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Flame of the Alpha (adult)
Lacey Savage

Genre: Futuristic Shapeshifter Paranormal

Length: Novel

Price: $5.99

http://www.loose- id.com/detail. aspx?ID=540

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.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Bondage, dubious consent, exhibitionism, male/male sex, ménage, whipping/flogging.

~ * ~

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.


Razor Burn (adult)
Scott & Scott

Genre: LGBT Romantic Suspense

Length: Novel Plus

Price: $7.99

http://www.loose- id.com/detail. aspx?ID=546

Blayne is strictly business -- a stuffed shirt working for his father's company to develop the next men's razor. He wants to grow out of his father's shadow and become a success on his own, and this current project might be just the one to do it. He's also gay and stuck in a marriage of convenience with the president of the London branch of the company to appease his homophobic, controlling father.

Ben needs to get his career back on track after being laid off. A promising new job at Mandatory seems to be a great opportunity. In life, he just wants to have fun. But he needs to come to terms with his family and an odd case of amnesia to move on.

When they meet in a coffee shop one afternoon, Ben gets a lot more than a job. And when they start working together, nothing can keep them apart--not amnesia, not secrets, not Blayne's father, not even Blayne's wife!

Publisher's Note: This book was published in 2005 by Romentics.com through BookSurge Publishing. It contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Male/male sexual practices.
~ * ~

"I'm straight." Blayne just came out and said it.

Ben didn't even blink. "That's an odd name for this part of town." He clearly had his sights set, and he wasn't about to be distracted by such a pathetic excuse.

Blayne looked around at the few lone men scattered amongst the tables and couches. He knew what part of town he was in. He knew what went on in places like this on slow afternoons. But couldn't a heterosexual man relax with cup of coffee if he wanted one? He looked down at his untouched cup and forced himself to take a sip.

This wasn't a gay bar, for crying out loud. It wasn't even sleazy. It was quaint and comfortable, and the coffee wasn't half bad. After all, most things were nice in the gay section of the city.

"My name is Blayne," he said. He kept an edge of annoyance in his voice to show he wasn't impressed by Ben's joke or his company.

"And you're straight, with a name like Blayne?" Ben scoffed.

Blayne got up to leave. That was it. He wasn't going to put up with this shit all afternoon.

"I'm kidding," Ben protested, but he wasn't. There were just certain names. Come on.Blayne? What were his parents thinking? "Sit down and relax."

Ben reached out and tugged at the knee of Blayne's pants until he sat. He let his hand rest there just long enough to feel the heat of his thigh through the summer fabric.

Blayne glanced at the hand on his leg, fine dark hairs creeping from the wrist, long slender fingers. But he didn't say anything. Before he could, Ben took it away.

"Look, I'm starving," Ben said. "Let's get out of here and grab a bite. I know this great sandwich place down the street."

Blayne didn't respond. He just stared across at Ben's raised eyebrows -- two quirked dark lines above blue eyes.

"Come on," Ben nagged, "you wouldn't let me buy you coffee. It's just a sandwich."

"I guess I should eat something quick before I head back to the office."

Ben was halfway out the door before Blayne was halfway through his sentence.

There's nothing wrong with getting lunch with this guy, Blayne told himself as he followed Ben. He only glanced slightly at the snug way Ben's jeans fit as he approached from behind.

By the time Blayne caught up, he found himself walking down a nearly empty street of brick buildings warmed by midday sun. He also found himself walking next to a complete stranger for no obvious reason, or no reason he wanted to admit.

He put his hands in his pockets awkwardly and jangled his change. It was a less obvious display of masculinity than rearranging his package through a thousand-dollar suit.

"It's right down on the corner," Ben said. He obviously didn't enjoy the silence either. Blayne's tinkling coins weren't holding up their end of the conversation.


"The sandwich place," Ben reminded him. "They make the best chicken pesto wrap."

"One of my favorites." Blayne tried to focus on lunch. He tried not to focus on Ben's smile or eyes or tight little tee shirt.

