“Babe, you write stuff far dirtier. Why is it so hard to ask me to play with your breasts?” He’s teasing but also curious.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s different with you. More real,” and he smiles, pleased.
“I’m glad,” he says softly, and lowers his head to me, and I’m crazy with the sensation of his lips along my neck, because I’m so sensitive there. He can tell, and he starts dropping kisses and little bites up and down my neck, and when he finds the spot that makes me really squirm, he bites down hard and I cry out and beg. “Boston, please.” I can smell my arousal on his tongue and that only increases my passion. I love the smell of our sex together.
“All right, since you asked me so nice and all.”
He grins and lowers his head and closes his lips over one nipple, and when he sucks, I wail out a little sound of pleasure, because his mouth is hot and wet and it feels so damn good. He licks back and forth across and bites down, letting his teeth graze my skin, and I almost can’t stand it, and then he does the same thing to the other one.
“Abby, I love your tits,” he says, almost reverently. “I want to suck them every day. Jesus.” And he bends his mouth back down, but this time he trails lower and sticks out his tongue and licks me, a strong bold stroke all along my soft sensitive skin, and I cry out his name and buck up into his face.
“Don’t move,” he scolds me, and pinches one nipple as a warning, but it’s a good hurt, the kind he knows I like, and I love that we can do this. We can play a little rough and I am so safe in his hands, because I know he’s only going to do the things we both like and need. I can’t believe how matched we are, how much I love every single touch, every lick, every bite, every squeeze.
“I’m already planning what I want to do to you,” he announces, looking up, his lips wet. He licks them deliberately and I toss my head back and sigh, waiting, but he runs one hand up my belly slowly and grabs my shoulder. “Look at my eyes,” he says.
First I look down my body, my pale skin, his dark hair and slightly darker body along mine, my softness, his strength. I like to see us together. Then I look up, and his eyes are warm and full of light and love and a little danger.
“I’m going to fuck you so good and so hard,” he decides, “that you’ll never want to run away. Next time you need to run, Abby, you run to me, understand? Never away from me.”
I try to nod but just toss my head again and moan, wanting him to touch me.
“Because we’re a team now,” he warns, although a smile twitches on his lips. “We’re a team, babe, so if you ever feel worried about stuff, or other women, or anything, you tell me. And even if I can’t fix it, I’ll try my best. I promise.” His voice is earnest. “I’m never going to understand why you sometimes don’t think you’re beautiful, but I do understand that you need to hear me say it. I’m going to tell you and show you every goddamn day.” He raises one eyebrow. “Okay?”
“Yes, please, I want that every day,” I murmur.
“In fact, I’m going to make you say it,” he says. “Tell me, Abby. Tell me that you’re pretty.”
“I’m pretty. Can you put your mouth back, please?”
He obliges, ducking his head down and licking me again, long slow teasing strokes of his tongue along my quivering flesh, and I cry out, trying to get away, to get closer, because the feeling is too much and not enough at once.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“I’m pretty.”
“Again.”
“I’m pretty!” This time I scream it out because he licks right on top of my clit and the sensation drives me insane.
“Good start,” he says, pleased, then flips me onto my stomach. “Time for a little reminder, though, Abs. Get on my lap.” He sits up on the edge of the bed and pats his thighs. I look at him with some foreboding, I suppose, because he smiles and gestures. Come here. “I just want you to sit on my lap for a minute,” he cajoles. So I do. The feeling of him commanding me is so hot I think I could orgasm right now, just from that stern voice, that look on his face.
I rub my naked breasts along his chest as I get into place, and wiggle as I settle in, feeling his hard arousal swell further under my soft skin. He sucks in his breath and grabs my hair with one hand, winds it up into a ponytail, then strokes the back of my neck and down my spine with one finger, all the way down to the crack of my ass. Then he says, “Ask me to finger you.”
“Boston!” I’m embarrassed again.
“You liked it so much last time, I thought I’d do it again. You need to ask, though.” I feel moisture surge between my legs at that thought. He kisses my neck where he bit, then bites my earlobe. His breath on my skin is unreal.
