Rock 'n' Roll Step Dads: School of Sex (Rock 'N' Roll Step Dads Series Part 1) (6 page)

I typed: I’m wet. On fire. I need to cum.

I stared in shock at my reply. It read so confident and wanton.

PrinceCharming: Tell me how it feels, how you feel? Bring me into your world.

My hands shook slightly as I typed: It feels … amazing. It’s like electricity zipping through my body, if getting electrocuted were a good thing. lol

PrinceCharming: I bet you feel like velvet. So soft. So wet. I can almost see it.

My cheeks flamed with heat and a smile quirked up the corners of my lips.

I typed: Now, can I get back to it? ;)

PrinceCharming: haha! Go for it.

This time, I positioned myself in the chair so I could slide fingers inside me while still playing with my clit. I closed my eyes and pictured him with me, imagined what he would look like. My fingers became his fingers.

I tugged my clit back and rubbed. My fingers were once more slick with my juices, and I gasped loudly as I drew his face in my mind. Hair so black it seemed to shine blue. Eyes the color of sapphires. Chiseled cheekbones and a square chin. He watched me with intense lust as his fingers skimmed up my labia.

I rubbed my clit harder, letting myself get lost in the daydream as my hips began to rock in a rhythm that matched my climbing ecstasy. My fingers slipped inside of me and I clamped down hard around the penetration. I cooed and bit my lip as the sensations amped up to mind blowing.

***

Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release
The Ugly Duckling: 50 Shades of Fairy Tales
by Leigh Foxlee

The Ugly Duckling

By Leigh Foxlee

Did I leave the bedroom TV on again?
I walked up the stairs, frowning as I tried to remember my hectic morning.
Kiss Corey goodbye, grab a muffin for breakfast…

When I opened the bedroom door, I stopped mentally ticking off my before work routine and let out a scream. I couldn’t help myself.

My husband Corey and my best friend—make that supposed best friend—Emma were screwing each other’s brains out on my brand new sheets. I hurled curses at them before I hurled the shoe I yanked from my foot. Then I turned and ran from the scene, sobbing as I went.

Corey ran down the stairs after me, and I turned to face him as he padded into the open kitchen. Emma trailed after him. Her long, brunette curls were a tangled mess, and she struggled to keep the sheet up over her boobs as she tried not to trip over the hem. Her honey colored eyes met mine briefly, and they flashed guilt that she quickly hid by looking away.

Corey’s gray eyes were full of fake regret and false apology. This wasn’t the first time I’d caught him in bed with another woman, but it would be the last.

“Casey, baby, I can explain.” He gripped my arms and pressed me into the marble countertop. He tried on a sexy smile, rubbed my skin through my shirt, tried to press his cock against my thigh, but I squirmed away.

“I’ve heard this story before,” I practically growled the words as I steeled my resolve. He was a gorgeous man. There was no denying that. And whether I hated him or not, he still had a physical effect on me. But I couldn’t let that sway me this time.

“You told me you were going to leave her,” Emma hissed these words once she overheard our conversation. She shot daggers in my direction.

My eyes blurred from tears, but no way would I cry again. I glared at my soon to be ex-husband and my ex-best friend. We’d been high school pals. Corey was the star quarterback. Emma was the head cheerleader, and I was their brainy little tagalong. But how brainy was I? I’d been playing this game of denial with myself for a very long time. Did a smart girl really do that?

And the truth hit me like a punch to the gut. But then, I’d known the truth all along. Corey was using me. Always had been. After all, I was the main breadwinner. I was the one bringing home paychecks, while he made excuses about turning down good job after good job so he could go out and be the playboy.

And enough was enough. As he leaned in to kiss me, while Emma screamed like a scalded cat about him being a traitor, I pushed my tiny hands into his massive pecs and scooted out of his embrace.

Once I was a safe distance away, I snapped up my cell phone and said, “I want you both out of here in under an hour, or I’m calling the police.”

***

Two days later, Corey was gone, and our joint bank account was drained. I stared at the computer screen readout in disbelief. All zeros where there should’ve been a nice chunk of money.

“Bastard.” I blew a dark blonde curl out of my brown eyes and crumpled the empty paper coffee cup next to me. While I did so, I pretended it was Corey’s head.

