Three Hard Lessons by Nikki Sloane: Release Day Blitz
I am the woman men pay thousands of dollars to sleep with. I do what I love and what I’m so very good at. Then he walks in and drops $30,000. He wants to talk. And kiss. And take me home. In a single night, this man turns everything upside-down and has me breaking every rule I’ve lived by to keep men at a distance. I’m about to learn some lessons the hard way. Don’t tease him. Don’t give him boundaries. And don’t think you get a choice in who you love.
With the curtains closed, it was impossible to tell how long we slept, and the alarm clock was on his side of the bed. I knew he was awake, though. Fingers traced a line down the bare skin of my back, easing the covers down with it until he reached the hollow at the base of my spine.
Then, kisses. His hot mouth moved over my shoulder blades, his stubble scraping my skin like fine sandpaper, working his way toward my neck. Goosebumps pebbled on my legs and I shivered.
“Want me to warm you up?” his rough voice asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His hand skimmed over my hip, gliding up my belly and through my cleavage so he could use his fingertips to turn my face toward him. Dominic’s kiss was slow and sultry; his tongue’s wicked stroke was slower still. I was determined to do better this time. To not take over and let him go slow, but this kiss was like flooring his foot on my accelerator.
“No.” A hand was firm on my hip, stopping me from turning on the bed to face him.
“No?” I let my voice go teasing. His chest was up against my back, and I shifted, rubbing my ass against him where only cotton stood between us. He was already raring to go. Good, me too.
The hand went tighter still, fingers pressing into my flesh. “We’re doing this my way.” He pushed his hard cock back against me. “Slow. Long. Neither one of us is going to come unless I want it.”
I shivered again, excited by his aggressive words, but my controlling personality instinctively kicked in. “Good luck with that.”
The hand yanked me flat on my back and he was up on an elbow, peering down at me with a stern look. “I don’t need luck.”
His injured eye wasn’t too bad, but it was swollen and bluish, and the added day’s worth of stubble covering his strong jawline and the dark look made this handsome man appear dangerous. Hotter than the leather seats of my Jaguar in August.
He harmlessly slapped my hand away when it tried to grip him through his boxers, and he raised an eyebrow, challenging me to try again. My next attempt was just as unsuccessful and a wicked smile warmed on my face. I pretended to lead with my right, and while he was occupied with that, my left closed around him.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands wrapping around my wrists and slamming them up above my head, pinning them to the mattress. It forced him over me, bringing us chest to hard chest. My nipples tightened. Legs settled around his hips, drawing him up against me. Could he feel how wet he’d made me with those thin boxers on?
His head dropped down, bringing his lips beside my ear. “Slow, Payton.”
I blew out a frustrated breath when his mouth brushed over my sensitive skin. I’d never had this before. Outside of the club, I was always the one in charge. Guys were too turned on, too lazy, or lacked the balls to take control away from me.
Not this one. His tongue slid down my neck, his hot breath cool in its trail. Dominic had given me the smallest peek at his dominant side at the club, and I could tell the more comfortable he became with me, the more likely it was to come out and play.
“I lied before, when I said I can go slow,” I said.
He sort of laughed, his face in the valley between my tits. “Yeah, I learned that lesson the hard way.”
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About the author
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is married and has two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn’t be any happier.