She looked at him, the warmth of her body seeping into his, the soft curves of her breasts pressed to his bare chest, the curve of her sex nudging the length of his cock. “You’ll what?” she whispered, slipping her fingers up his arms, over his shoulders.
He took her lips in a hungry kiss. A possessive kiss. He captured her face in his hands and claimed her lips, her mouth as his own. Swept his tongue over hers, nipped at her bottom lip, sucked it, plundered her mouth again with greedy strokes.
She groaned, rolling her hips against his until his dick grew fat and stiff and long in his boxers, rubbing over the warmth of her lower belly in impatient thrusts.
He answered her groan with his own, barely summoning enough strength to tear his lips from hers.
Looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her breath shallow, her lips glistening with the moisture of his possession of them, she smoothed her hands up into the hair at the back of his head. “Okay. You’ll do that. I like that,” she whispered. “But what will you do if you are dreaming? What will you do if I’m not really here in your bedroom? If I’m not really telling you we’ve got a future together, telling you I am yours, that you are allowed to love me? What will you do—?”
“This,” Josh growled before she could finish, fisting his hands in her wild, tousled hair and crushing her lips with another kiss, this one far more savage and ravenous and demanding.
“I see,” she rasped when he finally relinquished possession of her mouth, her eyes closed, her breath not just shallow now but ragged and shaky and rapid. “Wow.”
He chuckled, smoothing a hand down her back to cup her arse as he tugged her closer still to his body. “So you see?” He brushed his lips over hers, reveling in the exquisite feel of her in his arms, on his tongue, in his very breath. “It’s win-win. If you really are here, I get to kiss you senseless, and if I’m dreaming, I get to kiss you even more senseless.”
She opened her eyes and gazed up at him through her lashes, at once shy and thoroughly seductive. “What do I have to do to get you to make love to me?”
“That’s easy. Tell me you love me.”
Sliding one hand from his hair, she trailed a slow thumb over his bottom lip, watching the path of her thumb before raising her gaze to his eyes. “I love you, Josh Blackthorne. And on behalf of Fluffy—”
“Rocket Man,” he interjected, smile stretching to a grin, heart beating with elated power, hands cupping her butt.
“On behalf of my lizard and I,” she continued, her own grin playing with her lips, “I’d like to ask you to be a part of our future forever. Is that okay with you?”
Josh smirked, lowering his head until his lips brushed hers with a gentle caress. “I think,” he whispered, “that’s very okay with me. And if we were alone right now, I’d strip you naked and do insanely wicked things to your body.”
He feathered a kiss over her lips once more. And then, without breaking the kiss, walked them both to the open door and gave it a soft shove.
“Mum,” he heard Chloe shout on the other side, excitement in her young voice. “Josh really is kissing that girl now.”
With a laugh, he raised his head from Caitlin’s and smiled down at her. “Not just that girl,” he said. “The girl.”
Caitlin wriggled her hips against his, fisting her hands tighter in his hair. “Seriously?”
He nodded, his nose touching hers, his cock pulsing against her belly. “Seriously.”
About the Author
Lexxie Couper started writing when she was six and hasn’t stopped since. She’s not a deviant, but she does have a deviant’s imagination and a desire to entertain readers with her words. Add the two together and you get romances that can make you laugh, cry, shake with fear or tremble with desire. Sometimes all at once. When she’s not submerged in the worlds she creates, Lexxie’s life revolves around her family, a husband who thinks she’s insane, an indoor cat who likes to stalk shadows, and her daughters, who both utterly captured her heart and changed her life forever.
Contact Lexxie at [email protected], follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/lexxie_couper or visit her at www.lexxiecouper.com where she occasionally makes a fool of herself on her blog.
Look for these titles by Lexxie Couper
Now Available:
The Sun Sword
Tropical Sin
Triple Dare
Dare Me
Sunset Heat
Suspicious Ways
Party Games
Suck and Blow
Twister
Heart of Fame
Love’s Rhythm
Muscle for Hire
Guarded Desires
Steady Beat
Lead Me On
Blame it on the Bass
Getting Played
Savage Australia
Savage Retribution
Savage Transformation
Principatus
Dark Destiny
Dark Embrace
Coming Soon:
Outback Skies
Breathless for You
Burn for You
Bare for You
Better with You
It all starts with sex under a desk…
Getting Played
© 2014 Lexxie Couper
Heart of Fame, Book 7
After yet another month without a lead singer, the band Synergy is on the verge of calling it quits. Which drives Jaxon Campbell, keyboardist and perpetual player, to do something dangerous—hit up a woman with contacts—and curves—in all the right places. Trouble is, the last time he saw her, he kind of broke her heart. And stole her cherished, autographed AC/DC album.
Natalie Thorton, Dean of the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, knows everyone that’s anyone in Australia’s music industry. She’s driven and utterly professional and doesn’t have room in her schedule for relationships.
When Jaxon strides into her office, all of Natalie’s suppressed sexual urges—the ones born in Jax’s arms—surge to the surface. He wants something from her? Well, she wants something from him. Orgasms. Lots of them.