He’d drained every last penny we had. Phone calls to his parents and our friends turned up nothing. The guy had skipped town, or people were lying to me. Emma had also disappeared.

Big surprise.

The mortgage on our condo was due, and I’d just received a call that morning telling me my furniture would soon be repossessed. Thank universe I had a small personal account with only my name on it. But there wasn’t enough in it to pay all the bills, and while I had a great job as a corporate consultant who streamlined businesses for efficiency, it would take a few great paying gigs to get me back on my feet.

So I called my guardian angel AKA my grandmother. She was a wealthy woman who’d made her money in real estate, and she’d also raised me after my parents left me, quite literally, on her doorstep.

Gran Margie’s cell phone message informed me she was on one of her “extended vacations.”

“Crap cakes!” I punched the END button.

“Extended vacation” meant Gran had sold off everything and moved again. I’d get a call from her in about three months to give me her new address, ask how I was doing, and invite me to stay.

Until then, there was only one other person I could turn to for help. My true, old best friend—Kerry McIntyre. She was a geek girl like me, but, unlike me, she never bowed to peer pressure. She walked her own line, and I felt like crap for falling out of touch with her over the last few years. Hopefully, she wouldn’t tell me to screw off when I phoned.

***

“Holy crap! You’ve hit the big time, Kerry!”

My eyes went wide as I took in the sprawling mansion. It was modern in design, with clean, bright white everywhere. I loved the parquet floor in the great room.

She laughed at my exclamation as she handed me a cocktail and led me to a marble topped bar with leather covered stools. “It isn’t my place. I’m just staying here, for now. The house belongs to my brother.”

And at the mention of Butch McIntyre, I nearly choked on my green olive. “Wow, what’s Butch up to these days?” I tried to sound casual about it, but my voice squeaked.

“He was modeling, and he got married.”

Modeling, married? My head spun with curiosity.

Butch McIntyre had been a scabby-kneed skateboarder the last time I saw him. He was a lanky kid with a shock of black hair and the most amazing aquamarine eyes I’d ever seen. A quiet, awkward teen, he’d loved horror movies, his skateboard, and video games. He was two years younger than Kerry and I.

I tried to picture that lanky, shy geek boy transformed into a male model. Then I thought about him being married, and my heart sank with disappointment.

“So, he’s married?”

His sister’s face saddened. “Was married. She died. Car accident.” Kerry’s eyes glimmered when she looked into her martini glass. “She was the president of the agency that represented Butch, and she left her fortune to him.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry.” I reached out and wrapped an arm around Kerry’s shoulder, gave her a comforting squeeze. “Geez, I’m a bitch.” I shook my head at myself. “I’ve missed so much that’s happened to you, and I come running to you as soon as shit hits the fan in my life, but you never said a word about Butch.”

She hugged me. “Don’t worry about it, hon. That was Butch’s story, not mine.”

I nodded, thankful for her forgiveness. Then I bit my lip as I thought of Butch, our past, again. “Will he mind me staying here? I mean … we weren’t exactly friends back in high school.”

She shook her head and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I told him you’d be around for a few months, and he was cool with it.” She got up from the stool and drained her martini glass. “Now, I better go pack.”

“Pack?” I gave her a perplexed frown.

“Yeah, sorry I can’t stay with you.” She flashed an apologetic smile as she rushed toward the stairs to the upper level of the home. “I’m going on vacation with Burt. You’ll meet him when we get back. Promise.”

***

Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release 
Sleeping With Beauty: 50 Shades of Fairy Tales
 by Leigh Foxlee

Sleeping With Beauty

By Leigh Foxlee

“I’d like to rock your world.”

Mike set the drink down in front of me and smiled, showing dazzling white teeth. His steely grey eyes twinkled.

I grinned and played along. “We’ve been over this before. You’re too young.” I flipped a straight strand of golden blonde hair out of my eyes and sipped on the concoction, complete with pink drink umbrella, he’d given me.

He hooked a thumb at a guy toward the end of the bar. “It’s not from me, sweetheart. It’s from him.”

Rock your world
was the name of one of Mike’s specialties, and though I owned this place, I had forgotten what exactly the mixed drink contained. Mike was my head bartender, and I trusted him to take care of such recipes and all things alcohol in this place. He’d been with me three years and the kid had never let me down.

