Sensual Romances Newsletter December 2006

5. Enticing Excerpts

Mary Winter
http://www.marywinter.com

Willed and Waiting
Vampire
Available September 7, 2007
Changeling Press

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Blurb:
An old mansion. Carnal desire. Lust for blood.
When Portia Fenton inherits an antebellum mansion from her great aunt in Tennessee, she knows it will change her life. She doesn’t realize how much until she meets Rody Aylor, Myrtlewood’s hunky handyman. All she wants is a chance to get away from New York City and start a new life. She never imagined a man whose kisses take her breath away and whose touch leaves her hungry for more.
Rody Aylor expects Portia to be a dour old maid like Clara. He doesn’t expect her to be the woman who can break his curse. A young woman to love him -- and perhaps to free him. With Portia he hungers, for her body and her blood. And in night after night of dizzying passion, he takes her. He hopes one day he can convince her he’s been willed to her, and he’s waiting for her to set him free.

Excerpt:
Upstairs, his destiny paced. Floorboards creaked from the back and forth movement and listening, he could trace her steps across the large living room. Rain lashed the house. The wind howled, sending a shutter he hadn’t yet had time to secure banging against the side of the antebellum home. Rody listened to the woman’s anxious movements. Her arrival today couldn’t have come at a better time. The storm took out the power to most of the homes in the county, leaving her very much in need of Myrtlewood’s resident handyman. He grinned, eyes glowing red in the light of the camping lantern sitting on his desk. Lifting his gaze to the ceiling, he sniffed, drawing her honeysuckle scent down to him. He hadn’t smelled anything so enticing since he tried to get Ashleigh James to walk with him before he’d left to join the Confederate Infantry, and that had happened well over a century ago.

Rody shook his head. Living in this house, being bound here must have messed with his brain if he thought of Ashleigh and her yellow dresses. He listened to the woman’s long strides a moment longer, wondering how long before she came downstairs to look at the fuse box. How long before her destiny and his intertwined?

If he were a gentleman, he’d go upstairs and cease her endless pacing. A kiss would silence her, maybe something more pleasurable to pass the time until the storm’s fury abated. They’d been dancing around each other for a couple of weeks now, never quite acknowledging the spark of desire that crackled anytime they were in the same room together. His cock hardened, blood rushing south at an alarming rate. It reminded him he hadn’t fed, and an almost painful longing for the coppery taste had him picking up the lantern and turning toward the door before he could stop himself.

Damn it, he’d been trapped in this home for the last hundred and thirty-three years. It was about time he freed himself and the woman pacing above his head was key. Images from the pictures Clara had showed him filled his mind.

Myrtlewood’s new owner had even features with a full mouth and generous lips that had him wondering how they’d look wrapped around his cock. Her breasts appeared ample, a good handful, and the flare of her hips made him think of skimming them with his hands.

His dick throbbed. He dragged air into his lungs, though he didn’t need it and tried to calm the fire in his blood. Whirling to face the mirror, he knew his fangs pressing against his lower lip and red eyes would scare her. He couldn’t afford that, not when he was so close to getting free. “Damn you, W.M. Baird. Damn you to the hell you deserve.” He cursed his sire and the cruel twist of fate that had him trapped in this godforsaken house and only love could set him free. His lips twisted into a caricature of a smile. He was a vampire and he highly doubted he’d find love anytime soon.

He waited until his fangs retracted and the glow left his eyes before picking up the lantern and walking upstairs. The woman’s anxious heartbeat echoed through the empty rooms, a siren song calling him closer. He hungered. For her blood and for her body, but he knew he had to take it slow, lest he scare Clara’s grandniece away before she’d even settled in. The lawyer told him of her dream to turn this place into an antique store. Clara showed him pictures of some of her finds in New York, and he had to admit, she had a good eye. If anyone could reclaim Myrtlewood and its history, she had as good a chance as any.

He stepped onto the main floor and listened for a moment to her steps as they slowed. She muttered to herself about how silly it was to be afraid of the rain and storms, and he wished they were the only things here to fear. “Hello,” he said loud enough to be heard over the rain. “Ms. Fenton? Are you all right?”

The pacing stopped.

“I’m in the main room.” Her voice stumbled only a little, completely normal considering he figured he’d just scared years off her life.