I swallow hard. I do want it again. “Please—touch me, Boston. With your fingers.” I move on his lap, feeding both of our arousal, and he surprises me with a light slap across my hip. I squeal and jerk and he chuckles. “Settle down, Abs, just gettin’ started here.”
He shifts me around so I’m straddling him, and I whimper at the touch of his cock at my belly. The sensation lights me on fire.
“Aw, Abs, you feelin’ hot?” he teases.
“Mmmm,” is all I can manage in reply, and I roll off his lap, pull him back down to the bed, and wind my body around his. I reach down to stroke his cock, firm and erect, warm in my hand. “Very,” I murmur, sliding my fingers into my mouth to wet them and reaching back down. “How about you?”
“Oh, yeah,” he replies, and groans when I slink down along his chest, dropping kisses along the way, until I take him into my mouth. He tastes good; a little salty, and his own essence. The scent is intoxicating. I like having him in my mouth, bringing him pleasure. I lick and suck until he takes my head and gently pulls me away.
“If you keep doing that I won’t be able to wait,” he tells me. “Besides, I want to make you call out my name again.” He grins and I let my eyes flutter closed. “You told me once that my fingers look like magic working the camera. Let me try that on you.”
He puts both of his hands on my body, and, oh, God. Two fingers glide into my pussy—three, now, and he’s using his thumb to stroke my clit. I cry out at the electric touch and jerk on the bed.
“Easy,” he soothes me, and softens his touch, stroking and teasing until I’m melted into a puddle of desire. His other hand is under me, on my ass, and he puts a finger into me there, too—and it’s dirty and wicked and perfect. He’s rubbing me with both hands, pumping, flicking, rubbing, swirling, and it’s too much. I begin pumping my hips into his hands, finding a rhythm that suits the need growing in my body, and soon I’m nearly convulsing on the bed, shoving myself into his arms, crying out. “Boston!” I wail. I’m about to peak, I know it, it’s coming—
He takes his hands out and I almost cry with disappointment. He pulls me up to him and takes my face in his hands, one strong hand on each of my cheeks, and looks into my eyes, checking me, asking me, telling me that he loves me. And I say it back to him, and then our mouths attack each other, a cry, a prayer, a wish, a blessing for each other and this union we’re making together.
And when he lays me back down and enters me, his eyes burning into mine, he says, “I’m yours, Abby.” And I start crying from happiness, from joy, from the exquisite pleasure that comes from knowing you’ve finally found that one person who completes you.
He moves, slowly at first, then harder, and soon I’m pushing back into him, clutching at his sweaty muscular body with all my strength, meeting him thrust for thrust, and we’re both trembling with exertion and arousal. He says, “Ready?” and grins. I nod once, and he reaches down and strokes me with his fingers, still thrusting, and I shatter around his touch, clenching down hard, and cry out for a long time as the pleasure bursts behind my eyelids and in my clit and all through my body, in waves and sparkles and surges. He swears and says my name, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life, better than any symphony, better than all the waves on all the blue oceans of the
planet: This man, roaring my name as if it’s the only thing in the world that means a damn thing.
This is the perfect ending to all of my stories. I’ve finally stitched together all of the pieces of my ragged life into one cohesive fabric, and he’s the seam. He’s the one who lets me know I’m perfect just the way I am. And I’m going to do the same for him. We’re going to write a new story together, the story of Abby and Boston, starting right now.
The End
Letter To My Readers
Dear Readers,
Thank you for buying my book, Boston! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is one of my favorite books, and I got so into the characters of Abby and Boston and their friends. They’re all made up, but to me they feel genuine. I keep expecting Boston to come into my computer room, shirtless, and say “Hey, luv,” while giving me a kiss on the cheek. And this would be okay, because I would authorize my husband to receive a kiss on the cheek from his favorite fictional character. Oh, wait, that’s right… he doesn’t read fiction. Well, his loss!
