If I Were You: the special edition

 

If I Were You
Inside Out #1
by Lisa Renee Jones
a Mystery/Suspense Romance

IF I WERE YOU has a brand new cover and is in WALMART stores NATIONWIDE beginning TODAY! This is a limited edition mass market paperback and 99% of the paperback copies can only be found in WALMART stores.

**This is book 1 in the INSIDE OUT series, previously published with a different cover. The INSIDE OUT series, is currently in development for TV with Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland, Must Love Dogs, The Boiler Room, Austin Powers and more!). To read more about the show and to get ready for a BIG update soon, please visit the series page**.

AVAILABLE NOW

If I Were You (bk 1) Special Edition Paperback

Get your copy $4.37 copy at:  http://www.walmart.com/ip/44978692

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Blurb

From New York Times Best Selling author Lisa Renee Jones, a story with the heat of 50 Shades and the mystery of Pretty Little Liars. Now in development for cable TV with acclaimed producer Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland w/Johnny Depp)

How It All Started...

One day I was a high school teacher on summer break, leading a relatively uneventful but happy life. Or so I told myself. Later, I'd question that, as I would question pretty much everything I knew about me, my relationships, and my desires. It all began when my neighbor thrust a key to a storage unit at me. She'd bought it to make extra money after watching some storage auction show. Now she was on her way to the airport to elope with a man she barely knew, and she needed me to clear out the unit before the lease expired.

Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the intimate details of another woman's life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was invading her privacy. Why had she let these items so neatly packed, possessions that she clearly cared about deeply, be lost at an auction? Driven to find out by some unnamed force, I began to dig, to discover this woman's life, and yes, read her journals--dark, erotic journals that I had no business reading. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I read on obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I'd never dare experience on my own, compelled by the three men in her life, none of whom had names. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her and be sure she was okay.

Before long, I was taking her job for the summer at the art gallery, living her life, and she was nowhere to be found. I was becoming someone I didn't know. I was becoming her.

The dark, passion it becomes...

Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery, where I have always dreamed of being, and I've been delivered to the doorstep of several men, all of which I envision as one I've read about in the journal. But there is one man that will call to me, that will awaken me in ways I never believed possible. That man is the ruggedly sexy artist, Chris Merit, who wants to paint me. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn't find intriguing, but I do. I so do. I don't understand why his dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with  velvety promises of satisfaction. Chris is dark, and so are his desires, but I cannot turn away. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks and need for control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.

All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don't even know me, and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself -- do I know him? Did he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn't it seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.

Full Chapter

Chris maneuvers the 911 into the drive of a fancy high-rise building not more than four blocks from the gallery. Before I can question the fancy location being home to a pizza joint, as he’d called it, a valet is already opening my door.

“I’ll come around to get you,” Chris says with a touch on my arm. He doesn’t wait for a reply, climbing out of the vehicle and disappearing from full view.

I am both charmed and embarrassed at the prospect he believes the extra wine has made me a helpless lush. Worse, it wouldn’t be an assumption completely without merit, and this night is exactly why I never let myself lose control. It always backfires.

I unsnap the seat belt about the same moment Chris appears at my door. Holding my skirt down, I slide my legs to the ground, all too aware of his scorching gaze on my legs.

His hand appears in front of me, and I hold my breath, preparing for the impact of his touch, as I press my palm to his. He pulls me to my feet, onto the sidewalk beneath an awning, his hand settling possessively on my hip. The rich sensation of desire spreads through my limbs. I have never in my life reacted to a man this intensely.

Behind me, I hear the car door shut, and the engine rev, before the 911 pulls away. “This doesn’t look like a place that serves pizza,” I comment, but I am not looking at the building. It is Chris who has my full attention.

“Two blocks down,” he explains. “We can walk there if you want, or we can go upstairs to my apartment.”

Chris lives here, at least when he’s in the States. The implications of our location are clear.

His long fingers curl around my neck, under my hair, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. “Be warned, Sara. I’m no saint. If I take you upstairs, I’m going to strip you naked and fuck you the way I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met.”

The shockingly bold words ripple through me, and I am instantly aroused, squeezing my thighs together. He has wanted to fuck me since we first met. I want him to fuck me. I want to fuck him. Yes. Fuck. I want to give myself permission to forget good, proper behavior and fuck and be fucked. Wild, hot, uncontrollable passion, with no worries during and regrets in the aftermath. I’ve never let myself feel those things. When in my life have I ever experienced such a thing? When has any man ever made me think I could?

I press against his chest and lean back, my eyes seeking his. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not working.”

“Not yet,” he says, dark certainty to his tone, to the lines etched in his handsome face. It is as if this is simply a seed already planted that cannot be stopped.

“Not at all,” I counter.

He doesn’t immediately respond, and his expression is a mask of hard lines, his jaw set, tense. Slowly, his fingers slide from my neck to caress a path down my arm until his fingers lace intimately with mine. “Never say never, Sara,” he murmurs, and starts walking, pulling me with him.

Anticipation sizzles through me as we walk toward the automatic doors to be greeted by a man in a dark suit with an earpiece and buzz cut.

“Evening, Mr. Merit,” he says, and glances at me. “Evening, miss.”

“Evening, Jacob,” Chris replies. “Pizza coming our way. Don’t frisk the delivery guy.”

“Not unless he’s a delivery woman, sir,” Jacob comments, and I get the sense these two are familiar beyond the casual exchange.

I lift a tentative hand at Jacob. “Hi.”

