Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle Book 1)

by Taryn Quinn

  Instead of continuing to try to loosen her grip, he let go. Suspicious, she pushed up on her hands and knees as cool air swept over her heated flesh. Before she could protest, he yanked up her infernal nightgown and placed a kiss on her bare ass.

  She shivered. She simply couldn’t help it. And he laughed, the low, prideful sound curling her toes and dampening the traitorous area between her legs that refused to allow her to be levelheaded about him.

  She’d never had a problem with that before. Before she’d known the joy of his lips and his tongue and his hard body wrapping around hers in the night…

  God, she was fucked.

  He slid the nightgown higher and trailed kisses over the small of her back. “Want me to keep going?” he murmured, tracing the crack of her ass with one silken fingertip.

  “Where’s Kim?” she whispered.

  “Work. She went in early. Lucky for us she wasn’t here last night. Apparently her new guy picked her up before I got home. I wondered if she heard when you—”

  “Can we not talk about that? Please?”

  “Why? Are you embarrassed? I’m not. I wish I’d taped your sexy moans so I could replay them when I’ve got my cock in my hand and I’m thinking about you.”

  She tossed aside the pillow and rolled over, shoving her tangled mass of hair out of her eyes. “You expect me to believe you masturbate to thoughts of me?”

  The corner of Brad’s mouth tipped up. “Whatever clinical term you prefer, yeah, I do expect you to believe it. In fact, the next time you hear the shower running in my bathroom, why don’t you come inside and see for yourself?”

  “That you jerk off doesn’t prove you’re thinking about me. Even if you are, what does that mean? Other than you’ve developed some kind of unhealthy fixation.”

  “Unhealthy? Says who?” One eyebrow winged up, disappearing under the golden hair that crossed his forehead. He’d let his hair grow longer than he usually did, and she didn’t know if she liked it.

  Oh hell, who was she kidding? She’d like him with a full wig or bald. Naked or dressed. Though at the moment she certainly preferred him one way over the other.

  “You’re not my Tim Robbins,” she said in a small voice, well aware she was fighting a losing battle. Again. Why did she even bother when she knew how good it would feel to give in?

  She licked her lips as her gaze drifted over his loose navy T-shirt half-tucked into skintight black jeans. The man wore denim well. He wore everything well.

  No one else needs to know what happens here between us.

  That sounded better all the time.

  “Never said I was. Though Susan Sarandon’s pretty hot, so I don’t blame him for going there. Sucks they broke up though.” He held up a hand when she started to speak, his eyes narrowing. “If you say they split because she’s old, I’ll take you across my knee and—”

  “What?” she asked breathlessly after he fell silent.

  He expelled a breath. “You piss me off, you know that?”

  “I didn’t know you ever got pissed off.” Because the urge to crawl into his lap was growing by the millisecond, she forced herself to kick off the sheet and roll out of bed.

  “Get back here,” he said in little more than a growl.

  His deep voice skated over her skin, the erotic potential in his demand tightening her nipples. “Or what?” She shot him an arch look before she headed into the attached bathroom to face herself in the mirror.

  When she had, she wished she hadn’t. “Oh my God.”

  “What?” He was up and in the doorway in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at me.” Leaning forward, she tugged at the gaping neckline of her nightgown. He’d never tied it back up again. “I’m a mess.”

  “Didn’t notice.”

  “Right.” Rolling her eyes, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. She waited for him to leave, but he didn’t move from the doorway. “Mind?”

  “Uncomfortable with me here?”

  She shrugged and uncapped the toothpaste. “Suit yourself.”

  He wandered over to the basket of fancy soaps and bottles of body wash she had on the shelf in the shower. “You use all this stuff?” he asked, sorting through her collection.

  “Most of it. Some only on special occasions.” She loaded up her toothbrush and turned on the water. If he wouldn’t leave, she’d try to be as discreet as possible.

  Once she’d finished, she put away the toothpaste and sighed as he continued to pick through her belongings. It would’ve been almost cute, if she didn’t feel completely grungy and incapable of dealing with company. Though he technically wasn’t, because she lived with him, and he already knew parts of her pretty damn well.

  She flushed and glanced away. Enough thoughts about that.

  “Which are for special occasions?”

  “The honeysuckle ones.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re really expensive. I buy a new product in the line whenever I’m celebrating something big. Graduation from my doctoral program, when I moved here, my new job at the sanctuary. They commemorate big changes in my life.”

  “Kind of like my torque wrenches.” He shot her a grin over his shoulder and set down the pink poufy sponge he’d been toying with. “Although a good month financially is sometimes a big enough reason for me to get one. The guys at the shop love them and hell, why not? What good is money if you never live a little?”

  He made an excellent point. What good was anything if you didn’t enjoy life? If you didn’t say to hell with it every once in a while and go for something crazy and wild because you could?

  Because it felt so damn right?

  “Speaking of the guys at the shop, shouldn’t you be at work right now instead of babysitting me?”

  “One of the perks of being the boss. I can be a little late now and then. Or a lot late,” he added meaningfully.

