Skip to the Good Part 2: 20 Authors Reveal Their Steamiest Scenes

by Pepper Winters

  “I bet you don’t load the plates.”

  “Sometimes.”

  I raise an ‘I doubt it’ eyebrow.

  “OK, no.”

  The childish Dylan glint enters his eyes, one I’m becoming all too familiar with.

  “Twenty-four years old and you don’t know how to wash up? You’ll never make anyone a good wife,” I tell him.

  Scooping up a handful of bubbles, he wipes them down my face. “You’ll have to teach me.”

  “Hey!” I wipe them off and scoop a handful of my own.

  “Don’t you dare!” Dylan steps back, fighting a smile.

  Grinning back, I wipe the bubbles down his freshly shaved face. Dylan growls and grabs my wrist, dragging me to his chest. Holding both wrists with one hand, he scoops a handful and rubs them into my hair. Shrieking, I wriggle from his grip, ducking away from him. Before I can move two steps, he grabs me from behind, powerful arms holding my waist. I lean away from him, dragging at his fingers.

  “Keep still!”

  “No more bubbles! Sorry!” I gasp.

  I’m not sorry he wants to touch me again. Definitely not sorry to be held against his hard, muscled torso, and have his hands touching my skin where my T-shirt has ridden up.

  Dylan pushes me towards the sink. We’re both facing the bubbled water but I can’t reach them because my arms are trapped. I tense, waiting for the soaking.

  “No, please!” I’m gasping with laughter, giving the wrong impression.

  “What if I don’t want to let you go?” he whispers, and then nips my earlobe. Dylan releases my waist and runs both hands beneath my T-shirt, palms across my stomach. “What if I want to apologise for before?”

  I can’t move, his hips pinning me to the kitchen counter. “I don't know...”

  He kisses my neck, running his tongue along my shoulder before nipping my collarbone. I hitch a breath as he pulls my hips towards him, his arousal against my back surprising me.

  “Oh...”

  Dylan turns me around and pushes aside the items left on the kitchen counter. “I stopped because the selfish, spoilt Dylan wanted you.” He holds me around the waist and lifts me onto the bench. “But if I make this about you instead, that’s not selfish, right?”

  “Oh...” Jeez, where’s my power of speech gone?

  “Can I kiss you again?”

  “I think you’re right; you do need to find a new way to relate to women,” I say breathlessly.

  Pressing himself between my legs, solid thigh against mine, Dylan pulls my hair into a ponytail and wraps it around his hand. “Currently, this is the only way I know how.” Placing his mouth softly on mine, he runs his tongue lightly across my lips, setting a soft buzz across my face.

  “OK, the meal and chat was a good start, maybe next we can…” I begin, clinging to rational thought.

  “Tell me what you like,” he interrupts, resting his forehead on mine.

  Dylan’s sudden change of pace disarms me; two minutes ago we were playing like kids. Now we’re back to adult territory. With a capital A. I wrap my arms around his neck, tracing the short hair at the nape. His eyes darken, reflecting my desire and rewinding us back to the ‘snuggling.’

  “Dylan, I am stupidly and incredibly attracted to you to the point of needing an asthma inhaler when you’re close, but...”

  “But I put you off with talk of fucking. How about we don’t fuck? There’re plenty of other things we could do…” The suggestion in his low tone reconnects the physical us. “All I can think about is you; I’m obsessed by your mouth.” I allow Dylan to place his lips on mine, a tentative touch as he waits for my response. I answer him with a mouth-mashing kiss, parting my lips, allowing his tongue to play with mine. The want from yesterday courses through my veins with the alcohol, and as soon as I taste him, I want more. I want all of him. We kiss fiercely, gripping hair, biting lips, giving in to everything we’re hiding.

  Maybe he’s using clever words as a way to get into the not-small-enough knickers I’m wearing, but I don’t care. Who am I kidding, saying I don’t want him?

  I make a soft noise of disappointment as he pulls away. “So? Tell me. What do you want me to do?” he asks.

  “Kiss me again.”

  “Is that all?”

