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Join our Newsletter and Get FREE Stories All Year!

16 Jan

uzamr0jyqwi-les-andersonby G.G. Andrew 

I have some exciting news to share from the Lady Smut crew: we’re launching our newsletter! 

Starting January 21st, we’ll be sending out monthly newsletters with treats you”ll love. The newsletters will include links to our most popular posts, from robot sex to which Tv shows we can’t get enough of. There will be special profiles of our authors and sneak peeks at what they’re writing, which you won’t find on the blog. And, best of all, we’ll be offering FREE stories to our special subscriber list.

Because who doesn’t love free stories?

See the pink button at the top right of this page or go here to get these and other goodies delivered to your inbox all year.

Our free story sent in the January 21st newsletter will be Somewhere Warm, my short novella about a woman who falls for her best friend’s ex. It’s a snowbound, enemies-to-lovers tale, and a great read for a winter evening. It’s usually for sale for .99, but if you subscribe to our newsletter soon, you’ll have it in your hot little hands next weekend without paying a cent.

Here at Lady Smut, we not only know what we like, we know what you like. So subscribe and let us treat you each and every month with all things sexy and fun!

~

G.G. Andrew writes quirky romantic comedy. Sometimes it’s paranormal, sometimes it’s New Adult, sometimes it’s between two consenting adults in the real world who are arguing about grammar–but it always involves a lot of awkwardness and ill-advised kisses along the way. Her latest is the short story Girl Meets Grammarian, coming in February in the geek romance anthology Covalent Bonds from World Weaver Press.

Sexy Sunday Snippet

15 Jan

by Madeline Iva

Dear fantastic readers, Carlene Flores Love is here today with a sweet little excerpt from her book WICKED FLOWER.

wickedflower1m Here’s a blurb: 

Sin Pointe front man Stefan Calderon is playing a very dangerous game and his mom’s live-in caretaker, Dani Foster, just landed right smack in the middle of it.

Practically strangers when Stefan rolls into his small hometown looking to patch things up with Mom, his and Dani’s worlds collide with a hot and intense hook up. He knows right away this woman will make the perfect partner for his two weeks in town. But when she realizes whose son he is, and what he’s there to do, sexy times come to an abrupt halt.

That is until they come up with a solution. Rules. Every game needs them. The question isn’t if they’ll break them, but when and how hard.  It’s a wickedly delicious game, one neither of them intends to lose.

Excerpt from WICKED FLOWER:

Was Stefan ready to listen? Way back, like all the way back in his mind, he wondered if maybe it was time to consider quitting the game. There was something about seeing her in there, protecting what was hers.

One thing he couldn’t do was stand out here all night. Rain soaked through his hair and began to do the same to his shirt.

He stepped up to her car, leaned in and tapped on her passenger side window but she clearly mouthed the word No.

Fine, he could be creative when he wanted something and felt bad for how he’d already treated her. He leaned closer and then wrote through the raindrops on the window with his finger, TALK.

Nothing.

He tried again. PLEASE.

Zilch.

His head dipped and he tried once more. If she didn’t go for this one, he was done. This didn’t mean anything to her and it shouldn’t mean anything to him.

Instead of using his finger to write, he leaned down, and then pressed a kiss to the glass. The rain felt nice on his dry lips. He probably looked foolish but luckily he didn’t care right now. He took a step back and waited. It took a few seconds, but the lock sounded with a pop. He tried the handle.

She’d let him in.

Exhilaration at the clear win spiked his pulse for a moment until he realized something.

They had to talk and he doubted Dani was going to like anything he had to say.

Carlene is a huge sweetie!

Carlene is such a sweetie! We absolutely lurv her–check out her book!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Carlene Love is a fan of the stars (especially Orion), music (especially Depeche Mode), and the ocean (especially at sunset). These inspire her intimate stories. If she could touch someone’s heart with writing the way others have for her, she’d say there never lived a luckier girl. She’d love to hear from readers so feel to drop her a line at her website.

 

Simply Sinful Excerpt: Lovely, a BDSM Erotic Romance

25 Nov

by Elizabeth SaFleur

We hope you’re enjoying the LadySmut Simply Sinful Black Friday Reader Event. Below is yet another excerpt for your reading pleasure. (Don’t forget to comment on this or any other post from today to be entered in our giveaway. See details below.)

This snippet is from Lovely, Book #1 in the Elite Doms of Washington series. (All books are stand-alone stories, no cliffhangers.)

Blurb: When nineteen year old Christiana Snow is lured into a summer of sexual submission with charismatic Congressman Jonathan Brond, the relationship promises the adventure she’s been craving and the life he’s been missing. But in unforgiving Washington, D.C. the threat of scandal and gossip always looms.