"How did I know you were going to say that?" He didn't point out that anything resembling pesto was just about as gay as the name Blayne. He just turned into the next doorway and put his key into the lock.

"I thought you said it was on the corner?"

"It is. This is my place." Ben opened the door and laughed at the horrified look on Blayne's face. "Don't worry. I just need to grab some more cash."

"That's all right," Blayne insisted. "I'll pay."

"I told you, I'm buying you a sandwich." Ben stood in the hall looking out at him. "Come on in. I'm not going to bite you."

Blayne walked into the narrow hall and shut the door behind him. True to his word, Ben did not bite.

He kissed him instead.

Blayne didn't know what to do. So, for the moment, he did nothing. He wasn't kissing another man. He was being kissed. There is a distinct difference, he told himself.

He felt the foreign scrape of stubble against his face. He felt Ben's hands, the long fingers of one on his waist, the other holding the back of his head. He felt soft lips and the strength of insistent desire. He felt a man's kiss, and he felt his own body respond whether his mind had made itself up or not.

Ben leaned up into their kiss. Blayne was taller and wider, but Ben didn't mind taking the upper hand. He could feel every inch of the man's bigger body through the thin, expensive material of his fancy suit. Every inch. He felt Blayne's immediate reaction pressing against him before the rest of that solid body budged.

Ben took that as a good sign. So he kept kissing those scared, motionless lips. He kept holding that rigid jaw and that narrow waist, and he waited for the rest of Blayne's body to catch up with the erection pressed against Ben's belly.

He felt Blayne's hand at the small of his back at the same moment he felt Blayne's lips soften and relax. Blayne kissed him back.

Now that the hard part was over, desire picked up the pace where surrender left off. Ben wriggled out of his shirt and jeans. Blayne's jacket and tie fell to the floor. The weight of his silver belt buckle brought the fancy pants to the ground as soon as it was unfastened. They stumbled together, still hobbled by remnant clothing, the few feet into Ben's bedroom. There were much harder parts to tackle now.

Ben stood there in white briefs, looking down at the man on his bed. What to do now? He tried not to look into Blayne's nervous brown eyes. He didn't want to spook him. He didn't want to scare this gorgeous closet case away before he was done with him.

Twice in a Blue Moon (adult)
Blue Moon Magic 2:
Honey Jans

Genre: BDSM Werewolf Paranormal

Length: Novella

Price: $4.99

http://www.loose- id.com/detail. aspx?ID=534

Charity Langford thinks her hormones have finally driven her around the bend. She cannot stop thinking about sex. She wants it night, day, and all of the minutes in between. Thing is, Charity is a virgin. A thirty-two-year- old virgin. She's also a werewolf, but she doesn't know it, and it's her first heat that's driving her mad.

But the middle daughter of Charles Langford and director of IT at Langford and Langford can't chase tail like a bitch in heat. She has an image to uphold. Desperate, she finds an online adult site, and uses sessions with her CyberLaird to get her rocks off and keep her mind on business.

PI Lucas Kendahl is an Alpha half-breed, a wolf without a pack. And after Charles Langford's Elites rescue him from captivity by the Betas, he owes Charles a favor. Like it or not, he's to take Charity as his mate -- and protect her from the Betas after her and her sisters. Fortunately, he likes it a lot. The pheromones Charity gives off are the sweetest form of torture for an unmated male; he's been masquerading as her CyberLaird, but he can't wait to get his hands -- and everything else -- on her.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Domination/submissi on, violence.
~ * ~

Charity rushed back to her office in the IT department, cheeks flaming. At least one of the Langford sisters was getting laid on a regular basis. But really, catching Chas and Justin making love in the executive washroom was just plain embarrassing. Even worse, it brought home to her the sex she wasn't having. Now she was the one taking pains to keep her fantasy life private.

Passing her staff, she avoided eye contact only to come upon the immovable object of her guard dog, Lucas Kendal. The PI sat at a desk across from her office where he could keep an eye on her. The work she'd assigned him as a cover sat ignored. Instead, he read an issue of Sports Illustrated; no doubt the swimsuit issue. It was a wonder he hadn't followed her into the ladies room.

