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412 pages, ebook
First published January 30, 2014
Three stories of passion, possession, and ink.

"Tell me I can keep you, and I'll stay."


"Give it a try, Constable. Walk on the wild side with me. We'll go as slow as you feel comfortable, but you know I'm not the big bad wolf everyone makes me out to be."

This was perfection. The way each movement flowed into the next. The give and take they'd created together. No shame. No guilt.

I won't beg Hatch for an orgasm. I can walk out that door and ten me will be happy to give me one before I get three steps. For that matter, I have a hand.Fine, don't beg. But ten men, really? What fucking kingdom are you queen of?
Lets go to him. Let me turn off the stove.There was no mentioning of her cooking, eating, or even her being in the kitchen.
He should be here by now, actually. We did laundry earlier and he wanted to stop and grab the clothes before he came out.Why would I need to know that they did laundry? He didn't pop out naked and this info didn't lead to anything interesting. Why mention at all?
He had her back. So near and yet a million miles apart with his actions between them like a great wall.Uhm, do they pay in threesome for tattoos there?
***
You smell like sex. Like sun and need. And woman. I want to lick you until you scream. You on board?
***
"I've never done threesome before.'' Both men's gazes landed on her. "Really (…)? Not even with the guy who gave you the ink?"
You have ink? I want to see it but I want to rub all over you too.I would actually like to see a threesome kiss O__O.
***
They both met her in a kiss then. Of three.

She was his. Good or bad, twisted or wrong, she was his, and he closed that last few steps with a hungry groan, buried his bruised hands in her hair, and kissed her.
She’d never been so aware of social bias in her life. Never so ashamed for not fighting it harder. She ignored the questioning looks being cast her direction and deliberately caught his fingers in her own in clear sight of anyone walking past their table.
Mitch kissed his way to her throat, sucking lightly as he pushed a hand under her breast. “I ached for you,” he whispered. “Every night I was tempted to drive to your house and beg for you to let me come in. Beg on my hands and knees for you to forget everything I’d said about it being better for us to be apart.”
This was perfection. The way each movement flowed into the next. The give and take they’d created together. No shame. No guilt. Just a reach for pleasure and the joy of giving it to someone you loved as well.