Lovely_cover

~~~~~Excerpt~~~~~

Jonathan led Christiana outside to his idling black sedan. Mark held open the passenger door as she slipped into the back seat. Jonathan folded himself next to her.

“You said your driver was going to take me home.” Her eyes registered alarm.

“He is. He’s taking me home, too. To my home.”

“My Dad . . . .”

Her words evaporated when he patted her hand. Nothing she could say could possibly make up for her father’s conduct. Peter Snow’s boorish behavior wasn’t her cross to bear though, by the look on her face, she’d likely had a lot of practice.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

Shane popped his head into the still open door. “Congressman, you wanted to see me?”

“Make sure Mr. Snow makes it home safely after the reception, and go over some possible subjects with him for our interview later in the week, would you?”

“Yes, sir.” Shane slipped from sight, and Mark closed the door. The partition rose between Mark and the back seat. Finally some privacy. Christiana slid across the leather closer to him as the car smoothly U-turned in the street.

“I didn’t know Mark was your driver,” she said.

“Among other roles.” He took her hand. “Christiana.”

“Yes?” Her rosy lips parted on an involuntary sigh, and his imagination got the better of his intellect. It took every ounce of control to not crush her to the seat with his body and take her right then and there.

“I shouldn’t have . . . .” He had no right to her. She had not given herself to him. He had yet to even ask, and he shouldn’t. Washington was unforgiving in many matters and getting involved with a nineteen year-old would prove fatal. He already tested the boundaries with his sexual proclivities.

“No, please. Do it again.”

Okay, so he hadn’t scared her off completely with his kiss. He laughed and then tamped down the ferocious protectiveness filling his insides. “I shouldn’t have been so impulsive with you.” He touched her face. She pushed her cheek into his palm, like a kitten might arch into an outstretched hand.

No mistaking, she would test his control. “You really are exquisite.” He dropped his hand and leaned back into his seat.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink, like the inside of a seashell. But just as quickly, all color drained, and her lips pursed. Her hand went to her temple, and she massaged a small circle next to her scar.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you didn’t. Just a little headache.”

“Give me your hand.” He tugged her even closer to him across the leather seat. Her bare thigh rested alongside his leg. She didn’t pull back at the connection. He pulled one of her slender, warm hands to his lap, palm up. He pressed his finger into the soft fleshy pad below her thumb.

“Acupressure,” he said.

He’d learned how to stave off headaches arising during meetings and hearings. Popping a pill in front of colleagues would be a sign of weakness and used against him.

He stroked her delicate palm and then pulled on each finger. Delicate tendons stretched under his larger fingers. He tried to be gentle.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

He massaged her whole hand, kneading and rubbing until her fingers fell open, splayed out wide, fully receiving his touch.

After pulling her other hand across his leg, her blue eyes opened. He held her gaze with his own as his hands engulfed both her wrists. The tightness around her mouth released. His eyes fell to his lap, where his index fingers and thumbs grasped her pale wrists. His thumbs rubbed across the sensitive thin skin, and she shuddered. She likes having her hands held captive.

“I’d like to take you to dinner. This weekend.”

Her head rose from the headrest and she blinked. “You want to take me to dinner.” Her voice held astonishment.

“A gentleman never asks a beautiful woman for a Saturday and expects her to be free,” he said. “But, you’ll find out, I’m not much of a gentleman.” He released her hands. “I know a little place about an hour outside of Washington. The drive will give us a chance to talk. And I promise not to keep you out too late.”

“No, I—”

“No?”

“No, I mean, don’t worry about being late.”

He smiled. “I have an offer I’d like to discuss.”

Though he had sufficient discipline to pass on this woman if need be, he believed in helping people. He could at least show an interest in her life and help her better navigate the obviously overwhelming situation with her father and the brat socialite. Like a mentor, a voice whispered in his brain. The brain in his pants responded, yeah, right. Who are you kidding?

The car slowed as it pulled up outside her house.

“Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The color had returned to her cheeks. How pink he could turn other parts of her anatomy… His groin ached.

Mark opened the door and offered his hand to help Christiana from the car.

“I’ve got this, Mark,” he said. The momentary blow of jealousy caused by the thought of Mark touching her startled him.

He eased himself from the car and placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her over the cracked and uneven concrete.

After laying a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, he backed up. “Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at six.” He waited for her to unlock the front door and step inside before walking back to his car.

He slipped into the back seat and took a few deep breaths. Mark eased the car away from the curb, and the privacy screen lowered in a muffled whine.

“Where to, sir?”

“Home. The Oak’s not a good idea tonight.”

“Very good, sir.” The screen rose to separate them.

As they entered the parkway, the traffic sounds quieted. His daydreams took advantage of the renewed silence. Christiana proved irresistible, a delicious smorgasbord of opportunities for pleasure.

So why am I fighting this? She’s of legal age, a girl on the cusp of womanhood. How could I resist her? She’s catnip in a den of lions.

At the reception, he’d seen how the men gawked at her. There were a few in particular he definitely didn’t trust. Her response to his kiss showed how ripe she was for surrender to a Dominant will. If he was right about her submissive nature—and he hadn’t been wrong yet—he’d ensure it was his will.

~~~~~

Want to read more? Find Lovely at all major, online retailers for just 99 cents. Lovely is also available in audio book, narrated by the talented Anastasia Whatley. Warnings: family secrets, liberal abuse of Washington, DC society, dominance/submission, bondage, gags, paddling … you get the picture.

Comment below–or on any post published today, November 25–and be entered to win a Simply Sinful basket of book goodness.

Books! Wine! Bath bombs and soaps! Scones! What more could you need?

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Giveaway closes at midnight (Eastern), November 25, 2016.

Next up in the LadySmut Simply Sinful Reader Event is Kiersten Halle Krum at 7 p.m.

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary erotic romance and she’s not afraid to get a little graphic about it  — “it” being the sex, the BDSM or Washington, DC society, which she regularly features in her series, the Elite Doms of Washington. Join her Sexy, Saucy, Sometimes Naughty exclusive reader’s group or follow her on Twitter and Facebook.