Well, he came up here with good intentions, and he knew better than most that the road to hell was paved with them. “I’ll be right there.” His long strides carried him to where she stood in the main hall. He stopped in the doorway. She stood framed by the large windows along the front of the house. With the drapes drawn back, vivid slashes of lightning illuminated the room as bright as daylight. She wore a pair of soft, faded jeans that hugged her long legs, and a thick, comfy sweater that no doubt kept her warm. A clasp held her chestnut tresses off her neck, and he longed to undo it and run his fingers through the silken strands. He couldn’t see her eyes, but from pictures knew they were the color of rich chocolate. She had one hand pressed between her breasts, the other hanging onto the handle of a camping lantern.
“You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” He crossed the space between them, setting his lantern down on a nearby table.

She nodded, looking relieved. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” She frowned.

He steeled himself against the jolt of need that raced through his veins. He longed to kiss the pout from her full lower lip, to draw it into his mouth and suckle. “Not at all. I was checking the fuse box and thought I’d come upstairs and let you know not to worry. The power’s out in most of the county. I’m sure they’ll have it back on by morning.”

She nodded, her breath shuddering from her lungs. “If you say so.” She pressed her lips together and turned to look out the windows. “It’s so quiet here. And the trees…” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s silly I guess, but in New York you heard nothing but the city. Sure it would storm, but the city would still be there with the comforting hum of cars and people. Out here, there’s nothing.”

He reached for her, cupping her cool cheek in his hand and brushing his thumb across her lips. “There’s me.”

Ruby Storm
http://www.rubystorm.net

WINTER’S ROSE
Available in e-book—Coming Soon in Print

BLURB

Kody Winter has arrived in Texas—and not for a simple visit. He’s back for good and the reason is the sexy woman he’s never forgotten. Though Rose Leighton is blindsided when he suddenly appears after six years, she struggles to remain aloof at all costs because Rose has a secret and if Kody discovers it, life will never be the same. But Rose never counted on her blistering physical reaction to his presence nor Kody’s conviction that they are made for one another.

EXCERPT

His chin dropped to his chest. He would have counted to ten, but he didn’t think he had the time. Taking a deep breath, he met her wary eyes. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

Her lips parted. Her mind raced with confusion. She couldn’t tell him the reason, but she could be honest to a point. “I told you, Kody. Because…because I never want to hurt like that again.”

In that instance, Kody spied the real Rose beneath the raucous, tough exterior she wore like armor. He had to make this work, but at the moment, the only thing he could think about was kissing her.

And that was exactly what he did. Yanking her tighter again his chest, her surprised eyes were the last thing he saw before he pulled her lips to his. She struggled in his arms, but his mouth tore at her defenses with a slow, pleading demand to allow him back into her life. Over and over, sucking at her lips, forcing them open so he could explore the remembered warmth of her mouth.

The taste of his lips chipped away her defense, kiss by fervent kiss. Too long. Too many years without his arms. Too many lonely days without him. She was lost and at the moment didn’t care. Every emotion she’d ever carried inside her heart rose to the surface as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tightly. It was Rose who returned the heated kiss with a passion that surprised them both. Clutching his broad shoulders, she pressed closer and gave herself fully to his firm, moist lips.

She felt his desire, hard and insistent against her hip when he backed her against the door. Dipping down, Kody placed one arm around her waist as he devoured her mouth and swung his hips forward…

Judy Mays
http://www.judymays.com

SHEALA: CELESTIAL PASSIONS

available at Ellora's Cave

Grimacing at the sharp twinge in his cracked ribs, Marljas shifted his weight and touched the scab that had quickly formed over the cut Sheala had given him.

On Gattan, a woman didn’t cut a man’s neck unless she was interested in him as a mate – or meant it as an insult. He didn’t think Sheala had meant to insult him. The sound of a soft step caught his attention. She was coming. He remained quiet, almost invisible amongst the bushes he’d chosen for his cover until she was before him. He reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the bushes – and found a very sharp sword at his throat for the second time that day.

He released her immediately and stepped back, holding his palms up. “I mean you no harm.”

The sword disappeared from his throat. “Oh, it’s you.” She sheathed her sword. “Do you want something?”

Nostrils flaring, Marljas crossed his arms over his chest. That day she’d run into him, she smelled sweet and flowery, fresh from her bath. Today, she smelled of hard work and woman’s sweat, a heady mixture. She was the daughter of his hostess, and he wanted her. “Why did you Blood me?”

She wiped some sweat from her brow and frowned, obviously puzzled.

“What?”

He touched the scab on his neck. “Here, on my neck. Why did you Blood me?”

