“I’m dying to see how you’re going to bring up the subject of sex,” he mused.
Cat puffed a breath across his chest. “We’ve talked about sex before.”
“Sexual innuendo and jokes. It’s not the same as asking her if she’d like me to...”
“Make her come with your tongue.” Trust Cat to finish the thought. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find the perfect opening to get the ball rolling.”
“I’m sure you will.” His wife was out there, known for saying exactly what was on her mind. “What about Logan?”
She outright snorted. “He’s not going to be any problem at all.”
Drew had to agree. He didn’t believe Logan was a player, but the man had certainly gotten into the sexual innuendo thing with vigor. When Cat suggested strip poker instead of their regular game of Hearts on one of their card nights, Logan had jumped at the idea. It was Alexis who nixed it. She was a petite, pretty, blue-eyed blonde with sexy curves and mouth-watering breasts, but she was on the shy side, far more reserved than Cat. Drew liked her well enough. She was smart, funny, your basic all-around nice girl next door with the ability to really listen to what a man said, not just lip service. So to speak.
If Alexis didn’t want to play strip poker, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d get down and dirty in the hot tub. Therein lay his main reservation about the whole idea; it could backfire and screw up a damn good friendship.
Cat tweaked his nipple, getting a rise out of his cock. “What if Logan wants a taste of me if you get a taste of his wife?”
Drew had always known that any kinky play they engaged in wouldn’t be just Cat watching him. She had a downright insatiable appetite for more, more, more. He had no illusions about what he was agreeing to. She would be doing whatever he did and probably a hell of a lot more, but when they finally had sex with another couple, he knew she’d make it totally hot. Maybe he was being led around by his dick—Cat usually managed to get exactly what she wanted—but he’d do it. And suffer the consequences, if any, later.
Trailing a hand down her abdomen, he delved between her legs, stroking her clit. She was wet and warm. “I’ll be jealous as hell,” he muttered.
Logan was a couple of years younger than Drew, a few rungs higher on the corporate ladder, CEO of a billion dollar company to Drew’s VP of Engineering for a medium-size software maker. With reddish hair, green eyes, and a gym-toned body Cat had mentioned a lot more than once, Logan was a good-looking guy.
Cat pushed him aside. “Oh baby, you make me so wet when you get all he-man.” She masturbated for him. He loved to watch. “But if you get her, he’ll insist on having me.”
“Yeah. He’ll beg to spread your gorgeous thighs.”
She moaned, getting herself worked up again with her fantasy scenario. He knew Cat. It was kinky sex, not the man himself that she needed. She wanted the package deal, a foursome. Drew didn’t have to be jealous, but he knew a little jealousy added to her sexual high.
The real truth? He didn’t know how he’d feel. Fantasizing about other men fucking Cat made him explosive in the heat of the moment. In reality, there might be a whole different set of emotions. He couldn’t be sure which ones he’d succumb to until they actually did it.
He started down her body, kissing her belly, her mound, then crawling between her legs. “Is this what you want him to do, baby?” He put his tongue to her.
“Oh yeah.” She moved sinuously. “I want your cock in my mouth at the same time. I want to come on his tongue while you come down my throat.”
She rose swiftly to climax, her body trembling. Cat loved her fantasies. She cried out, clamping her legs over his ears as she came hard. Drew loved how hot she made herself. He had no doubt that soon, very soon, she was going to make the fantasy into reality.
He just hoped it wouldn’t mean the end of a good friendship with their neighbors.
If you enjoyed this excerpt, here’s where you can buy Kinky Neighbors!
Try a sample of Jasmine Haynes’s Max Starr Series, an erotic paranormal mystery romance.
Thirty-something, down-on-her-luck accountant Max Starr has the unfortunate gift of being psychic, a newly-discovered wrinkle in her already messed-up life. Her husband, Cameron, is dead, killed in a botched 7-11 robbery two years ago. She’s cut herself off from friends, moved out of her San Francisco home in favor of a studio apartment, and dumped her flourishing career as a CPA to do temp work.