Untouchable, An Erotic Billionaire BDSM Free Read

13 Nov

By Elizabeth SaFleur

Continuing our series of Sexy Sunday Snippets, below is a free excerpt from Untouchable, a billionaire BDSM erotic romance. Wealthy, D.C. corporate attorney Carson Drake is the master of the romantic pre-emptive strike—until he meets London, the woman who tests every assumption he’s ever had about love.

~~~~~

The woman pushed off the railing and made her way to the circular staircase on the far side of the balcony.

Carson left his drink on a side table and proceeded toward the intriguing figure. Why the hell not? Rarely did he approach someone so early in the evening, but she piqued his interest. Perhaps she sought what he did—pleasure with no complications.

That’s why he liked Club Accendos. No hidden agenda. Defined roles. Clear deadlines—usually the end of the night. No one gets hurt. He laughed to himself. Well, not unless they want the pain.

As soon as the woman’s foot hit the second step down, her familiarity clicked into place. Holy hell. London.

In his peripheral vision, he watched another man join his progression toward her. He plowed through the crowd to reach the staircase first. He cut off the other Dominant with a flick of his eye. I’ll fight for this one. The man understood the warning. He walked by, unbothered by the nanosecond exchange.

As soon as London had descended halfway down the stairs, she froze. Her petulant chin lifted as she recognized him. Within seconds, she resumed her descent, her eyes full of her usual bravado.

When London reached the final step, he held out his hand to help her down. “Hello, sugar.”

She ignored his offer and tried to scoot by him. He captured her arm, lightly. He didn’t want to frighten her, merely get her attention. Her eyes flamed with annoyance and blood rushed to his cock.

She raised her chin. “Excuse me, but we haven’t been introduced.” Of course her voice contained her signature, throaty impudence.

He raised his eyebrow. Playing games? Fine. “I’m Carson Drake. Sit and talk?” He leveled his voice to the business tone she’d recognize, less of a Dominant and more of a diplomat.

Her shoulders relaxed a little but her eyes held debate.

He took her hesitation as a “yes.” He circled her waist and led her away from the crowd toward one of the side doors. As a Tribunal Council member, he had a private room—far from any potential interruptions.

London stopped short. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace more quiet.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t have to.” He dropped his hold on her waist.

“Just talking?”

“Yes. Witnesses saw us leave. You’re safe.”

She let him pull her through a gothic arched door. A bodyguard closed it behind them.

untouchable_cover7

He moved them down an expansive hallway lined with closed doors. Only after ushering her inside the last door at the end did he let go of her elbow. She immediately crossed her arms.

“It’s okay, sugar. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, so I can’t stay long.” She worked her bottom lip and shuffled her weight from foot to foot. Her eyes also darted to the bed in the corner. Perhaps she thought he’d take her right away? She knew his identity. She should know he was committed to due diligence. And he had to know why she was here—the last place on earth he’d expect London Chantelle.

He sat in one of two cushioned chairs set before a lit fireplace. He appreciated her luscious curves, beautifully illuminated by the amber glow of the low fire.

“Sit.” He beckoned her to join him.

“I like standing.”

“Sit.” The commanding tones of a Dom brought the expected result. As she lowered herself into the chair, her ponytail licked one shoulder. “Your hair is beautiful in this light,” he said. “More golden brown than I noticed before.”

She swallowed. “Thank you, um . . . I go by Tatiana.”

“It doesn’t suit you. Why not go with, say . . . London?”

Her mouth dropped to an “O” in alarm, and she leapt from her seat.

“Sit. Down.” He pointed to the chair.

“Please.” Her hazel eyes implored lenience, and her tone of voice surprised him. He liked the beseeching quality. It was quite a departure from her customary, unadulterated demand.

“Please what? You thought a simple mask and change of clothing meant I wouldn’t recognize you?”

“I hoped . . . maybe . . . I can’t do this.”

Before she could complete two steps, he’d risen from his chair and laid his hand on her shoulder. She stopped. He pressed his torso against her back, sending her firm ass into his crotch. He decided to like her stiletto boots. He was a tall man and they made her the perfect height. He waited to see if she’d object, at which point he’d back off. She didn’t move.

He pulled off the elastic holding her hair captive. A curtain of gold-laced chestnut silk cascaded free. He brushed her mane to one side and bared her shoulder. “That’s better.”

Her breathing sped up. “You said just talking.”

“Still, sweetness.” He inhaled her scent of Ivory soap and cinnamon Christmas cookies before stepping backward. “We are talking.”

She twisted to face him. “Carson, please . . .”

He liked how her emotions turned in an instant. She’d test his abilities to direct her psychology in a scene. He nearly laughed at himself. How quickly I have her bound and pleasured in my mind. “There. Now that’s a start. I rather like you begging me.”

“I don’t beg.”

And there goes that chin. “We’ll see.” He took another step back. His instincts told him she wouldn’t bolt.

“Take a seat, London.” He returned to his chair. “When you do, hands in your lap. After you listen to me you can decide if you wish to leave. It will be your choice.”

She hesitated, then nestled her behind onto the chair opposite him. She placed her hands in her lap. The thumb of one hand worked the palm of the other.

“Take off your mask. Show me your pretty face.”

She took a deep breath as her elegant fingers slipped off her disguise, pulling the fastening ribbon through her perfect hair. He wanted to capture her cheeks in his hands. He’d rub off the mask indents and erase the worry imprinted on her forehead.

“How long have you been without a master?” he asked.

“I-I’m not . . .” Her jawline hardened. “It’s none of your business.”

“That’s a shame. I’m good at business.” His mouth broke into a smile at the thought of bending her over her desk, papers sticking to her bared breasts, pens falling to the floor. He’d smack her ass with that leather portfolio she carried around like a shield. He wouldn’t stop until her engraved initials imprinted her skin.

“Why did you bring me here?” she whispered.

“You’re looking for a Dom. I’m a Dom looking for a sub.”

She flinched at his final word. “What do you want, Carson?”

What I want. Did it matter? He’d given up what he wanted long ago—a spirited submissive who matched his desires. Someone who might actually stick with him and not drop him the minute a better offer came through. He didn’t allow himself to think finding such a woman was possible anymore.

“Time. Willingness. Pleasure.” He folded his hands and laid his chin on his knuckles. “Now, I want to know what you want.”

“No, you don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Toying with me will not get you anywhere, sweetness.”

“Isn’t that what you are doing with me?”

“Hardly.” He let silence take over the space.

“Then what?” she whispered after long minutes.

“Patience will be your first lesson tonight. Then I’ll consider you.”

Consider me?” She gave him a hardened, fuck-off look.

“Yes. Last time. What do you want?”

He let a few seconds tick by. Then he stood. “If you won’t tell me why you’re here, what you seek, then I can’t help.”

“I-I didn’t mean . . . it isn’t easy . . .”

“You must answer my questions when I ask them. No delay. It’s for your safety and mine.”

Her lips pursed, her signal she realized she was losing. Her sassiness had its usual alluring appeal—futile, but adorable. She licked her bottom lip, the subtle move urging him forward.

“Stand,” he said.

She stood cautiously.

“What is your safeword?” he asked.

“Excuse me? A-a scene. With you? You’re a client. If anything ever got back—”

“Then we would both lose. And I don’t lose.”

“No, You take what you want and damn the consequences.”

“London.” He walked toward her and she backed around the chair. “What are you afraid of? Afraid you might get what you want? Experience what you’ve longed for?”

She let out a huff, but continued to retreat as he advanced. He sent her in a backward circle until she closed in on the canopied bed. Yes, most definitely submissive. The urge to discover how deep her desires ran raged through him like a brushfire.

“How would you know what I long for?” Her haughty chin jutted out.

“I want to know, London. Tell me.”

“Why?” She’d backed up until she connected with the bedpost.

“Fair question. And one I’ll answer. Given you and I dance well together at the boardroom table, why wouldn’t we here? Had I known your proclivities I might have offered. Why didn’t you come to me before?” How had he missed her signs?

“B-but you hate me.”

Now he was puzzled. “No, I don’t. You sometimes . . . irritate, but I could never hate you. Surely you noticed my tendencies.”

“Being a bully in a boardroom does not make you a Dominant I’d be interested in.”

“Ouch, London. That hurt.” He slapped his chest above his heart but kept his face stony.

“I didn’t think you could feel pain.”

“Everyone feels pain.” Her lips parted when he closed the last inch of distance between them. His thighs touched hers, and he softened his voice. “It pleases me you’re here. There’s no use in fighting this chemistry.” He hooked a thumb on his waistband. “One weekend.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do with your harem?”

He unbuckled his belt. “Your second lesson. Don’t force discipline with a smart mouth.”

“I don’t have that kind of time.” She raised her impertinent jawline—again.

Lesson three: discipline your haughty chin.

“Not enough time to learn discipline or not enough time, in general?” The loud rasp of leather yanked through his belt loops sent her attention to his torso.

“What are you doing?” Her panicked gaze shot to his face.

“I don’t have a collar on me.”

“I am wholly disinterested in being collared.”

“One weekend, London.” He grasped one of her hips with his free hand. “If you’re disappointed at any time, you can walk. I’ll never speak of it again. Our work together will go unaffected. No one—and I mean no one—but us will know.”

“Would you put that in writing?” Her eyes filled with mischief.

Priceless. London lured him toward a lightning storm. He could play. Hell, nothing appealed in the moment more than a weekend playing with her. Yes, this is what he wanted. Now he needed to know if she was willing.

“I’ll do one better.” He snaked the belt around her waist until the leather rested against her hips.

“I’m not a notch on a belt.”

“You could never be a notch, London Chantelle. You’re the whole belt, sugar.”

Her face softened, and the playfulness in her eyes died. He recognized the deliberation behind them, the wonder if she’d be safe, here and at work. She needn’t have worried. She might get scared, but mutual satisfaction was the only way his brand of sexual fulfillment worked.

“Say yes or no.” He pressed his torso to her corseted body, the last space between her body and his obliterated. “But say yes.”

“What will happen if I say yes?”

“What you want.  What you’ve probably always wanted.”

Her eyes misted with a surprising vulnerability. “Yes.”

