Sinfully
Copyright © 2014 Leighton Riley
All Rights Reserved.
Editor: Tiffany Tillman
Cover Artist: Ashley Christin
Formatted by Danielle Benson
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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Sneak Peak of Tristen’s Story
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
Ryder
Loosening my tie, I sat down another poorly written manuscript that had no depth or conflict. I had been searching for two weeks for my next new author. Every day I sifted through the stack of manuscripts sitting idly on my desk, looking for something different—edgy—something with raw emotions. I didn’t want any of that happily ever after bullshit. Finding new talent used to be easy for me, and I really needed to get a handle on things.
I thought about getting out of the office and away from the real world for a few days. At twenty-seven, I missed the days where everyone headed down to the beach without a care in the world. I remember spending hours surfing the waves just to clear my head and rejuvenate my soul. Editing was what I knew, but it wasn’t the life for me. I had the talent but no passion for it anymore.
I had even sent an email to the one author who had piqued my interests but hadn’t gotten a response. What self-published author wouldn’t want one of the largest publishing firms behind them? I offered her an insane amount of money along with some of the best editors known to the publishing world and a guarantee of publishing three more of her books within the next two years. It was the offer of a lifetime, and yet, I hadn’t heard a word.
I wasn’t expecting to become so enthralled with Reece Edwards’s book but I couldn’t put the damn thing down. A friend had recommended it to me after she saw it on a few blog posts with rave reviews. She was apparently addicted to indie authors and I told her I would look into it just so she would back the fuck off.
I wasn’t planning on actually reading the book. I did, however, go online to read the synopsis, so that when asked, I would be able to tell her why I didn’t decide to pursue it. I knew I’d be able to find some reason why the book was just like all the others out there and not worth looking into. While on Amazon, I made note that the story had only been “published” for three months and already had over a hundred reviews, many of them being four and five stars. In that short amount of time, this self-published author should still be trying to get herself out there and struggling to find people to leave reviews. I was curious what was drawing the crowd and how she had become so…visible…in such a short amount of time.
One reviewer quoted from the book, “I saw the questioning look in his eyes asking if I heard him. He stalked over to me and grabbed my waist to pull me into him. I could feel how much he wanted me through his slacks and I was instantly wet.”
Adjusting my growing erection, I got comfortable at my desk to do some more research. Fuck, I needed to get laid. The writer’s audience was primarily women, but damn if it wasn’t hot. I had plenty of girlfriends that had told me about how much they loved their dirty books and how they could read them discreetly on their phones or e-readers, but I hadn’t worked on many of those types of books before. Maybe they were on to something.
Once I got home, I decided I should probably give it a go. I one-clicked the book and opened it up on my phone, figuring I could do a quick run-through before I hung out with the guys.
About three percent into it, I took a beer from the fridge and got settled in on my couch. I told myself I would read the first chapter to fulfill my obligations. That, of course, led to needing to know what chapter two would be about. With that chapter ending on a cliffhanger, I felt obliged to read chapter three. I considered myself a pro at skimming through manuscripts because of my job, and I only skipped over a few sections, the rest I read word for word. I was envious at how carefree and spontaneous the main character seemed to be.
I ignored my friends’ request to join them at the bar for beers and instead stayed in to finish the book. Each chapter of the book was a different night with a different man. It seemed like there were multiple trips to the city. Most of them weren’t storybook endings, either. Some of them ended in tears or clothes being thrown out the door while others ended with her having to get herself off after the man was gone. Was it non-fiction? The thought hooked me and I was sunk. Who would bare themselves to the world by telling their most intimate, and sometimes embarrassing, sexual experiences?
The, uh, details were so vivid it was almost like you were in the room watching. It was written from the woman’s point of view and from the description of her orgasms, foreplay, and overall thoughts, it had a feminine feel to it. I found myself lost in thought on numerous occasions while imagining what the scenario she described would really feel like. “Reece” had such an innocent yet powerful demeanor that you never knew what to expect from her. Sometimes she would be gentle and submissive, while other times she was downright kinky and domineering. My cock couldn’t decide which persona he liked better, or maybe he chose both.
I couldn’t get her nights with those men out of my head. Some were just casual encounters with men who wanted a girl’s company for the night—those were the ones I was able to skim—but most were raw with passion and pleasure.