I would love to hear how you felt about the story. If Boston asked you out on a date, would you say yes? Who was your favorite character? Did anything drive you crazy? What was your favorite scene? Please share!
You can contact me on my Facebook author page—I’m on Facebook (way too) often and respond to all of my messages, so please reach out and say hi.
https://www.facebook.com/Alexis-Alvarez-Author-621284584692254/
You can also find me on my website, which I share with my two real-life sisters, Maria Monroe and Adrienne Perry, who are fantastic writers. We all blog there and love comments and visitors. If you sign up for our mailing list, you will receive our super-awesome newsletters full of excerpts, sneak peeks, new releases, and raffles. It’s fun stuff.
http://graffitifiction.com/
I know there are millions of books out there. I heard that over one thousand new books are published on Amazon each day! That’s a bewildering number, and I’m truly grateful that you chose mine out the mix, like one star out of the infinite sky, and read it today. Thank you. Your time means so much to me—it’s the best gift an author can get. Thanks for being part of my world! Happy reading.
Lots of love from Alexis
Q&A About Boston
Q: Is there really a club in Boston called Men Got Moves?
A: No, but there should be. And they need to put faces of all my favorite models on the barstools!
Q: Why do you like to put poetry into all of your books?
A: I’ve always loved poetry and try to slip it in everywhere I can. (That’s what he said.)
Q: So—wait, you’re kind of inappropriate and make gross jokes a lot, right?
A: Yes.
Q: Is there really a museum in Chicago called The Lizzadro Museum of Lapidary Art, and it’s the most amazing place in the world? And even though you’re over forty, you still fondly remember going there on a field trip in third grade, and the best part was buying a pencil with LITTLE ROCKS INSIDE OF IT, in a clear holder, OMG, and it was the most wonderful thing you’d ever seen? And last time you went home to Chicago, your family and Adrienne’s family went there to visit together and it was EVEN BETTER than you remembered? And for some strange reason, your sister Maria Monroe does not share your and Adrienne’s enthusiasm for the LMLA and refused to go, saying it would be a snore-fest, and maybe she even made sarcastic snoring sounds out loud, but someday you and Adrienne are going to totally trick her into going there?
A: Yes.
Thanks!
Maria Monroe and Adrienne Perry, you guys are the best sisters, beta readers and laugh partners a sister could ever have in this world. I had the best time at the Chicago RWA conference with you! (“Beaver Peeker.” OMG.) And you’re both super writers. LOVE YOU so much!
Jill S., thanks for keeping it real with “moist” “panties!” You and our entire writing group are awesome sauce. Why, my eyes are downright “moist” with emotion. (MOIST PANTIES MOIST PANTIES MOIST PANTIES.)
Shannon Passmore – thanks for the gorgeous cover design! http://www.shanoffformats.com/
Shane Eyeball Williams, thanks for being my cover model! https://www.facebook.com/aka.eyeball/
Heather Roberts, thanks for the blurb, ads, PR and marketing assistance! http://www.socialbutterflypr.net/
Kacey Shea, thanks for introducing me to Shane and setting up the photo shoot. You are a fantastic writer and friend!
Erica Scott, thanks for your editing! You rock and I love having you as my copy-editor. I think I should send you a chocolate-covered comma as a gift because you fix all of mine. (That sounds gross, sort of pervy, doesn’t it? It sounded better in my head.) Okay, so no CCC. But all my thanks.
Lizzadro Museum of Lapidary Art, I LOVE YOU and your rock pencils. Be cool always.
To my husband and daughter… I love you so much, the most in the world. Thanks for being patient with me when I spend so many hours at my computer. You make it all worthwhile.
Reviews
If you liked this book, or if you didn’t, would you consider leaving a review? To authors, reviews are the tiny sweet bursts of joy that say, “you complete me,” and “you had me at five stars.” Here are some sample reviews for Boston.
Sample Review: Better than being eaten by a bear!