~~~~~

 

What’s next? Read more in Untouchable, an Elite Doms of Washington novel.

Until then follow Lady Smut and get what you’ve always wanted, too.

~~~~~

Elizabeth SaFleur writes contemporary erotic romance and she’s not afraid to get a little graphic about it  — “it” being the sex, the BDSM or Washington, DC society, which she regularly features in her series, the Elite Doms of Washington.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

28 Aug

Isabelle Drake’s Servant of the Undead. If you’re new to this serial, you can start with Part 1, “Do it.”

Part 16: “You’re beginning to understand how this relationship works.”

There were no human words for what he was feeling. He grunted in response, but his body betrayed him, and he found himself leaning toward her, seeking her strength and giving in to the power she had over him.

“You know, with only a bit of encouragement, she’ll be ready to go again too.”

Hayden shook his head, even though his dick was growing still larger in her palm. “No,” he said. “I’ve had enough.”

“You’ve had enough when I say you’ve had enough.” She let go of his shaft and reached around to grab his ass. “Maybe if I join you two, you’ll feel differently.” She caressed his flesh, sliding her hand between his ass cheeks. “I’d be happy to—”

“Take control. I know.” He tried to push her back but she used her strength to hold him.

“That’s right.” She nudged his chin with her nose. “You’re beginning to understand how our relationship works.”

He tried again to push her away and she grabbed his arms, spun them both around, lifted him, and set him on the edge of the sink. She tapped the door with her foot and it slid closed. 

“You and I are a matched set. A linked pair. Unless, of course…” she tipped her head toward the bedroom, “I decide to add her. Then we’ll be a trio. I like the sound of that. I’ve never had two servicing me at the same time.”

The hard edge of the sink cut into the back of Hayden’s thighs. “Leave Rachelle out of this,” he said, ignoring the pain in his legs as he shoved at her.

“She has a lot of spunk.” She held on to him and whispered into his ear. “I think I like her.”

Hayden stopped struggling. “You don’t know her.”

“And you do? Are you sure about that? I think we both learned a lot about her tonight. She’s…responsive.” Mattie let go of his arms and set her palms on his inner thighs, just inches from his jutting shaft. “I like responsive.”

Hayden’s dick hard and ready for fucking, and he knew if she wanted, she could demand it from him. And he would do it. He’d do whatever she wanted. He worked to keep the fearful dread out of his eyes when he lifted his face.

She moved her hands in and brushed her icy fingertips across his ball sac. An electric pulse shot up from his groin. The muscles of his torso twitched.

“I don’t need you again. Yet. But it’s good to know I’ve chosen well.” She glanced at his cock. “The others will be jealous.”

“Others?”

She grinned as she caressed the hard edges of his shaft. “The others in the tribe.”

The tribe. Images flickered in his mind. The sex rituals, the man tied to the tree, the undeads constant need for sex. Bile rose in Haydn’s throat, burning an evil path up from his gut.

“Don’t look like that. It’s good to make people jealous.” Mattie pressed a kiss to Hayden’s neck. “Sometimes, anyway. Especially some people. The ones who deserve it.”

Maybe that was true. But they weren’t talking about people.

She kissed his neck again, softer, letting her cold lips linger on his still-feverish flesh. Each press gave new life to the sexual pull she had over him. A pull Hayden did not want or understand.

“I have to get back to Rachelle,” he said, speaking softly. He leaned back and caught Mattie’s gaze. “Alone.”

She stilled, no longer the aggressor, but not yet ready to let him go. That same expression passed over her face, the one he’d seen outside when she pressed her hand to the window. The vulnerability was a surprise, a shock, but somehow it made sense. She must have been human once. What was she like then? Hayden shoved the question aside.

He set his hands on her waist and kissed her lightly on her cold mouth. “It’ll be better this way.” He didn’t really know what he meant by the comment, but it sounded right, and it kept her from reaching for him again.

“Better for who?” she asked, her voice small and thin and surprisingly unsure.

“For you. Me. Rachelle.” Again, he wasn’t sure what he meant, but as he spoke, he got the sense that it wasn’t the words she was after. It was the exchange. A conversation. For the first time since they’d met, he had the upper hand. If he kept it, he could get her to do what he wanted. He nodded toward the open window. “It’ll be good this way. You go back out the way you came. She won’t see you.”

He touched her face, pulling her toward him. He kissed her again, lightly, a whisper of lips, then gently turned her toward the window.

She let go of him, took one step back, then another toward the window. “I’m leaving because I want to,” she said, raking over his naked body with her careful study.

He nodded as he gradually slid off the sink. “I know,” he replied, rubbing the pain out of the backs of his legs.

“Hayden?”

It was Rachelle, the soft pad of her feet getting louder as she approached the closed bathroom door.

Mattie slid silently to the window, moving without taking her gaze from his bare skin.

Hayden turned on the faucet and spoke loudly over the rush of the water. “I’ll be right there.”

“You okay?” Rachelle called from the hallway. “Everything okay?” She was right on the other side of the door.

“I said I’ll be right there. Go back to bed where you belong.”

He heard her laugh, a husky warm sound. “Okay, all right. I get it,” she called, her voice growing distant as she headed back to the bedroom. “But you don’t have to be so bossy about it.”

“You like me bossy,” he yelled, forcing lightness into his voice.
Mattie was pushing the sash of the window all the way up. Once the opening was wide enough for her to climb through, she sat on the ledge and swung her legs over. She turned and looked at him from over her shoulder. “You’ll see me again soon. You know that, right?”

He nodded, staring into the swirling steam rising up from the sink. When he finally lifted his head, she was gone, out into the endless storm, and the window had been pulled shut. Except for the evil electricity coursing through him and the last vestiges of her scent, it was as though she’d never been there.

***
Want more? The next part will be here next Sunday. Or, you can come over to the Servant of the Undead Wattpad page and read more for free right now. Unfamiliar with Wattpad? It’s an online community for readers and writers. Its filled with free fiction of all kinds. It’s easy to log in and get started; you can use your Facebook account.

Until next time, follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

***

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Sexy Saturday Excerpt: Alexa Day’s “Passing Through”

25 Jun
If you like kinky stories with military heroes, click to preorder. Like right now.

If you like kinky stories with military heroes, click to preorder. Like right now.

By Alexa Day

Happy weekend, sexy people! Learned colleague Madeline Iva has allowed me to stage a Sexy Saturday takeover so I can hit you with a lick of excerpty goodness from my novella, “Passing Through.” It’s one of 22 stories featured in the box set, Hero to Obey, from Blushing Books. Joining me in the collection are Sierra Cartwright, Selena Kitt, Desiree Holt, along with Lady Smut guests Tabitha Black and Lee Savino. If you like your stories kinky and your heroes in uniform, you want to get involved with this big box.

My contribution, “Passing Through,” is a femdom-themed story featuring bar owner Gigi Deane and Noah Monroe, the former Army Ranger who’s spending the summer working as her barback. Gigi likes her men tall, hot, and obedient, and Noah certainly fits the bill. But he’s an employee, so he’s off limits. Putting him on his knees would be kind of inappropriate.

Right?

At this point in the story, Gigi and Noah cross the line between fantasy and reality. Enjoy!

***

The wooden patio on top of the bar offered little in the way of scenic views. It faced the back of the building, not the beach, and from its ancient Adirondack chair, she could look down into the parking lot and the Dumpster. Beyond her building and the hair salon, the neighborhood crept up the hill into the suburbs. She could make out a couple of beach house backyards. Muffled rhythm thumped from a screened-in porch in the distance.

Heavy steps on the creaky wooden stairs captured her attention.

“Here you are.” Noah’s voice liquefied something low in her belly. “I didn’t know where you’d got to.”

“I came up for a little fresh air. I thought I’d be back by the time you finished.”

He came out onto the patio, making the boards protest beneath his weight. “Well, it’s all done downstairs. You need anything else?”

Gigi breathed deeply of the hot summer air. That question.

“No, I’m sure it’s fine. I hope I didn’t keep you too long; I’m sure you have places to be tonight.”

“Me?” Noah chuckled. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“No?” She gestured at the other chair with the bottle. “You want to sit down for a minute?”

Noah dropped onto the other Adirondack chair with a barely suppressed groan.