And now Max has developed an annoying penchant for attracting the spirits of murdered women. Okay, they possess her. And to exorcize them, Max must unmask their killers. But how?! By stepping into the void their deaths created, taking their jobs, befriending the loved ones they left behind. Max goes wherever she has to go and does whatever she has to do, with a lot of help from the ghost of her late husband Cameron and hunky and very enticing Detective Witt Long.
Excerpt from Dead to the Max, Book 1
Copyright 2010 Jasmine Haynes
Cover design by Rosemary Gunn
Prologue
She’d dressed in a long, black skirt and white blouse, flawlessly pressed. She was perfect. The perfect daughter, perfect wife, and perfect employee.
Tonight she longed to be the perfect lover. They’d stolen quick, furtive moments together, but this was the first time she would have all night with her lover. Her body hummed, with anticipation, with guilt, with fear.
She’d parked her silver Maxima in the farthest corner of the San Francisco International Airport long-term lot, then caught the shuttle bus to the terminal building. She’d done everything he asked. Except wait outside the terminal. She wasn’t supposed to pace in front of the arrivals monitor, trying to decide if she liked the anxiety, the foreboding.
She slipped her wedding band and sapphire engagement ring into the inside pocket of her leather purse. His plane was five minutes late. Checking the arrival time for his flight one last time, she crumpled the bit of green paper with the flight information he’d given her, threw it on top of an already full trash can, then walked to the lounge area to take a seat.
His gaze swept her as he stepped off the escalator outside security, and her heart sank to the toes of her sensible pumps. The glare he shot made her tremble. Was he pissed? Had she ruined everything?
Two confused, blank-eyed children clung to his big hands.
His estranged wife met them, ready to take his kids from him.
He neither kissed nor touched the pretty, plump blonde. Her sole purpose was to pick up the children after they’d returned from a visit with his parents.
His hands now empty and his bag slung over his shoulder, he walked several steps behind them. His wife chattered at the children and ignored him. Clusters of travelers engulfed them until they disappeared in the throng surrounding the baggage carousel.
She lingered in the waiting area another ten minutes, then rose, dragging her leather purse up her arm to her shoulder, and headed for the front doors, a lump in her throat. Once outside, she stood at the curb for the next long-term bus. He was at the other end of the island, the way they’d arranged. His wife had unknowingly played into the scheme, telling him she’d pick up the kids but he’d have to take a taxi.
She wondered why he and his wife still played this silly game.
The night had cooled. Her silk blouse was thin, but the heat from rumbling buses swept beneath her skirt and set her on fire. She could feel the hot lick of his gaze as if twenty feet didn’t separate them, his anger and desire a potent combination.
Need, hunger, dread, and excitement formed a squirming package in her stomach. Butterflies. Spontaneous combustion.
He sat in the back of the bus, she in the front. They neither spoke nor looked at each other. The ride to long-term was the longest ten minutes she’d ever known. Finally they turned down her aisle. She couldn’t believe she was doing this, couldn’t imagine stopping it now. Wouldn’t stop it even if her life depended on it.
She exited from the front of the
shuttle, he from the rear, the overnight bag now in his hand. Pulling out her keys, she pressed the remote alarm.
The bus pulled away. Her heart hammered.
His bag was on the ground beside them and his hands were up her skirt before she had the car door open.
He dragged her into the back seat. She spread her legs over him, straddling his thighs. The roof of the car scuffed her hair. Tugging on his zipper, she took him in her hand. He sucked in a breath; in the past, he’d always initiated. There wasn’t time to fish the condoms out of her purse. When she slid down onto him, he groaned, but he didn’t take his eyes off her face.
She’d never been so wet, so vocal, or come so willingly in her life.
Three power-thrusts later, he came.
She screamed.
* * * * *
She screamed out her orgasm. Tears gummed her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. Hands circled her throat. From the floor of the car, the rumpled bit of green notepaper, the one she’d thrown away, taunted her, and the empty condom wrapper shouted her shame. How had it come to this?