Raking her hair back off her forehead, she shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. You moved faster than I expected. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m sorry.”

“You were not angry with me?”

She shook her head. “No. I think Brianna was angry enough for all of us. Why?”

Marljas’ lips twitched. His Bloodsister did have a temper to match her fiery hair. But, he was far more interested in the woman standing before him. “A Gattan maiden doesn’t Blood a man on the neck unless she wishes to humiliate him, or ...”

Sheala gasped before he could finish. “Oh! No! I didn’t mean that. You’re a guest. I would never intentionally humiliate a guest. I’m sorry, really.”

Nodding, Marljas smiled. “You didn’t let me finish. The other reason for a Gattan maiden to Blood a man’s neck is to declare her desire to mate with him.”

Marljas smile changed into a full grin at the surprise on her face. “Ohhhhhhh.”

Her lips formed a perfect O, lips he wanted to kiss. Again, his nostrils flared. Another scent was beginning to tease his senses – the scent of desire.

Slowly, the surprise left her face. She smiled. “What do you think?”

“I think there is much about you I’d like to learn, Alalakan dem al’ Sheala.” Lifting his hand, he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against the stud at the side of her nose. “But you are the daughter of my hostess. To pursue you in anyway without her permission is grounds for a declaration of Bloodfued on Gattan.

Her chuckle was low. “We’re not on Gattan.”

He thumbed her nose stud again. “But this declares you virgin. And you are not yet eighteen.”

Another chuckle. “A virgin in body maybe, but there are many ways to satisfy sexual hunger. And I’ve had one of the best sexual instructors on Drakan.”

Marljas didn’t try to hide the shock he felt. “Sexual instructor?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she cupped her hand between his legs then danced her fingers up his erect erection. “No wonder you Gattan’s wear these tunics. They hide – a lot.” Tugging open the seam in the front of his pants, she freed his aching cock.

“Sheala! What are you...”

“Shhhhh. Let me show you what I desire.” Bending, she slipped under the bottom of his tunic and sucked his cock into her mouth.

Desire such as he’d never felt before slammed its fist into the pit of his stomach as her warm, supple tongue slid around him. “Sheala. Stop. You...”

“Just be quiet, Marljas, and enjoy yourself. You aren’t on Gattan.”

Sucking in a huge breath that made his cracked ribs ache, Marljas spread his legs. He wasn’t on Gattan. He was on Drakan, the most hedonistic planet in the galaxy with its most desirable woman sucking on his cock. Who was he to question fate?

Ignoring another stab of pain from his cracked ribs, Marljas pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it to the ground. He didn’t want Sheala hidden underneath a piece of cloth. He wanted to watch her every move. Sighing, he buried his fingers in her hair.

“Mmmmmmmm, you taste good,” she whispered against his cock. He answered with a grunt. When she sucked him into her mouth again, he thrust his hips forward, shuddering when she was able to take his entire length.

Her tongue danced and caressed. She sucked harder.

Groaning, he pulled his cock out of her mouth.

She fell to her knees, forced her hand into the crotch of his pants, cupped his balls with her left hand, and began to roll them around in the palm of her hand. Her right hand she braced against his thigh. She kissed the head of his cock, licked it, suckled it. Then she raised her head and looked into his face. “How long can you hold back,” she asked with a seductive smile. “How long shall I allow you to hold back?” Bending her head, she trailed small nibbles down one side of his erection then up the other. She releases his balls and began to massage the base of his cock.

He threw back his head and closed his eyes, concentrating only on how her hot mouth felt on him. “By all the seven hells, Sheala, you’re torturing me.”

An enticing chuckle. He heard the rustle of cloth. Her mouth left his cock to be replaced supple fingers that teased and caressed.

“Open your eyes.”

Obeying her, he looked down.

Her shirt was open; she was guiding his cock to her full breasts. She brushed it against her left nipple.

“Mother of all the gods,” he muttered and thrust his hips forward.

She pumped him. “I want you to come on my breasts.”

“Yesssssssss.”

She bent and licked his cock, pumped him more. With her other hand, she pinched her own nipple. Both were tight, hard nubs.

Marljas licked his lips. He wanted to taste those nipples — but, the sight of his brown cock against her ivory skin.... “Are you ready to come? Do you want to wait?”

Grasping her shoulders, he thrust his hips forward. His cock slid between her breasts. His voice was a shuddering growl he didn’t recognize. “No waiting. Now!”

