Good girl Melody Merritt is ready to be bad. Fresh out of an unsatisfying ten-year engagement to the town golden boy, she’s determined to make up for lost time. And who better to burn her sterling reputation to the ground than Bluelick’s sinfully sexy new fire chief whose wicked gaze promises complete and utter domination? Yes, please.
Corrupting the prim and proper Little Miss Bluelick is the most action Josh Bradley’s seen since he transferred from Cincinnati to fast-track his career. He won’t let anything or anyone—not even the delectable Melody Merritt—trap him in this Kentucky-fried Mayberry, but when their searing chemistry yields an unexpected result, he realizes he’s started a blaze that's completely beyond his control…
“Oh, sweet mercy, don’t—”
“Don’t what? Torture you until you think you’re going to die where you stand? How do you think I feel every single time I look at you? When you come into Jiffy Java, fiddle with the top button of your blouse while you decide between an iced coffee or a sweet tea, all I want to do is tear your shirt open, shove your bra out of my way, and feast on your breasts. How do you think I feel when you lean on the bar at Rawley’s, talking to your friends while I drive myself insane wondering what you’ve got on under your good-girl dress? Tortured doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
Those diabolical fingers made a circling motion, and Melody’s knees threatened to buckle. “How shameless of me. I’m terribly”—oh, there he went again with the fingers—“sorry.” She wasn’t. Not in the least.
“You will be, because I can’t let behavior like yours go unpunished.”
She closed her eyes and a pathetically small scenario of erotic punishments paraded through her head. Waves of hot and cold washed over her. It was all she could do to find her voice, and keep it even while she asked, “What did you have in mind?”
“When I get you alone the first thing I’m going to do is give you a pillow.”
Uh-oh. She didn’t know the pillow game. “A pillow?” she asked, and immediately wondered if she’d just given Josh a big hint of exactly how tame her sex life had been up until tonight.
“Yeah. Because once I get started, you’ll need something to bury your face in so nobody hears you pleading with me to let you come. Does that answer your question?”
Why yes. Yes it did. So much so, for a moment she could only nod. “A-and then?”
“At that point, I’m going to tongue-whip your clit until you don’t care if the whole fucking town hears you begging. Then, if you ask nicely, I will guide my very eager cock into you”—he rocked his hips again for emphasis, coaxing another moan out of her—“and give us both the relief we’re after. Are you ready, Miss Bluelick?”
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Wine lover, sleep fanatic, and USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy contemporary romance novels, Samanthe Beck lives in Malibu, California, with her long-suffering but extremely adorable husband and their elementary-aged turbo-son. Throw in a furry ninja named Kitty and Bebe the trash talking Chihuahua and you get the whole, chaotic picture.
When not clinging to sanity by her fingernails or dreaming up fun, fan-your-cheeks sexy ways to get her characters to happily-ever-afters, she searches for the perfect cabernet to pair with Ambien.
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