by Ronica Black
Synopsis
Doctor Chandler Brogan’s favorite things start with the letter S: Speed, Sex, and as she soon discovers when a cop pulls her over on her motorcycle for reckless driving…Sarah. Chandler is a clinical psychologist who focuses on sexual dysfunction, but her professional expertise has never made her personal life any easier. She spends more and more time searching for the ultimate connection, and when she fails, she escapes on her bike. Officer Sarah Monroe enjoys being in control, so much so that she can’t let down her guard enough to achieve the intimacy she secretly craves. From their first tumultuous meeting, the two women are drawn together in a battle of wills and a fiery sexual dance that neither can turn away from.
Wild Abandon
Brought to you by
eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.
What Reviewers Say About Ronica Black
In Too Deep is more than a story of forbidden romance, dangerous liaisons, and perilous passions. It’s a high-speed thrill ride that keeps you guessing from one hairpin turn to another. As soon as you think you know where she’s heading, Black gives you another subtle curve to remind you just who’s doing the driving. —Gabrielle Goldsby, author of Wall of Silence and The Caretaker’s Daughter
Black juggles the assorted elements of her first book with assured pacing and estimable panache...[including]...the relative depth—for genre fiction—of the central characters: Erin, the married-but-separated detective who comes to her lesbian senses; loner Patricia, the policewoman-mentor who finds herself falling for Erin; and sultry club owner Elizabeth, the sexually predatory suspect who discards women like Kleenex...until she meets Erin. —Richard Labonte, Book Marks, Q Syndicate, 2005
In Too Deep is...an exciting, page-turning read, full of mystery, sex, and suspense. Look for it at your favorite gay and lesbian bookstore, or order online at www.boldstrokesbooks.com. —R. Lynne Watson, MegaScene, Women’s Issues
Ronica Black’s debut novel In Too Deep has everything from non-stop action and intriguing well-developed characters to steamy erotic love scenes. From the opening scenes where Black plunges the reader head first into the story to the explosive unexpected ending, In Too Deep has what it takes to rise to the top. —Kathi Isserman, Independent Gay Writer
Ronica Black’s debut novel, In Too Deep, is the outstanding first effort of a gifted writer who has a promising career ahead of her. Black shows extraordinary command in weaving a thoroughly engrossing tale around multi-faceted characters, intricate action and character-driven plots and subplots, sizzling sex that jumps off the page and stimulates libidos effortlessly, amidst brilliant storytelling. A clever mystery writer, Black has the reader guessing until the end. —Cheri Rosenberg, reviewer for Just About Write and Midwest Book Review
Wild Abandon
© 2006 By Ronica Black. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-276-4
This electronic book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,
New York, USA
First Printing: March 2006
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Jennifer Knight and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover design by Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
In Too Deep
Acknowledgments
Bold Strokes Books, Radclyffe and the entire team. Thank you. You have changed my life.
Jennifer Knight and Stacia Seaman, two women who worked tirelessly on this book to make it the best possible and, in turn, made me look good. It wasn’t an easy job, and I will be forever grateful. Thank you.
Sheri, the cover, as usual, rocks. Thank you.
Gil, thanks, bro, you and your bike were my inspiration.
My family. Mom, Dad, Rob, and Beck. My everything. For embracing me and who I am. Thank you.
Caitie. No words will ever be enough, but I will spend forever trying. Thank you.
Dedication
For Cait
My love, my life
Chapter One
The woman beneath her writhed in sleek grace, undulating with pleasure so intense it caused the sweat to bead on her skin. Chandler ran her hands up the sharp curve of the moving woman’s hips, sweeping them over the moist, flat planes of her clenching abdomen. Her fingers grazed the small swell of the warm breasts to the firm oval nipples. She pinched roughly and held them captive, along with the woman’s cries of painful pleasure.
“Oh, please.” The woman begged in her thick Spanish accent. “ Necesito…ahora…Please.”
Chan felt her own body tense and flood with need as the words penetrated her mind. She needs, she craves, she begs for it. Nothing in the world was more beautiful. Moved beyond comprehension, Chan eased down to kiss the woman softly on the delicate flesh just behind her knee. Then, extending her tongue, she worked her way up the woman’s thigh to her full, soft outer lips. She lined them carefully and braced herself for the instantaneous reaction.
More Spanish flowed, begging and pleading; the more turned on the woman became, the more her native language took over. The fire from her words burned in Chan’s ears where her own racing heart thudded with arousal. Her tongue, seeking and knowing, brought back the taste of the woman, sweet and ready, and she was no longer able to maintain the slow deliberation with which she’d been moving. Head spinning with want, Chan positioned herself carefully, ensuring that her weight would hold the woman down. She returned her hands to her lover’s breasts, once again squeezing and tugging on the nipples. Purposely, she breathed upon the moist flesh her tongue had exposed and at once felt the woman tense and buck. Inhaling, she closed her eyes, relishing the moment, wishing she could stop time. The woman was caught, balancing on the edge, begging for the ultimate push.