  She swallowed and faced the mirror. Lovely. She still had to deal with the hornet’s nest on her head. She pulled the elastic out of her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Then she yanked her brush out of the basket on the vanity and tackled the worst of the snarls.

  “It’s hopeless,” she muttered.

  “Hardly.” He came up behind her. “Give me the brush.”

  “Why?” Her pulse galloped like a runaway horse. “So you can paddle my ass?”

  “Now there’s a thought. No, so I can take care of this for you.”

  “I’m going to shower soon. You really don’t have to bother.“

  “It’s easier to wash your hair if it’s untangled, right?” he asked, his voice oozing patience.

  “Yeah, I suppose.” She handed over her brush, figuring he’d poke at her until she gave in anyway. He dragged the bristles through her hair, roughly at first. Her wince caused him to gentle his strokes. Soon he was brushing the full length in long, even glides, caressing her scalp with each movement.

  Her breath trembled out from between her parted lips, and she closed her eyes, somehow embarrassed by how intimate this looked reflected in the glass. If he’d been kneeling before her with his mouth between her legs, she wouldn’t have shied away from watching him. But his hot expression as he pleasured her this way drove the intensity level between them up by miles.

  “Good enough.” She cleared her throat and shifted to look at him, maintaining eye contact even when she wanted to retreat and put a little distance between them. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He wound a strand around his finger, pulling lightly. “I bet you want that shower.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sure this is my cue to leave.”

  In lieu of an answer, she reached for the gaping open vee of her nightgown. Despite its lack of style, she’d kept it for nights she wanted comfort. Nights she spent alone, or in bed with a man who eventually grew to view her as not much more provocative than the furniture. Pete had certainly never looked at her like this, his stare following her fingers as i
f he couldn’t wait to see what she revealed.

  “I’d really rather you stay,” she murmured.

  Would you like to read more?

  Oh, and pssst. Dirty Distractions is a Kindle Unlimited title.

  Buy or Borrow

  Drawn Deep

  Afternoon Delight Book 2

  Do younger men turn your crank?

  Drawn Deep

  His cherry is hers for the taking, any way she likes it...

  Kim O’Halloran is on a break from dating younger men. Then her erotic art class instructor puts a sexy, intriguing male model in front of her sketch pad and whoa, nelly, does she really have to give up cougaring now?

  Nah. No reason to be hasty.

  Better—or worse—yet, she discovers the man she wants to sketch with her fingers is also a virgin. And he’s asking her to corrupt him a time or two hundred.

  Mechanic and secret millionaire Michael Montgomery may only be in his mid-twenties, but he knows who he wants. Kim’s self-confident and funny and she’s exactly the right woman to make him take his needs…ahem…in hand. All of them.

  Screw the lousy timing. Boundaries are obviously meant to be overcome—in the bed, on the couch or against the car. Kim doesn’t mind teaching him, in vivid detail, how to please a woman, but Michael intends to teach his commitment-phobic lover a few things about love.

  BUY or BORROW

  Read on for an excerpt…

  Chapter 1

  “Artists, sharpen your pencils.”

  Kim O’Halloran smothered a smile as she doodled along the spiral spine of her sketchbook. Sounded like her teacher had been watching a few too many NASCAR races, because he loved to start every class the same way.

  Her pencil had been sharpened plenty, but this class wasn’t doing it for her. She’d been sure a class called Mastering the Art of the Erotic Technique would be exciting. Wrong-o. She’d taken it partly to fill a few hours on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, and partly to ogle some hot, potentially young, male licorice without fear of pesky repercussions.

  Namely, messy breakups, uncomfortable run-ins at work and disturbing encounters in her driveway when her ex stopped by to make sure she was “healing okay”.

  She’d healed and had the scar tissue to prove it. After this many relationships going bust, only a sadist would willingly do something that would cause them pain. Her choice had been to develop a Teflon shell or be perennially doomed to disappointment.

  Or she could take up drawing sexy nudes for entertainment. Assuming any ever showed up.

  So far? Nada.

  Oh, they’d had naked people to sketch, all right, like the rotund man with the rug on his chest. And back. And shoulders. Then there had been the orange-haired woman with abnormally large breasts. Despite the noteworthiness of her cleavage, Kim hadn’t learned much there except how to properly shade an areola.

  She shifted on the uncomfortable wooden horse that wore her butt print more often than not. The latecomers to class got their pick of the crappy stations, and they included these hobby horse deals that required her to press her knees into the sides to stay balanced. Since she never closed the Fairdale Bird Sanctuary gift shop until the last souvenir shopper went away happy, she usually skated in right before Randall shut the door. Only two more classes were left after tonight. Then she’d take up naked origami or something.

  She blinked as the door opened and sex personified glided across the classroom to speak with Randall. Hoo boy, who was that? His scuffed sneakers barely seemed to make contact with the floor.

  “Class, tonight’s model is Michael Montgomery.” Randall leaned against his desk and gestured at the sulky-faced man at his side wearing a hoodie and faded jeans. “Michael’s a frequent model of mine, and I have a feeling you’ll enjoy sketching him. For tonight’s class, he won’t be fully nude. Tomorrow, however, you will draw him during the point of full arousal. Thursday night we’ll go over final techniques and you’ll submit your final project for my approval.”