“Ma’am,” he replies, and there is a slight shift in his gaze I’m certain he doesn’t intend for me to notice, but I do. I read it as surprise at my presence, and I can only assume I am far from Chris’s normal choice in women. It isn’t hard for me to imagine Chris being a blond bombshell kind of man, and where I hadn’t felt insecure moments before, I suddenly do now. I am angry at myself for feeling such a thing when I’ve promised myself no more self-doubt. When I crave the escape, the freedom, I was so close to experiencing only moments before.

The elevator is right off the fancy lobby and past a security booth. Chris punches the button, and the doors open immediately. I follow him inside and watch as he keys in a code. The doors shut, and he pulls me hard against him.

My hands settle on his hard chest, inside the line of his jacket, and warmth spreads through me. “What just happened?” His hand brands my hip.

My breasts are heavy, my nipples aching. “I don’t know what you mean,”

“Yes. You do. Second thoughts, Sara?”

I scold myself for being so transparent. “Do you want me to have second thoughts?”

“No. What I want is to take you to my apartment and make you come and then do it all over again.”

Oh . . . yes, please. “Okay,” I whisper, “but I think you should feed me first.”

His lips curve into a smile, his eyes dancing with gold specks of pure fire. “Then you can feed me.”

The bell dings, and the doors begin to open. Chris wastes no time pulling me to the edge of the elevator, and I watch in surprise as a gorgeous living room appears before me, rather than a hallway. Chris has a private elevator, and I am entering his private world, a world very unlike my own.

Chris releases my hand, our eyes lock, and I read the silent message in his. Enter by choice, without pressure. On some level I sense that once I enter his apartment, the decision to do so is going to change me. He is going to change me in some profound way I cannot begin to comprehend fully. I think he might know this, and I wonder why he would be so certain, what is etched with such clarity to him beneath the surface.

He has misplaced doubts of me in this moment, as he’d doubted me at the gallery. I can see it in his eyes, sense it in the air. I refuse to allow his lack of confidence in me, or anyone else’s for that matter, to dictate what I can or cannot do ever again. I’ve been there, and I ended up on the sharp edge of a cliff, about to crash and burn. I’d recovered, and I am beginning to see that locking myself in a shell of an existence isn’t healing. It’s hiding. Regardless of what happens at the gallery, I’m done hiding.

My chin lifts, and I cut my gaze from Chris’s and exit the elevator.

My heels touch the pale perfection of glossy hardwood floors, and I stop and stare at the breathtaking sight before me. Beyond the expensive leather furniture adorning a sunken living room with a massive fireplace in the left corner is a spectacular sight. There is a floor-to-ceiling window, a live pictorial of our city, spanning the entire length of the room.

Spellbound, I walk forward, enchanted by the twinkling night lights and the haze surrounding the distant Golden Gate Bridge. I barely remember going down the few steps to the living area, or what the furniture I pass looks like. I drop my purse on the coffee table and stop at the window, resting my hands on the cool surface.

We are above the city, untouchable, in a palace in the sky. How amazing it must be to live here and wake up to this view every day. Lights twinkling, almost as if they are talking to one another, laughing at me as they creep open a door to the hollow place inside me I’ve rejected only moments before in the elevator.

I swallow hard as the song “Broken” from the band Lifehouse fills the room, because Chris doesn’t know how personality is to me. I’m falling apart. I’m barely breathing. I’m barely holding on to you.

This song, this place with the words, and I am raw and exposed, as if cut and bleeding. Who was I kidding with the refusal to hide anymore? This is why I’ve hidden. The past begins to pulse to life within me, and I am seconds from remembering why I feel this way. I refuse to process the lyrics and shove them aside. I don’t want to remember. I can’t go there. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to seal those old wounds, desperate to feel anything but their presence.

Suddenly, Chris is behind me, caressing my jacket from my shoulders. His touch is a welcome sensation, and when his arm slides around me, his body framing mine from behind, I am desperate to feel anything but what this song, no doubt aided by the wine, stirs inside me.

I lean into him and hard muscle absorbs me. There is a strength to Chris, a silent confidence I envy, and it calls to the woman in me.

His fingers, those talented, famous fingers, brush my hair away from my nape, and his lips press to the delicate area beneath, creating goose bumps on my skin. And still, I barely block out the words to the song and their meaning to me.

As if he senses my need for more—more something, anything, just more—he turns me around to face him, and his fingers tangle almost roughly into my hair. The tight pull is sweet, dragging me from other feelings, giving me a new focus.

“I am not the guy you take home to Mom and Dad, Sara.” His mouth is next to mine, his clean male scent all around me. “You need to know that right now. You need to know that won’t change.”

But the song does change, and this time to another track on what must be a Lifehouse CD. “Nerve Damage” begins to play. I see through your clothes, your nerve damage shows. Trying not to feel . . . anything that’s real.

I laugh bitterly at the words, and Chris pulls back to study me. And I am not blind to what I see in the depths of his green eyes, what I’ve missed until now but sensed. He is as damaged as I am. We have too many of the wrong things in common to be more than sex, and the realization is freedom to me.

I curve my fingers on the light stubble of his jaw, the rasp on my skin welcome, and I have no idea why I admit what I have never said out loud. “My mother is dead, and I hate my father, so don’t worry. You’re safe from family day and so am I. All I want is here and now, this piece of time. And please save the pillow talk for someone who wants it. Contrary to what you seem to think, I’m no delicate rose.”

A stunned look flashes on his face an instant before I press my lips to his. The answering moan I am rewarded with is white-hot fire in my blood that he answers with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then, Chris is like no other man I’ve ever known.

His tongue plays wickedly with mine, and I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him, telling him I am here and present and I’m going nowhere. In reply to my silent declaration, his hand cups my ass and he pulls me solidly against his erection. Arching into him, I welcome the intimate connection, burn for the moment he will be inside me. My hand presses between us and I stroke the hard line of his shaft.