  I grab his head and pull him to me, losing myself in the taste and scent of him, his skillful kisses unravelling me further. He pulls away and slides his mouth down my neck, licking and sucking until I wriggle against the sensation.

  Dylan slowly slides a hand beneath my shirt, and I arch towards him so his palm reaches my breast. Through the satin fabric, he rubs a nipple with his thumb, placing his other hand next to me as he leans in, tracing more kisses along my neck. He’s hard beneath his jeans, and his comment about erections and Florida makes sudden sense.

  “Anything else?” he asks, breathing shallow. The fact I’m affecting his breathing too is a huge turn on. Me. I do this to him. He continues his attention to my breast, teasing my nipple with his fingers. “Tell me what else.”

  Alcohol paving the road ahead, I wave goodbye to modesty and drag my top over my head. I unhook my bra, pushing the straps from my arms and fix Dylan with a challenging expression. He pulls off his T-shirt and adds it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. I place a hand on the smooth muscles, dragging my fingernails down to the curve of his abs.

  Dylan moistens his lips as his gaze moves to my breasts, tracing a finger from my neck towards my breasts before cupping one with his long fingers. “You are so fucking gorgeous.”

  His mouth closes around my nipple, sensation jolting to my core as he sucks. I press myself against his thigh, shamelessly rubbing against him and he pushes his hand underneath my backside, squeezing me closer. Dylan spends the next few delirious minutes exploring every inch of my exposed skin with his tongue and lips. The warmth from his mouth evaporates when he shifts his attentions, cooling my hot skin. I groan and lock my legs around Dylan’s hips, attempting to hold him as close as I can.

  I'm a shaking, panting mess when he lifts his head, and I wriggle towards him, not wanting him to stop. Dylan puts his palms on my back and squashes my breasts against his chest. A gasp escapes as my hardened nipples touch his smooth chest; a connection that’s only the start of what my body wants from him. We collide mouths again, his heart hammering against mine in unison. Holding each other’s heads, as if not wanting to let go, we kiss fiercely as if this is the end when it’s only the beginning.

  His fingers move to unbuttoning my shorts.

  I freeze and Dylan stops. “I want to touch you,” he says, pulling on the zip. “Is that OK?”

  Ohmygod, is this ever OK? This is OK. Yes? Stop thinking. “Please…”

  Dylan slips a finger in the front of my shorts, struggling to reach me through the tight denim. Watching for my reaction with darkened blue eyes, he tugs at the shorts and I move to allow him to remove them. My hands go to the button of his jeans and he shifts.

  “No. Just you,” he says. “Mine are staying on.”

  My underwear pulls down with the shorts and they hit the floor. He slowly runs his hand up my inner thigh, and I moan, anticipating his fingers reaching my sex. As Dylan reaches my wet heat, he sucks air between his teeth before closing his mouth over mine again. I groan as he pushes a finger inside, teasing my clit with his thumb as he moves his hand. Waves of pleasure pulse into every nerve ending; and I dig my fingers into the sinews of his back, holding on so I don’t collapse. I close my eyes, focused purely on the sensation, unable to believe this is happening to me.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he growls against my mouth.

  I struggle against the gathering bliss, not wanting this to end, moving my hips to match the movement of his fingers. “What are you doing to me?”

  Dylan nips at my neck and ear lobe, short, heavy breaths in my ear. “Whatever you want me to do. Or do you want me to stop?”

  There’s a teasing tone to his voice; this isn’t about a
sking permission. This is torture.

  I fumble with the button to his jeans but he swats my hand away. “No, I said you.”

  “But I want...” His mouth crushes mine again, the rhythm of his fingers inside me crashing through my body. I’m on the brink of losing control when he stops and steps back.

  I want to protest, but instead a whimper escapes my throat. Dylan licks his fingers, hooded eyes on mine. “I want to taste you,” he murmurs.

  Oh, holy crap.

  Dylan doesn’t wait for a response. He kneels on the floor in front of me, the warmth of his breath against my sex, and pulls my legs towards him, setting them on his shoulders. The shaking intensifies as he presses his mouth to me, tongue gliding along my wetness and teasing the sensitive bud. I grip the edge of the kitchen bench and stifle a cry.