Before my only long-term girlfriend, Zoe, I was known for being a bachelor who had a different girl every night. I was young and having fun. What I did back then and what Reece was describing were two vastly different things. I fucked a girl just because it felt good, and didn’t think twice when I told her to leave shortly afterward—no sleepovers was a rule of mine.
She seemingly just met these men as well, but there was a connection there that made it more than just a quick fuck. The way she presented herself to total strangers was personable and down to earth. She didn�
��t go out looking for a hookup, but more so a guy who would be able to keep up with her and show her a good time. She wasn’t looking to settle down or find a sugar daddy like most women these days. In her book, she judged a guy based on how he approached her and how he interacted with those around him. She made a point that if he was a douche to the cocktail waitress or dealer, that he was a no-go.
In the bedroom, she dominated and was damn good at it, too. How did her nights seem to be filled with lust and passion with a stranger while mine seemed to be indifferent, no matter who I was with? Was I doing something wrong?
I used to be a big fan of one-and-done, but since discovering the possibility of deeper, more passionate sex without it lasting more than a night or two, I had to find out how she was able to have that kind of relationship. I envied her ability to let loose and enjoy life since what I had lately was the exact opposite.
I missed that look in a woman’s eye that told me she loved me and wanted me. I missed those moments when I couldn’t wait to get her alone so I could fuck her quickly and then make love to her slowly all night long. I missed the moans and screaming of my name with someone I truly cared about. The damn book was turning me into a pussy.
*****
The next morning, while running on the elliptical at the gym, I tried thinking of ways to get this Reece Edwards to at least meet with me so I could persuade her into working with me. Her work should be available in major bookstores around the country and eventually, all over the world. I had the experience to help her get to that point but could only help if she decided she wanted to take a chance.
Growing up with a father who was a publisher, I was constantly surrounded by books and I excelled in my literary studies. It seemed to be a natural fit to take over my father’s company after college since he was itching to retire and finally get to spend uninterrupted time with my mother. Dad used to hand me manuscripts of unknown authors that were considered to be in the “other” pile so I could help him get through the massive stacks on his desk. It may not have been the most normal high school job, but it’s what I had known my whole life.
While in high school, I had “found” two authors who later became New York Times Best Sellers. During college, I was able to continue to work for Warrington Strom while attending Ryker’s University. Things had been going great for the last four years since graduating and I’d gotten comfortable, so to speak. I was used to working with multiple authors at a time with exciting new talents sending me their manuscripts continuously.
I’d been in a slump, not finding any of the recent reads that appealing. I didn’t need a tear-jerker or sappy story, but I needed something with substance and appeal. Reece’s book had both, granted the appeal was partially that of a sexual nature.
I decided I would drive out to meet her. She was in San Diego—only a few hours away. I couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like. I had always had a soft spot for brunettes with natural curves but with what I had read of her experiences in bed, I’d make an exception. I could only bang her, though, if she rejected working with me.
Reminding myself that I was not at all curious about her personal life and that I just wanted her book was something I had to do on multiple occasions that day. I had made a point to always stay professional with my authors so that our work relationship wouldn’t suffer. I made the mistake of not following my advice once and learned my lesson.
Savannah Wilton was a steamy romance novelist who had a rather creative mind in the bedroom. Her books alone had my cock throbbing, but the fact that she was similar in real life, it was a dream come true. Our flirtations were innocent until she came by after-hours one night while I was trying to get some editing done. She said she was having trouble working through a scene in her head and wanted help getting through it. I let my authors know I’m always willing to help out when needed so I told her to walk me through what she had so far.
She proceeded to walk over to my desk and sit on it with her legs spread out in front of me. My black dress slacks began to tighten as I became aroused by the beautiful woman before me. Did I mention that she was wearing a black, scoop top dress that barely covered her ass? I stared at her, dumbfounded, for a few seconds before hearing her walk through how her character couldn’t get thoughts of being with her boss out of her head and wanted to satisfy her craving.
The way Savannah moved my rough hands from her voluptuous hips, up her tiny stomach, and massaged those store-bought tits while she discussed the scene was enough for me to not think clearly. I took her on my desk and learned a couple things from Savannah that night: 1- that I should make sure the door is locked before going at it in my office since the janitor walked in on us and stood there in fucking awe and 2- that I should never work with authors of mine because our night ended up in her next book and she was very detail oriented (including my birthmark on my left hip bone and tattoo on the other).