Chris tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the window, and I know I’ve threatened his control. Me. Little schoolteacher Sara McMillan. Our eyes lock, hot flames dancing between us and some unidentifiable challenge.

Some part of me realizes the window behind me is glass, and all things glass can break. He knows this, too, it’s in the dark glint of his eyes, and he wants me to worry about it. He’s pushing me, testing me, trying to get me to break. Because I slid beneath his composure? Because he really believes I am out of my league? And maybe I am, but not tonight. Tonight, as the song has said, I am broken, and for the first time perhaps ever, I am not denying the truth of all of my cracks. I am living them.

I lift my chin and let him see my answering rebellion. His fingers curl at the top of my silk blouse and in a sharp pull, material rips and the buttons all the way down pop and clamor in all directions. I gasp, in unfamiliar territory, and burning alive with the ache I have for this man.

He turns me to the window, and my hands flatten on the glass. Wasting no time, Chris unhooks my bra, and it and my blouse are off my shoulders in moments. He is behind me again, his thick erection fit snugly to my backside.

“Hands over your head,” he orders, pressing my palms to the glass above me, his body shadowing mine. “Stay like that.”

My pulse jumps wildly and adrenaline surges. I’ve been ordered around during sex, but in a clinical, bend over and give me what I want kind of way I tried to convince myself was hot. It wasn’t. I hated every second, every instance, and I’d endured it. This is different though, erotic in a way I’ve never experienced, enticingly full of promise. My body is sensitized, pulsing with arousal. I am hot where Chris is touching me and cold where he isn’t.

When he seems satisfied I’ll comply with his orders, Chris slowly caresses a path down my arms, and then up and down my sides, brushing the curves of my breasts. He’s in no hurry, but I am. I am literally quivering by the time his hands cover my breasts, welcoming the way he squeezes them roughly, before tugging on my nipples. I gasp with the pinching sensation he repeats over and over, creating waves of pleasure verging on pain, and the music is fading away, and so is the past. There is pleasure in pain. The words come back to me, and this time they resonate.

His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation, trying to pull them back.

Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. “Move them again and I’ll stop what I’m doing, no matter how good it might feel.”

I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by how enticed I am by this game we are playing. “Just remember,” I warn, still panting, still burning for his touch. “Payback is hell.”

His teeth scrape my shoulder. “Looking forward to it, baby,” he rasps. “More than you can possibly know.”

**Additional teasers attached to email**

For More information on The INSIDE OUT series page including: buy links, and excerpts for the additional books in this series.  Visit Lisa’s website here: http://bit.ly/1fWXnem

About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT SERIES, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.

Watch the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE

Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann.

Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.

STALK HER:  Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads

GIVEAWAY

Prizes include:

$500 gift card (winner’s choice!)

INSIDE OUT prize basket (full set of SIGNED INSIDE OUT books)

20 Chris Merit and Tote Bag sets

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TinkNCognito goes Undercover with Inside Out review

The Inside Out Trilogy

by TinkNCognito

IF I WERE YOU

I first read If I Were You by Lisa Renee Jones several months ago, after receiving a copy to read and review.  I was interested in the description immediately.

When Sara McMillan finds a stack of journals in a storage unit, she’s shocked and enthralled by the erotic life the writer led. Unable to stop reading, she vicariously lives out dark fantasies through Rebecca, the writer—until the terrifying final entry.

Certain something sinister has happened, Sara sets out to discover the facts, immersing herself in Rebecca’s life. Soon she’s working at the art gallery Rebecca worked at and meeting Rebecca’s friends. Finding herself drawn to two dangerously sexy men, the manager of the gallery and a famed artist, Sara realizes she’s going down the same path Rebecca took. But with the promise of her dark needs being met by a man with confident good looks and a desire for control, she’s not sure anything else matters. Just the burn for more.  (from Amazon.com)

I mean, from that description, who could resist, right?  Well, I was hooked from the beginning.  We start by reading an entry from Rebecca’s journal and it was so tantalizing that I just felt compelled to keep going.  As we get deeper into the story, we grow to really like Sara.   We see her struggle to find out more about Rebecca and do the right thing but she just keeps getting sucked further and further into the dark world that Rebecca described with such sensual detail.

When Sara meets Mark and begins working at the gallery, we can’t help but wonder ‘is this the man from the journals?’  And then Chris enters the picture – brilliant artist, seemingly dark side and he too could be the man Rebecca describes.  Sara is drawn to both men, both are powerful, sexy and both seem to want her!  But can she risk getting involved?  Must she get involved to find out what happened to Rebecca?  Could she resist the sexual desires they bring out in her or is she already lost to them?

As the story evolves, Sara discovers things about herself that she never knew.  She finds that she has her own dark sexuality but how far will that lead her?  Does the man who is capturing her heart and leading her down this path know what happened to Rebecca and can Sara take the chance and give her mind and body to him?

So many questions remain at the end of the book but the whole time we are on the edge of seat to see what happens to Sara, Chris and Mark and wanting to know what happened to Rebecca.  The book is smartly written, really sexy, and one that you can’t put down until the very last page and even then, you just want to keep going.

And thank the heavens we have the lost journals to hold us over until Being Me comes out on June 11th 2013.

Rebecca’s Lost Journals

The Lost Journals are brilliant fillers to a wonderful series.  As I was reading If I Were You, I kept thinking how interesting it would be to actually read more of Rebecca’s Journals.  Little did I know at the time that we would get to do just that.