And considering he’s only ten years younger than me, I should really quit calling him a kid. How insulting. I can’t help myself. Sometimes I feel so much older than my 35 years.

“But you don’t look old, Kat,” Mike whispered close to my ear, as if he could read my mind. “You look like a foxy 25-year-old Jennifer Aniston.”

I waved him off good-naturedly and tried to hide my shiver. How the hell did he do that? It’s like he had a direct line into my thoughts.

“Well,” I said, pushing the drink away from me. “You can tell him thank you, but no thank you.”

Mike snickered and took away the alcohol. “Yeah, he kinda looks like a sleazy used car salesman, doesn’t he?”

I laughed. “Yeah, no offense to the guy, but he does.”

Mike moved off toward the balding gentleman, who looked like a cross between Larry David and George Bush. My head bartender looked decidedly pleased to be delivering my tactful turndown. Whether the guy really was as sleazy as he looked, I didn’t know, and I didn’t see the point in being intentionally cruel over a harmless gesture.

Although, by the spreading grin on Mike’s face as he returned, and the way the poor jilted guy slinked away from the bar, my employee may have elaborated on my polite refusal.

I shook my head and smiled. That man was incorrigible.

“So, how you been sleeping?” Mike opened up the small dishwasher we kept to wash glasses just under the counter.

I sighed and avoided his penetrating, compassionate gaze. “Not well.”

He shook a finger at me. “I could tell the insomnia’s back. You always get extra quiet when you aren’t sleeping well. And you forgot to do the books. You never forget to do the books on Friday.”

I bristled a bit at this, but swallowed down my defensive trigger and joked, “Well, maybe I’ve suddenly got a life, and now I’m doing the books on Monday.”

He gave that deep, throaty laugh I tried to deny had an effect on me. “Sweetie, I know everything about you, and I know you haven’t gotten a life yet.” His warm, strong finger swept under my chin and tilted my head up.

Uttered by different lips, those words would’ve come off as creepy. But, from Mike, they came off as caring, concerned, sad about my lack of social outings. I knew he worried about me. Worried that I worked too much.

He didn’t know the truth, though. That was one thing Mike Stansfield did not know about Ms. Katherine J. Leonard. (Call me Kat for short.) He didn’t know the effect I had on people.

It started, or at least I became first aware of it, in elementary school. I was about nine. I liked to watch the other kids playing on the tire swing, and I’d always been an observer. But, this day, my friend Robbie Golding asked me to play tag with him and some other kids, and I gleefully joined the small group.

I caught Robbie. Tag, you’re it! But, as kids will do, we got to wrestling on the school grounds. It was harmless fun, until Robbie started to gasp for air. The official diagnosis was asthma, but I knew. I don’t know how, but somehow I knew. I stole his breath away, and it most certainly was not a good thing.

After that, more strange things happened. Kids would complain they felt drained after a sleepover at my house. Like they had no energy and they could sleep for a week. Me, on the other hand? I’d feel energized. As if I could run circles around the high school track field from dusk till dawn.

And when I had sex, it only got worse. Lucky me. My first time, I thankfully only gave the boy a panic attack. But I stopped a man’s heart once. I bought my first vibrator after that experience.

But here’s the sadistic irony of my situation. I’m an insomniac, and the only thing that truly cures my insomnia is sex.

Universe has a really crappy sense of humor.

Mom took me to multiple specialists, doctors of all sorts, but no one has a clue what’s really wrong with me. Supposedly it’s all psychosomatic. It’s not psychosomatic when you’re in the ER, praying your boyfriend doesn’t die from having sex with you, let me tell you.

But what do I know? I’m a simple bar owner with a weak spot for cheesy 70s films and Channing Tatum. You can also see why Rogue from X-Men is my favorite superhero, I’m sure.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.” I asked him to make me a lime margarita. “So what?”

He shrugged, but a smirk lingered at the corners of his mouth. “The offer still stands.”

I shook my head, smiling at him as I did so. “Nope. I never mix business with pleasure.”

His eyebrow raised and he shook a finger at me while he dried a glass. “That might be part of your problem, Ms. Kat.”