I woke up at three a.m., freezing cold in my shitty tent in a campground near Crater Lake, and snuck into the lodge to warm up. To pass time while I thawed, I chose this book from the two that were available on the “take one, leave one” shelf. This one was better than the runner-up, Noxious Weeds of Klamath County: Updated and Revised 1987. So, thanks for that.
Sample Review: Oh, You Whippersnappers.
I found this book in my great-granddaughter’s dorm room and my word, does it have some pretty racy scenes! Although you young people think you invented sex. You didn’t. I’ll have you know, missy, that I had some pretty good “adventures” with your great-grandfather back in the day! Why, I had this funny little nickname for him: “Tall Peter.” But I don’t think it would be appropriate to explain why.
Sample Review: Accidentally Bought The Wrong Book
I thought this was History of Nineteenth Century Boston Architecture for my class at the uni. Guess I shouldn’t one-click while I’m drunk? Still, I totally used some of the sick sex moves on my girlfriend and BAM did she explode with passion. We’re happier than ever. Great job, author! A+. BTW, for all you MILFs out there, “sick” means “cool.” You’re welcome.
Excerpt from Dream Girl
If you liked Boston, you’ll love Dream Girl, my sexy and witty contemporary romance with heat and humor. Read on for the blurb and a steamy excerpt.
Dream Girl on Amazon: https://amzn.com/B014QAR5RA
Blurb for Dream Girl:
He’s sexy and intelligent, handsome and witty, and Chloe’s body lights up with sparks at his touch. And when he looks into her eyes and whispers naughty sexy things into her ear, she wants to melt into him and enjoy the mind-blowing passion he promises.
Too bad he’s the star of the popular reality show Dream Girls, and he’s also dating nineteen other women in addition to Chloe—women who are sexy and so talented that their Nobel Prizes should arrive any day now. Chloe’s sure he’s just amusing himself with her, and there is no way he’d pick her as his final Dream Girl—especially since she gets into so many crazy scrapes on the show.
She promised herself she was only doing this for adventure, travel, and new experiences… not to make a fool of herself on national TV. But he’s so sexy and persuasive! Would it be so bad to say yes to all of his dark, dirty requests? And most important of all—what will happen if she risks her heart?
Excerpt from Dream Girl:
He inserted his fingers under the fabric of the jeans at her waist, stroking the soft skin there. “I also like to be in charge in the bedroom. Do you want me to show you how that works, too?”
“Yes, show me,” she whis
pered, resting her cheek against his chest. “Tonight.”
“That sounds like a very reasonable request,” he said in a low voice, and pulled her up to his lips. The kiss deepened, and he ran his hands over her body. “Chloe. Do you want to go back?” His eyebrow raised, he looked at her face to assess, and when she nodded and whispered “yes,” he took her hand in his and started walking them back to the hotel.
When they entered her room, Dominic took off his jacket and tossed it to the chair. He looked her in the eyes and began to deliberately unbutton his shirt. Chloe felt her face redden and she sucked in a breath as his magnificent chest came into view. She waited for him to keep going, but he smiled at her and nodded his head.
“Your turn, Chloe. The shirt.” He crossed his arms, his shirt open. His voice was dominant, and the tone—so masterful and deep—gave her shivers. She licked her lip, watching a muscle twitch in his cheek, and slowly used both hands to raise her shirt and pull it over her head. When she was standing there in just her lacy bra, she tilted her head.
“Like what you see?” Her voice came out husky.
“Damn straight.” His was hoarse. He sat down on the bed, legs spread, and leaned back on his elbows. Chloe let her eyes dart over the cut muscles in his stomach, which rippled as he moved.
“Pants.” His eyes were dark.
Chloe felt a smile tugging at her lips, and she deliberately unbuttoned her pants and stepped out of them. Her panties matched her bra and she felt her nipples peak under his gaze.
“Nice,” he murmured, his body taut, his face focused on hers. “Now the bra.”
Chloe sucked in her breath. “Um…”
He smiled a dangerous grin. “Didn’t you say you wanted to play my game?”
Boston Page 21