How can Jax say no? He’s never forgotten her, and it’s not like they’re going to fall in love. But just who’s playing who? And whose heart is going to fall first?
Warning: Contains a sexual challenge involving sex in public places, sex in private places, sex in moving cars, sex against windows and sex in the company of an oblivious federal politician. So basically, we’re talking about getting laid. A lot.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Getting Played:
He wasn’t there.
Nat stared at her empty seat, her heart racing faster than Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee”.
He wasn’t there. Jaxon Campbell—naked and thoroughly aroused—had vanished from sight.
God. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried.
Pulling a steadying breath, she walked across the floor of her office, casting the Minister for the Arts and Culture a calming smile as she did so. “There’s nothing to hide, Minister,” she said, rounding the corner of her desk to reach for her chair.
Movement at the floor caught her eye and she missed a step.
Jax grinned up at her from beneath her desk.
Her heart slammed up into her throat and continued its manic pace there.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Jeremy?” the minister asked.
Mouth dry, she jerked her stare back to him.
Jeremy Craig, the man responsible for a hell of a lot of Con government funding, smiled at her. “Please? Minister is so formal.”
“This is a formal meeting, isn’t it?” she croaked, inching closer to her chair.
From the shadows beneath her desk, Jax watched her. She could feel his gaze on her body like a slow, hot caress.
Her throat constricted at the thought.
The minister laughed. “It stopped being formal somewhere around the time you slapped my face with your hands, don’t you thin
k? Or maybe it was when you informed me my taste in music sucks during lunch. Tell me again, what’s wrong with Celine Dion?” To her horror, he settled into the seat opposite her desk and beamed up at her.
She stared at him. Great, now she would have to sit in her seat. With Jax lurking under her desk. Naked.
And horny.
“Are you going to take a seat, Natalie?”
She startled at the minister’s question and blushed. She fidgeted her way to her seat and, teeth gnawing on her bottom lip, lowered herself onto the edge of the plush leather cushion.
Instantly, a warm hand slipped around her ankle.
She gasped.
Jeremy Craig frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay, Natalie?”
Swallowing at the rapid heartbeat in her throat, she nodded. Another hand smoothed around her other ankle. “I’m fine,” she blurted, shifting on her seat.
The leather made a low creaking sound. A low chuckle rumbled from beneath her desk, almost inaudible, as the two hands circling her ankles began to smooth up her calves.
She pressed her thighs together. If Jax discovered she wasn’t wearing knickers…
Across her desk, the Minister for Arts and Culture gave her a dubious look. “Do you want to turn down the music?” he asked, throwing a puzzled glance at her iPod dock.
Jax’s hands smoothing up her calves, she leant forward and lowered the volume a little. Enough to have a conversation, but not enough that the sound of her backside rubbing against leather could be heard.
And why is your butt going to be rubbing against the leather, Natalie Thorton? Hmmm?
She gave Jeremy a wobbly smile in return. “Now,” she said, desperate to keep her voice poised. It was difficult. Jax had reached her knees and was doing a very good job of inching her thighs apart. Surely he would stop soon. Wouldn’t he? “We should continue to discuss the government’s grant for the extensions.”
Jeremy laughed, his light-blue eyes dancing behind his glasses. “I think we’ve discussed it enough, Natalie.”
Beneath her desk, Jax echoed the minister’s laugh. The difference was his lips were pressed to the inside of her right knee.
Her belly knotted. Her breath caught in her constricted throat. Christ, how had he managed to get her thighs so wide?
“What I’d like to discuss—” Jeremy leant forward in his seat, holding her gaze with his, “—is the upcoming Prime Minister’s Ball.”
“Why?” Nat squeaked. Oh God, Jax was going to discover she wasn’t wearing—
A low hum of approval sounded at her knees as a steady finger traced the seam of her pussy lips.
She hitched in a ragged breath, staring at Jeremy.
“Because I’d like you to attend it with me,” the minister said.
Jax stroked his finger over her labia again, upward this time, until he found her clit.
Raw, forbidden pleasure detonated through Nat. She bit back a whimper, forcing her smile to stay put on her lips. “With you?” Holy shit, she sounded like she was about to have an asthma attack.
Jeremy nodded. Jax rolled his finger over her clit again.
“We’ve spent quite a lot of time together lately,” Jeremy went on, lowering his stare—thank fucking God—to his cuffs. “More than one professional luncheon, quite a few performances here at the Con—”
“All in a professional capacity,” Nat pointed out, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to stop Jax tormenting her clit with his finger. Her attempt failed. With two strong hands, he grabbed her hips and yanked her closer to the very edge of her seat.
She let out a gasp and then another one as he not only continued to stimulate the tiny button of flesh that was her clitoris, but also slowly sank a finger into her wet pussy.
Protecting her was never going to be easy.
