by Amanda Boone
“Holy shit.” Justin’s voice was hoarse as he stilled in me. Our hips were pressed against each other’s and he throbbed.
I cried out his name as he started moving. His thrusts were strong and steady as he drove me past the point of sanity. “Yes! Fuck me, Justin.”
He buried his face in my neck and pressed hot kisses against my skin as we moved. His hands were planted on the bed on either side of my head, holding most of his weight off me.
As his thrusts got faster and harder, I felt my body nearing a release. I lost track of time as I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to hold off so it wouldn’t end too soon.
Justin’s arms shook as he strained. He lifted his head and peppered kisses along my eyes. “Open them, baby. I want to see you when you come for me.”
I met his eyes and bit my lip hard.
“Am I hurting you?”
I shook my head and smiled just before he brushed against my clit again and I stumbled into a foreign orgasm. My walls squeezed around him, pulsing over and over with my orgasm as I wrapped my body around his completely.
Justin let out a loud shout as he came and his body tensed over me. Knowing that he was coming stretched my orgasm out until I had tears running down my cheeks from the force of it.
We lay there, each of us panting heavily, until Justin’s weight started crushing me. I pushed on one of his shoulders and he rolled over, dragging me with him.
I rested my head on his chest and smiled. I couldn’t have dreamed of a better way to lose my virginity. I pressed my lips to his skin and giggled.
“What?” Justin pulled me completely on top of him, so I had to raise my head to look at his face.
“Amanda told me people say you’re kinky.” I couldn’t stop grinning, so I buried my face in his chest.
He made me lift my face so he could kiss me. “What do you think?”
I shrugged. “I think if you are, I’m up for anything.”
He hardened against my thigh and groaned. “You are fucking perfect.”
“No, this is perfect. I don’t ever want to get out of this bed.” I frowned. “Will you still want this tomorrow?”
He sat up and held me against his chest. “I will. And the next day. And the next day. I have another surprise for you.”
I perked up. “What is it?”
He jumped out of bed and pulled me with him to the window facing my backyard. “Have a look.”
I looked out and saw that right next to the deck was a small doghouse with the word Mable painted over the front entrance. Tears filled my eyes and I looked up at him. “What is that?”
He grinned. “That is where your dog is going to live. She’s a rescue that Dr. Pearson was about to put down. She’s a four-month-old chocolate lab. Cute as a button. She’s at my vet’s right now, getting spayed. You can pick her up as soon as tomorrow afternoon.”
“You got me a dog?”
“I got you a dog.”
I wrapped my arms around him and smiled into his chest. Life was sweet. I had a good job where I got to help kids like Mason, my dream of opening a shelter was coming true, and I owned a puppy for the first time in my life. Everything I’d wanted was happening. The part I was happiest about in that moment? No more blind dates.
The End.
By the way, have you solved this book’s Riddle?
Q: What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment and not once in a thousand years?
>>See answer
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*** Here is a sample from The Steele Brothers Book 2 - Devon ***
The Steele Brothers: Devon
1.
“Oh, yeah, Amanda. Ride me, baby.” Max’s voice was guttural as he neared his orgasm. He reached a hand out and slid his fingers down my ass, stopping to toy with me along the way.
I moaned and tossed my head back. My long red hair trailed down to his thighs, and he used his other hand to fist it. “Max!”
He slipped a finger into my backside and slapped my ass. His hips thrust skyward, impaling me over and over again with his dick.
We orgasmed together after a few more minutes of thrusting and heavy breathing. Then I fell asleep with a thin sheet wrapped around me, and Max got up to wave his bare, wet dick in front of the camera before shutting it off.
I sat up in bed and rubbed sleep out of my eyes. Same old nightmare, different day. The alarm clock beside my bed chose that moment to go off, and I slapped my hand down on top of it to turn it off. I never slept past it anymore.
Moo-Key, my overgrown dog, jumped onto my bed and stared at me. He was an Irish wolfhound that had been dropped off at my best friend’s animal shelter. No one wanted him because he was so large, but I’d fallen in love with him.
My house was barely big enough for the two of us, but I’d also somehow ended up with a cat named Fred, too. Fred hissed from the foot of my bed, and Moo-Key yelped and jumped down to hide behind the bedroom door. He was too large to actually fit, so his entire back end was sticking out.
“Bad Fred. You know better.”
I pushed the cat down and then made my morning rounds. Both animals got breakfast, and then Moo-Key went outside to do his business while Fred made his way around the house, batting Moo-Key’s bones and toys under couches and chairs.
I’d have to sweep them out later or the big dog would whine for hours. I’d had a feeling when Sara Jane had wanted to open a shelter. I knew that I’d end up with a small collection of animals, and sure enough, it was happening.
I got dressed for my day in jeans and a tank top. I brushed my hair out and then braided it down my back. With a little bit of makeup I was ready to go.
I dropped Moo-Key off next door, at Mrs. Wilkens’s place, with only light criticisms of my cleavage. Mrs. Wilkens was in her early nineties and as crazy as the day was long. She was my only neighbor within ten miles and loved to exercise that fact.
