I love managing Red Light Lingerie, a sexy boutique in Dallas. I get to spend my days talking to people about bedroom wear, sex toys, and enhancement lotions for all occasions. But by far, my favorite erotic job perk is my sexy British boss, Maxwell Penn.
Max is a Matthew McConaughey look-alike who’s equal parts dreamboat and domineering pain in the neck, and I regularly fluctuate between “I want to bed him” and “I want to strangle him.” But still, yum.
The paradigm of our relationship, however, changes irrevocably when a lingerie designer, a friend of Max’s from Britain, comes to town, and I have to stand in for a no-show lingerie model. Before I can say G-string, I find myself sandwiched between Max and his dark-n-sexy friend.
I’d be in total heaven if it weren’t for the guilt swirling in Max’s blue eyes. I have no idea why it’s there, but I’m bound and determined to find out.
Publisher’s Note: This book contains descriptions of consensual activities, including eroticism and discipline. If you object to these elements, please do not read this book.
Available from: Amazon US
I yanked against my restraints. The material stretched with my movements, but my hands stayed firmly bound at the small of my back.
“See, Max? This is one sturdy piece of lingerie.”
My mind exploded with images of what they could do to me, completely helpless and practically naked. Should I worry? A smart woman probably would—but the look in Max’s eyes—
I’d never wanted him more than I did at that moment.
Garrett’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Also, I designed the top so the two front halves can be pushed together to allow quick and easy access to the tits without having to untie any restraints already put in place. Would you like a demonstration of that, too?”
Max’s gaze stayed locked with mine, never veering, never faltering. “I’m thinking.”
I bit my bottom lip and shook my head. But who was I fooling? I’d wanted Max to touch me for a long time. I’d dreamed about it and gotten off while imagining him fucking me. But what about Garrett? I’d fantasized about being with multiple men, too, so I’d consider his presence icing on the beefcake.
Part of me wished Max and I were alone, but it was probably better we weren’t. Less intimate, which I needed. As it was, the intensity of his stare threatened to melt me into a puddle.
“Please touch me, Max,” I whispered, unable to stop myself. At least, I think I verbalized the words, but I may have simply mouthed them. “Please.”
Max’s eyes widened. His nostrils flared. And he hesitated a long, tortuous moment before stepping into me and yanking the garment’s outer edges into the valley between my breasts, completely exposing me—and then cupping the undersides of my breasts.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Brandi Evans was raised by a caravan of traveling Gypsies. She spent her days learning the ways of her people and her nights lost in legends as old as time. Okay, not really, but that’s way more interesting than the truth!
In reality, Brandi grew up the oldest child of an ordinary family. Grade school, middle school, high school. Nothing extraordinary happened until she left the nest. She joined the military, went to college, got married, and became a mom. And somewhere along the way, she discovered she liked to read—and write!—stories hot enough to melt eReaders.
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