  “Fuck, you’re wet and hot and fuck…” The vibration of his voice against me intensifies the engulfing sensation.

  I cry out as he slides a finger inside, continuing to explore me with his hot mouth.

  Then Dylan demonstrates what an expert he is at this, and I suspect his shift in direction isn’t only for me. Licking, sucking, thrusting with his fingers, he brings me to the brink over and over. Then each time he stops, prolonging things to the point I’m ready to scream at him.

  When the blinding orgasm hits, and the stars dance in front of my eyes, he drags me to the floor, across his lap and holds me until I return from his galaxy to the world. Dylan buries his face in my neck, and strokes my hair, swearing repeatedly under his breath. The thud of his heart against mine, and lust in his hooded eyes when our eyes meet again, has me grasping at his jeans’ button for a third time.

  “No,” he says breathlessly, “Just no.”

  I run a finger below his hair where strands stick to his face. “Please, Dylan, you said what I wanted.”

  He smiles. “Nice try.”

  “You’re being unfair,” I pant.

  “I know, and to myself.” Dylan squeezes his eyes closed, shifting beneath me. “Fuck, this is hard.”

  I nudge my nose against his ear. “I’m aware of how hard. You could...”

  Drawing a ragged breath, Dylan places his forehead on mine. “No. Fuck, Sky, I want to so fucking much but no.” His arms tighten around my waist, fingers tickling the sensitive spot at the base of my spine, “How about some more snuggling?”

  “Snuggling…?” I can barely hide the disappointment in my voice.

  Dylan stands, still holding me around the waist and I wrap my legs around his. The sensation of his erection beneath the rough denim against my sensitive sex as he walks upstairs sends new shockwaves through my body. I want him, not snuggling.

  In his bedroom, Dylan pushes back the covers and sits, the pair of us falling into bed. Hope flares he might have changed his mind, but he pulls me to his chest, wrapping me in his arms. Dylan’s heart thumps against my naked breasts, rapid heartbeat gradually slowing as he strokes my hair. He soothes me as easily as he sent me crazy and I fight the urge to push him to finish what we’ve started. I think he’s as aware as I am what will happen if we start kissing again, and here because all he does is hold me.

  A silent understanding holds us in the moment, the weird link to the man I hardly know fusing me to him. The moon shines through the open curtains, casting a blue glow across the room. I turn onto my side and snuggle into him.

  Dylan squeezes me tight and kisses my neck. “I haven’t slept with someone else for years,” he whispers. “Don’t leave my bed tonight.”

  “I don’t want to.” I kiss the arm wound around my chest.

  As I drift to sleep, he rubs his nose against my cheek. “I love the world we’re in, where you’ll always be my summer Sky. I could live here forever.”

  Read more from Lisa Swallow, including the whole of the Blue Phoenix rock romance series, and subscribe to her newsletter by visiting her website. You’ll receive occasional emails about new releases or subscriber exclusives. Also, check out Lisa’s Facebook author page. She loves hearing from readers!

  About Summer Sky (Blue Phoenix Series)…

  Sky changed her life for a man once, and she has no intention of doing it again - even if he is a six-foot, tattooed rock god who makes a mean bacon sandwich.

  Sky Davis is fed up with boyfriend Grant taking her for granted, and when she comes home to find him wearing a girl, Sky suspects the relationship is over. She takes an unscheduled holiday and leaves the life (and guy) she hates behind.

  Rock star Dylan Morgan is struggling with fame and infamy, sick of his life being controlled by other people. Dylan cuts his hair and walks away from his role as lead singer of Blue Phoenix, leaving behind chaos and speculation.

  Outside the English seaside town of Broadbeach, their cars and worlds collide.

  Sky decides Dylan is an arrogant guy with too many tattoos, and Dylan is amused by the smart-mouthed girl with no idea who he is. Dylan and Sky soon discover they’ve travelled to Broadbeach for the same reason - to escape from reality and head back to a place with happy childhood memories. Losing themselves in a world where they know nothing about each other, Sky and Dylan begin a summer romance that soon heats up their rainy English summer.