She’d show up at my house at random hours, complaining about one thing or another. She’d borrow things from me without letting me know and then would lend them back to me when I found them in her house. Once she’d even stayed the night on my couch without me knowing. She was spunky and sneaky, but I wouldn’t wish for anyone else living next door.
When I’d first brought Moo-Key home, she’d screamed and hid out in her house for days. Her plants went dry and the fresh pie she had cooling on her front porch had remained there until the coyotes came up and snatched it.
It’d taken me weeks to convince her to actually get close to the giant dog. When she did, she’d immediately fallen in love. I’d left Moo-Key at home the day after while I went to work, and I came home to find him missing. Mrs. Wilkens had come over and kidnapped him. She said he didn’t deserve to be left alone during the day. Since then, she’d been babysitting him for me when I worked. ***Click here to continue***
Paranormal & Shifter Romance Collection
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Surrender to the Alpha Publishing
Tempted by the Dragon
Dragon Shifter Romance
Tempted by the Dragon
Chapter One
News of the dragon in the Wyndwae province spread across the countryside like a blaze from the mouth of the beast itself. In a week’s time it reached the inn of The Dancing Mer on the southern coast, and there it found Mairead Curran, slayer of monsters.
Of Mairaed there were many legends. It was whispered that she had vanquished at last the beast of the Breywood, whose jaws had been the end of three dozen men. Bards sang of the arrows that had laid waste in fire and steel to the lair of the manticore and sl
ain the basilisk in the western mountains.
Of her beauty too, they sang. She was tall for a woman, and long-limbed, her auburn hair streaked with copper and tawny gold by long days beneath the southern sun. They said men traveled the lengths of continents to lay their spoils at her feet in hopes of her favor.
This last, at least, was quite untrue. Mairead herself had started the rumor, well aware that men who could afford to travel continents sought princesses to wife, not women who battled monsters, but it pleased her to let people think it was otherwise. As for the rest, well, it was true as any story which had passed through a hundred hands can be.
When news came of the dragon, Mairead was sitting at a table in the fire lit common room of the inn, with a tankard of mead in her hand, debating the relative merits of the bow versus the sword with Vreden, who had once been a knight of renown. He was aging, grey in the dark hair at his temples, but his sword arm was still strong. Mairaed’s own bow leaned against the wall at her side, her quiver with it.
“Perhaps,” she said, giving Vreden a look from over the top of her tankard, “you receive some measure of satisfaction from taking the heads off of beasts at close range. I, however, am content to make my name from the safety of distance. Were I one to choose practicality over pride, I would have joined that illustrious company of men who found themselves within reach of the Breywood beast’s many sharp teeth.”
Vreden’s eyes narrowed, but the bang of the wooden door swinging wide to admit a cloaked and hooded stranger interrupted him. Every gaze in the room turned toward the newcomer, who was pulling the hood down from over his hair, his cloak dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. He shook the dark fall of hair back from his face, and Mairead felt his eyes move over her and the others at her table. When he swept his cloak back over his shoulder, she could see the insignia of the king’s message riders on the shoulder of his tabard.
“Buy me an ale to take the chill from my bones,” he offered the room at large, “and I will share some news which has only today come in from the Wyndwae.” His eyes caught on Mairead’s again. “I believe it will be of some interest to you.”
Mairead rose from her chair with a whisper of leather against wood and sauntered over to the bar, setting a coin down on the sleek wood of its top with a clack.
“There is your ale, then.”
He took the tankard the innkeeper set before him and drank deeply before he spoke again, inclining his head in thanks.
“There is rumor,” he said, leaning against the bar on one elbow, his dark eyes looking into her own, “that a dragon has been sighted in the north of the Wyndwae.”
Mairead’s snort was decidedly unladylike.
“There has not been a dragon seen in Lyndoun in half a century.”
“And yet there is one now. My brother saw it with his own eyes, a great black shape against the full moon.”
In his eyes there was no deceit, and Mairead considered his story as she tipped her own tankard back, mead flowing sweet across her tongue and warming her throat.
“What think you?” she asked, turning enough to look back at Vreden over her shoulder. “Is there a dragon in Lyndoun?”
They had, of course, heard the tales of the dragons in the distant west, in the rocky lands of Mivreth, but none had come so far east as the bordering mountains, and certainly they had not seen any in the eastern end of Lyndoun, where the forests gave way to windswept heath. It was true, though, that there were caves in the north of the region, and that a dragon might set up home in such a place.
“I trust not the eyes of men I have not met,” Mairead said, straightening to her full height as she made her decision. “So I will go and see with my own if this be true.”
Her boots made a decisive sound against the wood as she crossed the room and took up her bow, swinging her quiver across her back. The arrows rattled against each other in its confines. She glanced once more at the stranger, and allowed herself a smile, wide and a little wicked.
“I think, though, that I will wait until the heavens are not dumping the waters of the inland sea on our heads.”
