Releasing her hair, I grasped her breast and wrapped my other hand around her waist to stroke her clit. Eleanor's cries surrounded me and her arm came up to wrap tightly around my neck again as if to hold me closer. I turned my head to lick her neck, briefly biting down onto her earlobe. I sat still on my knees and she rocked harder and faster against me. I tightened my arm around her ribcage to hold her firmly to my chest so I could start to pump my hips to meet hers.
Her sounds became frantic and suddenly Eleanor screamed, clamping down on me. The sensation of the hard, powerful contractions rippling through her pushed me over the edge and I roared as a mind-blowing orgasm rocketed through me. I thrust into her one final, hard time and felt myself pouring into her, filling her. When the most intense feelings subsided, I sat back on my heels and brought her down to sit on my lap. Still buried inside her, I kissed along the side of her neck as Eleanor rolled her hips slightly, nestling harder against me as we both rode out our climaxes.
I ran my hands along her thighs and her sweat-damp belly, enjoying the soft slickness of her skin and the feeling of her labored breath. I felt like I could have stayed that way forever, the cool air from outside bringing down the sizzling heat of our skin as we fully melded together. Soon, though, I lowered her to the bed and settled beside her, curling her around me so that our legs tangled and my arms held her tightly against me. We needed to get some sleep. The rest of our honeymoon started in the morning and I didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. We had both missed too much to ever miss anything else.
THE END
Rebel (Sample)
An Amazon Top 25 Bestseller *247 Customer Reviews – 4.8/5 Stars
Savage Rival. Hardened Marine. Ruthless Hero.
I can have any woman I want,
Except Bree.
She's untouchable. My enemy's daughter.
But I wanted her the moment I saw her.
Her sweet lips. Her curvy hips.
I'm addicted to her taste.
She submitted to me eight years ago.
But I screwed up.
Now I'm back. She hates me.
She has a son now and I'm damn sure he's mine.
A century-old feud kept her from me in the past.
Now nothing will stop me from having all of her.
She may be the enemy's daughter, but I'll risk it all for my family.
This war is going to leave someone dead,
And I swear it won't be Bree.
Will we make it down the aisle or will this feud destroy us all?
Chapter One
Bree
Eight Years Ago
I see him moving between the arches of purple and silver balloons and among the lavish decorations that fill the ground floor of my family's home. He speaks to no one, his gaze rarely leaving me. I flit from room to room, watching him from my peripheral vision. He doesn't approach but watches me from afar. A small, enigmatic little smile touching the corners of his lips whenever our eyes meet.
A four-piece string quartet plays in one room – but no one is really listening. Personally, I would have preferred a band that plays music I actually love – maybe some Taylor Swift or Lady Gaga. Something that my friends and I would have liked. After all, it is my birthday.
But, my folks had vetoed that idea and went with the string quartet, saying a pop or rock band would not be appropriate. But, whatever. Everything else about tonight is incredible. It's a night of pure magic and I couldn’t possibly be any happier.
“This party is amazing,” Elizabeth squeals as she grips my arm.
She's bouncing up and down so hard, she's nearly knocking my mask off. I laugh and make her stop moving before I straighten my mask out. I selected my favorite colors for the masked ball and had my outfit perfectly matched. A sexy, strapless purple gown made of satin with a plunging neckline, and a silver mask adorned in purple beads, delicate lace, and feathers, complete the look.
The whole scene – everybody in formalwear and beautiful, intricate masks – is amazing. Gorgeous. It reminds me of those movie scenes of the elegant formal balls held at the court of a king or a queen. Or like one of those old time Scarlett O'Hara type Southern plantations – which is, without a doubt, what my parents were aiming for. They are very proud of their Southern heritage, after all.
I don't feel the same sort of attachment to or pride in being a Southerner. Not like my parents and brother do. I don’t feel like I should be proud of being born and growing up in Georgia – it was purely a matter of chance. But hey, whatever works for them.
I've been wandering around for a while, just looking at it all. I’m completely in awe at how gorgeous and elegant everything is. Even though I'd chosen the theme for my birthday party, it turned out so much more beautiful and amazing than I ever imagined it would be.
“I'm so glad you're here,” I say, pulling Elizabeth into a tight embrace.
“Like I would have missed it,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “My best friend only turns eighteen once.”
Over Elizabeth's shoulder, I see the man again as he makes his way through the crowd. A familiar nervous chill mixes with the excitement running through me. He cuts a striking figure in what looks to be a very expensive, well-tailored tuxedo – obviously not a cheap rental like some of my friends are wearing – along with a black mask, decorated with red and black feathers and silver beading. He's tall and fit, with a trim figure and broad, masculine shoulders.
Thanks to that mask, I can only see his perfectly styled hair, blacker than midnight, and the lower half of his tawny, chiseled face. He's obviously spent some time in the sun and works out. He looks handsome. Almost regal. But, I can't place him. Although there's something about him that's familiar, something that rings a bell, I can't seem to put my finger on what it is. Since I know he isn’t anyone I know - I assume he is the plus-one of another guest. Though, I wonder who he came with.
I've been moving around the party, greeting friends, and talking to people for the last half-hour or so. And that guy has been lurking in the background the entire time. He's been at the fringes of the party, not talking to any of the other guests, just kind of walking around – watching me, following me from room to room, his eyes never leaving me.
Ordinarily, the sight of a masked man, a stranger, following me around a large, crowded house, watching me, staring at me, would freak me out. And maybe it should. I mean, I don't know who this guy is, and he seems really interested in me. In any other setting, I'd call it stalking and probably call the man a creep.
Yet, if I'm being honest – and I always try to be honest, especially with myself – there is something I find sexy about it. Maybe it's the overwhelming elegance of the evening, or all the emotions swirling in me, but there is something sultry, something strangely erotic, about a well-dressed man in a mask watching me as intently as he has been.
“I want you to do something for me,” I tell Elizabeth.
“Anything, babe.”
“Don't be obvious about it,” I say. “But, turn around and check out the guy in the red-and-black mask over by the staircase. Remember, be subtle.”
“Subtle is my middle name.”
I laugh. “I thought slut was your middle name.”
She slaps me playfully on the arm. “I have multiple middle names.”
Elizabeth is my best friend and has been since we were in kindergarten. I love her to pieces. As slowly and casually as possible – and somewhat theatrically – she turns around and scans the crowd. The guy sees her looking and smirks – although, I get the impression that his eyes never left me. She turns back to me a moment later and a wide smile spreads across her face. Even from behind her mask, I can see the mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“He looks hot,” she says. “Totally hot. You should bang him.”
I laugh and slap her on the arm. “Is that your answer to everything?”
“Pretty much.”