The Lost Journals are broken into several pieces:
Volume 1 – The Seduction describes just how Rebecca gets involved with her Master.  She is seduced by this man into a dark, intense relationship.  We get to see what Rebecca is thinking as she is pursued and we get into the seduction as it unfolds.  The scenes are steamy and we are left panting and wanting more.

Volume 2 – The Contract describes just what the relationship will entail.  If she signs it, Rebecca will become the submissive for this very dark, very sexy man.  She may agree to give him her body but can she do this without giving away her heart?  Is this what she wants and can she keep him by signing.  We really want to know who this man is.  The sex keeps getting hotter so much so that we really understand how Rebecca is slipping under his control.

Volume 3 – His Submissive shows Rebecca’s life after signing the contract.  She is exploring her dark sexual side, submitting to his every whim, being shared by her Master with others and doing things, behaving in ways, she never would have thought possible.  But is she happy with herself and how her life is going?  Is she falling for her Master and will he ever feel the same way for her?

Volume 4 – My Master shows Rebecca in over her head with her sexy, dark Master.  She loves him but not what he wants from her.  And she doesn’t believe he loves her, isn’t sure he is even capable of love but can she get away from him?  He has had such control of her mind and body, how does she escape to find herself again.

Each of the Volumes have clues as to the identity of the mystery man but we never find out definitively who he is.  We are each left with our own speculations.  And we are no closer to finding out what happened to Rebecca but it was sure fun to try and answer those questions while reading her Lost Journals.

Being Me!!!

I arch into him, drinking in his passion, instantly, willingly consumed by all that he is and could be to me. . . .
Sara McMillan is still searching for Rebecca, the mysterious woman whose dark, erotic journal entries both enthralled and frightened her. Tormented by a strong desire to indulge the demands of her new boss while also drawn deeper into her passionate bond with the troubled artist, Chris Merit, Sara must face a past as deeply haunting as Rebecca’s written words. In one man’s arms, Sara will find the safe haven to reveal her most intimate secrets and explore her darkest fantasies. But is safety just an illusion, when the truth about Rebecca has yet to be discovered?  (from Amazon.com)

I have been lucky enough to get an ARC (advanced reader copy) of Being Me and what a ride!   We continue to see the relationship building between Chris and Sara but Chris is still holding back.  What secrets is he keeping and why can’t he open up to Sara?

We see more and more animosity between Chris and Mark and can’t help but wonder about it?  What was the cause and how far into their past does it go?  Chris and Sara are definitely a couple but Mark still seems in pursuit of Sara as well.  Is it because Sara is with Chris or is there more going on than meets the eye?

And what has happened to Rebecca?  Is Sara living her own life or reliving Rebecca’s?

I really don’t want to give anything important away but we do get lots of answers in this book.  It is full of surprises and more intense sexual situations but when the last page is read, we are still left wanting to know more.  Will  Chris and Sara grow closer or will his dark past drive a wedge that even love can’t conquer.  For the answers, we will have to wait until the final installment of this great series – Revealing Us – which hits bookstores on September 10th, 2013.


BEING ME releases on Tuesday, June 11, 2013     AMZ.com

Comments:  

What question/plot point do you hope gets answered in Being Me?

Commentators will be added to this week's Being Me contest.  One winner will receive a copy of Being Me on it's release date.  Drawing held night before release date Must leave contact info to be notified. 

Snippet Showcase #5: Lisa Renee Jones and Sable Hunter

Cowboy Angel is here to wish all our Inner Goddesses a Happy Birthday.  A year ago, we began imagining the type of site we would like to be involved in as readers:  where readers of Romance and Erotica could meet up with others and chat about the books they read.  Our online bookclub forum   grew and evolved, and is now celebrating her birthday.

Cowboy Angel is providing the beefcake.  More desserts in the Hottie & Gentleman's Poker threads. And our wonderful authors are providing the party favors:  Snippets everyday this week for you to enjoy!  Tink and I providing the gifts:  FREE SIGNED BOOKS AND SWAG!

Two ways to win:

1.  Joining Inner Goddess is an automatic entry. The more you comment on the forum, the more entries you earn.  Rules here.
2. Daily Rafflecopter entries on each Snippet Showcase.  You can enter every day! so, be sure to return.

So let the Party begin.......................

Snippet Showcase:  Lisa Renee Jones and Sable Hunter

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Lisa Renee Jones' Inside Out Trilogy and Rebecca's Lost Journals

If I Were You, bk 1:  He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn’t find intriguing but I do. I so do. I don’t understand why his dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with velvety promises of satisfaction. . . .
Rebecca's journal comes to Sara McMillan by chance, when she inherits the key to an abandoned storage locker and she finds a scintillating account of Rebecca’s affair with an unnamed lover, a relationship drenched in ecstasy and wrapped in dark secrets.

Obsessed with discovering Rebecca’s destiny after the entries come to an abrupt end, Sara does more than observe the players in the woman’s life; she immerses herself in the high-stakes art gallery world Rebecca inhabited—and is magnetically drawn to two men. Which one seduced Rebecca with his masterful and commanding touch and brought her fantasies to exquisite life? On a daringly erotic escapade, Sara follows Rebecca’s path to fulfill her own hidden longings. But after she tastes the forbidden pleasures Rebecca savored, will Sara be helpless to escape the same submissive fate?

Being Me, bk 2:  releases June 11, 2013
I arch into him, drinking in his passion, instantly, willingly consumed by all that he is and could be to me. . . .

Sara McMillan is still searching for Rebecca, the mysterious woman whose dark, erotic journal entries both enthralled and frightened her. Tormented by a strong desire to indulge the demands of her new boss while also drawn deeper into her passionate bond with the troubled artist, Chris Merit, Sara must face a past as deeply haunting as Rebecca’s written words. In one man’s arms, Sara will find the safe haven to reveal her most intimate secrets and explore her darkest fantasies. But is safety just an illusion, when the truth about Rebecca has yet to be discovered?