The man practically oozed sex appeal. Her lips tingled as she stared at him. What might he taste like? She'd love to find out; maybe nibble his square jaw, and dip her tongue into that cute cleft in his chin. "Down, girl," she muttered in self-recrimination. He's hired to look after you, not teach you the joys of sex at your old maid age of thirty-two. Just then, he looked up, snagging her gaze, his quirked brow telling her he'd guessed her thoughts.

Cheeks flaming anew, she quickly shut the door and locked it. Thank goodness, she had her mystery Laird to dim the flames. This sexual itch, combined with the series of hacking attacks she'd thwarted, threatened to drive her crazy. Ending the barrage of attacks with her fireball program had made enemies. The pissed off hackers sent death threats, prompting her father to hire Kendal, who made her want to knock him to the floor and do him. It was a vicious cycle, one she couldn't break.

Throwing off those troubling thoughts, she peeled off the jacket of her business suit, loving the way her silk blouse felt against her bare skin, and rushed over to her computer, late for a date with her cyber Master. She had two hours until she had to leave for her staff's annual weekend getaway to the IT conference. A weekend far away from her annoying babysitter would be wonderful. Maybe she could hook up with a charming stranger in Las Vegas, sow a few wild oats, and get this desire for sex out of her system.

She slipped into her desk chair and reached for the keyboard. Her excitement building, she logged on to the online sex site she'd discovered last week and looked for his screen name. Yes! He was there. Wolf. A thrill went through her. She logged on as Honey and put on her headset, saying softly, "I'm here, my Laird."

"Follow me to our private room."

She shivered, hearing his sexy rumble; a thick brogue that rushed over her like warm honey, making her cream as she imagined what was coming. Sex with a guy wearing a kilt -- now, that had kinky possibilities. With guilty pleasure, she murmured, "Yes, my Laird." She could surrender to her online master, get off, and still maintain an illusion of icy reserve.

"How many times did you touch yourself today, Honey?"

His demand to know how many times she'd played with herself made her hesitate. Hell, the man wouldn't know one way or another if she told the truth or a lie. After a tense moment, she let out a sigh of surrender. Here comes the Langford upbringing again.finish what you start and never lie to anyone about anything. Blushing, she confessed, "Six, my Laird." His chuckle made her squirm in her chair; she was going to get punished. Good. She thought about the vibrator in her desk drawer; maybe he'd make her come three times in a row like last time.

"What a naughty girl not to wait for Master's permission."

His scolding echoed her thoughts. Why couldn't she control herself? "I'm sorry, Sir." She shivered with delight, getting into the secret fantasy.

"Did you obey my instructions, Honey?"

She brushed her bare breasts through her silk blouse, loving the free, sensual feeling of forgoing her usual bra and panties. "Yes, Laird, I'm not wearing underwear."

He took in a deep breath. "Good girl. Unbutton your blouse for me and play with your pretty tits."

"Yes, my Laird." Her hands quickly flew to do his bidding, slipping the ivory buttons out of their buttonholes until her blouse hung open. The air conditioning wafted a cool breeze over her budding nipples. With a sigh of pleasure, she cupped her full breasts and fanned her fingertips over the puckered nipples, murmuring at the pleasure. "I'm playing with them, Laird."

"Excellent. Imagine it's my big hands touching them, getting your nipples hard."

Closing her eyes, she pictured her mystery Laird, imagining her soft hands becoming his larger, harder ones, his rough fingertips rolling her stiff nipples. "My nipples are so very hard for you, Laird."

"Now pinch them for me, Honey, a small punishment for being late."

She pinched them firmly, whimpering at the erotic feeling.

"Good girl, now spread your legs and touch your pussy. Let me know if it's wet for me."

She leaned back in her big desk chair and spread her legs, her hand reaching under her skirt to touch her hot pussy. Her clit was stiff, her pussy quivering, and wet. She rubbed it, moaning. "I'm wet, Sir."

