I do. The bite of the crop against my skin hurts, but it’s a hurt I crave. Brody covers my ass and the back of my thighs with sharp smacks. Each stroke makes my back arch, but at the same time, my pussy is slick, and I’m discreetly trying to rub my legs together.
“I think our kitten is trying to tell us something,” Brody says indulgently. He bends down and kissed my flaming skin. “Does my kitten want to come?”
“Meow,” I reply instantly. I definitely want to come. If Adrian and Brody don’t help me out, I’m going to embarrass myself by humping the spanking bench. Already, my juices are smeared all over the leather.
Brody’s fingers part my labia and thrust into my aching, exposed pussy. I tremble as his thumb caressed my clitoris, uncaring that the crowd is watching me get off. This is the culmination of the entire demo. I bite my lips to hold back my cries. As he pumps in and out of me, I’m too far gone to remember to meow. Adrian’s lips grind against mine in a hard, punishing kiss. “You’re ours,” he whispers harshly.
“Yes,” I breathe back. “I’m all yours.”
And then I shatter.
I’m dimly aware of applause. The curtain is shut, giving me privacy, and I’m being freed of my bindings. Adrian throws a blanket around my shoulders and carries me to a private room in the back. I sit there, resting my head on Brody’s shoulder, my fingers entwined in Adrian’s. “What about you?” I ask them through my haze of contentment. “I just came. Shouldn’t it be your turn now?”
Brody chuckles. “There’s no hurry, Fifi,” he says, kissing my forehead. “We have the rest of our lives to even the score.”
The Club Ménage series continues with Taming Avery.
The day after I slept with Kai and Maddox, I married another man.
I was young. Greedy. Selfish. Before I sold my body and my soul, I wanted one night for myself.
So I lied. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t. Took what I wanted, no matter the cost.
Ten years later, I’ve created a new life for myself. I’ve outrun my past. Faced my fears. Vanquished my demons.
Then they reappear. Kai and Maddox.
They're angry. They want to know why.
They're determined to see past the lies and uncover the truth.
It's time for me to pay for my sins.
Taming Avery releases April 30. Click here to pre-order it, or sign up to my newsletter to receive word when it’s live!
A Preview of Her Cocky Doctors
I’m going to destroy the cocky doctors.
In the town of Goat, Oregon, the two cocky doctors who run the Clinic of Love don’t just provide medical care.
Nope. These doctors are notorious for their bedside manner, if you know what I mean. Women come in desperate for a good time, and leave extra-satisfied.
Not me.
I’m a reporter. Doctors like Declan Wilde and Blake Thorpe give the entire medical profession a bad name, and I’m determined to expose them.
Even if having a threesome is prominently featured on my Bucket List.
Even if their washboard abs cause my girl-bits to spontaneously combust.
Even if I really want to make a special appointment with them, and I would love a 'happy ending' of my own.
This story is going to get written. I will destroy these cocky doctors.
PROLOGUE
Declan:
She’s naked under the thin hospital gown, lying on her back, her feet dangling next to the stirrups at the end of the examination table.
Christmas came early this year.
She’s beautiful, and she’s ours. I want her soft pouty pink lips wrapped around my cock. I want to hear her moan my name, her large brown eyes hazy with need. I want to feel her muscles tremble as we make her come, over and over again.
I exchange a glance with Blake as the two of us move inside the room. When she hears us, her breathing quickens, but she stays where she is.
“Ms. Davey,” I greet her, my gaze drawn to her round breasts. I can see the outline of her nipples under the thin robe, firm and erect, and my cock hardens in response. “What brings you in today?”
Her cheeks are pink and flushed. “I’d like the special service, Doctor,” she whispers. “Will you make me feel good?”
Make me feel good. That’s the code phrase. Lana Davey isn’t here for a routine examination. She’s here for the extra service this clinic offers. She’s here for a ‘happy ending’.
I’m delighted to oblige.
Blake moves to the foot of the bed. Before she has time to answer, he nudges her knees apart and positions her legs into the supports, spreading her wide open. While he does that, I reach behind her back and undo the tie that keeps the gown closed. “You won’t need this today.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Her voice is barely audible in the quiet room as I pull away the gown, and she’s exposed to my gaze.
She’s absolutely gorgeous, and I can’t resist her. Cupping her plump breasts in my hand, I squeeze them, and she moans in response. “Yes,” she whimpers, throwing back her head, her hips bucking in need. “Oh God, that’s so good.”
“You know what I’m going to do, Ms. Davey?” Blake’s voice is rough with desire. “I’m going to push my cock into your wet pussy. You’re ready for me, aren’t you?” His fingers tease her slit, hovering just out of reach of her clitoris, and she bites back another moan.
“Yes Doctor,” she says again.
I squeeze her perfectly round breasts, rubbing her pert pink nipples between my thumb and forefinger. She’s so beautiful, so responsive. Running my hands over her ankles, I make my way to the space between her legs. “Are you wet, Ms. Davey?” I scold her. “Already? You’re such a bad girl.”