Revealing Us, bk 3: The exciting conclusion to Sara's self-journey, due to be released Sept. 10, 2013.

Snippet

The elevator opens and he waits for me to enter, and I do. With fast steps, I rush inside and whirl around to confront him. He stalks forward, and this time he doesn’t avoid looking at me, his expression etched with pure determination and some raw, dark emotion I cannot fully name. I don’t get the chance to try.

Before a word is out of my mouth, and I have many intended, the bags he’s holding hit the floor and Chris has pressed me back against the wall. My purse tumbles from my arm and his powerful thighs encase mine; his hips mold my hips. I gasp with the rough tangle of his fingers in my hair and the blaze of his eyes as they capture mine. I am angry with him. I am aroused. And when his mouth claims my mouth, his tongue slicing past my lips with a delicious lick followed by another, demanding my response, I am at his mercy. My fingers curl around his t-shirt and I push away the tiny space between us, molding myself against him. He owns me and, considering how the past thirty minutes have gone, this terrifies me, but I’m all in with Chris. I decided that long before Paris. I am his to command, moaning with the taste of him, sultry and male, on my tongue.

His hand sweeps up my side, fingers flexing over my ribs, palm covering my breast. My nipple tightens in anticipation of the tug that follows and I moan, my need to touch Chris almost unbearable. I reach for his shirt, intending to push beneath, but he doesn’t let me.

Chris’s fingers close around my wrist and I know he is in that dark place, where he doesn’t let me touch him—but I am in a dark place, too, on edge, ripe with my anger and unwilling to be submissive to him. Challenging his silent message of control, I reach for his shirt with my free hand and he shackles my wrist as well and tears his mouth from mine. Our eyes lock, the sound of our heavy breathing filling the air and the motion of the elevator I didn’t even know was moving swaying our bodies. The floor vibrates slightly beneath our feet and I sense, rather than see, the doors behind Chris slide open, but still we stand there, still we stare at each other.

“They don’t get to tell you who I am,” he says. His voice is a rough growl, low and tight. “I do. I tell you and I show you so you get the truth, not their fabrication of it.” A muscle in his jaw flexes. “Understand?”

My anger and fear dissolve instantly. He’s not pulling away from me. He’s angry that Amber and Tristan might taint my view of him when he’s already convinced I’ll hate him before this discovery process is over.

“Do you understand?” he demands when I apparently don’t answer fast enough.

This time I don’t fight the bark of his order, understanding the desperateness beneath its surface. “Yes. Yes. Chris, I—”

His fingers tangle in my hair again, tugging my head back in that deliciously rough way he does. Dark Chris calls to me and I no longer fight answering. “Do not go there without me again.” His voice is gravelly; raw like the emotion I’ve seen in his face and tasted on his lips.

“Me going there wasn’t what you think it was, Chris.”

His eyes flash with disapproval. He is not pleased, or accepting, of what I’ve said, and his mouth closes down on mine, punishing, controlling. His tongue thrusting and tasting, before he repeats his words, his fingers stroking my breasts, teasing my nipple. “Do not go there again without me, Sara.”

“I won’t.” The words come out a hoarse groan as his hand strokes a path up and down my side, and back over my breast. His touch is heavy, the air thick, and I’m certain he isn’t convinced. “I won’t go back without you.”

His fingers curl around my neck and he stares down at me, searching my face with such intensity it feels as if he’s seeing straight to my soul. And I welcome the invasion. I welcome him. Seconds tick by, and I have no idea what he sees or doesn’t see in me, but he drags my mouth to his and kisses me.

The silky hot stroke of his tongue is a shot of adrenaline and desire that spikes through my body and creates a tingling sensation from head to toe. I shudder with pleasure and drink him in, tasting the bittersweet hunger in him, the anger and torment. I burn to touch him beyond where my fingers rest on his chest, to feel hard muscle flex beneath my fingers. But control is his outlet of choice when there is no whip, no pain. And I am no longer angry, no longer rebelling against his demands. No longer fighting his need for an outlet I have long ached for him to know he has with me, in me.

I tremble with the caress of his hand over my waist, traveling to my hip, and curving around my backside to firmly pull me hard against his thick erection. His palm skims upward to the small of my back, and flattens, molding me even closer. I moan into his mouth and he groans in response, his tongue delving deeply, hot with growing demand, with a palpable urgency. And his hands are everywhere, touching me, stroking me, caressing me, driving me wild and, before I know what’s happening, he’s shoving my jeans down my legs. I blink and my boots are gone and I’m half-naked in an elevator with the doors locked open.

I might have protested our location, asked to move to another room, but Chris turns me to the wall and his hands slide, slow and firm, possessively down my waist and over my hips. Feeling his gaze rake over my body, I am wet and weak in the knees. He cups my cheeks from behind and steps forward, pressing his lips to my ear. “Tonight, I want to spank you, but I won’t. Not when it would be punishment. I won’t ever do that to you. But don’t think that means I won’t want to.”

I understand Chris. I don’t know how or why but, deep in our souls, we connect, and I know what he is doing. He’s showing me a hard exterior but all I see is vulnerability, a need that tonight has sparked, to show me a darker, more dangerous side of himself, and have me not run for cover. “You can’t scare me away, Chris. So throw all the words you want at me. I’m still here. I’m still not going anywhere. And in case you forgot, I liked it when you spanked me.”

His hand finds my stomach and then presses deeper between my legs, until his fingers tease my clit. “Maybe this time I’ll tie you up and flog you.”