"Good. Play with that bad pussy; make it nice and creamy for me, but don't come."

She stroked her wet slit, her thumb rubbing her stiff clit. She couldn't hold back a moan as she got nearer to orgasm.

"Imagine it's my hand touching you, my fingers slipping inside you, getting you ready to be loved."

"Yes, my Laird. I'm imagining it's you. When can we meet for real?" she asked, desperate for a taste of the real thing.

"When I think you're ready, Honey, and not before."

She groaned at his rejection, but it didn't stop her hot response to his commands, or her growing need for him.

"Do you like the way it feels when my fingers slip inside you?"

She panted, her pussy clenching on her fingers as he spoke. "Oh yes, Laird, very much."

"Now stop."

Trembling on the brink of a huge orgasm, her fingers went still at his command. "Please, Sir."

"No. You're being punished for playing with yourself earlier. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Charity moaned as he disconnected and tried to stop, but couldn't. Her fingers plunged into her wet pussy, pretending they were her mystery Laird's. Ripples gathered, and she exploded into orgasm. She was dimly aware of her office door opening as she came.

Lucas Kendal stood inside Charity Langford's office doorway blocking anyone passing by from ogling his beautiful she-wolf mate in the throes of passion. Still shaken by the culture shock of being rescued by the Elite, only to have his half-brother Lash killed in the raid, he was still trying to get his bearings. The cyber sex he'd initiated to get her ready for mating had backfired, making him frustrated and horny as hell. Keeping his promise to take Lash's place as Charity's mate -- and not succumb to her charms -- was going to be harder than he'd thought. That wasn't the only thing hard, he thought ruefully, his cock throbbing.

He'd protect her; teach her passion, and who she was before she dumped him. He was no more than a stud. Hell, he ought to be used to it after the Betas' breeding farm. After the danger of the Blue Moon was past, her father would choose a more suitable husband for her, and he would move on, ever moving in the shadowy world of the Alphas. Still, he couldn't help watching her in the throws of an orgasm he'd initiated.

Charity's beautiful face was flushed with passion, her headset still in place, her eyes shut, as the extended orgasm swept her away. His hunter's gaze focused hungrily on her beautiful bare breasts, the pink nipples like ripe strawberries. How he ached to taste them. The sweet sound of ecstasy pouring from her full red lips was like music to his ears, and like an aphrodisiac to any rogue wolf within a sixty-yard radius. This was no longer about a turf war between wolfen societies. From the moment he'd met her two weeks ago this had turned very personal.

What a naughty girl to disobey him and keep playing with herself. She was so exquisitely responsive; it was hard for him to restrain his animal instincts. He itched to take her over his knee in retribution and then make love to her until she couldn't think straight. "Want me to take care of that for you, love?" he asked, working hard to keep the sibilant hiss of his Scot's ancestry out of his voice. It wouldn't do for her to guess that he and her Laird were one and the same. He watched her big violet eyes pop open.

Lucas smiled as her mouth formed a perfect "O" of shock, but true to her royal status, her dismay soon was replaced by an imperious glare.

"Who gave you a key to my office?" she demanded, quickly pulling her hand out from under her skirt and reaching for her blouse.

He kicked shut the door and held up his bare hands. "Look, love, no key. The door was unlocked." He didn't bother mentioning his fully developed skills gave him powers she'd never dreamed of. Opening a locked door was easy. He'd walk through fire to get to her and keep her safe. He closed the distance between them, noting her trembling hands as she buttoned her blouse. The lady wasn't as unperturbed as she pretended to be. Good, it suited him to keep her off balance. "We need to talk about this weekend."

"Save your breath, Kendal, I'm going."

"Have it your way," he murmured, focusing on her stiff nipples showing clearly through her silk blouse. "I'll have to go with you."

Noting the direction of his stare, she scowled and swiveled her desk chair so that her back was to him. She stood and put on her blazer. "I'll see you at the airport, then."

"It doesn't work that way and you know it. I've arranged transport for us. I'll be here to collect you in half an hour," he said, walking out of the room. For all his sexual experience, he couldn't help feeling like the vulnerable one.