  Kim’s attention shorted out at the word arousal. Did Randall actually mean they’d be able to sketch Michael’s erection? Could she get a job being his fluffer? She’d work cheap, especially since it had been a while since she’d fluffed anything that didn’t reside in her own panties.

  “If the muse cooperates,” Michael put in, offering a grin that seemed at odds with the male model pout he’d worn only a moment before.

  “Headphones.” Randall winked and took the seat nearest to the model, as he always did. He sketched right along with the class, in the hopes of fostering a collaborative environment. “You know the drill.”

  “I do.” Perching on his stool, Michael let his smile drift around the room. The class ratio was heavily weighted toward women, and most of them seemed intent on gazing wide-eyed at tonight’s specimen. His gaze touched everyone briefly, until he reached Kim’s row. She sat in the last seat and waited for him to stare at her while orchestra music swelled in her mind and her crumbled heart magically reknitted at the prospect of rough, sweaty sex. But Michael didn’t even look at her.

  Just as well, since he had to be in his twenties. Been there, done that doggy-style.

  After breaking up with Gary, a cook in the cafeteria at the bird sanctuary, she’d learned her lesson about dating younger guys. Eagerness to please between the sheets and a shared interest in comic books did not a match in heaven make.

  Unfortunately finding single men her own age was equivalent to catching the Loch Ness monster with a fishing net. Which brought her right back around to younger men again. She should know better because knowing better was the first step to doing better. And/or being done.

  Hell, why fight it? She’d gladly sign up for the support group if she got to enjoy the addiction first.

  While she’d been lost in thought, Michael had unzipped his hoodie to reveal his bare chest above his faded jeans. His torso was a virtual lasagna of muscles—layer upon layer of them, all caught mid-ripple as he sat unmoving in a flex pose. The cheese on top were the whorls of light brown hair on his pecs.

  No manscaping. Thank Jesus. With a grateful sigh, she started to sketch.

  Michael’s dark hair wasn’t straight or curly, more a mishmash of the two, and so thick she imagined he spent a lot of time in the barber’s chair. His eyelids seemed to be weighted, giving him a perpetually sleepy look. He had a lush look about his face that didn’t match the sinewy lines of his body.

  She didn’t consider herself a great artist by any means, but she spent what seemed like forever contouring the hollows and angles of his face. His eyes were deep, dark slashes, hidden by the inky fringe of his lashes. She wanted him to look up and see her, to bestow that panty-warming smile.

  Then he did. And sweet dandelion wine, her lady parts sang hallelujah.

  Michael broke his position and shifted lazily to his feet, shaking his limbs to get the circulation going again. He pulled his hoodie on, his gaze remaining riveted on hers all the while. He bent to gather the backpack he’d dropped at his feet then straightened to speak to one of the ladies, who was much quicker on the uptake than Kim.

  When spotting a delicious man in the wild terrain of the suburban classroom, the importance of haste couldn’t be overstated. Yet all Kim could do was shade more lines around Michael’s eyes on her sketchpad and wonder if his irises were one color or every one of them, which was essentially the make-up of black. Black eyes were unique, at least to her mind.

  Vaguely, she realized everyone had risen from their seats. To her right, Randall discussed the benefits of using charcoal over other media with a student. All Kim heard was that buzz in her ears that meant she was back in the game.

  God help them both.

  Chapter 2

  The brunette currently eye-mounting him was trouble with a capital F. F for fuck him, he was screwed. Or he would be, if he didn’t watch himself.

  Michael Montgomery dug his keys out of his pocket and smiled at one of the other women, expecting th
e sexy brunette to wander over anytime now. But she didn’t acknowledge him at all. She continued sketching then sailed out of the room without so much as a hello. No phone number coyly dropped on his bag, no wink and an air kiss. Absolutely nothing.

  Too late he’d realized why she intrigued him—well, beyond the obvious. She wasn’t some random woman he’d tussled with over melons in the grocery store. This was her. Red glittery dress chick, whom he’d changed a flat tire for on the side of the road months ago. The one he hadn’t been able to forget for reasons he couldn’t figure out. She’d barely spoken two words to him, so occupied was she with her phone.

  He hadn’t recognized her right away tonight because she’d worn little makeup and had her hair down, partially covering her face. That night she’d had it scraped back, showing off her gorgeous bone structure. And that lush mouth, painted a bold crimson.

  Something about her had called to him then. The determination he’d sensed in her posture. Her fight to remain stoic. Hell, the way her eyes shone gold under the streetlights. Whatever it was, that same something was currently hammering the back of his skull—and the base of his cock.

  The next night, she arrived last to class. He’d already stripped and had just returned from the bathroom where he’d primed his pump, so to speak. The pornographic soundtrack in his headphones should keep all thrusters operational.

  Randall had taken his share of flak from the founders of the rec center where the class was held for this aspect of the course, but there was no denying that the session always had a waiting list two miles long. The brass couldn’t argue with money, even if they could with method. Nothing inappropriate had ever occurred between Michael and the students. It was art. A chance for them to draw a man fully aroused, rather than in his less noteworthy state of flaccidity.