With that gratifying thought in mind, Chan worked her tongue farther inside the smooth, satin lips and carefully rimmed the engorged clitoris. Her lover jerked and strained, but Chan still didn’t give in. Not just yet.
“Ay, por favor. I can take no más. I need to come.” Olive-skinned fingers reached for Chan and dug into her hair, pulling her mouth closer.
Chan lowered her hands from the hard nipples, carefully running her fingernails down the damp, hot skin. Her tongue remained, extending its circular pattern along the edges of the thick patch of nerves. The woman arched her back as Chan exhaled upon the delicate skin once again, loving the reaction this drew. She moved her hands down and, with practiced ease, spread the soft, silken skin out and away from where her tongue played its torturous game. The flesh tightened, exposing the stiff, satin bulb of the clitoris. Its tip was red and full, like a firm little pillow.
Chan braced herself against her own arousal, clenching her legs together as she finally gave in and allowed her tongue to touch the sacred spot. Gently, she pressed back the hood so the underside of her tongue could work its magic on the exposed nerves of the head. The woman cried out again, words not known but their meaning clear.
Her insatiable lover was going to come. It would be the fifth time in thirty minutes. She was one of those women, the kind that could come nearly instantaneously over and over again in small bursts of orgasm. While Chan knew it had nothing to do with her, pleasing the woman
relentlessly was satisfying for her ego as well as her libido. Most lovers wouldn’t take the time to keep going, to make a woman come countless times before she finally begged to stop. Chan did, though, and loved every second of it, but unfortunately she didn’t have time to do that today. Their normally two-hour tryst would have to end and soon.
Closing her eyes and inhaling her lover’s alluring scent, Chan carefully pulled the firm flesh into her mouth. She sucked and stroked the length of it, relishing the way it felt against her tongue. The woman bucked wildly as her orgasm approached the point of explosion. It was going to be a good one, Chan having teased it out of her. Hands pulled and yanked on her head as the woman shoved against her, hips up in the air. Chan held fast, swirling her tongue over and over while powerfully sucking the flesh.
“Ay, oh my God. Más, más, so bueno.” Her head thrashed as her body tensed.
Chan felt the woman’s legs tremble just before she finally shattered. Violently she came, clutching Chan to her while shoving her hips up to her mouth. The climax was powerful and strong, ripping through the woman’s body quickly. It lasted longer than its predecessor, just as Chan predicted. Her lips burned with the pressure and her scalp screamed at the rough grip, but she ignored it all, too caught up in the beautiful sight before her. A sight that she had created, a pleasure she had gifted. When the woman finally calmed, her starving need to take all that she could from Chan sated, her body went limp and she fell back upon the bed. Chan pushed herself up and got to her feet, rubbing at her tingling lips. The woman’s scent remained, reminding Chan of her feed. She studied the nude woman in silence while yanking on her jeans. Her head still swam with heavy arousal and she wanted desperately to climb back in the bed and stroke her to bliss. But she pushed on, knowing she couldn’t, buttoning her jeans in frustration.
Sensing the movement, the woman opened her eyes in obvious surprise. They lifted to Chan, dark and liquid, pooled with pleasure. She stretched, languidly stroking her body against the sheets. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.” Chan tugged on her shirt and balanced herself to slip into her boots.
“Why?”
“I’ve got other plans.” Chan ran her hands hurriedly through her hair as she made her way into the master bathroom.
Her cell phone rang from inside her pocket as she splashed water across her face, scrubbing the scent of recent lovemaking from her skin with a bar of lavender soap. She dried her face and shoved her hand down in her pocket and grabbed her phone. Flipping it open, she noted the time and who was calling, then snapped it closed, making a quick decision not to answer.
“Another woman?” the woman questioned as Chan returned to the bedroom. Her tone was one of a pouting little girl.
“Yes.” Chan propped one foot up onto the bed and hastily laced her boot tight.
“Oh?” The woman sounded annoyed and disappointed and Chan met her eyes, wondering why. They were in no way serious or exclusive. She didn’t even know her name. Sophi? Sophia? Of course she’d heard it when they first met, but she couldn’t remember. What they did required no names. All Chan had to do was answer her phone and say yes.
“My grandmother.” Chan lowered her laced boot and raised the other. “Not that it should matter.”
Maybe she should stop seeing the woman. It was becoming apparent that she was getting a little too personal, something Chan did not want. It was a shame, though, since they had only been together three or four times. But that’s what always seemed to happen. Women wanted more, they needed more. More than Chan could give. She stood and retrieved her keys from the dresser.
“No good-bye kiss?” The woman beckoned from the bed.
Chan paused in the doorway and noted the sweet pink bliss that tinged her face and chest. Her eyes were deep and hopeful, her voice needy. Yes, it was definitely time to cut this one loose.
“No.” Chan turned and walked from the bedroom, wending her way out of the woman’s house.
