Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

She gave her mother cheek kisses, and wedged herself between them, an arm around each. “My two favorite people,” she said, and then they watched the fountains at the Bellagio spray water high into the sunset sky.

“We finally made it to the Bellagio,” she whispered, for him only.

“We finally made it.”

*

Later that night, they gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows in their Las Vegas home, watching the lights of the city, one of her favorite pastimes. It was something they also loved to do from their home in Paris. Her flat had become his home as well, and was now full of pictures of the two of them.

She pressed her hand on his torso. “You’re still the sexiest guy I know, even if you don’t have a spleen.”

He laughed. “Amazing that I work without it.”

“You have all the parts that matter,” she said, tapping his head then dropping her hand to the front of his jeans, squeezing him. She travelled up his chest and stopped at his heart. “But this one works best of all.”

“Yes. It works pretty damn well, if I do say so myself,” he said and then took her to bed.

Both outside their home and between these walls, there was peace, and hope, and so much love that she knew it would carry them far into happily-ever after, and then some.

THE END





MISTER O SNEAK PEEK




Coming Next! Get ready for Mister O, a sexy standalone romantic comedy! Mister O releases May 4 everywhere and is sure to make you laugh, swoon and fan yourself from the heat! Here is a sneak peek at Chapter One of Mister O! To receive an alert when new titles release, please sign up for my newsletter.





PROLOGUE


Ask me my three favorite things and the answers are so easy they roll off my tongue. Hitting a homerun for my softball league, drawing a killer cartoon panel, and, oh yeah, making a woman come so hard she sees stars.

Not gonna lie. That last one is my favorite, by about a mile. Giving a woman a sheet-grabbing, toe-curling, mind-blowing orgasm is pretty much the Best Thing Ever.

A woman’s climax is like summer break, Christmas morning, and a vacation in Fiji all rolled together in one fantastic package of window-shattering bliss.

Hell, if we could harness the beauty and energy from women coming, we could probably power cities, solve global warming, fix every problem known to man. The female orgasm is basically the manifestation of everything good in the world.

Especially when I deliver them, and I’ve given thousands upon thousands. I’m like a superhero of pleasure, a good-deed doer, the once-upon-a-geek-now-a-stud, and my mission is to dispense as many climaxes to my lovers as possible.

How have I managed to achieve this amazing feat? Simple. I’m both a student and a master of the art of giving Os. I consider myself an expert because — in the interest of full disclosure here — I’m completely, 100% obsessed with a woman’s enjoyment between the sheets. Getting her off is the name of the game, and if you can’t get that job done, you should get the hell out of the bedroom.

But, hey, I’m also humble enough to admit I’m still a learner.

Since there is always something new to discover with a woman.

Does she want it soft, hard, fast, light, rough? Does she like it with teeth, toys, my cock, my tongue, my fingers? Would she want a little something extra, like a feather, a vibrator, or some sort of fantastic combination of all of the above? Every woman is different and every path to her pleasure is its own erotic journey with so many fantastic stops to make along the way.

I take mental notes, study her cues, and always get out and do the field work.

I suppose that makes me the Magellan of the female orgasm. A true explorer, venturing forth, fearless and ready at any moment, to map the terrain of her pleasure until she cries out in rapture.

Fine, some might say I have an addiction.

But really, is it a bad thing that I love to make the woman I’m with feel good? If that makes me a guy with a one-track mind, then I’m guilty as fucking charged. I’ll freely admit that when I meet a woman I’m into, I’m picturing in seconds what she looks like coming, how she sounds, how I want to send her soaring.

The trouble is, there’s one woman I just can’t go there with, even though lately my brain desperately wants to figure out how to drive her wild. It’s been an epic battle, and I’ve had to keep her in a special drawer, locked, sealed and key thrown away because she is the definition of hands off.

Which sucks royally because she’s about to make things even harder with the words that come out of her mouth.





CHAPTER ONE


They say men have sex on the brain 99.99 percent of the time. You’re not going to catch me trying to dispute that.

Why would I? It’s pretty much dead-on accurate, especially when you consider the remaining 0.01 percent of brain power is tirelessly dedicated to finding the remote.

Also, sex rocks.