“Do it.” His fingers stroke into the silky wet V of my body, and I am panting, barely able to speak, but I swallow and somehow finish my challenge. “The more you push me, the more I push back, Chris.”

He nips my earlobe and I can feel him unzipping his pants. “So you say,” he murmurs.

“So I know.” Throwing caution to the wind, I press onward, trying to unleash the pent-up energy in him he bottles until it later explodes. “Only one of us is running. Only one of us is afraid of what I have yet to discover, Chris.”

The air crackles and his hand goes to my waist, fingers flexing into my flesh, and I revel in the certainty I’ve succeeded in taking him to the edge. “You think I’m running?” he demands.

“No. I think you’re trying to make me run so you can blame me if we fail.”

His cock presses between my legs. “Does that feel like I want you to run?” He enters me, driving hard inside me without any prelude. “Does that?” And then he is thrusting, reaching around me to meld his hand to my breast, holding onto it, and me. He thrusts again, burying himself, with a fieriness that outreaches pure physical need. Oh yes, I have made him angry and I am glad. I want this side of him, I want all of him. And damn it, he just keeps trying to deny me. He keeps trying to hold back and, yes, he keeps trying to make me run.

I press my hand to his hand where it’s melded to my breast, teasing me, holding him there, holding on and not planning to ever let go. Pleasure splinters through me with each thrust of his cock, each moment he’s buried deep inside me. Sensation after sensation begins in my sex and rushes through nerve endings. I am lost in how he feels, how I feel, and I arch into him, my muscles clench around him, and then I cannot breathe. My orgasm takes me by surprise, enveloping me, consuming me. I rise to the top of it far too quickly and come down far too hard and fast, but just in time to feel Chris shudder, his body tensing with his release. He stills, burying his face in my neck, and his body slowly relaxes. For several moments he holds me there, and I’m not sure either of us breathes, let alone speaks or moves. I am not sure what to say or what to do next.

Abruptly, he pulls out of me, and I don’t know why, but an unusual sense of complete, utter emptiness washes over me. The “why” is answered when I start to turn to find him already headed out of the elevator. I stare after him, knots balling in my stomach. Maybe I pushed the wrong buttons. Maybe I pushed him to far or too hard. Maybe I made a mistake.

Read Rebecca's Lost Journals to get more of the story......

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Sable Hunter's Hell Yeah! series

 Cowboy Heat, bk 1:     Aron McCoy has sworn off women - except for sex. When Libby Fontaine arrives at Aron's Tebow Ranch, she is determined to cram a lifetime of living into a few short months. The doctor has told her that she can't count on her remission from leukemia being a permanent one. Their attraction to one another is instantaneous and overwhelming. But when Aron finds out that Libby is innocent - he backs off. He has nothing to offer a girl who deserves white lace and promises. Then Aron catches Libby pleasuring herself in his stock tank and hears her cry out his name - and the heat is on.

Snippes - The Erotic Version

Snippet 1 - Lord Have Mercy!

She was breathtaking.

He didn’t know where to look first, or where to look longest. Tight jeans encased a sweet, heart-shaped little butt that made him want to bare his teeth. Her legs were long and all he could think about was what they would feel like clasped around his hips. A form-fitting, red T-shirt proclaimed that she was “Raw Honey – Sweet as Sugar, Twice as Addictive”. The implications of those words practically had him bowing at her feet. He bet her cream would taste like raw, wild honey. His fingers itched to see if he could make them meet around that trim little waist. When his eyes roved northward, tears almost came to his eyes. She bounced a little bounce in response to something funny that Jacob had said, and when she did, he wanted to step forward and catch those sweet little tits before she hurt herself. Maybe, he ought to change his job description – he could go from being a simple cowpoke to a full-time, full-service breast support man. By their jiggle and wave, there was no doubt in his mind that those tits were real and in dire need of about an hour of attention from his hands and tongue.

Realizing he was about to embarrass himself, he took off his Stetson and held it below his belt buckle, effectively hiding her unexpected and tremendous impact on his libido. His smooth move did not go unnoticed by Noah, who smirked from across the room. Casually, Aron shot him the finger. Ass-hole. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him this way, if ever. Watching his brothers surround the tempting little morsel, Aron opted to utilize a tactic that had come in handy when the McCoy’s would be out carousing pre-Sabrina. They had tried to avoid stepping on one another’s toes, romantically speaking. Whenever one would see a little filly that caught his eye, he would look at her and simply say one word that would alert the others that she had been claimed and was strictly off-limits to the rest of the McCoys. Stepping closer to the table, he loudly proclaimed, “Tag!”

As soon as the word had left Aron’s mouth, the younger men looked up at him in surprise. Isaac bit back a snort, and Jacob simply said, “Thank God.” Their brother had finally decided to come out of hiding.

Snippet #2 

A splash outside the window of his second story studio alerted him that something was messing around the stock tank. Aron couldn’t imagine. What in the world?

She walked up to the stock tank, trailing her hand in the cool, clear water. The glow was bright enough from the security light that he could see her quite clearly. The night was still enough that he could hear her sigh. She held the towel together over her breasts; her legs were long and shapely. Moonlight gave the pale skin of her arms and legs an iridescent quality. She could have been a wood nymph come out to play. Aron was totally enchanted. How he had walked away from this sweet thing was one of life’s great mysteries. Midnight black hair hung to her waist in thick, spiral curls. For a few tense minutes, Aron forgot to breathe.

The towel dropped.

Aron groaned.