“That’s a blessed feeling, isn’t it?” She leaned back in the chair. “Sitting down after barbacking a double shift.”

“God, yes.” He stretched his arms over his head, arching his back until the joints popped.

“You want a beer?” She glanced over the shoulder toward the mini-fridge. “Might have two more back there.”

His body reclined in the chair. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure? Not even to thank you for your service?”

He lifted one hand toward her, as if to ward off incoming beer. “No thanks necessary.”

She turned to watch him in repose. She could hardly make him out in the dark, but the sound of his sigh squeezed her heart. Their conversation in the storage room arose in her memory.

No one went to Afghanistan for free beer.

They looked out into the darkness. Firecrackers popped in the distance, and a lone bottle rocket arced through the sky in a shower of sparks.

“I guess we should go,” she said.

He rose from the awkward chair with ease and offered her his hand. She slid her hand into his warm, work-roughened one and let him pull her to her feet. Inches away from him now, she felt that electricity again, a heavy thickness in the air between them like the heat before a thunderstorm.

This time, she gave in to the magnetic force.

Her fingers resting lightly in his, she swayed toward him. Her arm wound around his shoulder and she lifted her face to his an instant before his mouth settled on hers.

She pressed her palm to the back of his neck, where the summer heat and hard work had made the skin sticky with sweat. She claimed his mouth with her tongue. The perfect satiny skin of his lips gave way to the heat of his mouth, and her tongue traced the back of his teeth, the hard shelf above and behind them. He released her hand, freeing her to embrace him. His arms wound around her waist and he pushed into her kiss, taking her mouth boldly.

Yes.

She lifted her chest up to meet his. The contact with his hard body brought her nipples to taut peaks.

She took his face in both hands and pushed herself just far enough away to breathe.

“That night, in the storage,” she whispered. “Did I imagine that?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She rocked her pelvis against his. “Am I crazy for wanting to act on that?”

“You don’t seem crazy to me.”

“Good.” She took a step away from him and traced a line down his chest with her fingernail. “Take off your shirt.”

She slid her hands into her back pockets. For a moment, they stood there in the dark, watching each other in silence.

“Come on,” she said. “Take it off.”

He crossed his arms in front of him, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and then peeling it off. Smoothly, he pulled it over his head, and he stood, holding it loosely in one hand. He watched her with an enticing mixture of caution and defiance in his eyes.

Gigi’s insides fluttered with an excitement that she hoped her face didn’t reveal. She’d expected some measure of hesitation from Noah, if not outright resistance. She’d thought it would take more than a simple command to bend him to her will. And yet here he was, bare chested, waiting for her instructions.

Her fingertips found his chest again, and she lightly raked her nails down to his stomach. His abs twitched at her touch.

Ticklish. Nice.

She made her way behind him now, watching as the muscles in his strong back went taut. She could see the column of his neck in stark relief in the dim light.

Damn.

Wary, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. She spread her fingers over a big shoulder blade to reassure him, the way one might try to calm a skittish horse.

“Is this a little weird?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“A little,” he answered. His mouth curled into a half-smile.

She wound her arms around him, pressed her body against his back. Her hands smoothed the coarse hair that dusted his chest.

She longed to touch her lips, her tongue, to the base of his thick neck. To feel the bone there. Caress his earlobe with her mouth to see if he was ticklish there as well.

Not yet. Not now.

Instead, she whispered to him. “Do you like it?”

His head fell back toward hers, and his chest expanded into her hands. His surrender sent a thrill surging through her.

“Mmm,” he said, his voice rumbling through her. “I like it.”

***

You know, the Fourth of July is on its way — isn’t it the perfect time for hot military-themed sexytimes? Vote yes. Click to preorder, and all 22 stories will be coming at you on Tuesday.

I’ll see you again then.

Follow Lady Smut. We’ll make sure you’re ready for the summer.

FREE READ!!! Desire Rising

26 May
The end of an awful marriage might be the beginning of something smoking hot. Click to buy.

The end of an awful marriage might be the beginning of something smoking hot. Click to buy.

By Elizabeth Shore

Hey Sexies! Madeline Iva is off today and has generously offered me the use of her spot so I can give you all a sexy peek at my newest erotic historical release, Desire Rising. Here’s hoping it leaves you squirming. 😉

They walked into the dense thicket and were rewarded with an atmosphere cool and hushed, like that of a church, without anyone else around. They stopped beneath a leafy tree, but Miles’ levity from earlier in the day had vanished. Tightness around his lips and the stark, drawn expression on his face left him looking like a man haunted by the weighty burden of grief.

She recalled what Budding had said. Must have been hell—pure hell. Her eyes welled with sympathy. She didn’t know what tortured Miles, but the reasons didn’t matter. Whatever they were, she understood his pain.

He looked over, meeting her gaze, and took in a breath. “You may be wondering—”

“No, Miles.” She shook her head. “What you choose to share with me about yourself—or not share— will be your decision alone and done in your own time. Until then, you need not say a thing.”

He cleared his throat and she noticed his hands ball into fists. “’Tis difficult to find the right words.”

“Which is why you needn’t find them with me.”

He took a step closer, looking into her eyes. “You are an uncommon woman, Catherine Sheffield.”

“Yes.”

He smiled. “And quite agreeable.”

“When it suits me.”

Miles leaned into his right arm, resting against the tree. His despair of moments ago faded, leaving in its wake the spark of desire. He lifted his left hand and trailed his fingers across her cheek. “And does this suit you?”

He bent closer so they were inches apart, the warm exhalations of his breath gliding across her face. With his forefinger he caressed her top lip and then bottom, circling her mouth with a touch light as air. He inserted just the tip of his finger into her mouth, sweeping it across her tongue, then withdrawing it to paint the moisture across her bottom lip.

“It does.” Her response was little more than a whisper. The excited beats of her pulse trembled like leaves stirred by the wind.

“How about this?” he asked, his hand straying downward to trace light, sensual patterns along her throat. When he reached the indentation at the base of her neck he paused, stroking her collarbone. Then he dipped lower, teasing the swell of her bosom before sliding his palm over her left breast, caressing it through the fabric of her dress.

Her nipple puckered in response to his touch. Slow, delicious pulses throbbed low in her groin. Her eyes drifted closed, lost in a carnal haze.

“Look at me.” He lightly pinched her nipple. “I want to watch you get aroused.”

“How do you know I will?” she challenged, though the breathiness of her reply betrayed her bravado.

“Trust me, you will.” The flat of his hand glided over her belly, drawing ever closer to the apex of her legs. “I’m about to make it so. You shall feel my touch all over your body, and I shall hear you moan.”

Although the park was empty of visitors, Miles stepped even closer to Catherine to ensure his body shielded hers. Then with one hand he lifted her skirt and chemise while he slid the other beneath the silk material to caress her thighs. Where his fingertips stroked, a line of fire sizzled along her skin.

Her breath whooshed from her lungs. Her heartbeat soared. Miles’ hand roamed upward from her thigh to cup her mons then he brazenly slid a finger through the soaking folds and lightly stroked. 
She gasped, shocked yet thrilled at his daring.

Taking her cue from his boldness, she spread her legs farther apart, needing more of his skilled caresses to soothe her burning ache. He smiled as though she’d given him a reward and continued his assault. Her blood roared in her ears, skin burning from Miles’ attention. Her breaths came hot and quick.

“Let go, Catherine,” he whispered, increasing the pressure of his hand. “Let me see your desire. I would know how far I can take you.”

It was as though he were testing her, seeing if he could expose her limitations. She rose to the challenge and nodded. “If you dare.”

“Oh,” he growled beneath his breath. “I dare.”

 

Elizabeth Shore writes both contemporary and historical erotic romance. Her recent releases include Hot Bayou Nights and The Lady Smut Book of Dark Desires. Her newest book, released April 29th, is an erotic historical novella, Desire Rising, from The Wild Rose Press.

 

 

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read part 2

22 May

By Isabelle Drake

Each Sunday, I’m offering up a part of my serialized erotic zombie horror story, Servant of the Undead.  If you missed last week’s Part : “Do it” please start there.