Another low laugh escaped her. Tilting her head back, she smiled into his face. “Very well.” She slid her fingers down his cock to his balls and rolled them in her left hand as she squeezed and pumped him with her right.

Marljas shuddered. Her hands were pure magic. “You mouth. I want your mouth!”

“And I want you to come. Now.” She released his balls, slid her hand under his tail, and pressed a finger into his anus. Fire exploded in his balls and rushed up through his cock. His hips thrust forward involuntarily. As he watched, his come squirted onto her breasts.

She pushed her finger further into his anus.

More fire, more come.

Marljas felt his knees begin to buckle as she pulled her finger free and rose to her feet. Before he could say a word, she grabbed his hand and pushed it down the front of her loose pants.

She was slick and damp. Moisture coated his fingers as she moaned and pushed herself against them.

“Help me. I need...”

Gathering his scattered wits as best he could, Marljas rubbed the hard nub she pressed against his fingers. In a matter of seconds, more moisture coated his fingers, and she grabbed hold of his arms as she shuddered with her own orgasm.
When she rested her forehead against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

Long minutes passed their breathing and heart rates returned to normal.

Slipping his finger under her chin, Marljas tilted her head back. “Sheala....”

Voices interrupted him.

She pressed her hand to his lips, smiled, and stepped back. Pulling her shirt closed, she spun around and disappeared in the direction of the house.

After a moment, Marljas shoved his now flaccid cock back inside his pants and raked his hair back of his face. He snatched up his tunic and pulled it over his head. Midsummer. Less than a week. Sheala would be eighteen.
He would be the man to teach her the final lesson about love, he and no other. She would be his mate. No other man would ever touch her again. He’d kill anyone who tried.

Lacey Savage
http://www.laceysavage.com

FLAME OF THE ALPHA
By Lacey Savage
Now Available at Loose Id

ISBN (13): 978-1-59632-543-2
Genre(s): Futuristic Shapeshifter Paranormal

Blurb

There isn't a man on Earth -- or in the rest of the Universe, for that matter -- that the High Priestess of the Saint Valentine Pleasure Academy can't tame. Or at least that's what Sophia Rousseau thinks, and for good reason. She's been training pleasure servants of both sexes for years, but males in particular have been surprisingly easy to bend to her will.

So when Alpha-carrier Dante Lotton hides from the Terran authorities by slipping into her pleasure garden and watches her make a sensual offering to her Patron Saint, Sophia quickly realizes what kind of genes run through his blood. After all, it takes one to know one. And mate one. Besides, at six foot five and built like a solid brick wall, Dante certainly looks nothing like the petite, pretty, custom-created slaves, no matter that he's to participate in the auction. He does look like...exactly what she needs.

But Sophia isn't the only one who wants Dante...

When a Captain for Earth's Central Command makes the winning bid for Dante's services, Sophia knows her time is running out. Now all she has to do is convince Dante to delay finding a way off the planet and back to his ship long enough to be her "Flame" -- the only man who can mate with the High Priestess without a contract. But there's more at stake than pleasure for Sophia, and the secrets she keeps are certain to doom them both...

Because as great as they are together, one man is determined to keep them apart.

Excerpt from Flame of the Alpha

It shouldn’t be this hard to find a man.

The thought flittered through Sophia Rousseau’s mind as the thick girth of the dildo stretched her inner walls. A poor substitute for the real thing, the ivory godemiché was said to be fashioned by the first Pleasure Academy High Priestess using the dimensions of the real penis of Saint Valentine himself.

Whether the legend was true or not, Sophia didn’t know. Millions of godemichés had been created since then, though the one she currently thrust deep into her pussy was the original item, fashioned over two centuries ago and likely worth millions of tokens to a collector of sexual paraphernalia. Luckily, no one knew the real thing still existed. The Academy priestesses had announced that the godemiché was destroyed in a massive fire that was responsible for annihilating a temple and its Pleasure Academy more than eighty years earlier.

The object was a now a true relic, limited only to the High Priestess’ use. She pulled it out gently then slammed it back inside her channel, wishing she could strengthen the connection with her Patron Saint. The godemiché helped, but the answers she sought were as elusive as the orgasm she desperately tried to produce.

She’d have given anything for a moment of clarity. The Academy’s eager clients were already assembled for the showing, waiting on her to give her blessing over the unions about to take place. Yet here she was, chasing a fleeting tremor of ecstasy as it slipped through her fingers.