She drove home in a daze. Her body still hummed with need, and she felt tight and full all over, as if she would burst from the tiniest of touches. The clock on the dash reminded her of the reason why she wasn’t able to stay to have her own desires met.
It was Sunday and her grandmother was coming over to make dinner. Grandma Meg had raised her and her brother from early childhood after the sudden death of their parents in a car accident. She was like a mother to them, and for the most part the trio had remained close throughout the years, seeing each other often, supporting one another.
But lately, with Chan’s busy schedule, they were seeing less and less of each other, and Chan had started to feel guilty. Granted, she wasn’t the only one who was busy. Hank, her younger brother, had recently wed and bought a new home. Meg had her life too, gardening and playing golf. But like Chan, Meg chose to live her life alone and unattached. This played on Chan’s mind. She worried about Meg’s ability to cope with the inevitable loneliness as she grew older. Meg should have someone in her life. Someone to be there by her side. Especially since Chan had dropped the ball recently with the get-togethers.
Swallowing some bitter-tasting guilt, she slowed her truck and pulled into her drive. Meg’s Buick flanked the sidewalk in front of the home.
Shit, she beat me here.
Meg had a strong preference for punctuality, which rivaled Chan’s strong propensity for showing up late.
After parking her SUV in the driveway, Chan self-consciously smoothed down her jeans and muscle T-shirt, conscious that despite her adulthood, Meg still had a hold on her, silently demanding nothing but the best from her oldest grandchild. Her guilt gave way to nerves as she walked through the house. Noise from the kitchen greeted her, leading her right to where the older woman stood, two empty pots in hand.
Chan stopped next to the counter, shoving her hands down into her jeans pockets, all too aware of how she was dressed. The black sleeveless tee fit tightly, showing off the prominent muscles in her arms. The jeans were dark but worn, hugging her hips with a thick leather belt.
Her grandmother knew she was gay, but there were certain things Chan would never discuss with her—not out of fear or anything negative, but out of respect. Meg was more a parent to them than grandparent. She had raised Chan and her brother to speak with meaning and respect for others. And sex, Chan knew, was a topic Meg considered sacred, something only to be discussed at an appropriate time and place, neither of which ever seemed to happen. Chan had always found this curiously funny, given her own lifestyle and career choice.
Doing her best to shift into a more conservative mode, she glanced down and feared her butch-looking outfit and tardiness would give away her earlier whereabouts, as well as her earlier activity. She shifted, suddenly remembering how the Latin woman had sucked at her neck. As she quickly raised a hand to rub at the spot, Meg glanced over, obviously catching the movement out of the corner of her eye. She smiled, as if she knew exactly where her granddaughter had been.
Chan panicked a little and muttered, “Hi.”
Meg lowered her gaze back to the pots. “I let myself in.” Her tone was light and nonchalant but as always, she had a way of hitting her intended target dead-on with practiced poise and grace—the target being Chan’s conscience.
“I’m glad you did,” Chan said. “Sorry I’m late.”
She was sorry, and she wished just once she could live up to the older woman’s unspoken expectations. To show her she wasn’t just half-assing her way through life, flying by the seat of her pants, going from woman to woman. No matter what the situation, when it came to her grandmother, Chan always seemed to find herself falling short.
She hasn’t seen me in weeks and the day I invite her over, I’m late. Why? Because I was out doing what I wanted. Messing around. And I didn’t even get my needs met.
Thank God Meg didn’t know what had held her up. Or at least she was pretending she didn’t know. It was no secret that she thought Chan was wild, free, promiscuous, burning the candle at both ends
. That she needed to settle down, find a steady relationship, and quit her wild gallivanting and pulling dangerous stunts. Showing up late only added one more peg to the “tame Chandler” board.
Ignoring the usual pangs of guilt and the dull ache of her libido, Chan put on a happy face and stepped up to hug her grandmother, enveloping her smaller, thinner frame. Meg planted a firm kiss on Chandler’s cheek, which caused another sudden alarm. Worried that the scent of her lover was lingering and noticeable, Chan stiffened and pulled away, her face red with heat. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as Meg spoke.
“You smell nice. What is that, lavender?” Meg began cutting some fresh vegetables, seemingly oblivious to Chan’s fear and concern.
“Uh-huh.” Among other things. Chan shoved her hands back in her pockets. She felt awkward and painfully exposed while Meg remained calm, radiating a quiet wisdom.
“It’s good to see you.” Meg looked up with a soft smile. “You look well.”
“So do you.” Chan shifted her feet and felt like she was eleven years old and secretly hiding her feelings for her girlfriends.
Meg, though, continued to slice and dice. “Dinner should be ready around four. Why don’t you go relax and go about your day?” Her green eyes sparkled as she spoke. It was obvious that she was happy and in her element—cooking for others, giving the way she knew how. It was what she had always done.
Knowing the answer, Chan still asked out of habit, “You sure you don’t need any help? Or company?”