A chuckle ran through the gathered men. Vreden only shook his greying head at her, his expression grave. Mairead lifted one leather-clad shoulder in a shrug. It was more likely that there was no dragon in the Wyndwae than that there was. Undoubtedly, some over-excitable townsperson had laid eyes on a drake, one of the relatively little firelizards that occasionally set up home too near a village and harassed the locals, raiding their livestock and burning their fields. Such creatures never grew beyond ten feet from nose to tail-tip, and Mairead had found them easily dealt with.
Turning her back on Vreden’s warning look, she climbed the stairs to her rented room, laying her weapons with her pack against the wall. Her things were already prepared. She needed only to take them up in the morning. In the flickering glow of the fire, she stripped out of her hunter’s leathers and stretched herself out on the bed, asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Chapter Two
Dawn came clear, stretching itself out along the horizon all gold and pink, chill with the first touch of winter. Farther north, Mairead knew, the summer would be ended already, and in the mountains beyond the northernmost border, the first snows would be falling.
The stranger who brought news of the dragon in the Wyndwae had already ridden out. Though the message he shared with them was but rumor and speculation, the rider himself was a king's messenger bound once more north and east. He, and news of her coming, would reach the Wyndwae well before she did. Vreden too was gone, in the grey light before morning, taking his two young apprentices with him.
Mairead rode out as dawn turned on toward morning, slinging her pack over the back of the fine-blooded bay stallion that had been a gift from a grateful lord. There were, after all, some perks to being a hunter of monsters. She was in no hurry to reach the Wyndwae. If the dragon had razed a village already, they would have heard of it. For now, at least, the beast seemed to be leaving well enough alone, another indication that it was more likely to be a drake than one of the great white dragons of the west. Of course, there was little treasure to be found in the poor villages of the Wyndwae, so perhaps it was only biding its time until a shipment of gold came through. If so, it would be waiting long. For a beast rumored to be so intelligent, it had not chosen its lair well. Only a hundred miles west, the king's city sat in a low, open valley, its houses and its people gilded and jeweled.
The land through which she rode as morning became midday was familiar, the low, rolling hills of the southern province. It was said that once there had been unicorns in the lowland woods, but if there ever had been they were gone long ago. Mairead had certainly never seen one. It seemed, at times, that Lyndoun had all of the darkness and none of the beauty. It was for that she hunted down the creatures that terrified the simple people only trying to go about their lives. Surely they had right to some light in their lives, to some escape from fear and worry.
Her father had taught her the use of the war bow which she carried behind her. Though her own was modified, its draw much lighter than those carried by the king's rangers, it was a formidable weapon, capable of piercing an armored hide at a hundred yards. She had turned her first herself, under the guidance of her father’s hand, when she was only seven summers old. This was her fourth, each of them her own work. Her father had always said that the first step in using a weapon is to know it from end to end.
He had never spoken of it, but Mairead sometimes wondered if he had expected a son, but had taken what he could get when he was given instead a daughter who grew too tall too quickly, all lanky, ungraceful limbs. If he had, he had done well with what he was granted. She had never missed the mother who died in her birthing bed. Her father had been all she needed.
When the sun was at its zenith, Mairead stopped to let her horse feed, settling down on a flat-topped rock set into the side of one of the hills with her own lunch. It was pleasant, the chill of the
morning worn off in the light of day. She sat enjoying the breeze and the little noises of creatures moving through the grass for some time, the quiet, contented sounds of Embarr grazing a welcome companion. When she mounted once more, she rode slowly, eyes searching the landscape. To her left, an arm of the forest rose, trees lifting banner upon banner toward the horizon. In time, it would curve westward, and then she would turn into it. It was slow going, but faster than the days it would take to go around. The king's road, which the messenger would have taken, lay farther west still, and she did not wish to take the time to follow it up toward the royal city before turning toward the Wyndwae. Nor, in truth, did she much care for king's roads or his city at all. She preferred the solitude of the woods.
---
On the third day since she had set out from The Dancing Mer, Mairead made camp at the edge of the forest. She lay in her bed roll, looking up at the scatter net of the stars in the sky over her head, so bright it seemed she might reach up a hand and take one in her fist. Among the noises of night in the forest, she could hear the occasional soft snort from her horse, the sound of his tail swishing away the flies. Her eyes slid shut, and she slept.
She woke abruptly, sitting up and looking out into dim grey dark of the night. Beside her, the fire had burned to ashes, and the coals were a faint glow beyond the edge of her sleeping place. The sound that had taken her from sleep came again, high and frightened, the sound of her horse throwing back his head to call out in panic, and his hooves drumming against the ground in impatient attempt to escape. Mairead flung herself from her blankets and to her feet, but she did not run.
"Hush, my love," she said, moving slowly toward him, one hand outstretched. The other was curled around the hilt of a dagger. He tossed his head, rolling his eyes so the whites showed, pulling against his tether. "Hush," she said again, her own eyes searching the grey shapes around them, but she could see nothing except the trees and their shadows.