Underneath that towel was nothing but beautiful, smooth, creamy skin. God in heaven, she was nude! Gloriously, magnificently nude! How long had it been since he had seen a naked woman? Too long. Way, too long. And no woman he had ever been with had looked like this one. The clothes that she had encased herself in ought to be taken out back and burned. They were a sacrilege to nature. Nothing should ever hide those luscious hills and valleys from his hungry eyes.

She still had her back to him. It appeared that she was trying to figure out how to climb into the tank. There was a ladder about twenty feet to the left of her, but if he called out that information he would give himself away and she would vanish from his sight like a frightened fairy. She placed her hands on the rim of the tank and tried to pull her little self up and over. Partially successful, she managed to get her incredible ass elevated so that he could see a sweet little crack and past that – paradise.

He couldn’t help but smile as he listened to her little grunts as she exerted herself. She wasn’t very strong and soon she dropped back to the ground with a disappointed huff. Aron rubbed his palms on his denim-covered knees, aching to rub them over the tempting curve of her bottom.

“Turn around, baby. Turn around.” At that moment, he would have gladly given his share of Tebow to see her breasts. “Turn around, sweetheart, lest I die,” he whispered.

Snippet #3

Smiling, he watched her frolic in the water. Right by herself, she laughed and played. Aron wondered if she was lonely. Surprisingly, he wanted to know. Seeing her enjoy these few, stolen moments after the difficult day she had endured, tugged at places in his heart that he had thought were out of commission. With one hand, he stroked his penis, the other laid on the windowsill. He rested his chin on his forearm, captivated by her beauty and charm.

Then the game changed. Completely.

Libby began to masturbate.

Hypnotized, he watched her lean back on the rim and raise her body in a float. Aron had to bite his lip to keep from crying out when she cupped her own breasts and began to caress the tender mounds. Mesmerized, he watched her shape them and coax them into bountiful little mountains of gorgeous female flesh. When she began to pull on her nipples, stretching them out and milking them between her fingers, his hips bucked, begging to be allowed to join in the party. It wasn’t just a few half-hearted tugs; Libby relished the attention that she gave her tits. Apparently, she had spent a great deal of time practicing this particular skill, and God, if Aron had been called upon to judge her performance, he would have given her a 10.

His grasp on his own penis had tightened, and the rate at which he pumped had gradually increased. Aron realized he was leaking pre-cum and a raging eruption wasn’t far off. He imagined joining her in the warm water, slipping up close and covering one of those luscious nipples with his eager lips. God, he would suck and slurp, devouring all of that precious womanly flesh like a starving man presented with a T-bone steak. Shit!

Aron’s breath hung in his throat when he watched one hand slip down past her waist to the dark little patch of curls. Her fingers curled and dipped, rhythmically working on her sweet spot. She thrashed in the water, trying to stay afloat, even while her legs and hips pumped in absolute abandon. Aron’s hand kept up with her erotic dance, his own level of excitement reaching plateaus that he had rarely ever scaled.

Then, the world stopped turning. Aron thought that if he died at that moment, he would have no regrets. Huge plumes of cum sprayed up and over the windowsill, raining down the side of the barn. Never had he climaxed with such a violent explosive force. His eyes never left her, his ears were attuned to every word that she screamed. And if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the sound of her husky little voice. For, as Libby Fontaine brought herself to a glorious completion, it was his name that she shouted. “Aron! Aron! Oh, God, Aron, I want you so much!”

Snippet #4

“I’m not with Jacob,” Libby informed her. “I’m with Aron.” Jacob was surprised that Libby would publicly claim Aron – pleasantly surprised.

“Interesting!” the woman exclaimed. “Jacob does she know who I am?”

“Who are you?” Libby asked, just drunk enough to care.

“I’m Sabrina McCoy, Aron’s wife.” The smooth answer made Libby’s skin crawl.

Libby’s eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not. You’re divorced. You weren’t a good wife.” Libby repeated things well.

“Aron wasn’t much of a husband. And being his wife wasn’t much of a life.” Her flip answer made Libby’s blood boil.

“Anyone lucky enough to be married to Aron McCoy should get down on their hands and knees and thank the Lord for their blessings.” This was a long speech for an inebriated woman.

“The only blessing about living at Tebow was the smorgasbord of gorgeous McCoy men to sample. Jacob here, was one tasty morsel.” She leered at Jacob. About that time Isaac walked up. “And here’s the tastiest one of them all.” Isaac looked grim, and his mouth was twisted as if he had bit into something bitter.

“You didn’t sleep with Aron’s brothers.” Libby was furious.

“I didn’t?” Sabrina teased Libby. “And how would you know?”

“I know them. And they wouldn’t betray their brother that way.” She was emphatic in her support of the McCoy brothers.

“Where is your lover, if that is what he is? And why are you here with Jacob and Isaac if you belong to Aron? Are you following in my footsteps, sweetie?” The woman was beautiful. Libby could see why Aron would have been attracted to her. And she was dressed to kill. Libby felt plain and out of place next to her.

“That’s none of your business,” Libby flared. “But I can promise you that Aron’s brothers treat me with the greatest respect.”

“How about the younger one? Nathan, was it? Is he still as much of a stupid retard as he used to be? Wasn’t he born that way? Was it a birth complication or something?” Sabrina stood there looking smug while she lambasted every member of the family that Libby loved so well.

“He has dyslexia, you baboon. I’ve heard enough from you! That’s it.” Libby handed her wine cooler to Isaac. “You’re going down, you loud-mouthed Jezebel!” Without warning, Libby propelled herself right on top of Sabrina Jones – ex-McCoy. Before Sabrina could get her bearings, Libby had knocked her into a table that had been filled with glasses and beer. Then, into another table. Crashes of glass and gasps of amusement echoed through the bar. And it wasn’t over.