~~~~~

Part 2: “Do it Now.”

“Give me hand?” she said, her voice rough, probably from climbing up the side of the building. One of her hands started to slide, and she used her elbow to brace herself in the frame. “ServantPlease?” Snow and wind blew in, slickening the sill and her elbow started to slide. “Hurry.”

Hayden glanced down the hall, but he was surrounded by dim silence. That security guard was probably combing the stacks, looking for anyone else desperate enough to be at the library in the middle of a snowstorm. Or, more likely, trying to find the scary monster section. The coast was clear, so he pulled a chair over and stepped on to the seat.

He reached up. “Give me your hand.”

Clouds of snow blew in, blinding Hayden, but he reached up, grabbing for the girl. His hands connected with something wet and cold, an arm maybe, and he curled his fingers around icy flesh.

“I think I have you,” he said, trying to look up but getting a face full of snow.

“Pull me in.”

Hayden yanked until he heard a yelp.

“Okay, stop. I can climb down from here.”

“You sure?” he asked, still holding on.

“Yes. Get out of the way.”

Hayden squared himself. “I’m not sure I care for your tone.”

The girl’s voice came again, the hesitation completely gone. “Get out of the way or I’m going to land on you.”

“Suit yourself,” Hayden said, stepping off the chair.

Between gusts of wind and snow, a body appeared. Somehow, she’d managed to turn herself around in the window, spinning so her legs, covered in tattered black fishnets, came down first. Booted feet landed on top of the copier. A tiny, midnight blue skirt barely covered her ass. Her torso was wrapped in some kind of red sweater that left parts of her skin exposed. Once she was fully out of the window and standing on the copier, she reached up on tiptoe, closed the window and turned around.

Hayden looked up her skirt and caught a glimpse of skin. The fishnets were real stockings. That meant her thighs were bare. What if she wasn’t wearing panties? Her pussy would be—

d40574bec76925c961a59063b71e087f“Do you always have such an attitude when someone asks for help?” She put her hands on her hips, her long fingers flashing white in the fingerless gloves, and looked down at him. Her arched back made her breasts look huge.

Instead of waiting for an answer, she dropped down to sit on the copier then hopped down to the floor. Correction. Her breasts were huge. Porn worthy, for sure.

Shit. His hard dick had conjured her up.

She lifted her hands to smack snow from her hair, her breasts shaking from the movement. Maybe the sweater would give way on its own? A scent drifted through the air and settled in the back of his mouth, on his teeth—bitter, like the smell of blood.

“You’re not very friendly. Is there anyone else here?” she asked, running her hands across her arms and legs, spreading snow onto the floor and flicking some on to him.

Obviously, he hadn’t conjured her up, because if he had she wouldn’t be looking for anyone else besides him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be using that tone. And that smell—he wouldn’t have added that, couldn’t have imagined a scent so insidious, one that filled his mouth, making him salivate and gage at the same time.

“It’s a bit snowy out there.” He swallowed, clearing his throat. “I think the flurries might be keeping people at home.” If she noticed his sarcasm, she didn’t respond. She didn’t seem to notice his rude staring, either, so he kept on. If she wasn’t going to bother being polite he wasn’t either.

Her nipples were peaked tight, rubbing against the red fabric. The scent faded. Either that or he stopped caring. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, staring at the red material wrapped around her torso. It wasn’t really a sweater; it looked more like a strip of fabric spun around her like a giant ace bandage.

She finally got the last of the snow off, but her clothes were soaked and clinging. Even so, she wasn’t shivering. Didn’t even look cold. Or concerned about the oddness of climbing in through a library window in the middle of a storm. Hayden backed up and she came closer, then brushed past him and marched halfway down the hall, her skirt brushing against her thighs. Hayden started wondering about panties again. She definitely seemed like the kind of girl who would go without. When she reached the end of the hall, she looked from side to side, then strutted back, coming straight for him.

“You’re right about the storm, and it’s empty on the streets, too. That’s why I came in here,” she said, her voice switching to an awkward sweetness when she continued. “You are the only person around.”

“There’s a security guard.”

