her morning workout; he, cool and devastatingly attractive, if distant. But every day she came back, hoping for more. For conversation. For flirting. For some- thing. She’d never drunk so much coffee in her life.

Like Michelle said, she’d heard the talk. Noticed that his morning crowd was mostly made up of women. And those women would speak in loud, giggling whispers about him as they walked by her table. They would say he knew the right words to heal, and his touch could melt even the coldest heart. And sex with him? Sex with him was a blessing from Marie Laveau herself. According to them, he was the love doctor of the Big Easy.

Bone Daddy.

That’s what they called him. A walking, talking, well-hung plea- sure factory who, with a few easy orgasms, could bring you what- ever your heart desired. Your boyfriend would propose, your boss would give you a raise. Rumor had it he could even heal your scars, inside and out. If you satisfied his lust.

The conversations were confusing, since they didn’t seem to jibe with her own observations of Rousseau. With her, Rousseau was solicitous but shy. And always respectful. Maybe she wasn’t his type, though sometimes she thought she saw something in his eyes. Lust. For her. And it gave her hope.

She could be mistaking desire for pity or heartburn, but she didn’t think so. She couldn’t be wrong. Her feelings were far too intense to be one-sided.

Yes. He was trouble. But it was exactly the kind of trouble she wanted. After a year of being resigned to the life of a shut-in, the wild thing in her wanted to come out and play. And it only wanted to play with him.

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Bonus Excerpt - RG Alexander: Four For Christmas