Blake grasps her ankles and buckles them into the stirrups. Her breathing quickens as he places her, swiftly and surely, under his control. “Somebody’s excited,” he says, amused. He bends his mouth to Lana’s pussy, and she whimpers as he sucks her clitoris between his teeth, almost jumping off the table in response.
“Tie her down, Declan,” Blake says to me. “I don’t want her squirming away from me.”
A shiver runs through her body, as I hold up the leather straps in my hands so she can see them. Goosebumps rise on her skin, but her eyes shine with excitement, and she nods eagerly.
A smile curls on my lips.
Ms. Davey, we’re about to give you an afternoon you’re never going to forget.
CHAPTER ONE
Lana:
I’ve never felt the urge to throttle my boss. Until now.
“You promised I could go on vacation.” I stare at John Beene in exasperation.
For months, the managing editor of The Torch, Portland’s finest investigative weekly news magazine, has had me chasing one depressing story after another. I’ve done exposés of isolated religious sects in which the ‘leader’ marries every fifteen-year-old girl in the community. I’ve written articles about corruption in local governments. About water poisoning. About factories in the remote Northwest breaking environmental regulations without consequences.
I’m exhausted. “I’ve been living out of a suitcase for the last three months,” I continue, my voice rising in frustration. “You promised me that I could take a week off, and you promised,” I give my unrepentant boss a glare that bounces off him without impact, “that you’d give me a stint in the Lifestyle department. Three months, I believe you said.”
“That was before the Pulitzer nomination,” John says blandly. “Come on, Lana. You’re an amazing investigative journalist. I have a story for you to investigate. I don’t see what the problem is.”
Let’s see. When I got back to my apartment after chasing the latest story, my lone houseplant, a cactus, had died. Cacti survive in deserts. They’re supposedly indestructible, but even a cactus couldn’t survive my neglect. “John,” I try to appeal to my boss’s good sense, “I’m burned out. I need a week on a beach somewhere. I need margaritas and hot muscled pool boys offering to rub lotion
on my back. What I do not need,” I pause for effect, “is to rush off to some remote middle-of-nowhere small town to investigate some kind of medical scam.”
John isn’t budging. He’s like a dog with a bone. I’m so tired that even my metaphors don’t make any sense. “Admit it, Lana. This is fascinating stuff. In the last year, dozens of single women have moved to the small town of Goat, Oregon, all because a pair of doctors are running some kind of sex clinic, with promises of ‘happy endings.’” He does air quotes when he says ‘happy endings’ and his eyebrows rise comically high. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested in figuring out what’s going on.”
“I’m not interested in figuring out what’s going on,” I reply flatly. “Insurance scams are a dime a dozen, and they’re boring. Come on, John. The Astoria Yacht club is celebrating its hundredth anniversary this weekend. Let me cover that.”
John rolls his eyes. “That’s a fluff piece,” he replies. “It’ll be a bunch of rich guys in their boats, sipping martinis and what not. Mindy can handle it.”
Lucky Mindy. “You ever stop to think I might want to find myself a rich guy in a boat?”
He snorts. “You’ll be bored in ten minutes being some guy’s arm candy. Besides, I’m watching out for you. You’ll need to infiltrate the community before you can set up a sting at the clinic. That’ll probably take a month or two. Think of it,” he adds persuasively, “as a vacation.”
It’s not a vacation, not if I know John. I’m pretty sure he’ll be expecting me to write an article a day while I’m hanging out in Goat.
You could always say no.
But then what? Investigative journalists are being laid off by the dozens. I’m lucky to have a job at The Torch. Several of my classmates are flipping burgers and writing freelance click-bait articles for ten bucks a pop.
Of course, click-bait sells, and that’s precisely why John’s so gung-ho about this story. It involves doctors, sex, and threesomes in a small town. I bet you anything that John’s fantasizing about exploding subscriber numbers. “Fine,” I sigh. “What’s my cover?”
Now that he’s ensured my cooperation, John’s all smiles. “You have a reservation at the Nanny Goat Bed and Breakfast for the next eight weeks,” he says cheerfully. “They’re expecting you tomorrow night. Your cover story is that you’re a writer working on your next novel.”
Goat, Oregon. Nanny Goat Bed and Breakfast. I’m sensing a theme here.
“Tomorrow is Saturday, John. You have got to be kidding me.”
He spreads his arms wide. “I don’t want to get scooped on this, Lana. This story is going to be big. I can feel it in my bones.”
Shaking my head, I get to my feet. If I’m supposed to leave tomorrow, I have laundry to do.
Later that evening, I head out to meet my friend Hailey for drinks at a bar in Concordia. We settle down in a booth, and the waiter appears to take our food orders. Once we’ve been assured of nachos and beer, Hailey looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the long face, babe?”
“John wants me to check out a couple of love doctors in some crazy-ass small town,” I mutter gloomily. “So much for the Astoria yacht club feature I was hoping to do.”
She cocks her head to one side, looking remarkably like a parrot in her bright green t-shirt and crimson red pants. Hailey never met a color she didn’t love. “Love doctors?” she asks. “Crazy-ass small town. I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
Our beers show up. I drain almost half my glass before answering. “According to John, there’s a pair of doctors in the town of Goat, Oregon that specializes in getting women off as part of their treatment. John called it a ‘happy ending.’”