Her lip curled. “Doesn’t sound like a good idea. Not the kind of man I’m looking for.” She moved forward, swaying so that the hem of her skirt came up, showing the tops of her stockings.

Obviously, this girl was trouble with a capital T, and Hayden had spent his whole life avoiding trouble, playing it safe and getting things done. He backed up, reaching for the stack of books he’d left on top of the copier. Never mind the copies. He tucked the books under his arm and marched back the way he’d come. He didn’t even take one last look at her gorgeous round breasts, pouty lips, or fishnet-covered legs. No need, really. He wouldn’t be forgetting any of the details any time soon.

“Wait!” she called after him, and he heard the thud of her boots as she took off.

The even rhythm followed him all the way to the table where he’d left his things. He set the books down and started putting his papers into folders. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

~~~~~

Part 3 “Thanks” is here.

Until then follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

~~~~~

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

Servant of the Undead, erotic zombie horror free read

15 May

By Isabelle Drake

Each Sunday, I’ll be offering up a part of my serialized erotic zombie horror story, Servant of the Undead. You loyal Lady Smutters will recall I wrote about this dark, dirty story a little while ago.

No, without further ado, let’s get you started with Servant of the Undead.Servant

Part 1: “Do it.”

Hayden Thomas shifted on the wooden captain’s chair, trying without success to ease the
stiffness in his spine. Whoever selected the chairs for the Boston Public Library obviously never sat in them. The damn things had no armrests and were crammed so close together Bates Hall looked like a cafeteria. Except for the green desk lamps and rows of bookcases lining the wood paneled walls of the vast, deserted room. Hayden leaned back, placing his palms on the small of his back as he stretched.

Fine, it did look like a library. And it was everything the city claimed it to be, historical, well-cared for, and a fucking architectural gem. He just didn’t want to be there, digging through old books sane people shouldn’t care about. As if on cue his phone flashed. He picked it up and read the message. That article will be done tonight. Right? You’ll have something fresh. Right?

As if he had a choice.

Hayden tapped in his reply, yes and yes, then shoved the phone in his pocket. He wasn’t going to look at it again until he had what he needed. Something fresh. What the hell did that mean anyway? A paycheck. Control over his future. Little things like that. So he’d come to the library, to look through actual books. He’d scanned through several about werewolves then set aside the ones on vampires when he found the ones he needed.

Coming to the library had been a good idea. Not only had he found fresher content than the guys only using the internet, he’d also made a video clip of the inside with his webcam. He might be able to use that on the paper’s website as part of the series. A scholarly approach to give the piece an air of authority. Bob would love the irony of that.

“Lights in this section getting turned off early. ‘Bout twenty minutes.”

The security guard had come up behind Hayden and was standing in the aisle between the rows of gleaming wood tables. He motioned toward the expansive windows that started at the top of the bookshelves and reached up about fifteen feet to the domed ceiling. “Snowmaggeddon, man. Everybody’s leaving. You should too.”

Outside, snow whipped against the glass, so fierce and bright that even though the sun had gone down an hour ago the white blast was still visible. The bloated flakes brushed against the glass, spun in circles, creating a delicate, menacing spiral. Shit. A storm. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with. He’d promised Rachelle, a girl he’d started seeing, that he’d be done with the article that night so they could “do something fun, something crazy” tomorrow. Hayden eyed the stack of books surrounding his laptop.

“Do you have a photocopy machine?” he asked, scanning the area behind the guy.

“Yeah.” The guard looked at the piles of books, his mouth twisting into a frown as his gaze skimmed over the titles. “Where’d you find those?”

“In the scary monster section, under Z for zombies.”

“Seriously, dude. I need to learn how to protect myself.” The man whipped a folded newspaper out of his back pocket and brandished it, showing the headline. “It’s all in here—Zombies Flooding Beantown Streets, Hungry for Human Flesh.” Hayden didn’t need to see it in print because he’d come up with it when Bob insisted they write some pieces connected to the comic convention beginning that upcoming weekend.

“You believe what you read in The Boston Weekly?”

“They wouldn’t print it if it wasn’t true.” The man folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. “Or could be true.”

No wonder Bob Keeler had enough money to live in Chestnut Hill.

“The copier?”

The man pointed to a hall tucked between two bookcases. “It’s down there. But like I said, you better get going.” He stepped away then turned back, his gaze hopping from one book to the next before finally landing on Hayden’s face. “Snowmaggeddon. Zombies. Be careful. Article says to avoid isolated places and stay with others.”

“I get it,” Hayden assured him, using his firmest professor voice, the one he’d perfected while being a grad assistant at Boston College.

The guy gave Hayden the once over, doubt lining his face as he turned, the folded paper waving at Hayden as he marched off.

That teacher voice was handy, but according to Rachelle, he used it—and the attitude that came with it—too much. She complained about his work ethic and said they needed to have more ‘epic fun’. How was he supposed to have any kind of fun when he had years of student loan payments coming his way and only a one page CV to deal with them?

d40574bec76925c961a59063b71e087fHe swung out of the chair, grabbed the three books he hadn’t gotten to yet, and headed for the hall. The photocopier, positioned under a rectangular window, hummed in the dimly lit space. He lifted the lid, set the book on the glass surface and started flipping through, scanning for the chapter he needed for his research. Research. Right. There was a euphemism. He jerked through the pages, black-eyed stares and ragged clothes flashed past. Good God. Zombies. Why did people waste their time with this sort of thing?

But Bob Keeler was convinced that because Rodney McKinnon, star of Zombie Rites, was coming to the comic convention, that if the paper featured anything having to do with zombies, especially something fresh, that he’d sell thousands of copies. The man was crazy. Sure, Boston was going to be overrun with comic book freaks. But those people were educated, right? They didn’t believe zombies were real. So why would they want to read about them?

Hayden flipped to a chapter where the zombies looked like regular, live, people. No rotting flesh, no odd jerky movements. His skin prickled. What if you couldn’t tell a zombie from a human? He paused at a drawing made by an eyewitness, a so-called zombie tracker. Apparently, the witness spent an entire summer stalking on a tribe believed to take part in hazing rituals that included a lot of sex. The drawing showed two men, bare-chested and wearing chaps. One, with a rope tied around his waist, leaned against a tree while the other man tied the opposite end of rope to the trunk, tying him up like a dog he didn’t want getting away. Hayden lifted the book closer. They weren’t wearing anything under the chaps. And the tied-up guy had a huge boner.

He turned the page. More drawings. The guy tied to the tree held the ass of a woman and was pounding that boner into her. Apparently, the witness had in mind to document the entire ritual. There were five more drawings, each one showing the man fucking a different woman while others watched. And all the women looked very satisfied. And willing.

Hayden’s cock stiffened.

Okay, so they’re people into group sex, but where was the proof they were zombies? Proof that zombies are real. He snickered. That would be fresh, so that’s what he needed. What he didn’t need was the distraction of a rock-hard dick. He reached down and shifted the zipper on his khakis.