Sweet Perfection (adult)
Melinda Barron

Genre: BDSM Multicultural Romantic Suspense

Length: Novel

Price: $5.99

http://www.loose- id.com/detail. aspx?ID=539

Albuquerque Detective Eric Neal likes things perfect, in his job and in his personal life. As a sexual dominant he's always been able to lead submissives to a higher plane, teaching them about themselves and helping them to grow.

But now, Eric himself is wounded. He killed a man in the line of duty and is having trouble coming to terms with the fact. Maybe he didn't have to kill him, maybe it was a bad decision -- it doesn't matter that he was cleared of charges; it's making him doubt himself. His job has suffered, and he's even lacking the self-assurance to play at Tygers, a BDSM club that he absolutely loves.

Angelica Vega owns and operates La Tienda Dulce, a bakery. Nicknamed Angel, she is anything but angelic. She's been a little wild in her life, searching for just the right thing, but never quite finding it. After Angel's store is broken into two nights in a row, and Eric's assigned to the case, she's pretty sure all that's changed.

Right away, Eric knows he's destined to master Angel. But his investigation reveals that Angel's employees are helping to run an illegal gambling operation. They have stolen money from the owner, Dustin Jaymes, who wants it back. Now, convinced that Angel has the money, he's kidnapped an employee until Angel returns it.

Eric will have to overcome his self-doubts to solve the crime, and lead the woman that he's come to love into the world of BDSM.

Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal intercourse, bondage, domination/submissi on, exhibitionism, masturbation, multiple partners, voyeurism.
~ * ~

Eric lifted his head from his notes to watch Angel walk toward the counter. He tried to ignore the growing woody that rubbed against his boxers. He could kick himself in the ass for not paying better attention to the report. He'd expected the owner of La Tienda Dulce to be an older woman, not the twenty-something, drop-dead gorgeous woman who'd sent his cock into overdrive when she'd smiled at him. He'd tried to stay aloof, tried to focus on work. Hell, he'd dug into the food she'd given him with the express idea that eating would take his mind off his hard-on. It hadn't worked.

When Sanchez had told him Angelica Vega was a piece of work, he didn't mention the woman was a knockout. Her dark brown eyes were full of mischief, and her body -- oh man, her body. Barely five-foot-five, maybe twenty-five or thirty pounds overweight, nice and curvy with large full breasts and lush hips. She had beautiful cocoa skin and midnight hair peeking out from under the bandana.

He imagined her on her knees, begging for his cock. That image was replaced with one of her turning so he could grab her hips and plant himself deep inside her. She would scream for more and he would give it to her. Over and over and over again. She would submit to him all night long, then beg to start again in the morning.

"Fuck." He breathed the word out under his breath and shifted in his seat. "Down, boy. You've been dead for a month and you pick this time to wake up?"

His unruly cock refused to listen to him. It started to pulse as Angel walked back to the table. When she pulled the bandana from her head and shook out her long black hair, he knew he had to have her. It was curly and hung halfway down her back.

Neal! Get a hold of yourself. What are you, a teenager? You have a job to do, so forget about topping her. Now.

He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze back to his paper. "Anytime you're ready to start, Ms. Vega."

"Angel, please. Ms. Vega is my bitch of a sister. Well, now she's Mrs. Castile."

He grinned and nodded. "OK. Angel."

"Look, it was pretty much the same Sunday and Monday mornings, except Monday the damage was worse. Can I just tell you one story, and then fill in the blanks for the difference?"

"Sure." Just hurry up and start before I tell you to get on your knees.

"Fine. When I went into the back, I turned on the light. At first, I thought maybe someone had forgotten to clean up Saturday night. There was flour on the counter and on the floor. And sugar. I can't begin to tell you what a mess that was to clean up."

Sugar. He imagined Angel on a worktable in the kitchen, with him above her, trailing a line of sugar over her nipples and down to her pussy. Or maybe he'd use warm melted butter. Watch her wiggle. See how long she could lie still, then think of a suitable punishment for the bad little baker when she moved against his orders.