She couldn’t focus. Last night’s Festival had proven more demanding than she’d expected. Carnal images still flashed across the back of her eyelids every time she blinked, bringing with them an overload of sensual impressions. Still, the perceptions were fleeting and distant, like watching randomly changing erotic stills on a vid-screen. Arousing, yes, but orgasmic? Not hardly.

She needed something more than she could give herself with a godemiché and her own hand. No matter how attuned to her own body, Sophia couldn’t come on command. Not even for her Saint.

Frustration invaded her system, skimming over already frayed nerves. She thrust the fingers of her left hand farther back, easing her ass cheeks apart, bending low enough to the ground so her nipples brushed the tips of the dewy grass. Her fingers slid in the damp crack, drawing some of her cream over the puckered hole, teasing the forbidden region with the tip of her thumb. Excitement traveled a swift path through her body, culminating in the heat rising between her legs. She opened herself wider, grinding her clit against the inside of her wrist, plunging the dildo harder, deeper, faster. The statue of Saint Valentine gazed down upon her, his features benevolent, his full lips quirked in a sexy smile. She knew what he wanted from her…what she wanted from herself. And yet she hadn’t been able to give it to him. She’d failed him in every possible way. Not only had she been unable to find a suitable off-world traveler at the erotic festival for the Lighting of the Flame ceremony due to occur in seven days’ time, but now she couldn’t even offer her patron what she owed him. Her allegiance. Her body.

Her essence.

Sweat ran down in rivulets over the curve of her throat to drip into the valley between her breasts. It traveled lower, pooling in her navel and sliding lower still, until it dripped and matted her already damp pubic mound.

An uneven groan echoed through the clearing as Sophia pumped the godemiché harder, releasing a waft of musky scent redolent with the aroma of her cream. She stilled, momentarily thrown off balance. The groan hadn’t come from her throat.

Blood roared in her ears and the sweat trickling down her skin turned to ice. Tendrils of fear crawled up her spine. She was exposed. Watched. Hunted.

Saints, where had that last thought come from? No one at the Academy would be foolish enough to step foot in the High Priestess’ private sanctuary. The patrons knew the rules as well as the pleasure servants and the other priestesses, and none would dare risk the consequences of spying on the High Priestess in the midst of her offering.

Deliberately, she turned her head and gazed over her shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. A tanned, muscular arm wrapped around the side of a large tree trunk. From her vantage point, she had a perfect glimpse of the left side of a man’s body, sculpted to perfection. She gasped, taking in the planes and valleys of his perfectly proportioned form, her gaze lingering on his ridged torso, broad hips, and lean waist.

A dark blond thatch of pubic hair peeked out from behind the trunk, though the man’s cock was entirely hidden from view. Awareness crept in with a potent rush, boosting her throbbing arousal from a mere thrill to raging hunger in the span of a shuddering breath.

Then he moved, and his face came into view, knocking the rest of the air from Sophia’s oxygen-deprived lungs. Long eyelashes fringed golden, slitted eyes that peered at her from beneath a tumble of honeyed curls. His mouth had begun to shift, giving her a brief glimpse of full lips as they elongated, turning into a full muzzle before her eyes. He tightened his grip on the trunk and her gaze darted to his, the black claws scoring the wood, leaving deep gashes in the tree. They stared at each other as Sophia’s mind struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. She’d spent enough time around Alphas to recognize one when he invaded her sanctuary, but she’d never encountered another panthera leo before now.

The full impact of that realization made her stagger. Her pussy pulsed around the godemiché, tightening around it, pulsing with heat. The animal inside her responded to the stranger’s presence with a heady, intoxicating wave of pure lust. Her nipples beaded tightly. Her clit throbbed and her own impulse to shift zinged through her veins, daring her to push past her fear and do what she hadn’t been able to in years. Electricity zinged between them with the force of a corporeal entity, binding them, keeping her rooted to the spot. And then he took a step forward, baring all of his masculine splendor in one graceful move that carried him away from the tree.

Reason crashed through her mind at the exact moment her gaze landed on his solid cock, thrusting proudly against his belly. His shift was incomplete. The powerful sex organ shimmered, thickened, and lengthened before her eyes, a drop of precum dripping unimpeded from the bulbous tip onto the dewy grass.

Myriad questions dashed through her mind, but she couldn’t give voice to any of them. He was advancing, closing in on her. Soon, he’d be upon her, able to trap her with his muscular body and pin her against the statue of her patron Saint, where he’d thrust --

“Oh, mon patron. What have you brought me?” Before either the stranger or the stoic Saint could answer, Sophia staggered to her feet, pulling the godemiché from her folds in the process. She lunged sideways and grazed the edges of her discarded robe with the tips of her fingers, lifting it as she broke into a sprint toward safety.