“Catfight!”

Libby would not give up. Every time Sabrina would try and get away, Libby would get right in her face again. Isaac held Jacob back - they were fascinated at the little thing’s determination. When she picked up a chair to bash over Sabrina’s head, Jacob’s common sense finally won out and he intervened. Shorty was not happy. He was on the phone and naming names. Jacob held Libby off the ground while she kicked and wiggled to get down and back into the fight. “If I ever see you anywhere near a member of the McCoy family again, I’ll take you apart with my bare hands. I’ll rip your hair to smithereens. I’ll break both your knee caps and stomp your toes . . . . .” The threats trailed off as Libby was carted out of the bar to ensure the safety of the clientele. Isaac and Jacob followed at a safe distance.

Isaac was troubled to see that Sabrina had landed a blow or two. There were bruises and scrapes on Libby’s arms and a dark, fist-shaped mark was starting to show on her left jaw.

“You have got to come and get them Deputy; I’m tired of these McCoy’s tearing up my place.” Shorty called on his cell phone.

“Shit, Jacob. We’re about to get arrested,” Isaac whispered. He couldn’t afford to spend any more time in jail.

“Actually, I think Libby is the one that’s in trouble,” Jacob observed - which was worse, much worse.

“With the law. That’s nothing. We’re the ones up shit creek without a paddle. We have to face Aron.” Isaac was right – and that was a scary proposition.

Snppet 5

He was resting almost on top of her, but he wasn’t crushing her. To tell the truth, his proximity made her feel absolutely safe and protected. And the words he was saying were music to her ears. She had thought she didn’t want to hear them, but she was wrong.

“Right. Unalienable rights. And one of those rights is to be able to share my heart with you, and my thoughts, and my feelings.” He was so sweetly serious.

“Okay, I guess.” Was he expecting her to disagree?

Good enough. Shifting her in the hammock, they lay side by side, facing one another. He skated his lips over her forehead, down her cheek and kissed her in the corner of her mouth. “I love you, baby.” His tone was so tender, it made her heart melt. This giant of a man was openly declaring his love for her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. “Did you hear me, Elizabeth? I love you. I love you. I love you.” As he said the words, he wrote them on the smooth skin of her back.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Yes, I hear you and I feel you.” She leaned into him.

“So, what do you have to say?”

“I love you more than I love life.” Loaded comment. “I’m honored above all women to be the recipient of your love.” Then she grinned at him wickedly – “and my name’s not Elizabeth.”

“Not Elizabeth? Well, Libby-bell, what is your name? I think as the declared love of your life, that I am entitled to that important piece of information.”

“Can’t you guess?” she teased. “You almost said it just a minute ago.”

“What did I say?” He scrunched up his forehead, trying to recall.

“I know it’s hard for you to remember, you talk all the time.”

“Are you saying I rattle like a two-bit radio?”

“No, I didn‘t say that.” He pulled at her braid. “Now, what is the last name I called you. You’re going to have to help me Libalicious, I’m getting old.”

“Libalicious? I see a whole new phase of this game coming on.”

He glared at her.

“Okay, you called me Libby-bell.” For a moment, he looked confused and then his eyes widened. He still didn’t say anything, so she sighed. “I feel like my name should be Rumpelstilskin.”

At his horrified expression, Libby convulsed in laughter. “I didn’t say my name was Rumpelstilskin. Think, McCoy! Think!”

Holding her steady, so she wouldn’t shake them out of the hammock, he finally said. “I got nothing.”

“My name is Liberty. Liberty Bell Fontaine.”

Aron roared. He got the giggles and he couldn’t stop. He rolled out of the hammock and just had to walk away, laughing all the while. Libby almost got offended. “Hey, it’s not that funny.”

“Oh, yes it is. Suddenly it all makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“How I’ve been acting.”

“Run that by me again.”

“You’ve had me chasing you around in circles. And I’m going to catch you and keep you, damn it, I’m entitled. It’s my unalienable right.”

“What right?” she was growing flustered.

He rejoined her in the hammock, cradling her close. “I am a man, Libby. And I am an American.” Oh, boy - here we go again. Was he about to sing, ‘God Bless America’? “And as an American man, I am entitled to life, Liberty, (that’s you) and the pursuit of happiness.”

The hammock rocked back and forth as Aron pumped hard within the loins of the woman he loved. She had her legs wrapped around him and her hips were working in tandem with his. The delicious friction of his penis sliding in and out of her body was dragging back and forth across her G-spot, causing her to quiver and quake with delight. Since Aron had told her he loved her, he had developed a voracious sexual appetite. His whole demeanor had changed; he was more commanding, more demanding of her complete response and her utter surrender. It was as if he had conveyed to her that things had changed, she was now his possession, his responsibility. Libby moved her hands over his chest; she combed her fingers through his chest hair, feeling the small swelling of his nipples. She found this more than exciting; if it were possible she would have rose up into his body, crawled right up into him and made herself at home. Watching the play of emotions on his face, she longed to give back to him the same measure of pleasure that he was giving to her. Impulsively, she sat up and mimicked one of his moves. Taking one of his nipples into her mouth, she began to suck on it, tonguing it, scraping it with her teeth. He let out a low, lusty growl; increased the speed of his thrusts and pushed his chest toward her, encouraging Libby in her sensual pursuits. “That’s right, baby. Love me; love me with all you’ve got.”

And so, she did.

Their mutual climaxes rushed upon them like a run-a-way mine train. Neither one of them had realized what a difference love made. But, it did. Love released energy and fed hungers. Love built bridges and tore down walls. Love settled doubts and answered questions. Love conquers all.

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