She snorts into her beer. “Goat, Oregon?”
“Yup.” While my clothes were drying earlier, I had time to do some research on the remote community. “It was founded almost sixty years ago by a reclusive millionaire who wanted a secluded place where he could stash his mistress. His fifteen-year-old mistress.”
“That sounds lovely.” Unsurprisingly, Hailey’s voice is sarcastic. She’s the editor of a feminist magazine called Girl Power. Stuff like this outrages her.
“Don’t worry; the millionaire is long-dead. The mistress is still alive though. She’s in her early seventies. Her name is Elvira Grantham, and she lives in a mansion on the outskirts of town. I bet you anything that she’s a lot more interesting than a pair of doctors with a fondness for pussy.”
The waiter shows up at that moment with a platter of nachos, and judging by his scandalized look, he’s overheard my last sentence. Poor guy. I make a mental note to tip him well.
Once he sets our food down and makes a break for it, Hailey continues her cross-examination. “So how do the doctors know if a patient wants a little frisky on the side? Is there a form to check off?”
“You’re far more fascinated by this than I am.” I snag a cheese-coated chip. “According to the anonymous tipster who called The Torch, there’s a code phrase. ‘Make me feel good, Doctors.’”
Hailey starts to giggle. “This is awesome.”
A reluctant smile curls on my lips at my best friend’s mirth. “Okay, I guess it is kind of interesting, in a strange and demented way. You want to know what the absolute best thing is?”
She nods enthusiastically.
“The clinic is called Clinic of Love.”
She bursts out laughing. “Please tell me you’re going to become a patient at the Clinic of Love,” she begs me. “And you said there are two doctors? Do they both participate in the dirty-dirty? What are their names?”
“Not a clue about the dirty-dirty.” I pop a slice of jalapeno in my mouth. “And would you believe the Clinic of Love doesn’t have a website? I don’t know anything about the doctors.”
Hailey leans forward, her eyes shining with glee. “You should do them,” she says. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her ever-present notebook. Flipping to an empty page, she writes a big, bold heading.
Lana’s Sex Bucket List.
“What the hell?” I stare at my friend. “You’re nuts, you know that?”
“Am I?” she retorts. “When was the last time you had sex?”
The waiter had been approaching us to ask us if we were ready for our next round. As soon as he hears Hailey’s loudly-voiced question, his face heats up, and he scampers away. “You scared the kid,” I accuse Hailey. “He’s going to be scarred for life if you keep this up.”
“Please,” she scoffs. “I bet he hears a lot worse. You’re ducking my question.”
How long has it been? I can’t even remember. Too long. I’m never home long enough to date someone, and I’m not brave enough for Tindr.
“Exactly,” Hailey says smugly.
I roll my eyes. “Hailey, I’m not doing it with the two doctors. Who knows what I could catch?”
“It doesn’t have to be dick action,” she says encouragingly. “They could pet the kitty, couldn’t they?”
“Pet the kitty?” My lips twitch. “Is that what the cool kids call a handjob nowadays?” Before she answers, I cut her off. “Not. Doing. It.”
“Spoilsport.” She rolls her eyes and writes in her notebook.
1. Say Yes instead of No.
“Really? We’re doing this, are we?”
Her lips curl up in a grin. “Of course we are. You’re going to Goat. Live it up.” She adds a couple of items to her version of my sex bucket list.
2. Have a vacation fling.
3. And a threesome.
I snort. I’m definitely not brave enough for a threesome. Hailey, on the other hand, seems to act like it’s no big deal. “Have you been in one?” I ask her curiously. “A ménage, I mean?”
She’s unfazed by my question. “Twice,” she replies. “It was five years ago.”
Before we knew each other. That explains why I’ve never heard about her threesome experiences. I rarely talk about my sex life, mostly because I don’t have much of one, but Hailey’s seldom shy about
sharing details.
“I even wrote an article about it in our magazine,” she continues. “I got a ton of complaint letters for it.”
“Your readers didn’t like the raunch?”
“No,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “There was some dick-sucking going on, and readers wrote to me and told me that when I went down on a guy, I was supporting the patriarchy.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Some people take the fun out of everything.”
“Indeed. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and your quest to get laid.” Her pen is poised over the list. “What else?”
Flagging down our terrified waiter, I order a pitcher. If we’re going to do this, I need beer-induced courage. “Fine. I’ve never been picked up at a bar.”
“Really?” She shakes her head at me disapprovingly. “Lana, you work too hard.”
4. Kiss a stranger at a bar.
We drink our pitcher, our voices growing louder as the beer takes effect. I can’t stop giggling as we make my sex bucket list. At the end of the night, Hailey tears the sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Cross off every item, kiddo. Make me proud.”
I run my eyes down the list we’ve made.
Lana’s Sex Bucket List.
Say Yes instead of No.
Have a vacation fling.
And a threesome.
Kiss a stranger at a bar.
Get really good oral sex.
Have sex outside.
Have sex with someone who speaks a different language.
Claiming Fifi Page 20