  Fantasies can’t last forever, and when reality crashes the party, Sky isn’t sure she wants to be more than his ‘summer Sky’ but Dylan doesn’t want to let her go.

  Returning to the real world, public scrutiny isn’t their only problem. Blue Phoenix lead guitar player, Jem Jones, has a reason for wanting Sky out of Dylan’s life, and is determined to come between them. Some things won’t stay hidden, even when they’re paid to ‘go away’.

  Summer Sky is a contemporary romance where occasionally more than the bacon sizzles. It is the first in the Blue Phoenix series.

  The Mistress Experiment

  Mistress, #1

  Elizabeth Otto

  He hadn’t slept.

  Between the noises in the house which were familiar, yet not, and worry that Mila wasn’t well, Isaac had spent most of the night by her bed in a chair—sitting and watching her sleep, like the hero from a sappy romance movie. Yeah, he’d sunk to that level. He’d wanted to crawl in next to her, pull her body into the curve of his and mold them together. Like the spontaneous embrace he’d given her earlier, the urge to wrap himself in her limbs was a raw impulse.

  There was such a simple joy in being in her presence, and he longed for it as much as he craved her touch. Mila made him want to lay his fears to rest—to be comfortable with the imperfect man he was deep inside. To stop hiding, and lose the fear that he was less somehow because he demanded more. She accepted him; responded to his body and offered herself for more of his touch. It was a big consideration, one that bred new fear.

  Mila was conflicted herself, he sensed it. He couldn’t expect her to conform and accept his world quickly or even completely. Maybe not ever. She might enjoy being with him, but if she was uncomfortable trying to assimilate to his lifestyle, where would that leave them? He couldn’t have another woman in his life that didn’t accept him from all angles, or lied and pretended that she did. He saw Mila as many things, strong, willful, and compassionate.

  But was she a pretender like the other women in his life had been?

  Disgusted with himself for thinking about it while she lay sleeping, looking beautiful and peaceful, Isaac had returned to his room and flipped through television channels until he’d finally passed out sometime before dawn. Now, as he knocked before letting himself into her room, all he could think about was ditching the plans that had been made for him today, and spending it in bed with her instead.

  It didn’t help that she came out of the ensuite bathroom wearing a short white towel. The semi the visual gave him turned into a full blown hard-on when her eyelids fluttered and a pink flush spread over her cheeks.

  “Good morning.” The huskiness of her voice punched him in the dick. He’d come to talk about the day, but forget it. Now he was just going to come, and
so was she.

  “It’s afternoon, love.”

  Mila ran her fingers down the back of her wet, shimmery hair, with a teasing grin. “It’s not polite to point out that a woman has slept the day away.”

  He reached behind him and locked the door. “I’m not feeling very polite.”

  The towel slipped down, baring the soft rise of her breasts. A hungry expression crossed her face, but the affection in her eyes drew him more. “I like it when you drop the gentleman act.” With an easy stride, Isaac crossed to her and cupped her face, pulling her in for a deep kiss. The towel fell on top of his feet. He kicked it away as the scent of her bare, damp skin flooded his senses.

  The warmth of the sun filtering in through the window was nothing compared to the burn in her sultry kiss. He held her fingers as his thumb swept the back of her hand. And then he pulled back, flipped her hand over and brought her palm to his lips. She inhaled sharply. Coconut scented her skin as he nuzzled her palm before kissing the center. One light kiss, then another. Mila’s fingers curled as he made a small circle over her flesh with his tongue.

  “The thing about gentlemanly behavior is knowing when to use it and when to let it go.” Isaac kissed her wrist, relishing the bound of her pulse against the delicate skin. “Right now, the only side of me you’ll get is the one that makes you beg.” Her eyes were heavy, lips parted as her chest rose and fell with tight, hard breaths. Too many days had passed since they’d shared this and if she wanted him half as badly as he did her….

  “You’re willing to beg, aren’t you, love?” He slid one hand down her side, behind her waist and down to grab her soft, round ass.

  “Think you know me that well?” Her throaty challenge was followed by a gasp when Isaac gently nibbled the tender, pulsing skin at her wrist and dug his nails into her ass cheek at the same time.