In that moment, before fear gripped her, before instinct took over, when her guilt was strongest, she welcomed Death. Welcomed it as the life was choked from her, welcomed it until her eyeballs ached and colors exploded behind her lids. Until blood from her bitten tongue leaked down her raw, bruised throat. And then her body fought for survival.
She tore at the fingers, shrieked, twisted, kicked, scratched, and punched. And still she couldn’t drag in a breath. Terror fisted around her heart and squeezed. Fear of death. Fear of life. Fear like she’d never known. Not even the night someone put a bullet in Cameron’s head.
Max Starr woke clawing at her throat, Cameron’s name breaking the thrall of the dream. Blood drummed in her ears. Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest.
But she could breathe. Oh God, she could breathe, sweet, clean air smelling of early morning, green leaves, and hope. She was here, in her bedroom, where she belonged. Safe.
“Are you all right?” Cameron’s voice, not spoken but inside her head, comforting, familiar, the way a dead husband’s voice should be, the only way a crazy, grieving widow should hear her husband’s ghost. But she’d have given anything to feel his arms around her right now. For real, not just in the erotic dreams he brought her.
Sometimes fantasies weren’t enough.
Like now, when her throat still ached. She lightly caressed the flesh, her fingers cool, her skin tender with residual effects of the nightmare.
“It was a dream,” she murmured for both their benefits. Maybe her worst nightmare--except for that night two years ago when Cameron was killed--but still just a dream. After a deep inhale, then a long sigh, the tension dribbled out her fingertips and the soles of her feet.
Physical, reality-based sensation returned--sheets tangled around her legs, her back stuck to the cotton. She pushed the bedclothes aside to let cool air from the open window blow across her naked body. In the elm outside her window, the stray black cat gave a pathetic mewl. She shouldn’t have fed it yesterday, but knew she’d do the same thing today. Her racing heart eased into a steady, normal beat.
“That was a vision, Max, not a dream.” Cameron’s voice again, always with her, inside her.
It had been his name that woke her. It wasn’t part of the dream, vision, whatever it was; his name was something she’d interjected into a reality that didn’t belong to her. Even now she sensed remnants of another’s strong emotions inextricably linked with her own.
In the dark corner across the room, dear departed Cameron’s eyes flashed. Despite the two years since his death, those glittering points of light, all she ever really saw of him, still gave her a little jolt, part excitement, part fright. The red tip of his spectral cigarette glowed. He’d loved them when he was alive. They’d been the death of him in the end, not by cancer, but by gunshot at the corner 7-Eleven where he’d gone to buy his last pack.
If you enjoyed this excerpt, look for all the Max Starr mysteries on My Smashwords:
Dead to the Max, Book 1
Evil to the Max, Book 2
Desperate to the Max, Book 3
Power to the Max, Book 4
Vengeance to the Max, Book 5
Max Starr in Print on Demand:
Dead to the Max POD
Evil to the Max POD
Desperate to the Max POD
Power to the Max POD
Vengeance to the Max POD
Connect with Jasmine Haynes & Jennifer Skully online
Jasmine's Smashwords
Jasmine’s Website: www.jasminehaynes.com
Jennifer's Smashwords
Jennifer’s Website: www.jenniferskully.com
Max Starr Website: www.jbskully.com
Blog: www.jasminehaynes.blogspot.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jasminehaynesauthor
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/jasminehaynes1
About the Author
Award-winning author Jennifer Skully is back! The author of KOD Daphne winner Sex and the Serial Killer brings you a poignant tale of loss and renewal. Her books are peopled with hilarious characters that will make you laugh and make you cry. And don’t miss her classy erotic romance writing as Jasmine Haynes, Rita Finalist for Somebody’s Lover, plus two-time Holt Medallion and National Readers Choice Award winner. You can find Jasmine’s books at Loose-Id.com and Berkley Heat. Also look for her upcoming new West Coast series, starting with Revenge Sex. Of course, she’s also the author of the award-winning Max Starr psychic mystery series.
Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) Page 33