It had been a while since I had to go out and search for a new author, but I had a feeling this one would be worth it. Over the past few years, Lorelei, my assistant, had found a few knockout authors and the rest I had practically begging at my door. I could go and meet with Reece, maybe go down to the beach together and go over her concerns and questions about coming on board with me. It would be an easy in-and-out situation and my slump would be no more. Wait, my personal slump or professional? Head in the game, man, this is going to be strictly a professional pursuit.
After I finished my workout, I got cleaned up. I changed into a black Armani suit with a gray shirt and a dark purple silk tie, and headed into the office to set my plan in motion. Lorelei could handle most of my normal work and was great about emailing me or texting me when something important came up. I was thankful I had hired her instead of the blonde Barbie who I was tempted to, but then realized it probably wasn’t the wisest business decision.
Payton
Sitting at the local Starbucks, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No matter how long I looked at the email I had just received, it didn’t make it any more real. Why would anyone want to have my story published? I wanted to get my story out there but hadn’t intended on anyone but a handful of friends actually reading it. After staring at my laptop for what must have been a solid five minutes, I finally shut the screen, packed up my journal and notes, and threw away the now cold coffee that I had been looking forward to. I went there to brainstorm different ideas of what I wanted to write next but was distracted as soon as my email popped up on the screen.
On my walk back to my car, I could only focus on that one sentence, “I look forward to meeting with you soon to discuss details of having your phenomenal work published by Warrington Strom Publishing Agency.” I was an unknown author for the most part and my fan base wasn’t that impressive. Where did they find me? The email was from R. Strom—not that I knew who that was, but assumed by the last name and status as ‘Vice President and Senior Editor’ that they were probably an old and important guy who needed to get laid. The way he addressed me was too arrogant and cocky to be a woman. I wasn’t sure how he found out about my book and was even more unsure as to why an actual publishing company would want to read about my sex life.
When I started writing my personal stories, I guess I didn’t really think about what could happen if people liked what I wrote. I felt it was okay to leave in the “juicy” parts and didn’t really feel the need to embellish what happened. It helped that no one knew it was me who wrote it, since I didn’t have the courage to use my real name when I wrote the story. Some things are just too personal to put out there in the open. Plus, if the guys I were with ever read it, they wouldn’t be able to connect it as easily. They all knew me as Payton. Even though I may have embellished on my life story with some of them, I was still me with them, not Reece.
My Lips are Sealed was almost like a diary of the fun I had during my frequent trips to Las Vegas. I considered myself a pretty good judge of character, and realized during one particular trip to the city of sin that I co
uld have flings with men in town for business without getting attached. I could meet a handsome man at a bar and let him know as much—or how little—about me as I desired. I had the control of letting the relationship go to the next level—meaning as far I wanted to take it in bed.
By the time we started getting more personal with each other, their business trip was usually over. It was the perfect way to have fun, meet new people, not get attached, and be free to kick them out afterward without feeling guilty. In the morning, I could move on to my next craving; finding the flavor of the day was never a challenge.
These encounters started off without even realizing what I was really doing. It was only when I got back to San Diego that I realized what I had done and how much I wanted more of it. I craved going back and meeting someone new. Just the thought of it made my core tingle and my nipples deliciously hard.
I missed being affectionate with people and didn’t go out enough while home. I enjoyed being a children’s author from home and going to bars with friends didn’t have the same appeal that it did in college. It was the same guys at the bar each week and I needed a little more spice in my life. I know it sounds bad, but I hated picking up men in my hometown. Once we ended—which I planned on happening—there was always the chance of seeing them again, and well, that’s awkward.
I learned from an early age that if you don’t really let people into your life, the less it hurts when they leave. Being adopted by my loving parents at the age of seven was supposed to be my dream come true, along with my forever home. Little did I know that they would be taken away from me six short years later.
Reports say a drunken teenager was behind the wheel of the car that hit them, but what wasn’t said—due largely because of my family’s lawyer—was that my father was also drunk behind the wheel that night. My parents were used to going to big parties of the most affluent couples in San Diego. Drinks flowed freely and my parents weren’t ones to say no to any offerings. Being lawyers themselves allowed me to have a hefty trust fund when I turned eighteen.
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