A Little Fiction of Every Flavour: Day Two – AGAINST THE ROPES RELEASE PARTY

Excerpt from Against the Ropes, Chapter Ten

“Don’t you usually go to Redemption on Thursdays?”

Max presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I wanted to see you.”

“How did you find me?” I press my nose against his shirt. The stale, musty smell of airplane cannot overpower the fresh, clean scent of his cologne or the raw essence of Max.

“Secret.”

“It’s not nice to keep secrets.” I pull away and mock a frown.

“You kept a secret from me.” His breath is hot and moist in my ear.

My body stiffens. I am keeping so many secrets from him, I don’t know which one he’s uncovered. “What secret?”

“What were you thinking when we were training at Redemption?” His eyes blaze with sensual fire and my mouth goes dry.

A thrill of excitement shoots through me. “Naughty things,” I whisper.

“Tell me naughty things.”

The DJ takes down the tempo with Alicia Keys’ “Fallin’.” A tremor shivers through me. “Like what? I don’t really do naughty talking.”

Max lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “Like ‘hand.’”

“‘Hand’ isn’t naughty.” I quiver as his lips feather up my arm and tickle my elbow.

“Oh, you don’t know how naughty it can be,” he rumbles, as he peppers tiny kisses over my shoulder. “Say ‘shoulder.’”

“Shoulder. Max, what are you doing?”

He slides his hot, wet lips to the sensitive hollow at the base of my throat, sending tingles down to my core.

“Say ‘neck,’” his deep voice demands.

“Neck.” My heartbeat quickens; my lips part. We sway to the music, our bodies melded together as he plays his curious game.

He leans down and nibbles my lips, teasing them open. His kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet. But his lips are firm. “Say ‘lips,’” he whispers.

“Lips.”

Anticipation ratchets through me when he slides his hand down my body to cup my behind. He gives my cheek a squeeze. “Now, say ‘ass.’”

I shiver in response to his firm touch. On his lips, the simple word takes on a sultry, erotic flavor that sends molten heat through my veins. I can do this. I have asked complete strangers in clothing stores if my ass looks big. I often told Susie to get her ass downstairs for dinner. In the bar, I told Amanda to wiggle her ass. Once, I even called Charlie an ass. My life is full of ass. “Ass,” I whisper.

“Good girl.” His lips brush over my ear, his breath hot and moist on my skin. Suddenly, I feel very, very naughty and very, very aroused.

He runs his hand over my hips, in and out on my waist, and along my ribcage. My body trembles, anticipating where he might go next. He brushes his fingers ever so gently over the exposed curve of my breast under my dress. “Say ‘breast,’ baby.”

A soft whimper escapes my lips and my back arches, pressing my breasts against his chest. People dance around us oblivious to the blazing inferno at the edge of the dance floor, unaware that the slow, sensual brush of Max’s fingers over my sensitive skin has peaked my nipples and fried my brain. His stroking fingers have turned the ordinary into the sublimely sexual.

"I’m waiting.” His voice is soft but laced with demand.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I imagine I am diving into a pool filled with warm, decadent, dark chocolate. “Breast.” The word drops from my lips like a falling petal.

“There we go.” He spins us into a corner and under the shadow of an eight-foot bottle filled with giant pills, he tightens one hand around my waist and slides the other between us. His hand caresses the underside of my breast and then, inch by inch, he drops it down. Warm fingers brush down my sternum and press against my tummy. A firestorm of arousal courses through my veins like nothing I have ever experienced before. My breath comes in short, rapid pants. My panties are beyond soaked. My entire being is focused on Max’s rapidly descending fingers. When he brushes the tips of his fingers over my mound my head falls back and I moan.

Triumph flares in the sensual depths of Max’s eyes. “Now say ‘pussy.’”

The soft, whispered word is erotic on his lips, sending a rush of molten heat through my veins. Max presses my body against his, trapping his hand between us. He is obviously erect and this, more than anything, sends my arousal spiraling out of control.

“Maaaax,” I moan.

He cups the curve of my sex and I am gone, lost to the moment, lost to passion.

“Say it, baby.” His demanding words bring me back.

My lips part. My body burns with lust. But some part of me says it is too much. This is not me and I have been pushed as far as I want to be pushed. The DJ spins Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain.” Max tightens his arm around me and sings the lyrics in a soft, deep voice only I can hear. His deep baritone rumbles in his chest. Slow, delicious warmth spreads through me and something strange and new penetrates deep into my bones. Tilting my head back, I look up through my lashes. His dark eyes glitter, unyielding, and yet filled with sensual promise. “Say it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper into his chest, “Not yet.”

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Author Bio
Recovering lawyer, karate practitioner, and caffeine addict, Sarah Castille worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies. Her steamy, contemporary romantic tales feature blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them.

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