His cock jerked and he growled lowly. "Go on."

"So I'm not so mad, or scared, at first. That's all that happened that night, except for the cookies. But on Monday morning, well, things were much worse. I came into the main room and turned on the lights. There are ten tables, each with four chairs. I had two tables, and eight chairs that weren't broken or overturned. They'd smashed the glass on the display cases. I just had it replaced on Tuesday, and I had an alarm system put in that same day. I had to close all day. Today's the first day we've been open since Monday."

Eric frowned at her. "You didn't have an alarm?"

"What were they going to steal, flour?"

He fought back laughter as his own words to his captain were thrown back in his face. "You do take in money every day. Do you have a safe?"

"Yes, a floor safe. But it's well hidden, and they never got anywhere near it. Saturday night they were only in the kitchen. Sunday night they ransacked the office."

"And they took nothing?"

"Cookies. Both nights they took cookies from the walk-in. That's the only thing not made fresh everyday."

"What time do your workers come in?" And how do you feel about submitting to a blond cop who's had problems getting it up lately? That is, until he saw you.

"Four-thirty at the latest."

"Yuck. No offense."

She laughed. "None taken, Detective. I'd much rather be in bed, too."

Eric recognized the invitation. It would be so easy to take her up on it. Sanchez's words came back to him. She's a piece of work. He wondered if that meant she was wild. That idea wouldn't bother Eric. In fact, it would be a turn-on. But he liked his women submissive, and he wasn't sure if Angel would fit that bill.

Of course, there were ways to find out. Subtle ways. But now wasn't the time. He just wished his cock would figure that out. At her mention of the word bed it felt like it had grown another foot.

"So there was no trouble after the alarm was installed?"

"None. They didn't even try to get inside."

"That means they figured what they wanted wasn't here, or they were pros and didn't want to risk getting caught. Tell me, Angel, what do you think they were looking for?"

"I don't know."

Their gazes locked and after a few moments, Eric nodded. She didn't look guilty, nor did she act guilty. He believed she really didn't know what was going on.

"I need to talk to your workers. If now's not a good time, I'll come back later, when the other two are here."

"No, you can talk to Carmen and Lilia right now. Tony is in the kitchen baking bread. You can go back there, but you'll have to cover your hair."

He nodded. "Tell me, Angel. Do you think your bitch of a sister had anything to do with this?"

"Rebecca? Doubtful. She doesn't want to have anything to do with me. She says I'm a disgrace to the family."

Hmm. Drugs? Alcohol? "What's the problem between the two of you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I'm one of five daughters, Detective. We range in age from thirty to twenty-one. Rebecca is the oldest, and I'm right behind her. We've very different."

She stared at him, then looked toward the counter.

"Yes?" He noticed the frown that marred her beautiful face. He wanted to kiss her lips until she smiled again.

She turned back to him.

"Rebecca is married, and has four children of her own, and she's pregnant again. All three of my younger sisters are married, too, like good little girls. Me, I like my freedom. And I like men. Do I need to elaborate?"

Oh, please do. "No, I get the point."

"My father still expects women to get married, have babies, and be submissive to their husbands. When I opened my business, my family thought I was overstepping my boundaries, as a woman. The only member of my family that still talks to me is my grandmother, which is strange since she's so traditional. "

"So, you're not a submissive little female." Damn it.

"Not in that respect, no." She stood and gathered her hair in her hands, pulling it into a ponytail before twisting it into a bun and wrapping the bandana over her head again. "But if you want to tie me up, Eric.may I call you Eric? Then come back later and we'll talk."
Message 14/09/2007 14:27:27


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Message 14/09/2007 14:27:27
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Oui, j'avais vu la mise en vente de Razor burn de Scott Pomfret et Scott Whittier sur loose-id. Il est sorti il y a déjà plusieurs années en version papier il me semble. Un bon moyen pour rebooster les ventes je suppose.
Message 14/09/2007 15:56:58
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