The last page in the section outlined the zombie tracker’s theory of that particular tribe’s sexuality. Those zombies could remain “alive” by either eating human flesh or through frequent sex. The sex method worked because the live human passed out afterward, giving the zombie an opportunity to escape. Sometimes humans were taken as sexual servants, kept like pets and used for sustenance. The sexual hazing rituals were designed to encourage survival skills and teach tools to acquire and use humans.

Overhead, a window squeaked open. Gusts of snow flew in. Fingers scratched at the sill, clawing at the wood trim. A full hand appeared, covered with a black fingerless glove. The other hand appeared. Then a forearm, wrapped in red wool, an elbow, bare skin peaking out between the strips of red. A mass of tangled hair, a mix of brown and red, popped through the opening. One of the hands reached over, swiping the hair away. Two brown eyes, rimmed with smudgy make-up peered down.

~~~~~

Need more? Part 2 “Do it Now.”

Until then follow Lady Smut, we’re always here to inform, entertain, and keep you up to date.

~~~~~

Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy, and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, her newest release is the first in the Cherry Grove dark YA series.

FREE READ — a peek at Best Friends Never

8 May

Isabelle Drake’s excerpt 

Chapter One: It Doesn’t Matter How You Play the Game, Only Whether You Win or Lose

Blood red.

And death black.

Whoever picked out Cherry Grove High’s school colors was an idiot.

Either that or a serial killer.

bestfriendsnever_800 (1)The hideous color combination blurred across the gym floor, spinning in the cheerleaders’ skirts, bouncing in the pom squad pom-poms and slicing through the air in the quivering band banners. Except for the bizarre Goth meets Glee effect, the scene was flawless. Even the shouts echoing off the walls were just right.

Outside, beyond the gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows and careful flowerbeds, past the student parking lot dotted with Nissans, Volvos and European SUVs, early autumn trees shaded the tidy streets with the first brush of rust, orange and red leaves. It was Cherry Grove after all—anything less than perfection would be inconceivable.

The bleachers were jammed with students, some actually excited about the annual back-to-school pep assembly, the rest just screaming like mad, glad for the chance to be crazy on the first Friday afternoon of the new school year.

From her spot at the boosters table, Lexi Welks could see it all. The teachers huddled in the corner by the wrestling mats drinking Diet Pepsis and eating popcorn, the basketball players lined up under the net, shoving each other, wanting to be the one standing closest to the podium, and the mini-mob of freshmen trying to squeeze themselves into the tiny niche that led to the empty space behind the bleachers. Apart from the chaos stood the football team, arms folded over their Cherry Grove jerseys and looking like they’d rather be anywhere but where they were—right in the center of the attention.

“Here’s your baseball fundraiser auction sign-up sheet.”

Monica Sanders, coming up out of nowhere like a giant weed that not even the deadliest dose of Roundup could get rid of. One of the wicked plants from Little Shop of Horrors.

Only this plant had a nonstop figure wrapped up in a come-screw-me black turtleneck. Half the guys in the school wanted a piece of her. The rest wanted her ACT scores.

Lexi?

Up until a week ago, she and Monica had been friends. And now Lexi was paying the price for what had seemed like fun at the time.

Monica looked over Lexi’s shoulder, waved at basketball center Eric Watson, then came back with a careful smile, showing off her bleached teeth as she slid into an empty chair. “Not that the sign-up is going to do you any good. You know, with next year.”

Lexi took the sheet, dropping it onto the table as though she wasn’t the least bit concerned. Which, of course, was a huge lie. Because getting the right names on that single sheet of paper would change her whole life.

“Can I have your attention? Students?” Dr. Guerra, the superintendent, tapped on the microphone, sending out a series of heart-thumping thuds.

It worked—even the cheerleaders shut up, dropping to the floor to sit cross-legged like a row of overgrown preschoolers. “We need a moment before we get started with the pep assembly. Could everyone please welcome Officer Davenport from the Cherry Grove Police Station?”

“Where else would he be from?” one of the newspaper nerds muttered. “7-Eleven?”

The cop slid behind the mic, adjusting his navy blue uniform tie while he waited for the losers in the back rows to catch on to the idea that he had something other than the D.A.R.E. essay winners to announce. Once the room fell silent, he started talking about Jon Eagle, the kid who’d gone missing a couple of days before. Each word out of his mouth made the knots in Lexi’s stomach pull tighter as images of that night skittered through her mind.

“We’ve been checking leads and retracing Jon’s steps. We’re in constant contact with his family—they’ll be informed as we uncover substantial information.” He flattened his square palm across his jacket lapel, pausing dramatically as he looked out at the faces. “We know how distressing this is for you all, for all of us. For those of you who’d like someone to talk with, your lead counselor, Mrs. Howell, has added appointments before and after school. She’s assured me and all your parents that she’ll do anything she can to help you through this difficult time.”

Monica took out her pretty pink leather-bound planner and wrote down the officer’s name. Then she waited, pen poised, for anything else noteworthy.

“Please keep in mind,” he continued, “that we have no evidence of foul play at this time. There is no reason to believe that anyone else is in danger.” He went on to add that the detective in charge thought that Jon had been in touch with kids who, for some reason, were choosing not to tell anyone. “If that’s the case, we urge you to come forward at this time.” Contact information flashed from the huge ceiling-mounted projector onto the wall behind the podium. Lexi barely held in her roll of nausea as Monica jotted down the counselor hours, the hotline phone number and email address with one hand, all the while texting with her other.

But that was Monica Sanders. Smart. Capable. Efficient. And a real self-serving jerk. Too bad it had taken Lexi three months to figure it out.

“Thank you for your attention.” Dr. Guerra was back at the mic, struggling to say something press and parent friendly. “If we all work together, we might… Maybe we’ll… Jon might…” Thank God she finally gave up, because while two band geeks in the front row were snapping pics, some of the yearbook girls over by the art teacher were starting to cry. A cloud of awkward silence filled the gym, everyone’s face tense. Everyone’s except Monica’s. She was dumping her stuff back into her bag and getting to her feet, all while looking as fresh and fantastic as ever.

“Taylor told me to ask you if you had questions about the sign-up,” she said as she pushed the chair back. This time she wasn’t even bothering to hold on to that flawless, fake smile.

“You mean like why are you even bothering with yours?” Lexi tapped her own sheet with her finger. “Because all the names that matter are going right here.”

Monica practically snorted as she spun on her heels, swinging away without a reply.

Lexi watched the girl’s model-perfect ass until she ducked through the red and black cluster of drumline kids clogging the double doors at the end of the gym.

Once she was sure the girl was gone for good she picked up the sheet, staring at the empty rows and imagining the names she needed scrawled across those blank lines. Planning how she’d get them there. And fighting back the fear of what Monica would do when she did.

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Isabelle Drake writes erotica, erotic romance, urban fantasy–and young adult thrillers. Best Friends Never, is available now.

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