Muscle for Hire
© 2013 Lexxie Couper
Heart of Fame, Book 3
After sixteen years as the personal bodyguard to the world’s biggest rock star, ex-SAS commando Aslin Rhodes excels in the role of intimidating protector, oozing threatening menace. Now that the singer has retired, Aslin takes a new assignment as a military consultant on a blockbuster film. But just as he’s getting comfortable in the world of Hollyweird, he faces an unexpectedly immovable object. An American martial arts expert no taller than his chin, who promptly puts him on his arse.
Rowan Hemsworth’s focus is two-fold—keep her famous brother grounded, and never again be a defenseless victim. She has her hands full as the fun police, keeping her brother’s money-sucking entourage at bay. But nothing prepared her for the British mountain of muscle who makes her knees go uncharacteristically weak.
When a string of accidents on set convinces Aslin that Rowan—not her brother—is the target, things get bloody tricky as he tries to convince the stubborn woman she needs his protection. And accept that she belongs with him. In his arms, in his bed…and in his heart.
The strong, silent type don’t come much more silent and strong than Aslin Rhodes. But when he does speak his British accent will drive you mad with desire. As will his menacing, dominating power. And what he can do to a woman on the back of a motorcycle.
Warning: The strong, silent type don’t come much more silent and strong than Aslin Rhodes. But when he does speak his British accent will drive you mad with desire. As will his menacing, dominating power. And what he can do to a woman on the back of a motorcycle.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Muscle for Hire:
Warm approval rolled through Aslin. It threaded through the base physical attraction he felt for Rowan. There was so much more to this woman than just a gorgeous body and sexy strength. She was protective, stubborn and not afraid to face any challenge to those she loved.
The realization was unsettling. It made the heavy pressure in his groin all the more exquisite and painful. Mindless fucking wasn’t mindless when the woman he was fucking stirred him on an emotional level as well. And Christ, did Rowan Hemsworth stir him on an emotional level.
His blood roared in his ears. The adrenaline still lingering in his veins from his earlier mechanical-bull ride surged through him again, this time fed by an excitement far more potent.
He could fall for Rowan Hemsworth if he let himself. Hard. Fast.
The thought made his mouth dry. He’d had numerous lovers in his time, but nothing serious. Protecting Nick—and then Lauren and Josh—had been his priority. He met his sexual desires when needed and went back to work. But that work, that life, was almost in his past. What did that mean for everything else in his life?
“So tell me, super soldier—” Rowan’s stare held his, a shadow deep in her eyes Aslin longed to understand, “—what exactly are you hoping to achieve working on Dead Even with my brother?”
To get to know you better.
The words, the confession, almost slipped from him. They were there, right on his tongue. They made his heart thump harder and his stomach coil. Instead, he leant forward, drew his gaze level with Rowan’s and said, “To make him the most believable super soldier Hollywood has ever seen.”
“Oh well, in that case—” she chinked her glass against his, a smile playing with her lips, “—here’s to super soldiers on and off screen.”
She downed her scotch in a single mouthful and then ran the tip of her tongue along her top lip. Aslin stared at the small pink tip of flesh, hypnotized. He wondered what it would feel like sliding against his. Would she taste of scotch if he kissed her now? Or would her mouth be sweet and warm?
Would he lose himself in the kiss? Would she moan into his mouth and wrap her arms around his back?
Would she press her hips to his?
Would she—
“Here’s your fries.” A woman’s voice sounded to Aslin’s right. He started, snapping his stare up to the waitress leaning over their table. “And your ketchup.”
She placed a large basket of thin, hot chips between them, followed by a red plastic bottle. A disconnected part of As
lin’s unsettled mind told him it was tomato sauce, not ketchup the waitress was giving them, another part thanking bloody Christ she’d arrived when she had. His cock was threatening to burst free of his fly. He needed the distraction from his overwhelming response to Rowan.
Rowan smiled up at the woman, her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. These look delicious.”
Aslin bit back a growl. He’d never experienced such a predicament. The need to fuck Rowan so badly twisted through his overwhelming desire to do nothing but get to know all about her—her dreams, her hopes. It was…it was….fuck, he didn’t know what it was. Confusing?
Disorientating?
Scary.
A snort left him at the word. Since when had he been scared of anything?
“So.” Rowan’s low voice drew his attention back to her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips moist, as if she’d licked them again. “Tell me more about Aslin Rhodes. Married? Girlfriend? Dog? Cat?”
He chuckled, forcing some semblance of calm through his wired muscles. “No. No. No and no. You pretty much know it all, I’m afraid. Ex-SAS commando for the United Kingdom Special Forces, followed by fifteen years as Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard. And now advisor to the film Dead Even. That’s my story.”
“Wow. I don’t know what’s sadder? The fact that’s your story, or that you summed it up in one sentence.”
Aslin raised what was left of his soda water to his lips. “Two, actually.”
Rowan narrowed her eyes again. “There’s that lame humour again. I thought you British were meant to be funny.”
“No, that’s the Irish. And sometimes the Scots. Billy Connelly is bloody funny, don’t you think?” He snared a hot chip from the bowl between them and tossed it into his mouth. “Now,” he spoke around the deep-fried strip of potato, “your turn. Why can’t you be stunt co-ordinator on the film? I suspect you’d do a very impressive job.”
Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8 Page 23