"Wait!"

Treva Harte
http://www.trevaharte.com

INTIMATE CHOICES, available from www.changelingpress.com

FRIDAY EVENING: SAMANTHA AND MOIRA

Samantha followed him into the car. After five years of marriage, she knew when her husband’s silence meant something was brewing. She even knew what he was going to say. Maybe she hadn’t finished college, but she wasn’t stupid. She might have come off sounding like an idiot tonight, but she wasn’t stupid.
The whole evening had gone wrong from the beginning.

Maybe things would’ve worked if she hadn’t wanted them to go out as two couples. The pairing up had been a mistake. Moira was competitive and she’d always liked Phil, even back in their college days.
But Samantha had him. She’d always had Phil. They had such a safe, dependable relationship.
“Moira is looking damn good,” Phil remarked. “Hard to believe you two are the same age.”
Dependable Phil. Trust him to make a crack about the few extra pounds she’d put on. Moira probably worked her weight off in nerves and cutting the opposition off at the knees. Phil wouldn’t care about that. He might even approve.

But he’d married Samantha, after all. He’d wanted a wife, one who could calm things down and be there for him. Moira wasn’t that. She’d never be that.

Moira was still thin and model beautiful, with that long dark hair and those blue eyes. She was closer to Phil than Samantha in height and she made the most of it in her high heels. She could wear anything she wanted to and get away with it with her figure.

And she did.

Samantha, conscious of the care with which she put together her outfits, working to look a little slimmer, to make sure she was still looking young but not too outrageous, knew she had faded into the background tonight. A nice rose jersey dress had seemed just the thing when she proposed they meet in town.

It hadn’t been. Every man in the restaurant had looked at Moira. Moira hadn’t needed any of those looks. She had swept in with the new man in her life.

The man was everything Moira had told Samantha he would be and more. Samantha had snuck plenty of looks at him over the dinner table, but she knew he belonged to Moira. He’d spoken to Samantha and even smiled at her, but he kept glancing back to Moira every few minutes.

Samantha remembered when she had gotten her share and more of those kind of stares, even when Moira was next to her. She might still have her strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, but she knew she didn’t look the same as she used to.

She and Moira had been young and shared first the same dorm room and then, after the first year, the same apartment. They’d even shared the same art classes and gotten similar grades. Samantha had always secretly figured she was just as good a photographer as Moira, or at least she had been year ago. But Samantha had Phil. They’d been together ever since her junior year in high school and their engagement survived going to different colleges. When Phil graduated, Samantha married him, of course, and Moira had been her bridesmaid.

Moira went on to fortune and some fame as a fashion and advertising photographer and Samantha settled in to married life. A Fine Arts degree didn’t get you much of a job, so Samantha had decided not to bother with graduating when Phil had needed someone to step in and manage his tax accounting office. When he had become more successful, he’d pressured her to quit working entirely. And she had. She’d assumed that sometime soon afterward they would have children and that she would primarily take care of them.

But she hadn’t had any children. She had no job any more either unless you counted some of the volunteer work she did at the hospital.

Moira had gone on to start her own business. She had a demanding job in the city and juggled work and lovers and friends. Moira was exciting and fun to be with when the two of them could make time to be together. And, Samantha thought with a frown, she had to admit she was envious. What would she have done if she hadn’t married Phil? What if she had gone on to finish college and had picked out a different future...

But she had Phil.

Didn’t she?

Samantha was aware of the fact that Phil looked at other women. He even commented on them to her face. Still, Samantha was pretty sure that all he did was look. All men looked, after all, so what could she do about it?
Moira wouldn’t have allowed that. But Moira wouldn’t have needed to. She saw how Phil stared at her friend, completely and utterly fascinated. Well, Samantha thought acidly, she was definitely not going to ask Moira how to keep this man staring at her.

“Phil, I’m not wearing underpants,” Samantha announced softly.

“Mmmm?” She saw him turn his head just a half-second, then hastily go back to driving.

Samantha smiled and inched her demure dress just a little bit up her thigh. Phil didn’t say anything, but she could see the effect she was having on him.

As his cock stiffened, the car gathered speed. In a few minutes, they’d be home and he’d be checking to see if she’d told the truth.

Phil was very dependable.